Hotel Cartagena

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Hotel Cartagena Page 13

by Simone Buchholz


  if you’d only

  flourished it with feeling.

  ‘Feeling, wow. I axed feelings.’

  Inceman.

  Behind me.

  The chairoplane spins faster.

  Feelings, he says,

  he says it again

  and again

  and again

  yes

  there used to be loads

  they were big

  they were strong

  I was one of those heroes

  who make it in their own strength

  started with nothing

  continued with plenty

  hotel cartagena

  all self-built

  but then I met you

  you fucked up my life

  oh yeah

  and you did it

  in style

  grabbed me first in the belly

  with one single glance

  then blasted whole arms off

  OK not just you

  but you were part of it

  I won’t get my arm back

  or my strength either

  but when you sleep with me

  I get an idea

  of how things once were

  how things could have been

  all that would have been possible

  sleep with me

  but just don’t claim later

  that I begged you to.

  ‘Everything is still possible.’

  On the other side of the carousel, opposite us, Rocco flies into a seat.

  He smiles.

  you can start over, he says,

  every new day

  that’s what I do

  ever since I remember

  every day

  live a new life

  that’s the simplest thing

  if you never had one

  never had a chance

  cos you’re scum

  with a vanished violinist

  for a father

  and a whore

  for a mother

  they all grew up in the backyards

  but also got raised

  on the stone

  stop all your snivelling

  none of you know

  what underground

  really means

  ‘You’re such a smart guy, aren’t you? You really do think you know it all.’

  Carla.

  Next to Rocco.

  but you know, she says,

  things also go wrong

  if you didn’t

  grow up in the gutter

  and then

  when it’s gone wrong

  when it’s happened to you

  when something

  has taken you apart

  or someone

  alone

  as a pair

  as a three

  as a four

  they take you apart

  just because you were there

  in the neighbourhood

  and part of you

  is sealed off from then on

  now no one gets close

  not even yourself

  the rest least of all

  and for that you need space

  your strike force of one

  your strike force of solitude

  which keeps on expanding

  within you

  to protect that one part

  that’s broken

  lest it breaks you to pieces

  and carries what’s left of you

  to its dark cave

  all this can just happen to you

  but it’s all news to you

  cos it never happened to you

  it happens to women

  but d’you know something

  I can still love you

  you man.

  ‘Speaking of love.’

  Calabretta’s jumped up.

  I didn’t even see him jump.

  I’d have loved to have seen him jump.

  what was all that shit, he says,

  with Betty

  with Carla (sorry Rocco)

  with every single girl

  in the playground

  in the smokers’ corner

  at the harbour

  I could bandy

  names around

  through the whole

  frigging

  alphabet

  from A to Z

  from Z to A

  talking of A

  Anne

  come here a second.

  Anne Stanislawski walks through the room.

  And walks through the room.

  And walks through the room.

  She stands next to the chairoplane, waits till Calabretta’s almost beside her, grabs the chair in front of him, swings and pulls herself up, sits down, but backwards.

  She sits opposite Calabretta, like a cowboy on his horse.

  ‘Yes? What’s up?’

  ‘Hey,’ says Brückner as he jumps up.

  He stands on one of the chairs flying in a circle in front of me.

  Hey.

  Hey ho.

  Pirate film.

  hang on, wait a mo, he says,

  that was my ticket actually

  I wanted to be there

  by Anne

  with Anne

  with everything

  please can we maybe

  talk it over again.

  ‘Stop, brother,’ says Schulle as he jumps onto the same seat.

  They hang there like two shot sailors in the rigging.

  that was not YOUR ticket, he says,

  that was MY ticket

  the whole of last year

  but you lot just didn’t

  even notice

  friends

  and, Anne, tell us

  the score.

  Anne shakes her head and lets her legs dangle.

  lads, she says,

  just who do you think

  Simone Buchholz

  you are

  I rate you

  I like you

  but I’m not even

  into men.

  ‘All of this is going far too fast for me.’

  Faller.

  ‘Can we turn this more slowly for a bit?’

  He’s just standing there looking at us.

  There’s something on him.

  His suit, his shirt, his face, everything’s stained.

  They’re our stains.

  It’s our worry, our lives, our shit.

  It’s what we’ve been throwing around.

  All the time.

  For years.

  Number One moves to stand beside him.

  He raises his hand

  and the carousel

  slows

  it’s suddenly

  like in a playground

  those kiddies’ roundabouts

  and I feel so hot

  ‘Thanks.’

  Faller takes the first free chair that comes past him.

  There’s a moment of quiet after he’s climbed up.

  But then.

  sixty-five, he says,

  I’ve got old

  it took time

  sometimes I wonder

  when it’ll stop taking time

  two women have died

  and I had a hand

  in it

  I slugged out

  my battles

  with men

  on women’s backs

  p’raps you lot can imagine

  what that means for a life

  nothing good

  you know in retrospect

  so let’s go

  give me your shit

  give it here

  I’m happy to bear it

  it’s my cross

  it’s no burden

  I have so much already

  that’s why I’m here

  it keeps me alive

  it holds me tight

  it means that I can

  support you all

  and help carry
your pain

  and if you want to be rid of it

  you just need

  to get rid of me

  I’ll take it all with me

  won’t make it right

  but a bit lighter

  perhaps

  and hopefully

  Faller.

  What.

  My pulse is going totally nuts, it’s beating against my throat from the inside, against my eyes, against my forehead.

  Now everyone else is getting up from their places too and coming to this shit-spinner that we are.

  They line up around the chairoplane, they stand in a circle.

  They look at us and they look at each other.

  Then

  so many voices

  I can’t have children BADA-BOOM my cancer’s back BADA-BOOM I’m leaving my family BADA-BOOM we’ve been friends as long as I can remember but I’ve known that I love you since I was fourteen, I realised it in the changing room after that eighth-division match, when you walked past me naked into the shower, but I can’t tell you because you’re homophobic BADA-BOOM dude, you’re gay, are you nuts, you can’t just be gay just like that, by the way I lost my job three days ago BADA-BOOM why did my wife leave earlier, why didn’t she stay with me, maybe because there’s no love there anymore BADA-BOOM maybe that’s because you beat her, I know you do because she’s sleeping with me BADA-BOOM what, she’s sleeping with me too, bloody hell BADA-BOOM my alcohol problem is a way bigger deal than you can imagine, but I have to drink it all to forget what my father did to me when I was a little boy, and my mother just stood by

  BADA-BOOM

  BADA-BOOM

  BADA-BOOM

  The hostage-takers have lined up by the window. A single row along the whole front. They’re holding their guns in their hands, they’ve lowered their guns. They’re looking at us but I think they’d rather look out of the window. If only so as not to have to see Konrad Hoogsmart who, incidentally, seems smaller to me than he did a couple of minutes ago.

  If it’s possible that fake humans shrink in the presence of humanity then I’d say he’s shrinking right now.

  The hostage-takers speak as a team, they sound like a chorus.

  probably, they say,

  you don’t even know

  how many enemies you have

  Conny

  or do you

  have a guess

  c’mon

  we’ll help you

  it’s

  the whole damn Kiez

  that hates you

  the eleven of us

  are only

  the spearhead of rage

  you ratted on

  so many

  you shat on

  so many

  and you don’t even know

  about most of the folks

  you’ve got

  on your conscience

  you didn’t even notice

  when their lives exploded

  after their dealings with you

  the main thing is

  that you’re doing fine

  Conny

  huh?

  you’ve got a bank

  you’ve got a hotel

  but someone

  who’ll weep for you

  no

  you haven’t got that

  the people out there

  you consider your friends

  they’re laughing like drains

  they’re pleased

  to see you

  puking up your soul

  Hoogsmart.

  ‘Nobody ever got rich from being a good man.’

  Now he’s found some guts, Hoogsmart has.

  I’m genuinely surprised that he dares to say anything, to say that, because now, at this moment, the hostage-takers’ guns are all pointed at him. I’m less surprised that he’s only about five-foot tall, that his shrinkage continues to progress.

  So.

  People.

  Quick break, please.

  We need to take a quick break.

  I’ve got a high fever here.

  And a lucid moment at the same time.

  And I’m up to my neck in them both.

  Does anyone have any tablets on them by any chance?

  ‘Tablets,’ I say, ‘I need tablets. Something for a temperature. Please.’

  In a pinch, I’d take ash raining from heaven.

  Or some other cold thing.

  OK.

  Whoever it was that heard me.

  Carousel moves on.

  One of the kidnappers takes a step forward. He’s about the same age as Number One and Hoogsmart, he’s fairly tall, has stature, looks like he’s got strength, and like he’s always had strength. Like all the kidnappers, he’s wearing a dark suit, his brown-grey hair is somewhat thinner and uncompromisingly swept back. He still has his gun lowered, but his eyes are loaded.

  you were fairly strong, you know, he says,

  for your age

  Simone Buchholz

  I was too

  but then there were others

  who weren’t so much

  this boy in your class

  for instance

  who was just small

  he was nice

  and polite

  and reliable

  a good friend

  never hurt a soul

  there was no bloody reason

  to torture him

  but every break-time you

  neatly dismembered him

  behind the gym

  first emotionally: your mum

  is a stupid

  stinking cow

  then psychologically: they all hate you

  at the end of break

  you got physical

  as you called it

  you really talked that way

  when we were ten

  went for the face

  for the kidneys

  for the balls

  but with your feet

  I tried

  to defend the kid

  barged in every time

  because I couldn’t bear

  what you did

  you and your three

  so-called bodyguards

  I called you wankers

  got in front of the kid

  fists raised

  but there were four of you

  and so I always

  got slapped in the gob

  and everywhere else

  but I hung on in there

  tried my best

  to protect him

  because I despised you

  all so much

  and then came the day

  when I

  had to sit with the head

  with you and your folks

  it took me some time

  till I grasped

  why I was the one

  to leave

  be expelled and then go

  to a school

  for problem children

  many years later

  I got it

  when I saw your dad

  and the head

  leave the golf course together

  back-slapping

  like old friends

  but by then I’d long turned

  to crime

  The hostage-taker takes a step back again, he almost vanishes into the row of his colleagues, as if they’d swallowed him up. As if he’d always been part of them.

  I feel so hot I could swear my hands are about to melt the chains I’m holding on by.

  But perhaps they’re far too shaky to do that, cos I’m cold too.

  The suit, Hoogsmart’s companion, hasn’t yet said a word, I don’t think. Now he stands up and walks a few yards towards the puke situation, but not close enough that it could be taken for support even, let alone friendship.

  ‘True, Conny,’ he says, ‘nobody gets rich because he’s a good man. But you don’t actually have to be a massive arsehole to win either. It’s usually enough to be a medium-sized arsehole
.’

  ‘Like you are, Peer?’

  Huh.

  Hoogsmart seems to be really going for it.

  ‘You screwed my daughter, Conny.’

  Hoogsmart laughs a laugh that was presumably born at the rubbish dump, but right down at the bottom. Down there where it stinks the worst.

  ‘Christ, man, she’s only seventeen.’

  ‘I didn’t force her to go to bed with me.’

  That filthy laugh again.

  And I don’t like to say it, but he’s growing bigger again.

  ‘You chickenshit, you didn’t try to stop me either, that evening at your place.’

  The man he called Peer stands in the room with hanging shoulders while the chairoplane spins and spins and spins.

  ‘Because you’re dependent on me,’ says Hoogsmart, ‘because you were stupid enough to sign my contracts, because you’re a nobody without me, a nothing, so come on now, Peer, get me out of here. Or you’re out. If I want, you lose everything. Everything, do you hear? Are you listening to me, Peer? If you don’t get me out of here, you might as well let these guys shoot you.’

  ‘No,’ says Peer.

  He looks at Hoogsmart one last time, then he walks back to his original table in the corner of the room, takes a chair, turns it towards the window and sits on it.

  ‘Peer.’

  Hoogsmart really thinks he can do this, but everyone else is like: what the hell? Either way, there’s no way this Peer is going to pick a fight with twelve heavily armed men. Even if his business partner hadn’t just humiliated him in front of the entire team and the rolling camera.

  I look at Hoogsmart as I swing past him and say ‘huh?’ and then I casually mention that I really could do with some painkillers quite urgently.

  The barwoman is jogging effortlessly along beside me. She reaches into her trouser pocket, pulls something out and presses it into my hand.

  It’s the rest of a blister pack.

  Two ibuprofens left.

  ‘Here,’ she says, ‘you’d better take both of them.’

  She hands a small bottle of water to me too, then she joins the hostage-takers at the window. The technician, in turn, vacates his place at the bar, which he hasn’t left for hours, walks over to the barwoman and takes her hand.

  And now everyone can see it.

  They don’t just know each other, they know each other pretty well.

  They even look similar, when you see them standing motionless like that, side by side.

  It’s not conspicuous, but it’s there. The eyes, the nose, the mouth. A certain way of just standing there, and that smart coolness.

  Yes.

  Of course.

  They’re siblings.

  Hoogsmart seems to notice something too.

  ‘You look like,’ he pauses and looks more closely at the barwoman, ‘you look like Sandrine.’

 

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