BLACKBIRD by Matthias Brandt Sample Translation by Ruth Martin Novel 276 pages Publication date: August 2019 World rights with Kiepenheuer & Witsch GmbH & Co. KG Iris Brandt ([email protected]) Aleksandra Erakovic ([email protected])
BLACKBIRD
by Matthias Brandt
Sample Translation by Ruth Martin
Novel 276 pages
Publication date: August 2019
World rights with Kiepenheuer & Witsch GmbH & Co. KG Iris Brandt ([email protected])
Aleksandra Erakovic ([email protected])
2
ONE
–MidAugust–
Whywasn’tanyoneansweringthephone?
Thebasswaspumpinguphereinmyroom,butIcould
stillheartheconstantringingfromdownstairs.Arustlingand
cracklingcamefrombeneaththecrackedredpatentleatherI
wasloungingon.Therewasalittleholeintheleft‐handseam,
andwheneverIfloppeddownontothebeanbag,afewofthe
littleStyrofoamballsitwasfilledwithwouldshootout.I
moistenedmyfingerwithspit,collectedupafewofthelittle
ballsandflickedthem.Thethirdone(finally!)stucktothe
ceiling.
Aftertheeleventhring,Ijumpedupafterall:itmightbe
Bogicalling.Irandownthestairsand,althoughthephonein
thehallwascloser,wenttotheoneinthelivingroom.Orat
least,whathadbeenourlivingroomuntilrecently.
Itwasnowjustfullofhalf‐packedcardboardboxes.My
fatherandhisnewgirlfriendweremovingtosomelittle
backwaterIwouldn’twanttobeseendeadin.Itwasn’tquite
thearse‐endofnowhere,butyoudefinitelyseethearse‐end
fromthere.“Mypartner,”he’dsaid,alittlesheepishly,aswe
stoodfacingeachotherinhisroom,andallIcouldthinkwas
thatIwouldn’tusethatwordforsomeoneIwasinlovewith.
NotthatIhadanybettersuggestions.AndwhywouldI?Iwas
fifteenandnotinlovewithanyone.Atleast,notthewaymy
fatherwasinlovewiththisClaudia.
3
MymotherandIdidn’tknowwhereweweregoingto
liveyet.
OnthewaytothephoneIpassedthehalf‐baldcockatiel.
“Poo‐face,”Ihissedathim,hopingthateventuallyhe’drepeatit.
Ratherthanjuststaringatmeandrippinghisfeathersout.
Ipickedupthereceiverwithoutsayinganything.
Ineverdid.Afterall,thecallerhadphonedournumber,
sohewastheonewhoneededtoexplainwhohewasandwhat
hewanted.
“Er…Schnellstieg.”
“What?”
“Schnellstieg.MrSchumacher?”saidthecaller.
“Nope,thisisMorten.”
“Oh,Isee.Morten.Hello.Thisis…Dieter.”
“What?”
“MrSchnellstieg.DieterSchnellstieg.Manfred’sfather.
Bogi.”
“Oh,right,yes.Hello.”
“Yes,helloMotte.”
“Hello.”
Ithadtakenalittlewhileformetograspthesituation.
Himtoo.
Bogi’sfatherhadcalledme.
I’dneverspokentohimonthephonebefore.
WheneverIphonedBogi,eitherhewouldbewaitingformycall
andpickuphimself,oritwashisgormlesssisterAnette,orhis
mother.Butneverhisfather.
4
BogiwasmybestfriendandhisrealnamewasManfred
Schnellstieg.Butnooneexceptteachersactuallycalledhim
that.Ormaybehisparents,sometimes.
BogihadbeencalledBogieversincethatbreaktimetime
afewyearsagowhenUdoMönchaskedusifwe’dseenthefilm
lastnightwithManfredBogart.
“Eh?”
“Youknow,thatfilm!”saidUdo.“Whatwasitcalled
again?Cassaplanka!WithManfredBogart!”
Wepissedourselveslaughing,andthatabsolutemoron
UdoMönchstormedoffinahuff.“Areyoutakingthemick?
Whatkindofnameisthat–Hampfree?”heroaredatusashe
left.
Andafterthat,everyonecalledManfredSchnellstieg
Bogi.Anditwasn’tliketherewasanotherManfredinour
school.Hehadhisparentstothankforthat,forgivinghimsuch
agreatname.Seriously,people.Manfred.Really?
Byrights,UdoMönchshouldhavebeengivena
nicknameafterthatlittleepisodeaswell.Andnotaniceone
likeBogi;somethinglikedumbbellorspacecadet.Buttheguy
wassostupidwecouldn’tcomeupwithanythingforhim,not
eventhat.
WhatdidBogi’sfatherwantwithme?Werewein
trouble?HadhefoundtheAmselfelderthatBogihadhiddenin
thegarden?Ourtournamenttripwasscheduledforthat
weekend,andafewdayspreviouslywe’dboughttwobottlesof
redwineinKaiserstotakewithus.Theydidn’taskforIDinthe
supermarket,eventhoughtheyknewus,andknewthatwe
5
weretooyoungtobuyit.Amselfelder,aYugoslavianwine,was
thesecondcheapesttheyhad.Buttheevencheaperwinewas
madeofblackberries,andsomeonehadtoldBogiitgaveyou
theshits,sowedecidedtosteerclearofthatone.
“Wonderfullydigestible”,thelabelontheAmselfelder
bottlesaid,“pressedwithoutstalksandstems”.IfIwashonest,
Icouldn’timaginewhatwasmeantbydigestible.Itsounded
likeitwasforoldpeople.Also:winemadefromstalks?!
“Digestible”probablyjustmeantthatyou’donlythrowuplater,
ratherthanrightaway.
“ThatBlackbird‐fielderhasarealkicktoit.”RecentlyBogihad
startedtranslatingeverythingintoEnglish,andI’dthought:
alright,Bogi,andhowcomeyouknowthat,ifwe’regoingtobe
tryingitforthefirsttimeonthetrip?
WhileMrSchnellstiegandIwerespeaking,Iimagined
himstandingathome,bytheoldphoneinthehallway.Twisting
backandforthinhisbeigecorduroyslipperswithsolesthe
pinkishcolourofgums.Icouldprovethegumthingbecause
BogiandIoncetookoneofhisfather’sslippersintothe
bathroomattheirhousetocompareitwithhisdead
grandmother’sfalseteeth,whichwerestillsittinginthere.One
minuteIhadaclearimageofBogi’sfatherinmymind’seye,
andthenitwouldgrowhazyagain.Likewhenyoulooked
throughthefrostedglassintheswingdoorsatthe
Schnellstiegs’housethatseparatedtheporchinsidethefront
doorfromthehallway.Whenyoufirstcameintothehouse,for
amomentitwaslikeeveryoneontheothersideofthosedoors
wasaghost,notarealperson,orasiftheywereshroudedin
6
mist.Itwasonlyonceyouhadgoneinthroughthosedoorsthat
theygainedaclearshape,andyoucouldtellthemapart.
“Isthereaproblemwiththefootballtrip?”Iasked.
“No.Now,listenaminute.I’mafraidManfred–er,Bogi–
hashadtogointohospital.Hewon’tbeabletogo.”
EventheSchnellstiegscalledtheirsonBoginow.
Howcomehewasinhospital?He’dbeenatschoolthe
daybefore.“Seeyoutomorrow,”we’dsaidtoeachother.And
nowitwasSaturday;weweresupposedtobegoingtothe
footballtournamentthatafternoon.Ididn’tunderstandwhat
wasgoingon.
“Areyoustillthere?”MrSchnellstiegaskedme.
“Yes.”
“Yes.They’ve,er,foundsomethingandtheyneedtorun
sometests.Because,ifit…Well,that’swhyhe’sinthehospital.
StJoseph’s.”
“Oh,Isee.StJoseph’s,”Irepeated,asifIwassomekind
ofexpertonhospitals.
“Ahem,”Bogi’sfatherclearedhisthroat.“Petra!Canyou
comehereaminute?”hecalledout.“I’llpassyouoverto
Manfred’smother,alright?”
“Hello,Motte?”NowBogi’smumwasontheline.Iletout
asob.Oh,great,thishadsettheblubberingoffagain.Itkept
happeningtomerecently,thoughIhadnoideawhy.Justlike
that,pressedwithoutstalksorstems.
“Oh,listen,Motte,there’sreallynoneedtocry.Manfred
wasatthedoctor’syesterdayafternoonforhisvaccination.And
7
theyfoundsomethingthattheythoughtthehospitalshould
takealookat.Butit’sprobablynothing.”
Isniffedloudlyandsaidnothing.NordidMrs
Schnellstieg.Webothjustbreathedintothereceiverfora
while.Bogi’sgranddadhadoncetoldusthattheNaziswanted
peopletousegoodGermanwordsandsay“long‐distance‐
speaker”ratherthantelephone.Andtocallthereceivera
handset.Theyhadissues.
ThensuddenlyBogi’smumwascryingtoo,althoughjust
fivesecondsbeforeshehadbeentellingmetherewasnothing
tocryabout.Shewascryingveryquietly,butInoticed.When
someonedoesn’twantotherpeopletoknowthey’recrying,the
sniffingisthefirstthingyouhear.
Whatnow?Wewerebothweeping,andIstilldidn’t
reallyknowwhy.Thedoctorswantedtotakealookathim,
she’dsaid.Aha.EventuallyIjusthungup.
Iwentbackupstairstomyroom.Everythinghasjust
changed,Ithoughttomyself.No,IhavenoideawhatIwas
actuallythinking.Imightjusthavewonderedwhetheryou
couldstillseetheimpressionofmybumonthebeanbag.
BeforeIclosedthedoor,Ipausedforamoment;I’d
heardsomethingbehindme.“Coco!”
Thecockatiel.Whatanidiot.Getknotted,Coco.
8
TWO
–MidSeptember–
Itookthenumberseventeentothestation,thenchangedonto
thefour,gotoffatthemuseum,andfromthereitwasonlya
five‐minutewalktothehospital.
Forafewdaysalreadyyoucouldtellitwasstartingto
getdarkearlieragain.Itwasaweekuntilmysixteenth
birthday,andthreemonthsuntilChristmas.
I’darrangedthevisitwithBogi’smum.Theotherswere
goingtocomelater,tosayhellotoBogi.OthersmeaningWalki
–DetlefWalkenhorst–andJanBorowka.Butwecouldn’tstay
toolong,MrsSchnellstieghadsaid,becausethetreatment
meantthatBogigottiredveryquickly.
Itwasweird.Bogi,withwhomI’dspentalmosteveryday
foryears,haddisappearedfromoneminutetothenext.I
couldn’tactuallyrememberhowwe’dbecomefriends.Oneday
hewasjustthere,inmylife,andIwasthereinhis,andfrom
thenonneitheroneofuseverquestionedit.Andnowallofa
suddenIcouldn’ttalktohim,andallIgotweretheseweird
messagesfromhismother.ThathewasverypleasedtohearI
hadsentmyregards,thatkindofthing.Sobizarre.
Thelasttimewe’dspoken,beforehewenttohospital,it
hadbeenabout…okay,fine,weweretalkingaboutfarting.
9
Aboutlightingfarts,tobeprecise.Bogiknewafairbitaboutthe
subject,inallseriousness.
Forinstance,heknewthatmethanefartsburnedwell,
butcarbondioxidefarts,thekindyougetfromdrinkingtoo
muchCoke,didn’t.
Thingslikethat.Wedidn’tknowitwouldbeourlast
properconversationforalongtime.Ifwehad,thenobviously
we’dhavechosenadifferenttopic.Pythagoras’theorem.The
hypotenuse,thecatheti.Godknows.Butwedidn’t.Inanycase,
Bogihadjustreadsomewherethatyoushouldneverlightyour
farts,becausetheremightbeabackdraft,andthenyou’d
explodeorsomething.He’ddoneitafewtimes–thelighting,
nottheexploding–andnowhe’dretrospectivelyscared
himself.Ontheotherhand,hewasinhospitalnowanyway,I
thought.Astupidthought,butyoucan’thelpthethingsthatgo
throughyourmind.
Anyway,itwasoneofBogi’shobbies.I’mnotmakingthis
up.Helikedtalkingaboutit,andhediditoften.Farting,Imean,
nottalking.Well,talkingtoo,butnotasmuchasheliked
farting.
Okay,that’senoughofthatnow.
IhadtocrossKaiserallee,whichwasn’taneasymatter,
becauseIdidn’twanttotraipseallthewayuptothepedestrian
lights.Everyonedroveliketheclappersdownhere.Thespeed
madepeoplecrazy.Theybombedthroughthecityat100kman
hourandthoughtthatmadethemthegreatest.
Andtheythoughtthatevenif–Idon’tknow–theywere
thecaretakerattheBrahmsschool,forinstance,likeMrSchaff.
10
Andhedefinitelywasn’tthegreatest,Icouldprovethat.Mr
Schaffhadrecentlyboughtaleatherbeltwithawidebuckle
thatsaid“Chef!”onit.Now,thinkaboutthat:youactuallyhave
togointotheshop,seethebeltandthink,wow,greatbelt,and
thengotothesalesgirlandsay:thisistheexactbeltIwant,
thisonewiththeinsanebuckle.ThisisthebuckleIlikebestout
ofthe,Idon’tknow,hundredandsevenothersintheshop.
MuchbetterthantheonesthatsayWarorPeaceorwhatever
else.But–andlistentothis–Schaffthenwentstraightdownto
hisbasementworkshopandtookhissolderingironorhis
welder,orwhateveritisyouuseforthesethings,andmadea
bigStogoinfrontoftheChef,andthenturnedtheexclamation
markintoasecondf,whichwasonlypartlysuccessful.Sothat
now,ifyoutriedhardenough,youcouldreaditas“SCheff”.Not
even“SChaff”.Thewholethingwaskindofdepressing.Itjust
meantpeoplestaredathisgroin,tryingtofigureoutwhatwas
writtenthere.
But–importantquestion–whyonearthdidIfindthis
embarrassing?Couldanyoneexplainthattome?Schaffhimself
obviouslywasn’tembarrassedbyit;hestrodeproudlyalong
thecorridorsatBrahms,hipsfirst.
Theansweristhatidiotshaveneverfoundanything
embarrassing.Schlagersingersdon’t,either,whilewe’reonthe
subject.YoucouldonlybecomeaSchlagersingerifyouweren’t
embarrassedbyanything.There’snowayyoucoulddoit
otherwise.LikethedorkswhowentonthatcheesyDieter
ThomasHeckshow,singingfolk‐popnonsenseinfrontofall
thosepeople.Although,ontheotherhand,itwasalsofunny.
11
Or,Ithought,DietmarRosinfromthetopyear,for
instance,whogotatattooonaschooltriptoLondon,buthad
gotdrunkwiththetattooistbeforehand.Andnowhehad“Led
Zelepin”onhisrightbicep.Itwasnosurprisethathewasstill
tryingtopasshisfinalyearattheageof21.Walkisaid,
incidentally,thatRosinwasalreadystartingtogobald.Andhe
wasstillatschool!Seriously.
Anyway,theschoolcaretakerKarl‐HeinzSchaffmightbe
bombingalonghererightnowinhismouldyFordTaunus,
whileIwastryingtogettotheothersideofKaiserallee.
Andanotherthing:justbeforetheholidays,whenSchaff
andhisnewbeltwerethehottopicforus,ourbiologyteacher
MrsStrobelhadshownusafilmaboutcattlefarminginoneof
herlessons.
“ThebeltedGallowayhasunusuallycoarsehairandcan
weighover1000kg,”thefilm’snarratorsaid.Astheprojector
rattled,MrsStrobelwasconcentratingonhermacraméor
whateverthatstuffiscalled.She’dseenthefilmabouta
hundredandthirty‐fourtimesalready.
Andattheexactmomentthenarratorsaidthosewords,
Schaffactuallyappearedinpersonoutsidethewindow,raking
upbigpilesofleavesthatWalki,JanandI,andtheothers,
wouldkickoveroncehe’dgone,spreadingtheleavesbackout
towhereSchaffhadrakedthemupfrom.
Thatwaslongbeforehegothismentalleaf‐blower.
Anyway,wefellaboutlaughinginthisstupidbiologylesson,
andMrsStrobelcouldn’tunderstandwhatwassofunnyabout
thefilm.
12
Whythiscrapcameintomyheadjustthen,whenIwas
tryingtocrosstheroad,isamystery.Itwasamessinthere.I
wasprobablyjustabitworkedupbecauseIwasabouttosee
Bogiforthefirsttimesincehe’dbeenadmittedtohospital,and
Iwastryingtodistractmyself.
Intheend,Ididsomehowmanagetogetacross
Kaiserallee.Therewasalongred‐brickwallseparatingthe
hospitalgroundsfromtheroad.Afterawhile,therewasagate
ontheright.
Ilookedatthemaninthegatehouseandwaitedincase
hewasgoingtoaskmeanything.ToseemyIDorsomething,I
hadnoideahowitallworked.
Butthemanjustnoddedandsaidnothing.
Hisilluminatedboxlookedlikeanaquarium.Mr
Gallenkamp,ourphysicsteacher,hadonethathewasalways
tellingusabout,withornamentalguppiesinit.
Hesaid:“gubbies”.
Wealwaysaskedhimaboutthem,becauseaslongashe
wastalkingabouthisfish,hewasn’tteachingus.
IgotaBinphysicsforclassparticipation–although,
God’shonesttruth,Ididn’tunderstandanyofthatshit.Itwas
purelybecauseIkeptaskingafterMrGallenkamp’sgubbies.
Iwalkeduptothehospital’smainentrance.Thebuilding
waslargeandold,madeofthesameweather‐beatenbrickas
theboundarywall.
Thelightswerealreadyoninmanyofthewindows,
althoughitwasstillonlyfouro’clockintheafternoon.They
13
probablylefttheneontubesondayandnight,sothatnoone
wouldforgettheywereillforasinglesecond.
Therewasanambulanceparkedoutsidetheentrance,
andsomeonewasbeingtakenoutofitonastretcher.
Ididn’tlooktooclosely,notwantingtoseeblood.Four
metallegswithlittlewheelsatthebottomunfoldedfromthe
stretcherwithaloudclank.Icouldn’timagineitwasagreat
experienceforthepersonlyingonit.
Oneoftheparamedicswaswearingahairnet;hehadto
beaconscientiousobjectoronnationalservice–aslacker,as
Kragler,ourPEteacher,wouldhavesaid.
FirstandsecondlessonsonaWednesdaywerealways
doublePE.WithOberstudienratHorstKragler.“Rightthen,my
friends:physicaljerks!”hewouldroar,andthenwe’dhaveto
lineupanddoallthismilitaryshit.Jumpoverobstacles,crawl
underneathotherones.Climbropes,thewholeworks.
“Hup,hup,hup,men,don’ttellmeyou’retired!”Thenwe
hadtothrowthelittleleatherballsasiftheywerehand
grenades.Kraglerdidn’tsaythat,butthat’showweunderstood
it.
Ifhethoughtyouweretooslow,Kraglergotouthislittle
rednotebookandscribbledsomethinginit.
“Schumacher:unfitforclosecombat,”orwhatever.AndI
didn’tcare,either,tobehonest.
MichaelHabeloncejustaboutmadeittothetopofthe
rope.Hewas–withoutbeatingaboutthebush–quitefat.And
itwasn’tagoodideatomakehimclimbupthere,althoughhe
didhisbest,ofcourse.Anyway,whenhegottothetophehad
14
nostrengthleft,andsliddownfromaheightoffourorfive
metres,rippingalltheskinoffhishandsintheprocess.Helay
atthebottomscreaminglikeastuckpig,youcouldseetheraw
fleshonbothhispalms,thefloorwascoveredinblood,and
theyhadtocallanambulance.MichaelHabelhadalsobroken
hisleg;thepatheticcrash‐mathadbeennouseatall.Thebone
wasstickingoutofhisshin,allyellow,nowordofalie.Eventhe
paramedics’eyespoppedoutwhentheysawHabellyingonthe
floorlikethat.Kraglerstoodthereactingasifhecouldn’t
explainhowithadhappened.
AfewweekslaterMichaelHabelwasbackinlessons,
thoughstillwithbandagedhandsandhisleginplaster,looking
evenmoreofadorkthanhehadbefore.Ifheeversaid
anything,itwasonlytotellyouhowmanyplatesandpinshe
nowhadinhisleg.Butwehadnodesiretoknowthedetails.
Someonealwayshadtogowithhimtothetoiletsandtakehis
trousersdown.Seriously.I’dratherhavejumpedoutthe
window.
Foronce,Kraglerhadprobablygotintotroubleoverit,
andwasquiterestrainedforawhileafterwards,thoughhe
startedmutteringinaudiblethingstohimselfevenmorethan
heusedto.
Wehadhimforgeographyaswell,incidentally.Imade
sureIwasonmapdutywithBogiasoftenaspossible,sothat
weatleastmissedafewminutesatthestartofthelesson.
Healwaysgreeteduswith:“Agoodsoldierisalwaysfive
minutesearly,Schumacher.”
15
“Sorry,MrKragler,therewasjustsomuchmessinthe
maproom,”Isaidbeforeweclipped“TheGermanReich:
Bordersasof1938”tothestandsandunrolledthem.Kragler
wasdesperatetogobacktoSilesia,ifIunderstooditcorrectly.
OrhewantedSilesiatocometohim.Ortous,Idon’tknow.
KraglerwantedtogetSilesiaback,withourhelp.Because
Silesiawasprobablyagreatthing.Honestly,Ididn’tevenknow
whereitwas.
ForKragler,Silesiawaswhattheornamentalgubbies
weretoMrGallenkamp.DidKraglerimaginethatallour
daydreaminginclasswasbecausewemissedSilesiasomuch?
Nomatter,Icertainlyhadnodesiretogothere.Andthe
likelihoodofSilesiacomingtomewasalsoprettyslim.And
evenifSilesiaweretoarrivehereatsomepoint,I’dbelong
gone;IwantedtodisappearofftoBerlinassoonasIcould.
Becauseofbloodymilitaryserviceandeverything.
Theyheldyourballsduringthearmymedicalexam.
Honestly.Ludger,DetlefWalkenhorst’solderbrother,hadtold
usthat.Thedoctorhadtoldhimtopullhispantsdown–“Lift
upyourmemberforamoment,”–thenhetookholdofhissack
andorderedhimtocough.WhichLudgerdid,cough,cough.
Andthedoctorwent:“One,two,allthere.”
Unbelievable.
WalkiandIfelloverlaughingwhenLudgertoldusthat.
Ontheotherhand,maybeitwasn’tallthatsurprising
whenyoulookedatthesearmytypes.Youwouldn’tput
anythingpastthem.UdoMönch’sfatherwasinthearmy,for
instance;hewasanofficerorsomething.Udowasalways
16
tellingpeoplehewasgoingtosignupfortwelveyearswhenhe
finishedschool.Twelveyears!Twelve!Heandafewother
moronshadstartedaclub.Andnowtheywereadvertisingit
everywhere:“BrahmsGymnasiumArmyFanclub!”Howdimdid
youhavetobe?AndUdoMönchwasshittinghimselfthatthe
armywouldn’ttakehimbecausehehadScheuermann’s.
Anyway,Iwasstillstandingaroundoutsidethehospital,
andthenationalservicepeopleweretakingsomeoneoutofthe
ambulanceandpushingthemintothebuildingonatrolley.Was
thathowBogiarrivedhere,too?
“WilhelmVerderblichMedicalVehicles,”Ireadona
smallplateonthebackoftheambulanceasIpassedit.Great
name.
OnceIwasinsideandstandingthere,lookingaround,a
nurseaskedmewhereIwasgoing,andIsaidtoseeBo…
ManfredSchnellstieg.Shecheckedalistandtoldmetherewas
nooneofthatnamehere.ButthenitturnedoutIwasinthe
emergencydepartmentandhadtogoacrosstothemain
entrancenextdoor.
Okay,anothersecurityguardbehindglass.Ibentdown
totheflapmadeofperforated,yellowingplasticandsaidIwas
heretoseeBo…ManfredSchnellstieg.Theguardcheckedina
book.Itlookedlikeaclassregister.
“Mpfmmpfmmpfmomommpf?”Iheardfrominsidethe
cabin.
“Excuseme?”
Mymotherclaimedthatyougotfurtherbysaying
“excuseme?”than“Huh?”
17
“Mompfmommpfpfmpf.”
Well,itlookedlikethatwasn’talwaystrue.
SoIstoppedbeingpointlesslypoliteandwent“Huh?”
“MOMPFMMMPFPFPFPFMMOMP!”
Itwashopeless.Ishrugged.
Thentheguardwrotemeanote:3rdfloor,right,ward3b,
andfinallyopenedthespeakingholetopassittome.“There
yougo.Thirdfloor,righthandside,3b.”
Yes,thatwaswhathe’dwrittendown,buthecouldhave
justopenedthestupidflapand…nevermind.
Icouldnowhearexactlywhattheguardwassaying,but
Ididn’twanttogooverthewholethingagain.Itwouldn’tget
meanywhere.
“Thanks,”Isaid,andleft.
Awidestaircaseledtotheupperfloors.Totherightofit
wereasetoflifts,whichordinarilyIwouldhaveused;Iwasn’t
crazyabouttheideaoftraipsingupthreefloorsiftherewasa
lift.(Iwasfundamentallyquitelazy).ButsuddenlyIwasafraid
ofgettingstuckinaliftwithsomeonewhowasinjuredand
wouldcauseabloodbathintherelikeMichaelHabeldidthat
timeintheschoolgym.
Itookthestairstwoatatime,eyesfixedstraightahead.
TherewasnowayIwantedtobeoneofthepeopleinhere,I
wasthinkingthewholetime.Andbecauseallthepeoplewho
belongedhereweresoslow,ImovedasfastasIcould.
ThenIwasstandingatthedoortotheward,outof
breathandtryingtocalmmyselfdown.
18
Ialwaysgotabitworkedupaboutthesesituations.And
actuallyitwasridiculoustobemakingsuchafussoverit.After
all,Bogiwastheonestuckinhere,notme.
Theglassdoorwascoveredincomic‐bookpictures:
children’sward.
Bogiwasayearyoungerthanmeand,whenhe’dstill
beenproperlyclever,he’dskippedthesixthyear.Fromthenon,
wewereinthesameclass.Then,alittleoverayearago,when
hewasthirteen,Bogilosthisbrainandcamebacktoschool
afterthesummerholidayswithoutit.Fact.Itprobably
disappearedinthewatersoftheMediterraneanoff
Formentera,justlikethat.Anyway,hisagehadlandedBogi
here,ratherthanontheadultward.
ThebellwasjustaboveDonaldDuck’sbeak.Anurse
cameandopenedthedoor.Shewasquitepretty.
“NurseMerle”saidabadgeonhertunic.
“Is,er,ManfredSchnellstiegthere?”Iknewthatmustbe
thesilliestquestionIcouldask.
“Bogi?He’singiraffe.”
SotheywerealreadycallinghimBogihere,too.
“Er,sorry?”
“Thegirafferoom.Thereareanimalsymbolsonthe
doors.You’llfindit.”
Andthenshewasgone,onhersqueakingsandals.
Iwalkeddownthecorridorandfoundthecharacterson
thedoors:tortoise,mouse,andatthefarendontheleftthere
wasfinallyagiraffe.
19
ThedoortoBogi’sroomwasclosed.Iknocked
tentatively,putmyeartothecoldwoodandatfirstheard
nothingfrominside–then,whenIknockedagain,asoft“yes?”
Hewassittingcross‐leggedonthebed.
HowlongitwassinceI’dlastseenhim.
Bogilookedcompletelychanged.Hehadn’tsuddenlylost
allhishair,orwhateverothershitthetreatmentmightdoto
you.Mymotherhadtoldmeallkindsofthings.Itwasnothing
abouthisappearance.But…HowcanIputit?Itwasasif,even
thoughhehadn’tbeenherethatlong,healreadybelongedhere
andnotinourworld–myworld–anymore.Ofcourse,I
couldn’tthinklikethat,itwastheoppositeofwhathadbeen
drummedintomebyBogi’smotherandmine.They’dsaidthat
nowwasthetimewhenBogidesperatelyneededtofeellikehe
wasoneofus,etc.Itwasanimportantpartofthehealing
process,theysaid.
Buthowwasthatsupposedtowork,beingoneofus,
whenhewaslyingaroundinterryclothpyjamasalldayinthis
stupidgirafferoom,whilewewerebusyrearrangingourworld
outside?Ofcourse,nooneexplainsthattoyou.
Thenextproblemwasthatallthisshithadbeenmaking
mefeelquiteaggressive.Andunhelpfully,itwascomingout
now,whenIfinallysawBogiagain.Butithadbeenbubbling
awayinsidemeeversinceIwentandsatbackdownonmy
beanbagaftertheinitialshock,whenIcriedonthephone,and
turnedthemusicupevenloudersothatIcouldthinkabout
whatBogi’sparentshadjusttoldme.Iwaswaitingtostart
feelingsad,becauseIthoughtthat’swhatpeopleexpectedof
20
me,butifIwashonest,Iwasonlysadmaybetenpercentofthe
time,andangryfortherest.EvenatBogihimself.Whichwas
idiotic,Iknewthat.Butheneededtostopthisshit,do
somethingaboutit.Getbetter.Thiswasnostatetobein,with
thisdiseasethatsoundedlikeitwasn’tadiseaseatall.Atleast,
notabadone.Non‐Hodgkin’slymphoma:soundslikenota
disease,right?Itdefinitelywould’vebeenbetterifitwascalled
Hodgkin’snon‐lymphoma.EspeciallyforBogi.
Butactually,IwasangryathimbecauseIwantedmyold
lifeback,includingBogi.IsimplythoughtIhadenoughcrapto
dealwithasitwas.AndIwasn’ttryingtothinkallthisjustat
thatmoment.Butthoughtsdon’tknockandaskforpermission
beforetheycomein.Theyjustappear.
Bogi’smotherhadexplainedtheillnesstomeindetail–
itwassomethingtodowithhislymphnodes–andI’dlistened
tomostofwhatshewassaying.Whichwasnotallthateasy,to
behonest.Butthefactthatitwascancerandyoucoulddieof
thatshit–infact,dyingwasactuallyquitelikely–was
somethingsheonlycameoutwithonceI’daskedherfour
times.
“Alright?”Isaid,grinningatBogi.
Ihadthefeelingittookhimaminutetorecogniseme.
Then,whenwelookedeachotherintheeye,ashudder
wentthroughme,thoughIdidn’tknowwhy.Iwasreallygladto
seehim,andatthesametimeallIwantedtodowasrunaway.I
glancedatthemangyteddybearonBogi’sbed.
Thereareprobablynowordsforthereallyimportant
thingsyoufeel.Atleast,nottherightwords.Youjustalwaysact
21
asifthereare.Becauseyouhavetotalkeverythingintoshape,
sothattheworlddoesn’tstandstillandyoucansomehowcarry
on.
Upuntilalittlewhileago,everythinghadbeeneasierfor
metounderstand.WhenI’dbeenreallyangryaboutsomething,
forinstance,Iwascompletely,onehundredpercentangry,
untilthenextfeelingturnedup.
Andusually,thatfeelinghadbeenthecompleteopposite
ofanger.ThenextminuteI’dbepleasedorinasillymood,no
problem.Sometimesthechangewasquick,andsometimesit
tookabitlonger,butithadalwaysbeenasequence.Andone
day,withoutmynoticing,thesequencehadgoneandallthe
emotionsstartedhappeningatonce.Feelingswerebouncing
aroundinsidemeandIcouldn’tkeepthemapartanylonger.All
ofasuddenIwashappyandsadatthesametime.Ilaughed
myselfstupideventhoughIwassickenedbyeverything.I’d
falleninlovewith…well,that’snoone’sbusinessbutmine,and
Ihatedheratthesametime.AndIdidn’tevenknowwhy.Well,
probablyforthefactthatIwasinlovewithher.Itwasactually
reallystressful,andIcouldn’tbearit,butI’dstoppedtryingto
fenditoffandwaitingforittopass,becauseIguessedthatit
waspointless;Iwasgoingtofeelthiswayforever.
AndsonowIwasstandinghereinBogi’sroom.
Iwentovertohimandwehugged.Butnotproperly;a
bitawkwardly.Weputourarmsaroundeachotherwithoutthe
restofourbodiesjoiningin.IthinkIwasjustafraidofhurting
him,andBogirealisedthat.
“Motte.Alright?”saidBogi.
22
BogialwayscalledmeMotte.Actually,sodideveryone
else.Thentherewassilence.Wasthatit?Wasthatallwecould
thinkoftosaynowweweretogetheragain?Aswewere
hugging,Ilookedagainovermyleftshoulderatthemangyold
teddythatIrecognisedfromBogi’sroomathome.
ButI’dalwaysthoughtitwasthereasakindofjoke.And
nowIwastakenabacktorealisethatthebearseemedto
genuinelycomfortBogi.HisnamewasLucky.He’dbelongedto
Bogi’smotherwhenshewaslittle.
Ireallycouldn’tthinkofanythingelsetosay,soIfinally
said:“Bayernwonthree‐two.”BogiwasaBayernMunichfan.
Seriously.ItwasageneticthingwiththeSchnellstiegs.He
hadn’tbeenintheworldformorethanafewdaysbeforehe
wasnamedManfred,andhadbecomeamemberoftheCatholic
ChurchandBayernMunich.Andthosewerethreethingsthat
couldtakeyoudownaveryspecificpathinlife,right?Broadly
speaking,whenBogiwasbarelyaweekolditwasalreadyclear
wherehewasheading.
RicardaHummelfromourprimaryschool,forexample,
hadnoarms.Orrather,justlittlestumpswithfingers,andnot
thefulltenfingers,either.Idon’tknowhowmany,Inever
countedthem.Andyes,ofcourse,youcan’tcomparethatwith
beingcalledManfred.AllImeanis:everyonepretendedwe
couldbecomewhateverwewantedifwejustmadeenough
effort.Asifitwasalldowntous.Butthatwasrubbish.
Inanycase,wealwayshadtoactlikeitwasnothing
unusualwhenRicardasatatherdeskwritingwithherfeet.
23
Anditwouldactuallyhavebeenmuchmorenormaljust
totalktoherabouthowshemanagedit.Toaskherhowshegot
herlegupthathighandheldapencilandthings.
Atleastthatwassomethingotherpeoplecouldn’tdo.My
ownwritingwasillegible,andIusedmyhand.Ihadnodesire
toseemyfootwriting.Anyway:no,weweresupposedtoact
likeitwasnormaltowriteanessaywithyourfeet.Bullshit,if
youaskme.
ButwhatI’mtalkingaboutisthis:RicardaHummel’s
mothercouldn’thelpnotknowingthatsheshouldn’thave
takenthosesleepingtablets.ButcallingyoursonManfredwhen
he’sbarelyfilledhisfirstnappy,takinghimofftochurchtobe
baptised,andthensigninghimupforbloodyBayern–allof
thatisentirelydeliberate.
Ididn’tmakethisup;therewasproof.Therewere
photosofBogiasababywearingalittleredandwhitecapin
theSchnellstiegs’hall.Youjusthadtohopethathedidn’t
simplyresignhimselftohisfate.Otherwise,hisparentswere
reallynice–Idon’twanttogivethewrongimpressionhere.
Anyway,Bogicouldalwaysgotothetownhallwhenhe
wasolderandgethisnamechanged.I’dreaditinthepaper.I
meaneveryonecould,notjustBogi.Icould,too,ifIdidn’twant
tobecalledMortenanymorebut,say,Ludolf.So,people,let’s
hearitforLudolfSchumacherondrums!Bogididn’thaveto
stayaManfredforever.Although,ifyou’dlethimchoosehis
ownname,heprobablywouldhavecomeupwithsomething
evenworse.Bogiwasn’texactlyaparagonofgoodtaste.At
least,that’swhatmymotheroncesaidwhenmyparentsinvited
24
himouttodinnerwithus,andhegotdressedupforthe
occasion,i.e.turnedupinhisparachute‐silktracksuit.The
longerIthoughtaboutthename‐changingbusiness,themoreI
thought:bestjusttoleaveeverythingasitwas.
So,BogiandIweresittingonthiscrappyhospitalbed
andrealisingthatwedidn’treallyknowwhattosaytoeach
other.Itwasprettysad.
“Yeah,yeah.Three‐two.Notbad,huh?Myfatheralways
bringsthelatestcopyofKickerwithhimnow,”Bogisaid
eventually.
“Oh,really?”
Wefellsilentagain,havinghitadeadend.
“So,howareyoudoing?”Isaid.Itwasthestupid
questionIreallydidn’twanttoask.I’dsworntomyselfearlier
thatIwouldn’t.Howwashesupposedtoanswerthat?”
ButthenBogisaid:“Oh,nottoobad.TheysayI’ll
probablybeoutofherebyChristmas.”
“Really?That’sgreat!”
Inthepausethatfollowed,Ilookedoutofthewindowat
thetreethatreachedallthewayuphere,andevenuptothe
nextfloor.Abeechoranoak,Idon’tknow,somethinglikethat,
Ican’ttellthesethingsapart.Therewasablackbirdhopping
aboutinthebranches,awrithingwormhangingoutofitsbeak.
Itprobablyhaditsnestuphere.Although,itwasautumn;did
theyneednestsatthistimeofyear?Ontheotherhand,birds
stillhavetosleepsomewhereinautumn.WhatdoIknow?For
amoment,Ithoughttheblackbirdwaslookinginatmethrough
thewindow.
25
“What’sEicheinEnglish?”
“Oak,”saidBogi.
“AndAmsel?”
“Blackbird.”
“Noway,really?Likethesong?”Iasked.
“Mmhmm.”
Thentherewassilenceagain.
Iwasdisgustedwithmyself:itshouldhavebeenmyjob
tomakethiseasierforbothofusbykeepingtheconversation
going;itcertainlywasn’tBogi’s.Butrecentlymyproblem,or
rather,oneofmyproblems,wasthatwhilemoreandmore
wordsandthoughtsaccumulatedinmyhead,fewerandfewer
ofthemendedupcomingoutascomprehensiblesentences.It
waslikethefilmwe’dwatchedingeographyattheendofterm
–notthebeltedGallowayfilm,theotherone.Thekindofstuff
wealwayshadtowatchwhentheteachersjustneededtokeep
usoccupiedforafinalfewhours.Attheendoftheschoolyear,
alltheydidwascarrytheSuper‐8projectorfromone
classroomtoanother,tobehonest.
Anyway,Imeanthefilmwheretheycutallthetrees
downandthrewthemintheriver,sothey’dfloatdowntothe
sawmill.“HowisPaperMade?”Ithinkitwascalled.But
eventuallytheprocessstoppedworking,thereweresomany
treesthattheyblockeduptheriver,andthentherewasahuge
floodandallkindsofothercrap.Notasingletreemadeittothe
sawmill,untilsomecleverDickfromthecityturnedupwith
tonsofdynamiteandgotitallmovingagain.
26
Thatriverwaswhatmybrainlookedlikenow.Except
thattherewasn’taguywithexplosivesanywhereinsight.
Luckily,therewasaknockonthedoorjustthen,and
Walkistuckhisheadintotheroom.Hishaircameinfirst,and
thentherestofhim.
IthinkthestyleiscalledanAfro.ButAfroiskindofa
stupidnameforitwhensomeonehasredcurlsandis
otherwiseaswhiteascreamcheese,apartfromhisfreckles.
Someonecalledhimchalk‐faceonce,whichwasn’tveryniceof
them.Walkihadgrownfreakishlyfastinthelastyearandwas
nearlyonemetreninetytall.Healwaysduckedwhenhewalked
throughadoornow(thoughthatwasoverplayingitabit).
“Hey,retard!Hehheh,there’sBogi,thespaz–hanging
outinhospital!”
Thatwasn’tWalki’svoice;itwasJanBorowka,calling
outfrombehindhim.Walki’sgrowthspurtmeantthatJanwas
nowaheadshorterthanhim,andyoucouldn’tseehimbehind
Walki.ThepairofthemcameinandgaveBogitheirhands.
They’redoingitright,Ithought.Thehandshakebusinesswas
kindofweird,butatleastitwasarealthing.I’dhavetostart
doingittoo.Janalsolikedtorapthreetimesonthetablewith
hisknucklesashepassed,buttomethatfeltliketoomuch.
“Boginski,myfriend,”saidJan,andlookedBogistraight
intheeyeashetookhishand.
Jan,asIsaid,wasquitealotshorterthanWalkiandme.
Therecouldbenotalkofagrowthspurtwherehewas
concerned.Atleast,notsofar.Althoughitdidn’tseemvery
27
likelythatanythingfundamentalwasgoingtochangethere.It
wasjustafeeling.
Forawhile,Janhadbeentryingtomakeupforit–by
smokingrollieslikeachimney,forinstance–thoughthe
smokingdidnothingtoincreasehisheight.He’dgothimselfa
pairofcowboybootswiththeseslopinghighheelsandwalked
aroundinthemlikehehadfourballs,nottwo.That’sjustwhat
itlookedlike,don’tblamemefortheimage.And,asIsaid,he’d
startedgreetingeveryonewithalong,firmhandshakewhile
staringintotheireyes.Stufflikethat.But,well,ifitmadethe
centimetreshelackedeasiertobear,itdidn’tmattertome.Jan
wasbasicallyareallygoodguy–Idon’twantyoutothinkI’m
justslagginghimoffhere.Andhewasprettymuscly:hehad
properbiceps,andpecsaswell,rock‐hardridgesandbulges.
WalkiandIwerenothingbutskinandbone.
Wenevertalkedaboutwhatourparentsdid.Theirjobs,I
mean.Youkindofhadthesensethatmostpeopleinourcity
workedinsomeofficeorother,butIhadnoideawhattheydid
there,andnoneofuseverseriouslythoughtaboutasking.The
oldsjustweren’tinterestingenoughforthat.Ithoughtmy
parentsweretherichest,butitwasneveranissue.Jan’s
parentswerethepoorest,anyway,thatmuchwascertain.
WhenIwasyounger,Iwouldneverinmylifehavegonetothe
estatehelivedon.Theyweren’treallyproperhouses,they
weremorelikecabinsthatsomeonehadtriedhardtomake
lookabitlessshabby.They’dbeenpaintedinbrightcolours
andstuff,Imean,butthatwasalongtimeago,andnowthey
lookedevenmoredepressingthanifthey’djustbeenleftas
28
theywerebefore.Ifyoupaintaturdincheerfulcolours,it’sstill
aturd,right?Somethinglikethat.
ThefirsttimeIwenttovisitJan,hismotherhadbrought
uscheese‐spreadsandwichesandhe’dimmediatelyhadagoat
her,tellinghertogetlost.Irememberbeingshocked,because
shewasjusttryingtobeniceandIwasn’tusedtohearing
thingslikethatfromJan.Hekindoftreatedherlikeananimal.
Aworkinganimal,Imean,notapet;peoplewereusuallyniceto
pets.AndlaterJan’sfathergothome,butallhedidwasglance
inthroughthedoor,andIthinkhe’dwantedtogiveJana
telling‐offaboutsomething–helookedprettyangry,atanyrate
–butwhenhesawmesittingthere,heturnedaroundwithout
sayinganything.Janhadgonecompletelysilentwhenheheard
hisfathercomingthroughthefrontdoor.Honestly,Iwasglad
whenIleftthebuilding.Jan’smotherwavedmeoff,andwhenI
sawherloving,tiredface,IwasashamedthatI’dbeen
disgustedbythesmellintheflatandcouldonlybreathe
properlyagainonceIwasbackoutside.
Inowsawthattherewassomethingstucktothebackof
Bogi’slefthand.Itlookedlikethebarrelofaclearplasticbiro,
withapieceofwhitetapestuckoverit.
“What’sthatthingonyourhand?”Iasked.
“It’sacannula,”saidBogi.“Thetubetheyputdrugsand
stuffin.”Hestartedtopickatthetape,andIcouldseethelittle
tubemoving;youcouldpullitupwiththeskinand–ohmyGod
–thatthingwasstickingintoBogi!Ilookedawayquickly,not
wantingBogitoseethatIwasabouttokeelover.Iwasn’ta
massivefanofinjectionsandbloodandthings.Cannula.Uhuh.
29
Didn’texactlysoundreassuring.Bogiactedlikeitwasnothing,
althoughhealsomusthavenoticedthatIfeltlikepukingina
corner.I’mprettysure.
“So,whatarethenurseslike?Gettinganyaction?Heh,
heh,”saidJan,slappinghisfistintothepalmofhisrighthand.
WalkiandIrolledoureyes.
Yes,Jan,thatwasexactlyhowourBogiwaspassingthe
timeinhere:shaggingthenurses,whowereallqueuing
impatientlyoutsidehisgirafferoom.Andafterwardsthey’d
pumpstuffintohisveinsthatwouldlatermakehishairfallout.
ButBogiactuallylaughedatthenursething,andchatted
awhilelongertoJanaboutthefoodinhereandwhatelsehe
didallday.NormalquestionsthatBogienjoyed,itseemed.
Morethanhe’denjoyedmylameummingandahhingbefore,at
anyrate.IwonderedwhyIcouldn’tmanagetohaveanormal
conversationwithmybestfriend,whowasn’tdoingtoowell
andwhomightjustwanttobedistractedforalittlewhile.
JanandWalki(whountilthispointhadsattherelooking
quitecontentbutsayingnothing)hadjustbeentofootball
practiceandhadtheirsportsbagsandaballwiththem.Itwas
theWorldCupballthatJanhadgotforhisbirthday,much
betterthantheonesatschool.Walkihadbeeninaweirdly
goodmoodallthetimelately,andIwonderedifthatmight
havesomethingtodowiththefactthathewasalwayshanging
aroundwithNeanderthalKlausandtheotherstonersdownby
thebikeracksatbreaktime.
“Shallweallgooutsideforabitandhaveakick‐
around?”Walkinowasked,grinning.Walkiwastryingtogrow
30
abeard,butthefewpatchesofredfluffonhischinlookedlike
pubesthathadmigratedupwards.
Whatkindofstupidideawasthat?Howthehellwas
Bogisupposedtogooutandplayfootballinhispyjamas,with
thatweirdtubeinhishand?Hewouldn’tevenmakeitdown
thestairs,Ithought.ThoughobviouslyIdidn’tsayso.
“Nah,Ican’t.Igettiredprettyquicklyatthemoment,”
saidBogi,withabitofagrin,asifhewasembarrassedbythe
fact.Andinsteadofcomfortingorprotectinghim,Ijuststood
therestaring,gawpingathisillnessandfeelingstupid,
incapableofdoinganythingelse.Thefourofuswereallas
awkwardaseachother,andeventuallypoorBogihadto
resolvethesituation.
“Maybeyoucouldgooutandhaveagame,andIcould
watchyoufromuphere.That’salmostlikeplayingmyself.”
Wethreeidiotsbroodedoverthissuggestionforanother
thirtyseconds.ThenWalkisaid:“Yes,alright,excellentidea.”
Hewasjustgladtobeabletogetoutofthereanddosomething
hewasgoodat.Jan,whomostofthetimedidwhateverWalki
did,wasreadyinaninstant,theballinhisrighthandandhis
sportsbaginhisleft.
“Okay,hastalavistathen–andchinup,Boginski.”
“Wecancomebackupafterwardsandsaygoodbye.”I
wasn’tparticularlygoodatfarewells.
“No,don’tworryaboutthat,it’llbedinnertimethen
anyway.”Washegladtogetridofus?Ontheotherhand,you
couldn’tblamehimifhewas.
“Seeyou,Bogi,”saidWalki.
31
Anotherhandshake,ofBogi’srighthand,theonewithout
thecannula.
“I’llwatchyoufromthewindowinthecorridoruphere,”
saidBogi.
Iwentoverandhuggedhimtentativelyagain.
Felthisribs.He’dalwaysbeenthatthinthough,hadn’t
he?
“Seeyousoon,Bogi,yeah?Nextweek,”Isaid.
“Okay,seeyousoon.”
Iwaved,thinkingthatIneededtodoabetterjobofthis
visitingthingnexttime.
Then,aswewereonourwayoutofthedoor,IsawBogi
liedown.Wewalkeddownthestairsinsilence.Ithought,
“Bogi…”–andthenIfeltsomethingIhadnowordsfor,which
hurtalot,firstundermytongue,andthenonmyleftside,right
undermyribs.Somethingthattastedbitterandlitup
dazzlinglyforamoment,asifI’dswallowedtheflickeringneon
lightwe’djustpassed.ThenIshookthethoughtoutofmyhead
withajolt,asIwouldifI’dgotwaterinmyearattheswimming
pool.Tobeonthesafeside,Itriednottothinkofanythingatall
forawhile–and,byconcentratingforonce,Iactuallymanaged
it.
AndwhenwegotdownstairsandIreadmittedthe
thoughtsthathadbeenbuzzingaroundmyheadlike
shimmeringbluefliesaroundacowpat,IthoughtthatBogiwas
definitelygoingtogetbetter.
Itwasalreadystartingtogetdarkoutside.
32
WewenttoapatchofgrassthatBogicouldseefrom
upstairs,andstoodasclosetothestreetlightsaswecould.Bogi
watchedus,intheneonlight.MyBogi,whohadboughtthe
Yugo‐boozejustafewweeksbefore.Digestible,pressed
withoutstalksandstems.
Thenwemessedabout,playingkeepy‐uppyandtwo‐on‐
oneandstuff,andfeltkindofsillyputtingonsuchashowin
frontofallthesesickpeople,butsomehowitwasalsofunny
andarelieftowearourselvesout.Bogistoodatthewindow,
notmoving.
Wewavedtohimagainbeforeweleft,andhewaved
back.Wewalkedoutofthegate.Therewasadifferentguard
therenow.JanhadbroughtaCappyjuiceandwetookturns
swiggingthesweet,flavourlessstuffoutoftheplasticcarton.I
tookadragonthecigarettethatJanhadrolled,whichmademe
coughsomuchInearlythrewupinthegutter.Wedidn’treally
knowwhattosayaboutthewholething.
“What’sthediseasecalledagain?”Janaskedme.
“Non‐Hodgkin’slymphoma.”
Heconsideredthisforawhileandthensaid:“Funny
name.Imean,youdon’tsay–Idon’tknow–non‐poodledog;
yousayterrier.”
WeshookhandsandIgotonthenumberfour.Walkiset
offtowardsNeubergonfootbecausehe’dforgottenhismonthly
ticketandhadbeencaughtwithoutittwicealready,andJan,
whohadtogonorth,waitedforthetwenty‐two.
OnthebusIthoughtabouthowlongBogiandIhadbeen
friends.Probablysincethedaywhen–atprimaryschool,we
33
werealwaysallowedtodressuponFatThursday–hecameup
tomeintheplaygroundwearingredpyjamaswithgoldstripes
acrossthechest,andayellowwoollyhatwithgreenwashing‐
upspongessewnontoit.Iaskedhimwhathiscarnivalcostume
wassupposedtobe,andhesaid:“aleakingbattery.”
34
THREE
–LateSeptember–
Ididn’tknowhernamewasJacquelineSchmiedebachuntilJan
toldme.Wewerestandingoutsideschool,andsherodepastus
onherDutchbicycle.Shelookedoveratusjustforasecond,
andsmiled.Ormaybeevenlaughed.Andthenpretendeditwas
becauseofsomethingelse,andnothingtodowithus.Ihada
tinglingfeelingeverywhere,andthenthetinglinghadaname.
Whensheturnedthecorner,Jan,whohadbeenstanding
besidemesmoking,lookedafterherandmuttered:“Jacqueline.
Foxy.”
Andabitlater,whenIwasstillstaringatthestreet
cornerroundwhichshehadlongsincedisappeared:
“JacquelineSchmiedebach.ShegoestoEinstein.10c.Shelives
overtheriver.BuchbergorKiesheim.She’sthebomb.”
Ijuststoodthere.
“What?”Janaskedme.
“Whatdoyoumean,what?”
“Goafterher.”
“Areyouinsane?”
“Goafterher,youspaz.”
“Whatgoodwouldthat…comeon,Idon’tevenknow
her,”Isaid,andJanreplied:“Exactly.That’swhy.”
35
Ijumpedonmybike,followedherasfarastheferry,and
watchedhergo.Herstraw‐blondehairblewinthewindallthe
way;itshonesobrightlythatIcouldstillseeJacquelineriding
offonthefarbank,wheneveryoneelsewhohadbeenonthe
ferryhadbecomesmall,indistinguishablepin‐heads.Myfirst
thoughthadnotbeenhowbeautifulshewas,buthowupright
shehadbeensittingonherbike.ThatwastheveryfirstthingI
noticed.Howboltuprightshewassittingonherbikeasshe
whiskedpastmeandJan.
TherewasthiswordthathadcomeupinaGermanclass
recently:Anmut.Itmeansgrace,elegance,beauty,andFrau
Standfusshadtriedtoexplainittous,butIcouldn’treally
pictureit.Ialsothoughtitsoundedstupid.LikeAlmut–and
AlmutGerhardtswasthedorkiestgirlinourclass,ifnotthe
wholeschool.Soitwasdifficulttoconnectawordthat
remindedmeofthatidiottosomethingbeautiful.Butnow,as
Jacquelinerodepast,IhadsomeideaofwhatAnmutmight
mean.Orrather,whatitsmeaningmightfeellike.
Overthenextfewdays,Itriedtomakeourpathscross
seeminglybychance.First,Iwantedtofindoutwhattimeshe
tooktheferry.Ihungaroundthejettyforhours,butneversaw
her.Shelivedontheothersideoftheriver,Iknewthatalready,
andwenttoschoolonourside,totheEinsteinscience
academy,whichwasinthesameareaasmyschool.
Iwouldhavetotalktoher,togooutwithher,thatmuch
hadbeenclearfromthemomentIfirstsawher.
“Moment”–thatwasanotherofthosewordsthatIfeltI
reallyunderstoodonlynow.Asin:momentous.Iwouldhaveto
36
bepatient;I’dprobablyhavetowaitatthejettyagoodfew
timesbeforeIsawheragain.Butforthefirsttimeinmylife,
waitingwasnotthesameasbeingbored.Allatonceitwas
goodtowait,andInowwouldn’tswapthiswaitingforanything
intheworld.Ispentseveralafternoonsstandingatthejetty
wheretheferrydocked,watchingallkindsofpeople.Jacqueline
Schmiedebachwasnotamongthem.Thereweresomeodd
characters.Usually,whenyoujustspentafewminutesdown
therewaitingforthenextferry,youdidn’tnoticethem.Theguy
withthebriefcase,forinstance,hadbeenlookingoveratmefor
quiteawhile.Noideawhathewantedwithme.Funnyhaircut.
Lookedlikeamopedhelmet,butmadeoutofhair.Hereminded
meofoneoftheoldteachersatBrahms,MrSeegler;Ialways
hadthefeelingthathe’dbeenateacherevenbeforetheBrahms
schoolexisted,whenthewholeareawasstillmeadowsgrazed
byaurochsandbison.Andeventhen,Iwassurethatfivedaysa
weekhewouldhavetaughtvoluntarypre‐schoolclassesin
ancientGreekataquarterpastseveninthemorning.Tosome
kindofgiantlizardsorsomething.Withabicycleclipalways
stillattachedtotherightlegofhisgreysuittrousers.That’sthe
kindofthingyouimaginedhimdoing.Andintheend,oncethe
ice‐agemadeittoocoldinthemeadows,theybuiltBrahms
aroundMrSeegler.Andoncethemonitorlizardsthathadbeen
learningancientGreekfromhimhadwaddledsouthinsearch
ofabetterclimate,theywerereplacedwithhumanstudents.
ThatwaskindofhowIimaginedit.Anyway,MrSeeglerhad
beenthereareallylongtime,thatmuchwascertain.
37
GodknowswhereIwouldendupifIdidn’tlearnto
concentrate.Thatwaswhateveryonesaidtome.
Iwastryingtoworkoutwhattheferryguy’shair‐hat
remindedmeof,andthenitstruckme:Bogi’slittlesisterAnette
hadthesePlaymobilfiguresthatyoucouldtakethehairofflike
ahelmet,andthenputitbackon.Hehadbeenstaringatmefor
awhile,andthenhenoddedandcameover.Oh,forGod’ssake.I
lookedawayatonce,atanythingbuthim,butitdidn’thelp.The
guywasheadingstraightforme.Briefcase,helmethair,socks
andsandals.
“Hellothere,myfriend,”hesaid.Ididn’trespond.
“Afternoonoff,itis?Whatattractionsmighttherebearound
here?Flirtingwiththeyoungladies?Petra,Babsi,Susi?”
Whatwashetalkingabout?
Herockedbackandforthonhissandalsforawhile,
lookingoutatthewater.Andthenhesaid:“Doyouwantto
earn50Marks?”
“Eh?”
“ComebackthereinthebusheswithmeandI’lltossyou
off.”
Hespokeastrangedialect,fromHessenorsomewhere.
LikeHeinzSchenk,theguyonTV.Hedidn’tsay“toss”,hesaid
“toash.”And“feftyMaarksh”.
“Ah’lltoashyeroaff.”
IwonderedforamomentwhetherI’dreallyheardthat,
orwhetherIwasstillimaginingthingsandthisbelongedinthe
samebracketastheaurochsandthemonitorlizardsandtheice
age.
38
Thehelmet‐hairmangrinnedatme,andIdecidedthe
bestplanwastogetoutofthere.ThenIrodeoffalongthe
riversideroadasfastasIcould.Ididn’tlookback,forfearthat
theguymightberunningafterme.Ihadnoideawhatelse
someonewhomadeanofferlikethatmightbecapableof.
WhenIwassureIwasfarenoughaway,Istopped.
Sawhimstillstandingthere,gazingafterme.
Andjustthen,theferrythatJacquelineSchmiedebach
mightbeonsetofffromtheotherside.ThatmeantIhadtoget
closertothejettyagainasquicklyasIcould.Butaslongasthat
bastardwasstillstaringinmydirection,Icouldn’tjustturn
aroundandrideback.HemightthinkIwascomingbacktohim.
SoIgotoff,liftedmybikeontomyshoulderandranupthe
embankmentwithit,sothatIcouldridebackunseenalongthe
toppromenade.However,Ihadunderestimatedhowsteepthe
slopewas,andhowheavymybikewas,sothatwhenIwas
nearlyatthetop,Ifirstsloweddownandthenfellovertwicein
slowmotion.AlthoughI’mnotsureiffallingoveristheright
expressionforwhathappenedtome.Becauseoftheslope,the
embankmenthitmefullintheface.Anothernewexperience.
Iamthestraightlineandthehillisthevector,Ithought
asItoppledover.Ortheotherwayaround.Myhandsandknees
lookedamessafterwards.ThankGodnooneheardmegasping
andwheezing.Allofwhichprovidedtheperfectconditionsfor
talkingtoJacquelineSchmiedebachandaskingifshewantedto
gooutwithmesometime.
WhenIfinallygottothetop,Ijumpedonmybikeand
racedbacktowardsthejetty.Theferrywasalmostthere.Iran
39
downthebroadstonestaircase,mybikebouncingdownthe
stepsatmyside,dongdongdong.AndwhenIgottothebottom,
IcouldseeJacquelinecominguptheramp.Sheroderightpast
meandlookedmestraightintheeye.Imusthavelookeda
properfoolaftereverythingthathadjusthappened.She
frownedforasplitsecond,butthenlaughedandrodeon.I’m
sureIhadgonebrightred,butattheendoftheday,atleastshe
laughedanddidn’tturnawayindisgust.
WhenItookanotherquicklookaround,theguywiththe
ridiculoustoupeewasstillstandingthere,grinning.Hewasn’t
waitingfortheferryatall;hewasjuststandingaroundwaiting
forsapslikemetocomealongsohecouldchatthemup.Andof
course,thatmeantthatIwasgoingtoseehimatthejettynow
everyafternoonwhileIwaswaitingforJacqueline
Schmiedebach.AndhemightthinkIwastherebecauseofhim.
Ileaptontomybikeandrodeafterher,notcaringhow
awfulIlooked,sweaty,dirtyandbrightredintheface.Andit
didn’tmatternow,anyway.Jacquelinewasridingdownthe
avenuetowardsthecitycentre.Shehadasportsbaginher
basketwithatennisracketstickingoutofit.Whenshestopped
atatrafficlight,Iremainedasafedistanceaway.Butthenext
timeIdecidedIdidn’tcare:Ipulledupalongsideher,and
lookedtheotherway.
Thatwasn’teasy.Whenthelightturnedgreen,shewent
straighton–Iwassureshehadlookedatmeagainforasecond
whenitwasonamber.IpretendedIwasgoingtoturnright,but
whenshewasalittlewayahead,Istartedfollowingheragain.
SheturnedoffattheparkwheretheTHCtenniscourtswere.
40
Later,IsecretlywatchedherplayuntilIhadtoleavefor
amathscatch‐uplesson.Iwasalreadyreallylate.Myheartwas
pounding.Imean,okay,itdidthatallthetime.ButnowIwas
noticingit.Thatwasthedifference.Thepoundingofmyheart
waslouderthantheploppingofthetennisballsthatJacqueline
Schmiedebachwasnowchasingacrossthecindercourt.Iknew
exactlywhatitlookedlikewhenshepickedthemup,without
havingtoturnroundonce.
41
FOUR
–LateSeptember–
Intheevening,Isuddenlyfoundmyselfstandingoppositemy
fatherinthelivingroom;we’djusthappenedacrosseachother
there.Idon’tknowifwe’deveractuallyrunintoeachother
deliberately.
Wehadfrozenonthespotassoonaswemet,asifwe’d
beenstapledtotheflooratthatmoment.
I’dseenhimstandingatthewindowjustbeforethat,
lookingoutatthebushes.Thesettingsunreflectedonhisbald
head,makingitlookevenchubbierthanusual.Thebaldhead,
notthesun.Maybehewasthinkingaboutwhatplantstodigup
andreplantinhisnewgardeninthetundra.AlthoughI
honestlydidn’tknowwhethertherewasevenagardenthere.
Hewouldn’thavenoticedmeifIhadjusttakenanapple
fromthebowlwhilehisbackwasturnedandthenslippedout
againquietly.ButIthoughtitwasoddnottosayhellotohim,at
least.ItlookedlikethefactIwasstandingbehindhimhadgiven
himafright.Ridiculous.Ididlivehere,afterall.Well,whatever;
inanycasewewerenowstandingaroundinthelivingroom.
Ifweweregoingtosnapoutofthisfreeze‐framethen
oneofuswouldhavetomakeadecision,makeamove,
somehowapproachtheother.Butthatwasneithermystrength
42
normyfather’s.Especiallynotnow,wheneverythingwas
fallingaparthere.
Oneoptionmighthavebeentositdownonthesofa.Or
tosimplywalkoutoftheroomagainaftersayinghelloand
leavehimstandingthere.Heseemedtolikeitinhere,standing
aloneatthewindow.Butwehadgonetoofardownadead‐end
road.Allbecauseofthestupidapple.
Thetelevisionwason.
Myfatherhadbeengivingitanoccasionalsideways
glancefromwherehestoodatthewindow.You’dprobablycall
itmorose.Theglassinhislefthandcontainedthatyellowliquid
thatsmelledofliquoricebutdidn’ttastelikeit.I’veforgotten
thename,pardonorsomethinglikethat.Heoncetoldmehe
wasa“Francophile”,butonceagainI’dforgottenexactlywhat
thatmeant.SomethingtodowithFranceandalcohol,anyway.
Acoupleoficecubes,almostmelteddowntonothing,
clinkedintheglass.
We’dbeenavoidingeachotherforthelastfewweeks,so
itwasonlythenthatIrealisedImusthavegrownquiteabit.I
wasnoweasilyhalfaheadtallerthanhim.Hehadundonethe
topthreebuttonsofhisshirt,therewasafuzzofgreychesthair
pokingout,andIsawthathe’dstartedwearingachain.Crazy.I
myselfhadbeenwonderingrecentlyifitwouldbeagoodidea
togetachainlikethat,achainorabracelet,Ihadthought,or
maybeboth,butthisputastoptothatideaaltogether.
Finally,hebrokethesilence:“I’msureyourmotherhas
explainedeverythingtoyou‐”
43
Explained?Whatexactly?Wasitafullstoporaquestion
markI’dheardthere?
Whatmyfatherhadjustsaidimmediatelysoakedinto
thecarpetormaybejustremainedhangingsomewhereinthe
air,whichmeantthatIdidn’tknowifhewasexpectingan
answerfromme.Ifindoubt,betterkeepquiet.Pleasejustdon’t
givemeatalk,Ithought.Ididn’tneedthat,Ireallydidn’t,
everythingwasfineasitwas.Myparentscouldjustarrange
thingshowevertheythoughtbest.Ornot.Themainthingwas
thattheyleftmeoutofit.
Myfather’swordshadnowbeenhangingintheairforso
longthathemusthavestoppedexpectingananswerfromme.
Right,sonowwewerejuststandingtherewordlesslyagain.
He’dbeensackedbyhiscompanyawhilebefore,andI’d
wonderedhowitwaspossibletogetthrownoutofacompany
thatyouweresupposedlythebossof.Thatwasalwayswhatit
soundedlike,anyway,whenhetalkedabout“hiscompany”.
Untilnow,I’dthoughtbeingthebossmeantyouweretheone
whothrewotherpeopleout.
Afterthat,mymotherandhemusthavethoughtthey’d
justdealwitheverythingelseinonego,getdivorced,splitup
thefamilyandeverything.Orwhatwasleftofit.
Iwouldhavelikedtoletmyfatherknowthatnoneof
thisreallymatteredtome.Thebusinesswithhimandmy
mother,andthefactthathewasmovingoutandgoingtolive
withhis“partner”.AndIdidn’tmindthathedidn’tknowwhat
tosaytome,either.Ifanyoneunderstoodthat,itwasme.Okay,
perhapsthiswasn’tthemomenttoexplainthat.Butpurelyso
44
thatwecouldmoveon,Iliedandsaid:“Yes,shedid.She,err,
explainedeverything.”Myfathernodded.SodidI.Alongnod
frombothofus.Thennothingforawhile.Thenanothervery
longnodfromhim.
“Hmmm,”hemurmured,approvingly.
Silence.Theonlythingchatteringawaythiswholetime
hadbeenthenewsreader.Apartfromthecockatiel,who
screeched“Coco!”twice–surprise,surprise.
Andthenmyfatherstartedtolaugh.Orwhatpassedfor
laughingwithhim.First,hiseyesnarrowedtotwosmallslits.
Fromtheircorners,deepfurrowsfannedoutacrosshisface,a
fewupwardstowardshisforehead,otherssidewaystohisears,
andsomedownacrosshischeeks.Icouldn’timagineever
gettingasoldandleatheryashewas.Hismouthslightlyopen,
foralongtimehemadenonoise,andIthought,Ihopehe
doesn’tchokeandkeeloverrightinfrontofme.Butaftera
whileIheardagasp,whichwaslikethenoiseourdoghad
madethewinterbeforehedied,whenhehadbronchitisandwe
wereconstantlytakinghimtothevet.
Andonlythendidmyfatherdosomethingthatactually
soundedlikelaughing.Althoughbackwards,asifhe’dturned
thesyllablesaround.Hedidn’tgo“Ha,ha,ha,ha,ha,”but“Ah,
ah,ah,ah,ah.”Becausehewasbreathingin,notout.Itwaslike
he’dsomehowmisunderstoodtheprinciple.Althoughlaughing
isn’tsomethingyouhavetolearn;thathappensbyitself,
doesn’tit?Itdidforme,inanycase.Finallymyfatherwentfirst
red,thenpurpleintheface.Nowonder.Youcan’tmanage
withoutbreathingaltogether.Thelaughterturnedintoa
45
coughingfit,andhelefttheroomwithoutlookingatmeagain.
Hiscoughingandwheezingreceded,butIcouldstillhearit
evenafterhe’ddisappearedintohisbedroomatthetopofthe
stairs.
Thentherewassilence.Myfatherhadprobablyhadto
lightafagtogetovertheshockofencounteringhissoninthe
livingroom.Right,then.Sothathadbeenthetalkaboutthe
approachingchangeinourlives.
Okay,tostartwiththerewasn’tmuchtoobjecttoabout
achangeinourlives.Ifwemovedhouse,thenIwouldn’thave
toridemybikeupabloodymountaintogethometoWaldstadt
everyday,untilmylungswerehangingoutofmythroat.Orget
onthestinkingnumberseventeenbusandlistentoitsgears
grindingasitstruggledupthehill.Therewerelotsof
advantages,notleastwhenitcametoJacquelineSchmiedebach.
ThefactthatBogiandIwouldn’tbeneighboursanymorewas
justsomethingI’dhavetoaccept.Andthathadhappened
already,tobehonest.AlthoughIdidn’tliketothinktoomuch
aboutthat,becauseIkeptimagininghimlyingaloneinhis
hospitalbed,andfeelingthatIshouldreallybetherewithhim.
Butinsteadoftakingthatasareasontogoandseehimstraight
away,Itriedtostopthinkingabouthim.That’showitwas.
Mymotherhadrecentlydecidedtostarttakingmorecareof
me.Shewasalwaysinterferingwithmystuff,andwantingto
haveconversationswithme.AbouthowIwasfeelingandstuff,
forGod’ssake.BecauseoftheBogibusiness.AndhowIsawmy
future.Once,sheevenwantedtotalkaboutsex.Seriously.Just
46
imagineit.Mymother!Iprettyquicklymadesureshekepther
trapshutonthatissueandwasnevergoingtotryitagain.
Madness.Letherfindsomeoneelse’seartobend.
Thesexeducationlessonatschoolhadbeenkindof
funny,incidentally.Notbecauseofthetopic,butbecauseMrs
Strobelinbiologywassoembarrassedandred‐facedalllesson
andwasonlyteachingthisstuffbecauseshe’dbeenforcedto.
ShewasCatholic,etc.Ourheadmasterhadevenwrittenasex
educationbookhimself,andI’donceseenhimcomingoutof
thesexshoplookingreallychuffed.Iswear,I’mnotmakingthis
up!IwasgoingintotheoldMusikhausBornstedtrecordshop
whenIsawhim.Theoneeveryonewenttobeforetheyopened
Rockworld.Itwasweird.Welookedeachotherrightintheeye.
Stupidly,Iwasembarrassedbythesituation,thoughheclearly
wasn’t.IlookedawayquicklyandpretendedIhadn’t
recognisedhim.
Hestoodaroundforawhilelonger,takinghistime,
lookinginthewindowsofthesexshop.Itwasaprofessional
visit,forsexeducationandstuff.ThesexshopwascalledDr
Müller’s,andwhenmyfatherfirstmovedintoClaudia’sflat,in
anareawhereyoucouldguaranteenobodywouldeveropena
sexshop,thebellbytheirfrontdoorsaid“DrMüller”!Ipissed
myselflaughingwhenIreadthat.Maybethesexshopguyused
tolivethere.Claudia’snamewasn’tMüller,atanyrate.Itwas
Hunger‐Löper.I’dtriedtoimaginewhatahungerloperwould
looklike.Averythinmarabou,butwithfrizzyredhairinstead
offeathers,maybe.Ifshemarriedmyfatherandadded
47
SchumachertoHungerandLöper,thesignbythebellwouldbe
prettycrowded.
Ihadthefeelingthatmyparents,especiallymymother,
werejustwaitingtobeabletofoistaproblemontome,because
theyweregettingdivorced.LikeIsaid,theywerealwaystrying
todrawmeintotheirstress.Whichmademethinkthat
whetherthetwoofthemwerenotspeakingtoeachotherin
oneflatortwoseparateonesdidn’treallymakeanydifference.
Tome,atleast.
Earlier,whenI’dcomehomeanddroppedmybikebesidethe
garage,Iwentthroughthegardenandslippedintothehouse
throughthekitchendoor,tryingtogettomybedroomwithout
beingspotted.Butmymotherheardmeallthesameand
jumpeduptocomeandfindme.Iranupthestairsthreeata
timeandescapedher.
“Hello,Mum,”Icalledout,beforeslammingmybedroom
doorshutasecondlater.
IfIhadn’thadtorush,Icouldhavegrabbedsomethingto
eatonmywaythroughthekitchen,becauseIwaspretty
hungryafterpedallingupthemountain.Buttheriskofgetting
myearchewedoffwasjusttoogreat.Ilockedthedoor,turned
themusiconandthrewmyselfontothebed.Themusicdidme
good.Musicdidn’twantanythingfromme.Itwasjustthere,
anditwrappeditselfaroundme.
IntheRingwald,thewoodsthatbeganattheendofour
street,someonewassupposedlygrowingaplantationof
marijuanainaclearing.
48
I’dheardthisintheplaygroundatbreaktimefromWalki,
who’dhearditfromNeanderthalKlaus.Andiftherewas
anyonewhoknewaboutthesethings,itwashim.
NeanderthalKlaushadprobablyplantedithimself,and
thentoldpeopleaboutit,likeyoudowithsomethingyou
shouldreallykeeptoyourselfbutcan’t,becauseyouwantto
showoffandhaven’tgotanythingelsetoshowoffabout.
Somethinglikethat.NeanderthalKlauslookedexactlyashis
namesuggests,bytheway.Ormaybeitwastheotherway
around,andovertimehisappearancehadcometofithisname.
Inanycase,Ireallywantedtoknowwherethisplantationwas.
IknewtheRingwaldbetterthananyone.Well,notbetterthan
Bogiortheforester,perhaps.Butjustaswellasthemand
betterthanalltheothers.
TheRingwald,asMrKraglerhadtaughtusingeography,
wasa“geologicalhalf‐horst”.Kraglerwouldhavetornusanew
arseholeifwe’dlaughedatthat.HisfirstnamewasHorst.Or,
fromthatpointon,HalfHorst.OberstudienratHalfHorst
Kragler.Sortofthing.HewasluckytheRingwaldwasonlya
half‐horst,notatotalhorst;thenwewouldhavebeenin
trouble.IwouldhavetotellBogiaboutthegrassplantation
nexttimeIvisitedhim.
IfIwenttovisithim.
IpreferredtogobacktothinkingaboutJacqueline.I
didn’tmissBogiwhenIwasdoingthat.Imean,heprobably
wouldhaveruinedeverythingwithallhischat.It’squite
possiblethatafterI’dgottoknowJacquelineproperly,andwe
werefinallyacouple,andthetwoofthemmet,thefirstthing
49
he’dhavedonewouldbetoletoutafart.Iwouldn’tputhim
pasthim.Itmademelaugh.
Funny:suddenlytherewasnowsomethingcalled“my
life”,whichIwasalwaysthinkingaboutasifitweresomehow
takingplaceoutsideofme.ItwassomethingthatIoughtto
“shape”,oratleast,that’swhatmyfatherhadtoldmeawhile
ago.Ishouldthinkabouttheshapemylifewasgoingtotake,he
said,andIwonderedwhattheguywasonabout.Ithought:the
factthatI’mmeisprobablynothingbutacoincidence.Icould
justaseasilybesomeoneelse.Ifadifferentspermhadbeen
thatbitquicker,Imightnowbejustonemetrefifty‐threetall
withagiganticnose–waybiggerthanmyschnozalreadywas,I
mean,andI’dbegoingtomeet‐upsformodelrailway
enthusiastsorGodknowswhatelse.WouldIstillbemethen,or
someoneelse?Hardtosay,becauseinthatscenario,theperson
Inowcall“me”wouldn’tevenexist.Mybrainwasmeltingwith
allthisstuff–nowonderIcouldhardlycomeoutwitha
coherentsentenceanymore.Recently,mywholelifehadbeen
feelinglikeahugeBUThadfallenoutofthesky.EverytimeI
didorthoughtanything,thisBUTwouldshowup.
Iwasn’thappyinthewayIusedtobewhensomething
wasbrilliant,orevenwhensomethingjustworkedout–
instead,allIthoughtaboutwashowitcouldhavegonewrong.
AndthetwotimesthatJacquelineSchmiedebachsmiledatme?
Yes,Ifeltitdeepdowninside,buttherewasalwaysanagging
doubtthatshemightjusthavebeenlaughingatme.ThatBUT
wasworsethananything,quitehonestly.
50
Wherehaditcomefrom,allofasudden?Andaboveall,I
thought,asIcarriedonstaringattheceiling:why?
Although,no,youcouldn’treallycallitthinking.Itwas
morethatIcouldfeelsomethingheavyswirlingaroundinside
me.WheneverItriedtograbitandgetridofit,itslipped
throughmyfingers.
MaybeIshouldhaveacigarette.Iwasn’tactuallya
smoker,butIwantedtobecomeone,andhadrecentlyliberated
apackofmentholcigarettesfromthedrawerintheliving
room.Mymothersmokedthem.Ihopedthepeppermintscent
wouldmaketherevoltingtasteoftobaccomorebearable,and
eventuallyIwouldgetthehangofinhaling.Allthatcoughing
wassoembarrassing.
Itookthepackoutofitshidingplaceinmybookshelves,
behindtheKarlMaybooks.Theywerestillthereeventhough
I’dneverreadthem:allthatadventureandWesternbullshit
didn’tinterestmeintheslightest,Godknowswhyeveryone
loveditsomuch.Ituckedthecigarettepacketdownthefrontof
mytrousers,undertheelasticwaistbandofmypants,sothatit
wouldn’tslipdownmytrouserlegifIhadtowalkpastmy
mother.ThenIpulledmysweatshirtdownoverit.
Ihadslippedthelighterinsidethebox.Iputaneartomy
bedroomdoor,andwhenIdidn’thearanything,Iturnedthe
keyveryslowly,quietlyopenedthedoor,grabbedmyarmy
jacket,creptoutontothelandingandlistenedtowhatwas
goingondownstairs.Mymotherwasstillinthelivingroom,on
thephone.So:downthestairsquicklyandoutofthefrontdoor
beforeshecouldsayanythingelse.
51
Iheardsomethingbehindme,butbythattimeIwas
alreadyonmybikeandpedallingofftowardstheRingwald.At
theendoftheroadIturnedleftandalmostranoverthe
dachshundthatbelongedtoMrSchliemann,wholivedonthe
corner.Thetwoofthemwerejustcomingbackfromoneofthe
fourthousandwalkstheywentoneachday.Schliemannwas
ancientandlikedtowearhuntinggear,kneebreechesandso
on.ButIdon’tthinkhehadagunorwentoutshootinganimals.
Atleast,I’dneverseenhimwithone.AlthoughIwouldn’tputit
pasthim;peoplesaidhe’dworkedfortheNazis.Butthen,it
seemedeveryonehad.Hishouselookedlikeakindoflogcabin.
Weirdguy.Butthedachshundwasactuallyanicedog.
Schliemannyelledafterme,andIacceleratedandrode
offdowntherustlingwoodlandpathtowardsKreuztal.
Ireallydidwanttoknowwherethisbloodyplantation
was,buttheRingwaldwasquitebig.Although,asIsaid,itwas
onlyahalf‐horst.Forawhilenow,Ihadn’tdaredgooffintothe
undergrowthlikeIusedto.I’dreadinthepaperthatwildboar
–ofwhichtherewereloadshere–couldeatpeople.Whole
people,everylastbitofthem.Killerpigs.Bonesandeverything,
Imean.Theinterviewquotedapolicemansayingthatthebest
waytogetridofabodywastoleaveitinaforestwherethere
werealotofwildboar.Itwoulddisappearwithoutatracein
twoorthreedays.I’dbeenabitsurprisedthatapolicemanof
allpeoplewasgivingoutthosekindsoftipsinanewspaper.On
theotherhand,maybeitwasawayoffinallygettingsomeone,
anyone,tolistentohim.Ineededtostopreadingthestupid
52
paper.Myfatherspenthalfthedayonthatrubbishandyou
couldseewhereitgothim.
Istood,smoking,inthedried‐upstreambedunderthe
littlewoodenbridgeinKreuztal,andtriednottocough.I
concentratedonthementholtaste.Thewindwhistledandthe
firstyellowoakleaveswerespinningdownfromthetrees;they
weresosolidthatithurtifonelandedonyourhead.
IthoughtaboutJacquelineSchmiedebach,andinstantly
feltguiltythatallIthoughtaboutwashernow,andnotBogi.
Thewayhehadstoodthereatthehospitalwindow.Although,if
I’mcompletelyhonest?Iwasactuallystilljustthinkingabout
Jacqueline.Maybeafewotherincidentalthingsfromtimeto
time.Butnotasarule.
Onthewayback,Iwentdownandcycledpastthelido.
Throughthefence,Ilookedattheemptypoolsandthetwo
divingplatforms:thethree‐metreone,andbesideitthefiveand
theten.
Hardtoimaginethatnextsummer,itwouldbefullof
peopleagain,andI’dmakemynextattempttojumpofftheten.
“Attempt”,meaning:I’dprobablyjustspendagesstandingup
thereagain,completelynumbwithfear,althoughIhadthisidea
thatthejumpmightchangesomething–insideme,Imean.But
perhapsIwaswrongaboutthat.Perhapsitwasjustathingyou
werealwaystold,andafteryoujumpedyourskinwouldjust
stingfordaysandeverythingelsewouldbeexactlythesameas
before.
53
AsIwasnearinghome,Isawtwoblackfiguresdoingacrobatics
ontheroofofthehouse.Afairlytalloneandoneonlyhalfas
big.Thechimneysweepshadcome.Iwatchedforaminuteas
theybusiedthemselvesuptherewithmetalballsattachedto
chains,whichlookedlikesomethingoutofoneofthosemiddle‐
agescomics.
Playingyetanotherroundofthesamegameasearlier,I
creptinthroughthekitchenandtriedtogetpasttheliving
roomunnoticed.Butthistimemymotherwasfasterthanme,
andwasalreadywaitingformeinthehall.Shelookedsad.That
wasthethingthatreallygotme,muchmorethanthe
arguments.Itwasn’tactuallyherIwasavoiding;itwasjustthis
horriblesadness.MyownsadnessaboutBogiwasquiteenough
forme.
“Motte,wecangoandlookataflatinthenewtown
tomorrow.”
“Er,whattime?”
“Threeo’clock.”
Thatwasnogood.ThatmeantIcouldn’twaitfor
JacquelineSchmiedebachatthejetty.
“Ican’tmakeit.”
“Whatdoyoumean,youcan’tmakeit?It’simportant.”
“Yeah,pff,justtaketheflat.It’llbefine,”Isaid.Quite
honestly,itdidn’tmattertome.
“Don’tyouevenwanttoknowwherewe’regoingtolive?
Aren’tyouinterestedinwhatwedonext?Iam.”
Okay.Hervoicewasstartingtowaveragain,andifthere
weretwoorthreemoreoftheseexchangesbetweenusnow,
54
shewoulddisappearintoherroomfortherestofthedayand
haveaheadache,andeventuallyI’dhavetogoupand
apologise.Thenwe’dspendhalfanhourstandinginherroom
andhuggingandstuff.Orrather,shewouldbehuggingme.
“Sowhereexactlyisit?”Iasked,hopingtosparemyself
allthat.Butthenshewantedtoputherarmsroundmethen
andthere–only,Iwasabletowriggleoutofitstraightaway,
becausesomeonewascomingdownthestairsbehindus.Itwas
thechimneysweepwhoI’djustseenontheroof.
“Rightthen,that’susfinished,MrsSchumacher.”
Mymotherdisappearedintothekitchen,probablyto
fetchatip.Shealwayspressedmoneyintothesepeople’shands
theminutetheycameintothehouse.Ifounditfairly
embarrassing.Latershewouldalwaystellmehowincredibly
nicethey’dbeen.Nowonder.
“Thankyousomuch!”shetrilled,andbang,themanhad
atennerinhishand.TenMarks!I’mnotevenkidding.
Therecouldhavebeenabitofadiscussionaboutthat.
Thatwasmypocketmoneyfortwoweeks.Andhewasgetting
itfordoingwhathewouldhavedoneanyway,inadditiontohis
chimney‐sweepdough.
“Forthebiscuitfund,”mymothersaid,andtheguy
mutteredsomethinglike“Thecompany’sverygrateful”.
Iwassurethecompanywasnevergoingtoseethat
tenner.
“Motte,don’tyouwanttotouchthegentleman?Chimney
sweepsbringgoodluck,”mymothersaid.
IthoughtIwashearingthings.
55
Inanycase,Ididn’tlikebeingcalledMotteinfrontof
strangers.Theywouldthinkitwasmynameandtheycouldcall
methat,too.ButIwaspickyaboutwhogottocallmeMotte
and,moreimportantly,whodidn’t.
I’dhadenoughofallthisstandingaround.AndIwasalso
scaredthatIstillsmelledofcigarettesmoke.Iwasabouttotry
andslipawaywhenthehalf‐chimney‐sweep,whohadcome
downafterthefirstone,alsosaidsomething.
“Hi,Motte.”
IwassogobsmackedthatatfirstIjuststaredatthis
strangefigure,theblackclothes,thefunnycapandaboveall,
theblackface.
“Don’tyourecogniseme?It’sSteffi.”
Mymotherandthebigchimneysweepsmiled,asifwe
weretwopoodlessniffingeachother,orsomething.
WhothehellwasSteffi?
“Wewereinthesameclassatprimaryschool.Steffi
Fuchs,”saidthelittlechimneysweep.
SteffiFuchs,SteffiFuchs…
Ah,right,ofcourse,Stefanie,theshortonewiththe
crookedteeth.Whooncejumpedoutofanappletreeintoa
haystackthatstillhadapitchforkinit.Afterwardstheysaidat
schoolthatshehadtohavealongoperation,becausethe
pitchforkwentinonesideofherbellyandcameouttheother.
Butitmissedallherorgans,otherwiseshewouldhavedied,or
somethinglikethat.Steffihadbeenputintotheambulancewith
thepitchforkstillinsideher.They’dcutawaythehandlefirst–
God’shonesttruth.FrankWolterstoldusthat,andhewas
56
there.Thetwoofthemlivedinoneofthenew‐buildblocks
they’dthrownupontheedgeofthefarmland,sotheyplayed
togetheralot.
Theprongshadbeenpulledoutofheroncetheygotto
thehospital.Ithadbeenthemostinterestingthingthathad
happenedinthewholetimeIwasatprimaryschool.Ifonly
becausewedidn’tknowanyoneelsewho’dhadanoperation.
Afterwards,wehadalwayslookedatSteffiFuchsfunny,
wonderingwhethershenowhadholesinherbellythatthe
windwhistledthrough.Thethingsyouthinkwhenyou’reakid.
Butwhatwasshedoingherenow,dressedasachimney
sweep?Atleastitlookedlikethatepisodehadn’tputheroff
climbing.
“Steffiismyapprentice.Shestartedinthesummer,”said
theten‐markman.
“You’rethepitchforkgirl,right?”Iasked.
Thenshegrinned,andwithherfaceallblackitlooked
quitefunny,andmademerelaxabit.
“Yes,that’sme.Yourememberthat?”
“Whatdoyouthink?”Apause.
Motherstared.Thechimneysweepstared.Allthethings
theytaughtyounevertodo,likestaringatpeople,theywere
constantlydoingthemselves,withoutanyshameaboutit.
“Andyou’re….Er,soyou’redoing…”
“Achimneysweepapprenticeship,yes,”shesaid.
“Right.Ofcourse.Cool.”
57
Itwasstrangethatshewasdoingarealjobalready.I
suddenlyfeltquitechildish,withSteffistandinginfrontofme
inherworkgear.
Whichwasalsooddbecause,sincewe’dgonetothe
moreacademicGymnasium,we’dalwaystreatedthekidsatthe
non‐selectiveschoolquitecondescendingly.Likesemi‐idiots.
TosaynothingofthekidsfromtheBrettergymnasium,the
lowersecondaryschool.Tobehonest,Ididn’tknowasingle
lower‐secondarykid.Everyonewassupposedtobedoingtheir
universityentranceexamsandgoingofftostudyandthings.
AndifevenablockheadlikeUdoMönchcouldgetintothe
Gymnasium,itdidmakeyouwonderwhowenttothelower
secondary.Nomatter;Steffiatleastmanagedtospeakinwhole
sentences.WhichwasbetterthanIcoulddo,ifI’mhonest.
Shereallywasquiteshort.Herbottomlipprotrudeda
little,andshehaddimples,becauseshewasconstantly
grinning.Herfrontteethweretheoppositeofbuckteeth,if
suchathingexists:theyweresetbackalittleway.Andthey
glowedinhersootyface.Shehadtakenhercapoffandher
haircutwaslikeBowie’sonthecoverofLow.Kindofincredible,
really,becausehemusthavehadatleastfourteenhairdressers
workingonhim,andSteffihadsimplyhadherchimney‐sweep
capon,andyetthetwohadcomeoutthesame.
“Comeonthen,Steffi,we’renotdoneforthedayyet,”
saidthechimneysweep.
Thetwoofthemmovedontothehousenextdoor.I
watchedthemgo.ThechimneysweepandStefanieFuchs,who
oncejumpedontoapitchfork.