“Frau Helga runs back and forth between her home and the inn (I assume it is the inn) driven by something, not clockwork, but a tight spring certainly, a locked action beyond any possibility of change. She returns to pack her trunk, each time the same, so carefully, folding her threadbare dresses as if they were ball gowns. Then—like a customs agent (that is, in a fury) Sumper unpacks, each time more violently. She runs to the inn. She returns. She weeps. Herr Sumper has suffered a black eye, th...e cause and occasion of which are mysteries to me. Frau Helga seems to be still in a financial negotiation with the owner of the inn. Is this about the swan? I do not know. I hear her conversation with Sumper very clearly. It is mechanically amplified by the chute leading to the workshop. “She has always looked out for me,” she says. “She will get a good price.” “She is a brothel-keeper,” Sumper says. I think, does she plan to spend this on the swan? She shouts at him in German, rapping her fist against a wall, a door, the floor for all I know.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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