Konrad and Alexandra (pdf) - Rolf Gross

A few minutes later, another such rumble. The lake! The ice was rumbling dangerously.
They hurried ashore.
The rumbling continued at regular intervals. From the high shore they spotted groups of
men throwing heavy, round discs with a short stick on top skidding along the tracks. At each
throw the frozen lake thundered like a big drum.
"Oh," said the innkeeper, "they are playing Stockschiessen."
Checkered cloths on the heavy tables, antlers on the walls, the Gaststube, the guest
room of the inn was overheated. Nourishing smells wafted from the kitchen. Out of fear that
someone might contract pneumonia while being engaged in the serious task of eating, all
windows were tightly closed.
Konrad laughed. "This is what they call gemütlich in Upper Bavaria. But you will see, the
food is reell, hearty and plentiful."
They ordered Kalbsnierenbraten, Rotkohl and Semmelknödel, veal-kidney roast with red
cabbage and bread dumplings.
"With your permission, may I be so free and ask whether the young lady is from Italy?"
inquired the stout innkeeper while taking their order. "My wife comes from near Merano and still
feels homesick, nobody speaks Italian around here."
Konrad explained that Alexandra came from Georgia, a far away country in the
mountains of southern Russia, near Persia.
The man wiped his hands in his apron and apologized disappointed. "I asked because
the young lady has dark hair and such deep blue eyes. These only exist in the one valley in the
Adige where my wife comes from."
Solicitous he called his wife from the kitchen to admire their rare guest from Persia. She
almost did have Alexandra’s blue eyes!
As they drank their beer, they watched the guests. Groups of men in local costumes sat
drinking beer after church. At a long table gathered a large family, four sets of parents with
their diverse children, presided over by a lean, old patriarch. Apparently they were celebrating
grandfather’s birthday. Everybody was talking animatedly, and Alexandra once again observed
how familiar this scene was.
The food was good and plenty as Konrad had promised. When they had finished, the
innkeeper’s blue-eyed wife returned with two deserts.
"This is a surprise. It’s on the house," she explained, "the Herrschaften may not know
this dish, it’s Dampfnudel in Himbeersosse, my specialty." Steamed dumplings in raspberry
sauce.
The Dampfnudel, a white, indescribably airy hemisphere that would fill a hand
surrounded by a sauce of preserved, wild, red raspberries was out of this world. Konrad
carefully placed a raspberry on top of his dumpling and made the sauce run down the globe.
"The dénouement of the Virgin!" He laughed, and attacked the culinary work of art with
his spoon.
Fortified and reassured by the good meal and friendly people they decided to walk
across the lake to Uffingen and there catch the evening train home.
The sun was already low when they passed their island. The shadows grew longer, and
the high mountains became furrowed by deeply etched contours. Slowly the stark black and
white landscape of the morning took on colors in the waning light. Tinges of mauve and purple
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