A Glittering Chaos

by de Nikolits, Lisa

  A part of her is angry at the friendship aspect of things that his letter had seemed to dwell upon but she reasons with herself, what had she been expecting?

  She puts down her pen and looks around. The café is warm and welcoming and filled with people chatting or typing on laptops or reading newspapers. Melusine wishes she could stay there all afternoon and not have to go back to the library. She picks up her pen. She doesn’t have anything of interest to tell Gunther and she is afraid she’ll bore him.

  Dear Gunther,

  She chews her pen. Is ‘dear’ too much? She studies his now-familiar letter that he began with “Melu, my dear…” She decides to be bold and stick with the affectionate salutation.

  Dear Gunther, I was glad to get your letter.

  Ach, too pathetic. She crumples up the piece of paper and tries again.

  Dear Gunther, I miss you. You were frank, I shall be too. I miss you. It’s gray here and cold but it’s November, what else can I expect? I am worried you will find me and my life very boring. It is boring.

  I am sorry to hear about you and your wife. Things are strained between me and Hans — it feels awkward, as if there are a thousand unspoken angers wishing to make themselves heard.

  Thank you for the photograph, by the way. Yes, it was a perfect day. Vegas feels like a Technicolor dream that’s fading by the moment but in the same breath, I can still recall your every freckle. Forgive me if I am being too forward.

  Writing letters feels very odd! I am going to sign off now and post this before I decide it’s no good and that I must rewrite it again and again.

  She gets stuck on the closing. Should she sign off love, Melu or Fondly, Melusine, or your friend, Melu… she’s uncertain. She drinks the last of her coffee and chews on her pen.

  Your friend, Melu.

  She seals the letter and posts it before she can change her mind.

  Meanwhile, Hans manages to get through his day until he can phone Juditha at noon and he tells her what happened. He tells her everything and he is wild with anxiety.

  “I lost total control,” he says. “I closed the whole office. I can’t do things like that. What’s going on? It was something you said — I know it was. I felt like I was out of my mind.”

  “Hans,” Juditha replies calmly, “I know this will be very hard for you to understand but what happened is a wonderful sign of healing. When the soul begins to emerge and is acknowledged, then the ego panics and throws every spanner it can into the works to disrupt the healing process. That chaos you were feeling is an excellent sign that we’re making headway and that things are happening.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing. I don’t understand. And I can’t have it happen again. I may have to stop with this, Juditha. Yesterday was very frightening. I’m just fortunate my colleagues are still away and hopefully the receptionist won’t tell them when they get back.”

  “If it happens again, you must just take a moment for yourself; lock your office door and phone me and we’ll work through the anxiety attack together and you’ll be fine. Hans, I really want you to start meditating every day. Just for ten minutes okay? No more than that. Can you do that? Ten minutes.”

  “I don’t think meditation’s going to cut it. I think I need anti-anxiety medication.” He’s never had this thought before, as he had previously been able to rely on himself to be strong.

  She thinks for a moment. “I don’t think you do. Anyway, they can be very dangerous and can lead to suicidal impulses and all kinds of things. Hans, I really need you to calm down. I told you this wouldn’t be easy; you’re embarking on a very difficult journey, a journey that most people wouldn’t have the courage to do. But you do have the courage and that marks you as a person who deserves special rewards in life and you will get them. How do you feel right at this moment? Describe the sensations in your body.”

  “I’m finding it hard to breathe. I feel like my vision is distorted and it feels like the floor is moving away from me in all different directions. I feel like I can’t focus my eyes and my heart is beating much too fast.”

  “Hmm, perhaps you should see a doctor. Those are classic signs of a panic attack. But, first let’s try something else. Close your eyes. Now, Hans, you’re in control. Take a deep breath. Hold it in. Now exhale.”

  She takes him through various breathing exercises and he starts to feel slightly better.

  “Are you eating properly?” she asks, and he admits he has been eating poorly.

  “Well, that’s very irresponsible of you, Hans. In order for us to do this, we need your body to be nourished. Your body relies on the chemicals in food in order to operate properly. You’re putting our work in jeopardy if you don’t eat correctly. I want you to promise me you’ll eat three healthy meals a day even if you have to force them down, can you promise me that?”

  Hans makes a noncommittal noise.

  “If you can’t do this, Hans, then we will have to terminate our work. I’m doing my best here to really help you but you need to lower your walls of resistance.”

  “Fine,” Hans is surly. “Meditate for ten minutes, breathe like you showed me and eat right. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Go for a half an hour walk every single day. Morning or night, whenever you can but you must get outside and get some exercise and fresh air.”

  “Okay. Enough about me, any progress on Kateri?”

  “Yes. I sensed her while I was in a meditative state last night. I was going to tell you but it was more important that we talk about you.”

  Hans is filled with excitement. He sits up. “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t say anything. I didn’t see her or talk to her, it doesn’t work like that, but I sensed her for a moment and then she was gone. These things take a long time.”

  “You’re telling me.” He is angry. “Long is an understatement.”

  “I know how hard this is for you,” she says with great patience, “I really do. Now, back to our quest to find joy in your life. Where will you find joy in your world today?”

  “It will be very hard to fit joy in, what with all the eating, breathing, meditating and walking that I have to do.” Hans knows he sounds like a sulky child and he cannot help laughing and she joins him.

  “There you go, Hans. Was that so hard?”

  They end the call and he feels better. He does his breathing exercises for a while and then he unlocks his door to admit his next patient.

  20.

  NOVEMBER PASSES. Melusine gets letters from Gunther two to three times a week and they fall into an easy communication. It is clear from his replies that her letters mean a great deal to him and she feels reassured that she is important to him.

  His letters are the focal point of her world; she feels like an addict always in need of more, more.

  Hans is eating well and following Juditha’s regime and he does feel better. Stronger, fitter, more mentally alert. He enjoys his long walks with Mimi and wonders why he has not done this before.

  Kateri has not made any further contact but Juditha is confident that she will, and she continues to work on it and she and Hans talk daily except on weekends.

  Melusine asks Hans if they can try sex without the lubrication and although he is hesitant, he obliges and it is much more enjoyable for her this way. This makes Hans feel more confident and their relationship improves although Hans has to work hard to push Melusine’s infidelity to the back of his mind.

  Jonas pops in for a visit and observes that his parents are treating each other with considered wariness, as if they are each carrying something unwanted and yet fragile for the other. He is puzzled; something has changed but he has no clue as to what it is.

  He also notices that Melusine is less enthused by decorations and Christmas festivities and he does not like that.

  He mentions it to her and she shrugs. “You’re all grown up now,” she says, “it’s not worth me doing it for just me and your father. You’re hardly ever home.”

>   “I’ll do the tree with you then, Mami,” he says gruffly and she is surprised and pleased.

  “Okay,” she says, “that will be fun.”

  Hans returns home to find them knee-deep in tinsel and ornaments, with the fresh smell of pine filling the room.

  “Well, this is nice,” he says. “Can I help?”

  Both Melusine and Jonas laugh. The one time he tried to help, he nearly toppled the entire tree.

  “No thanks, Papa,” Jonas says. “Your job is to buy gifts and put them under the tree once we’re done.”

  “Will you be here for Christmas dinner?” Hans asks.

  “Yes, and Nika’s also coming for sure.”

  Hans thinks that Nika, with her anger and her face full of piercings and studs, makes a Russian warlord seem like the Easter bunny.

  “Great,” Hans says, flatly. “Try to get her to lose some of the anger, okay? Just for the night. Tell her she has to pretend to like life just for one evening, if she can do that.”

  To his surprise, his son laughs again. “She’s a lot less angry than you think, Papa,” he says. “She’s very shy, that’s all. I’m looking forward to Christmas Eve. We’ll listen to Stille Nacht and it will be wonderful like always.”

  “I had no idea you even noticed our traditions,” Melusine says, “never mind liked them.”

  Jonas shrugs. “Being away from home makes you see a lot of things. You appreciate things more. Also, like I’ve told you, Nika’s an orphan. Makes me realize how lucky I’ve been with you two.”

  “We’re the blessed ones, my sweet boy,” Melusine says, “to have you. Now, any ideas what kind of gift I can buy for Nika?”

  “I’m going to take Mimi for her walk,” Hans interrupts them and Melusine waves a hand at him.

  “Dunno, Mami. She’s not like an ordinary girl. It’s hard to say. She loves reading. Maybe buy her a gift card from a bookstore.”

  “She reads?” Melusine is surprised.

  “She reads every single thing she can lay her hands on,” Jonas says. “Our apartment is full of books. She loves German literature the best, novellas by German woman authors. She says she’s going to write a book one day and so she is studying them. Oh, and she loves your precious Ingeborg too. I laughed when I found that out, let me tell you.”

  Melusine beams. “She loves Ingeborg Bachmann? That’s wonderful! Goodness, I really misjudged her. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, she does look very aggressive and she hardly said a word when you met her. Hey, Papa looks a bit better these days, doesn’t he? I’m glad. Before you went to Vegas, he was like a skeleton, and so deathly pale. I’m glad he’s happier.”

  “Me too,” Melusine says. “Now let’s plan our Christmas feast. Tell me all the things you want.”

  “Bavarian Crème and lots and lots of cookies, especially the lebkuchen ones, the gingerbread ones.”

  Melusine hugs him, delighted to have his company.

  “Fine but we need some real food too,” she tells him and he shrugs.

  “I’ll leave that up to you. I must go, I’m taking Nika to the Christmas market, can I bring you anything?”

  “Yes,” she says, “an Advent wreath would be nice, if you see a good one. If not, don’t worry, I’ll make one.”

  He grins, gives her the thumbs up and leaves.

  Later, she settles down to write to Gunther.

  Jonas was here! He wants to have a real Christmas! Oh Gunther, I feel so happy. I felt as if I had lost him. His girlfriend, Nika, sounds much more interesting than I gave her credit for; she too loves Ingeborg Bachmann!

  I want to share a secret … it’s not really a secret except that you’re the only person I’m going to tell — I’m going to write a novella. I’ve an idea that I can’t get rid of and so I’m going to give it a try, why not?

  She seals the letter and begins to plan her story; it’s the tale of two women, Yvonne and Isolde. She is not sure where the idea came from although she vaguely recalls having seen an unlikely couple kissing when she went into Frankfurt for a library conference.

  A tall thin woman in a grey business suit was holding hands with an extraordinarily pretty younger woman who was casually dressed, and as Melusine watched, the older woman drew the girl in for a deep kiss, pulling the girl close to her with obvious hunger.

  Yvonne and Isolde.

  And Melusine finds that once she starts writing, she cannot stop.

  Hans notices her pounding away on her antiquated computer and asks what she’s up to. She tells him she is writing a book and to her surprise, he is very supportive. “I always thought you’d be a very good writer,” he says. “What’s it about?”

  She cannot tell him. “I’m trying to write an existential story. A sort of plotless fiction piece with obscure internal narrative.”

  “Ah. I have no idea what you mean by that but I wish you good luck.” And they both laugh.

  He looks at her and feels guilty about his secret life with Juditha but then he remembers Melusine’s infidelity and his guilt vanishes. He still has to work very hard at not lashing out at her for what happened but he does not want to risk destroying their fragile peace. Once again, he pushes thoughts of her affair to the back of his mind.

  He is disappointed because Juditha does not seem to be making much progress with finding Kateri and she is costing him a fortune. He has decided, without telling her, to give her a time limit; she’s got until March to deliver the goods.

  Melusine looks at her husband as he leaves her study, and she marvels at the duplicity of their life. She is certain he’s riddled with secrets while she has her lockbox carefully stored under a pile of old shoes in her closet; a box filled with letters and photographs of her taken by Gunther, for he has sent more. She had not noticed him taking so many pictures of her. She thinks about McDonald’s, and the photos he took of her naked, which she has not yet seen.

  She goes back to her novel, fascinated to find out what happens next. Her thoughts are flowing faster than her fingers can type and it is as if she is the last to know the plot thread; the characters have come to life and taken occupancy of her brain.

  Isolde is narrow and bony, an accountant by day and hash smoker by night. With opiates her only companion, she watches endless documentaries, marveling at the oddities and braveries of ordinary people. She has long since given up on love or even friendship; she is a spinster at thirty and she sometimes repeats the word out loud while she lies on the sofa, holding the hash deep in her lungs; alte Junger, spinster…

  There’s Yvonne, in her twenties, smooth skinned and voluptuous, her colouring from her Jamaican mother and her fine-boned features from her French father who moved the family to Germany when she was a baby.

  The two women work in the same office; Isolde in finance, while Yvonne delivers the mail and empties the recycling and garbage bins.

  Yvonne, who leans in too close to Isolde, and Isolde, who soon regards Yvonne’s visits as the highlight of her day.

  One day Isolde decides to take the stairs instead of the elevator to deliver some paperwork.

  She pushes open the heavy door and bumps right into Yvonne who is staring out the stairwell window.

  “I wish I was out there,” Yvonne says to Isolde, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation, despite the fact that they’ve never spoken to each other before. “I hate working. It’s like I’m in prison.”

  “It’s real life,” Isolde says. “How else do we pay the bills?”

  Yvonne shrugs.

  Isolde moves to pass Yvonne but the younger woman blocks her way.

  “Do you think I visit your desk too often?” she asks and Isolde does not know what to say.

  “I like to see you,” she replies.

  Yvonne laughs. “Sometimes when I lean over to give you a letter, I want to grab your hand and put it down my shirt. Does that shock you?”

  Isolde realizes that her heart feels like a trapped bird in her chest. She pats her chest, to soothe it
.

  “Yes,” she says. “But I am a boring old spinster, easily shocked.”

  Yvonne looks at her. “I don’t think you’re boring or old at all,” she says and Isolde looks at her full soft mouth and perfect small teeth and she wishes that Yvonne would kiss her.

  She leans in slightly but Yvonne pulls back.

  “See you here tomorrow, same time?” Yvonne asks and Isolde nods.

  She wants Yvonne to touch her and she knows that Yvonne knows this also. Yvonne seems to take pity on her, and she runs a finger up Isolde’s arm, sending chills and heat simultaneously through the other woman’s body.

  Yvonne leaves the stairwell and Isolde stares after her for a long time.

  Melusine looks up from her typing. She is amazed to see that she is in her study and not in the stairwell with the two women. She looks at her watch; it is close to midnight and time for bed.

  21.

  A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER it is Christmas Eve and Melusine is checking the smoked ham and sausages and putting a big dish of potato salad on the table.

  She is flushed with happiness. A wonderful Christmas present had arrived from Gunther; a copy of Herzzeit Briefwechsel, Correspondence, a book with all the documents, letters, postcards and telegrams between Ingeborg Bachmann and Paul Celan.

  I had a look through, couldn’t resist. Looks like depressing stuff, Melu — remember, we’re not them! But I thought you’d like it. Happy Christmas.

  She hopes, when he says that they are not like Ingeborg and Paul, that he is referring to their descent in madness, despair and death, and not the fact that their love was so compelling. But, she reasons with herself, he would not have sent her such a thoughtful gift if he did not care about her — and he even read it to know what she reads.

  “We’ll have the best Christmas ever,” she says to Hans who looks up from his wine selection and agrees.

  Melusine studies the table with a worried frown. “I made a lot of vegetables for Nika,” she says, “and I hope there’s enough for her.”

  “There’s enough for an army,” Hans says. “There they are, at the door. I’ll get it.”