Die griechische Tänzerin, und andere Novellen

A group of early‑twentieth‑century sketches gathers around an Alpine tavern where a blind Italian minstrel, Geronimo, and his steady brother Carlo make their living. The cramped, wind‑swept courtyard becomes a stage for strangers—families, lovers, weary travelers—who pause for wine, a song, or a spare coin. Through Geronimo’s unsteady guitar and raw, sometimes shrill voice, the story captures the clatter of wagons, the sudden cold rain, and the uneasy rhythm of a place that is both a refuge and a crossroads.

The narrative moves within Geronimo’s heightened senses, letting listeners hear the whispered exchanges of a young couple, the nervous curiosity of a child, and the lingering echo of a long‑ago tragedy that still haunts him. As memories of a fatal accident surface, the novella hints at how past wounds shape his perception of the present, offering a poignant look at fragility, companionship, and the quiet resilience found in fleeting human contact.