Darkness into Light Box Set

by Michael Dean

  Julius gathered the entire family in the main room, with the exception of Ursula, who was tacitly excused anything requiring consciousnesses. The old man stood in the middle of the semi-circle of the lot of them in the main room, with its jumble of colour-clashing and broken Sperrmüll furniture. It was like the last scene of an Agatha Christie murder mystery played out on the set of The Caretaker.

  Julius started to speak, then remembered something. He bolted from the room. Mario and Robert were muttering to each other, concerned. Robert was questioning, Mario reassuring. Robert’s long, lean face was like Hartmut’s, without the intelligence. Although he was eighteen months older than Mario, Robert was the follower and the younger brother the leader in their partnership.

  Mainhardt took an unsteady swig of Weinbrand from a hip flask. Naomi sneaked a look at Hartmut, who had slid back to his original armchair. The Easter Island Statue look was back on his distinguished-looking profile. His eyes were closing.

  Julius reappeared, hauling the terrified and whimpering dog, Bubale. He lifted the mainly-Schnauzer up and pulled his red collar forward, half choking the animal.

  ‘This morning,’ announced Julius, grandly. ‘I put 30 pfennigs in Bubale’s purse. So someone can phone us if he gets lost. Just three hours ago, I put this money there. And now it’s gone. Disappeared without trace. One of you arseholes has nicked it. Nicked my own dog’s telephone money! Who was it? Who’s got Bubale’s 30 pfennigs? Tell me now or I thrash the lot of you.’

  The victim of the theft struggled furiously and finally got his neck out of his collar. He bit Julius on the ear. Julius yelled, dropped the animal who ran for freedom as the loving owner, roaring with pain, clutched his bleeding ear.

  Upstairs, Ursula stirred for the first time and then slipped back into stupor.

  16

  Hermann Schaffner had set up an import-export business in Munich, where he was born, but so much of his work was coming from the Stuttgart area that he moved to Ludwigsburg. There, he set himself to find whatever machine parts the burgeoning Swabian engineering industry needed. Even in Swabia, they could not make every last nut and bolt themselves, and whatever a firm needed Hermann Schaffner could get, fast. He was making a fortune, sums beyond his wildest dreams.

  Managing bands was a sideline. He quite liked the music, but the main aim was to get the boys into bed. The Junggesellen was his first band. Hermann had already been screwing Jens Körner, the drummer, when the lead singer, Norbert Sibulsky, offered himself. He had phoned up and asked to stay the night. It was just a matter of time before he had the other two Junggesellen as well.

  Hermann Schaffner was learning English for his business. He also, naturally, hoped to meet some young men. Or, failing that, some young women. He preferred men, but liked a certain physical type, fleshy; so women would do, at a pinch, especially on nights when he couldn’t find a man.

  *

  After the lesson, the pupils were waiting in the classroom with their coats on while everybody decided where to go. The teachers came with them, for a drink, naturally. Mr Hill and Mr de Launay came every time. Sometimes Frau Plutznick came and sometimes she didn’t, depending on whether her husband was around. Frau Plutznick seemed happier to come with the group than to go home to her husband, that was obvious to all of them.

  Himmelfahrt was lolling in the desk next to Hermann Schaffner. He had finished his evening class early, as he habitually did. Four of his pupils from the class, including Hermann Schaffner (known as Hermann the Bugger to John, Naomi and Himmelfahrt), Hermann Laichle (Hermann the Gardener) and Dieter Sinjen, had stayed behind to go for a drink. Sinjen, the floppy-haired fun-loving grammar school teacher, who was always smiling, was so pleased with Himmelfahrt’s afternoon lessons that he had joined his Tuesday evening class as well.

  They were all waiting for the others. Naomi and John were still teaching, to the appointed time for the lesson to end. Himmelfahrt was hoping Naomi would come along for a drink this evening. He had lots of stories he wanted to tell her. He felt completely at ease in her company, so rare for him. He acknowledged to himself that she was safe because she was married.

  But then something utterly wonderful happened. Something totally unexpected. A miracle, really: three women from Naomi’s class, who he had never seen before, came in from the Ladies, ready to go for a drink. That was it. That was all. Except that all three of them were the most beautiful women Himmelfahrt had ever seen. As they burst into the room together, well aware of the effect they were having, it was like the sun rising from three points of the compass at once, and flooding the world.

  They sat down in a row in front of him, looking at him, waiting to be amused. The moment was made for Himmelfahrt. He jumped to his feet and faced the trio of smiling, expectant beauty. And promptly launched into an impromptu mock German lesson, mercilessly taking the piss out of the Direct Method.

  ‘My name,’ said Himmelfahrt, in German, pointing to himself, ‘Is Mark Hill. What is your name?’

  The three most beautiful women in creation obligingly piped out their names: Margarethe Heer, Anna Schweinle, Doris Röder. Oh God, if teachers get to heaven at all it must be like this …

  Despite feeling in need of the promised beer, everyone else in the room was amused at the parody, very much including John and Naomi who came in while he was in full flow and stood in the doorway, in their coats. Naomi even whispered to John that Mark’s progress in German was the fastest they had ever had from a teacher starting with nothing.

  ‘Very good,’ said Himmelfahrt, still in German, to the assembled radiance. ‘Margarethe,’ he continued. ‘Are you beautiful?’ And then the verbal prompt, indicating the answer, waving his hand. ‘Ja, ich …’

  Margarethe Heer had titian-coloured hair, skin like cream, a very full figure and a mouth like the French film star Jeanne Moreau. She was 29, ten years older than the other two women. Under an open cashmere coat she was wearing a tight, purple micro skirt showing curvy taut thighs in sheer white tights. Her blouse was white, frilly and very low-cut.

  Margarethe Heer looked delighted. ‘Ja,’ she said.

  ‘Long answer. “Yes, I am beautiful.” Margarethe, please.’

  ‘Ja, ich bin schön,’ confessed Margarethe, shrugging apologetically at the other two, but failing to hide a delighted smile.

  ‘Anna,’ continued Himmelfahrt, in a relentless parody of a Direct Method pattern drill. ‘Bist du schön?’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Anna Schweinle, as if weighing pros and cons. She looked like Jackie Kennedy, but with bigger breasts. ‘Gar nicht so schlimm.’ (Not too bad.)

  ‘Nein, Anna!’ yelled Himmelfahrt in German in a voice loud enough to be heard at the dentist’s below — or it would have been if there had been anybody there at that time of night. The beauties shrank back, giggling in mock fear.

  Himmelfahrt continued, in German. ‘Ich bin schön, Anna bitte.’

  Anna shrugged and made a small ‘what can I do?’ gesture to the other two. ‘Ich bin schön,’ she confessed.

  ‘Doris,’ shouted Himmelfahrt. ‘Bist …?’

  Doris Röder was smiling, poised, very much in love, fulfilled and happy. She was raven-haired and had breathtaking bold features. She put one hand behind her head in a mock film star pose, which was a laugh, as she had intended. The pose pushed out her quite exquisite breasts, which she hadn’t intended, but it was very enjoyable.

  ‘Oh, ich bin sehr schön,’ said Doris in a funny, sexy voice.

  Everybody in the room was laughing. Himmelfahrt had created the atmosphere of hysteria he revelled in. They could all have gone for a beer at this point. But no …

  ‘Bist du normal?’ continued Himmelfahrt relentlessly, to Margarethe.

  Not used to being asked if she was normal, Margarethe glanced at the other two, still smiling but slightly perplexed. ‘Ja, ich bin normal,’ she said.

  ‘Bist du normal?’ Himmelfahrt asked Doris.

  Doris opened her dark, slightly slanting eyes wide.
‘Ja, ich bin normal,’ she said, playing along by making it sound just slightly suggestive.

  ‘Und bist du normal?’ Himmelfahrt asked Anna, giving a ‘No’ shake of his head to indicate the answer he wanted — methodologically sound, according to the Direct Method.

  ‘Nein,’ wailed Anna Schweinle, with mock regret. ‘Ich bin nicht normal.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Himmelfahrt. ‘Come to me after the lesson …’

  This got a roar of laughter while he held Anna’s eyes and was rewarded by a steady gaze back from her, pupils widening. It was then he saw Frau Stikuta standing in the doorway, behind Naomi and John. She had been there, unnoticed by everybody, for some time. She was wrapped in the sanitation of her Loden coat.

  Still on a hysterical high, Himmelfahrt yelled out ‘Ah, Sticky!’ He opened his arms wide to his employer in a parody of welcome. ‘Come in,’ he offered, graciously.

  Frau Stikuta smiled, indulgently. A year ago, Himmelfahrt would have been sacked on the spot for this. Even now, if Gustav heard about such mockery there would be nothing she could do to protect him. But meanwhile … meanwhile, young Mr Hill was again awakening unexpected maternal feelings in Frau Stikuta. And they were getting stronger. She was over 50 now and it was too late for all that, even if she had been able to stand it, which she could never have done. But there was something about this green young man. You couldn’t help smiling.

  Frau Stikuta glanced round the room, noting how happy the pupils looked. That was good enough. They would all be back next week.

  ‘Herr de Launay, please turn the lights out before you leave,’ said Frau Stikuta. ‘And shut the windows. You always forget that, Herr de Launay.’

  It was a public rebuke, in front of the students. There was a silence in the room.

  John shrugged, staring her in the eye. Himmelfahrt had no idea why Sticky was speaking to John like this (it wasn’t the first time either) but he was glad it wasn’t him who was out of favour.

  ‘I wish you a good evening. All of you.’ And with that, and a flurry of green Loden coat, Sticky was gone.

  There was a general move to food and beer. John de Launay checked the windows and turned the lights off in the classroom as they left, as instructed. The chattering, happy group made their way down the stairs, out into the starry south German night.

  Outside in the street, Himmelfahrt glanced across the road and had a mystic, other-wordly experience.

  17

  Himmelfahrt looked across the elegant square of Arsenalplatz and saw himself. There he was, hurrying, apparently, out of the doorway he had just come out of himself, working his way round the colonnaded side of the square towards the main road. He was wearing a mac, which he wasn’t, so to speak, but it was definitely him; same round face, long black hair, beard, glasses. He peered into the gloom, looking for his precise present configuration of acne on the Doppelgänger’s face.

  A shiver came over him. The figure that was him walked into and out of puddles of light from street lamps and closed shops. Himmelfahrt had heard of the idea of parallel lives; there was a shift in your life, you made a choice and you lived both choices in different universes. So there were millions upon millions of parallel universes. And what he was witnessing now was one of his parallel selves slipping from one universe to another.

  It was profound, this experience he was undergoing. It was massively significant because it offered the chance of redemption. Basically, if you screwed up in one universe, you had another chance in another one. So there was a possibility, after all, that he might — just might — finally get it right at this business of living. He must seize the moment of this profound experience and confront his other self.

  Mind you, God knows what he was going to say. What do you say to your other self? How about, do you wank as much as I do? Doesn’t bear thinking about. His other self was approaching the main road, same walk as him, same posture, no doubt, it was him.

  Himmelfahrt (the original one) had been walking diagonally across the square, slightly separated from the rest of the group, pursuing his other self. And then something else happened.

  A triumph happened. The biggest sexual success he had had in his 22 years happened. The three most beautiful women on earth had been walking arm in arm, with Margarethe, the smallest, in the middle. They were following Hermann Schaffner, who was leading the group, then John and Naomi. But the three beauties changed tack, followed Himmelfahrt and competed, positively competed with each other, to walk next to him.

  Himmelfahrt stopped. The three women broke their arm link. Margarethe fell in step next to him, so Himmelfahrt adjusted his line back to follow the rest of the group. His other self disappeared round the corner. Himmelfahrt felt slightly sick and dizzy.

  Margarethe Heer, meanwhile, saw a very funny man from London, which was a glamorous international city, not a provincial small town, which was all she had known. This amusing man was going to be part of an evening of fun and a bit, just a bit, of danger. The man himself would definitely provide the fun, and might also provide the danger. She took Mark Hill by the arm, out of companionship, but also to keep the other two younger ones off him, and started to chatter about the children and her husband, Johannes.

  *

  When Margarethe was eighteen, her first ever job was typist at Gluckscheiter Freizeitmöbel, then in Kirchstrasse; a small firm making garden furniture. The Managing Director was Johannes Heer. He was tall, lean and rangy, with thick, square, black-rimmed glasses and in those days had black hair combed forward. He was 32, young for a Managing Director, old for her. On her first day at work he fell for her even before she found her typewriter.

  They got married six months later. Margarethe had her first child when she was nineteen; little Heike was nearly ten now. Her younger brother Matthias followed, as they say, four years later. Margarethe Heer had kept her figure after both births. Her body looked no different to the first time Johannes called her into his office for an entirely unnecessary briefing about client accounts. Until last month, that is.

  It was a terrible moment. Quite suddenly … She had seen herself naked in the full-length mirror in the bedroom and …

  She started to leave the children with neighbours and go for long drives on her own in her black BMW. She drove as far as Heilbronn once, then stopped, alarmed, wondering how she had got there. She grew snappy with Johannes and even with the children.

  One of her girlfriends, Beate Brenner, suggested she spoil herself. Leaving the kids with Beate, Margarethe had slipped off to Stuttgart, to Lorian in Calwer Passage, to buy herself some luxury underwear. She could get into the sexy stuff alright, but the assistant, a snot-nose and plain with it, had sneeringly suggested Margarethe now needed an underwired, support bra, ‘at your age’.

  Seething, tearful, Margarethe stormed out of Lorian. She marched up and down Calwer Strasse, Königstrasse, Stiftstrasse, street after street, furiously and grimly shopping. She spent 5000 Marks in three hours; most of it had to be delivered, she couldn’t carry it all. Johannes had blanched but said nothing.

  She was wearing some of the sexy clothes she had bought that day, for the first time. She had never worn anything like that before. Two weeks ago she had enrolled for English classes as a respectable reason to wear unrespectable clothes.

  At the class, the young girls, Anna and Doris, had accepted her as a beauty, like them. There had been no cattiness about her being older. But still, Margarethe Heer felt wild inside, teetering on the edge of being someone else entirely.

  *

  So she was married! The possibility had not occurred to Himmelfahrt. He began to relax, enjoying her company as she chattered away. He smiled down at her (Margarethe was really tiny). She smiled back, chattering unaffectedly and unselfconsciously about how she had got Johannes to miss his Chess Club evening tonight, to look after the children while she went out. She was pleased with herself. She was a nice person! He wondered why he found that discovery quite so amazing.

  They were g
oing to Café Harre, where there was a dance evening. Hermann Schaffner had authoritatively announced their destination as soon as they got outside. Dancing would advance Hermann’s cause considerably with one particular person, or so he believed. The other Hermann from Himmelfahrt’s class, Hermann Laichle (Hermann the Gardener) did not like the idea of dancing but was too shy to say so.

  It wasn’t far to the Harre, in Marktstrasse. The lovely square of Marktplatz was always full of parked cars, even at night. Weaving round the cars, hooked to the blazingly beautiful Margarethe, Himmelfahrt did not notice the statue in the middle of the square.

  Unoffended by the snub, Duke Eberhard Ludwig, founder of the city, looked down on them from his plinth, as they passed on the way to dance. Eberhard Ludwig had been a bit of a hoofer himself, in his day. One of his mistresses was a Hungarian dancer and his main mistress, Christl, was more jealous of her than she was of his wife. (Not that you’d think of dancing from Carlo Ferretti’s statue, done in 1724, which makes the city’s founder look like a portly Peter Pan.)

  Dance had been a Ludwigsburg tradition ever since. The 1 Tanzclub Ludwigsburg — known as 1 TCL — with 38 members at the time, had just had its breakthrough move to its own clubroom in Schorndorferstrasse (Himmelfahrt passed it on his way into town every day, but didn’t notice it).

  Ludwigsburg had a lively, southern-style nightlife and the streets and squares were thronged with people. Everybody, men and women, looked at Margarethe. Some of the looks Himmelfahrt, as her companion, got from men were frankly envious. Occasionally, glances at her were lascivious. Two men stopped altogether and watched her out of sight.

  Himmelfahrt remembered the day at Brighton. The Swedish girl … Oh dear, the Swedish girl … And then the fortune teller. A married woman. But stay away. That’s what the fortune teller had said. Of course. Common sense. Basic morality. Stay away. Without breaking stride, Himmelfahrt bent as Margarethe was talking and kissed her lightly on the lips. She turned her head up, held his kiss for a stride, then carried on speaking as if nothing had happened.