“Before that, war veterans were housed at Saint Helena. Alfonsa had the idea of turning the facility into an orphanage. She claims it had nothing to do with the fact that we’d given our son away. But I don’t believe her.”
“Julius.” Alfonsa let go of his hand.
“I believe,” Julius continued, “that she founded that orphanage to salve her conscience. That’s just how she works, our Sister Alfonsa. On the outside, a statue—on the inside, an emotional hurricane.” He turned his head to her. “What did you call the boy, again?” He ran his hand over his face.
“Albert,” said Albert.
“Albert, right. I would have remembered it on my own.” Julius pressed a switch, and raised the bed’s backrest. The conversation was clearly giving him strength. “Do you know him?”
“A little,” said Albert.
“How’s he doing?”
“He lives in Königsdorf. Have you ever met him?”
“Who, Albert? Never! But that doesn’t mean much. He was only one of many,” said Julius, smacking. “Children, I mean.”
“How many did you have?”
“Five? Eight? Twelve? Who can say for sure.”
“Are you still in contact with any of them?”
He didn’t answer that.
“Albert sent you here?” said Julius finally; it was less a question than a statement.
Before Albert could answer, the door opened and Fred stepped into the room.
Alfonsa rose.
Albert said, “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”
“A woman woke me up. She asked why I was here. I told her that me and you and Sister Alfonsa—” He fell silent. The smile slipped from his face.
“Fred?” Julius croaked. “Fred, is that you?”
But Fred didn’t seem to hear him. He pushed Albert aside, stretched out his arm, and touched the framed photograph; he whispered, “Segendorf.”
Julius sat up in his bed. Alfonsa went to lay a hand on his shoulder—he slapped her away. “What’s he doing here?” he went on. “I’ve told you, I don’t want that!”
Fred turned to him and said, casually, as if he came to visit daily, “Hello, Julius.”
Julius froze. “Fred.”
“I have less than two fingers left, Julius.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Fred looked at Julius. “How about you? You also don’t have many fingers left, do you?”
“Possibly.” Again, he grabbed for his elbow, but this time didn’t let Alfonsa stop him from scratching at it. “You should go now.”
“Not yet,” said Albert.
And Fred said, “I’m hungry, Albert!”
For a few seconds, long seconds, nobody said anything.
Alfonsa was the first to stir. “Let’s go have a look at the cafeteria,” she suggested to Fred, and pushed him out of the room.
Albert watched them go.
The door shut behind them, and the room went dark again.
“Well, what now?” asked Julius.
“You know.”
“Ask Alfonsa.”
“I’m asking you.”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“You don’t know me,” said Albert, who was losing his patience. “You have no idea who I am and what I want.”
Julius sighed.
Then he nodded. “Let’s get it over with.” He pointed to the place beside the bed where the stool stood.
Albert came closer, but didn’t sit down.
Julius extended his hand, mottled with age spots. It didn’t tremble. “It helps if you touch him while you’re talking,” Julius said.
Albert couldn’t bring himself to do it. That’s when Julius grabbed his arm. Albert tried to free himself, but Julius’s grip only grew firmer. “I was against her bringing you here. I always wanted this to be a place that had nothing to do with things from before. A place in the present where I wouldn’t have to remember things, especially Anni. A place where I could forget.” Julius let go. “But I can’t forget.” He shut his eyes and smacked his lips a few more times and pointed his index finger straight at the photograph. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”
Albert took a closer look at his face. This man is my father, he thought, wishing he could feel something other than irritation and repugnance.
“When was the last time you saw Anni?” Albert asked, and immediately wished he could rephrase the sentence.
“I’m not sure anymore.”
“I thought you hadn’t forgotten a thing.”
“A long time before she died,” Julius said quickly.
“You didn’t go to her funeral? Weren’t you close to her?”
“No. No, no.”
“Not even earlier?”
Julius ignored his question. “Alfonsa and I agreed that it would be better if you were raised by her.”
Anni had always wanted a healthy son, a Most Beloved Possession, he explained, and she would have raised him like her own child. If only her heart hadn’t stopped. After Anni’s death, Alfonsa had decided to bring him to Saint Helena. “She loves you,” said Julius. “It’s just that she isn’t especially good at it.”
“And Fred?”
“What about him?”
“Why him?”
“As a father?”
Albert nodded, and Julius reacted as if he’d seen it. “It was the obvious choice.” He tugged at the bandage on his elbow until at last it unraveled, and Julius was able to scratch at the scabbed skin beneath. “That’s all.”
Albert let himself fall onto the stool.
“I’ve warned you,” said Julius. “There are a lot of things one doesn’t want to know.”
Albert was forced to think of the many nights Fred had crawled into his bed after having a nightmare, and Albert, a child, had to comfort a man more than forty years older, and what a painfully lonely feeling that had been. And yet, on those same nights, cuddled up with Fred, he’d always felt safer, less lonely, than in his bunk bed at Saint Helena.
Julius smacked his lips. “At least you’ll be free of him soon. Are you making plans already? Hopefully you won’t stay in Königsdorf. I can only advise you—”
Albert grabbed Julius’s hand. “He wasn’t such a bad father.”
“Only natural that you defend him. Who wouldn’t? After nineteen years with him!”
The knuckles on Albert’s hands stood white beneath the skin. “He risked his life for me!”
“Ah.” Julius smacked. “It’s almost touching. But we both know what a relief it’ll be for you when he isn’t around anymore. No reason to be sad! I’m telling you: Fred won’t be missed.”
Albert let go of him and stood and wanted to reply that he wasn’t afraid of anything as much as losing Fred; that he couldn’t imagine life without him; that he still secretly hoped that Fred’s heart would keep on beating much, much longer than that doctor had predicted.
But Albert was exhausted, and he didn’t see any point in arguing with this man who had nothing left but a barren room and a black-and-white photograph, and who would have to be alone with himself for the rest of his life. He pitied Julius, who would never be able to understand him. It was only in the last week that Albert himself had learned to understand how lucky he could count himself for having grown up with Fred. Nobody loved as unconditionally as his father.
“Why don’t you leave?” said Julius. “It’s about time.” He pulled the bandage back over the wound on his elbow. There were traces of blood beneath his fingernails.
“One more thing,” said Albert.
Julius’s bloodshot eyes searched for him.
“Fred discovered a piece of gold … do you know anything about that?”
Julius blinked. “Gold? Never had any.”
Fog
Fred and Alfonsa were waiting for Albert outside the building. They stood on a promontory that served as an observation deck, staring out at the fog. Alfonsa carried a pair of plastic containers, one of which held a
sandwich with a bite taken out of it.
Albert stood beside them, and for a while all three stared down, trying to make out something, anything, through the white.
“I visit him once a month,” said Alfonsa. “We talk a bit about the quality of the food and about the weather, and then I leave again. He’s never asked about you. I thought he wanted to leave all of that behind. Until he gave me the gold.” She straightened her black veil. “I should have brought you here long, long ago.”
Albert agreed by saying nothing.
Alfonsa turned to go. “Sister Simone is picking us up.”
“I have to go back,” said Albert. “Forgot something.”
Alfonsa handed him the makeup compact.
Albert took it from her, astonished. “How did you know …?”
Alfonsa shrugged her shoulders, and showed him a genuine smile, which Albert returned.
“Where are we going now?” asked Fred.
Albert took off Fred’s backpack, picked a couple of crumbs out of his beard, and hugged him. “We’re going home.”
Epilogue
Tickling. It comes from inside and gets bigger and bigger. It’s a warm feeling—a little like stepping out of a shadow into the sun. That’s what he tells Albert, he tells him that it’s starting now, and Albert drops his bowl with its vanilla ice cream and rushes over and kneels in the grass by the deck chair. He asks Albert if everything’s okay, because Albert looks exhausted. Albert isn’t listening to him. Albert wants to grab the telephone and call a doctor. But he tells Albert that he doesn’t need a doctor, tells him that he’s very sorry that he has to leave Albert all alone, and with so many fingers left. But he also says that almost everything goes by very fast. Albert certainly won’t have to live for as long as he thinks. He should eat some more vanilla ice cream. And visit Sister Alfonsa. And get away from Königsdorf, too, since he has the gold now. And then, before he knows it, he’ll go dead much faster. Albert looks at him for a long time. He doesn’t close his eyes at all. No cars are driving down the main street. It’s as quiet as if nobody else were living in Königsdorf. Albert cries a little, says that it doesn’t have to happen, not yet. But that’s not true, he responds, it does have to happen! Albert says that he certainly has at least a few more fingers left. He answers that he doesn’t know about that, because he’s already had many more—seven fingers more—than the doctor had showed him. That’s precisely twelve fingers, in all. More fingers than a normal person has! But if he does, in fact, have any extra fingers, he explains to Albert, then he’d like to eat pancakes with raspberry jam. And Albert takes his hands and holds them, holds them rather tight, and promises he’ll make him as many pancakes as he wants. And then Albert starts crying again! The tickling now comes into his arms and legs and head. It’s strong, it hurts a little. But he lets it grow. He doesn’t want to have to wait any longer for his swan-white tombstone, so close to the red tree. Because he’s very much looking forward to that. From there, he’ll be able to see the church tower, and the moor, and the sky. And he’ll be able to see Albert and Klondi, and maybe Violet, too, and Sister Alfonsa, and Julius. They’ll come to visit him, and tell him how they’re pushing the world, or how it’s pushing them. And that, he knows, he knows for sure, will be ambrosial.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is no secret that a book, though written in solitude, is never composed by one person alone. I want to thank everyone who helped me turn this story into a Most Beloved Possession. Special thanks are due to:
Saskya, wielder of superpowers, with whom I fell in love thanks to this book.
Anna, Antje, and Til, who taught me the meaning of Most Beloved Possessions.
Günther Opitz, without whose trust and opening of doors “Alfred” would never have reached their goal.
Julia Eichhorn, because she believed in the story from the beginning.
Carolina Franzen, for leading Fred by the hand.
Krishna Winston and Riky Stock, for taking Fred and Albert across the Atlantic.
Kathleen Anderson, for making their passage safe.
Aaron Kerner, for providing them with a new and beautiful language.
Fiona McCrae and Katie Dublinski, for giving them this wonderful home in the United States.
When I was living in Königsdorf in the 1990s and attending the high school in Bad Tölz, I had to take the bus every morning. During that time I first noticed this tall, bearded man greeting the cars. It seems so long ago now and yet I remember exactly the touching conviction with which he raised his arm in the air, spread his fingers, fixed his gaze on an approaching vehicle, and gave a quick shake of the hand. In retrospect it seems as if he had waved to me, as if he were saying, “I’m here! I have a story to tell! Talk to me!”
You, Fred, deserve my biggest thanks.
CHRISTOPHER KLOEBLE is an award-winning German novelist and scriptwriter. Almost Everything Very Fast is his third book, and his first to be published in English. He lives in Berlin and New Delhi.
AARON KERNER is a translator, editor, and teacher. He lives in Boston.
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