Kino

by Jürgen Fauth

  The truth was, finding her grandfather's movie was the most exciting thing that had happened to Mina in a long time. She had panicked, having to take care of Sam like that, when they were supposed to be on their honeymoon. The first day, when his temperature had just begun to rise, she left him in the hotel room with a fresh fruit juice, hitting the beach by herself.

  The fight at the wedding reception was a bad omen, but Mina realized that her favorite moment of what was billed as the best day of her life wasn't when she said “I do” or when they leaned in to kiss, pronounced husband and wife. It wasn't when they had sex, hours later in their Caribbean hotel, tired and groggy after the flight. No: the best moment of Mina's wedding day was when she leapt up on the lip of the stage, grabbed the neck of the wedding band's electric guitar, lifted it high over her head, and, in front of all her family and friends and husband of two hours, brought it down hard on a speaker's edge. That crunch and pop, the kickback in her arms and the sudden shocked silence, the electric surge of freedom and courage–that was the part she'd never forget.

  More than anything, Mina wanted to keep moving. She switched the car to manual transmission and geared down to pass a station wagon. As she shot past, she could see a father at the wheel, the mother turned in her seat to face children in the back, a toddler in a baby seat and an older girl with pigtails holding a sandwich dripping jelly. One of the girl's eyes was covered with an eye patch, white gauze stuck to her face with band aids. Her other eye looked straight at Mina. With a chill, Mina recognized it as the exact look Lilly gives the sailor at the end of Tulpendiebe.

  By the time Mina found her grandmother's house, up in the Hollywood hills, it was dusk. She'd been there before, when she was a child, but the two-story Mediterranean house wasn't anywhere near as grand as the mansion of her memories. Mina took the journal out of the glove compartment, stuffed it into her back pocket, and walked up to ring the door bell. When she realized the door was ajar, she gave a half-hearted knock and pushed it open.

  For most of her life, Mina's father had been preoccupied with making heaps of money on Wall Street. He talked to his mother only on birthdays and holidays. But the year Mina was ten, a strange invitation arrived: on gold-embroidered stationery covered in thin, spidery handwriting, Penny asked them to come out to California for Christmas.

  Here's what Mina remembered from that trip: the musty smell, the pool you could swim in even though it was December, the broken glass on the kitchen floor, and the creepy old woman with matchstick limbs who swung back and forth between morose stupor and howling fury, who threw tantrums unlike anything Mina had witnessed in her parents' polite household. That's where the broken glass came from.

  Mina spent most of the holiday in the safety of the pool, and on Christmas day, Detlef moved his family to a hotel on Santa Monica Boulevard. They spent New Year's at Disneyland and Mina had her picture taken with Minnie Mouse. When they got home, Mina told her friends that her grandmother was a horrid old witch, nothing like her other grandmother, the one who brought homemade cookies in Tupperware bins.

  Years later, her mother told her what had really happened that week. Penny had run up enormous debts and would have to sell the house unless her son bailed her out. It was a large sum of money even by a successful stock broker's standards, and Mina's parents fought bitterly about it. In the end, Detlef gave in, but they never visited Oma Penny again.

  Now Mina looked down a dark, narrow hallway crammed with stacks of old newspapers, broken furniture turned toward the walls, and impressive rows of empty vodka bottles. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, and from the far side of the house, she heard the blare of a television. Carefully side-stepping the hurdles, Mina was making her way past an unadorned staircase when she noticed a side table displaying framed photographs. As she turned to take a closer look, her backpack knocked an overflowing ashtray to the floor with a clang. Startled, she took a step back and sent a row of empty two-liter wine jugs rolling across the floor.

  A man's voice: “Don, is that you?”

  Mina didn't respond.

  “Come on in, man. We been waiting for you.”

  Then she heard footsteps, and before her stood a black man in his sixties wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He was bald, barefoot, and frowning.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  Mina definitely didn't remember any bald black men from her childhood visit.

  “Who are you?” she said. “I'm here to see my grandmother, Penelope Greifenau. Is she here?”

  He was still frowning. “Chester Burwell. I'm her nurse. I'm afraid this is not a good time. Were we expecting you?”

  “It's important that I see her.”

  Chester hesitated, searching Mina's face.

  “It's not Don,” he shouted.

  A voice answered, hollow and wheezing: “Wo bleibt er denn? Wie lange soll ich denn noch ohne auskommen? Verdammte Kacke!”

  Chester looked over his shoulder and told Mina to wait. She didn't and followed him down the hall, into a dark, cluttered den where a shriveled old woman sat in an armchair. Heavy curtains were drawn tight and the only light came from an enormous plasma screen showing a black-and-white movie, Gary Cooper in cowboy getup. The coffee table in front of the couch was covered with bottles of whiskey, cans of Diet Coke, pill containers, and pieces of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle. The old woman glared. Mina struggled to reconcile the ravaged face in front of her with the spotless features in Tulpendiebe. Could this really be the same person?

  “Oma?” she said. “It's Mina. Do you remember me? I'm your granddaughter.”

  “Please,” Chester said, taking Mina by the elbow. “You can't be in here. She's in poor health.”

  Penny waved a thin arm holding a lit cigarette. “You think just because I'm old I must be senile? I wish I'd lose my memory every day but when I check, it's still there, all ninety-two fucking years of it. I know exactly who you are.”

  She took a long drag.

  “Good,” Mina said, taken aback. She had wondered if she was supposed to hug her grandmother, but she would not go near this woman.

  “You're the brat who pissed in my pool and couldn't keep her hands off my things.” She took another drag. “I would've thought you'd grow up taller than this. What's this outfit you're wearing, anyway? A turtleneck sweater? This is Hollywood, girl. Verkackt nochmal, whaddaya want already? Close your mouth, child, it makes you look like a fucking imbecile. I am watching a movie.”

  She had almost pushed herself out of her chair. With a sigh, she fell back into the cushions. She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. The flaccid skin that hung from her spidery arms was nearly translucent, showing red, blue, and purple veins. On the screen, Gary Cooper put on the sheriff's star. The movie was High Noon. Chester cleared his throat.

  “I'm not an imbecile,” Mina said. “I came here straight from Berlin. I need to talk to you.”

  Penny turned up the volume on the TV. “I have nothing to say to you. Chester, would you show the little twat to the door?”

  “No,” Mina said. She sat down in an empty armchair. “I won't leave until you answer my questions.”

  “Gottverfluchte Scheisse,” Penny cursed. She reached for a half-empty gallon of Dewars and tried to throw it at Mina, but Chester caught her arm in the backswing.

  “Penny darling,” Chester cooed. “You're going to want to drink that later.”

  Mina had ducked, but now she froze. What exactly was her grandmother's relationship to this barefoot, bald, black nurse? Penny let Chester take the bottle from her hand and instead grabbed a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie and flung it at Mina. It missed Mina's head and bounced off the bookshelf.

  “What's all the shouting? Is there a problem?”

  A man with a bushy beard and a white lab coat came through the hallway door. He had a hip bag in one hand, a handgun in the other. He aimed it at everyone in the room before settling on Mina.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chester s
aid. “It's okay. Don. So glad you're here. Put the gun down. This is...Mina, was it? She's family. Put the gun down. There's no problem.”

  “About time!” Penny snarled.

  Don gave Mina a hard nod, shoved the gun back into his lab coat, and removed a number of prescription bottles from his bag. There was also a brown powder in a Ziploc baggie. Chester gave Don a wad of cash held together by a rubber band. Without counting it or saying another word, Don slid the money in his pocket, kissed Penny's hand, shook Chester's, and saw himself to the door.

  “Did I just witness a drug deal?” Mina asked.

  Penny pointedly ignored her and rubbed her hands together in a parody of glee. “Chester darling, I need a huff, a puff, and a fix. Would you please?” She lit another cigarette and spit on the carpet to her right, where Mina could make out a dark spot. Chester obligingly produced a jade mortar and matching pestle, counted out a handful of pills from one of the bottles, and began to grind them to a powder.

  “Thanks for the lovely visit, young Wilhemina,” Penny said, “but there's no time for nostalgia–I have drugs to take and movies to watch. Why are you still here?”

  “What is all this?” Mina said, picking up the prescription bottles Don had left: Percocet. Xanax. Oxycodone. “I don't think that man was a real Dokter, Oma. That could be dangerous, self-medicating like this, mixing and matching?”

  “Oh kid, I been doing this for decades, and today you walk in here and tell me it's dangerous? Why the sudden worry, princess?”

  Chester delivered the powder to Penny on a silver tray. Through a short plastic straw, she sucked it up her nostrils. Then she looked at Mina. “Wait. Say that again. What did you just call him?”

  “I called him a Dokter. That's what Kino used to call them, isn't it? He hated them ever since they took his leg off.”

  “How would you know any of this?” Penny demanded. She was trembling, and Mina realized that she had no idea if Penny always trembled, or if she was in a special trembling state right now.

  “I read his journal.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I read the journal that Kino wrote when you had him committed–in 1963, was it?” Mina pulled her grandfather's notebook out of her back pocket and threw it on the cluttered table. “I know you didn't always used to be this way. You were happy once. You were beautiful and famous and in love. I know you were Lilly, I know about the Braukeller, and about Jagd zu den Sternen. I know about your father, too, and Goebbels, and the burning of Kino's movies.”

  Penny was silent. She reached for the straw to do another line but instead knocked the tray off her lap. “Scheisse,” she said. Chester hurried to set it back on the table and began grinding more pills.

  “That Dokter was a real pompous ass,” Penny said, trying to calm her shaking fingers enough to pull another cigarette from the pack. She smoked a long thin brand Mina didn't recognize. “The nonsense in fashion then was narrative therapy, a combination of creative prompts and pharmaceuticals. I didn't care as long as it kept him out of harm's way. Kino hated the Dokters. Can't blame him for that.”

  “I saw Tulpendiebe,” Mina said. “It's not destroyed. I saw it, in Berlin, on a Doppelnocken projector. I saw it. That was you.”

  Chester put a heavy hand on Mina's shoulder. “Please,” he said. “Penny is in frail health, and she can't take any excitement.”

  “Oh shut your trap, Chester. Unkraut vergeht nicht!” She turned her rheumy eyes on Mina. Mina returned the gaze, defiant. “Well fuck me silly,” Penny said, reaching for the bottle of Dewars. She unscrewed it and took a deep drink. She offered the bottle, and Mina poured herself a glass.

  “Go on,” Penny said. Chester shook his head.

  “I saw Tulpendiebe,” Mina said again. “The Dutch town, the tulip craze, the sailor, and Lilly. That first shot of you–you were radiant. You were spectacular.”

  “Spectacular is right, girl. Tulpendiebe was a work of genius!”

  Mina took a sip of whiskey. “I need you to tell me,” she said.

  “Tell you what, princess?”

  “What happened after Kino was released.” She tapped her finger on the cover of Kino's journal. “You have to tell me everything. Why he killed himself. You used to be famous and in love–how did you end up like this?”

  “This will only upset you,” Chester interrupted, reaching for Penny's hand.

  “Oh, Chester. It's the little princess you should be worried about. She's in for it now. Just look, she wants to know everything. She's begging for it!” Penny got a good laugh out of that, a surprisingly sweet, warm laugh that didn't sound like it should emerge from the mangled old body in the arm chair.

  “You want to know how I ended up here?” Penny was still shaking with laughter. “Step by fucking step, you twit! Shit happened, like it always does!”

  She spit on the carpet again. Mina had to look away. She was revolted by this old woman, but she also wondered how much of it was an act, some kind of attempt to push her away. What was this strange scene she had walked into, and how long had these two been sitting here in the dark, watching old movies, drinking, smoking, taking drugs? How many years? Mina got up and pulled back the heavy curtains that covered the panorama windows, revealing a view of a desolate garden with a patio and a green pool overgrown with yuck. Beyond it, in the haze below, was Los Angeles.

  “Poor child. You know nothing. You know less than nothing. You have no idea what Klaus was like.” Penny shielded her face from the light, then turned away to light another cigarette. The first was still burning in the ashtray. “He was out of his mind, doped up, at the end of his rope! If you believe the first word of that journal, you're dumber than I thought.”

  “Hey!” Mina said.

  She looked to Chester, but he wasn't going to defend her.

  “Hey yourself,” Penny said. “You are in my house. Uninvited. I say what I want. You want to know about the man who made those movies? Klaus only loved himself. He drank, he dealt Zement, he could never resist a line or a piece of ass or veal at Horcher, he was terrible with money, he was single-minded and stubborn. He was selfish, decadent, self-indulgent, reckless, unpredictable, and cruel. A megalomaniac.”

  “That's what Dad says,” Mina broke in. “Decadent and a bad father and a failure.”

  “Oh, your father? Detlef the Dullard? That's what Klaus and I called him, did you know that? Not when he was around, of course. Jesus, he was a boring child!”

  Mina looked down at the rug, at a gob of spit that had not yet been absorbed. Her father was not who she'd come to talk about, and the mention of him made her defensive. She wanted to protect her idea of Kino. A megalomaniac, that was fine. But maybe she didn't want to hear the rest, after all.

  “He gave his inheritance to charity,” Mina said. “After his parents died and he lost his leg, after the First World War. He didn't want anything to do with the family business and he gave it all away.”

  “Ha!” Oma clapped her hands together in delight. “He blew his money on coke and whores, and when the inflation hit, it all became worthless! He didn't give his inheritance to charity, he spent it on debauchery, and when it was gone, he sold his company stock to his brother Heinz. Kino was always a fool with money. Sure, he went broke, but he didn't give a penny to the needy.” She laughed and laughed.

  “Well, how would you know?” Mina said. “I mean, wasn't this before you met him? I'm so bored of hearing about what a failure Kino was. That's what Dad always called him, and that's all I ever heard.”

  “It's the truth, princess.”

  Mina shook her head. “Dad was embarrassed by him because he was never around, because his English wasn't very good, because his friends all had more money, because of the Nazi films, because of the suicide...”

  “Penny,” Chester interrupted. “Perhaps you should-”

  “Oh shut it. I'm having a grand old time. Charity! It really is too much. This girl needs an education.” She sat laughing to herself, then seemed to re
member something. “Chester baby, I believe it's time for my injection.”

  Chester shifted uneasily. “Do you think that's such a good idea? Perhaps a little oxy instead?”

  This time, a look from Penny was all it took, and Chester reached for the Ziploc bag of brown powder, emptied some of it onto a little spoon he took from a leather kit, and heated it over a Zippo. Morphine? Brown heroin? Mina didn't know; Mina didn't want to know. She averted her eyes while Chester cooked up the dope, tied Penny up and prepared the syringe. The anger Mina had felt earlier had given way to sickly pity. Without wasting a movement, Chester sunk the needle into the translucent, saggy flesh of Penny's arm. Oh yes, he was a professional nurse all right.

  Penny gave a ghostly sigh and then it was done. When she opened her eyes again, she gave Mina a smile that was almost gentle.

  “There's every reason in the world to feel embarrassed by him. Your father is right, of course–Klaus knew no moderation, no boundaries. When I met him, he was an addict and a whoremonger and a glutton, and it only got worse. He spent all his time smoking that opium. Do you want to hear about the venereal diseases your precious grandfather gave me?” She sighed again. Her rheumy eyes filled with tears.

  “But that's only half the story. The bastard was also a visionary genius, and he could have been the greatest goddamned filmmaker the world has ever known. His images haunt me to this day. My medication,” she pointed to her vein, “it's supposed to make them go away. I watch this shit–” waving her hand at Gary Cooper on the TV screen “–to make them go away. Kino's films never brought anyone anything but pain, death, and suffering, and now you to tell me Tulpendiebe still exists? How can I bear that?”