Three place settings. Dinner is over, yet the seat at the head of the heavy, long wooden table remains empty. Its fine china and golden cutlery lie untouched. To the right and left of it sit Mother and Lotte, facing each other. Lotte crouches on her chair like a squirrel, legs drawn up, barefoot as always. They are finished with supper. Once again, as so often, they are alone. With a sigh, Mother nods to the old maid waiting in the corner, who immediately begins clearing the table with brisk determination. Carrying the dirty plates and a half-full bowl of leftover potatoes, she marches toward the dining-room door. Halfway there the old woman stumbles but just manages to catch herself. Years of service and an iron sense of duty save the precious porcelain – she would sooner have broken her ribs than let go of it. On the floor lies Lotte’s other little shoe. The bristly maid’s mouth twitches with anger.
“Barefoot, like the savages.”
The nasty words she mutters under her breath as she leaves the room are barely audible. In the hallway she lets out a sound like a yard dog whose tail has been trodden on during its midday nap. Mother picks up the little shoe. Seeing her chance, Lotte quickly leans over the table and snatches a slice of bread from the basket. It vanishes at once into her green dress. A smile spreads across Mother’s face — of course she has seen everything, yet she gives nothing away. She taps on the thick tabletop. KNOCK! KNOCK! Lotte is instantly alert. She knows what comes next and loves it. In a disguised voice, Mother begins to tell the following story:
“I am the goddess of war, justice, beauty, love, fertility, sex, and political power. The savior of the Huluppu tree.”
Before a gigantic gate, as tall as twenty horses, set in a vast, barren mountain, a figure waits for entry. It is night, and neither moon nor stars are visible in the sky. The dark figure raises a fist to knock again, when with a groan the enormous double door creaks open just a crack. For a moment, the traveler stands frozen. It is unclear whether they hesitate or something else holds them back. Then the figure slips inside.
They stand in a hall so vast and dark that neither walls nor ceiling can be made out. It is as if they were in a black hole. All that can be seen is another gate at the far end of the chamber, equally immense, bathed in a strange glow that seems to emanate from nowhere. The distance is impossible to gauge – could be two hundred meters, or ten kilometers. This is the first hall of the underworld.
In the light of a single torch, the dark figure is revealed as the Mesopotamian goddess Inanna. She wears an elaborately decorated turban, precious jewels, and a noble breastplate bearing a dove emblem. A blue silk gown, the palla, clings to her form. Behind her, the gate closes once more. A last gust of wind stirs her hair and the thin fabric of her gown. She is no longer alone. Opposite her stands Neti, the gatekeeper. A small, bald man who watches her from below. In one hand he holds up a torch; with the other, he picks his nose.
Inanna declares, “I am the daughter of An, the god of gods. They call me Queen of Heaven.”
These words leave the gatekeeper Neti entirely unmoved. Still, he responds, unimpressed: “Impressive,” and continues, “But not here. Kur is the place one solely enters. Kur is the opposite of heaven.”
He raises his hand and says, without a hint of expression: “Coronet.”
Reluctantly, Inanna hands over her turban, and the gatekeeper disappears into the darkness with it. Not even the glow of his torch can penetrate the deep black. Inanna is left alone, and though she is a goddess, she feels a trace of unease. Kur, the underworld, is no commonplace, even for a deity.
“Ereshkigal?” Inanna calls into the darkness of the hall. “Sister?”
But her words are swallowed by the blackness. For a moment, there is absolute silence, and if she had a human heart, one could hear it beating. Then the gate at the far end opens, and Inanna steps into the second hall. As before, neither walls nor ceiling can be made out. Neti, the gatekeeper, is already waiting. The small man has changed. At first glance, it’s not immediately obvious, but he is slightly taller and hairier. His teeth and fingernails are sharper. Once again, he holds out his hand and demands: “Pearls.”
Inanna hands him her elaborately decorated necklace, and he disappears into the darkness once more. Shortly after, the third gate opens. In the next four halls, Inanna gradually relinquishes all her jewelry and her breastplate. From hall to hall, the small gatekeeper transforms more and more into a wolf the size of a horse, with saber-like teeth, thick gray fur, and flashing blue eyes.
When the seventh gate closes behind Inanna, she has reached the end of her journey into the underworld. The seventh hall is different. Although still large enough to hold an entire royal palace, here the walls and ceiling are clearly visible. They are made of pure lapis lazuli. There is no other gate; instead, at the far end of the hall, stands a throne, entirely carved from lapis lazuli as well. In the middle of the hall lies the gatekeeper, now a massive wolf. Slowly, he rises and approaches Inanna. She stands perfectly still, dressed only in her blue palla, eying the enormous predator, saliva dripping from its jaws. Even the wolf’s gray fur shimmers with a bluish tint in the light reflected from the walls.
A woman’s voice echoes through the entire hall: “Be content, dear sister. Submit to the final divine me of the underworld.”
Inanna hesitates. Then she lets the gown slide to the floor, standing completely naked in the vast hall —
“Why is she naked?” Lotte interrupts her mother’s story. She lies under her bed together with her blanket and pillow, instead of on top. That’s how she likes it. Down here, she feels safe and secure, like a wolf cub in its den. And, as every evening, Mother sits on the floor beside the bed, telling the story until her daughter’s eyes grow heavy. But now Lotte looks at her, questioning.
“Because crowns and fine clothes don’t matter,” Mother replies. “It’s what’s inside that counts.”
She taps her daughter gently on the chest.
“Potatoes and cauliflower with sauce,” Lotte giggles.
Mother chuckles as well.
“Exactly. And you. Your strength. Everything you are, you need is in there –”
“Can we paint the pigeon house blue?” Lotte interrupts again. Mother nods affectionately.
“But now it’s time to sleep.”
“Do goddesses have to sleep?” Lotte asks.
Mother shakes her head with a smile.
“Then I’ll be a goddess or a wolf!” declares her daughter, baring her tiny teeth dramatically.
Suddenly, a man’s voice booms through the house: “MARIE! MARIE! LOTTE! MARIE!”
Immediately, Lotte pulls the blanket over her head and hides deeper under the bed. From here, she watches as her mother blows out the small lamp on the nightstand, hurries out of the room, and quietly closes the door behind her. Lotte doesn’t move. She crouches there, listening into the darkness. Somewhere in the house, she thinks she can hear footsteps – or is it just the beating of her own heart? The moon shines, casting a pale light across the large room. It is way too big for a little girl like Lotte and at night, it offers far too much space for unsettling thoughts. In every dark corner someone or something could be hiding. Lotte isn’t particularly afraid as a rule, but that applies to the outdoors. In nature, she feels safe and secure. She’s fairly certain she wouldn’t even be afraid of the forest at night. At least, that’s what she believes, though she’s never had the chance to test it. But this huge, old mansion, with its endless hallways and countless rooms, its high ceilings and dusty paintings, from which the dead, bitter ancestors glare down at you all day long, she does not like at all. It is full of rules and sullen adults. You are constantly forced to learn something, to wash, or to sit up straight. And at night, it transforms into a labyrinth. Her father had inherited it. Lotte doesn’t know what that means exactly, but it must be something terrible if it ends with having to live in such a house and having to wear shoes all the time.
„AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
A woman’s scream echoes through the house, and Lotte under the bed holds her breath. What a terrible sound that was. There’s another threatening noise. Footsteps. Someone is coming up the stairs. The floorboards in the hallway creak under the heavy boots slowly approaching her room. Then the door opens, and warm light spills in, mingling with the cold moonlight.
A large man, his chest as wide as the doorway itself, enters the room. He stops. From down here, Lotte can’t see his face; she only hears the deep, labored breaths rattling in his chest. The stairs up to the first floor must have worn him out. He takes two steps toward the bed, and Lotte notices that he limps. His right leg is stiff, forcing the giant to thrust it forward with a jerky motion from the hip each time. Now he stands so close that Lotte can see his old, thick, laced leather boots right in front of her. One of the laces is undone. The giant mutters something unintelligible. Lotte can’t take her eyes off the untied lace. Very slowly, she inches forward, her small hands emerging from under the bed. She reaches for the leather straps and ties the boots in a poor, uneven bow.
Once more the grumbling from above, then the man kneels heavily in front of the bed. His angular face and tousled hair come into view. Ferdinand is both housekeeper and stablehand. Lotte’s miserly father would never hire more staff, so Ferdinand and the old maid have to manage the entire household alone – a nearly impossible task that causes the grand estate to lose a little more of its old splendor each year.
Lotte doesn’t mind; she doesn’t like cleanliness or order. But she loves Ferdinand. He is a gentle giant, though he looks as if he might strangle two people before breakfast. Happily, he examines the bow. The girl is like a beloved child to him.
“You’ve only got two legs,” she says.
Ferdinand grumbles kindly, “One and a half.” Then he puts a finger to his lips.
“I’ll say I didn’t find you.”
With a strained grumble he pushes himself upright. To his surprise, Lotte crawls out from under the bed and stands before him. She barely reaches his belly button. When she notices his puzzled look, she explains: “Otherwise you’ll just get in trouble.”
The giant grumbles with affection. He takes her dress from the chair by the bed and holds it out. She slips into it. Then he looks around, but can’t right away find what he’s after. Lotte feels inside the little pocket at the front of her dress and finds the piece of bread she’d tucked away in the dining room earlier. Barefoot, she darts to the window and opens it. She crumbles the bread onto the sill. No sooner has she finished than a black pigeon lands and starts pecking. Lotte smiles, happy to see the bird. Meanwhile, Ferdinand finally finds what he’s been looking for. Lotte’s tiny little shoes were tucked in one of the dark corners, as if a certain someone had deliberately tried to make them disappear. He scoops them up with his huge, hairy, sun-darkened hands and holds them up in front of Lotte’s nose. She bares her teeth and growls at the shoes.
Ferdinand follows Lotte down the first-floor hallway. The little girl is wearing her shoes and walks so hesitantly it’s as if she might stop at any moment. Suddenly, the ear-splitting scream of a woman cuts through the house again.
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Startled, Lotte freezes. She looks up at the giant beside her. Ferdinand grumbles helplessly. He’d love to lift her onto his shoulders and just get away, anywhere. But where? He has no money, doesn’t know his way in the world. He’d be an abductor, and they’d catch him and hang him. Just like the child next to him, he has no choice. For some time now, he’s been trying to teach himself a bit of reading and arithmetic, hoping one day to maybe build a future of his own. But as it often goes with the future, the longer you work toward it, the faster it seems to shrink away.
They reach the wide staircase that curves down in a U-shape. Slowly, they descend side by side into the ground floor. Halfway down, unnoticed by Ferdinand, Lotte slips out of her little shoes. First the left one, then the right on the next step. The tiny shoes are simply left behind.
TO BE CONTINUED
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