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- Herausgeber: Editora FAMPER
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
A family of twentieth-century nobles trying to survive in a medieval castle observed by the castle janitor. Just below the castle, an atomic plant changing the course of little Bergland forever. Schweinstein Castle is never what it seems to be. Schweinstein Castle is the third multimedia novel of journalist and author Claudia Grechi Steiner. Ms. Steiner was born and raised in Brazil, but has been living in Switzerland since 2003.
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Seitenzahl: 160
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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Schweinstein Castle
by Claudia Grechi Steiner
Table of Contents
Episode 1
Chapter 1
The castle. It is from the castle, closer yet to the sky than churches, that our discipline is governed. The world belongs to those who see it from above. Close to the ground are the animals and those who will never have the power. From above come the habits, the rules, the fear and guilt that inhibit us from doing evil. The biggest display of power in the western world for many centuries in a row, are the castles and their ability to protect and intimidate enemies, to enthrall and to deceive.
The castle is the ethic, mother taught us from early on. There are noblemen so that we know what is right and what is wrong. By their example we build our lives as if we were part of them, a fake mirror that deceives us and helps us to put up with the everyday roughness.
The noblemen are usually handsome, gentle and superior in their education and good manners. The civilizing nature struggles in that small piece of humanity. Some say it is because of money, the absence of heavy work and the years in diplomatic minutiae that make people like that. We believe that it is the will of God, although nowadays castles are nothing more than theme parks visited by the Japanese, and the noblemen are wearing jeans like everyone else.
Our castle—correction—their castle, is located at the top of a mountain and it has the small Bergland at its feet, a little town partially stuck in time. Though now with actually 20,000 inhabitants, in my childhood and teenage years there were only 7,000. It was and remains a largely quiet place, where houses downtown have posted on their facades the year they were built: 1358, 1360, 1380, 1445, and so on. A catholic church, far too big for the town, not only decorates the town, but reunites the people, proclaiming the time with the clappers of its bells.
To reach the castle there are two ways: a small road, now paved, that winds around the forest; or, a shortcut to walk through the forest, a steeper way up that requires a lot of breath and stamina. In the woods one should be careful with the maze of branches and fallen trunks that sometimes close the path, following the marked trail made with wood stumps painted orange and nailed to the forest floor. Mom used to say that anyone who got lost in the forest would never return, because since the 13th Century, their lived the castle protectors, a legion of scary imaginary beings that come up from fear. Nonsense, of course.
Past the forest, a path covered with uneven stones begins, big stones with a very slippery surface, capable of killing someone who slips and falls in the winter or on a rainy day. This path is also sloped up, steeper than the woods. The first gate is made of thick iron and, in spite of being old, is only a little rusted. Noble material, I would say. After that, a tunnel extends over a ditch for about 200 meters.
A new iron gate appears, wide and tall, throwing spears against the sky, making it clear to intruders that they are not welcome. Then one gets to the ample courtyard covered in pebbles, with a fountain in the middle, and marked by small independent gardens of small colorful flowers.
The castle is small to medium, four stories up, with two underground, in a region where there are many immense castles. There are nearly 50 known rooms, and more hidden. In the main room, the walls are covered with fine hand woven tapestry in hues of blue permeated with a thread of gold, and adorned with oil paintings of large dimensions. Two enormous crystal chandeliers hang from the very high ceiling.
Gold plated chairs upholstered with fabric similar to that on the walls are set in a row on one side. On the other side are windows with mosaics that filter and color the sunlight with images of glory and medieval battles. In this room, the ceiling is a world of knights and half-naked blond women, filling the whole space, held by high-relief golden borders.
Next is the also superlative red room, with tapestries, works of art, couches, chairs and crystal chandeliers.
Past these two main rooms, there comes an array of other rooms. Libraries, an art room, a huge kitchen, access to the wine cellar on the inferior first floor and a room-corridor almost as vast as the blue room, full of pointy iron weapons and medieval armor protected by thick glass.
Since the time when I first realized I was a person, I lived in the Schweinstein Castle, at the beginning of the 70´s, last century. Prior to that I didn´t even realize I was a being, believing I was nothing more than an exposed limb, a weird extension of my mother. I left, but returned many years later, after leaving in search of Franziska, the most beautiful woman in the world.
My parents were ubiquitous and invisible employees. Dad, a janitor, made it his business that the huge place—though in many areas falling to bits—functioned. He made all the repairs that didn´t require a restorer authorized by city hall. With the help of two gardeners, he took care of the maze of boxwood and madam rose bushes that only complained in spite of all the care they received, as well as all the other different plant compositions in the garden. He was a serious man, silent, and born with the face of an old man. He rarely spoke, and when he did he surprised me with some piece of knowledge that I never imagined he would possess.
Mom was a strong woman in every sense. Everything about her was as thick and heavy as her daily work. Her hair was always tied in a bun, she clipped her nails very short, and ironed our clothes until they became armor. She was the housekeeper. If the food made in the kitchen was bad, it was her fault. If the work done by the cleaning staff that rode the bus from the city every day wasn´t complete, it was also her fault. Outside of her purview was only the work of the ‘private assistants,’ three or four young women—always foreigners—charged with the more personal care of the family. A mix of nanny, nurse and maid.
When there was a party, and there were many, Dad and Mom got together with the planners that came from the USA and from European capitals for days of insane work that started before sunrise and finished well after the moon shone its light on the paths of the property.
Our house stood next to the right side of the castle, opposite the chapel. It was cold and dark with thick stone walls, worn by time.
Some moss here and there in the joints, and the old bibles with their leather covers and yellowed paper scented the environment with a smell reminiscent of a funeral… a permanent funeral. Three sleeping beds, a living room with a fireplace and, the center of the family life, a big solid wood table where we ate our meals without exchanging a single word. An old bathroom with a tub, and a kitchen blessed by a blond Jesus on the wall. Small windows with frosted glass shuffled the vision from inside or outside.
Today I realize how quiet we were. We led our lives in silence, so that the others, our bosses, could make noise. The only sound heard at home was the wood popping in the fireplace and the barely inaudible whispers that came from my sisters´ room.
“Do you find shhhhh handsome?”
“Of course not! And you?”
“Shhhh speak lower!”
This continued every night until the moment my dad interrupted them with a loud admonishment, “That´s enough!” Apart from that, we performed every task at home with our heads down, eyes lost, and we almost never talked to each other. During dinner, when we were all together, in what should have been the time to get to know each other, we repeated the pattern, keeping our stares on the plates of food and using our mouths only to the function of chewing the food. Afterwards, each one followed in their own world, my sisters the lucky exception because they had each other, each a reflection of the other, identical twins.
We were the flesh and bone ghosts of the castle, invisible and quiet, hovering around to make sure everything functioned as it should. I started to help my parents at work when I was seven years old. When I returned from school each day I had something to do. I spent every afternoon fixing, cleaning, spreading compost, and taking or bringing one thing or another from the gate.
I have always been an unusual boy. In appearance I was just like everybody else, of medium height, hazel hair, brown eyes, fair, brutish traits. But in essence I was completely different. My thoughts were always in faraway worlds creating plots at a crazy speed. It was just a matter of looking at something and from that something a universe appeared, full of places and characters that took over my thinking in an unusual way. A tree was much more than just a tree. It was a forest, which was a world where strange creatures staged a nonexistent presence filled with contradictory emotions that threw me and shook me in a spiral where fear, happiness, depression, euphoria and anguish alternated in rapid fire all in a matter of minutes. But I´ll talk about my life later. As I said, we were invisible as all poor people are, graceless nothings. Their lives are the ones worth talking about, the princes of Schweinstein, after all it is only because of them that we existed at all. That is what I thought at the time, though today I know very well that they existed because of us.
Chapter 2
Prince Karl August was a descendent of the noblest of the noble lineages of Europe. When the continent was all divided into principalities and kingdoms, the Schweinstein dominion included a piece of land capable of feeding the whole of Africa. The loss of the territory and power was gradual, but after the First World War, the domain of the Schweinsteins in the region crumbled. They lost land, goods, property and of course, the principality, as it was known until then before being annexed.
The oldest son of decaying nobility, Prince Karl August inherited the castle and the task left to all noblemen in the 20th Century, to convince the rabble that the nobility were still relevant and necessary. Enjoying life as all rich people do, the prince had been called to take over the castle when his father had fallen ill.
Karl August had spent part of his childhood and youth on the property, then most of his life in New York, London, Vienna and Zurich. When in the castle, he attended the public school in the village—people were in awe by the renunciation of the princes—and had private tuitions with teachers specializing in Art, History, Philosophy and Math.
Refined, very cultured, and possessing impeccable manners, he could also be wild. In his youth, he liked to party as well as sail and ride. He rode very well, straight back, nose up, clean and well ironed clothes, impeccable form. As a rider, he participated in almost all the important tournaments, even winning some medals and above all, having incredible parties. He had the glory of being twice champion in snow polo, with his team sponsored by a famous watch brand. He studied Economy at an English University and the History of Art in the United States. All a facade. History of Art was a mandatory subject among the rich as it elucidated a fictitious market, created and manipulated by and for them. All he knew about Economy was spending. There were parties, parties and more parties.
His effeminate manners had been worked on since early childhood by a private teacher who trained all little Karl August’s gestures. Walking should be straight and erect, no skipping for joy. Never to sit with crossed legs. Laughter must be discreet, never outrageous and always with a closed mouth. When surprised, Karl August should keep his feelings inside, and never express himself loudly. His parents were understanding, and all they asked from their son was to follow the rules when in public. At home he might falter, as long as it was in private and without witnesses.
When his teen years arrived, as the young are prone to rebel, Karl August too protested. Away from his parents and living the euphoria of the big cities, he allowed himself to be, not as he was in his daily routine, but someone closer to his real self. He lived years of joy moving from one city to another, having parties, travelling, celebrating the good life of the rich who live from revenues and only pretend to have an occupation in the work market, usually a fictitious position in the family company or in an art gallery.
He had to marry, have children and fulfill his role in society, just as his ancestors had been doing for almost 800 years. There came the first problem to be solved. Nearly 50 years old, the bachelor prince had yet to find a woman who accepted naturally his homosexuality.
An insoluble problem among the poor, the wealthy always find a solution. Karl August´s was solved at a party. As he shared a line of cocaine, he became reacquainted with Maria Theresia Gloria, a young woman almost as high in nobility as he was, and 25 years his junior. He had known her since she was 10 years old and he was 35. He was a frequent guest of Maria Theresia’s parents, a count and countess who loved parties. Despite the age difference, or perhaps because of it, the affinities were almost immediate. They both had a taste for the good life of partying, clothes, travelling, art and cocaine. She was not bothered by his sexual preferences, she found in the prince a good friend and companion, and sometimes she shared the bed with her husband and other men.
Maria Theresia, as well as the prince, had been raised between her parents’ rural property and the big cities, having been established in London most of her life. The daughter of a wealthy industrialist, she had been educated with care to become a lady of society. She learned at an early age, the value of philanthropy in people’s minds. Those who give to charity and help are good, end of discussion. She also learned good manners, though she sometimes didn’t apply them. She had studied art, as did Karl August, and was also in her own way, a rebel. In her case, this began at the beginning of her teen years. For a time, she declared herself a communist, but wouldn´t do without the legion of helpers who served her, and even less without the funds coming from her father that not only supported her, but allowed her a life loaded with facilities and an infrastructure unthinkable to the non-rich.
She used to say that she didn´t care about money and was at heart just a girl with simple habits, and that the evil of all society was in the inequality. When she was very tired, she would go camping, just her and her tent, on a beach isolated from the daily peddling, to reconnect with herself, away from the social hypocrisy. For that, she used her father´s small private jet, as the beach was in the Caribbean. When she was 16, against her family’s will, she went to India. She stayed for 6 months, going round the country as part of a shady guru´s entourage, who she supported with her generous allowance. She returned, forced by her mother, who not only threatened her as well as blocked any further remittance.
Years later, when her father was involved in a financial scandal and the outpouring of money abruptly stopped; Maria Theresia’s red alarm rang.
The wedding was pompous as a prince´s should be. At home, Mom had stored in a closet all of the magazines documenting the local event of the century. The ceremony was here, in the castle church, and people from all around the world attended. Karl August waited for Maria Theresia at the altar, as a well-respected man should do. She crossed the path under a magnificent choir, arm in arm with her bankrupt father, wearing a frothy dress, with a veil covering her face that trailed far behind, sweeping the floor all the way to the end of the church.
They were married and after a little while my love was born, Franziska, the most beautiful of all creatures in the world. Some years later, Joachim also came along and so the first clause of the contract had been fulfilled by both parties, leaving them fairly free to lead their own lives.
It was about this time that my family had come to live by the castle. My grandfather had already worked there and now it was time for my father to serve the glory. We left the city and went up the hill carrying everything we had… just us. As we worked to keep order and tidiness in the castle, the princes promoted their personal disorder around the world. Karl August went to live in the apartment in New York where he had already lived before and had a great friend. In my mother''s magazines, the prince is always shown in pictures at parties, constantly smiling, almost always with his best American friend, a famous fashion designer. From New York, he brought a neon sign, a reproduction made to order from his favorite club. ‘Studio 54’ was always set at the entrance of the blue room when they had parties.
The princess officially shared the apartment in New York, but really lived in London, in her old house, with the small children. It was in Chelsea where she grew up, and where through a friend, she met a group of young people that was always attacking the British government, intending to revolutionize the world with attitudes next to anarchism.
