by Dora Heldt
The little island journalist looked embarrassed. “I haven’t really looked into it. I don’t need a car, after all, and I don’t really like going to the cinema. But I sometimes go to Hamburg.”
Onno leaned over. “To the Reeperbahn?” he asked, referring to a famously seedy area. “Do you get discounts there?”
Gisbert’s freckles were visible even when he blushed. He denied it heftily. “For heaven’s sake, no! I just go to see HSV play sometimes. I get a little bit of discount on the tickets.” He was clearly embarrassed. The Reeperbahn wasn’t just the hub of Hamburg’s nightlife, but also its red light district. My father looked speechless too. But he soon composed himself again.
“You go to see HSV? In the stadium? And get tickets? For any game you want?”
Now his face was bright red. Gisbert tried to explain.
“I know, football isn’t for everyone, but I really like the game. It’s my only vice; it can’t be all work and no play, after all.”
My father pulled him over to the table. “That’s what I’m always saying. So, my name is Heinz, and you’re Gisbert, right? Those are very nice shorts, by the way. So, have a seat here with us. I’m sure you’d like a coffee, and a roll too? Marleen, can you fetch us another cup?”
Marleen was still standing at the door, watching the goings-on.
“Yes, I’ll just fetch one. Herr Meyer—”
My father interrupted her: “Von Meyer, Marleen.”
“Fine. So, Herr von Meyer, what was it you wanted from me?”
“I—”
Heinz interrupted again. “He’s writing a nice story about us, isn’t that right, Gisbert? It’s all good publicity for you, Marleen. So, tell me, what games do you have tickets for?”
Dorothea and I decided to help Marleen fetch the cup.
It seemed Gisbert really liked our group. He made no move to go back to his office or home. When Onno looked pointedly at his watch and said, “If we don’t get our act together, it’ll be time to go home soon,” Gisbert nodded in agreement, but didn’t move from his seat. Marleen piled the dishes onto a tray and looked at Heinz expectantly. He handed her his empty plate.
“You can clean up if you want,” my father said. “We don’t want any more coffee now, do we Gisbert? We’ve still got some cold drinks here. Tell me, do you remember that sensational game against Real Madrid that ended five to one? Hamburg was two to zero in front. What was the name of that forward again? Cunnilan or Cummiman?”
“Cunningham.” Gisbert beamed. “HSV had lost the first leg, zero to two, and they had to score at least three goals in the second game.”
My father slapped his shoulder. “And then Cunningham scored for the Spaniards. I just couldn’t believe it. So the away goals rule meant we needed two more, and no one thought we could do it. But HSV fought back—and what an attack it was! The boys hammered in another five goals against Real. Victory, done and dusted! It was amazing!”
I stretched. “I’m going to get back to work. Who’s with me?”
Dorothea and Nils were already on their feet, and Kalli and Onno stood up slowly. Heinz looked up at them and then back at Gisbert. “And then there was the one to zero by Magath against Turin. I liked him until he went off to stupid Bavaria. Some people will do anything for money. It’s disgusting.”
“Oh yes, Ernst Happel. That was back in Ernst Happel’s day.” Gisbert looked at me, his eyes dreamy. I wondered whether he was thinking about me or the Austrian ex-trainer. Not really caring either way, I went over to the paint cans. On the way, I turned the radio back up again. Recognizing the song, my father joined in at once. Gisbert smiled and made himself comfortable.
My father stayed sitting next to him, of course. While Kalli and I painted, Dorothea and Nils mixed colors, and Onno fixed ledges with my father’s screwdriver, a small-time journalist and a big troublemaker indulged themselves in old Hamburg football memories. And we had no choice but to listen. My father waxed lyrical about Rudi Gutendorf and Horst Hrubesch, and Gisbert gushed about guys like Ditmar Jakobs and, of course, Uwe Seeler.
Onno tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “That hack’s squeaky voice is really getting on my nerves. It’s making me feel aggressive. Can I turn the radio up?”
I nodded and carried on painting. I could endure the radio if it drowned out Gisbert.
As Howard Carpendale bellowed out, “Your Traces in the Sand,” Gisbert raised his little voice to unimaginable heights and called out, full of awe: “Don’t forget Dr. Peter Krohn. What a man, what a manager!”
“Ha!”
Kalli turned the radio down. We jumped and turned around in amazement. We’d never heard him speak that loudly before. He looked over at the table disapprovingly. “Don’t make me laugh. Krohn! Ha!”
Gisbert shook his head in disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“Because of him HSV had to play in pink jerseys for a whole season. It was embarrassing. I became a Werder Bremen fan out of protest, and that was a very hard decision to make, by the way.”
“Nonsense!” my father protested. “There were never any pink jerseys. Where on earth did you get that from?” He made a disparaging gesture, but Kalli wasn’t having any of it this time.
“It’s not nonsense!”
Nils came to his rescue. “You’re right, it’s true, I remember. It was an advertising contract with Campari. The jerseys were really pink.”
Kalli was triumphant. “There you go! That’s what I said. Heinz, don’t forget you’re color-blind. They were pink, the jerseys, bright pink.” He smiled and dipped his brush in the paint.
Heinz stood up, went over to the radio, and turned the music up again.
“Gisbert, would you like a beer?”
Gisbert declined. “No, no, perhaps a sparkling apple juice.” He saw Dorothea’s expression and looked at the clock. “Or perhaps I can invite you to join me for a drink on the promenade. I mean, it’s very loud here if we’re trying to chat.”
“You’re right about that.” Heinz looked around. “I’m going for a drink with Herr von Meyer,” he announced. “Everyone knows what they have to be getting on with here, so I’m sure you’ll manage without me overseeing things for a bit. We’ll all meet at seven in the Milk Bar—make sure you’re on time. Have fun with the work.”
“Heinz?”
“Dad?” It was true that my father wasn’t in actuality much help—in fact, his presence was even counterproductive most of the time. But somehow it didn’t seem right that he should get to leave while we had to stay.
“Oh, come on, kids, someone has to focus on the press and marketing strategies. I’d rather be relaxing, believe you me. So don’t make a fuss, and I’ll see you later.”
My father tapped his cap briskly, and Gisbert turned around again in the doorway and winked at me. The door fell shut as we stared silently after them.
“Well.” Onno scratched his head. “I’d say Christine made a conquest there.”
“What?” I was horrified. “What gives you that idea?”
“The way he’s cozying up to your father. And the way he kept looking at you.”
“I noticed that too.” Kalli nodded enthusiastically. “Shall I make some inquiries?”
“Don’t you dare!” I was becoming more and more convinced that spending time with a bunch of retirees wasn’t doing me any good. “Dorothea, say something.”
“Well, I’ll admit he’s too small, too thin, too ginger, and wears awful clothes, but he seems a good guy. And if he gets on with Heinz that well, then it could be the start of a wonderful romance.” She looked so innocent as she spoke that Kalli fell for it right away.
“But he’s not that well brought up,” Kalli said. “He just sat down and didn’t even shake hands. That’s rude. And I found him a little nosy too, to be honest.”
Dorothea laughed. “Don’t worry, Kalli, Gisbert isn’t Christine’s type. He’ll realize soon enough, don’t worry.”
Kalli flinched. “Type? The things
you girls say. Anyway, Christine, if he pesters you or causes you any trouble, just let me know. Heinz wouldn’t see it; he refuses to dislike anyone who supports HSV. Right, I’m going to finish off the rest of this wall, then call it a day.”
On the radio, Jürgen Markus sang “A New Love Is Like a New Life,” and I sang along despite myself. Kalli and Onno gave me a tentative look, but didn’t dare say anything. So only Nils and I joined in; we knew all the words. Dorothea was impressed by our heartfelt duet, gazing at Nils with her eyes full of adoration. I sang for Johann.
Later, after showering, I sat on the edge of the bath and cleaned my paint-covered fingers with turpentine while Dorothea put her makeup on. She coughed and lowered her mascara brush.
“God, that stinks. Why do you have paint all over you, anyway?”
I rubbed the cloth over my forearm. “No idea. I always look a mess after painting. That’s why I hate it so much.”
“You have your father to thank for that. Just imagine if you were meeting the love of your life this evening and smelled of turpentine. That would be the end of that.”
“Thanks, you always make me feel so much better. Anyway, I’m done, I’m pretty much clean now.” I looked over my hands and arms and screwed the cap back onto the bottle.
“But you’ve still got spots of it all over you.”
“They won’t come off. But I managed to get the pen marks off my calf. You can’t have it all.”
A noise came from the hallway; I recognized my cell as it gave three long beeps and vibrated—signaling that I had a text message. I jumped up. Dorothea smiled.
“You see? And you do smell of turpentine.”
“Perhaps it’s just Ines.”
It wasn’t. “I’ll be at the Surf Café on the North Beach from nine. I’d love to have a glass of red wine with you and gaze out to sea. Hopefully see you later, Johann.”
“From that inane grin on your face I’m guessing it’s not Ines.”
Dorothea went past me into her room.
“No, Johann wants to meet me at nine. In the Surf Café. How am I going to manage that with Heinz around?”
Dorothea’s voice sounded hollow as she spoke into the wardrobe.
“I could get him drunk. Or, even better, I’ll give Frau Weidemann-Zapek and Frau Klüppersberg a hot tip that he’ll be willing and submissive tonight.”
I was skeptical. Then something more pressing occurred to me. “What should I wear?”
Dorothea handed me a short, flowery skirt.
“This, and put on a white T-shirt with it.”
I pulled both on as Dorothea nodded approvingly. Then I carefully put on my makeup, followed by twice as much perfume as usual.
Dorothea squeezed my shoulder.
“Go get him, girl.”
It was perhaps a little over-the-top. After all, I was only meeting one of Marleen’s houseguests for a glass of red wine. But it felt good, nonetheless.
I’d sent a reply: “I’ll try to come, love C.” Dorothea and I walked up to the table in the Milk Bar, at which Kalli, Onno, my father, and, unfortunately, Gisbert were already seated. Gisbert jumped up.
“Heinz, it’s your daughter. Christine, I kept a seat free for you next to me.”
I wondered what my father had been saying about me. Gisbert seemed to already think we were on cozy first-name terms. But I had good manners at least.
“Thank you, Herr von Meyer, but I prefer to sit with my back to the sea.”
What garbage, I thought, as my cell vibrated and beeped three times. My father turned around to me.
“Don’t be so inhibited all the time, Chrissie. And something’s buzzing in your purse.”
“Thanks.” I pulled my cell phone out and pressed the message icon: “I’ll be here for another two hours. Looking forward to it, J.”
“Good news?” Gisbert leaned over to get a look at the display. I put it away. He looked a little like a ferret with that nosy look on his face.
“Luise says hi,” I said to no one in particular, hoping to throw Gisbert off the scent.
I sat down next to Kalli. Gisbert sank back down into his chair, disappointed. “I don’t know her.”
Dorothea smiled at him. “I do. Isn’t Nils here yet?”
“Yes.” My father pointed inside. “I’d completely forgotten it was self-service here. Nils is fetching the drinks. If you want something, you’ll have to go yourself. Wait.” He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and handed it to me under the table. “Here, Christine, the drinks are on me today. Get something nice for yourselves.”
Gisbert jumped up. “Wait, I’ll help you carry them.”
“Thanks.” Dorothea stood up with me. “But there’s two of us already, we’ll manage.”
At the self-service counter we ran into Nils, who was balancing a tray with four glasses of beer and a sparkling apple juice. He kissed Dorothea and grinned at me.
“Your father even trusted me to get drinks for everyone. I think I’m making progress.”
“Get the cashier to give you the money back. My father said he wanted to treat everyone.”
Nils looked at me, shocked. “What? Now, when I’m in the good books? I’m not crazy, you know!”
Dorothea nodded seriously. “Come on, Christine, you know he’d only spend the money on drugs.”
Nils was confused. “What? What kind of drugs?”
I gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’ll explain later. Speaking of drugs, though, you don’t happen to have some sleeping pills we could throw in that apple juice, do you?”
Now completely baffled, Nils went back over to the table with his tray.
By the time we got back, a new discussion had ignited between Kalli, Onno, my father, and their new little chum about whether HSV was a breeding ground for talent.
“And who did Franz Beckenbauer used to play for?” My father’s voice sounded rather self-righteous. “Well? Kalli? Exactly, for HSV.”
“But that was toward the end of his career.”
“And Günther Netzer?”
“Heinz, he never played for Hamburg.”
Gisbert waved his finger in front of Kalli’s face. “But he was the manager.”
Kalli leaned back. “What does that have to do with new talent? It was basically a detention center for over-the-hill professionals.”
My father smiled leniently. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Kalli. They put the finishing touches on in Hamburg and then got the World Cup for Germany.”
Nils looked first at my father, then at me, then started to laugh. “That’s a bit of a crazy argument.”
My father shot him a withering look and then turned back to Gisbert. “You can’t have a serious discussion about football when you’re around people with superficial knowledge about it. They always feel they have to contribute something to the conversation, even if they don’t have a clue. My daughter Christine is a real football enthusiast, by the way. She’s been divorced for three years and lives alone in Hamburg.”
Gisbert looked at me with interest. I avoided his gaze and felt myself starting to break out in a sweat. My father pulled out his money again.
“Could the two of you fetch us another round of drinks?”
Gisbert jumped back up eagerly. Luckily, Kalli sensed my dismay. “No, you stay sitting down, Christine, the next round is on me. Onno, you can give me a hand carrying them.”
I was relieved, Gisbert disappointed.
Shortly after that, Marleen and Gesa came in. My father insisted on accompanying both of them to the bar; after all, he wanted to pay. As they came back, I looked discreetly at my watch; it was eight thirty. I frantically wracked my brain for a way of getting out of here. I thought about excusing myself with a headache, but thanks to my father it was obvious Gisbert would accompany me back to the apartment. And I could forget just disappearing. The Bermuda-clad ferret wasn’t letting me out of his sight.
Dorothea had been watching me and whispered so
mething to Nils. He nodded and leaned over.
“Tell me, Gisbert, where did you learn to write so well? We were really in stitches over your wonderful column about the day-trippers.”
My father and Gisbert looked at the long-haired hippie, astounded. Nils smiled encouragingly.
“My father reads your articles every day.”
Gisbert leaned back, flattered.
“Well, as I always say, art is a trade, too. So, I started school in Emden in 1968, and after that…”
Dorothea tugged me by the elbow. “Come with me,” she said quietly.
I glanced at my father, who was listening intently to the detailed life story of Nordeney’s star columnist while Onno and Kalli chatted about cod fishing off the North Sea coast. I followed Dorothea outside.
“Okay, go to the bathroom and count to fifty. When you come out, look pale and make like you’re suffering, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
She left me standing there. I had no other option but to trust her. It was almost nine.
As I came out of the restroom with a pained expression on my face, my father was standing in front of the door. Looking worried, he laid his arm around my shoulders.
“Is it really bad? Can I do anything for you? Oh, I know, that’s a stupid question. As if I, your father and a man, had any idea about women’s problems. Should Dorothea take you home? Or Gesa? At least they’d know what to do. Do we have a hot water bottle in the apartment? Your mother always used to use hot water bottles. She said it helped. I—”
“Heinz.”
Dorothea came up and interrupted him. I needed to find out what I was supposed to be suffering from. Judging by the extent of his concern, it was a miscarriage at the very least.
“Heinz, Nils and I will take her. Go back in with the others.”
“Do you have to take Nils too? I mean, you could just say she has a headache. Okay then, Chrissie, go and get some rest. I can’t do much to help, but call if you need anything, okay?”
He kissed me tenderly on the forehead. “Look after yourself.”