by Sofie Cramer
In any case, when Karin was standing on the deck of the ferry back then, it was already dark outside. A summer storm was raging over the ship; rain was pouring down everywhere and she couldn’t see particularly well. She stood at the railing and watched the lightning flash on the horizon. But then suddenly a bolt of lightning struck right in front of her, and a short while later Karin was filled with a feeling of utter well-being, as if she could feel her husband very close to her again. So close, it was as if he had been transported into her body. The way her mother described it, for these few seconds or even minutes she felt happier than she’d ever felt. She believed that her husband or his energy or whatever was actually with her in this moment—in whichever way that might be. And this filled her with such a feeling of joy and peace that she lacked the words to really describe it. But still today when she talks about this feeling she experienced so vividly on the ferry, her eyes take on a lively gleam. And even though she knows it makes Clara uncomfortable every time she hears it, Karin never gets tired of emphasizing how important this experience was for her perspective on the world, for her journey toward faith, and for her hopes of making peace with death.
But when her mother went through the whole spiel again after Ben died, Clara just got furious. She couldn’t believe that even in this moment of extreme crisis her mother was only interested in taking advantage of the situation to go on about her loony New Age bullshit.
And yet, in spite of herself, Clara has thought about it again and again recently. She can’t get the idea out of her head that Ben might just be out there somewhere, just waiting for a good moment to reveal himself. That’s partly why she was so frightened when the light just went out like that after the first text she sent to Ben. But she’s afraid of telling her mother about it, because then the eerie side of the story would get even more real. Nevertheless, every day she hopes for another sign from Ben that he’s doing all right, that he’s looking out for her, and that he’s going to let her know that someday everything is going to be okay again.
Even though Clara is feeling very close to Ben after spending the day with Dorothea and would like to text him to say something along those lines, she decides to keep her thoughts to herself. It does strike her as being kind of ridiculous, but tonight she’d like to let Dorothea go first and fill Ben in on the latest news.
sven
Now I have to put up with being yelled at, too?” Sven says by way of greeting. Judging by the look on his face, it’s almost as if he’s proud of the fact.
“Good morning to you, too,” Hilke tersely replies. “Did Breiding go off on you again?”
“No. A new text. Listen to this: I’m so pissed at you I could kill you! Crazy, right?”
“What did you do?” Hilke asks, grinning now.
“Your Honor, I am completely innocent,” Sven declares, raising his right hand. “I was even particularly well-behaved this weekend!”
“Oh yeah? I don’t believe you. But what else did Lilime write?”
“The death threat wasn’t even from Lilime, it was from somebody named Theo.”
“Let me see!”
Sven rolls his eyes, pulls up the message, and hands his phone to his colleague.
Hilke fumbles for her glasses and reads:
I’m so pissed at you I could kill you. But I love you so so much and I’ll look after Clara for you. Promise! Xoxo, Theo
“Clara, Theo, Lilime—very mysterious. Sounds almost like somebody cheated on somebody else and that person’s friend is mad at the other person and that’s why they’re looking after Clara.”
Sven acts like he’s bored. “No idea. Couldn’t care less, either. But if this keeps up I’m going to call the number and tell the guy to stop bothering me already!”
“And you’re sure that Theo isn’t Lilime, right?”
“What do I know? In any case this last text came from a different number.”
“And who’s No Name?” Hilke asks to Sven’s surprise—apparently she’s found her way to his Messages folder.
“All right, give it back!”
“Well, well, this is getting more and more interesting,” says Hilke, ripping the lid off a yogurt cup like she’s just settling in to watch a good show on television.
Sven puts his phone away and heads to the bathroom. Why is this happening to me? he asks himself, while in the stall next to his someone seems to be dealing with some digestive issues. He decides to do something productive once he gets off work tonight. This week is going to be a damn blur, he thinks. One meeting after the next. And so he now makes a firm plan to finally stop by his Tai Chi club again tonight.
The thought of it keeps him awake for the rest of the day. Sven is a bit anxious, though—he’s afraid that after so much time away he won’t see any familiar faces. Will his buddy David still be there? David was a university lecturer; Sven had gone out to eat with him a few times after class. But over the last few months Sven just hadn’t made any effort to stay in touch.
And so he is all the more happy that evening when his old buddy walks right up to him and asks how he’s doing, as if no time had passed.
That’s exactly what he likes about David, the laid-back, uncomplicated manner he has about him. He’s easygoing without having to put it on; that’s just how he is. Plus he’s got a great, bone-dry sense of humor. Without a second thought, Sven asks him if he wants to grab a bite to eat after class. They decide to treat themselves to a big platter of sushi and bring each other up to speed on what’s been happening in their lives.
Sven feels uneasy at first. After all, it’s not like he has any great achievements to report. He hasn’t even started the triathlon training he’d made such a big deal about last time they spoke—four years since his last attempt, his goal is to try to reach the finish line in under four hours. If anything the opposite is true: Since Christmas Sven has gotten way out of shape and has actually put on weight. Not so much that his clothes no longer fit, but still enough that he no longer feels quite comfortable in his own skin.
So when the conversation starts he’s all the more eager to listen. He’s sincerely interested in what’s new with David and encourages him to go first.
“Sven, I’m head over heels!” David blurts out as soon as they’ve ordered their maki.
Sven lets out a sigh and steels himself for what’s coming. The truth is he hates hearing other people’s meet-cute stories. But he actually is curious to hear how David—confident, only out for himself David—could bring himself to voluntarily give up his independence for a woman.
“She’s just incredible. I never would have thought I’d make such a good catch!” David says proudly, as if he were speaking of a large pike that he’d braved the stormy seas to hook.
“Me neither,” Sven admits, and David is a bit taken aback. “No, I mean, speaking of myself, I wouldn’t ever think something like that would happen to me, either,” he hastens to add.
David nods at him, full of understanding. Next ensues what for David is an unusually long monologue about women and men and about how he believes that every man is capable of falling in love, even the most dedicated bachelor. He lays out all his arguments with eyes shining and with such sincere enthusiasm that Sven can neither laugh nor come up with any kind of clever retort. Except to say that every infatuation eventually fades. But David won’t have any of it. He ignores the comment in sublime fashion, as if it simply didn’t merit a response. Instead he starts listing off details. His beloved’s name is Stine, they’ve been together for two months now, and every day he finds her more desirable than ever.
“Desire . . . ,” Sven suddenly hears himself saying—though this is something he’d rather not even think about. “Yes, I remember. That sure was something, wasn’t it . . .” The whole “making love” thing, as Fiona always used to call it. That was wonderful, but he had shoved his awareness of it way back into the furthermost
corner of his memory.
“So I guess your love life is super-exciting right now, huh?” David comments laconically.
Now Sven feels uncomfortable. He’d rather just ignore David’s sarcastic remark. But David keeps looking at him, waiting for a response.
“Yeah, you know,” Sven mutters, “it has been pretty dead lately.”
David gets a sympathetic look on his face that hits Sven deep in the pit of his stomach. Quickly he adds: “But as of a few days ago I’ve got a secret admirer. Kind of a stalker, actually.”
“You’ve got what?” David asks, amused.
“Well, I’m getting these text messages sent to my phone all the time from this person I don’t know.”
“And what does this mystery person want from you?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Sven replies and starts to relate the whole mysterious text business. Though of course he fudges some of the details a bit to suggest that Lilime is a woman and very much into him.
“But you don’t know who this Lilime person is?” David asks, so interested now that Sven has to be careful in trying to navigate off the thin ice he’s ventured out on.
“No, but there are a few girls who come to mind . . . ,” Sven lies.
“Well, whoever it is you seem to be pretty taken with her,” David teases. “Why don’t you just call her and set up a blind date!” He’s very excited about his idea and gives Sven a look, like he’s daring him.
“Eh, we’ll see. I’m not really into these silly little games,” Sven says and tries to steer the conversation back to Stine.
With success: David talks so much about his scarcely imaginable stroke of luck that Sven is still thinking of it on his way home. Meeting a new flame over the internet would only make Sven mistrustful. After all, up to now he’d only used the web for fleeting hookups that ended either with the words “I’ll call you!” or a bad taste in his mouth on the morning after upon waking up in a completely unfamiliar bed. He doubts that love can be found in any way other than the direct way, when you look very closely at another person and can feel the effect they have on you.
Should he really just call Lilime? he asks himself as he rides his bike home. Maybe there really is a woman hidden behind this mysterious number, a megababe like David’s Stine. But even if that were the case, wooing her definitely wouldn’t be easy. Sven tries to think how close the relationship might be between Lilime and the person who’s actually supposed to be getting the texts. If the latter doesn’t know how lucky he is, the whole thing might be more of a one-sided affair.
When Sven stops at the red light on Rödingsmarkt, he looks up at a lit-up billboard with a beer ad that shows a slick-looking guy having a good time. The man is relaxing on the couch, with his legs up on the coffee table and what is clearly a freshly poured glass of pilsner in his hand. Above him there’s a tagline: “You only live once, boys!”
Now or never! The words flash into Sven’s head. I need a pay phone right away! But as he’s looking around for one he suddenly starts to feel pretty funny. After all, he is carrying a brand-new phone in his pocket, which can be used not only to take photos and listen to music but also—who’d’ve thunk it?—to call this damn number . . .
But there’s no helping it. He wants to remain anonymous.
Suddenly Sven’s heart starts pounding, but he tells himself that it’s more from the quick burst of speed he just put on as he pedals toward the Reeperbahn than from the thing he’s thinking of doing, which nothing in the world could justify being so excited about. He’s about to run the red light at the next intersection, but then he stops and falls to thinking. On the one hand, he wonders if it’s at all the right move to just call the number, and on the other, he’s asking himself why he’s even thinking about it in the first place. He decides that if he doesn’t hit any more red lights on his way to St. Pauli, then he’ll call the number. Otherwise he’ll take the next red light to mean “Stop! Text back and delete the number!”
When Sven turns onto the Reeperbahn, he immediately catches sight of two pay phones one next to the other on the right side of the street. He can’t help but grin and wonders if his subconscious already knew that he would find what he was looking for here. Bit by bit, he’s beginning to enjoy finding new little games for himself to play. He gets off his bicycle and starts digging in his pockets.
“If I’ve got the right change, I’ll call right now!” he says to himself quietly and grins at the elderly lady at the phone next to his, who looks at him in bewilderment.
It must be an odd sight, he thinks—a perfectly normal-looking man holding the receiver of a Telekom pay phone in one hand and a brand-new iPhone in the other.
Hesitating, Sven takes another glance around him, as if he were about to call to blackmail someone and do the whole disguising-his-voice bit. But really all he’s going to do is politely ask if—he thinks for a second—if David is there. Right, he’ll ask if his friend David is there. And then Lilime will reply that there’s no David here; this is Rolf, Egon, Hugo, or whoever.
Of course Sven is hoping that whoever picks up says their full name so he can do some actual research for once and maybe even gather some new material for his crime novel. But whatever the case he wants to finally start making a little progress with his “investigation.”
Sven dials the number and waits anxiously for it to ring. And sure enough, after about five rings someone picks up: “You’ve reached the voice mailbox for: 0172 . . .”
“Shit!” Sven curses. It went to voice mail. He hadn’t counted on that or at least not on an automated voice recording. He’s angry. But not so much at the fact that he was only able to hear this robotic voice. No, he’s more angry at himself and resolves to forget the whole thing as quickly as possible.
clara
After a long day, Clara snuggles up contentedly under Ben’s duvet, whose cover she still hasn’t washed, and types a text into her phone.
Did you hear from Theo? You should be very proud of her. And maybe you’re proud of me, too? Today I finished the moon painting, just for you. A thousand kisses!
She scrolls down for Ben’s number and hits send. Even though spending the day with Dorothea yesterday was so nice, the unfinished canvas just wouldn’t let her rest.
That same night, after they’d hung out, Clara had gotten right back to work on the newly begun painting that was meant to portray the far side of the moon.
She didn’t think that she’d already be finished with it today. She could barely wait to get back from work and hurried to get home as fast as she could. She skipped dinner and even ignored her phone when it rang. But when she realized it could be Katja calling to spill the latest news about her lover boy, she ran out into the hallway. The voice mailbox was quicker, though. Whoever had called, they didn’t leave a message, and Clara couldn’t help thinking it could be another sign from Ben. After that she went back to working on her project with a smile on her face.
She sank deep into a wonderfully relaxed state. She was totally entranced. The brushstrokes came together almost of their own accord. Clara completely lost track of time and was shocked when she looked at the clock for the first time and saw that it was past midnight.
Even if it’s only one painting for now, while she was working the idea occurred to her of making a whole series of moon paintings.
It’s a nice thought, she mused—the thought of maybe one day getting a chance to exhibit her work somewhere. And who knows? Maybe there was even a way to earn a little money doing it.
Ben would definitely have been excited about this dream. As Clara stares into the darkness, she can see him quite clearly in her mind’s eye—he sits on the kitchen table, casually props one leg on the table edge, and rolls himself a cigarette. “Hey, babe,” he would say, “that’s good. That’s really good!” Then he would jump up, study the painting again very closely, act as if he were an
art expert with shrewd business sense, and start talking, trying to convince Clara to commit to her dream, never stopping until Clara finally gave in and took the decisive step toward this new career.
Ben was always enthusiastic about everything. Whenever an idea came into his head, no matter how unrealistic it might be in practice, he would flesh it out in elaborate detail and take great joy in it. In this way a lot of conversations with him would end with him off dreaming. What started out as an ordinary, everyday topic could quickly turn into an effusive fantasy, whether it was his musical career and his band’s meteoric rise to the top or a months-long trip around the world, which of course he didn’t have a cent to spend on.
Tears come to Clara’s eyes as she remembers this one-of-a-kind way he had about him. It’s true that of late she hasn’t been so quick to start crying when she thinks of Ben. But this in turn has only led to her being overtaken with ever more intense feelings of guilt, which she doesn’t really know how to process. Even if Dr. Ferdinand did tell her at their very first session that feelings of guilt were totally normal for people who have lost loved ones, and were nevertheless completely unjustified, still her case is a bit different, she fears.
Maybe, at least unconsciously, she really did put too much pressure on Ben with all her hopes and ideas. Maybe he simply didn’t want to disappoint her. Again and again she had needled him, before ultimately telling him more or less straight out that he finally had to start making progress with school if he ever wanted to get a decent job. First and foremost, of course, was the fact that she only wanted the best for him, which also included success in his professional life. But ultimately there was also a fair amount of egotism hidden behind this: her desire for a functional, storybook marriage, with a husband at her side whom she could rely on and who would have no problem supporting a family—even if she was frightfully aware of how conservative this was.