When the next house on our route yielded the same result, Jürgen made us pause so he could check in with the other groups. From the Hofthalers’ warm kitchen, he called their leaders Paula and Friedl on their mobiles while the rest of us warmed our hands on hot mugs of coffee our hosts had very kindly made for us. With incredulity, we listened to Jürgen’s more and more agitated responses as both Paula and Friedl told him they’d had the exact same experience: each house on their route had already been visited by a group from the Rottberg Musikverein. There was only a single case in which the Rottbergers hadn’t managed to get a donation, which had been due to the house’s occupant being too hungover to make it to the door in time for the first round. A couple more families had very generously forked out a second time when it became apparent that the Rottbergers were on a rogue fundraiser of their own and not, as they were clearly making people believe, singing in collaboration with Felddorf. After over an hour of house visits, the total raised by all three of our groups was fifty euros. Considering that the year before, the Musikverein had made over 1,700, it wasn’t surprising that this result set a vein in Jürgen’s forehead throbbing.
“Well, this is a downright disaster,” Verena said. “What do you want to do? Shall we give up for today?”
Jürgen’s scowl was so deep now his brows were almost covering his eyes. “No way,” he said grimly. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do: we’ll go to the most remote houses, right now. With any luck, the damn Rottbergers won’t have got there yet. And then, after the holidays, I’m getting in touch with both mayors, and they’ll have to help us sort this shit out. The Rottbergers stole our donations, and they need to give them back.”
There were shouts of “Right on!” and “We’ll show them!” as determined fists were banged on the table.
One of the other trumpets clapped me on the shoulder sympathetically: “I bet this wasn’t how you imagined your first fundraiser, Walter, huh?”
We power-marched out to the Eckers’ old farm, the one with the dried sunflowers out front just beyond the sign marking the village limit, which was really meant to have been at the end of our route. By the time we got to the door, we had to take a moment to catch our breath before the wind instruments were ready to launch into “Woodcutter Boys.” For once, everything went according to plan: Frau Ecker came out to energetically conduct along with our playing, and when we had finished the New Year’s song, she rewarded us with a donation of twenty euros.
We traced our route back in the opposite direction, and for the next three houses, everything went smoothly. We were walking back along the river, about to pass the Hügellandstüberl inn, when Susanne, our drummer, suddenly pointed ahead of us, calling, “Look!”
Heading towards us we could see a group of a dozen-odd people dressed in winter clothes, all of whom were carrying musical instruments. I didn’t recognize any of them – except for the tall man walking right at the front, whose picture had been in an article on the various regional Christmas concerts in the Felddorfer Pfarrblatt recently. It was Hubertus Wiesegger, Kapellmeister of the Rottberg Musikverein, tuba strapped to his front and grinning broadly.
“Shit a brick,” Susanne mumbled.
Unsure about what we should do, we stopped.
The Rottbergers stopped, too.
For a moment, no one moved as we sized each other up, the silence so dense you could have heard a guitar pick fall. Jürgen cleared his throat and pulled the brim of his Steirerhut lower on his forehead. Then a couple of ducks came waddling up from the riverbank, quacking inquisitively.
As if this had been his cue, Hubertus started towards us, seemingly unfazed, hand raised in greeting. “Morning!” he called.
This much impertinence proved too much for Jürgen. Pointing a stabbing forefinger at Hubertus, he stomped ahead with a furious shout of “You!”, as if it was the worst insult he could think of just then.
Hubertus raised a second hand in a gently mocking defensive gesture. “Hey now! No need for aggression! Come on, we’ll go back to the Hügellandstüberl and I’ll buy you a beer, and we can—”
That was as far as he got. A deep booming sound like a ship horn filled the air, drowning out Hubertus’s voice completely, sending a buzzing through my entire body. For a split second I felt thoroughly disorientated; then I noticed that Jürgen had raised his tuba to his face, and that this was indeed where the terrible sound was originating.
(…to be continued…)
Transadaptation Volume 7 – Via Ellipsis – Continuation of Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted
January: An Unexpected Trip Down Memory Lane – Sarah-Leah Pimentel (South Africa)
February: Blow-up – Veronika Groke (Austria)
March: Futuros Murguistas – Alejandra Baccino (Uruguay)
April: The Nomenclature Man – Paulius Limantas (Lithuania)
May: Amanecerá y veremos – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)
June: Finding Light in Yerevan – Armine Asryan (Armenia)
July: The Last Judgement – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)
August: Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Worm? – Narantsogt (Natso) Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)
September: Second Steps – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)
October: New Normality – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)
November: Pandemic Love – Li Xiakun (China)
December: Beyond Comprehension – Rahaf Konbaz (Syria)
Background – Context
Transadaptation Volume 6: Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2025)
Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)
Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)
Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)
Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)
Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)
Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)
L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)
From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)
Emblems and stories on the international community
Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world
Credits
Top left to top right: 1. Hallstaat, Austria – After snowfall – Dahee Son (Unsplash); 2. Nassereith, Austria – In the valley – Robin Dessens (Shutterstock)
Bottom left to bottom right: 1. Austria – An Alp village – pymata (Shutterstock); 2. Salzkammergut, Austria – In the village – Canadastock (Shutterstock)
Inner group (top left to top right): 1. Hittisau, Austria – On the periphery – Ulrich Knoll (Unsplash); 2. Austria – The village – Sven D (Unsplash)
Inner group (bottom left to bottom right): 1. Hallstatt, Austria – The mountain homes – Radek Kozak (Unsplash); 2. Brixen im Thale, Austria – The valley villages – Stephan Seeber (Unsplash)