don’t know why, I took off the necklace, though I’d been so proud of it, and put it round Amalia’s neck. I wasn’t at all envious any more. I acknowledged her triumph, and I thought everyone was sure to pay her tribute. Perhaps we felt surprised that she looked different from usual, because she wasn’t really beautiful, but that dark glance of hers, she’s kept it ever since, passed right over us, and we instinctively felt like bowing to her and almost did. Everyone noticed, including Lasemann and his wife, who came to fetch us.’ ‘Lasemann?’ asked K. ‘Yes, Lasemann,’ said Olga. ‘We were highly respected at the time, and in fact the party couldn’t very well have begun without us, because our father was Trainer Number Three with the fire brigade.’ ‘Was your father still so robust at the time?’ asked K. ‘Father?’ asked Olga, as if she didn’t entirely understand the question. ‘Why, three years ago he was still a relatively young man. For instance, during a fire at the Castle Inn he carried out one of the officials on his back at a run, a heavy man called Galater.* I was there myself—there was no danger of a real conflagration, it was the dry wood stacked beside a stove that started smoking, that was all, but Galater took fright and called out of the window for help. So the fire brigade came, and my father had to carry him out even though the fire was extinguished by then. Well, Galater doesn’t move easily, so he has to be cautious in such cases.

I’m telling you this only on my father’s account. But it can’t be much more than three years since that day, and now see how he sits there.’ Only then did K. see that Amalia was back in the room, but she was some way away from them, at the table with her parents, where she was feeding her mother, who couldn’t move her arthritic arms, and talking to her father, asking him to wait patiently for his meal, she would soon get around to feed-ing him too. But what she said had no effect, for her father, greedily waiting for his soup, overcame his own physical weakness and tried sometimes sipping soup from his spoon, sometimes drinking it straight from the plate, and he grumbled when he couldn’t manage either, for the spoon was empty long before it reached his mouth, and when he tried the plate his drooping moustache but not his mouth got into the soup, which sprayed and dripped all over the place, anywhere except into the old man’s mouth. ‘Is this what three years have done to him?’ asked K., but he still felt revulsion rather than pity for the old people at that corner of the family table. ‘Three years,’ said Olga slowly, ‘or rather, just a few hours at a party. The festival was held on a meadow outside the village, by the stream. There was already a large crowd when we arrived, and a great many people had come from the neighbouring villages too, the noise was really bewildering. First of all, of course, our father took us to see the new fire engine, and he laughed with delight at the sight of it. A new fire engine made him a happy man; he began touching it and explain-ing it to us, he wouldn’t let anyone say a word to contradict him or seem cool about it in any way, and if he wanted to point out some-thing underneath the fire engine we all had to bend down and almost crawl under it.

Barnabas, who was reluctant to do that, earned him-self a slap. Only Amalia took no notice of the fire engine, but stood there very upright in her beautiful dress, and no one dared say any-thing to her. I sometimes went over to her and took her arm, but she still said nothing. Even today I can’t explain to myself how it came about that we stood there so long by the fire engine, and only when our father moved away from it did we notice Sortini, who had obvi-ously been behind the engine all this time, leaning against a lever that operated it. There was certainly a very loud noise, not just the kind you usually hear at parties, because the castle had also sent the fire brigade some trumpets, special instruments on which you could play the wildest of music with very little difficulty or effort, even a child could have done it. Hearing that noise, you’d have thought the Turks* were upon us, and no one could get used to it. We all jumped every time the trumpets sounded. And new as they were, everyone wanted to try playing one, and since it was a public festival one and all were allowed to have a go. There were some of those trumpet-players around us, perhaps attracted by the sight of Amalia, and it was difficult to think straight in such a racket. It was as much as we could do to pay attention to the fire engine as well, as our father demanded, and that was why we failed to notice Sortini, whom we hadn’t known at all before, for such an unusually long time. “There’s Sortini,” Lasemann whispered to our father at last; I was standing close to them. Our father bowed deeply and signed frantically to us to bow too. Without ever meeting him, our father had always respected Sortini as an expert on the fire brigade, and had often men-tioned him at home, so now seeing him in person was a great surprise and meant a lot to us. However, Sortini took no notice of us, it wasn’t his way to notice people, and in fact most of the officials seemed indifferent to all they saw in public.

In addition he was tired; only his official duty kept him down here, and it’s not always the worst of the officials who find such duties as representing the castle a severe trial. Now that they were there, other officials and their servants mingled with the people, but Sortini stayed put beside the fire engine, his silence repelling everyone who tried to approach him with some request or flattering remark. So it was that he noticed us only after we had noticed him. It wasn’t until we bowed respectfully, and Father began making excuses for us, that he glanced our way, looked wearily from one to another of us, as if he could only sigh to see yet another person standing by the person before—until he came to Amalia, and his eyes lingered on her. He had to look up at her, because she was much taller than he was. Then he gave a start of surprise, and climbed over the shafts of the fire engine to get closer to Amalia. We misunderstood that at first and, led by our father, we all tried to approach him, but he raised a hand to fend us off and then waved us away. That was all. We teased Amalia, saying she really had found a sweetheart, and stupid as we were, we were cracking jokes all afternoon, but Amalia was more silent than ever. “She’s head over heels in love with Sortini,” said Brunswick, who is always rather coarse and doesn’t understand natures like Amalia’s, but this time we almost agreed with him. Altogether, we were in a mood for tomfool-ery that day, and all of us except Amalia were slightly dazed by the sweet wine from the castle when we came home after midnight.’ ‘What about Sortini?’ asked K. ‘Ah yes, Sortini,’ said Olga. ‘I saw Sortini many times in passing during the festivities, sitting on the shafts of the fire engine with his arms crossed over his chest, and he stayed there until the carriage from the castle came to fetch him. He didn’t even stay to see the fire brigade drilling, in which our father distinguished himself more than anyone else of his age, hoping that Sortini was watching.’ ‘And did you hear no more of him?’ asked K. ‘You all seem to go in great awe of Sortini.’ ‘Awe, oh yes,’ said Olga, ‘and yes, we did hear more of him. Next morning we were woken from our tipsy slumbers by a cry from Amalia. The rest of us went straight back to bed, but I was wide awake now, and ran to Amalia where she stood at the open window, holding a letter that a man had just handed in. The man was waiting for an answer.

Amalia had read the letter—it was a short one—and was holding it in her hand, which hung down limply by her side. I always loved her so much when she looked as tired as that! I knelt down beside her and read the letter. As soon as I had finished it, Amalia took it back after a brief glance at me, but she couldn’t bring herself to read it again. She tore it up, threw the pieces out into the face of the man waiting outside, and closed the window. That crucial morning was the turning point. I call it crucial, but every moment of the afternoon before had been just as crucial too.’ ‘And what did the letter say?’ asked K. ‘Oh yes, I haven’t told you yet,’ said Olga. ‘Well, the letter was from Sortini and addressed to “the girl with the garnet necklace”. I can’t repro-duce the contents, but he was commanding her to go to him at the Castle Inn, and