3
He was hunched at the window table to the left of the door. She was shocked by his appearance: unshaven, sunken cheeks, greasy, lank hair, skin shimmering a pale green. His eyes were bulging as he looked up at her. “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. Swallowing seemed to cause him discomfort; at any rate he had trouble talking.
Judith: “Are you ill?” Him: “Not when I see you.” She was already regretting having come. Her: “You ought to see a doctor.” He gave a pained smile. “You really are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve got a fever. Maybe it’s protracted flu, or a virus.” “You are my virus.” “Hannes, just stop that. You have to forget me,” she replied. He’d infected her; now she was having difficulty swallowing.
Him: “Darling, both of us have made mistakes.” Her: “My mistake was coming here today.” Him: “Why do you say such horrid things? It hurts me. What have I done to you, Darling, to make you talk to me like that?” Her: “Hannes, please, I beg you. Stop calling me Darling. I’m not your darling, I’m not anybody’s darling. I just want my life back.”
“May I remind you, Judith?” All of a sudden his voice was powerful and laden with anger. “We sat over there.” He pointed to the table in the corner. “Twenty-three days ago…” He looked at his watch. “Twenty-three days and seventy-five minutes ago. We sat over there and you told me – you used these very words, correct me if I’m wrong – I’m just not capable of having a close relationship at the moment. And a few minutes later you said: Hannes, I think it would be better if we just stopped seeing each other for a while. He paused. His lips forced a smile from his pallid face. “So, Judith, how long does at the moment last for you? And how long is for a while? It’s not been a while, Judith, it’s been half an eternity. Look at me, Judith, look at me. Look into my tired eyes. Here you see twenty-three days and seventy-six minutes. How much longer are you going to keep me on tenterhooks?”
Her: “Hannes, you’re not seeing the real picture. You need a doctor. You’re sick, you’re mad.” Him: “You’re driving me mad, continuing to play this game with me. I’d resolved to be patient, I even promised your mum and dad that I would be, but sometimes, sometimes…” He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, his cheek muscles stuck out and you could count the veins on his forehead.
Judith was on the verge of leaping up and running away. But she thought of Bianca and her “guys that just don’t understand”, and that they would keep trying unless you were clear enough in your rejection. Trying to remain “totally cool”, she said, almost in a whisper: “Hannes, I’m sorry. I like you, I really like you, but I don’t love you. I DON’T LOVE YOU!” We’re never going to be a couple. Never, Hannes, never. Look at me, Hannes: never! Please stop waiting for me. And get yourself out of the habit of thinking about me. Please cut me out of your life. This sounds so brutal it makes me want to cry. And it hurts me, too, to hear myself speak like this. But let me repeat it one more time, so that you accept it once and for all: Cut me out of your life!”
Hannes looked at her and shook his head. He screwed up his eyes and let her see just how hard he was thinking. Then he smiled again and gave a shrug of his shoulders. It seemed as if he was finally going to believe what she had said, as if this might even be an act of liberation, but something inside him resisted. Judith remained silent and followed his inner struggle with a stony expression.
“Judith,” he said, almost as a result of his own reflection. “I’m going to let you go.” He began to roll up his sleeves, almost casually. “On the surface I’m going to cut you out, I promise, and let you go.” He laid his hirsute forearms on the table. “But inside,” he said, trembling melodramatically, “inside you’ll go on living with me.” Now he turned over his arms demonstratively to show the underside. Judith stared at them in horror. Long, red weals ran all the way along them, too deep and symmetrical to have been scratches from a cat.
“How did you get those?” Judith asked. For him, the trembling in her voice was as good as an ointment on his wounds and brought forth a benign, almost beatific smile. “Inside, the two of us are inseparably joined,” he said. “And now you are released.”
4
All Judith could do on the days which followed – and she was thoroughly alarmed to note that it was now August – was to watch them tick by. She was incessantly busy with trying to starve out the intruder inside her head. And she was so focused on this task that she herself forgot to eat. At night, for fear of dreaming about the undersides of his arms, she stared at the lights of her Rotterdam laburnum lamp until her eyelids drooped.
In his daily attempts to establish contact, Gerd made as little headway as did all her other friends, who slowly began to worry about Judith – slowly, and far too late. She was going through a process of inner emigration, forever on the alert for Hannes’ next attack, and with the indomitable will to ignore them to the bitter end.
Once a day he would speak to her voicemail, mainly in the afternoons and never at night, thank God! Within a few seconds she’d erase the message. If nothing changed in his low-dosage ritual – a daily message, the contents of which she remained unaware, on the pathetic S.I.M. card of a soulless mobile phone – she would soon be living life normally again, she persuaded herself. Then she’d be able to go running back to her friends and family as if reborn and say: “I’m back. It was nothing more than a minor crisis. No surprise really, the heat, the stress, you know how it is.” And they’d reply: “It’s wonderful to have you back, Judith. Now, why don’t you spoil yourself and take a nice holiday. You’ve got nothing more to fear. We’re all here!”
She hadn’t got to that stage yet, she was still feeling her way down the dark, narrow tunnel, but the first cracks of light were appearing, and in a brief wave of euphoria she booked her first attempt at re-acclimatisation to the outside world, a one-week trip to Amsterdam at the end of August. There she could stay with friends who knew nothing about Hannes. And the most they would find out was that he was a lunatic who was obsessed with her, who left insignificant messages on her voicemail every day.
*
Two days later she was overly reckless; while sifting through the post at work she opened a letter whose sender was not revealed on the envelope. As she realised, with shock, that the letter was from him, she made her second big mistake: she read the message line by line to the very end.
At first the text read like a protocol and sounded deceptively factual:
Twelfth of August, 7.00: her radio alarm turns on. On his clock it’s only six minutes to seven. Her clock is fast, his shows the right time. She takes a shower. The cool water runs down her delicate, soft body. Wonderful. Her mind is fixed on him. He thinks of her all the time.
7.43: She leaves the house. Linden-green, close-fitting summer frock. Golden-yellow, tousled hair. She looks as if she’s twenty. The most beautiful woman in the world. But her face is far too serious and sad. (You’re a subjective pessimist, my telephoto lens!) She misses him. She feels his absence.
7.57: She opens up the lighting shop, and slips the emerald-green bag from her slender shoulder. She is muddle-headed, hectic, nervous. She’s distracted. She’s thinking of him. He thinks of her all the time.
12.14: She leaves the shop. She looks left, she looks right. She’s looking for him. He’s so close. She could reach out and touch him. He loves her more than anything in the world. As she does him, definitely. Definitely, definitely, definitely.
12.20: She goes into the bank. To withdraw some money? He’d give her his. He doesn’t need money, only her love.
12.27: She leaves the bank. He blows her kisses. She can sense how close he is, she can feel his breath, she’s looking for him. She’s flummoxed.
12.35: She disappears back into the shop. He gives her a wave. She can’t see him, but she knows he’s with her. He protects her. He keeps her safe from everything that’s bad.
17.10: She leaves the shop. It was worth the wait. It’s always worth
the wait. Patience and loyalty are the essence of existence, the fertilisers of love. Interesting, this time she chooses another route. Hütteldorfer Strasse. She turns towards him. He can feel her draught. She’s thinking of him. He thinks of her all the time.
17.23: She goes into, oh, oh, oh, she goes into a travel agent’s. This blows him away. Is she going to surprise him? A second Venice? She loves him, definitely. He loves her more than anything.
17.42: She leaves the travel agent’s. She smiles. She’s happy. She’s thinking of him. She loves him. Pity. Pity. Pity. Now he’s got to let her out of his sight for a few minutes. Now she has to go home without him. Now he goes into the travel agent’s.
18.00: Here end the notes for the day. He will stay with her. Love binds the two of them together. Eternity welds them together. She is his light and he her shade. Neither of them can be alone anymore. When she breathes, he breathes too.
He will keep guard. She inhales his proximity. He’s delighted. He’s delighted. He’s delighted they’ll be together in Amsterdam.
5
Bianca: “Not feeling well, Frau Wangermann?” Her: “It’s just my circulation.” Bianca: “Do you want a Red Bull? I always have a Red Bull when I’m feeling dizzy.” Judith had sunk into her office chair and was staring at the scrunched-up ball in the wastepaper basket. The letter she had just read did not exist. The man who’d written it did not exist. Cut out. Delete. Forget. Erase. Burn. Scatter the ashes in the air.
“Is it your ex?” Bianca asked. Judith sat up straight and gave her apprentice a look of astonishment. Bianca: “Is he still being a right pain?” Judith: “Yes, he is.” Bianca: “It takes some guys a hell of a long time before they get it.” Judith: “He’s watching me. He’s following my every step. He knows everything I’m doing.” Bianca: “Really? That’s bad. Like a ghost.”
Judith: “Bianca?” Bianca: “Yes, boss?” Judith: “Would you mind walking home with me?” Bianca: “No, not at all. And if we see him we’ll tell him to piss off. It’s the only language some of them understand.” She showed Judith her raised middle finger.
*
“I’ll go up with you in the lift as well. You can never be too sure. I saw this film once, right, where the guy was waiting in the lift, right, and he came up behind the lady, right, and strangled her, with a red tie I think,” Bianca said. “Sounds great,” Judith said.
She had only just begun to recover from the surveillance protocol when she noticed another dreadful plastic bag hanging from the door handle. She shuddered and grabbed onto Bianca’s arm.
“I think I’ll stay with you for a little bit until you calm down,” Bianca said. “We could order some sushi.” Her: “Yes.” Bianca: “Shall I see what’s in the bag?” Her: “No, I don’t want to know.” Bianca: “Maybe it’s just some advertising and you’re getting worked up for no reason.” Her: “I’d really like not to care what it is.” Bianca: “But you do care. No offence, but you look totally knackered.”
Bianca stayed for a few hours. Having her there did Judith the world of good. She tried out eye shadows, mascaras and nail polishes, improvised a little fashion show from the contents of Judith’s wardrobe, and was allowed to keep three T-shirts and a short dress, whose seams might just sustain her upper body for another three meals.
“I don’t think he’s a serial killer,” she comforted her boss, who looked on as Bianca gobbled down the sushi. “I mean, when you talk to him he’s really nice. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s just that he’s infatuated with you and he’s freaking out a bit at the moment. He’ll clear off soon enough.” Judith: “Really?” Bianca: “Did you sleep with him?” Judith: “Of course I did.” Bianca: “Maybe you shouldn’t’ve. I bet he’s thinking about that all the time now.” Her: “Bianca, really, I’d rather you didn’t…” Bianca: “O.K., I’m sorry.” Her: “That’s alright. Bianca, could you please see what’s in the bag on the door?”
Bianca took out a letter and a small box. “It’s got a heart on it. Do you want me to read it to you?” Judith bit her lip and nodded. Bianca read: “Darling, why don’t you listen to your voicemail? How are our roses? Have they dried yet? I’m sure you’ve solved the puzzle by now. It was a simple one. I’m giving you what belongs to them. It’s better for me that you’ve got them. Now I’m going to withdraw from your life. You have my word! Yes, you are released, Darling! Yours, Hannes”
Bianca shook the box. “Little stones, or something like that,” she said. On the lid it said: “Question: What do these and these and these roses have in common? Answer: No…” Bianca opened the box. “Thorns!” she cried out. “Thorns,” Judith mouthed.
“Is that bad, Judith?” Bianca asked. Judith began to sob bitterly. “Thorns.” In her mind she could see the deep scratches on his forearms. “I don’t mind staying the night here with you, if you’d like,” her apprentice said.
PHASE SEVEN
1
Three weeks had passed. Five hundred hours. Eighteen walks to the shop. Eighteen walks back home. At least a couple of dozen routines of unlocking the front door, opening the door to her flat, bolting the door, searching the terrace, looking under the bed – not forgetting the wardrobe.
Three weeks. Thousands of double victories for Judith. A thousand instances of leaping over two sets of hurdles: her own personal ones and his invisible ones. At least two thousand instances of pulling down the blinds, getting undressed, going into the shower, coming out of the shower, looking under the bed again, lifting the duvet, checking the pillow. Lie down. Close eyes. Open eyes. The coffee machine! Leap up. Dart into the kitchen. The coffee machine. Was it in the same place? Wasn’t it a little further to the left?
Three weeks. Twenty-eight hours of overtime for her minder, Bianca. An aborted trip to Amsterdam. A non-attendance at a christening. (Veronika, her niece, four kilos twenty, healthy. Hedi well, Ali happy. At least Ali was happy.) A visit to the police station: “Has he caused you bodily harm? No? Has he threatened you? No? Is he pursuing you? Yes? Stalking, excellent. We have strict laws against that. What information can you provide us with? What have you got on him? Thorns. I see. A letter, excellent. Where is it? You threw it away? That’s not so good. That’s bad. Please keep the next letter and bring it with you.”
Three weeks. No calls. No texts. No e-mails. No letters. No messages. No roses. No thorns. Bianca: “He’s given up. Bet you.” Judith: “But he’s got to be somewhere.” Bianca: “Well of course he’s somewhere. But the main thing is that he’s not here, is he?”
2
Around three p.m. on the first Friday in September, as the summer was bidding a muggy farewell, a pale, light-shunning, vaguely familiar-looking woman offered Judith her hand. “Wolff, Gudrun Wolff,” she said. “I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, but I’m hoping you might be able to help us. Frau Ferstl and I are worried, you see, and we thought…” “Do I know you?” Judith was about to say. But her fear, which soon proved to be well founded, was so great that her voice failed her. It was the woman who had waved to her in the Phoenix Bar that evening. She was one of his two colleagues.
“We’re worried about Herr Bergtaler. He hasn’t been to the office in weeks. And he hasn’t called either. And today…” Judith: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you in any way, please understand.”
She attempted to guide Hannes’ colleague to the door. But the woman had already taken a piece of paper from her angular, severe-looking, cream-coloured handbag. “And today we got this letter,” she said. She waved it around as if trying to banish evil spirits from the place.
“I’m sorry to have to leave you, he says. Soon I will exist only on paper…” Gudrun Wolff paused to catch her breath. Her voice sounded theatrical and reproachful: “Soon I will exist only on paper. And in the heart of my beloved, the love of my life, he says. And that’s it. So you can understand why Frau Ferstl and I are worried. And we thought that seeing as you are practically the only…”
“Sorry, but I really can’t help you. I broke off conta
ct with Herr Bergtaler weeks ago. For good,” Judith said, drawing a sharp line in the air with her fingertips. “Is everything O.K., Frau Wangermann?” Bianca was now at Judith’s side to catch her if she fainted. Judith: “I have nothing at all to do with him anymore, I’m sorry.” Gudrun Wolff: “But perhaps you know…” Judith: “No, I know nothing. And I don’t want to know either.” Bianca: “I don’t think my boss is feeling so well. It would be best if you went now.” Gudrun Wolff: “I really hope he doesn’t get any silly ideas into his head.”
3
After work, Judith fled the city. Bianca helped her pack, accompanied her to her car, checked the side streets and said: “All clear, you can go.” She’d sent her brother no more than a short text message: “Be with you late this evening. Can I stay till Sun? I won’t be a burden. J”
By dusk, whose violet-blue shimmer warned of a stormy night ahead, she had reached the old manor house in the Mühlviertel. As she got out of her car she could hear Veronika, the baby, crying. Ali tried to give her a warm welcome. He looked tired and stoical; perhaps he was on medication again. “Well, this is a surprise!” he said, without specifying whether it was a good or bad one.
A few hours later they were chatting around the table and, determined to prevent any awkward pauses, sticking to the obvious topics: Veronika’s difficult birth, the exhaustion of the present and the uncertainty of the future. There were photos, too, live pictures at Hedi’s breast and the shrill soundtrack from the cot.
Judith waited patiently to be asked why she’d come, what was wrong with her, why she looked so distraught, how she was feeling. But Ali didn’t raise any of these questions. For him, Judith had always been the one person who could never be worse off than he was. If ever she were to break out of this role, his porous world would begin to crumble.
Forever Yours Page 8