Every Seventh Wave
Page 11
The following day
Re:
For breakfast she drinks old Boston white coffee with lots of hot water, milk, and sugar, but without the coffee. And she eats bread (no butter) and jam made from Wachau apricots. She sleeps on her right cheek and never dreams about work, thank God. But that’s not what you’re really interested in. Am I right? So let’s get straight to the climax: How often do we have sex? All the time, Emmi, it’s nonstop, I’m telling you! We usually start early in the morning (both at the same time) and don’t stop, say, for a week. It’s really quite hard writing platonic emails to Emmi on the side. So your question about her underwear is irrelevant. And in our rare breaks from sex she blow-dries her knee-length flowing blond hair.
Have a nice afternoon, dear pen pal!
Leo
Eight minutes later
Re:
That was quite a good answer, Leo. It had a certain pizzazz! See, you can still do it if you try! Have a nice afternoon yourself. I’m off to buy some trousers. With Jonas, unfortunately. For Jonas, in fact! Fashion is so unfair: the people who need the new trousers don’t want them (Jonas). The people who want new trousers don’t need them (me). P.S. I still don’t know whether you two write emails to each other in English or German.
Five hours later
Re:
Neither.
The following day
Re:
Russian?
Ten hours later
Re:
We don’t write emails. We use the phone.
Three minutes later
Re:
Oh!!!!
Five days later
Subject: Hello Leo!
You obviously find a straightforward correspondence without any titillating subtexts a little too dreary, am I right?
Two days later
Subject: Hello Emmi!
That’s where you’re wrong, Emmi dear. Now that I know your world won’t come to an end if I don’t write to you, I’m not online so much. This is the reason for the long pauses. I beg your forgiveness, and for a little patience too.
Three minutes later
Re:
Don’t tell me the only reason you wrote to me for two whole years was to stop my world coming to an end?
Eight minutes later
Re:
I’m astonished that I’ve managed to survive another entire week without your staggering attempts to turn an argument on its head, my love!
And I’m going to answer your first question with a question of my own: You’re finding the dead calm a touch boring, am I right?
Four minutes later
Re:
No, Leo, you’re wrong. You’re monumentally wrong! I’m totally relaxed, enjoying the quiet, my inner peace, and fettuccine with a crayfish and almond sauce. I’ve already put on twenty pounds. (Well, two at least.) So, are you very much in love with her?
One minute later
Re:
Why does that bother you so much, dear pen pal?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
It doesn’t bother me, I’m merely interested. Am I not allowed to be interested anymore in my pen pal’s most basic emotional states?
Forty seconds later
Re:
What if I said, “Yes, I am very much in love with her!”?
Thirty seconds later
Re:
I’d say: “I’m delighted for you! For both of you!”
Forty seconds later
Re:
The delight wouldn’t sound sincere.
Fifty seconds later
Re:
My dear friend, you don’t need to waste your time worrying about whether my delight sounds sincere! So: are you very much in love with her?
Two minutes later
Re:
Those are Emmi-ish interrogation methods, my dear! You’re not going to get an answer out of me that way.
But I’d be happy to go for a coffee again sometime and discuss those things which stir us, in spite of the dead calm.
One minute later
Re:
You want to meet up?
Three minutes later
Re:
Yes, why not? We’re friends.
Two minutes later
Re:
And what will you say to “Pam”?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Nothing at all.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Why not?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Because she doesn’t know anything about us, as you know.
One minute later
Re:
I do indeed. But what is there not to know now? What mustn’t she know? That we’re pen pals?
Two minutes later
Re:
That there’s a woman who asks me questions like that, and I answer them.
Fifty seconds later
Re:
But you’re not answering them.
One and a half minutes later
Re:
Emmi, why do you think I’ve been sitting here at my computer for more than half an hour?
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Good question. Why have you?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
To correspond with you.
One minute later
Re:
True. “Pam” wouldn’t understand. She’d say: “Why don’t you just phone each other? You could save so much time.”
Forty seconds later
Re:
True. And if you said things like that I could hang up without compunction.
Fifty seconds later
Re:
True. Emails are more forbearing than telephones. Luckily!
Forty seconds later
Re:
True. And with email you’re also spending time together between messages.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
True. That’s the danger.
Forty seconds later
Re:
True. And the addictive part as well.
Fifty seconds
Re:
True. Fortunately my rehab’s going well. On that note: goodbye for today, my dear correspondent. Bernhard’s cooking, and I’m going to go and look over his shoulder.
Take care!
Emmi
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Eight days later
Re:
Hello Emmi, shall we meet for coffee?
Four hours later
Re:
Look what’s just occurred to my pen pal Leo, quite spontaneously, after a week of dignified silence in the doldrums.
Three minutes later
Re:
I didn’t want to keep you from cooking and looking over other people’s shoulders, Emmi dear.
Two minutes later
Re:
No false reticence, Leo, please! Otherwise we’ll invite you over for supper right away. “Pam” can come too, of course. Does she like crayfish?
One minute later
Re:
This new, jolly-commune humor is weird, even by your standards, dear Emmi. One more try: shall we meet for a coffee?
Five minutes later
Re:
My dear Leo,
Why can’t you just say: “I want to … with you”? Why do you always ask: “Shall we … ?” Do you not know yourself whether you want to or not? Or are you reserving the right not to want to either in case I don’t want to?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Dear Emmi,
I want to have coffee with you. Do you want that too? If you don’t want to, then I don’t want to either, because I don’t want to (have a coffee) with you against your will. So, shall we?
Five minutes later
Re:
Yes, let’s do that, Leo. When do you suggest, and where?
Three seconds late
r
Re:
Tuesday or Thursday at 3 or 4 o’clock? Do you know Café Bodinger in Dreisterngasse?
Forty seconds later
Re:
Yes, I know it. A bit dingy, isn’t it?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Depends where you want to sit. Right under the big chandelier it’s as bright as daylight, just like Café Huber.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Is that where you want to sit, right under the big chandelier?
Forty seconds later
Re:
I don’t care where I sit.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
But I do.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Where would you rather sit, Emmi, under the big chandelier or in a dingy corner?
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Depends who I’m with.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
With me.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
With you? I hadn’t really thought about it, my love.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Then do have a think about it, my love.
One minute later
Re:
O.K., I’ve thought about it now. I’d quite like to sit somewhere between the dingy seats and the table right underneath the big chandelier, where the light goes from dingy to bright daylight. Thursday at 4:30 p.m.?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Thursday at 4:30 is perfect!
Five minutes later
Re:
So, what are you expecting from our first, second, third (!), fourth, fifth meeting?
Two minutes later
Re:
Even as every meeting we’ve had has been unlike its predecessors, I expect that this one will be too.
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Because we’re friends now.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Yes, maybe because of that too. And because there are parts of “us” that are painstakingly intent on bringing the idea of friendship to the table.
Five minutes later
Re:
Which do you think was our best meeting, Leo?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
The last one so far, number four.
Two minutes later
Re:
You didn’t need to think long about that, did you? Is it because it was the shortest? Because it had a (relatively) clear conclusion? Because we had set the course for the future? Because “Pam” was on the doorstep?
Forty seconds later
Re:
Because of your “souvenir.”
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Oh. Do you remember, then?
Twenty seconds later
Re:
I don’t need to remember. I couldn’t ever forget it. It’s always with me.
Forty seconds later
Re:
But you haven’t said a word about it.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Words wouldn’t describe it.
Forty seconds later
Re:
But words have described everything about “us” until now.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Not this. This is no place for words. That’s why “it” is what it is.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
So you can still feel “it,” the same as before?
Twenty seconds later
Re:
And how!
Forty seconds later
Re:
That’s lovely, Leo!!! (Pause. Pause. Pause.) So now we’re friends again.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
Yes, dear pen pal, you can go now. You can look over Bernhard’s shoulder while he cooks. Have a nice evening.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Good, dear pen pal, and you can watch “Pam” blow-drying her hair.
Have a nice evening yourself.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
She blow-dries her hair between seven and seven thirty in the morning (except for weekends).
Fifty seconds later
Re:
I didn’t ask for such precise details.
Four days later
Subject: Café Bodinger
Hello Emmi, are we still on for this afternoon?
Best regards,
Leo
One hour later
Re:
Hello Leo,
Yes, of course. It’s just … I have a little problem, a small logistical issue has just cropped up. But no matter. No, it isn’t really a problem at all. So I’m still on for this afternoon. 4:30. See you soon!
Three minutes later
Re:
Shall we … sorry, do you want to postpone the meeting, Emmi?
Two minutes later
Re:
No, no, not at all. Everything’s fine, no, it’s not really a problem. See you later, pen pal! Looking forward to it!
Forty seconds later
Re:
Me too!
The following morning
Subject: Surprise guest!
Hello Leo, he likes you!
One hour later
Re:
How nice.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Are you pissed off? I didn’t have any choice, Leo. His handicraft lesson was canceled and he really wanted to come along. He wanted to meet you. He wanted to see what a man who writes emails to someone (not, not “someone,” his mother) for two whole years looks like. Because, you see, he thinks what we’re doing, or rather, what we’re not doing is somehow perverse. To him you were like an alien, and all the more fascinating because of it. What was I supposed to do? Should I have said to him: “No, Jonas, sorry, the man from ‘Outlook,’ that strange planet, is mine and mine alone”?
Ten minutes later
Re:
Yes, Emmi, I’m pissed off—really pissed off, in fact! YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME you were going to bring Jonas along! I could have prepared myself for it.
Five minutes later
Re:
But then you would have backed out. And I would have been disappointed. But instead I was impressed by the way you put up such a good show, and by how attentively you listened, and how sweet you were with him. Isn’t that better? Anyhow, Jonas is very taken with you.
Three minutes later
Re:
I’m sure his father will be delighted!
Eight minutes later
Re:
Please don’t underestimate Bernhard, Leo. He stopped thinking of you as a rival a long time ago. We’re quite clear about our relationship. Finally! We’re conducting what you might call a “partnership of convenience,” however uninspiring that may sound to you. But that’s how we’re living together now. And we’re doing fine! Because in the short or long term, every partnership has to be one of convenience—anything else would be so, so, so … inconvenient, from a partnership point of view, if you get what I mean.
Two minutes later
Re:
And I’m a newly elected member in your partnership of convenience. Would you mind sometime telling me what function I have in your arrangement of convenience? Only when it’s convenient, of course. Having been responsible for the virtual care of the mother, should I now turn my attentions to the son?
One minute later
Re:
My dear Leo,
Was the hour we spent with Jonas really so awful? It was good that he set eyes on you at last, and chatted with you, believe me. He really loved your lecture on medieval torture methods. He wants to know more about it.
Seven minutes later
Re:
Two minutes later
Re:
But we did see each other (much to my delight). And we can make up for the fact we didn’t talk another time. Are you free sometime next week? Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday? Perhaps we could spend a little longer together?
Three hours later
Subject: Hello
Hello Leo,
Are you still looking at your datebook?
Five minutes later
Re:
I’m off to Boston next week with Pamela.
Three minutes later
Re:
Ah! I see. O.K. Hmm. I get it! Anything serious?
One minute later
Re:
It’s exactly the kind of thing I’d love to have talked to you about.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Well, don’t beat around the bush, just tell me! In writing!
Ten minutes later
Subject: (no subject)
Please! (Please, please, please!)
One hour later
Subject: (no subject)
O.K., don’t then, be in a huff! It suits you, Leo! I love men who are in a huff. I think they’re wildly erotic. They’re right up there at the top of my Eros chart: men who love motor racing, men at travel shows, men in sandals, men in beer tents, and men in a huff!
Good night.
The following evening
Subject: Everything-illusion
Hello Emmi,
It’s not easy to explain my situation, but I’ll try anyway. Let me begin with an Emmi quote: “It seems that one person cannot give another everything.” You’re right. Very smart. Very astute. Very sensible. With this rationale at the back of your mind you’ll never be in danger of demanding too much from another person. And without this burden you can settle instead for simply contributing to his or her happiness. This saves energy for more difficult times. It’s how people live together. It’s how people get married. It’s how children are brought up. It’s how promises are delivered, how “partnerships of convenience” are created, consolidated, neglected, wrenched out of sleep, saved, restarted from scratch, dragged through crises, and how they pull through in the end. Major tasks! I have a great deal of respect for all that, honestly I do. Alone: I can’t be, don’t want to be, don’t think, don’t tick alone. I may be grown up and two years older than you, but I’ve still got IT, and I’m not (yet) prepared to abandon it, from the “everything-illusion.” The reality: “It seems that one person cannot give another everything.” My illusion: “But it should be his ambition. And he should never stop trying.”