by Heldt,Dora
“If you mean her separation from Thomas, then I already know about that. I heard it on the grapevine recently. But that’s got nothing to do with Ruth; they’ve been best friends for years.”
Christine had to sneeze before she could answer.
“Who knows what happened? And under the guise of a best friend, there can be all kinds of conflict going on.”
Luise thought about Linda Love, Frauke, Dani, and how Christine had no idea about the plans that were in motion. She smiled. Christine looked at her questioningly.
“What’s so funny about that?”
Luise answered quickly, “No, nothing. It’s just that I know you haven’t had much faith in female friendship since Antje betrayed you, and I think it’s a shame.”
“That’s not exactly true. I mean, we’re friends aren’t we, ‘Florence’? And I’m very happy you’re here. You have to work at all relationships, nurture them, look after the other person. Girls nowadays are always so quick to declare themselves inseparable and wax lyrical about the sisterhood of women. I think that for every stage of your life you will have people that are important to you. And you have to take care of those friendships. But you don’t have to swear eternal loyalty straight away. In the end, people can grow apart as quickly as they come together.”
Luise looked at Christine thoughtfully and wondered if they were doing the right thing with the secret search for her old friends.
“The Dog, the Cobra, and the Wave”
In the last three months I’ve had seven colds. My friend Karola, whose sister is a medical assistant, said it’s probably actually just one very persistent cold. And that it’s probably because my immune system is shot, but that can be fixed.
Jutta, a friend of my friend Karola’s sister, is an alternative medicine practitioner. She knows a lot about immune systems; even Karola’s sister—as a medical assistant—is sometimes amazed at what Jutta seems able to cure. And with natural remedies at that.
First of all Jutta looked into my eyes, or, more specifically, into my irises, and nodded meaningfully. She gave me four different little vials, the contents of which I had to take in a particular order and at particular times. Which I did. By Friday, I had finished the course. On Saturday, I got another cold. Jutta said that was a good thing: it meant everything was coming out.
Next, she told me about a wonder substance: shiitake. What I’d previously only known as an amusing name for a variety of mushroom was actually a curing method that has been used since the Ming dynasty against colds and to stimulate the circulation. Jutta gave me recipes, and for five whole days I ate only mushroom dishes. On the sixth I woke up with a sore throat. Jutta nodded knowingly. She had already suspected that; after all, my immune system was completely shot.
She sent me to one of her colleagues, Bianca, who had just completed her training as an Ayurvedic massage therapist. She explained the three doshas to me, Vata, Pitta, and Kapha. I didn’t fully understand what they meant, but I did grasp that my bioenergies are strengthened by them. Or rather, they would be once I’d had the Purvakarma and Panchkarma therapies. I was a little unsure about the whole thing, but the treatment was actually quite pleasant. Given that I always fall asleep during massages—presumably due to my bad immune system—I didn’t really catch much about the sacred oil or about what Bianca was doing with it. The only annoying and slightly revolting thing was that the oil in my hair took three washes to get out.
Afterwards I felt just the same as I had before, only oilier.
Of course, my friend Karola wanted to support my convalescence, and so we signed up—on Jutta’s advice, of course—for two new classes. Yoga for Beginners on Mondays and Energy Dance on Thursdays.
The yoga class wasn’t bad at all. You wear comfy exercise clothes with warm socks and sit on thick mats. A nice woman showed us the exercises. They all had lovely names: I found the downward dog the most difficult, but was pretty good at the wave and the cobra. The only annoying thing was that I had to keep stopping to go to the bathroom. On Jutta’s advice I was drinking two cups of tea every two hours: pansy, lady’s mantle and rose, chamomile and St John’s Wort, and rose. Exactly in that order. And Karola and I had to leave a little early because she strained her groin during the crocodile. But apart from all that it was really very good.
The class on Thursday was over fairly quickly. Karola and I hadn’t correctly informed ourselves about what energy dance really was. So we got a little silly when the teacher, Amrit, tied bells around our ankles and asked us to do the elephant with our ghungroos. This was apparently the way to pay homage to Ganesha, the elephant-headed, luck-bringing god.
Karola circled her arms around and clattered around stamping on the floor to a beat of sixteen. She looked so unlike an elephant that I burst into hysterical laughter, which only seemed to spur her on. Despite her efforts the Indian teacher Amrit, who spoke in Swabian dialect, asked us to leave the room, adding that we clearly weren’t ready for Kathak dancing. We were in complete agreement.
Without hesitation, I turned down Karola’s suggestion of going to Qi Gong on Wednesdays or Hawaiian Bodywork on Fridays.
Jutta suggested that I get my apartment checked for electromagnetic pollution and that I rearrange my furniture according to feng shui guidelines. She also asked me whether I heard sounds in my ears and about my gut flora, and then kneaded my feet. I listened to everything she was saying, blowing my nose as she spoke. Jutta really was full of ideas.
Over the next few days I took Gingko capsules and olive extract. I massaged my feet in a massage basin with a smelly ointment; I dried rose hips, made nasal cleansing lotions, inhaled spruce, and wore a copper bracelet.
And yet I still had a cold.
To my relief, Jutta finally went on vacation for three weeks and closed her practice while she was away. I threw all my packages and bottles into a plastic bag and took them to a pharmacy to get rid of them.
Over the next two weeks I still had a cold but felt much more relaxed. I started drinking ground coffee again, smoked cigarettes, and my mother came to stay. She brought me three liters of elderberry juice and some chest ointment.
That evening we drank a liter of elderberry toddy, with rum, which makes it work quicker and taste much better. My mother giggled as she put the ointment on my back; I did my front myself. By the time we went to bed at three a.m., my mother was a little tipsy and insisted on making me a compress for my legs.
When I woke up the next morning, the cold was gone.
My friend Karola phoned to tell me that she had caught my cold. She asked if I still had the miracle potions from Jutta. After all, they had really worked for me.
I had a much better idea: I told her to come over and bring a bottle of rum. And if she felt like it, we could even give the energy dance a try. We’d figure it out.
Kiel
The screech of the whistle silenced the noise from fourteen pairs of feet, encased in tennis shoes and squeaking across the gym floor. Lena let the whistle fall from her lips and walked onto the court.
“Stand still.”
The girls, all between eight and ten years of age and clad in workout clothes, stopped in their tracks and stared at their coach. Lena pointed at a blond girl then looked around at the others.
“Look at that. Sissi was completely free the whole time, and yet no one passed to her. Anika, Mila, where are your eyes?”
Anika looked at her innocently. “I didn’t even see Sissi; she’s so tiny.”
Mila was shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She glanced from her coach up where her mother sat watching in the stand.
“Mila, what’s up? Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, but I really need to go to the bathroom. I can’t think or run anymore I need to go so bad.”
Lena shook her head. “Why didn’t you go at halftime?”
“I didn’t need to then.”
“Oh, go on then, and hurry up.”
Mila hurried off and waved a
t her mother cheerfully, who made an apologetic gesture toward Lena. Lena gave the other girls some further instructions. After a few minutes Mila was back. Lena nodded at her.
“Tuck your shirt in, Mila. Right, now everyone make a bit more of an effort; we still have ten minutes.”
She walked back off the court and brought the whistle back to her lips. The sound brought the game back into play.
Half an hour later Lena was helping her charges to get their things together and put their shoes and jackets on. A few of the mothers sat nearby, chatting to each other about the imminent fall break and the next league game over the weekend.
Afterward, Lena walked through the hall and changing rooms one more time. Anika had left her scarf behind, and there were a few hair bands on the gym mats. Lena collected everything together, turned out the light, and locked the gymnasium door behind her.
For the last thirty years she had been surrounded by the familiarity of the gymnasium at least twice a week, always that same smell. Her handball talent had been discovered in a sports lesson at the age of fourteen, by sixteen she was playing for the county youth team, and at eighteen she had gotten her training qualification. Five years ago she had decided to stop playing competitively, or rather, her orthopedist had decided for her. After twenty years of competitive sports, both her knees and shoulder joints were suffering. Lena was happy she could at least still keep going as a coach; without that the withdrawal would have been an awful lot harder for her.
She unlocked her car, which was standing alone on the parking lot in front of the hall, and put her gym bag on the back seat. Just as she was about to start the engine, her cell rang.
“Hello, Coach Maestro, I’m still in the sports center—we’ve just figured out the game plan for the tournament. Would you be able to pick me up? Then Ulli won’t have to drive me.”
Jürgen, Lena’s husband, was just as sports-obsessed as she was. But his knees were a little more robust, and he was still playing for a team. They called themselves the “Old Guys.” In addition to that, he also trained the boys’ team and was involved in the club committee.
Lena looked at the clock. Six thirty. She thought for a moment before answering.
“I told Kathleen she has to be home by seven, and if I know our daughter, I’ll bet she doesn’t have her key with her. If I come to pick you up first, I won’t get back in time, and she’ll be standing in front of a locked door.”
Jürgen sighed. “That kid drives me crazy, forgetting her key all the time. OK, fine, then Ulli will just have to give me a lift. See you later.”
Lena drove off and felt a pang of regret. She would actually have really liked to go by the sports center, have a beer with Jürgen, Ulli, and the others, and to not have to look at the clock for once. But since Kathleen had come into the world, everything had to be organized down to the last detail. Jürgen was at the shipping company all day, and Lena worked half days as an architectural draftsman. Then came schoolwork, doctor’s visits, parents’ evenings, children’s birthdays, and last but not least, their shared love of handball. Jürgen and she organized their schedules down to military precision. On Monday evening he had training; Tuesday was free; on Wednesday Lena trained the girls; on Thursday Jürgen, the boys; Friday was free; and the league games were on the weekends.
Jürgen and Lena had taken Kathleen with them to the gymnasium from a young age; she had grown up amid ball nets and gym bags. It didn’t seem to have done her any harm. When she was six, she became an active member and was coached by her mother. She had talent, but despite that she had decided a year ago to give up for a while. She went to a good high school and was very ambitious. She wanted to do her homework in peace and not to have to pack her sports gear twice a week. That’s how she had explained it—looking serious—to her parents, who had of course been saddened by their daughter’s decision but didn’t try to talk her out of it.
As Lena turned into the driveway of their home, Kathleen was just coming around the corner on her bike. Waving at her mother, she climbed off, leaned her bike against the wall of the house, and opened the garage door. Lena drove the car in and turned the engine off. Kathleen was waiting for her in front of the house door.
“It’s good you’re on time; I forgot my house key.”
“I thought so.”
Lena pulled the garage door down and walked over. Giving her daughter a quick kiss hello, she opened the front door. Kathleen walked past her mother into the kitchen. As Lena took her shoes off, she could already hear the fridge door opening and the clink of bottles. Then silence.
“Kathleen, use a glass; you know I hate it when everyone just drinks out of the bottle.”
Kathleen came into the hallway, the juice bottle in her hand. She grinned. “How did you know I was doing it?”
“I didn’t hear you open the cabinet door. And I know there aren’t any glasses standing around.”
“Impressive,” said Kathleen, as she continued to drink out of the bottle. But she put it down when she saw the look on her mother’s face. “Oh yeah, before I rode over to Carina’s today, I emptied the mailbox. There was a letter for you and I took it by mistake.”
Lena laughed. “By mistake? You just couldn’t be bothered to come back inside. Show me, what kind of letter?”
Kathleen rummaged around in her bookbag, which was stuffed full with tissues, pencil cases, and books, and finally pulled out a crumpled envelope. She turned it around and read out loud.
“From a Marleen de Vries, or something. Do you know her?”
Lena reached for the envelope and looked at the sender’s details.
“Marleen…yes, of course, Grandma helps her out at her pub. How strange. I hope Grandma hasn’t misbehaved.”
Kathleen giggled. “She must have gotten drunk and sung dirty songs or something.”
Lena ripped open the envelope and smoothed out the two sheets of paper. Scrunching her forehead, she skimmed over the words: ‘’…so your mother gave me your address…Christine’s birthday…November, would be lovely if you could make it…What’s all this about?”
Kathleen looked at her mother questioningly. “Well? Did Grandma get drunk?”
Lena looked up and shook her head.
“No, she says Grandma was a shining example as always and should get an award for making the best meatballs in the world.”
Kathleen shrugged her shoulders. “Huh. I always think they’re a bit small. Anyway, I have to do my English homework. I’m going upstairs.”
“What about dinner?”
“I ate at Carina’s; I’m full.”
Lena watched her daughter go, then went into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge, taking it with her into the lounge. She sat down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table, then raised the bottle to her lips and started to read the letter through again. She looked at the questionnaire.
Christine. Lena thought about when she had last seen her. Kathleen must have been around two years old back then. Christine and Bernd had just moved into their house and had had a housewarming party. Or was it Bernd’s birthday? Lena couldn’t remember; she only knew it had been a terrible evening. Even today, she could still remember the relief she had felt when she was finally in her car and driving home. The next day she had had a long chat with Jürgen about it. He had advised her to speak with Christine; after all, they had been friends for such a long time, it would be a shame to end things like that. But Lena had refused; she hadn’t started it, so why should she be the one to give in?
Her husband had shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something about “girls’ nonsense.” But after that he hadn’t said another word about it.
That was ten years ago now, and it had been the last time she ever went to Christine’s place. After that they had run into one another a few times, exchanged brief small talk; it was always uncomfortable. Years later Lena had heard about Christine’s divorce through her mother, and Jürgen had suggested she get back in touch. But somehow she h
ad never gotten around to it.
And now this letter. Although, it wasn’t from Christine herself. It sounded like she had no idea about the whole thing.
Lena’s thoughts were interrupted by Kathleen, who was standing in front of her in her pajamas, wanting to say good night. Lena slipped the letter under the TV magazine lying on the table and stood up.
She would talk to Jürgen about it later.
Hamburg
Christine stood indecisively in front of the flower stall at the market. She bought flowers every weekend, sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on how her week had been. This week had been particularly challenging, so she needed lots of flowers. The florist had already wrapped up two bunches for her, and there were five people waiting behind in the line, so he was gradually getting impatient with Christine’s dreamy indecisiveness.
“Why don’t you get another bunch of roses; then it’ll be fifteen Euros total.”
He wrapped up the bouquet, handed it to her, and simultaneously stretched out his other hand. Christine felt rushed but didn’t want to start an argument. She pressed the bills into his hand and set off for home. She would maybe have preferred white lilies, but didn’t dare go back. Besides, the line was too long now.
She wondered whether she should make the most of the day and go for a coffee. Or a glass of wine at the Italian place; after all, it was already noon. But she had to put the flowers in water. Better to go home first. Although, for those prices, they should be able to hold out for an hour. She stopped at the red light by the pedestrian crossing and looked over to the other side of the road. In front of the Italian restaurant she could see tables and chairs out on the terrace. A glass of wine it was.
“Christine, wait.”
As the light turned to green, two young men sat down at one of the free tables. Moments later, the light went red again.
Christine turned around. Ruth was hurrying toward her, breathless.
“I already called out to you twice. I didn’t think you could hear me.”