by Uwe Tellkamp
Compared with all these useful things, his present … Christian, not knowing quite how to put it, recalled the hours looking at the saturniid moths in Caravel with Meno: an awkward, somewhat clumsy but touching child in the company of grown-ups – that’s what the green jug he’d bought, without a long search, in a potter’s studio in Neustadt seemed to be; he’d only had two hours between arriving at the station and the start of the marriage ceremony in the registry office and he’d wasted a good hour, desperate and undecided, in a second-hand shop, nudged by greedy elbows, jostling his way from an unusable tailor’s iron to a television set in need of repair (and still priced with three zeros after the 2). The jug had been surrounded by rolls of wallpaper and buckets of emulsion paint, brushes were being kept soft in it. – ‘No, that jug, if it’s for sale,’ he’d said to the potter, who was wiping her hands on her apron in astonishment and was offering to show him what she had on display. The jug wasn’t one of hers but she wasn’t insulted, even though Christian had expressed a desire to buy it without hesitation; perhaps she was impressed by his insistence, his spontaneous decision, perhaps by his explanation that he was going to his cousin’s wedding (he was wearing walking-out dress); she took the brushes out of the jug, washed it and wrapped it up in a smudged copy of Union; Christian had paid the price she asked without hesitation. Most of all he would have liked to keep the jug for himself. The green was the green of holly leaves, the rich, dark tone immediately appealed to him, also the simple, ancient jug shape with subtle asymmetry; there was something about it that had said, I’m for you, I’m a part of you in another world. Christian was struggling with himself; when the houses on Lindwurmring were already in sight he recalled that Meno had once said to him that presents you give should be precisely those you can least bear to be parted from. He had handed the jug to Ina exactly as it was, still wrapped in the smudged newspaper.
‘The disadvantage would be that we’d have to accept any dump we’re offered. A fellow student knows someone in the accommodation directorate and says teachers are supposed to get preferential treatment. We’ll see. At least it’s in Berlin and you suggested Thomas’s prospects might be better there than here.’
‘Yes, that’s something I wanted to discuss with the pair of you. I can say “du” to you now, can’t I?’ Richard gave a playful tug on the sleeve of Wernstein’s tailcoat, which Barbara had altered; you could tell from the cut that it must have been handed down and all the oil of lavender from Barbara’s secret stock couldn’t overpower the smell of mothballs coming from the swallow tails and shiny lapels enclosing a pink bow tie with black dots on a white frilled shirt. ‘As long as Müller’s head of surgery I can’t imagine you’re going to get anywhere. Grefe’s the assistant in South One and that’s where the real careers have started ever since I’ve been with Müller. I can offer to put in a word for you with Orthopaedics or in Friedrichstadt; Pahl’s a man you can get on with, one of us.’
‘I’d still only be an assistant there, I wouldn’t be any farther on,’ Wernstein said after a few moments’ thought.
‘If they separate trauma from general surgery, as Pahl tells me they’ve been working towards for some time, he’ll become head and you could apply for a post as senior physician. Of course, there’s always the possibility they’ve already earmarked the post for an internal candidate. And you said you don’t want to move into orthopaedics.’
‘You could take the job in Buch?’
‘I’d be stuck there, my dear spouse. I wouldn’t be able to develop. Their main focus of research is in different areas and I want to do my post-doc qualification in traumatology. We’ve already talked about that and we don’t need to go through it all again. Especially not today.’
‘You’d be earning considerably more than at the Charité Hospital in Berlin.’
‘Maybe. But I’d be at the Charité … Sauerbruch, Brugsch, Felix, Frey, Nissen … I could continue my research there. Here Müller won’t let me get on.’
‘You’ll soon be a father, let me remind you. Even if your wife isn’t that important to you, you ought to be able to give your son something. – Yesyes, we’re coming,’ Ina shouted to some of the guests in the lower part of the garden.
‘When is it due? Do you already know –’
‘It will be a boy,’ Ina said emphatically.
‘No, it’ll be a girl.’ Wernstein laughed. ‘By the way, we’re with Weniger. – What d’you think of him, Herr … er … Richard?’
‘One of the best gynaecologists I know. One of the old school.’
‘The fifth of July,’ Ina said. ‘It will be a boy. You may have your clinical wisdom, but I’m the mother, I know it’s going to be a boy. Uncle Richard, would you write a reference for Thomas?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Richard said, nonplussed by Ina’s direct approach.
‘May I ask you something? What do think of him as a surgeon?’
Richard gave her a searching look. Wernstein had flushed bright red and tried to wave away her question; she shook her head. ‘I know it’s tactless of me but I’d really like to know. I want you to give me an honest answer and if you think it’s not for his ears, we’ll send him away. – And, by the way, Christian doesn’t look too good. Perhaps he’s exaggerating? He’s always tended to overdramatize a bit.’
‘I don’t think he’s exaggerating. He’s in the army, in Grün, it’s just a little place.’
‘He gave me a jug. It’s really nice of him.’
Richard clasped his hands behind his back. He could sense that both Ina and Wernstein were curious, which he found embarrassing, he felt it was a little improper; he was also disturbed by the eagerness, the hint of calculation, in Ina’s question, as if she suspected that under these circumstances – alone with the newlyweds – it would be impossible for him to avoid answering. ‘I wouldn’t answer your question if I had to lie because it’s your wedding day. I’d have managed to wriggle out of it, believe me. But since it won’t spoil your day, as I hope, I can give a straight, honest answer to a straight, honest question. I think your husband’s a born surgeon and expect great things of him. I’d be proud and happy if my boys had his abilities. I can also say that I regard him as a kind of son. What I was actually hoping, Thomas, was that you’d succeed me but, as I can see, you have other plans. If you want my opinion: in your place I’d do exactly what you intend to do. Unfortunately Müller’s allocated Kohler to me as assistant, not you.’
‘Him!’
‘Not a bad surgeon, but not a patch on you. I’ll have to see what I can do for you. I know a few people at the Charité. Though, of course, you could always wait and see, Müller’s retiring next year – though that doesn’t mean things will be any easier. – Perhaps we should discuss this later, or another time, your friends are getting impatient already. What did you think of the sermon?’
‘You shouldn’t be intransigent, Uncle Richard. Pops was also against a church wedding, but I wanted it. For a man who has to preach the word of God in the middle of atheism, I think he does it very well.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ Richard said in placatory tones. He watched the pair of them go as they headed for the summerhouse. They exchanged a few words with Josta and her husband; Josta was holding Lucie’s hand, not letting go, and Richard turned round and quickly left before his daughter could look at him. She’ll be starting school this year, he thought.
Meno puzzled over the custom of sawing a tree trunk at a wedding. Two people joined together in marriage and affirmed this union by, of all things, putting a frame saw to a trunk the diameter of a telegraph pole and starting, as Ina and Wernstein were now doing to the encouragement and raillery of those around, to heave it back and forth. Ina soon wearied and, with a laugh, begged for someone to replace her. Helmut Hoppe shouted that that was the beginning of infidelity and she couldn’t have a replacement for the birth, ‘So keep sawing, child’, otherwise what they’d just heard was the bride herself calling for her rival.
‘Y
ou’ve got things completely wrong again, Meno. To get through a trial together, that’s what it means. You always insist on spending so long thinking things over until they get distorted and a cat suddenly becomes a dog. Which is more or less the case with your Chakababa or whatever he’s called, the name’s completely unpronounceable. I’m sure even Arbogast’s monsters are afraid of him. And isn’t it outrageous to stink the street out with toxic gases. Yes, toxic gases, I know exactly what I’m saying. A very shady character, that Baron, they say that with the Russians … I can believe anything of him. Toxic gases. It stinks – and that when we’re celebrating a wedding. After all, we did put up notices spelling it out clearly. It’s criminal, the stench the people in that dubious Institute of his make. Enoeff.’ Barbara waved away any possible objections Meno might have with a vigorous gesture. He was standing beside Gudrun, trying to keep both bride and groom in sight while Barbara took out a clothes’ brush and wiped the dandruff off his jacket. ‘What d’you think of him? Isn’t he a fantastic man? So attractive! And he’s got a head on his shoulders, too, a doctor, a surgeon, he’ll never starve and Ina won’t want for anything.’
‘As long as he’s faithful.’ Gudrun insisted on putting a damper on things. ‘In Ina’s place I’d have made him have his palm read. A colleague of mine does it, doesn’t cost a lot.’
‘Do you really believe in that?’ Barbara’s bracelets tinkled as she let go of Meno and ran her fingers through her hair, one of Lajos Wiener’s experimental creations of impressive stability (Western all-weather hairspray, one of Ulrich’s barter enterprises he’d been pursuing surreptitiously and pretty successfully recently); her look swung from one of Gudrun’s eyes to the other, but Gudrun took her time selecting a sausage kebab from her plate before answering, ‘You can believe in it – or in something else, it all comes down to the same thing. At least it was a point that could have been taken into account so that you wouldn’t need to reproach yourself for having neglected it later on. And so far my colleague has always been right.’
‘Really? Well I never! And does she read palms in general or just for weddings? Could I, for example, ask her how long I’m going to live?’
‘I imagine you could, though I think she has specialized in fidelity.’
‘Aha … And you say it doesn’t cost a lot, Gudrun? People say that dark-haired men with blue eyes are unfaithful. Robert, for example. Don’t you think it’s terrible how quickly young people develop these days? On the other hand there is a definite positive side to it. I always thought Ina would bring home one of those long-haired types, but no, she’s my clever daughter, she’s inherited my instinct. One day she turned up at the door and said, “Mum, this is Thomas, we’ve made up our mind.” And I hadn’t noticed a thing, not a thing! I must have been ill, that’s the only explanation.’
‘Black-haired men with blue eyes are unfaithful? In an article on Alain Delon in Paris Match I read at Wiener’s it said he was very faithful. He and Romy Schneider –’
‘That’s just newspaper nonsense, Gudrun! They just want to keep his female fans happy. Faithful? With his looks? I ask you. Anne says Robert has a girlfriend already – but I can’t see her, he hasn’t brought her. He must have a new one already. And how faithful is Richard … True, he has blond hair, but his eyes are pretty blue. I mean, what does he see in Anne, she’s let herself go a bit recently, she should look after herself more. Richard’s still in his prime, has a good job, has an air about him, the children are gradually moving away, that’s when you become open to certain offers …’ Barbara made an apologetic gesture to stop Meno from walking away. ‘I know she’s your sister and what I’ve just said might sound insulting, but that’s not how it was meant. I think it’s worse when no one says anything and then one day you’re picking up the pieces – and everyone else is nodding, they’d all known about it, had seen it coming ages ago. People are saying all sorts of things about Richard; I had a long conversation with Thomas …’
‘Saying what kind of thing?’ Meno asked.
‘You see, now you’re curious, you’ve lost that disapproving look. They say this and that. So what, Dresden’s a small town. And you know yourself what he admitted to us.’
‘I think exposing those who peddle such rumours is the best way of putting a stop to them. I have to stand up for Richard.’
‘That’s not quite the way you were talking back then, Gudrun. You said State Security only approached a certain type of person … and that one shouldn’t do anything to attract them. I remember it very well. Look, there comes the wedding cake. Isn’t it a beauty? The idea of the amputated hand was Ina’s, she thought it was somehow – surgical. They used red jelly for the blood. Or was it ketchup? Well, you’ll soon find out.’
‘And the ruler stands for education? Is it made from frosting? I have to say I don’t think it’s very nice the way you confront me with the things I’ve said – or am supposed to have said. There’s something insidious about it, as if you were secretly noting down everything we say just so that, years later, you can accuse us of contradicting ourselves, make any development or change of opinion seem stupid. How would you react if, years later, I imitated your shriek in the church at every opportunity?’
‘I’m sure you’d do it very well. It’s your speciality.’
‘Enoeff, Barbara, enoeff.’ Gudrun got the tone exactly right and for a while Barbara didn’t know what to make of it. Then, closing her eyes, she flapped her hand.
‘They’re a lovely couple, don’t you think? He doesn’t idolize her, that’d be quite wrong, he’d be disappointed and take refuge in booze, work or affairs. It’s not that particularly pretty women, and that’s what Ina is, have no faults. She is a bit of a spoilt princess, perhaps we weren’t strict enough with her and once the child’s arrived and he’s spending the whole day at work, perhaps even working on his post-doctoral dissertation in the evenings as well, she’ll look round and realize what a family means. They’re planning to go to Berlin. She’ll be the one who’ll have to deal with the move as well.’
‘I think the best thing is to book a few appointments with a good beautician right away. Giving birth and everything that follows, a little mucky pup getting on your nerves all hours of the day, isn’t exactly good for your complexion. Ina’s pretty, I give you that, but I think she’s one of those who fade early … There’s something dry about her skin. And she has a tendency to cellulite, as far as I can see, which indicates weak connective tissue that won’t have regained its elasticity after birth. Not exactly what men want. For women with weak connective tissue in particular the first child can often be a disaster, they get fat like Russian women, and Ulrich was born in Moscow, as you know.’
‘Look, the bridegroom’s going to say something,’ Meno said, in an attempt to change the subject.
Wernstein made a short speech, thanked the guests for coming, took Ina’s hand and kissed it. Adeling brought in trays with Crimean champagne, Ulrich wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and tapped his glass with a spoon.
‘A pleasant lad, doesn’t think he’s superior.’ Barbara didn’t give Gudrun, who was craning her neck, the chance to hear any of Ulrich’s speech. ‘And such a tragedy! Has no relatives at all left. His whole family were from the uranium mines. Thank God I didn’t need to ask him whether … enoeff. Snorkel and I had set an afternoon for it, it should have been his business, really, between two men, but he couldn’t bring himself to, couldn’t sleep the whole night for thinking about how he should go about it … God, the ways of putting it. The next day Ina came with the positive test from the gynaecologist.’
‘Tell me, Barbara, there was something I was going to ask – why kvass of all things? Or was that what Ulrich wanted? Does he sometimes dream in Russian? Or do you, Meno?’
‘Meno won’t know that. There’s no one beside him in bed to tell him the next morning. Pity, really. Why don’t you get married again? Hanna just wasn’t the right woman for you, I could have told you that from the ver
y beginning. She didn’t even know how to prepare a boiling fowl. If you ask me’ – Meno didn’t ask but still listened with amusement to Barbara – ‘you need a woman who’ll tell you what’s what. A woman who knows something about practical matters. I mean, you don’t even have a car. Can you even drive? But where on earth are you going to find one with the pittance you bring home. Snorkel said they could take you on in the firm right away, they’re looking for – what did he say? – a coordinator for the combine. You’d get at least twice as much. – The kvass was my idea, Gudrun. I like a tot of it myself from time to time and it would have been something different for a wedding. We just started it too late, Snorkel said the heaters would make up for that … and I did insulate the demijohns with coconut fibre. – Enoeff, now it’s the toasts: to the bride and groom.’
Christian was standing at the window of the summerhouse listening to the sounds coming from below and out of the house, a drizzle of voices, bursts of laughter, music from the gardens on the other side of the park. The rain had freshened the colours and restless waves of the still-new green of the beeches and maples mingled with the blossom of almond trees and rhododendrons at the upper edge of the steep park. Soft, loud; wedges of melancholy in between. He wanted to be alone. If he closed his eyes he could see images of the barracks in Grün, hear the tread of boots in the endless corridors, listen to the slow, mournful dance of the polisher’s barbels that, at the turn just before they hit the walls, made a characteristic noise: the bearings at the end of the rods clicked against the cross-guides of the polishing brushes, pulling them back; again and again he was astonished at this crudely controlled elegance, similarly at the regularity with which the arched ceiling of the corridors reappeared in the evening, in the light of unshaded bulbs, strip by strip in the wooden floor, after all the boots that had trampled on it during the day. Down below someone must have told a joke, he heard Adeling’s bleating laugh, Alois Lange said in a clear voice, the Danish sauce was very good. Noack’s white hair was sucked into a cloud of plum blossom as he bent over the buffet to insert his fork into the glittering knitwork of all the other forks, the faces over them had hungry expressions, the eyes commanding the hands to perform swift, begrudging thrusts. Suddenly all these things had nothing to do with him; the house, the people: everything seemed alien to him. The civilian clothes he was wearing seemed something forbidden, something he wasn’t entitled to – it would never have occurred to him to judge others according to whether they were worthy to wear civilian clothes; yet earlier on, when he had been standing next to Herr Honich, watching the guests toasting the bride and groom, he’d caught himself automatically assessing each one according to whether he or she was worthy of being there, of laughing, eating, enjoying themselves with the others and wearing clothes the choice of which was entirely dependent on them (and on what the stores had in stock), they didn’t have to account for them to anyone. If his mother approached, he slipped away. Ezzo and Robert, Niklas and Ulrich, were talking about football, Wembley, the final at the Wankdorf Stadium; Ulrich explained a Fritz Walter goal, the famous Leipzig shot, the overhead backheel; it seemed trivial to Christian, he couldn’t understand why Ulrich tried to copy it and shot the previous year’s Golden Delicious past Herr Adeling into the shed (Ulrich supported himself on his hands and slipped down, face first, into a bed of rhubarb); Christian walked away sadly. Children were playing by the tin bath, supervised by Babett Honich; the Stahls were sitting at the iron table and waved him over, but he shook his head. Now he was here, in the conservatory, touching the plants as if they might disappear, looking for Chakamankabudibaba in his hiding place in the sago palm, bending down, placing his hand on the chessboard floor, which was cool. Motes of dust in the light, the shadows of leaves like grey fish swimming through it, the slow movement of currents, that calmed, pleased him. Before anyone could come, he went into the park.