The Hungry and the Fat

by Timur Vermes

  International sports stars would be good.

  The only one left is that pal of Lionel’s, the admiral, but he’s good for a photograph at most. He’s definitely not worth an entire story, though during Advent, Astrid wrote an article on him out of sheer necessity. The sad soul behind the funny face – what a load of crap. The saddest thing that happened to him was that business with the little dog, and even then she almost had to put every word in his mouth so her piece had a hint of spice.

  “You must have had a dog when you were a child, did you?”

  “What?”

  “A dog. I mean, it doesn’t have to have been yours. A neighbour’s sweet little dog?”

  “A neighbour’s dog?”

  “Bow-wow. Dog. Was there one? Not now, when you were younger. There were dogs when you were small, weren’t there?”

  “Dogs? Sure, there are dogs everywhere.”

  “There you go. Lots of dogs. So there must have been one dog that died, yes? The poor dog. And you were very sad.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not too bothered about dogs. Dogs run around, dogs die . . .”

  The blockhead! How is she supposed to produce quality journalism with an idiot like that? And he’s the most interesting of them all, although of course no-one believed her.

  Not even the deputy blockhead: “Frau von Roëll, you’re exaggerating. You have more than one hundred thousand people there. There must be something you can find to excite Evangeline readers!”

  “What do you imagine it’s like here? For God’s sake, these people get up in the morning, walk for bloody miles, then lie down again at night. And the same the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. It’s like a factory where everyone just wanders around. The only thing that changes is the weather. They even eat the same thing every day.”

  Astrid checks the time. She needs an idea in the next twenty minutes, half an hour at most. Preferably an idea that could be spun out for a video tomorrow too. It used to be easier; she always came up with something to do with Nadeche, but that was when they spent more time together. Nadeche doesn’t seem at all pissed off by this whole thing. Then again, she knows she’s going to get a nice fat book contract out of it.

  The last time Nadeche really made time for her as a friend was over a week ago. She can’t remember what they talked about. Probably Nicolai von Kraken and all the stuff he’s coming out with. That business is still going on, but she’s already spent the week mining everything from their conversation. This shitty blog really sucks you dry. She can’t write anything about Keel sniffing glue – she promised not to – and nobody wants the refugee fashion project. The editorial team doesn’t reject it out of hand, of course, they act interested, but they know their readers. No-one wants to look like a refugee, least of all the refugees themselves. As soon as they get to Germany they’re bound to buy themselves something decent to wear.

  Astrid closes her eyes and tries to remember everything Nadeche Hackenbusch has ever told her. She concentrates, she pictures Nadeche sitting in the pink car, her desert sunglasses pushed up. She’s drumming something on the steering wheel, her other hand fiddles with her hair . . .

  Then it comes to her.

  40

  She’s never seen Lionel so irate. Never – she’d remember if she had. Lionel very rarely gets angry. Sure, it must be exhausting for him, but still. There’s so much he seems unsatisfied with. For the first few months he gave the impression of being happy enough with her and the pink zebra pick-up. And that may have been the case – it was definitely an improvement on the camp. Besides, Lionel’s still got a job with the T.V. company. He gets a salary for his work on “Angel in Adversity”. She helped out a bit too, but he’s been directing the entire operation, and eventually it became clear that they couldn’t fob him off with the paltry sum they offered at the beginning. They still don’t pay him that much, even though she told them to splash out. Five thousand euros a month – what a joke! It’s tax free though, at least for the time being.

  It’s not that Nadeche can’t understand Lionel’s fury. He was expecting something bigger when that Echler guy came. He’d been after an appointment for weeks, without saying why. They told him just to turn up, but he insisted the meeting had to be in private. Strictly confidential. No cameras. So they had to agree on a meeting place. Echler suggested somewhere, but Lionel immediately panicked: “They’ll kidnap you, they’ll take you away and never let you go.”

  At first she thought he was crazy to live in such permanent fear: “We’re talking about Germany here, and not Nazi Germany: it’s the Federal Republic!” But no matter who she talks to, no-one thinks it’s an absurd idea, and she no longer finds it so odd herself. So they reconnoitred the meeting point themselves, then notified Echler at the last minute before driving out to meet him.

  A half-dilapidated hut in the middle of a dusty nowhere. Why on earth someone would build a hut here was as difficult to fathom as why they didn’t build it properly. None of them build German houses. It’s just about O.K. when someone’s living in these shacks, but the moment they stand empty they crumble like a dried-up cake. They sat in the shade of the only intact wall. Nadeche insisted on laying out a blanket, to make it a bit cosier and more official. They sat down and waited.

  “They’re going to come and take you all to Germany, you’ll see.”

  “Germany’s good, but not that good,” Lionel says.

  “What else do you think they want?”

  “We’ll soon see.”

  A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. Lionel got to his feet and went to the car. He put the key in the ignition and started the engine, so they could drive off at once if necessary. But it was just one vehicle, a battered white Toyota pick-up. Through the binoculars they couldn’t make out anyone on the cargo bed, just two people inside the car. It stopped a fair distance away and one man got out. He said something to the driver before shutting the door. The pick-up then drove off again slowly. The man was wearing a polo shirt, beige cargo pants and hiking boots. Unless he’d hidden it very well, he wasn’t carrying a weapon. He put on his sunglasses and started walking towards them. He waved.

  Lionel switched off the engine but left the key in. He walked around the car and waved back, then stood beside Nadeche and waited. The man took off his sunglasses and offered his strong hand first to Nadeche.

  “Hello, and thanks for coming. My name’s Echler.”

  They sat in the shade and offered Echler water, but he took his own bottle from a trouser pocket.

  “Are you like, from the government?” Nadeche was far too curious to formulate her question with greater subtlety.

  “For obvious reasons I can’t tell you who’s sent me here,” Echler said politely. “But I come with a considerable level of authority. And on the basis of this authority—”

  “What does . . . authority mean?” Lionel said.

  “Right, O.K. It means there are rather a lot of things I’m able to discuss with you . . . do you understand? Good, and once you’ve seen what I’m allowed to discuss with you, you’ll realise there aren’t so many people who could have sent me.”

  “The German government has sent you?”

  At this point Echler held out his hands apologetically. His expression remained so unmoved that any change had to be imaginary.

  “O.K., so what do you want to talk about?” Lionel said.

  “You like getting straight down to business – you’ll go far in Germany.”

  The conversation was going well. Nadeche beamed and said, “I taught him that.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Well, first up let me offer you my congratulations. What you’re doing is an astonishing achievement, really astonishing. It’s impressive, I don’t mind saying.”

  “You weren’t expecting this, were you?” Nadeche teased him.

  “You work for television, you know yourself just how unique this whole thing is. Not just in terms of a programme, bu
t as an achievement. But we also view it with a certain degree of concern.”

  Lionel laughed at this point, not a pretend laugh but a real one, so the mood must still have been good.

  “You’re concerned? You don’t need to be concerned. We’re making good progress.”

  “Yes, but now a completely different game is about to begin.”

  “That’s right. It will be simpler.”

  Here Echler assumed an emphatically anxious expression and leaned forwards. “I admit that none of us have much experience of an undertaking like yours. Nor do I dispute that you’ve been making use of your opportunities creatively. None of us would have thought that you’d make it to Jordan, or that you’d get further in Iraq than in Syria. And yet all of this was relatively simple. Egypt, Jordan and Iraq are chaotic countries where money always gets you places.”

  “Money always gets you places.”

  “But now you’re entering the civilised world. You’re entering Turkey, and countries that have a proper structure. You won’t be able to bribe your way past the Turkish president. These are crisis areas, heavily patrolled. There are lots of soldiers, not just a single guard in whose hand you can stuff a wad of notes. They’ve got tanks.”

  “Then we’ll give them two wads of notes,” Lionel said calmly. “We know where we’re going. We know what we’re doing. We’re always living in fear. Turkey doesn’t make us more fearful. It’s just a different fear.”

  “Less fear, actually,” she said to emphasise and reinforce his point. “If you knew how frightened people are of those dinghies, you’d realise that this is nothing by comparison.”

  “We didn’t see any of that on the Red Sea,” Echler remarked.

  “Fifteen kilometres across a sea that’s as calm as a swimming pool,” Nadeche said. “We were able to control the entire process from start to finish. And the people we were paying were well aware that if a single refugee drowned, no others would get in the boats and the deal would be like, over. They kept such careful watch over the operation, it was like a ferry service run by the vehicle inspectorate. Getting everyone under the Suez Canal was far trickier.”

  “Still, Turkey is a different ball game altogether. And you know it.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To tell us that we’ll be in Turkey soon?”

  Echler leaned back again. “Perhaps I’m not expressing myself very well. Ultimately you’re the ones who can best assess your situation. You know where your strengths lie. All I can do is presume that the situation is difficult or might become so. And I’d like to assure you – both of you! – that you’re not alone. There are authorities ready to offer you a helping hand if you so wish. That there are . . . alternatives.”

  Echler looked at the two of them and when neither said a word he must have thought he hadn’t been clear enough. “I want both of you to know,” he said more slowly, “that you have alternatives.”

  This wasn’t especially clear either; in essence it was same as what he’d just said. And while Nadeche was wondering whether she was just too inexperienced to tell the difference, or whether there was some trick behind it, Lionel said, “So what does that mean?”

  “You’re going to bring everyone to Germany?”

  “Frau Hackenbusch,” Echler said, somewhat irritated now, as if she’d asked a really stupid question, “how could that work? We can’t possibly bring two hundred thousand—”

  “Three hundred thousand.”

  “O.K., three hundred thousand people to Germany. I mean, it’s not even legal. How do you think that could work?”

  “So what did you mean?”

  Nadeche’s voice may have been slightly shrill because Echler immediately made pacifying hand gestures at her. “Let’s discuss this calmly. You don’t have to go along with it, of course. And let me say in all honesty that it’s not just charity I’m offering here, because that also requires a certain degree of cooperation, I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I just want to tell you what the people who sent me here have been thinking.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “As I said, from our perspective it looks as though you’re heading for a dead end here. Unfortunately. You know it and you can’t prevent it. But these people can also see the enthusiasm with which you personally have made your way to Europe, to Germany. We’re following very closely your preparations for our country, such as learning the language. You’re showing initiative, decisiveness, ingenuity and persistence. These, as Frau Hackenbusch will surely confirm, are qualities we need in Germany. I don’t wish to resort to clichés, but if there are such things as German qualities, then they would be precisely the ones you’re demonstrating on a daily basis. What you’re doing here is, in truth, nothing other than making an incredibly passionate case for Germany. In recognition of this potential – and of course in view of the human consequences – it’s possible that we will be more accommodating towards you than you might have been expecting.” Echler paused, then added. “Within an appropriate time frame, obviously.”

  “So are you going to like, bring these people to Germany or not?” Nadeche said.

  “I don’t understand you. What are you saying?” Lionel said.

  “It’s difficult because none of what I’m offering you here is official. If someone asks me, then I know nothing. If the press gets wind of any of this, the deal’s off the table.”

  “What deal?” Lionel said.

  “Yes, what deal?” Nadeche said.

  “I can – under certain conditions – make it possible for you, Herr Lionel, to come to Germany.”

  “Come?”

  “Permanently. You’d be naturalised. Under certain conditions.”

  “How? When? Immediately?”

  “Please don’t pin me down on this, but we’re certainly not talking about weeks or months. By the end of next week. No bureaucracy. Frau Hackenbusch can tell you, I’m sure, what a special opportunity it is to live in a civilised country like Germany.”

  “What about the others?”

  Echler sighed ruefully. “As I said, nobody can bring three hundred thousand people to Germany. But in this instance, in view of the particular grit you’ve shown and because you haven’t managed this all alone, in this instance we assure you that our offer also extends to . . . thirty of your colleagues.”

  “Which thirty?”

  “You can choose. They’ll have to pass a security check, of course, but that will be it. You can bring thirty colleagues of your choice to Germany.”

  This wasn’t the point at which Lionel went ballistic. On the contrary, what really impressed Nadeche at that moment was his composure.

  “Can you write that down for me? On a piece of paper?”

  “Only if you agree. As I said, only a couple of people know I’m here. If you reject my offer, it’ll be as if our meeting had never taken place. But if you agree I’ll bring you confirmation within twenty-four hours.”

  “From whom?”

  “From the very top. I can’t name names, but it will be a guarantee that puts your mind at rest too. You’ll be picked up by German helicopters and flown away. Let me reassure you: we understand your situation, we understand that you need guarantees. And you will get those guarantees.”

  “If we cooperate?”

  “Yes, but within reason. We’re not going to make huge demands of you.”

  “What, then?”

  “Nothing outlandish. We’re assuming that Frau Hackenbusch will be accompanying you to Germany, so there’ll no longer be any need for the camera teams to stay here. This would actually be an essential condition too, but it’s no great shakes. I don’t know how you call this in the media, but we consider the story closed. We’ve come to the end.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they want to like, terminate the project,” Nadeche said.

  “Oh no, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong. This might be the case from your perspective, but the people I work for are still counting on this thing failing, irre
spective of what you decide here. No, so far as I’ve understood, this is all about vested interests. Your potential has been recognised and they don’t want this potential – I’ll put it bluntly – to go to waste in some suicidal enterprise.”

  “So what interest is there in his . . . potential?” Nadeche said.

  “This isn’t just about naturalising you as a German citizen. It’s about wanting to employ you because of your special, proven abilities. Basically, this is a job offer. You speak a number of languages, you’re a great organiser, you, Herr Lionel, are definitely a leader, 100 per cent. The way I see it, this here isn’t an act of clemency. You’ve been headhunted, so to speak. They want you for German Refugee Aid. As the chief executive.”

  “Chief executive?” Lionel said.

  “Yes, so far as I understand.”

  What Lionel did then was something Nadeche would never have managed. Lionel smiled, turned to Echler without any discernible sarcasm and said with a broad smile, “One hundred colleagues.”

  “What?”

  “I need one hundred colleagues.”

  He saw Echler squirm, heard him say how difficult it all was, before going to fifty, to seventy, as if you could bid for people’s lives like at an auction, it was unbelievable, it was intolerable, and Lionel kept bargaining the whole time to rip the mask from the face of this unscrupulous country, this unscrupulous people trafficker, to expose them in all their wretchedness, laying bare their own dishonesty. What a pity no camera was on hand to capture the scene! She was so full of admiration for Lionel, for the elegance and calmness of his performance. There was no way she could have managed it, it was stressful enough having to watch him quiver with rage. Then she brought the farce to an end.