Uncle Matthias took his glasses off and folded them awkwardly.
“You know,” he said, abruptly changing the topic, “we’ve really missed you here.”
“I really am sorry, but I can’t stay.”
He nodded and returned the newspaper back to its drawer.
“But perhaps you’ll try to visit us now and then?”
“I’ll try. I promise.”
Looking pleased, my uncle leaned back in his chair.
“Well, that sounds good.”
“I won’t disturb you any longer. I plan to go to the cemetery this morning.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I can’t avoid it any longer.” We looked at each other for a long moment without moving, and I got the sense that he wanted to say something more. But then he coughed and the moment passed.
I smiled, stood up, and headed toward the door. Just as I reached the threshold, I looked back one more time. My uncle had turned his desk chair around and was looking out onto the balcony. He seemed to have already forgotten me and appeared lost in thought as he contemplated the bergamot bushes, whose branches were already full of yellowish-green fruit that could be harvested later in the fall.
I closed the door behind me and walked down the hall. The conversation with my uncle had put me in a good mood and, for the first time, I felt I had the strength to set foot in the cemetery.
My blood buzzed with indignation as I saw Elisa emerge from the office. What was she doing in there? Did she have to stick her nose into everything? Why wasn’t she already halfway to Berlin?
I stepped back into the shadows. Elisa walked right by me, oblivious to the lurking danger. The sound of her steps as she went down the stairs merged with my pounding heartbeat.
I shut my eyes and dreamed of another time, of wandering along old paths and inhaling the alluring scent of freedom.
Would getting justice put an end to it—the desire? Would I finally find peace? Driven by these burning questions, I went to Elisa’s room and opened the door.
I decided to make the most of the weather and ride my bicycle to the cemetery. I entered the carriage house to retrieve it, but as I went to wheel it out, I noticed that the air had been let out of both tires. I crouched down to examine the damage.
I ran my finger along the front tire until I came upon a nail stuck vertically in the outer tire. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but when I found a similar nail in my back tire, my anger soared. I was sure my sick pen pal was behind it. Furious, I set my bicycle back in the corner.
I decided to ask my uncle for the key to one of his cars and returned to the house. I glanced at my hands, which were blemished with dirt and grease, so I slipped into the bathroom.
With hot water and ample soap, I got them cleaned up. When I walked back into my room, my gaze fell on a new white card that was stuck to an ornate brass picture frame with Scotch tape.
He who won’t listen must feel.
Resigned, I stuck the card in my pocket. I had almost become accustomed to receiving a message every day. If the letter writer really thought that he could get me to flee with flat bicycle tires, then he didn’t really know me.
As I looked at my favorite camera lying on the bottom of the wardrobe, I wondered how well the author of the notes really knew me. I bolted over to it, picked it up, and walked over to the window.
But I didn’t need the extra light to see that the winder, which was used to wind the film, had been broken off. I turned the old Hasselblad over so that I could look at it from all sides. But there didn’t seem to be any other damage. I ran my fingertips over the serial number and thought of my father, who had given me this camera for my eighteenth birthday.
Right after his death, my mother and I gave away and donated most of his things, so that we could have a fresh start when we moved to Berlin. But a few months later, we regretted our decision, and I was grateful for every object I owned that had a connection to my father. I had grown particularly attached to this camera, because every time I held it in my hands, I thought of when he’d patiently explained its every mechanism and how to operate it.
Tears ran down my cheeks and my breathing was shaky. I could no longer ignore what was going on here. And because I refused to go back to Berlin without a fight, there was only one thing to do: I had to tell Uncle Matthias everything.
I wiped the tears from my face and left the room.
But on the way to the office, I ran into David. Surprised to see him, I turned back, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my tears.
“Elisa,” he said, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. “What happened?”
His sensitive inflection caused my eyes to burn even more. There was nothing I wanted to do more just than snuggle into his arms. But I didn’t dare.
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” David squeezed my shoulders encouragingly. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Because I couldn’t speak, I held up the broken camera.
He took it and examined it from all sides. “I’m sure you can find a replacement piece for it.”
True enough. I shrugged.
He handed the camera back to me.
“But that’s not why you’ve been crying, right?”
“No, I . . .” I pointed to the office door. Should I tell David about the incidents? Would he even believe me?
“Dad had to go lie down. I think being up was a little too much for him.”
I felt a wave of disappointment as I realized that I couldn’t possibly talk to my uncle without upsetting him. It would be too soon after his heart attack.
David looked at me, his brow furrowed with worry. But his interpretation of my silence was wrong.
“It’s not easy for you to see him without thinking of your father, is that it?”
Because I didn’t know what else to say, I nodded. It was better to let him believe that. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only reason for my despair.
“I’m afraid I have to go work,” David said, looking at me apologetically. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
“Yeah, it’s already passed.” In order to reassure him, I made a silly face.
He smiled in response, which gave his face—usually so aloof and cool—a softness that made my heart beat more quickly.
“Then you’re okay,” David said, patting my shoulder one last time. His touch caused a tingle that I felt down to my fingertips. “See you later, okay?”
Overwhelmed with emotion, I could only nod. He turned and headed down the hall. Arrogant and heartless one day, sympathetic and charming the next, David was going to drive me insane. I wished I knew where I stood with him. Nothing was worse than this uncertainty that had been plaguing me for years now.
The camera, which had once belonged to my father, gave me an idea. I decided to postpone my visit to the cemetery; my nerves were too shot today. I returned to the kitchen, where Agathe was making a sponge cake topped with strawberries. She was cheerfully humming a Schlager melody to herself, which buoyed my spirits in no time.
As I came in, she turned around, startled.
“Are you still hungry?” she asked.
“No,” I said, swiping a strawberry. “Do you know whether any of my father’s old things are still in the attic or the cellar?”
“Of course. I’ve been wondering when you’d ask me that.” But then her otherwise cheerful face darkened. “Listen, my dear, there’s a reason why we should let the dead rest.”
Confused by her remark, I forgot to eat the strawberry and just held it in the air. What was Agathe trying to tell me?
As though able to read my mind, she shook her head. “Put the past behind you. You can’t let yourself be guided by painful memories.”
“But”—I searched for the right words—“but, I only want .
. .”
“I know.” She patted my cheek sympathetically. “Come with me, I’ll show you where the boxes are.”
Dust particles danced in the sunbeams that came through the small skylight in the mansion’s spacious attic. Squinting in the diffuse light, I looked around. It was pure chaos. Furniture covered with white clothes, piles of overflowing boxes and my great-aunt Henrietta’s cuckoo clock collection were all jumbled tightly together.
It seemed as though time had come to a standstill up here. Even as a small child, when I played hide and seek up here with Lukas and Kristina, the smell had been the same: a mixture of musty clothes and aromatic oak. Looking at it all made my fingers itch with a desire to open every cabinet and every box and rummage through my ancestors’ secrets. But now was not the time for that.
Before me stood a giant old steamer trunk filled with my father’s possessions. One after another, I pulled out school notebooks, awards, and tarnished sports medals from the shallow trunk and spread them around me. A rock-hard leather collar that belonged to one of his dogs, an autographed—albeit deflated—soccer ball, and Rolling Stones concert tickets joined the pile. I leafed through a photo album of a class trip he’d taken to Switzerland and studied his classmates’ amusing haircuts and dated outfits. Because my father had been the one to take most of the pictures, there were hardly any of him, so I set the album back down.
I ran the tip of my finger over the hinges of a Swiss pocketknife and wondered where it might have accompanied my father. Every one of these objects must have stories to tell, but unfortunately, they remained mute.
I sat on the dusty floor with my legs crossed for some time. As I examined my father’s belongings—those that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with—I wished fervently that I could see him one more time. Sometimes I feared that I would soon be unable to remember the sound of his voice, his familiar smell, and his infectious laughter. The thought was as frightening as it was likely.
The pins and needles in my sleeping legs pulled me out of my thoughts. I stood up slowly, shaking my legs to get rid of the unpleasant sensation. Then I stowed everything away meticulously in the steamer trunk and locked it.
Somehow, I’d expected more from this trip into my father’s past. Disappointed, I walked over the uneven floorboards to the stairs and made my way down the creaky steps back to the present, which was filled with enough problems and questions to last me well into the future.
Saturday
Gently, I stroked the silky plumage and smoothed a wayward feather. The feathers shimmered with lush colors, the sparkling browns and reds vying with each other for attention. I laid my gift on the windowsill and hoped that Elisa would take this warning seriously. If she didn’t, I’d be compelled to take more drastic measures. Such thoughts no longer paralyzed me, however. Instead, they filled me with the thrill of anticipation.
Back in my room, I went over to the window since it looked like something was lying on the sill. As I got closer, I saw that a small bird lay motionless on the white-lacquered wood. I bent over and saw that its little head stood at an unnatural angle from its small, feathered pale-brown body.
A chill ran down my spine. To keep myself from spiraling into a panic, I tried to persuade myself that the little sparrow had collided with the window frame and died from internal injuries. But I didn’t really believe that. If that had been the case, how would it have ended up in the middle of the windowsill?
How sick must a person be to break a small bird’s neck just to scare me? Was someone from my animal-loving family really capable of such a thing?
My thoughts wandered to Valerie, who had looked genuinely desperate during her fight with David yesterday. Was she behind it? She had threatened me, after all, when she’d told me I should keep my hands off David.
The sound of my phone ringing interrupted my wild theories. When I saw my mother’s name on the display, I picked up immediately.
“Finally!” I couldn’t hold back my reproachful tone. I could really have used my mother’s wisdom and solace in the last few days. But the connection to New Zealand was so bad that I only heard light static and cracks. “Hello?”
I returned to the window in hopes of getting better reception, but I avoided looking at the dead bird.
For a brief moment, I heard my mother on the other end of the line, but only distorted fragments of what she was saying reached my ears. “What did you say? I can’t understand you.” Static again. “Hello?”
Then the connection broke off. Resigned, I set my phone down. It would have been nice to hear my mother’s voice. I had so many questions.
I wrapped the dead sparrow in a hand towel and crept down the stairs, praying that I wouldn’t run into anyone. Because the little bird had lost its life on my account, I thought I should at least bury it. I didn’t have the heart to just throw its little body in the trash.
As I was walking through the foyer, I heard Lukas and Agathe in the kitchen. But they didn’t hear me, and I managed to slip outside undetected.
I wandered through the flower beds with a small spade, on the lookout for a suitable spot, one that was far enough from the house that no one could see me.
Eventually, I dug a hole behind a large rhododendron and set the bird in it. I covered it with moist soil and gently patted it down. I cursed the twisted person who was so desperate to drive me out that they would take a defenseless creature’s life.
I wiped my dirty hands on my jeans and straightened up. I gazed out over the flowers and found myself completely absorbed by their beauty. At such moments, I could understand why my aunt invested so much time and energy in this garden.
On my way back to the house, I came upon the cocker spaniels at the pond, who were joyfully chasing the butterflies that danced around their noses.
When the dogs saw me, they raced over to me. I quickly set down the spade and crouched to greet them properly.
Yelping, Miss Marple and Miss Moneypenny jumped up and tried to lick my face. Because I was busy trying to keep my balance, I didn’t notice the footsteps approaching on the gravel.
The sound of the dark voice that I’d heard a thousand times before made me spin around. David was watching me, clearly amused.
He reached out his hand and helped me up. But instead of letting me go, he pulled me close to him. “You have something on your face.”
I wasn’t surprised that I looked a bit disheveled after my grave-digging task. With a pounding heart, I let him rub my cheek to get rid of the dirt.
“David, I . . .” Faltering, I stopped. I couldn’t endure this a moment longer. I had to tell him how I felt, right now. I needed some certainty. But the words stuck in my throat.
He clasped my face with both hands and looked at me as though seeing me for the first time.
“This isn’t a good idea,” murmured David as he bent over me.
“I know.” My heartbeat drowned out every other sound: dog paws on the gravel, the twittering of birds, and the rustle of rose bushes in the wind.
He pressed his lips to mine and I shut my eyes.
“Elisa!”
As Agathe’s voice rang out, we stepped back from one another, startled. We looked at the house, where Agathe was leaning out of the open kitchen window and waving with the telephone receiver in her hand. “Elisa, your mother is on the phone!”
My head spun. I’d been completely floored by that kiss. I looked at David.
“Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” He looked at me with an impenetrable expression.
Knees shaking, I ran inside. David had kissed me. It was the only thing I could think about.
I was out of breath by the time I reached the kitchen and took the receiver from Agathe.
“Hi, Mom.” But the line just crackled. “Mom?” I shook the receiver in frustration, even though I knew it was futile. I tried again, desperate to hear
her voice. “Are you there? Mom?” But we’d been cut off and there was nothing I could do.
I placed the telephone back on the charger and stood there indecisively, trying to contain my frustration. To be honest, I was still distracted by thoughts of David and our kiss. Suddenly, David appeared in the doorway. He looked at me quizzically. “Is everything okay?”
My cheeks flushed as I nodded at him—I couldn’t very well explain why I’d wanted to talk to my mom so badly—and I cursed myself internally. When would I manage to stop acting like a pubescent fourteen-year-old?
“I have to go out for a little while,” said David, looking at his watch. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?” He winked at me and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.
“Tell me it’s not true!” Lukas called out, tearing me out of my daydream and looking at me with obvious disgust. “You’d better not be starting anything with him.”
“That’s my business, is that clear?”
My cousin shook his head. “He’ll only hurt you. And you know it.”
I didn’t want to admit as much, but I feared it might be true.
“Don’t you believe that people can change?”
“Other people maybe, but not David.”
“You’re getting carried away.”
“Oh yeah? How often did he take his anger out on us as children?”
I didn’t want to think about that just then. “That was completely different. I’m sure . . .”
“Don’t come crying to me later.” Lukas stood up and left the kitchen without giving me the opportunity to answer.
Agathe and I stared at each other, equally baffled. We’d never seen Lukas so upset.
At dinner, we were once again graced with Valerie’s presence. Of course, this created a moral dilemma for me. No matter how much I loathed her, I didn’t want to be responsible for another woman’s broken heart. As she greeted Uncle Matthias, she explained that she was only here for him, not for the rest of us.
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