a small epistolary · between the keeper and m. — , at sea
the correspondence
five letters from the archive, transcribed faithfully. follow the underlined rooms — they are the things the letters describe.
labyrinth · the keeper's officeletter i · 14 march 1957
from the keeper · to m. — , poste restante, lisbon
Dear m., — your letter arrived on tuesday and i have read it twice. you ask after the great bell: it was rung at noon yesterday, eleven times in error, and the bell-ringer said only that the rope had been damp.
The labyrinth is well. there has been a small phantom in the south corridor for two days. nothing unusual. i closed the window in the music room before the storm, and the storm did not arrive. the closing of the window may have been sufficient.
i have begun to keep the log a little more carefully, since your asking. page 411 yesterday, page 412 today. you will find them legible.
Please come back when you are able. the tearoom needs you more than it admits.
yours,
— the keeper
k
lisbon · café a brasileiraletter ii · 9 april 1957
from m. — · to the keeper, labyrinth, p.r.
Dear k., — the boat to oporto leaves on monday and i am not on it. the sea here is grey and bright at once, which i had not expected. i think of the parlour often, especially the corner that smells of wax after a rain.
tell the bell-ringer i am not angry about the eleven peals. eleven is, anyway, a noemic number — not a multiple of three, not a midnight, not a quarter. some good will come of it.
there is a small shop here that sells, of all things, wooden clothes-pegs, by the dozen, for a few escudos. i bought a dozen, and have not yet thought what for. perhaps a model of something. perhaps nothing.
i should not stay much longer. the kettle hisses at me from a great distance.
m. —
poste restante, oporto, by monday
m
labyrinth · early morningletter iii · 22 august 1959
from the keeper · to m. — , poste restante, hamburg
Dear m., — i have not heard from you in twelve weeks. i am not writing to chastise you; only to say that the typewriter museum in sallenmark has finally been catalogued and the keeper there — a w. lothner — sends his regards via the postmaster's daughter.
the apiary lost two queens this summer. the hive has, however, taken to producing a darker honey, the colour of wet stone, which the household considers an improvement.
my own news: i have read your old essays in dim light for the third time and i no longer agree with you about the third essay. i will tell you in person, when there is a person.
yours, as ever,
— k.
k
hamburg · st. pauli, very earlyletter iv · 7 september 1959
from m. — · to the keeper, labyrinth
k., — your letter caught up with me at the post office on saturday. i had been gone a week, returning only for a passport stamp. i am now sitting in a small bright room above a stationery shop. there is a single new pencil on the table and i am about to use it for nothing.
about the essays — write everything, do not be tactful. i will read what you say at midnight, with one of those small dark drinks i cannot get here.
there is a bell, in the hanseatic style, ringing somewhere over the dock. i cannot see it. i would like to see it. perhaps you would write me a postcard with a drawing of it, even if you have not seen it either. an imagined drawing of a not-seen bell would, on the whole, be very kind.
m.
letters to oslo from now
m
labyrinth · the keeper's officeletter v · (undated, c. 1962)
from the keeper · to m. — , last known address: oslo
m., — your letters have stopped, and the post-office has begun to return mine. i am writing this one knowing it will not reach you. i am writing it nonetheless.
the labyrinth has acquired three more wings since we last spoke. the garment cupboard has been opened. the small railway has been mapped from marin to terminus. someone is making, in the south room, a small clock that is interested only in irregular moments.
none of this is what i meant to write. i meant to say that the great bell rang at noon today and i thought of you, with the same kind of small absentness one thinks of a window left open in another room.
when you read this — and i continue to believe you will, in some unread form — please tell me where you are.
yours,
— the keeper
this letter unsent. filed.
k
filed under: letters · archive · unsent letters · the keeper · codex · article iv.
these letters are imagined. all addresses are imagined. the bell is real.