Girl from Mars

by Tamara Bach

“When?”

  “Around three?”

  “Sure.”

  Ines hasn’t been to my house very often lately. And I haven’t been to her place in a long time, either.

  I like Ines. I like her better than Suse. We’ve known each other since fifth grade, but always with Suse. When it was just two of us it would be me and Suse or Suse and Ines.

  Ines has been with Flo for half a year. They met at some holiday camp last summer. Flo’s okay, but sometimes I wonder how he sees her. She always looks pretty ordinary. I mean, when you look at Suse you can see that she thinks about what she puts on every morning. Ines just wears any old junk. Jeans and a sweater. Shoes. Jacket. Nothing special. Yet one morning when she came into the washroom she pulled up this plain gray sweatshirt and underneath it she was wearing a strapless corset. Dark red with black lace and bows and garters. And matching panties. All for Flo. She showed it to us like it was a new book or CD she’d just bought. As if it was totally normal.

  Ines comes over in the afternoon. I get a bottle of sparkling water from the cellar, glasses from the kitchen and carry it all up to my room. Put on some music. Ines sits down and takes a glass but she doesn’t drink anything. I really want to ask her whether she’s here because Flo was busy, but I bite my tongue. That would be mean.

  “So, what’s new?” I ask her.

  “Same as always. Oh, no, wait. Flo’s actually allowed to come over on my birthday.”

  “Great. How come?”

  “I’m turning sixteen.”

  Sixteen means not just alcohol and real ID, it means love.

  Sixteen means that Ines can have her boyfriend up to her room with the door shut.

  “What’s new with you?” she asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Something’s going on with you, Miriam.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re different. Is something going on that I don’t know about?”

  Who can I tell? Laura sure doesn’t want to talk about it. And why should it be a secret? Why not tell Ines?

  So I nod.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “A good one or a bad one?” Ines frowns.

  “Good. I think,” I add quickly.

  “Are you in love?”

  I nod gently.

  She grins. “So, who is it? Do I know him?”

  And then I wonder if she will really understand. That there is no “him.” That it’s Laura. And I don’t know any more whether I know Ines well enough, because I don’t know how she will react.

  “No.”

  “So? How long has it been going on? Are you sleeping together?”

  “No.”

  Ines leans forward a bit and a bit of soda spills onto my carpet.

  “Does he even know?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because. It’s complicated.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he (he!)...just wants to be friends.”

  “Oh, shit.” Ines finally takes a sip from her glass. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. Besides, everything’s good the way it is. Maybe it’s better this way. You can never have enough friends, right?”

  Ines shrugs her shoulders and puts down her glass. She stands up and opens the balcony door, sits on the bench and lights a cigarette.

  “Do you have the hots for him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, do you want to touch him and kiss him and everything.”

  “Yes.”

  “There, see? Having friends is all well and good. But love is also great. Maybe even a bit better.” Ines grins at me.

  “Yeah?”

  “So what are you waiting for?”

  I grin and shrug. Then I go out to the balcony and take a drag from her cigarette.

  12

  At eight o’clock Saturday morning I’m at the train station standing on platform three. Eight o’clock! There’s just one old lady here sitting on a bench with her shopping bags. I’m carrying my little backpack and a bag full of snacks. The trip takes six hours. That’s a long time. In fifteen minutes we get on our first train — the first of five.

  I’m happy. Really happy.

  The big train station clock ticks, and after sixty seconds the big hand wobbles and moves slowly — unbelievably slowly — one more notch.

  At ten after, Laura and Phillip arrive. They’re arguing.

  “Where have you been?” I ask.

  Phillip starts in. “Once again her ladyship here could not walk past the gumball machine.”

  Laura shrugs. “We have loads of time!” She looks at me. “Here, hold out your hand.” And she presses a big handful of gumballs into it.

  “Did you get the tickets?” I ask Phillip. He holds them up.

  “Got them yesterday.”

  “You’re such a freak,” Laura says.

  Then the train arrives and we’re finally leaving.

  The sun comes out. I have a seat next to the window and I close my eyes.

  “I’ll bet Mi was a cat in another life,” says Laura. When I open my eyes she’s wearing red sunglasses. “In the next life I want to be a cat, too.”

  Phillip makes a face.

  “You see, Mi,” she says, “people are divided into two groups. Those who like cats and those who like dogs. Just like with tea and coffee, showers and baths.”

  “Sweet or salty,” Phillip adds.

  “Exactly,” Laura says. “And I think that cats have a better life. For one thing they’re pretty. And they have soft fur coats. And besides that they just sleep. And people pat them and otherwise leave them alone. They can spend all their time doing whatever they want.”

  Phillip gives her a sarcastic look but says nothing.

  “Unlike dogs,” Laura continues, “they don’t have to save lives, fetch sticks or lead blind people around. You see, Phil, cats simply have better lives.”

  Phillip grins contemptuously and looks out the window again. The landscape is still familiar. We have to change trains again in town.

  “Mi was definitely a cat,” Laura says again. “Look at her, Phil. The way she just looked around. That was pure cat! Maybe she’ll even purr if you scratch her under the chin!”

  “No, she just hums,” he says, and he blows a bubble.

  “You also have a cat face, my little kitten,” Laura whispers to me. Then she jumps on Phil and starts to tickle him.

  ***

  “What is it about these gum machines?” I ask Laura when we’re standing on the platform at the train station in town.

  “Not telling,” she says.

  “Gumballs aren’t even that good,” I say.

  “I know.” She looks at the schedule.

  “I’ll tell her!” Phillip says suddenly.

  “You so won’t!” Laura snaps at him.

  Phillip pretends to be about to explain, until Laura finally says, “I’ll explain it to you another time.” Then she glares at Phillip and adds, “I will tell her!”

  ***

  Lunchtime. Fanta, sandwiches. A tunnel and forests.

  “Wha...what’s your uncle like?” asks Laura with her mouth full.

  “He’s a music critic. I told you about him. He is very cool. Didn’t make a big deal about us coming. Just wanted to know how many of us there were and what we wanted to eat.”

  “Great,” says Laura. She takes a swig of Fanta and it drips down her chin and spills on her sweater.

  I think about Dennis, Mum and Dad back at home, about Suse and Ines at school. It all suddenly seems so far away and none of it matters when I think about it because the sight of Laura pushes all these thoughts away. The sight of her face with her damp lips as she smiles at me and then turns and looks out the window again. The sight of her is so sweet, and it hurts and feels good at the same time. I would like to never have to thi
nk about anything else ever again.

  “So, my dears, now I’m going to sleep for a bit,” Laura says, pulling her jacket up under her chin and leaning against the window.

  Whoever came up with this face? This long straight nose with freckles and the green eyes, the straight black eyelashes, the mouth that looks as though someone painted it. So beautiful. She is beautiful, the way she sleeps. And when I tell her something and she listens to me. And when she listens to a new song, and when she’s happy. Or sad. Always so beautiful.

  I look over at Phillip and he smiles at me and then looks out the window.

  Three more hours.

  Here comes another tunnel.

  13

  When we arrive at the train station Phillip pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket.

  “So, we have to find the streetcar — number 81. That will take us to Waldschlösschen.”

  He looks around. Laura looks around. The sun is still shining, it’s cold and this is the first time I’ve been in this city. It is old and gray and dusty. It’s beautiful here. The houses are old and the apartments in them probably have incredibly high ceilings. In our town houses like this would immediately be renovated and painted some weird color so that they wouldn’t be gray any more. So that the people who live in the new-old expensive apartments can be happy that they don’t live in an old gray house, but in one that’s yellow. Or sky blue.

  I’d rather live in a gray house.

  “Let’s go,” says Phillip, and Laura pulls me by the sleeve.

  The streetcar rattles. At the sixth stop we get out. The houses here are gray, too. There are pigeons and old fountains. People walking in the street.

  We turn into a laneway up a gentle hill. We stop in front of a big house. Phillip runs his finger along the name plates.

  “We’re here!” Laura whispers in my ear.

  The door buzzes open.

  The stairs are dark. The only light comes through big green windows that seem to look out onto a courtyard. We climb three flights up. A door opens and in the doorway stands a man with reading glasses and spiky gray hair. He’s dressed entirely in black. He shakes hands with Laura and me while Phillip introduces us.

  “I’m Frank,” he says. Then he gives Phillip a hug.

  Laura grins at me.

  “Come on in. Make yourselves at home. If you’re thirsty, help yourself. If you’re hungry, the same. Everything is in the refrigerator,” he says, giving us a tour. He shows us the kitchen, the bathroom and two rooms — one with a big bed and another with a sofa. “I don’t know how you want to arrange things. Two of you can have the guest room and one can take the study. Doesn’t matter to me.” Then he looks at his watch. “Unfortunately, as I told Phillip, I won’t be able to join you this evening, but here’s a key.” He takes a ring of keys from a chest of drawers. “And here is my cell number in case you need anything. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  And then he sweeps by us and out the door.

  For a moment we just stand there looking at the door. Phillip is the first to move. He goes into the kitchen and I hear him open the fridge. Laura hears it too and plunges after him.

  ***

  “So, what’s the plan?” asks Phillip, after he’s put his dish in the dishwasher.

  “Have fun,” says Laura.

  “Do you know your way around here?” I ask him.

  “No. But we’re right in the middle of town. Something must be going on. I think we should just leave it to chance. But first, ladies...” And he pulls Laura’s tobacco pouch out of her pocket.

  Smoking on a balcony again. I take a drag and look down at the street. The streetcar clangs around the corner and clatters up the hill. I take another drag. This time it isn’t so bad.

  Another streetcar. I imitate the sound it makes, and Laura and Phillip laugh.

  And then we go out. We walk around the streets a bit and look in the shop windows. Junk shops. Fruit and vegetable shops. An old-fashioned cafe with lace tablecloths. And then we see a bar that looks cozy.

  “Phillip, you get the drinks. You’re the biggest,” Laura says.

  Phillip pushes through the crowd. Laura watches him, then suddenly she gives me a big hug and says, “It’s nice that you came with us.”

  She holds me tightly. For an eternity.

  Phillip comes back with three bottles of Beck’s.

  “They’re pretty easy-going here. This is practically a student pub,” he says. I look around. The bar is full, the music is loud.

  So this is what university students look like.

  My parents didn’t stay in school. Dennis and I are the first ones in the family who might even be able to go to university. Dad had an absolute fit when Dennis once said that he didn’t know whether he would bother graduating.

  “Do you want to go to university?” I ask Laura. She shrugs her shoulders while she clinks her bottle against mine.

  “Prost!” Then she raises her glass to Phillip. “What about you?” she asks me.

  I look at the people in the bar and wonder what their lives are like. To wake up every day in your own apartment, in a city far away from a little town that you only talk about when someone asks you where home is. Always carrying books and papers under your arm, spending time in big libraries where you have to be quiet. Listening to professors, maybe even saying something yourself and maybe what I say might even be right.

  “Yes, maybe,” I say.

  “And what do you want to study?” asks Phillip.

  “I have no idea.”

  A couple in the corner have started to dance. Laura watches them and moves to the music. Then she leans over and asks me if I want to dance.

  I don’t. I’d rather watch the people. Laura stands up anyway and goes over to the dance floor. Phillip drinks the last of his beer, raises his bottle and asks me if I want another. I rummage around for my wallet.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s on me. You can pay for the next round.”

  Laura’s eyes are closed. She’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, and I wonder what song she is dancing to, what she is listening to in her head. All around her people are hopping around and flinging themselves against one another crazily, but no one touches her. She smiles.

  Phillip comes back to the table with the beers and I try to finish up my first one in a hurry.

  “Prost,” he says, and we clink bottles. “Not many people drink as fast as I do.”

  “And that is just one of my many talents,” I say. I try to peel the label off the bottle with my thumbnail. I have to think more about whether I want to go to university, whether I want to keep studying, and if so, what. Again I imagine myself climbing the stairs in a big old building, maybe hurrying to get to a lecture on time. The steps are old and made of marble. Big lecture halls filled with hundreds of students.

  “What are you thinking about?” Phillip asks.

  “Stuff.”

  “Aha.” He nods and turns to look at the dance floor, too.

  When they start to play a new song, he suddenly jumps up and rushes over to Laura, who has stopped dancing. He starts to dance — actually he just bobs around and moves his lips to the lyrics. Laura looks at him, her eyes wide, and grins. Then she comes over to me at the table again, takes a drink from her bottle. She takes her tobacco out of her jacket pocket and rolls a cigarette. She sticks it in her mouth, grabs the candle from the middle of the table and lights her cigarette.

  “You know, in Hamburg you can get thrown out of a bar for doing this, because it means a sailor will die.” I didn’t know that. She inhales and blows out the smoke. The candle flickers. “Poor sailor.”

  Laura looks over at Phillip and smiles.

  “That’s the only song he’ll dance to, the absolutely only one.” Then she looks at me again. “Are you still going to dance with me today?” She shifts closer to me and leans her head on my shoulder, and suddenly I am back on the hill that night — her head on my shoulder. “Oh, please, Mi
. Dance with me, okay?”

  It’s fun to dance with someone when you are only dancing for that person. To shout out the lyrics together if you know them, to be together inside a song. From now on every time I hear this song, I will think, that’s the time I danced with Laura. That’s the place where she put her arm around my shoulder. And on that night everything was right, because the DJ played the right song — maybe Madonna, Pixies or “Blister in the Sun” by the Violent Femmes — and because we were far away, in a completely different city. That was the time we simply took off for a trip to the east, and Ines and Suse stayed home. Because Laura just wanted to be with me.

  We drink a lot. I pay for the next round. Then Phillip buys the next one because he’s thirsty and doesn’t want to wait for Laura.

  I’m not drunk, just a little tipsy maybe. And I’m thirsty because I’ve been dancing so much.

  Laura takes me in her arms and says, “You have no idea how much I love you.”

  How much do you, then?

  Then the DJ puts on a new song and Laura sings along with the lyrics again.

  ***

  Phillip is tired. There are only a few people left in the bar. Only one woman is standing alone on the dance floor and swaying to the music — not Laura this time, but I can’t stop watching her standing there, hardly moving.

  “Let’s go,” says Phillip. So we get our jackets. It’s cold outside. Laura is still singing, “Into the sea, you and me,” and she starts hopping around in circles on one leg. Phillip has sleepy eyes, and he doesn’t say much.

  At a fountain in the middle of a square Laura stops singing and pulls me by my sleeve onto the side of the fountain.

  “So. We’ve waited long enough.” She has to struggle a bit to keep her balance.

  I stand there, wondering what she wants. Phillip just looks at her, too, until finally she says, “I want to hear you recite ‘Erlking.’ Please. Just for me. And Phillip.” She looks around and adds, “There’s no one else around to hear you.”

  Phillip laughs quietly, but the noise echoes off the walls of the houses and sounds louder than he intends.

  “Please,” says Laura as quietly as she can.

  “Oh, yes, please,” Phillip adds. “It’s about time.”