Funeral for a Dog: A Novel

by Thomas Pletzinger

  Well, then:

  Svensson and she were finished with New York and Chicago, they’d just come to Berlin, when Svensson got a phone call from Felix. At that point they’d thought of Berlin as their city, Svensson was working at night in a hotel on Potsdamer Platz and writing during the day, she applied to the Academy of Fine Arts. The Story of Leo and the Notmuch? No, Kiki smiles, he was working on his stories (the first draft of his book). And the phone call? Kiki takes her hands out of the water, dries her fingers on her pajama pants, and points to the house below the yellow church: the phone call was an invitation to come here to Lake Lugano, to Felix’s parents’ house. Svensson heard from Felix and Tuuli for the first time since September 2001 in New York. By telephone, as if nothing had happened. There was something to celebrate, Felix said: he was going to marry Tuuli. She didn’t know anything about it yet, but he’d prepared everything. Felix was apparently a person, says Kiki, who was confident he could always turn things to good account. Because everything always effortlessly sorted itself out for him. On the phone he spoke about a few days on the lake, about his joy and Samy, about Hamburg, where Tuuli and he were living at the time. She was studying again, Felix said, he was taking photographs again. He was calling because he needed a best man! And who would be a more suitable choice than Svensson, Felix asked, no one! Svensson, of all people! She herself was curious, of course, says Kiki in her kitchen, she knew only the difficult constellation of the three, and now there was going to be a wedding (the Borromean rings, for Christ’s sake). Felix threw in that Svensson should of course bring along whomever he was currently living with (that would be me, says Kiki). Two weeks later Svensson took the first train to Frankfurt, where he was meeting Tuuli. She remembers the exact date, August 6, 2002. In Frankfurt Svensson was supposed to meet Tuuli and drive with her to the lake as a diversion from the surprise. That too was Felix’s idea. Kiki smiles. She herself preferred to travel to Lugano at night and by train, to stay out of the way of conciliatory words between the two of them (everyone has to clean up his own mess). During the first days of August, as the day of the trip approached, she could sense Svensson’s impatience more distinctly each day. He worked day and night on his book and was nervous when he and Lua boarded the train to Frankfurt at the Ostbahnhof early in the morning, the manuscript in his bag and the end of the story already in sight (he had planned a happy ending, says Kiki, but never finished the book, I guess). Svensson spoke of the feeling of a homecoming. On the sixth of August she stood at the Ostbahnhof and waved to Svensson and Lua, though only with a napkin from the Viennese pastry shop. She wasn’t worried at all. Kiki unscrews the espresso pot and asks whether I’d like some coffee. Yes, please. Then Svensson called her from Frankfurt, later from a rest area on the A5 near Ringsheim. Their conversation felt artificial, says Kiki in the kitchen with a laugh, almost unreal. To meet Tuuli and the boy was simpler than expected, Svensson reported on the phone, both were healthy, their conversations were pleasant, and Tuuli didn’t have the slightest suspicion of Felix’s wedding plan. Then he whispered: the question of who the father was hadn’t come up yet (well, then, does he look like you, idiot? she asked him, does he seem like your son to you?). Felix and Tuuli had a new car, by the way, he then said at a normal volume again over the roar of the autobahn in the background, a blue Fiat 128 L (the chicken coop outside). Svensson had never been interested in cars and vehicles. In the late afternoon he called again, this time from an amusement park just a few kilometers from the rest area. He seemed in high spirits to her, says Kiki, he said that Tuuli and he were now going to ride the roller coaster. Since she’s known him, Svensson has had a weakness for roller coasters and amusement parks (I’ve read about that). Wasn’t Felix waiting for them on the lake? she asked, but instead of answering, Svensson described to her the foam rubber mascot at the entrance to the amusement park, a giant mouse. The Europa-Park in Rust was a permanent carnival like Astroland in Coney Island, he said, only German and without the ocean. Very close to the phone she heard Samy crying, along with a barrel organ and screaming children (roller-coaster screams from summers past, Kiki says in English). Svensson kept coming back to that mouse (Astroland breaks off here). Jealousy isn’t her thing, says Kiki, and tries to pour the coffee into two clean cups, but the coffee spills out the side of the metal pot and over her fingers. Holy fuck! Kiki jumps up and holds her fingers under the cold water. She tries to smile, holy fuck! (That crappy mouse, she smiles, that Euromouse.) She still had a few things to do before her own train’s departure and so didn’t give it any thought later when Svensson’s telephone was turned off. When she boarded the night train to Lugano, she tried again. Svensson’s voice sounded distinctly softer, but content: she shouldn’t worry, they’d eaten cotton candy, they’d taken turns riding the roller coaster and watching the boy. Eventually they couldn’t bear any more loop-the-loops and talked instead until the park closed. They’d straightened everything out. To recover from all the loops and words they were now in a hotel room at the amusement park, Tuuli had insisted: she needed sleep. On his arm the child hadn’t cried a single tear yet, Svensson reported. He was sitting in the bathroom to avoid disturbing her. Yes, Tuuli had kissed him, Svensson then whispered, and he’d only belatedly resisted, but with this kiss he’d meant Kiki. Kiki wraps her hand in a wet dish towel (as long as they didn’t stay in fucking room 219, she says, Svensson has a knack for symbols). They were going to get back on the road immediately to meet her toward morning in Lugano. This decision he’d made in the exact second of the kiss. I believe him, says Kiki (I must have meant Elisabeth when I kissed Tuuli).

  the lake awakens

  Outside on the water a single Jet Ski, a wasp lands on the kitchen table, finds nothing, and flies away again. On the radio there’s talk of rainfall in central Switzerland, but on Lago di Lugano the sun is shining as it has been for days. The leaves of the sycamore rustle, then the bells toll in Osteno, and seconds later on the opposite shore in Cima or San Mamete (in the distance the clocks run differently). I finish the dishwashing and fill the cups with milk and coffee. Lua is going to be buried today. I’ll leave Svensson and the dog alone, in the Hotel Lido Seegarten I’ll pick up my baggage, toward evening I’ll be in Hamburg. I hear Kiki and Bella in their bedroom, their footsteps on the stairs, then mother and daughter are standing in the doorway, Bella on Kiki’s hip. It’s not so bad, she says, as I look at her bandaged finger. Kiki takes a sip of her coffee and nods when I ask about the end of the story.

  Interview (the whole story)

  KIKI: You won’t write about this, right?

  MANDELKERN: No.

  K: Good. When I got off the train early in the morning at the Lugano train station, Svensson was standing on the platform with a stuffed animal, the Euromaus. He seemed tired, but somehow cheerful, he said he was happy. Tuuli was waiting outside in the parking lot, the Fiat was much too small for three adults, a child, and a dog. I had to squeeze in between the child safety seat and bags, stupid Italian cars! Tuuli greeted me, reservedly but not impolitely. We drove down the mountain to the lake, along the lakeside promenade and then beyond Castagnola up the serpentine roads to Monte Brè. Samy and Lua were sleeping like stones, the rest of us admired the sun and the cypresses, the white gates of the villas, the shimmering lake. The air felt clean, crisp, like it does after a storm. What really happened that night in the hotel room at the Europa-Park in Rust, why the two of them decided to eat cotton candy and keep Felix waiting with his surprise, is between them, you see? They don’t know themselves, I guess. Tuuli and Svensson can’t agree on the reason for the delay. Svensson says that on the long drive Tuuli was anxious to take a break so they could talk in peace, and Tuuli claims that Svensson was anxious to ride the carousel, which seems reasonable. Both blame the other, probably they’re both right and wrong. In any case I was lying in the night train to Lugano and couldn’t sleep. To make a long story short: what was said or straightened out or done that night is at least the reason the blue Fiat
arrived twelve hours late in Lugano, early in the morning on August 7. We then drove through this sixties-style residential area above Castagnola, when Tuuli suddenly said into the lake view that she couldn’t reach Felix, not on his cell phone, not in the house either. He must be worried, she said. Svensson laughed, Felix Blaumeiser never worries! When we arrived at the road’s highest point, we could see to the end of the lake for the first time. We were like birds, Daniel! On the way down to the shore, through the tunnels, Tuuli then drove much too fast. All of a sudden there was a disconcertingly cheerful tension in the air, a weird lightheartedness. We crossed the Italian border without being stopped, the border guards winked at Tuuli and waved. Buon giorno la bionda! For the narrow village roads and the sharp curves the Fiat was perfect, Svensson rolled down the window and Tuuli honked like an Italian. We drove past the small ports, Albogasio and San Mamete, Castello above us on the mountain. At the Stella D’Italia we noticed a runover cat, right by the hospital, Croce Rossa Italiana, just before the Chinese restaurant. Svensson told jokes, and the closer we came to the end of the lake, the louder Tuuli laughed, you could tell they were hoping to be happy. I let myself be carried away by all this, everything struck me as more genuine than in the travel brochures, the mountains, the lake, the old villages. Then Tuuli stopped suddenly at a large yellow villa, Lua and Samy woke up. Svensson turned around and grinned at me. I remember perfectly the crunch of the tires on the white gravel, I was surprised by the size of the house. The billowing curtains in the open windows! Lua jumped out of the car and immediately ran down to the water. The terrace doors stood open, the car doors too, oleander in the terra-cotta pots along the path, red and white. On the white pebbles there was a colorful trail of confetti leading from the house down to the shore. I was completely overwhelmed by so much storybook Europe, Lua’s barking by the water sounded like he was barking into a bucket, hollow and artificial. Holding Samy, Tuuli walked across the veranda and followed Lua to the water. She sang Felix’s name, her voice like dripping water. When there was no reply to this singing, her shouting for Svensson finally came loudly and clearly. I entered the house after Svensson through the terrace door, Tuuli was following the confetti trail to the water, half walking, half running. On the set table, among confetti, streamers, and burned-down candles, there was a piece of paper. Next to it two party hats. The table completely bedecked with expensive dishes and cut glass along with a decoration kit from the supermarket, corny, Daniel, you wouldn’t believe it. No rings, Felix’s penchant for symbolism didn’t extend to that. It was as if the marriage proposal were supposed to be made ironically, Felix must have been absolutely confident. Almost as if he found these industrially manufactured and plastic-wrapped gestures more appropriate than a serious one. Almost as if a few party hats would be enough to turn things to good account. Felix wanted merely to sketch this big step. So between expensive dishes and cheap decorations there was a note.

  M: From Blaumeiser?

  K: His handwriting wasn’t proficient, blue ballpoint-pen ink on thin, lined paper. I didn’t read the note, but Svensson’s fingers on my back trembled as he read. The air smelled of candle wax and standing lake water, I remember that perfectly, deck chairs and cigarettes. That we didn’t put on or even touch the party hats on the kitchen table, one blue, the other pink. An absolute silence despite the occasional cars and birds. Then: Tuuli’s abrupt and brief scream, but that’s not the right word, she howled. A horrible sound! Svensson and I ran after the scream and Lua’s barking, following the confetti trail, all over the garden furniture streamers and candles and lamps along the path. Even though the sun was shining, just like right now, Daniel, just like today.

  Milk?

  At this moment Samy is standing in the room and rubbing his eyes. Kiki and I didn’t hear his footsteps. She interrupts her story, gets up and bends down to the boy. Milk? she asks, and Samy nods. Kiki puts a glass on the table, she gets crayons and paper, she sits the boy on my knee and says

  Lua is dead,

  but he wasn’t sad and fell asleep peacefully, because everyone was with him. The boy takes a sip of his milk. Did he want to make the dog a farewell gift? She heard he could already draw, says Kiki, and Samy nods absently (so early in the morning he can’t understand death). Kiki gets up.

  Interview (main informant Kiki Kaufman)

  KIKI: Felix Blaumeiser was lying next to Macumba on his belly in the shallow water, his left leg twisted, his shoelaces caught in the the oarlock, navy blue Converse like two pigeons. On the floor of the boat bottles were banging together, Samy was screaming, little children always cry with their mothers. Tuuli and Svensson were kneeling on the slippery concrete of the boat ramp, she was holding Felix’s head, and he was feeling around frantically on Felix with his fingers, the learned procedures couldn’t bring Felix back. Svensson tried again and again to detach his shoelaces from the boat. Pale streamers were wrapped around Felix’s neck, he was wearing a sodden party hat with an elastic band and his white polo shirt had turned pink and yellow and blue, the bottles were banging and rattling and clinking, two bottles of Veuve Clicquot and one wine bottle, all empty. Above Felix’s right eye was a bump, the water had already washed off or diluted the blood. The bluish shards of a bottle of Bombay Sapphire were shimmering in the water.

  MANDELKERN: An accident?

  K: Svensson called the police and the ambulance, yes, he used the words “accident” and “Unfall” when he did so. The swan hissed, Lua barked. The sirens along the shore got closer and closer, Samy was hungry and cried, a bizzare peace hung over everything, as if something had occurred that everyone had long been expecting. The emergency doctor put his finger on Felix Blaumeiser’s neck and declared him dead, but it was Tuuli who closed his eyes. I was standing next to them with Samy, but I didn’t get what was going on, we were paralyzed. The forensic specialists in Como handled the case, and the police investigations didn’t last long either. Felix’s blood alcohol content was high, but not deadly. His shoelaces had gotten caught, he must have fallen and hit his head on the concrete, but his skull hadn’t been fractured. Felix didn’t die of an injury. He simply lay unconscious in the water and drowned. An accident, yes.

  M: And then?

  K: The next afternoon the police briefly questioned us again, this time with three interpreters from Lugano. Tuuli, Svensson, and I gave statements about our versions of the day in our native languages, we didn’t exactly understand one another in the process. When a policeman inquired what it was that was actually supposed to be celebrated here, Tuuli still didn’t know the answer to this question, but Svensson mentioned the surprise: engagement. Tuuli suddenly realized that she’d been eating cotton candy with Svensson instead of getting a marriage proposal from Felix. The paralysis turned into a brief and fierce quarrel, Tuuli stood on the terrace and screamed. Svensson had never been able to be as spontaneous and carefree as Felix, and now, of all times, he’d wanted to ride the roller coaster, a fatal roller coaster. He’d wanted to talk about their love! He’d kissed her! He’d wanted to prevent this marriage! Because of him they’d kept Felix waiting, he’d indirectly killed him! And so on. Svensson shouted back that she’d turned off both their phones, that she’d had to explain to him on the way to Felix’s, of all times, that they were three and not alone. Still! Felix and Kiki were waiting, he’d said. Then he hadn’t kissed her, but she him. In confusion he’d bought beer and cotton candy, and when he could no longer drive, she’d refused. Even though they’d run out of words and there was nothing more to explain besides the end of the past and the beginning of the future. But that was impossible after Felix’s death, because without him they could neither finish nor start anew. Tuuli screamed and howled, she called Felix and Svensson accomplices, she blamed both of them for her sorrow. She would have said yes, I assume. Then she lay down in Felix’s room and slept for two days. It was a tragic accident, the two of them have been grappling with the consquences to this day. I have no idea who’s right, not the slighte
st idea, Daniel. Svensson took care of Samy during those days, he sat down next to the baby carriage on the dock and filled up page after page of a whole notepad. Then he crumpled every single page and threw them into the lake. For two days I waited for the arrival of Felix’s parents and the release of the corpse. I tried to sort all that out, eventually gave up and cleaned up the house. I just believe him. The parents decided very pragmatically on cremation. Not without discussions, Svensson was for a burial. At the cremation an Italian priest spoke Italian and Latin, I understood only snatches. We were allowed to see the corpse, Tuuli surpassed Svensson in staring, he pressed his forehead to Felix’s forehead and remained like that for a few moments, it felt like forever. Felix was wearing a white shirt, the coffin was some sort of expensive tropical wood. The ashes were then scattered one or two days later at the deepest point in the lake, illegally, of course. No one will notice, said Felix’s father, the fine is affordable, the lake will keep it a secret. Tuuli left with Samy directly after the ceremony, she seemed sobered and was anxious to put affairs in order in Germany. Svensson and I stayed awhile longer. He mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges, I took pictures, he refurbished the boat and repaired the motor, we climbed the Monte dei Pizzoni with Lua. Svensson wanted to work with his hands rather than with his head. Blaumeiser’s parents then offered us the unused house here. Nobody ever used it but Felix, you know. Our last night on the lake, two weeks after Felix’s death, Svensson translated the note for me, I know it by heart: “My dearest bride, dear best man,” he said, “I am celebrating our engagement today and since you are late, idiots, I will have to drink everything by myself. In case you should arrive, come down to the water, chin-chin & much love, Felix.”