III. Dogger’s House

When he had ridden through the town Ammon caught sight of a garden and a tiled roof in the distance. The gravel-covered road led along an avenue of trees to a simple entrance that was in keeping with the entire house, which was built of light-coloured, unpainted wood. Ammon walked up to the house. It was a one-storey log building with two projections on the sides and a terrace. The climbing greenery filled the facade’s piers with flowers and leaves; there were many flowers everywhere – carnations, tulips, anemones, holly-hocks, asters, and gilly-flowers.

Dogger, who had been standing by a tree, approached Ammon with the relaxed, effortless steps of a powerful man. He was hatless; his strong neck, pink from sunburn, was hidden by his curly blond hair. Dogger was as powerful as a broad-chested statue of Hercules that had come to life, and he produced an impression of indestructible health. Ammon very much liked the bold features of his hearty face, his warm grey eyes, and his small beard and moustache. Dogger’s outfit consisted of a canvas shirt and pants, a leather belt, and high boots of soft leather. His handshake was firm but quick, while his deep voice rang out clearly and freely.

“I’m Ammon Koot,” said Ammon, bowing, “if you’ve received Tonar’s letter, I’ll have the honour of explaining to you the reason why I came.”

“I received his letter, and you are first and foremost my guest,” said Dogger with a courteous smile. “Let’s go in; I’ll introduce you to my wife. Then we’ll talk about everything you wish to discuss.”

Ammon followed him into a very simple living room with high windows and modest furniture. Nothing stuck out; on the contrary, everything was designed for subtle comfort. Here and in the other rooms that Ammon visited the furnishings were forgotten, as the body forgets pieces of clothing that have long since become familiar. There were no paintings or prints on the walls. Ammon did not notice this at first: the piers’ emptiness seemed to be casually draped with the folds of the window curtains. The tidiness, cleanliness, and light imparted a nuance of tender solicitude for the things with which, like with old friends, people live their entire lives.

“Elma!” said Dogger, opening the hall door. “Come here.”

Ammon was impatient to meet Dogger’s wife. He was interested in seeing them as a couple. Before a minute had gone by a beautiful smiling woman in a smart open-sleeved house-dress emerged from the dim light of the hall. Her every movement spoke of overflowing good health. A blonde of about twenty-two, she sparkled with the refreshing calm of contented young blood, with the gaiety of a well-rested body, and with the majestic good nature of enduring happiness. Ammon thought that everything must be just as harmonious, beautiful, and joyful on the inside, where her body worked in mysterious ways: her heart of steel meticulously pumped scarlet blood through her blue veins, while her pink lungs vigorously inhaled air to refresh the blood, warmed amidst white ribs beneath the white breast.

Dogger, without ceasing to smile – which seemed to be more of a need than an effort for him – introduced Root to his wife; she began to speak freely and lustily, as though she had known Ammon for a long time.

“Being a traveller, you will be a little bored at our place, but that will only be good for you… yes, good.”

“I’m touched,” said Ammon, bowing.

Everyone sat down. Dogger, like Elma, sat in silence, smiling ingenuously, and gazing directly into Ammon’s face; their expressions said:

“We see that you are also a very homely person; it is an easy matter to sit silently with you and not be bored.” Despite the winning simplicity of his hosts and the furnishings, Ammon did not trust what he saw.

“I very much want to explain the purpose of my visit to you,” he said, getting down to the necessary lie. “In the course of my travels I have become a zealous photographer. In my opinion this pastime can involve quite a bit of artistry.”

“Artistry,” Dogger nodded.

“Yes. Every landscape passes through hundreds of phases every day. Each time the sun, the time of day, the moon, the stars, or a human figure make it different: they either add to it or take something away. Tonar tempted me with his description of Liliana’s charms: the city itself, the surroundings, and your marvelous estate. I feel that my camera is stirring impatiently in my suitcase and that the shutter is snapping by itself from impatience. Have you known Tonar for long, Dogger?”

“For a very long time. We became acquainted while we were both negotiating to buy this estate, but I outbid him. We’re on most excellent terms, and sometimes he drops by. He likes country life very much.”

“It’s strange that he doesn’t live like this himself,” said Ammon.

“You know,” rejoined Elma, putting her head onto her arms and her arms onto the back of the chair, “to do that you have to be born a person like myself and my husband. Am I right, dear?”

“You’re right,” said Dogger pensively. “But, Ammon, I’ll show you the farm while dinner is being perepared. Will you come along, Elma?”

“No,” the young woman refused with a laugh, “I’m the hostess, and I must look after things.”

“In that case…” Dogger stood up. Ammon did so as well. “In that case we’ll set off on our trip.”

IV. Outside

“A true seeker of adventure,” Ammon said to himself as he walked alongside Dogger, “differs from a tritely curious person in that he thoroughly explores any obscure situation. Now I have to look into everything. I don’t believe Dogger.” Without further introspection he surrendered himself to his impressions. Dogger led Ammon along the garden’s vaulted avenues to the backyard. Their conversation touched on nature, and Dogger, with a subtlety that one would not expect from his appearance, penetrated to the very core of the chaotic and contradictory feelings – as slight as the flicker of an eyelash – produced by natural phenomena. He spoke rather phlegmatically, and yet any general concept of nature suddenly ceased to exist for Ammon. Nature, like a house made of blocks, collapsed before his very eyes into its constituent parts. Then, just as carefully and imperceptibly, as though playing, Dogger restored what had been destroyed; he harmoniously and methodically fused the disintegrated concept back into its original form, and Ammon again saw the momentarily lost aggregate of the world’s beauty.

“You are an artist, or you ought to be one,” said Ammon.

“Now I’ll show you the cow,” said Dogger animatedly, “it’s of a good breed and a healthy specimen.”

They emerged into the cheery, spacious yard, where a lot of poultry was wandering about: variegated hens, fiery roosters, motley ducks, irritable turkeys, baby chickens as yellow as dandelions, and several pairs of pheasants. A huge chained dog was lying in a green kennel with his tongue hanging out. Pigs that looked like pink logs glittered within an enclosure; a donkey flapped its ears and cast a good-natured sidelong look at a rooster, which was rummaging with his claw in some manure under the donkey’s very hoof; and flocks of blue and white pigeons flew through the air – this bucolic sight indicated so much peaceful joy that Ammon smiled. Dogger surveyed the yard with a satisfied air and said:

“I very much like animals that are of a congenial nature. Tigers, boa constrictors, snakes, chameleons, and other anarchists are unpleasant to me. Now let’s look at the cow.”

Ammon saw four giant cows in the barn, where small but clear windows let in plenty of light. Dogger approached one of the cows, which had crescent-shaped horns and was the colour of yellow soap; the beast exuded strength, fat, and milk; the huge, pink, black-spotted udder hung almost to the ground. The cow, as though realising that she was being inspected, turned her heavy, thick muzzle towards the men and flicked her tail.

Dogger stood with arms akimbo – which made him look like a peasant – and looked at Ammon, the cow, and again at Ammon; then he gave the cow a solid slap on the rump with the palm of his hand.

“A beauty! I call her Diana. She’s the best specimen in the district.”

“Yes, she’s impressive,” Ammon affirmed.

Dogger took down a red copper bucket that was hanging in a row with some others and began to roll up his sleeves.

“Watch me do the milking, Ammon. Then try the milk.”

Suppressing a smile, Ammon put on an expression of keen attention.

Dogger squatted, placed the bucket beneath the cow, and by skillfully squeezing the teats caused streams of milk to strike forcefully against the resonant copper. Very soon the bucket contained a couple of inches of milk, all frothy from the spray. Dogger’s serious face, his motherly treatment of the cow, and the sight of a man doing the milking so convulsed Ammon that he could not restrain himself and began to roar with laughter. Dogger stopped milking, looked at him with amazement, and finally burst out laughing himself.

“I can tell you’re a city-dweller,” he said. “You don’t find it ridiculous when morbidly excited people jump about in front of each other and lift their feet in time to music. But healthy pursuits directly related to nature make you laugh.”

“Excuse me,” said Ammon, “I imagined myself in your place and… And I’ll always be ashamed of myself for this.”

“Forget it,” Dogger calmly rejoined, “it’s just nerves. Try some.”

He brought an earthenware mug from the depths of the barn and poured out some of the thick, almost hot milk for Ammon.

“Ah,” said Ammon when he had drunk it, “your cow has nothing to be ashamed of. I positively envy you. You’ve discovered life’s simple wisdom.”

“Yes,” Dogger nodded.

“Are you very happy?”

“Yes,” Dogger nodded.

“I couldn’t be wrong, could I?”

“No.”

Dogger unhurriedly took the empty mug from Ammon and unhurriedly took it back to its former place.

“It’s ridiculous,” he said when he returned, “it’s ridiculous to boast, but my life is truly filled with joyful peace.”

Ammon offered him his hand.

“I salute you with all my heart,” he uttered slowly, in order that he might detain Dogger’s hand a while longer. But Dogger, smiling ingenuously, likewise pressed Ammon’s hand and did so without a trace of impatience – even willingly.

“Now let’s go have lunch,” said Dogger, as he walked out of the shed.

“We’ll be able to look at the rest this evening, if you’re interested: the meadow, the kitchen-garden, the greenhouse, and the seedbeds.”

They returned along the same road. On the way Dogger said:

“Those who seek ugliness and disease in nature, rather than health and beauty, lose a great deal.”

No words could have been more appropriate than these amidst the sweetbriar and jasmine that lined the fragrant pathways, along which Ammon Root walked and observed Dogger out of the corner of his eye.