by Heldt,Dora
“Christine! Christine Schmidt, I don’t believe it.”
Christine jumped, pulled out of her somber thoughts. She turned around and saw two men walking toward her. She squinted to try to recognize them. One was the director of the publishing house she worked at.
“Hello, Mathias, what a surprise!” She stood up and held out her hand. Mathias gave her a cheerful smile and shook her hand.
“What on earth are you doing here, Christine?”
He certainly wasn’t his usual reserved self. Even though he was always friendly at work, Christine couldn’t remember him being quite this enthusiastic when they’d run into each other by chance before. It must be the Sylt sea air, she thought, a little surprised.
Mathias was still shaking her hand rapturously as he turned around to his companion.
“Sven, let me introduce you. This is the wonderful Christine Schmidt. She used to be one of our reps and now works in the main office. She writes columns for our city magazine and also for Femme; she’s lovely, clever, and beautiful, the whole package. And she’s single. And I have no idea why; it’s a real puzzler!”
He giggled foolishly. Christine felt herself go red. Was this a movie or something? Mathias gave Sven, who was looking a little strained, a hefty clap on the shoulders.
“And this, Christine, this is Sven, my best friend from childhood. He builds houses, well, not personally, of course, but he’s an architect. He’s nice, clever, funny, and only drinks when he’s unhappy. And he’s unhappy right now, so we have to cheer him up.”
Mathias was interrupted by a hefty hiccup and held his hand in front of his mouth. “Oops, I’ll go and get a drink of water; it must mean someone’s thinking about me! I’ll get us some more wine, too; wait here for me.”
He winked at them and went to the bar. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet. They watched him go; then Sven turned around to Christine and held his hand out.
“I’m sorry, but we’ve been drinking since noon. We’re not exactly on our best behavior; I hope we’re not bothering you.”
He had green eyes with long lashes, his blond hair was tousled, he had broad shoulders, and he was a head taller than Christine. There was something a little clumsy about him.
Christine was amused; she choked back a laugh and pointed at the bench.
“No, you’re not at all, have a seat. Can you handle any more wine though?”
Sven sighed lightly and rubbed his forehead.
“I’m not sure. I always feel sick so quickly when I drink. I actually switched to water two hours ago, but Mathias is still going at it.”
As if at the mention of his name, Mathias was standing back in front of them with a bottle of wine and three glasses.
“So, Sven, I couldn’t carry anything else, so if you want something different you’ll have to go yourself.”
Sven stood up right away, looked at Christine with a wry smile, and said: “OK, I need water for sure, so please excuse me.”
Mathias collapsed down onto the bench and watched Sven walk away.
“And? What do you think of him?”
Christine was dumbfounded.
“What do you mean? We’ve only exchanged a few words. I don’t even know him.”
Mathias leaned over confidingly to Christine and laid his arm on the back of the bench. “He’s a great guy, Sven. We’ve known each other since the fifth grade and lived together as students. He’s a great cook. And he’s very clean, you know, around the house. He irons as well.”
Christine started to laugh. Mathias, her boss, was sitting here and promoting his best friend to her as a potential partner with the earnestness of a drunken teenager.
“Mathias, are you trying to find a wife for him or something? What is it you’re trying to tell me?”
Mathias opened his eyes wide and then shrugged his shoulders.
“Christine, what do you take me for? No, but Sven was left really horribly, by Doris, whom I really couldn’t stand; I mean, she left him after twelve years. Seriously, it’s really awful, she’s really screwing him over; he can’t see his daughter, the whole thing’s just impossible. For the last year he’s just been throwing himself into his work, he doesn’t go out anymore, and he’s having a really tough time of it. He needs to meet someone. So I said, come on, let’s go to Sylt for a guys’ weekend. So here we are. And then I see you sitting here on the harbor. I thought to myself, Christine, that could be something. Someone who writes columns like you do must be a pretty decent woman. I just want Sven to realize that not all girls are like Doris.”
Christine had collapsed into a fit of giggles and was trying to get a hold of herself. It was actually a very sad story, but all she could picture was Sven ironing while Mathias pointed a video camera at him and talked in his best marketing voice about his various skills and accomplishments. She cleared her throat and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Sorry, Mathias, you’re a great friend.” She exploded with laughter again. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”
Mathias nodded with understanding. “Yes, of course, I understand. You girls have to go more often than we do.”
Christine fled.
Sven came back with two mugs of coffee. He held one of them out to Mathias.
“Here, I think we should sober up a bit; we’re being embarrassing.” He looked around. “Or have you scared Christine away already?”
Mathias winked. “You know girls, sometimes they need to powder their noses and all. You know, I think she likes you.”
Sven rolled his eyes. “Mathias, please. Stop trying to solve my problems. Maren, Kirsten, and Tanja liked me as well according to you. Just let it go. I’m not in the mood.”
“Tatjana.”
“What?”
“Tanja was called Tatjana.”
Sven laid his head down on the table and sighed. Then he sat back up straight.
“Mathias, please, I…”
“Shh, Christine’s coming back.”
Christine, who had come bearing a bottle of water and three fresh glasses, stopped in front of the table. “Am I interrupting a man-to-man?”
“No, no,” Sven rushed to answer. “Come on, have a seat; we’ve got enough water now. Would you like a glass of wine? We’ll behave ourselves now, I promise.”
One hour, three bottles of water, and a bottle of wine later, Mathias was a little more reserved, Sven almost shy, and Christine a little tipsy. An ideal combination. Mathias had read her latest column in Femme and was trying to recount it from memory. Christine shook her head at almost all his attempts, so in the end Sven got up and went off to buy the magazine from the bookstore nearby. He read the column aloud, laughed throughout, and said at the end that it was great to see a woman writing about catfights between women. After all, any man who tried to do so would be castrated.
They talked about men and women, about the local herring Brötchen, about the Danish royal palace, about Hamburg bars and the HSV handball team. One topic of conversation led to the next; Christine felt lighthearted and cheerful; Sven, young and charming; and Mathias was smiling contentedly. Then Mathias suggested fetching another bottle of wine; after all, the evening was only just beginning. Christine’s gaze fell on the large clock in the square; then she started in surprise and jumped up.
“Oh God, it’s already eight thirty; I was supposed to be back awhile ago. Boys, I have to go, it was fun hanging out.” She laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Sven, Mathias, maybe I’ll see you again soon; enjoy the rest of your night.”
She walked off quickly, turning around after a few meters and blowing them a kiss. Sven winked back. Mathias looked at him.
“And just like that, she’s gone. Isn’t she enchanting? I have her cell number, you know.”
Sven shook his head and rummaged around in his jacket pocket.
“You idiot, you never learn. Don’t meddle in my love life and we won’t get into arguments. Agreed?”
He held out a pack of gum
. Mathias waved it away.
“I don’t like gum.”
“I’m not offering you any. It’s the package: write her mobile number down for me. You know, just in case.”
Grinning, Mathias scribbled Christine’s number down, whistling “On the North Sea Coast” as he did.
As Christine walked into the hallway, her mother was walking toward her with the empty plates. “I was about to report you as a missing person. Did you fall into the water or something?”
Christine took the plates from her.
“I’m sorry, I ran into some people I knew and totally lost track of time.”
“You stink of smoke and booze.” Charlotte sniffed at her. “Oh well, you’re a big girl now. And? Was he cute?”
“Who?”
“You said ‘some people you knew’ strangely.’ Was it someone handsome?”
“Mom, please.”
Charlotte giggled. “I’m allowed to ask, surely! Come on, let’s have some champagne with Renate and Agnes; we’ll get you nice and tipsy and then interrogate you.”
Christine smiled and followed her mother out to the garden.
Lübeck
Frauke turned around in front of the mirror to look at herself from the side. She sighed. She looked like a sausage in this suit; it was clearly at least one size too small for her. Impatiently, she ripped open the zip, climbed out of the pants, and threw them onto the bed, which was already groaning under a pile of crumpled clothing. She went back to her closet and looked through the clothes that were still hanging up. Everything was old and had been worn a hundred times already. Everything was wrong. And most of it probably didn’t fit anyway. Frustrated, Frauke slammed the door shut and looked back into the mirror.
“You’re fat, Frauke Jensen, nee Müller, fat, old, and ugly.”
She burst into tears and threw herself across her bed into the pile of trousers, skirts, and blouses. At first she cried out of rage, then self-pity, and finally just because she couldn’t stop. After half an hour her nose was so blocked she had a coughing fit. And she was freezing cold. Awkwardly, she stood up, grabbed her bathrobe, and pulled it on. She looked into the tangle of clothes for thick socks but could only find an odd pair. It didn’t matter anyway. Her hair was disheveled, so she pulled it up with a rubber band, blew her nose, avoided looking in the mirror, and went downstairs to make herself a coffee.
On the kitchen table lay the letter that had started all this misery. And along with it, the photo album.
When the phone call from Gabi had come three weeks ago, Frauke had found the idea of bringing old friendships back to life amusing. She had almost forgotten the call by the time Gabi’s letter had arrived yesterday. Over dinner, she had shown it to her husband, Gunnar. Gunnar could still vaguely remember Christine. It was just she, Gunnar, and their youngest, Lisa, at the dinner table that evening: Jule, her eldest, had moved out six months ago, and her son Max was off revising for his school-leaving exams.
After Frauke read the letter and questionnaire out loud, Gunnar had started to laugh.
“Oh, honey, that takes me back. You were both so sweet back then. You know, Lisa, I fell for your mother when I saw her sitting with Christine in an ice-cream parlor. They were sharing one ice cream, not because they were that inseparable but because they were broke. I was already an apprentice and earning a paycheck, so I bought them another one. And do you know what they did?”
Lisa looked at him expectantly. Fifteen-year-olds loved stories like this.
“Mom and her friend refused it?”
Gunnar smiled. “No, as I put the ice-cream bowl down on the table, they looked up for a moment and then leisurely kept on eating the same ice cream. Then, once they’d finished, they pushed their bowl aside, pulled mine toward them, and kept on sharing. No word of thanks.”
“Wow, that’s really cool, Mom.”
Frauke looked at her daughter thoughtfully. Back then, Christine and she had been two years younger than Lisa was now. Thirteen. It was a strange feeling. Gunnar patted her hand.
“Those were the days. We were still young and snappy then. And now, honey, well now we’re just snappy.”
He laughed out loud at his own joke, stood up, and carried his empty plate into the kitchen. When he came back, he kissed Frauke on the top of her head.
“Where’s my gym bag? I have to go in a minute.”
Frauke’s answer was automatic: “It’s where you left it, in the cellar.”
Lisa scraped her plate clean noisily. “Have fun at OAP soccer, Dad. I always worry that one of you granddads will break a bone. All it takes is one wrong move and you’ll end up fracturing your neck or something.”
“Lisa!” her parents reprimanded her in unison. Gunnar went down to the cellar shaking his head.
Lisa looked at her mother with that confidence only teenagers have. “What?”
She trailed her fork around the edge of the plate. Frauke stood up and took the plate away from her.
“My God, you’re driving me mad with that scraping sound.”
“Why are you so grouchy? By the way, do you have a picture of you and Christine?”
Gunnar came back upstairs with his packed gym bag and pulled his jacket on.
“So, my darlings, I’m off now. When Max comes back later, tell him to put his dirty shoes away; otherwise I’ll have an accident. Bye, see you later.”
The door slammed shut. Frauke jumped. She was still standing at the kitchen door with Lisa’s plate. Everything in the kitchen was a mess, and she still had to put a load of laundry in and balance the company books. But right now she felt too tired. Recently she had felt a dreadful desire to just pack it all in. She couldn’t bear to hear it anymore; always “Mom, where’s this, where’s that, tell Max he should do this or shouldn’t do that, call Jule, what’s for dinner, where are my keys” and so on and so on.
Lisa’s voice brought her back down to earth. “What’s wrong? Do you have a picture or not?”
Frauke looked at her daughter, still lost in thought. Perhaps this was a sign, this letter from the past. She must still have the old photos somewhere; after all, she rarely threw things out.
“Yes, I think I have an old album still. Go and have a look in Dad’s study, in the white bookcase, at the top. It’s a blue photo album. I’m making some tea, do you want one?”
Lisa was already gone. Frauke waited for a moment. Then came the inevitable call:
“Where on the bookcase?”
Frauke nodded. “At the top.”
A moment later Lisa came back with a blue album under her arm.
“Got it.”
She laid it on the table and opened it. Frauke took it away from her again and clapped it shut.
“Wait for me, I wanted to make some tea first.”
Her daughter pouted.
“Well, no one’s stopping you from making it. But I don’t want one, so I can start looking.”
She sat down on the chair and pulled her legs up under her. Frauke sat down next to her daughter and pulled the album toward her. Lisa looked at her.
“I thought you wanted to make tea. And by the way, you’ve started to sound like Grandma lately.”
Frauke took a deep breath. She had noticed it, too: she said a lot of things that made even her cringe. But this child drove her mad sometimes. Lisa tried to grab the album again. Frauke banged her hand on the table.
“Lisa! This album is about my private life. Didn’t it occur to you that I might want to take a look by myself first? You could make the tea for once.”
“My God, you’re in such a mood. And what do you mean, private life? You’re my mother. Oh, calm down, I’ll go and make the tea.”
She stood up, making an exaggerated effort, and shuffled off into the kitchen.
Frauke felt like throwing the album at her. Did she think that women were just mothers and nothing else, that they hadn’t had lives before having children? She couldn’t believe how impudent her daughter was. And she was annoy
ed that she was letting herself be provoked. She should just rise above it. Calm down, Frauke, she’s your daughter. Don’t get worked up.
The closed photo album lay on the table in front of her. She brushed her hands over the embossed initials. FM. Frauke Müller. She had received the album as a present from her godmother for her confirmation, back in the days when she was still far from becoming a wife and mother. Back then, her main role was as Christine’s friend. Until three weeks ago, she hadn’t thought of the old times. That was, until Gabi’s phone call. Then again this morning, when the official invitation arrived along with the questionnaire. And now she sat here, feeling nervous about showing her daughter the pictures. She felt foolish.
She heard Lisa fill the kettle and put the cups on a tray. A few minutes later she came through the door, balancing the tray with one hand and looking at her mother.
“Don’t say a word, I’m holding the tray correctly.”
Frauke kept quiet. She really was turning into her mother. She cleared her throat.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, just thank you for making the tea.”
Lisa put the cups on the table and the milk and sugar next to the teapot.
“No problem, Mom. So come on, let’s have a look at the old treasures.”
She propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. Frauke opened the album carefully. On the first page was her confirmation picture. She looked very young, with a round face: puppy fat.
Lisa waved her hand impatiently. “Keep going, I’ve already seen that picture; Grandma has a copy in her kitchen. Flick through. Wait, God, who’s that?”
The photo was of two thirteen-year-old girls leaning against a tree, facing each other. They were both wearing red pants and yellow T-shirts. They didn’t seem to know the photo was being taken, and only had eyes for each other. Lisa laughed.
“Oh, how cheesy. All that color, red with yellow. How awful, who’s that? I hope that’s not you?”