©2017 arnoldsche Art Publishers, Stuttgart, David Bielander, Munich, and the authors and translators. ISBN 978-3-89790-487-3.
Translation into English can be found in the enclosed booklet.
Quatemberkinder, by Tim Krohn
… Then again she waited for Melk and walked on with him, as though everything were as before and not a hair different, and told him the thing about the mountain goat she’d seen on the Spitzalpelistock. Mid-speech, however, she suddenly stood still and lifted her skirt the way she used to, and peed onto the middle, right onto the middle, of the beautiful white glacier – and what she peed was a small, glowing flower!
After that, she looked a little abashedly at Melk, who had no idea what he was meant to say now and preferred to look at the small flower, which after all was a little darling with a fine stalk and two little leaves on the side and a head that seemed about to blossom. And while Melk was just standing there biting his lip and stunned into silence, Vreneli finally asked straight out what he was thinking about now, that flower was art you know, she said, and that was the reason she’d brought him up here.
‘That’s art?’ asked Melk, completely astonished. ‘Well, I can pee a flower too!’ and gave more thought to Vreneli’s crevice than to the small flower and regretted not really having paid attention to it in his fright.
‘Yes, but it’s not rocket science for a boy’, said Vreneli, a little deflated now, ‘you’ve got a willy!’ But even he with his willy must prove that he can make such a lovely flower as she.
But Melk didn’t really want to prove it, and asked, ‘Would you prefer me to yodel for you? I’ve still never sung you my Chuäreiher, you know.’
Vreneli wanted to see a flower from Melk now though, otherwise she wouldn’t show him what else she could do. And when she promised to pee another flower onto the glacier at the same time as Melk, Melk finally started undoing his trousers but got muddled because he was excited – and once he’d finally got his trousers open, the only thing he found inside was something much too hard for peeing with, and there was Vreneli, already well into her second little flower and proudly showing off a rose-red crevice to him. And that made Melk pull his trousers right up into his armpits with embarrassment and run up the snowy slope, and then in his bewilderment and blindness he stumbled and rolled halfway down the glacier – and then suddenly Vreneli was lying on him and tearing all his clothes off and turning Melk on his back and admiring, with a fiery-red face, Melk’s prick and little bells and beginning to touch him. And before Melk had to close his eyes to stop it from exploding from deep inside him, he had time to notice that not only had she become a fiery-red Vreneli, but that the whole glacier was burning and stretching and heaving and wildly yet shyly sighing out of all its crevasses.