We sit in front of the TV until 10:00. We watch the press conference with Schranz. I top off Thomas’s glass of mulled wine, make remarks and comments several times, but Thomas maintains his icy silence for 2 ½ hours. I can’t believe it’s impossible to dispel his sullenness; I’m intent on at least getting a peep out of him. When the announcer on the television says that Karl Schranz is going to be flying to Innsbruck, I say: Schranz should have a fatal crash tomorrow; he reached his high point now; that would be the finest exit for him. Because in the future things can only go downhill for him. I was expecting at least a nod from Thomas, because death is his pet topic, and Thomas smiles or smirks like a shot at everything that has to do with death or has some connection with death. He remained icy. At 10:00 he stood up, said “Good night” to my family. I accompanied him to the front door. Ordinarily I walk with him to his parking space as we chat; this time I stayed put at the front door and said “Good night” only belatedly. You see, he left without making any kind of salutation.
Karl Ignaz Hennetmair, from A Year With Thomas Bernhard, translated by Douglas Robertson
