by Dora Heldt
“Christine. How nice to hear from you. How are you?”
I hadn’t been able to imagine what his reaction would be; I wasn’t expecting shouts of joy or tears, but this “nice” sounded so wrong. I tried to sound casual.
“I’m good thanks. Dorothea mentioned that you’d passed on your best and she gave me your card, so I thought I’d give you a call. Just to see how you’re doing.”
Edith shook her head. What a stupid thing to say.
Richard didn’t seem to have expected anything else. His answer sounded noncommittal.
“Oh yes, Anneke’s birthday. Dorothea told me that you were still in contact even though she’s not with your brother anymore. That’s really great. How is Georg, anyway? I haven’t heard from him in ages. Is he still in Berlin?”
This was going all wrong. So different from the conversation I’d had in my mind while I was walking mawkishly around the Alster.
Edith again. I told you.
Charlotte was still hopeful.
I answered Richard’s question.
“No, Georg is living in Hamburg too now. He’s been there for two years. He’s a freelance journalist and has lots of commissions. He’s doing well.”
Pause.
Then Richard again.
“Aha. That’s great. What do you mean, he lives there too? Oh yes, your sister lives there, right? What’s her name again, Iris?”
“Ines.”
“Yes, that’s right. That’s great. So you’ve got two places you can stay at in Hamburg now.”
Edith was going crazy. This is just getting worse and worse.
I lit up a cigarette and noticed that my hand was shaking.
Richard picked up on it. “You still smoke.”
For the first time I could hear a smile in his voice. I cleared my throat.
“Yes, I still smoke. And I don’t need places to stay in Hamburg anymore. I live here now.”
Pause.
Then his voice, neutral again. “Had you two had enough of country life?”
“Not us, me.”
Now I was curious.
His answer was disappointing. “Oh right, well, I did it the other way around. I’ve moved out of Berlin into a Bremen suburb—well, almost a village, really. But you get used to it.”
Charlotte begged. Go on, ask him something personal.
Edith stopped. This is probably the dumbest phone conversation you’ve had in years.
Agreeing with her, I sat up straight.
“Anyway, Richard, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just calling because of Dorothea and the card. So, I hope you have a lovely evening.”
Richard’s answer was just as noncommittal.
“Sure, thanks for calling. Maybe we could have lunch sometime. I’m often in Hamburg on business.”
Edith was off again. “Lunch. It doesn’t get much more businesslike than that. He’ll probably claim it on his expenses.”
In desperation, I tried to sound casual.
“Sure, give me a call sometime. Have a nice evening.”
Charlotte was absolutely miserable.
And Edith said, The ass didn’t even ask for your phone number.
I stayed sitting in my upright posture at the table, the phone still clasped in my hand, and felt the intense desire to throw it across the room and against the wall. Instead, I stood up and quickly paced twice around my apartment to calm myself down. When I came to a standstill, I was in front of my red sanctuary of an armchair. I let myself fall into it, then stood up, angrily fetched my wine glass, and sank back down again.
Edith was rubbing salt into the wound. You’re making a fool of yourself, having these crazy daydreams all day long, expecting God knows what from some guy that you haven’t heard from in six years—and then you’re disappointed when he brushes you off. You’re so sensitive!
Charlotte was still bewildered. But there was something between you in Berlin. You didn’t just make it up. And he was the one that told Dorothea to say hello to you, so maybe he was just a bit overwhelmed and startled by your call.
Edith laughed mockingly. Overwhelmed! Ha! That must be a joke. We’re talking about an evening that took place six years ago. It’s been forgotten. You’re acting like you’re thirteen again. You were just the same with David Cassidy when you had his Bravo poster above your bed. But that was thirty years ago. Don’t be so childish.
I was annoyed when I felt the tears. It really was childish. I’d gotten swept up in the memory. Perhaps Nina’s longing had been infectious and I was mutating into one of these single women who are consumed by their search for love.
“I won’t let that happen. Not after everything I’ve achieved.”
I realized that I’d just said the last sentence out loud. If I told Dorothea that I was starting to talk out loud to myself, she would rush me into one of her favorite shoe shops that very same day. She solved all small problems by buying new shoes.
And this was only a small problem—not even a problem really, just confusion.
Realizing that the wine was starting to go to my head, I went into the kitchen, poured the small amount that was left down the sink, and went to brush my teeth. Upstairs in bed I started to read my crime novel, but after three pages in which both the detective and the suspect had Richard’s face, I turned the light out, my nerves shot.
In my dream, I was standing in front of a huge mountain of shoes and trying desperately to find a matching pair. I had a black heeled shoe in one hand, and in the other I only ever had brown or green or a different style. Dorothea stood next to me, smiling and putting pair after pair together. It was like a memory game; every time she matched a pair a bell rang.
I woke up as the ringing got louder and louder, and I reached sleepily for the light switch. Once I managed to decipher the time on the alarm clock, I realized I’d only been asleep for two hours. It was shortly before midnight and some idiot was phoning me at this time of night. I sat up, not wanting to go at first, but then images of accidents and other catastrophes came into my head. I sprang up, got the phone from the lounge table, and answered hoarsely.
I recognized his voice immediately; it sounded completely different now, almost urgent.
“Christine?”
In a shot, I was awake.
“Richard?”
Only then did our conversation come back to my mind.
“How did you get my number?”
Richard laughed quietly.
“I wrote it down from the display earlier. Christine, I reacted like an idiot. Can we forget the conversation we had earlier and start again?”
My heart pounded as I sank slowly into the red chair.
“I’d like that.”
“I had quite a bad day today, and that’s not supposed to be an excuse, but an explanation perhaps. Anyway, I was sitting in my apartment earlier, in a bad mood, and then when the telephone rang I thought it would just be more hassle. And when I heard your voice I was so pleased that I couldn’t get a hold of myself quick enough. I’m sorry.”
“Oh well, I wasn’t exactly the epitome of wit either. It’s just that you seemed so abrupt, and I wasn’t expecting that.”
Richard answered quickly. “I really didn’t want to be like that, completely the opposite in fact. I was just unsure, you know? You’re worked up, you want to be completely charming and say witty things, but then you just listen to yourself while you botch up the whole conversation.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
I started to tremble, but I wasn’t sure if I was nervous or cold. Richard heard it in my voice and said, “You were sleeping, weren’t you? Are you still in the mood to chat?”
I was. I fetched my woolen blanket and cigarettes and snuggled up in the red chair with them.
And suddenly, the conversation just flowed. We picked up where we’d left off in Berlin six years ago. I told Richard about the last few months, beginning with the phone call from Bernd and ending with the red chair. He asked questio
ns, and I answered. He started sentences, and I ended them. I asked him how he was, and he told me about the fights with Sabine, his second wife, about their arguments, power struggles, reconciliations, and resignations. Richard’s marriage was becoming more and more of a façade, and he was becoming more and more indifferent to it. On top of that was his lack of interest in continuing to work as a lawyer for the TV station in Berlin.
“And then two years ago I met up with an old colleague from my studies. He had taken over a law practice in Bremen, wanted to specialize in media law and was looking for a partner. I thought it was a great idea. Sabine didn’t waste any time in saying she didn’t want to move to Bremen, so she stayed in Berlin, and I moved into a small apartment in Schwachhausen. I’ve got a great job and some peace and quiet during the week. It’s better like this.”
We spoke for over two hours. When I went to bed afterwards, my soul felt caressed.
Leonie was shaking my lounger. I opened my eyes and saw her looking down at me.
“Oh, Christine, that was really good. What’s up? Were you asleep? You look like you were in another world.”
I nodded briefly, stretched, and said, “Yes, I was just gone for a moment. Shall we go back to the sauna again?”
Leonie already had her towel over her arm. “Yes, right away. Come on, get that tired body of yours up.”
The sauna was full this time, so we couldn’t chat. Leonie discreetly observed the others in there and then shut her eyes.
I let my thoughts wander back to Richard.
After our first conversation we had spoken on the phone eight times over the last two weeks. Each conversation lasted at least an hour. I was surprised at how many things we found to talk about. Richard asked me all about my job, told me about his, and found it all fascinating. I told him about my booksellers and colleagues; he explained the basics of media law to me and described the cases he was working on.
We talked about books. He was a keen reader and let me recommend some to him, asking which Bremen bookstore he should get one of them from. Three days later he proudly told me the plot; he had read all through the night.
I felt like I’d known him for years, and the desire to meet up with him became stronger and stronger.
Charlotte was overjoyed; Edith kept silent. My anticipation for our phone conversations got me through the days. We didn’t talk about Sabine. I didn’t dare to ask whether he went back to Berlin every weekend and still carried on with his marriage in spite of everything. He talked about the difficult years that had gone by, but never about what was happening now.
I suppressed my questions and thoughts and decided just to let things take their course.
Leonie sat up and switched seats. I sat down next to her. She smiled at me and then looked down at her red painted toenails. I felt a twinge of guilt for not telling her about Richard. She would have been happy, just for the fact that I was thinking about a man again. But I wasn’t even sure what was going on yet. She looked at the hourglass and gestured with her head towards the door. We nodded to each other and went out to take a cold shower. Leonie didn’t pick up on our conversation from before her massage again. We kept to more general topics; the sauna was full by now, and we were never alone.
After our second sauna trip, we had our usual post-sauna beers in the small bistro near the changing rooms. Leonie looked relaxed and content. She raised her glass.
“Just like being on vacation. That was great. Where are you off to tomorrow?”
I tried to keep my facial expression neutral. “I’m going to Bremen. I’ve got four appointments.”
Leonie took a sip and wiped the foam from her mouth.
“That’s fine. You’ll be home early then.”
“Yes,” I said. And I thought, Sorry, Leonie, but it’s only a little white lie.
That evening I packed my paperwork together and took my small travel bag from the cupboard. As I looked through my clothes and tried to decide what to wear, my excitement grew more and more. I sat on the bed and looked at the empty bag.
In our last phone conversation Richard had suddenly asked, “When will you next be in Bremen?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
His answer came after a short pause.
“Then we should meet up.”
Images jumped into my head. Berlin. His face. The kiss. The hotel. His apartment.
Edith piped up. You’ve never stayed overnight in Bremen; that’s ridiculous. You could be home within the hour.
Charlotte answered. You’re going out for dinner with him, so see how you feel. You won’t want to go home, for sure.
Richard asked, “Shall I book you a hotel room? There’s a hotel nearby that I sometimes put my clients up in. Then you can have a drink and you won’t have to drive back to Hamburg at night.”
I was relieved. “Thank you.”
His voice betrayed a smile. “Great.” He gave me the address.
“I’ll pick you up from there at seven p.m., and then we’ll have a lovely evening. Sound good?”
“Wonderful.”
Which is exactly how I felt.
I looked for the new blouse that I’d bought with Dorothea in Eppendorf. She had convinced me to go for it; I’d thought the neckline was too low. Tonight though, it seemed fine, so I packed it. Along with my red lingerie.
Lying in my bed and pulling the image of Richard’s face from my memory, I felt my stage fright. David Cassidy, I thought, and smiled.
Edith shook her head disapprovingly.
Charlotte whispered, Tomorrow.
I felt very happy.
Forty
It was Saturday evening, ten p.m. There had been a severe weather warning in the news; the fall storm that was sweeping over the north was supposed to get up to wind speeds of around 160 kilometers per hour.
It was the evening before my fortieth birthday.
I’d turned down Dorothea’s suggestion of seeing the day in with a party, and I was instead sitting alone in my apartment, having pulled all the plugs from their sockets and lit two candles. With a mixture of fear and fascination, I watched the destruction the storm was causing outside my house.
On the table in front of me lay one of those women’s magazines that are aimed at women over forty. I’d never had any interest in them; so far they’d had as little to do with me as those mind, body, and spirit or dog magazines. Yesterday Nina had brought a copy along to our squash game and had given it to me, laughing.
“Here, Christine, just so you know how you’ll feel the day after tomorrow.”
I was baffled, but thanked her politely and took the magazine.
Now, I leafed through the pages and still felt that it wasn’t aimed at me. I wasn’t planning on separating after twenty years of marriage, nor did I have problems with a pubescent daughter, nor was my boss twenty years younger than me. Menopause was another key topic, as well as facelifts, but none of it applied to me. I pushed the magazine aside and looked out of the window. A trash can slid past along the street.
Edith, however, wasn’t done with the magazine.
In two hours you’ll be forty, you could have been married for twenty years, no plastic surgeon would rule out a facelift with you, and by the time your mother was forty you’d already finished your high school exams. You were already nineteen. You are exactly the target group for this magazine.
A garden chair tipped over on my terrace. I stood up to see whether the wicker beach chair was holding up to the storm. It looked okay so far. The other chair spun over the paving stones.
I saw my reflection in the windowpane. Defiantly I smiled at myself and waited for Charlotte’s voice. You look good, not at all like a forty-year-old.
Edith answered quickly. Well, maybe not in this light.
I sat back down at the table. My cell phone lay next to the wine glass and the ashtray. There were no notifications of text messages or calls on the display. I checked the reception; perhaps there were problems in the strong winds. But
no, the network was stable. I pushed it aside and drew the wine glass nearer to me.
Forty.
I had got my qualifications, got myself a career, got married, and would soon be divorced. I would never be back at school, or become a professional sportswoman, nor have children. I didn’t really belong to the target group of the trendier TV channels anymore, no one would say “young lady” to me, and the cosmetics industry had developed products for my mature skin.
I had done a lot of things right and just as many wrong. Tomorrow was my birthday. I sat here alone and felt increasingly downbeat.
The storm rattled the windows, and outside, my green plastic watering can flew by. I followed its path with my eyes; it was from my old life. My cell was still lying there quietly, not lighting up. I checked the display again. It was fine.
I stood up again and went to the patio door. The branches of the shrubs were dancing on the paving stones; the first branches whirled across the street. The cars were being driven along at a walking pace. My melancholy feeling got stronger, in keeping with the apocalyptic mood outside.
Forty.
Until this damn magazine I hadn’t even thought about my age.
I was probably more than halfway through my life. And it was sure to have been the easier half. I started to feel uneasy.
Edith knew why. No wonder, your life was always planned before. Bernd, the house, the job, your familiar circle of friends, everything and everyone getting old together. So there was no need to worry or be afraid. But now?
Charlotte answered immediately. Rubbish. You’ve got Hamburg, Luise, Dorothea, the red armchair, freedom, a new lease on life. And…
Edith interrupted. Don’t say Richard. He’s the real reason you’re feeling sad. He won’t be growing old with you; he’s not even calling you. He’s off with his wife, and you’re turning forty all alone. Great.
Charlotte tried to change the subject. Dorothea offered to organize a party for you. Then there would have been lots of people here. But it’s actually really nice to have a bit of peace and quiet.
Edith didn’t agree. So what? Richard wouldn’t be here either way. And that’s what it’s about right now.