I took my eyes off the wet patch and caught sight of my old stereo system. When I was a teenager, I’d always listened to I Will Survive when I was suffering from heartache, dancing around the room like a kangaroo on ecstasy.
After that I was always on a real high for four minutes, only to collapse again, to ask myself whether I really would survive. Sweating, I then put on I Am What I Am, which had an even lesser effect. And when I played it, I always asked myself: ‘What exactly am I?’
I was not going to ask myself that question today. I knew full well what I was. I am a M.O.N.S.T.E.R. And I was also sure that I would not survive all this unless there was miracle.
I put my hands together and prayed to God like never before. ‘Dear God. Please, please, please make everything be all right again. Somehow. No idea how. The only thing that matters is that everything will be all right again. If you do that, then I’ll go to church every Sunday. Really. Truly. I promise. No matter how boring the sermons are. And I won’t yawn and I’ll never ever think about Jesus again… I mean, I will of course think about Jesus, but not like the thoughts I was having yesterday. And I will also spend a tenth, or whatever you call it, a tithe of my monthly income on good causes… or perhaps half a tithe? Otherwise I might not be able to get through the month. Look, if you really want I’ll give three-quarters of a tithe. That should be all right. And I could still afford to have a car. OK, OK… A full tithe if I really must! The only thing that matters is that I stop feeling as awful as I do now. That’s worth all the money in the world. Who needs a car? It’s bad for the environment anyway. So, what do you say? I’ll become religious and selfless and will save on CO2, and you’ll make sure that everything will be all right again. Do we have a deal? If so, please give me a sign… Or no! Stop, stop, stop! We’ll do it differently. If you agree, then just don’t give me a sign.
I paused for a moment. If there was no sign now, something that was really rather likely, then everything would be all right. I would be happy, even if I’d have less money, no car and Sundays would now be spent at church. A pretty clever offer on my part.
I hoped so much that God would not give me a sign.
At that moment, the rain-soaked plaster fell down from the ceiling, right in my face. Frustrated, I stood up, rubbed my face and spat out the dusty mortar. If there really was a God, this was a sign.
It also meant the he did not want to be a part of my fantastic deal. I thought about how I could improve my offer. God could surely not expect me to become a nun, could he? On the other hand, if things carried on like this, I would never have sex again anyway, and some nuns are apparently quite fun, at least in films and books. They always seem strict at first, and then turn out to be wise and blessed with wit… And maybe a vicar would come by, on a visit or something, during the apple harvest, a guy like Matthew McConaughey… someone with an equally broken heart, perhaps his wife would have accidentally fallen off a cliff… and he would never be able to feel love again, something that would change in an instant as soon as he saw me…
And at that very moment, there was a knock on the door.
‘Who’s there?’ I asked hesitantly.
‘It’s me,’ Dad answered quite sternly. Although he’d taken me in, we were far from reconciled.
‘What… what do you want?’ I asked. A fight with my Dad was about the last thing I could cope with right now. I just didn’t have the energy.
‘I have a carpenter here who wants to come and have a look at the roof.’
I looked at the plaster on the floor, with the mortar-taste still in my mouth and thought: ‘Why couldn’t this silly carpenter have come a day earlier?’
‘He needs to access the roof through the hatch in your room,’ Dad shouted.
My face was covered in dust and tears and I felt absolutely awful. No one should see me like this. But on the other hand, basically the entire town now had a bad impression of me, so it probably didn’t matter that much what a carpenter thought. And if I was going to spend the rest of my life lurking in this room, it was probably a good idea to prevent the ceiling coming down on my head.
‘Just a second,’ I shouted to my Dad. ‘I just need to put some clothes on.’
It was enough to be seen with mortar dust on my face – there was no need to stand about in my underwear as well.
But I didn’t have any clothes with me. Surely there had to be something in my teenage wardrobe? I opened it and found jumpers and jeans. I pulled on an old sweater that made me look like some sort of bare-midriffed Scandinavian sausage. I didn’t fit into the trousers – I couldn’t even get them over my hips. I had obviously added a Michelin ring around my stomach with every year that had passed.
‘Marie! How long is this going to take?’ Dad shouted impatiently.
I racked my brains – I wouldn’t fit in Kata’s clothes either, and there was no point in even asking Svetlana.
‘Marie!’ my father urged me.
I had no choice. I jumped back into my wedding dress. With my dusty face I looked rather a lot like a ghost. All I needed to do now was to wear my head under my arm – something that actually felt quite appealing.
I opened the door. For a brief moment, my Dad looked rather perplexed at the sight of me. ‘Well, it’s about time.’
Then he waved somebody in. ‘Marie, let me introduce you to Joshua. He’s very kindly going to fix our roof.’
A man of average build in jeans, a shirt and suede boots entered the room. He had slightly olivey skin, long, wavy hair and a stylish beard. Through my dusty eyes he looked a little like one of the Bee Gees.
Chapter Ten
‘Joshua, this is my daughter Marie,’ my Dad said. ‘She doesn’t always look like this,’ he added.
The carpenter’s gentle, dark brown eyes seemed very serious, as if they’d already seen a thing or two. Looking into them made me all confused.
‘Hello Marie,’ he said in a wonderfully deep voice, which distracted me even more. He reached for my hand to greet me. His handshake was strong, and somehow conveyed a deep feeling of security.
‘Frblmf,’ I stammered. I was completely incapable of saying anything sensible.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Marie,’ he said earnestly. That voice!
‘Frddlff,’ I replied.
‘I’m here to take a look at that roof of yours,’ he explained. And I answered with a consentient ‘Brmmlf’.
He let go of my hand, and I suddenly began to feel insecure. I wanted him to take hold of me again, immediately!
But Joshua opened the hatch with the pole, pulled down the ladder and nimbly climbed up the steps. He was both agile and elegant, and I caught myself staring at his bum. Only once the carpenter had disappeared up into the attic could I start thinking a bit more clearly again. I let the great bum carry on being a great bum, quickly left the room and knocked on the door of Kata’s old room. My sister opened, dressed only in her underwear, and she yawned like an alligator that was busy digesting a tourist.
‘Can you get me some clothes?’ I asked.
‘You want me to go to Sven’s for you?’
‘Well, if I go myself someone might end up six feet under.’
‘Given how angry he was yesterday, that doesn’t seem entirely impossible…’ Kata conceded.
She yawned again, stretched and suddenly winced. It scared the hell out of me whenever she had a pain in her head.
Kata saw the alarm in my eyes and reassured me: ‘I’m not having a relapse. I just drank some bad red wine last night.’
I was so relieved that I wanted to kiss her, but she put her arms up defensively. ‘Go and have a wash before you kiss anyone.’
After I’d had a shower, I sat in the kitchen cradling a cup of coffee. Alone. Dad had taken Svetlana on a day trip to the coast. I frantically tried to put the thought out of my head that this woman might become my new mum. Once I’d succeeded, I contemplated my disastrous life. What is it people say? Crises make you stronger? I was determined to use this crisis to
steer my life onto a happier course. Too right I would!
But what if I couldn’t? What if my life would always be this miserable and disastrous?
Then it was preferable to think about Svetlana.
Or even better, that delightful Joshua.
He was so charming. Those eyes, that voice. I bet if he put his mind to it, that carpenter could make lots of people excited about a good cause. Like… thermal insulation.
What was it he said again? That it was a pleasure to meet me. That sounded genuine. And he wasn’t even staring at my breasts, unlike most men when they said things like that.
He’d called me by my first name without even asking me. But maybe that was because he was from southern Europe. Italy or somewhere like that. Maybe he had a house in Tuscany that he’d built himself… without his top on…
But what was he doing here then? Maybe he’d had difficulties at home? Maybe work issues?
Wow. I really was thinking quite a lot about a man at whom I’d only grunted.
Kata interrupted my train of thought when she returned with two suitcases of for me.
‘How is he?’ I asked.
‘He looks like you.’
‘Like a dog’s dinner?’ I asked.
‘Exactly.’
I felt incredibly guilty. I’d never made a man so unhappy. Normally men made me unhappy. I sighed. ‘Do you really have to go today?’
I so wanted her to stay with me a bit longer.
‘Perhaps it would be better if I stayed with you until you’re feeling better.’
‘The entire hundred years?’ I asked gloomily.
‘I’m sure it won’t take that long,’ she grinned.
I hugged her.
‘You’re crushing me,’ she groaned.
‘That’s my intention!’ I replied
Five minutes later, when I’d finished hugging my sister, I got changed and was happy to be back in jeans and a jumper again. We both went upstairs and wanted to do the things that most interested us at this very moment – she wanted to draw and I wanted to wallow in my own self-pity.
But as we went past my room, I heard Joshua singing up in the attic in a foreign language. Not Italian. His voice was deep and moving. I’m sure it would even have moved me if he’d been singing the theme tune from The Smurfs.
I told Kata that I just wanted to run and get something, and that I’d be with her shortly. Then I went into my room and climbed up the ladder into the attic.
Joshua had just taken a leaky window out of the frame and put it down on the floor. He seemed very focused, in a relaxed sort of way. He was clearly someone who forgot everything else when he was working.
When Joshua spotted me, he stopped singing. I was curious to know what kind of a song it was and asked, ‘Wddl dllll?’
This couldn’t go on. I quickly looked down at the floor, pulled myself together and started again: ‘So… what were you singing?’
‘A psalm about the joy of work.’
‘Oh… OK,’ I said. I seldom used the words ‘joy’ and ‘work’ in the same sentence. And I basically never said ‘psalm’.
‘And what language was that?’ I was now able to look at him and utter a more or less error-free sentence. The trick was not to stare into those deep, dark eyes.
‘Hebrew,’ Joshua replied.
‘Is that your native language?’
‘Yes, I’m from Palestine.’
Palestine. Not quite as appealing as Tuscany. Maybe Joshua was a refugee?
‘Why don’t you live there any more?’ I asked him.
‘My time there had come to an end,’ he answered, like someone who had was completely at ease with the way things had turned out. He seemed at peace. And yet incred-ibly serious. Far too serious! I wondered what it would be like to see him really laughing.
‘Would you like to go out for dinner with me tonight?’ I asked.
Joshua was surprised at my question. Though not half as surprised as I was. Not even twenty hours had elapsed since I’d left Sven standing at the altar. And now I wanted to go out with a guy, just to see him laugh?
‘What?’ asked Joshua.
‘Grdlllff,’ I replied.
I frantically tried to think whether I should backtrack, but decide to flee forwards with a rather pathetic attempt to be witty. ‘I’m sure there must be a psalm about food.’
He just looked at me, even more surprised. God, this was so embarrassing!
We both stared at each other in silence. I tried to decipher the carpenter’s facial expression to see whether he actually wanted to go out with me or whether he thought I was being a pushy cow, who had about as much knowledge of psalms as she did about experimental particle physics.
But I couldn’t read him at all. His face was so different to other people’s, and not only because of his beard.
Ashamed, I looked back down at the floor and was just about to mumble ‘forget it’ when he answered: ‘There are lots of psalms about bread and eating.’
I looked up at him again and he said, ‘I would like to eat with you, Marie.’
That was the first time he smiled at me. It was just a small smile, certainly not a laugh. But it was divine.
With that smile he could have sold me lots of things other than thermal insulation.
Chapter Eleven
‘My God. Why on earth did I just ask him out on a date?’ I wailed as I was regaining my composure. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and trying desperately, before I went out to dinner, to fix my face with make-up after all that blubbing. My face looked like New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.
‘This carpenter is really not my type,’ I explained to Kata. ‘He has a beard. I really don’t like beards.’
‘You used to love them,’ Kata grinned.
‘I was six!’
Kata grinned even more and put some eye shadow on me.
‘And furthermore,’ I said. ‘Joshua is from Palestine. And he sings psalms.’
‘You’re clearly trying to make a point. Are you going to spell it out for me?’ Kata asked.
‘Maybe he’s a religious nutter. He might be one of those people who takes flying lessons but doesn’t pay much attention to the part about landing…’
‘Nice to see how open-minded and unprejudiced you are,’ Kata said.
I wondered whether or not I should be ashamed of my prejudices. But I concluded that I was not in the mood for that right now. I had so much to be ashamed of; my shame capacity had been reached and breached.
‘All this talk of beards and flying lessons,’ Kata said, ‘It’s just because you feel bad about Sven.’
‘Well it just feels wrong to be going out on a date with someone,’ I conceded.
‘So it’s wrong to have a little bit of fun?’ Kata demanded.
‘How can I have fun, just one day after the wedding from hell?’
‘Very simple. You’ll have fun when the carpenter shows you his toolbox…’
I just stared at her blankly. She certainly didn’t seem to be talking about lathes.
I turned my head back to face the mirror and realised that make-up can only be as good as the face on which it is being applied.
‘I’m going to cancel,’ I announced.
‘And what will you do instead?’ asked Kata.
‘Think about my life.’
‘Well, that does sound fun.’
She was right. I would go and lie in my bed again and think about the fact that I needed a new apartment, but had no money for either the deposit or an estate agent, because I’d taken on a huge debt for a wedding party that I’d called off. This basically meant that I would have to carry on living with Dad and listening to Svetlana demanding he give it to her at frequencies fit to drive dogs mad.
Kata read my mind and said something very persuasive: ‘Go on the date. You certainly won’t be more depressed if you do.’
I’d arranged to meet Joshua at Da Giovanni, an Italian restaurant with lots of advantages. It w
as idyllically located by the lake, had great food, and an owner, the eponymous, Giovanni, who had nicked Sven’s girlfriend and sired four bambini with her. That meant that Sven would be boycotting the place for all eternity, and would definitely not see me with Joshua. We would thus be avoiding the Malente Post headline about a ‘Massacre by the lake’ tomorrow.
Giovanni gave me a table on the lake terrace, and no sooner had I sat down than Joshua arrived. He was wearing exactly the same clothes he’d had on while working, but amazingly they didn’t look the slightest bit dirty.
‘Good evening, Marie,’ he greeted me with a smile. He really did have an unbelievable smile. I wondered whether he bleached his teeth.
‘Good evening, Joshua,’ I replied, and he sat down next to me. I was waiting for him to make some conversation. But he didn’t say anything. He seemed happy just looking out across the lake and enjoying the sunlight on his face. So I tried to get the conversation going: ‘How long have you been in Malente?’
‘I arrived yesterday.’
That was a surprise.
‘And you managed to get the job to fix our roof right away?’ I asked, sounding confused.
‘Gabriel knew that your father was looking for a carpenter.’
‘Gabriel? The Reverend Gabriel?’
‘I’m currently staying in his spare room.’
Oh my God. Hopefully Gabriel hadn’t told him what a nutter I was.
‘Have you known Gabriel for a while?’ I asked, trying to find out whether the old vicar had told him about yesterday’s disastrous spectacle at the church. ‘I mean, do you know each other well enough to talk about stuff?’
Joshua answered: ‘Gabriel knew my mother. He gave her the news that I was to be born.’
This was a confusing answer. Had Gabriel held Joshua’s mum’s pregnancy test in his hand. And if so, why? He’d never been a gynaecologist, certainly not in Palestine. I wondered whether there’d been something going on between her and Gabriel.
But these were all questions that were too direct for a first date. Probably for the seventeenth one at that. I asked him something else. ‘When did you leave Palestine?’
Apocalypse Next Tuesday Page 4