Kitabı oku: «Armas-of-the-Lake», sayfa 3

„Shall I slather your back?”

„Keep butt in mind,“ Armas bantered when he turned around, smiled at Achternberg and got up. He extended the plastic bottle to him. They both looked square into each others eyes an intensive moment long. In it lay some strong non-verbal understanding as among soul-mates.

„Turn around.”

Achternberg had put down his things, opened the bottle and squeezed some thick blob between Armas’ shoulder blades, he who supported himself against his thighs again and leaned his head forward. Armas slightly winced as first time.

Achternberg slathered shoulders and neck of the boy, continued at circling movements downward his back up to his tight butt-cheeks. Armas visibly savoured the nearness. To Achternberg it became more and more obvious: the boy was truely lonesome. He soaked in any affection like a dry sponge − be it talking to him or such a harmless nearness as in slathering for sun-protection.

Well, from the boy’s view it didn’t seem to be not quite so harmless: When he turned around after Achternberg’s „Done!“ and same’s sight slap against his shoulder, he’d developped a semi-erection! Achternberg, of course, noticed it and Armas, much to his surprise, didn’t look at him in embarrassment but grinned.

„I feel fine. That often causes me some hard-on. Does it bother you?“

„No. Nothing unnatural.” Both looked at each other, smiling, and Achternberg for the first time tousled the boy’s hair as if to express to him some well-meant „You rascal!“ Withal he pulled him by his neck towards himself of what Armas on his part twisted himself free, laughing.

Achternberg recalled from his days in school and his time in military of many a overly distinct bulge in the crotch of various sporting comrades having developped when wrestling. Fighting excitement slashed its way through to the very loins. With Armas it was some deeply savoured well-being. That was no reason for concern of any kind whatsoever but for glee. The boy was doing well.

„Sit by me,” Achternberg invited him. Armas settled next to him. Achternberg didn’t cast the fishing rod. The boy was more important to him.

„What have you been doing the last days?”

Armas candidly looked at him. There was nothing left of the deeply saddened boy, au contraire.

„I did a lot of thinking, listened to my inner self, read a lot, of yours too, listened to beautiful music, did a lot of wonderful wanking − it did me awesomely good. Does it shock you that I do lots of masturbation?”

Achternberg shook his head in amusement.

„Why, my boy, should something shock me being so utterly normal, tell me that, why should it?“

„Perhaps because I speak of it so bluntly?”

„You‘re to be envied for that. When I was your age, we weren’t capable of. Many people are unable to cut it up to today, are prisoners of their uptight upbringing or their personal fears. Or they don’t have anybody with whom they can exchange views free of fear. Much too much is trumpeted abroad trusting blindly in so-called social networks which is highly dangerous.”

Armas nodded affirmative. He had been witnessing how trustfulness of a class-mate had disgracefully been abused. Kevin trustingly had been telling a pal at the public pool how he pleasured himself and if they couldn‘t arrange for some competition wanking. One day later all of it was to be read in some asocial network. The poor boy walked about with his head lowered ever since, didn’t trust to join somebody, was openly or clandestinely laughed at. The socially incompetent at school had found themselves another victim. When Armas intended to come to his defence he’d been brusquely spurned, was being told to go away, he’d be but gay. Kevin downright shoved him away. The social poison gnawed itself into. Armas was quite shocked and drew back himself furthermore.

„With you I may level with, may I not?“

Armas scrutinized Achternberg by cocking his head.

„You still have to ask?”

„No. You’re right. With you I can be frank. It wouldn’t disturb you by any means if I were gay, would it?”

„That‘s almost the last straw,“ Achternberg took a strong line with Armas. „Why are you harping on about it again and again? In case you’re secretely bi-curious then just try it out once, my goodness! But don’t cry me a river if mean guys believe you are, blooming box again! I don‘t give a damn about whether you nibble at petals or suck liquorice sticks, crazy boy.”

Armas roguishly chuckled from ear to ear.

„Can it be that you like me?” Again he cocked his head.

Achternberg shot a glance at him ranging between „I‘m about letting my hand kiss your cheek“ and „I like you a lot”.

„Of course I like you, otherwise you weren‘t permitted around” − and that he emphasized by a slap against Armas’ back part of the head making the boy „nod” − „You laddie, you! You might end up in the lake for good, you know!”

„But then you‘d have to slather me again …“ The next moment Armas jumped to his feet and dashed off a few yards in order to gain safety distance since Achternberg‘s facial expression all of a sudden was difficult to be estimated. It was ranging between a slap in the face and a great big hug. Armas was one single boyish laugh. Achternberg’s face brightened up again. He shook his head, looked down and let out some grunting laugh. Then he gazed across at Armas who was waiting in safe distance what was to happen − seeking Achternberg’s eye. Achternberg smilingly waved him nearer and got up. Armas slowly came closer, although hesitantly.

„No, I won’t drown you!”

And then something happened they both hadn’t bargained for. They suddenly were in each other’s arms. Some funny as well as odd scene. Some even though lightly dressed grey-head but still completely dressed grown-up tall man and a sun-tanned stark naked slightly taller teenager embrace each other as if they were father and son or uncle and nephew. Ignorant coincidental observers might have thought something else − honi soit qui mal y pense!

„But don‘t come up with another hard-on, you rascal!”

„Nope, sure not,“ the boy sobbed.

Achternberg moved apart but held him by his shoulders.

„I‘ve had just about enough now! What‘s the matter with you? First you laugh and now …”

Armas looked at him shamefaced, his eyes watered, and when he winked two thick tears trickled down his cheeks. The boy bit his lower lip − and gulped. With his wet eyes he looked at Achternberg like seeking help. The same suspected something.

„You haven‘t been embraced for a long time, have you?”

Armas nodded.

„Oh, dear! The boy is entirely socially neglected.”

„Come, sit by me.”

Achternberg fatherly stroked his hair. Armas wiped away his tears, inhaled deeply − and sighed lowly.

Achternberg sat himself onto his folding chair, Armas settled by his feet, cross-legged.

„Spill!”

Armas cleared his throat and briefly lowered his gaze before he locked eyes with Achternberg.

„I‘m not gay.”

„I know. But I don’t know why you repeat that again and again like an excuse. You mustn‘t, particularly not to me. You know, the days of the ill-fated section of the law 175 [§175 German penalty code made homosexuality a punishable offense until 1994] are over once and for all …!”

„And why have I been asked again and again whether I was born May 17th?”

„Oh, is it that what they did? There we have it again, distraction from one’s own latent sneaking inclination or simply viciousness, a drive to torment third parties. Well! For the simple reason that these arseholes have definitely been incited by their fathers more likely by their grandfathers should they have been using this term. That’s all inherited waste from older times. Imperial Era, Nazi era, the illiberal fifties of the Adenauer era [Dr. Konrad Adenauer, MP (*5 January 1876 Cologne, Kingdom of Prussia, 19 April 1967 Rhöndorf, Rhineland-Palatinate), legendary Lord Mayor of Cologne (1917-1933, 1945), first Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Germany (1949-1963)]. You just know it from history lessons should it be of value at your High School. Do you know, that King Charles of Wuerttemberg had been homosexual?”

Armas looked at him in amazement and shrugged with a shake of his head.

„The king lived it quite unconcealed. In liberal Wuerttemberg is was not punishable. Charles was no attractive man, big bushy beard, but he had − as being told − some immodestly beauteous American journeyman butcher for his lover whom he kept in Friedrichshafen [on Lake Constance] where he spent most of his time as well. Poor Queen Olga continued living in the Royal capital of Stuttgart …”

„He was married?” Armas threw in, amazed.

„Oh yeah, but childless as may be. His successor, William II, a nephew 2nd degree, was the son of Prince Frederic of Wuerttemberg. Without his famous Minister von Varnbueler the kingdom most likely would have been going tits up back then. Nevertheless he dismissed him in 1870 and replaced him by Mittnacht. When William I of Prussia once came for a state visit and Charles had to bother to come to Stuttgart, the Prussian monarch also asked him for buildings in the Residence. Charles wouldn’t know them. Quite embarrassing. When Wuerttemberg became part of the German Reich in 1871, Charles made himself punishable because of his sexual life since from then on the adopted Prussian legislation was in force there, too − but of course he was never harmed since as the king he was sacrosanct.” Achternberg lectured again.

„Lucky chap,“ Armas sighed. „Him blather didn‘t bother.”

„He was the king and with him it was the case. And why does it bother you?”

„Well, that‘s no bloody good. One is queerly looked at, is forced to listen to bitchy remarks, one’s being cut, one’s being ditched while team selection in sport, again and again one’s towel is being snatched off making me show my horse-hung qualities in the locker room, asking, who’s sucking it, hee-haw, hee-haw! That sucks! And some girls do have the nerve to believe that.” Armas frowned in visible aggravation.

„Silly geese. Although, actually that’s an insult to every intelligent real goose.”

Achternberg chuckled being able to conjure a smile again on Armas’ face therewith.

„And no good friend stuck by you?”

„Nope. Falcon backed out when he was asked how it’d be when we’d do the sixty-nine.”

„Chicken-hearted jackass and certainly no proper friend. He had to have issued black eyes in your defence instantaneously. Forget him! Or did you do it with him once in a while?”

Armas looked at him dismayed.

„No!”

„I’m just asking. Wouldn’t have any problem with it. That’d be just ordinary curiosity at your age. Just give it a try once.”

Armas was flabbergasted.

„Did you then?”

„No. This life experience missed me. And I don’t know whether to regret it but back then it began with HIV and Aids. We wouldn‘t have just from fear. Curious we were but precisely not for deeply anchored inclination but just for to learn how it’d be when a girl does french a boy. When girls became the real McCoy the topic was through. Did you ever think of it occassionally?”

Armas lowered his head. He had, actually.

„Mustn’t feel bad about it. You’re absolutely normal.”

„You really think so?” Armas looked at in doubt. He’d blushed.

„Would I else say it?”

It was written in Armas’ face how relieved he was. Freckled Heike had pleased him quite a lot. In her scrimpy multi-coloured bikini she’d been looking just cute, but before he’d dared to take action he’d lost her to an outspoken boy from the neighbouring class.

The other girls − more than a few very pretty and of exciting bikini-fit physique very often causing him to be lying flat face down not to let see for miles how excited he was − were beyond his powers. Whenever he attempted to start a conversation they proved themselves simply being giggling silly things which weren’t looking for a good conversation, or they teased him wherewith no young lad of his age wants to be teased with. Whether he’d be good in making out or − in full bluntness − whether he already did it once … His blushing rendered an answer redundant each and every time until news was spread by hallway gossip and SMS that he hadn’t yet.

And then the by him well-deemed friendship with Falcon who in terms of splendid build was in no way inferior to him and also matched up to those oh so „important” inches dead even. Only Falcon wasn’t circumcised.

Armas envied him that for since he found one could even better masturbate still having one’s foreskin. And when he once asked him en passant whether he unwantedly would lose his cream Falcon negated smiling. He’d do that differently. How then any different but thusly, Armas asked him showing the unambiguous hand movement. To his astonishment Falcon thereupon took his swim briefs off in his parents’ hidden from view garden, pumped himself up masturbating, stretched himself, bent forward and „embraced” his gleefully aroused Monsieur Bouchon with his lips until it went creamy. Armas had been watching fascinated and by increasing arousal, almost being in disbelief. He tried, too, but failed to his great disappointment. For the first time he’d been curious enough to „help” and himself let be helped by Falcon but he didn’t dare to ask. Henceforth it oddly rippled through his body soon he saw Falcon in the nude under the shower or walk around in his room likewise as well as when Falcon visited him and they once again checked whether their cocks had increased in length. It immensely mattered to them knowing it. Then Falcon had been asked the silly question for sixty-nine and their friendship split up. Armas was a solitaire ever since.

Not a single class-mate wanted to make friends with him − or did dare to. It even happened that some of them left the shower area the moment he entered. Withal he’d to put up with that in short distance before him tongues were stuck to cheek-pouches or boys sucked their middle finger in unambiguous manner. Once two approached him, one bent over and the other executed unequivocal humping with wagging cock. Armas could have bandied blows, and sometimes he really would’ve loved to, but he kept his temper.

Achternberg had listened to Armas’ narrative description as calm as a clock though it aggravated him how such a sensitive boy had been mobbed.

„You should‘ve asked those finger suckers whether they‘d forgotten their dummies at home or whether they‘d entered the new Dick Sucker Club of which you‘d been reading on the net. Let them do that once again and you‘ll see how they‘ll be choking on the finger.“

„Or some hot fight is being picked up!”

„Can‘t you defend yourself? Do ably clobber one of them and floor him, grab the other one − if it’s two − lightning-quick by his boo-boos and whisper to his ear in Stephen-King manner and deep voice whether he’d rather stay a man or’d prefer to die childless. Pay him some diabolic grin and let your boo-boo grip be vicelike. Believe me, he’s gonna pee himself in horror. Teach them to respect you and don’t take any shit from them. Büst doch ‘n staatschen Jung! [You‘re but an impressive boy, aren‘t you?] One successful knock-out and boo-boo action and you’re gonna have your peace. That’s gonna get around lightning-quick. For caution, walk around with a solid cane as a walking stick in order to keep inroads at bay − and when nothing happens for a couple of weeks, you’re the winner. But see that you get Mister chief Bigmouth. Most of the others are just cowardly followers.”

„You really think so?” Armas looked his doubt.

„Of course. It’s in human’s nature. A brave county commissioner in full uniform as major in East Prussia [East German province, occupied by Poland, Russia and Lithuania since 1945], together with his constable, got in position at gunpoint in front of the local synagogue in 1938 when a gang of storm-troopers came along to destroy the place of worship. The county commissioner offered in cold blood to shoot the first of them who’d approach him − and the synagogue remained unharmed until the Russians intruded in 1945. The loudest of noisy troublemakers are merely brave amidst a crowd. Threaten them to be dealing with them first, soon they’ll have their tails between their legs.”

„Too bad that you aren‘t our teacher!”

„Oh you know, I do rather write, can’t be a helping hand to all of the world, can I, on the other hand, when I do help you I kinda help the world in a way since you bring your newly acquired self-confidence into the world making it a little better thusly. I’m quite confident of that.” Achternberg smilingly tousled Armas’ full mane of hair visibly to the boy’s pleasure.

„But now tell me the names of those three main baiters who believe to have the right to defame you as being gay and were those dudes can be found.”

„Whatever are you up to?”

„To something very effective − you‘ll see.”

Achternberg whipped out a little note pad and a pen. Both items he always had on himself in order to be able to write down spontaneous thoughts. Armas hesitated another moment but then he told him their names and drescribed to him by which public pool the three of them commonly were sojourning. Two of them not yet would be on vacation within the next three weeks. He was wondering what would happen.

With a look of satisfaction in his face and giving Armas a wink the wordsmith pocketed note pad and pen again. Then he cast the fishing rod and Armas stretched out on the wooden jetty. That admittedly was a little less comfortable but obviously he wished to stay just off Achternberg. The sun was shining like honey upon the intimate togetherness. Armas relished the warmth against his skin and Achternberg enjoyed the quietude which set in now. He wanted to dwell on thoughts − and finally make that blooming pike see the shore. Good thoughts just came to him but the pike didn’t.

Behind him Armas folded arms under his head, eyes closed − and soon his manhood pointed towards his belly-button again. Achternberg didn’t observe it but it would’ve pleased him to see how incredibly comfortable the boy felt. His soul had been relieved from many a burden.

*

The next day

On the evening before Achternberg had made a phone call. He’d found himself some blitheful allies ready for action in his campaign versus Armas’ torturers. That’d be some hilarious summer spree had been answered in chorus. While replacing, Achternberg was one single broad smile. That’d become some never-to-be-forgotten lesson. His frugal light evening meal he enjoyed twice as much. Afterwards he wrote until late at night.

Midway through the morning he’d been turning out in a jovial mood, had taken a shower and been washing his hair, thereafter he’d arranged everything for Armas.

It was a given for him that the boy would come. He was looking forward to seeing him as if his son was to come home. Achternberg walked for the lakeside and arranged Armas’ resting-place. He briefly looked out for the boy who perhaps might be approaching already but he was nowhere to be seen. When he returned to his house, he experienced a pleasant surprise.

„Great! You’re at home. Had come to think, I might be alone for today. Hello, Herr von Achternberg.”

Armas got up from the sun-chair on the terrace and extended his hand to Achternberg. The man of the house wasn’t exactly surprised to see Armas being in the nude but he was astounded to meet him on his terrace. He briefly glanced around: Armas’ toggery − some light bluish shirt and jean shorts − underwear or swim briefs weren’t to be seen − was lying on top of the terrace wall, folded neat and proper. The sandals were placed below on the ground, properly juxtaposed. Right beside it he’d parked his brand spanking new bicycle. Some Ortler Lillesand 7-gear with basket. It was the lady’s version without cross bar. Achternberg eyed it thoroughly.

„Does it drive well?”

„One does come forward,“ Armas replied dryly.

„Wisely sparing crown jewels,“ Achternberg murmured, nodding his head.”

„I once terribly got my boo-boos caught, no need for a cross bar ever since − at the utmost in my pants …”

„… just in case you wear some occassionally, don’t you?”

„Exactly!”

Both laughed about the pun − and clapped high five for the first time.

Then Achternberg noticed that Armas had brought something along − his, Achternberg’s, complete works! That’s why he’d come to visit by overland route. He took the copy on top.

„You really purchased all of it …”

„... and read all of it!” Armas pulled some smiling mien in the fashion of „What’ve you been thinking?”

„And now you wish to get every copy signed?”

„That was the idea,” smiled the boy and got up. „I’ll help you carry.”

Armas took the other books off the basket and looked at Achternberg expectantly.

„Well, then just do come in,” the man of the house asked him to follow while he slid the terrace door open. It slightly seemed as if a slave would follow his master in the olden days but what created the impression simply was Armas’ out of the common nudity Achternberg wasn’t bothered about − Armas didn’t anyway. He perceived the ease of the boy as simply refreshing. It kind of dovetailed with his innocence. He in addition let him do as he liked for an entirely personal reason: Achternberg saw himself in him and would’ve loved to have been as easy at 17.

Armas not yet anticipated that by entering the house he was granted some rare privilege. Achternberg seldom if ever let somebody enter his private domain but his few close friends. Let alone some reader asking for autographs. He just hated unbidden taking pictures, and by those pestiferous modern cell phones his privacy could be violated all too fast. Achternberg wasn’t able to stand this lack of respect. Armas was nude, where would he hide a cell phone?

Achternberg aimed at his old desk, settled down and produced his stylograph with the broad pen with which he signed books − while after readings he autographed with a thick felt pen.

Armas stood still right next to the old writing-table which he inwardly marvelled at because of its beauty which had got handed down from so many years back. He was a modern boy but some aesthete. He loved beautiful old things.

„Für Armas …[To Armas …]” Achternberg began when he noticed not to know of the boy’s last name.

„What’s your name actually? I mean, what is the name of your family?”

„Moulinville.”

Armas behaved as it was a proper thing to do for a member of nobility. He didn’t lay emphasis on his „von”. It spoke for his self-confidence that the boy didn’t even bother to. And his opposite could right away cast him as descendant of the Huguenots.

When Achternberg had written his first inscription and put his forceful though distinct legible signature to it, Armas put down the rest of the books onto the desk.

„May I take a look around?” He pointed at the stuffed book shelves.

„But of course, don’t restrain yourself. The Dictionary of Canadian Biography by the way you find front right next to the red volumes of the New German Biography.”

Armas turned himself to Achternberg’s treasure of books. In his reckoning several thousand of volumes. He could hardly tire of looking at all he was seeing. He quickly found the volume in which marshall de Lévis was listed, took it out and settled down in an arm chair to read the biographical article. Achternberg noted with pleasure that Armas obviously partitioned his passion for printed books. In the period of digitalization and audio- and ebooks it wasn’t a given anymore. But printed books remained the real McCoy to him since only to them the for relish necessary sensuality adhered.

Achternberg was mightily amused when watching people which swiped on any touch-activated pocket screens or their iPhones for hours.

Any now and then he broadly grinning tried to picture what might happen if people like this were forced to read an ordinary newspaper − with an emphasis on paper. They presumedly had forgotten how it had to be opened and flipped while they desperately were trying to „swipe” the front page. Why ever does it not work? And an unread newspaper would even cause blackened fingers wherefore responsible servants and butlers iron newspapers up to the present before being served to the mastery.

While he signed Armas’ copies of his books he now and again shot a glance at the teenager, who was absorbed in his reading matter. He obviously was stuck to it. Achternberg knew that of himself. It had been the same with him when he was a child and teenager, at that time still reading fascinating comics like „Sigurd” or „Bessie”, then the volumes of Karl May. Later in his studies, up to the present − soon a read fascinated him, he stuck at it, forgot about everything around him, time and space, even eating. Solely a rendezvous with a pretty female he’d never missed. His body clock always let him look to the old wall clock in time when the appointed hour came closer without feeling the necessity of announcing each other the coming soon ten times by cell phone. These bothersome things simply didn’t exist.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Armas had gotten up and had a look across. The boy was just about putting back the volume he’d taken out.

For an instant, Achternberg felt reminded of paintings by Henry Scott Tuke he’d seen quite some time ago. Would this painter be present, he supposedly had shouted Stop! Stay how you are! − when Armas slightly stretched to reach for the gap on the shelf. But Tuke had already died in 1929. Achternberg wasn’t aware of any contemporary painter who’d make aesthetically appealing pictures of older teenage-boys like he’d seen „Youngling at the Seaside” by Hippolyte Flandrin in the Louvre. He would „paint” Armas by words. So every reader could literally visualize his own Armas-image.

Achternberg put the last signed copy on top of the pile.

„Would you care for something to drink? In this heat you might be thirsty.”

Armas turned around, interrupting his study of titles on the back of the books.

„Oh yeah, would love to. Have you got OJ?”

„None from a bottle but I could squeeze you some fresh one.”

„That‘d be great. May I come with you?”

„Sure.”

Armas followed Achternberg to the huge kitchen of the house, visibly curious on how further areas of the domicile of the writer he admired might look like.

Each corner of the building seemed to be in use for the display and storage of books. In between were beautiful pictures of German lighthouses, North German landscapes and Navy subjects as well as framed photographs of tall ships from around the world.

Armas was missing something.

„Sit down.”

Achternberg pointed at a chair in the spacious North German kitchen which Armas turned around, took a seat and supported himself on the backrest.

Meanwhile Achternberg produced a squeezer of glass from one of the cupboards, took two oranges from a plate, cut both into half with a sharp knife and squeezed them. He poured the fresh juice into a glass by passing it through a sieve − and offered it to Armas.

„Would you care to spoon the fruit pulp?”

„Oh yeah, I‘d love to.”

Achternberg reached Armas the squashed orange halves, extended him a tea spoon letting him spoon the fruit flesh from the squeezer’s cup first before he repeated the whole procedure for himself. Then he joined the boy at the table.

„You‘re really fond of books, aren‘t you?”

„Oh yeah, I am. I do own some one hundred and twenty myself, your detective stories and erotica included.”

Armas took a good swig of the fresh juice. One could almost hear it sibilate as thirsty as he was.

„What do you especially read?“

„For entertainment especially detective stories and beautifully written erotica, else I wouldn‘t have your books, but I also like Agatha Christie, first and foremost her private investigator Hercule Poirot with his grey matter and how exaggeratedly self-opinionated he is − and Georges Simenon.”

„Do you also read other erotica?”

„At times. ,Fifty Shades of Grey’ I‘ve read in the original. Some slightly perverse narrative but kinda witty. A beautiful girl of twenty-one still being a virgin I found a little strange and forcing her to submission in order to be in ecstasy is not exactly my cup of tea, but certainly lots of things are happening out there I’m not familiar with and would never dream of. Isn’t that so?” Armas drained his glass and licked his lips, quizzically looking at Achternberg.

„You‘re right there. I myself sometimes get amazed what’s possible among two people, first and foremost among man and woman.”

Armas briefly bethought himself.

„I bought myself a book by Henry Miller a couple of months ago, at low price from a bargain table. Barely halfway through I put it aside, cloyed. The guy was just in the bobo. What a standpoint towards women he had, awful. But it’s reputed being world literature, even translated into German by women. Wonder whether they found it disgusting.“ Armas distorted his face in aversion.

„I think I know which book you refer to. Didn’t like the book either. Didn’t finish only two terribly boring detective novels and this misogynous pornography in my life.”

Achternberg took a good swig of the fresh juice.

„Care for another glass?”

„Love to, if I may have one.”

„Sure.”

Achternberg got up and repeated the procedure.

„And what else do you care for to read?”

„Um, especially biographies. It’s so thrilling what other people experienced, particularly in previous centuries.” Armas briefly bethought himself. „Sometimes I can hardly believe how people in those days could live without our current means. How poor medical care was, one could die of a bad tooth or of appendicitis − or, how weary travelling was. What sort of adventures explorers did experience. The fascinating expeditions of discovery of James Cook or the journeys of Alexander von Humboldt. I’d loved to have been part of it.”