One Another

by One Another (retail) (epub)

  Good Lord! Why there?

  Because he has a gambling addiction, Nathanael.

  Oh good Lord! And I can’t leave here right now.

  Fortunately, he had put in for a vacation in two weeks when his father would take Julika to the Black Forest. During the day, he would take care of his mother, who had been hospitalized after a fall down the stairs. The evenings he would spend with us, playing with the children, putting them to bed, cooking with me.

  You really want to cook with me?

  Absolutely.

  A strong wind picks up. We didn’t bring any jackets and are freezing in our rain-drenched sweaters. Nathanael looks at me apologetically. He’s sorry to have dragged me along on this horrible excursion, through this pathetic forest, in completely unsuitable weather, he tells me. Where is spring anyway? He collapses against a tree trunk. How I loathe this forest! Just like I despise all forests. Every goddamn crap forest in the whole area. The trees aren’t the worst of it. There are all the damn animals. I hate them all, the bunnies and wild boar and deer and martens and raccoons and dormice, everything you can shoot at, what you can bag and gut and skin and butcher and roast and eat—by the way, where’s your dog?

  Here.

  Put her on the leash.

  Why?

  If you don’t, they’ll shoot her and then claim they took her for a fox.

  Nonsense, I say.

  They’re all in, Nathanael replies. My father is a hunter, his father was a hunter, and his brother Wolf was the best hunter of them all. It runs in our family. Though I don’t know what went wrong in my case.

  But hunting season’s closed.

  My ass. There’s no closed season for hares and foxes. And raccoons and raccoon dogs are exempted in April.

  He turns away. I walk up close behind him. He’s gasping for breath. I open my arms wrap them around his chest. His heart is racing, his breathing is uneven.

  Once I watched my father skin a raccoon dog. It whimpered with its last strength. My father skinned it alive. It’s easier that way, he said. The raccoon dog was still warm. Back when Angelo left, I’d wake in a panic in the middle of the night. I saw my skin hanging off me in shreds and all I could do was whimper like the raccoon dog. Nathanael took a deep breath. Have you ever heard a raccoon dog?

  No. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.

  They look a little like raccoons. As pups, they make these barely audible whimpers, but the young males give these long, drawn-out howls at night when looking for their lifemates. Nathanael howls, frees himself from my hug, turns to face me, and gives a sharp laugh. I’ll never be able to love anyone again, he says. Give me a robot, for all I care, it wouldn’t bother me at all that it’s a machine, just the opposite, I would like that. Nothing from any orifice, no glands, no secretions, no odors, wonderful. No bodily imperfections, no deterioration. There. And now let’s find that damn grave.

  There are no indications whether a tree is a grave marker or not. There are no commemorative stones, no inscriptions, no names. A few scattered trees have blue or yellow bands around their trunks. Nathanael supposes they’re ones that haven’t been sold yet. This would mean, on the other hand, that most trees are already taken.

  So many corpses here, I say, but Nathanael explains that the dead are cremated before being buried at the foot of their tree-graves.

  Too bad. I was picturing the foxes and martens at their nightly feasts.

  Nathanael gives me a disapproving look. You mean they’d dig up the bodies and eat them?

  Of course. My dog goes straight for any carrion, why shouldn’t the forest animals?

  Nathanael sighs.

  Why do things always have to become unappetizing so quickly? Since we’re on the topic, there’s something else I wanted to tell you about Wolf and Bärbel. I forgot the most important part! He stops and slips the map into his pocket. I’ve had it, he says. OK with you if we give up?

  On the way back I ask Nathanael what he’ll decide. He looks out the window and thinks it over. What would I do if I were he? He lives in Berlin. If he wants to visit his mother’s grave, he’ll have to go another hour by train from the Hamburg station to Buxtehude and then run through the forest, assuming, of course, that the ash tree really does exist and that he can remember its location. But how often does anyone visit his dead mother anyway? I try to picture his father in the Black Forest with his girlfriend. I wonder what kind of canoodling they get up to. Nathanael smiles at me. Hey, where are you? he asks.

  How did your father meet Julika?

  They’ve lived next-door to each other for forty years.

  And they’ve been together that long?

  No, of course not. Only since my mother didn’t understand anything anymore.

  Was your mother friends with her before? Or with Julika’s husband?

  Not at all. They couldn’t stand each other.

  And now they’re supposed to lie in the same grave?

  Exactly.

  You can’t do that to your mother.

  No, I can’t, can I?

  Nathanael drives straight from the forest to the hospital to see his mother. I go home. Philipp left me a message. He misses the children. And me. Even if I don’t want to hear it. And he has news: he will likely get out in ten days. And then? How does he think it will go? I need some distance, I write him. I’ve barely sent the message when the phone rings. Philipp sobs into my ear. I tell him I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. I hang up.

  Nathanael puts the boys to bed. I hear him whistling the sandman song, then he says in a deep voice: Children dear, pay close attention, I’ve got something worth the mention. He starts telling them a story, but is interrupted every few seconds. He lowers his voice, he raises it, but no matter what he does, the children are all worked up. Stop! he shouts, or I’ll throw sand at you. Silence. Nathanael continues his story. I think the boys are asleep but then the older one comes into the kitchen, crying.

  Thanatal threw sand in my eyes! Now they’re broken. I can’t see anything.

  Then we’ll have to wash them out.

  No! It hurts!

  Nathanael appears in the kitchen door.

  Nathanael, did you throw sand? I ask severely.

  No, he answered, I only sprinkle sand when you’re already asleep, so you can see your dreams better. Or would you rather not see them at all?

  I do want to! the big little one shouts. He takes Nathanael’s hand and pulls him back to the bedroom.

  We don’t cook, of course we don’t, since Philipp isn’t here to intervene should peace be jeopardized. We agree that we’re not at all hungry, drink sweet tea, and nibble on crisp bread. Nathanael is very quiet. My mother’s arm has been sewn up like a cabbage roll, he finally says, sweeping the crumbs from the table with the flat of his hand. The color fits, too, her arm is all yellow-violet. The physical therapist gave her a compliment, said how well-coordinated she is for someone her age. And she answered proudly that after thirty years of yoga, it’s hardly surprising. Nathanael stands up and drops the crumbs into the garbage can, then washes his hands and sits back down. He reaches for another slice of crisp bread. Then, when I was alone with her, my mother didn’t know what to say for a long time. I think it made her uncomfortable. Finally she said: I could get you some chocolate from the cellar. Next time, please call before you visit, I want to be sure I’m here. That I’m not at work. Some crumbs fall from his mouth. He apologizes, sweeps them with the flat of his hand into his other hand as he had earlier, stands up, and shakes his hands over the garbage can, looks at his palms, goes over to the sink, and washes them. He steps up to the window. Outside it’s already dark. I think it’s raining again. After that endless winter, constant rain. Oh well, he sighs. My father can’t manage. He designed and built the house himself decades ago and now he lives there all alone and refuses to move. Living next door to Julika is convenient, but the yard work, the housekeeping, the laundry. Buying groceries, cooking, cleaning, he didn’t do any
of it his entire life. At the most, he grilled a steak now and then, hunter that he was. Now he cooks potatoes and puts in way too much salt. He was slicing turnips and had an attack of gout. What are you doing, fixing yourself rabbit food? I asked. He laughed and was proud of himself and of me. But in the middle of the flare up, when I asked how he was doing, he shouted at me: I’m doing fine! He fought against the pain. But Irm is dead, he said to me. What do you mean, dead? I asked. She’s dead, she just dropped dead. Irm is, or was, his brother’s wife. My father’s pain gradually eased. She wasn’t even old, what do I know, heart attack. All she ever ate were those biscuits. She just wore herself out. And Wolf? My father laughed contemptuously, Wolf! He’s letting loose. He was taking a cure with Bärbel at the time. He had taken up with his old girlfriend again, from back when he was younger, this Bärbel. I know her from way back, very sensuous, always liked to eat. Not like Irm with her biscuits. And my dear brother didn’t even interrupt his cure. Cremated and into an unmarked grave went poor Irm. Horrible. Lying out there somewhere. And that is not going to happen to Mother, you understand, my boy. She should be laid to rest properly. What’s nicer than a forest? What is more peaceful? She should lie there next to Fredi.

  My little son is standing there, the big little one. Which Fredi? he asks. He had a dream. I saw something! It’s not easy to understand what exactly. A huge backhoe with wings? And you were the backhoe driver? No, the pilot. I see. And flew way up in the sky, then fell back down. And then? The end, my son says. I want to again. Thanatal, can you throw sand in my eyes again?

  When Nathanael comes back into the kitchen, I remind him that he wanted to tell me something else about Wolf and Bärbel. The two of them are an unusual couple, I think it’s fair to say, Nathanael says, and asks if there is any more crisp bread. Bärbel was a chubby girl and back then, after the war, that was rare. Because Wolf liked her, he started slipping her food. Usually it was a piece of bread or an apple, whatever he could spare. Over time he started giving her his whole snack, everything his mother gave him, even the extra piece of bread she slathered with schmaltz because he was so thin and was good at wheedling things out of her. Wolf brought more and more, but it was never enough. The crisp bread snaps loudly and Nathanael laughs. Wolf watched Bärbel as she ate, but as soon as she had swallowed the last bite, the hunger pangs started again. Wolf did what he could. Bärbel blossomed and as her waistline grew, so did Wolf’s love for her. Bärbel matured early and let Wolf touch her breasts when he gave her something sweet. Later, she let him suck on them, too. When they were caught, fat Bärbel was standing stark naked on a crate, her legs spread, scarfing down a sausage sandwich while Wolf was sticking one key after another, on a large ring, into her vagina, as deep as it would go. They were twelve. Their parents forbade them all contact. They kept meeting, every year finding increasingly clever hiding places. Bärbel became pregnant when she was seventeen. Wolf was the one who noticed the child’s movements. By then Bärbel was already in the sixth month. Her parents stuck her in a home, the child was taken away as soon as it was born. Bärbel didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. She wrote Wolf several letters but they didn’t reach him, so she never got an answer. Nathanael drains his tea in one gulp, reaches for another piece of crisp bread, and says: I just can’t stop!

  Wolf and Bärbel didn’t see each other again for decades. He went to college, got his hunting license, married Irm, had a daughter, and tried without success to produce a son. Irm endured it, but didn’t enjoy it. She managed to avoid a second pregnancy—how she did remains her secret. Fat Bärbel married twice and, after several miscarriages, had a son. When she went to visit her first grandchild in the hospital—she was retired by then—an agitated Wolf was standing at the reception desk repeating again and again: My name is Wolfgang Fendel and I’d like to know what room my wife, Irmgard Fendel, née Kraushaar, is in; she was admitted today with a case of renal colic. Hello, Wolf, it’s me, Bärbel, Bärbel said behind him. You’re thin now, Wolf said. Now you’re exaggerating, Bärbel said, patting her stomach and hips. It’s great to see you. They’ve been inseparable since. Only Irm stood between them. But they were both experienced in secrecy. Wolf immediately got busy putting meat on her bones. OK, that’ll do, Nathanael says and folds up the crisp bread package. Bärbel is now so fat that she can’t get off the sofa without help. She just sits all day long and eats whatever Wolf fixes and serves her. As for Wolf, he’s as gaunt as ever, a tall, narrow-shouldered man with sparse, silver hair and wireless glasses, who stuffs his love until she bursts or until she suffocates. Or just can’t any more. Until she succumbs, is extinguished. Wolf is a hunter, as you know. He has experience in bringing down prey. Nathanael stands up. He nods to himself, looks at the ground, and seems to be thinking something over. Think of all the trouble I’ll be spared, now that I’ve given up on love, he says and pauses indecisively for a moment. I’ll check on the kids, he says. Don’t forget the sand, I call after him.

  The next morning, the big little one is running a fever. I fell down, he whines. It was just a dream, I tell him, but he objects: I fell down, Mama, my head hurts.

  Nathanael takes the little little one to nursery school. Sand will give you wild dreams, I say when he returns. The big little one says that he flew very high, to the far end of heaven and fell from way up there. Nathanael doesn’t think it was a dream. And what if he fell out of bed last night. We should have a doctor check him.

  The pediatrician’s waiting room is completely full. My son plays tag with another little patient. If he’s not sick now, he’ll catch something here, I think. A continuous stream of new mothers and children arrives, an occasional father as well. One mother, still wearing her rain-soaked jacket, sits next to me. Hello, she says. Hello, I answer, wouldn’t you rather hang up your coat?

  I was worried the seat next to you would be taken right away, she says. She looks at Nathanael. Hello, she says, I’m Silke.

  The wife of the witness at our marriage, I whisper when she finally gets up to hang up her coat after I promised her three times I would save her seat.

  Do you know each other? Nathanael is clearly irritated.

  No, why?

  Just asking. He picks up a brochure with the title Proper dental hygiene from the very beginning and reads it with absorption.

  Silke asks me how I’m doing, I say fine and ask her the same. Silke asks what’s wrong with the little one. I explain that we don’t know yet and ask her the same. Silke asks no more questions and that’s a bad sign. When Nathanael goes outside briefly without saying why, Silke says: Things sure have changed with you two! I’d already heard.

  Help me out, Silke, I reply, what has changed with us?

  Silke blushes. Eyes wide, she stammers, well ... and looks at the door, through which Nathanael left.

  I’m sorry, Silke, I don’t get it, I say, although I do. She thinks Nathanael is my new boyfriend. Silke must have heard that Philipp is in rehab and thought she was putting two and two together. Silke is the stupidest person I have met in the last twenty years. I give her a friendly smile. Please, Silke, help me out, go ahead and say it.

  Oh, nothing.

  Go ahead, please.

  No.

  Then I’ll tell you, Silke dear, and this will be the last sentence you’ll ever hear me say to you, so pay close attention: Philipp and I are married, as you should know since you were presumptuous enough to come to our wedding reception without being invited. We had wanted to celebrate very privately with just our two witnesses and there’s probably no point in explaining, but since that day Philipp and I share the same name, the same worries, the same responsibilities—and now, good luck to you.

  Nathanael walks back through the door, sits next to me without a word, and picks up the brochure again. I’m here, he says.

  We were just taken for a couple, imagine.

  How cute, he says, and leafs through the brochure.

  On the way home he wants to hear it again and again even t
hough he’d been standing in the waiting room doorway, listening. And you really said, pay close attention?

  I did, I learned it from the Sandman last night and wanted to use it right away.

  We both laugh. Stop, my son says, you’re making my head hurt. The pediatrician had looked into his eyes and said that since he couldn’t see into his head, he had to ask a few questions.

  Where does it hurt?

  My head!

  And where, show me.

  Here, and here, and here, and here, my son said and circled the entire globe on his shoulders with his index finger.

  Does it hurt all the time or just sometimes?

  It hurts!

  That’s often how it is, the pediatrician said, the parents need me, not the children. He offered his hand: Goodbye.

  But what’s wrong with him? I asked.

  We’ll have to wait. It’s definitely not a concussion. Keep an eye on him. If he complains of nausea or becomes apathetic, bring him back to see me.

  So we’re a sham couple then, Nathanael says softly since we’ve stopped laughing out of consideration for my son’s headache.

  We walk along the canal. The rain has stopped. The wind rustles the leaves and drops trickle down.

  Looking around, at least we make a pretty good couple, he says.

  It’s just a shame we can’t cook together, I reply.

  Nathanael continues determinedly. I don’t think so, he says. Look at it this way: Wolf and Bärbel are perfectly in tune culinarily, but you wouldn’t necessarily want to trade places with them. Or the cannibal who always serves his lover special dishes, the ones that make flesh especially tender ...

  What’s a cannibal? my son asks.

  That’s enough, I say, could my sham partner please change the subject?

  Thanatal, what’s a cannibal?

  Could my sham partner please make a bit more of an effort? I ask.

  My sham partner could help me out a bit, he says.

  Mama, what is it? What’s a cannibal?

  A man-eater, we call out simultaneously, in irritation.