Free The Discovery Of Slowness by Sten Nadolny

slowly than he himself. He saw a congregation of ships’ masts, standing close together, and behind them the city of London. Always when ships were assembled so closely and quietly, a city belonged to them. Riggings by the hundreds loomed over the port buildings like a criss-crossed far-reaching cloud. The houses were pushing up to London Bridge as though they were determined to get into the water and be part of it, and were hesitating only at the last moment. Now and then a house really fell off the bridge, always when no one was looking. The houses in London had completely different faces from those in the little village at home. Arrogant, surly, often boastful, sometimes as if they were dead. He had also seen a fire in the docks, and alady who asked to have all her clothes brought from a shop to be examined through the window of her carriage, because she didn’t want to walk through the muck with her shoes. The shopkeeper had customers waiting, but he remained at the carriage door, imperturbable, and answered all questions most courteously. He was so quiet that John regarded him as an ally, although he sensed distinctly: this man is fast. He had a kind of merchant’s patience, which was pleasant but not related to his own.
    A girl sat in the carriage. White-armed, slender, slightly embarrassed, red-headed English girls were among the eight or ten reasons why it was worth keeping one’s eyes open. Thomas had pulled him away in the manner of all older brothers who had to take care of younger ones and were filled with hatred in their impatience. They had bought the three-cornered hat, the blue coat, the buckled shoes, the sea chest, the dagger. A volunteer first class had to outfit himself. As they climbed up the memorial in Fish Street, he counted three hundred and fifty steps. A cold spring; the smell of acrid smoke everywhere. Far in the distance castles could be seen clinging to green parks. He observed an epileptic who banged something with his forehead, then stared into the distance. There were highwaymen around, he heard, but a gallows stood in Tyburn. As a midshipman, said his elder brother, he had to behave like a gentleman. In the market they observed a quarrel. It was about a fish which had perhaps been artificially puffed up, or perhaps not.
    Everywhere one could see the masts of ships, at least from the topgallant yards upward. The city’s thousand chimney pots were one level lower. It was difficult to conceive that ships could be moved across the sea with the help of the wind, following well-devised plans, even if one knew Moore’s Practical Navigator by heart. Sailing was something royal, and the ships looked it. He knew what was needed to make an entire wall of sailcloth stand in the wind at full speed. First one had to build hulls – all the curved, splinted wood, screwed tight, carefully polished, caulked, tarred, painted carefully, even overlaid with copper. Aship’s great dignity derived from those many materials and arrangements that were necessary for its construction.
    Boom!
    That was the Trekroner and the battle.
    Act like a gentleman. At the side of the gun, be as little in the way as possible. Running from the gundeck to the quarterdeck and back. Understand orders at once if possible or, if impossible, forcefully request a repetition. ‘Listen, men!’ shouted the officer with the high forehead. ‘Don’t die for your country.’ Pause. ‘See to it that the Danes die for theirs.’ Shrill laughter. Yes, they stirred up the men. After that, the battle seemed to become heavy. The Trekroner and the other guns scored one hit after another. For a man who always reacted a little too late, all support was lost with each one of these jolts. Their own broadsides were the worst. Every time they went off, the ship seemed to take a leap. The regular routine went on as they had learned it, only now the purpose was to cause chaos for the enemy, and that came