SIDEWAYS IN LOVE

THE KID AND THE LIAR

Jan didn’t directly ask me to be at the bar during his performance with Just Borrowed and I’m showing up late on purpose.

Leon is waiting alone at a table. He gets up and greets me with a kiss and a hug.

“Where’s Jan?” I let my gaze wander through the room, searching. I spot the other two band members at the bar, but there’s no sign of him.

Leon is fussing. “He still has something to do quickly.”

I take a seat across from him. “Great!”

“Should be here in a minute.” He gestures apologetically. “You’ll have to make do with me until he gets here.” He calls the waiter to order drinks. A beer for himself and a cherry juice for me. Since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve found this stuff absolutely delicious.

“What’s Jan got to do so urgently?”

“Oh…”

Leon’s mouth is twisted and he looks visibly uncomfortable. He shakes his head as if to say it doesn’t matter.

However, it does. The guy can’t order me over here and then just not be there. An SMS would have sufficed. All errands, whether it’s buying milk or getting laid with a fan, could have waited.

Putting the anger aside, I ask Leon how he’s doing. It’s been a month since I’ve had a long conversation with him. He was on the road a lot with the band and I really didn’t feel like phoning him.

“It’s all okay. Everything as always, really,” he replies and begins to set up beer mats in a pyramid. “To be honest, I find it kind of a pity that you’re making yourself so scarce. It was always fun when we were out.”

“That’s right…” I swallow the rest of the answer. It was fun until he let me think I slept with him. While I’m not holding grudges, I still find this fact odd.

So as not to remind him of it, I explain it differently: “My stomach doesn’t feel like an evening foray into the bars of Mühlhausen. And I can’t have any drinks either…”

“Not long now.” He looks at me over the top of the pyramid but immediately focuses on his structure again. “Five more weeks, right?”

“Yes. August 3.”

The pyramid collapses. Leon sorts the beer mats into the box and seems to want to say something else when Jan sits down at the table. Even though it’s warm, he’s wearing his obligatory accessories - wool hat and scarf - which I find silly. That spurs my anger on a little.

Leon stays at the table and takes over the function of smoothing the waves and stimulating conversation. He does it quite well. The effervescent waves foaming inside me soon subside and a conversation does take place, if only between Leon and me or Leon and Jan. I can’t really manage to look at Jan, but instead constantly tune him out like an annoying presence.

He seems to think the same way and prefers to chat with the waitress, who brings him a coffee.

Leon, who is threatening to run out of things to talk about, tries the zodiac sign in which the child will probably be born: “Uh, a little lion that roars. That can be fun.”

“Are you actually taking part in any courses?” Jan suddenly joins the conversation, off-topic and unexpected. “Preparing for childbirth or whatever?”

I force myself to look at him. “Of course,” I reply curtly. What more can I say? Maybe explain to him the breathing techniques we’re going through?

“Well, if you want,” he fumbles, “I can come with you. It sure isn’t great to be alone there… among all the couples.”

If I used to silently despise Jan, I almost feel sorry for him now.

On the one hand, because he obviously feels sorry for me and his sympathy is in vain. On the other hand, because he tries. I might appreciate his offer if it weren’t so trying.

“Oh, you know,” I reply. “I don’t mind. It’s me who’s pregnant and having the child. The course will also end soon. So…”

“Well, I just thought…” Whatever Jan just thought he can’t put into words. The otherwise cool guy seems awkward.

Leon apparently sees the waves rising again and jumps in.

“If the child were mine, as a father I would want to go to these courses. You don’t want to just stand around doing nothing and be the fifth wheel on the wagon from the start.”

But that’s the role that Jan had chosen, I thought to myself. As insecure as I was at first, I’m now sure that I don’t want him around all the time. He wanted to be even less than the fifth wheel. He wanted to be some wheel on some other wagon. I refrain from saying that. Now that he’s changed his mind - which I don’t really buy yet - I should clap my hands happily and take him to the antenatal class, where he’ll sit behind me, put his hands on my stomach and practice breathing and pushing? That would be an inevitable embarrassment.

“I think we should all take it slow,” I say to Jan. “With all due respect to your commitment, but it’s a bit sudden. Why don’t we first talk about how we imagine the time after the pregnancy will be?”

“Good.” Jan seems relieved. “How do you think it’s supposed to go? I heard you’re currently living in your parents’ garden house. Do you want to stay there?”

Seeing the conversation start, Leon gets up and says goodbye to join the others in the band at the bar. I let Jan’s somewhat critical-sounding question sink in.

“For now, yes,” I reply, taking a sip of the cherry juice. “At least until winter comes. The house offers enough space and, above all, I have peace and quiet there. That’s more important to me than any dubious comfort.”

Jan hesitates before substantiating his concerns. “I find it a bit unusual. Wouldn’t an apartment in the city be better?”

“Why? What’s better about it?”

“For one thing, it has certain hygienic standards, and for another, it’s not so easy to break in.”

So he’s worried.

“The garden house’s hygienic standards are okay,” I reassure him. “Of course it’s old, but it works and there’s running water. Apart from that, garden houses are mainly broken into in winter, when you don’t expect anyone to be there and you think you can nab the TV. I won’t live there in the winter.”

“I hope so…” He looks at me thoughtfully. His eyes are grey-blue, as I can see now. “When do you plan on moving to the city?”

“When the water in the garden is shut off and it gets too cold. That means the end of October.” Although I’ve been talking to Jan for a while now, we’re not making any progress. I have a feeling we’re treading water. “What are you getting at? Why did you want to meet me? What do you want?”

Jan lowers his gaze to his empty cup of coffee and lifts it again when he has found his words.

“Since it’s probably my child, I want to make sure it’s okay.” His voice now has the sharpness and coldness with which he reacted to the news of my pregnancy. “Besides, I’d like to see if we - you and I - together…”

Together what? I think, startled, and wait, but he doesn’t seem to be able to think of togetherness himself.

“You and me together - that’s not really going to happen,” I clarify. “You and I wouldn’t go well together.”

“I know that,” he hastens to say. “But if you ever need help or free time or something, I can take the little one.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” My undertone of sarcasm cannot be avoided. Firstly, because Jan expresses himself as if he were a helpful neighbour, and also he’s pretty much the last person I would ask.

“I could take the kid to the zoo or go swimming…” he muses.

I’m about to burst again. “Yes, for baby swimming maybe. I think before you can do any of the other things, you’re going to have to push the stroller around the block, change diapers, feed carrot pulp, sing lullabies, sit at the paediatrician’s and console a toothache.” I’ve assigned some negative traits to Jan over the past few months. Naivety has just been added.

“You have to be involved in parenting so that later the child will want to go with you on fun outings. Otherwise, you’ll just be one of many strangers to it.”

“Sure.” His look reveals that he sees some negative traits in me, too. “I’m not stupid.”

Undeterred by his irritation, I continue, “Only you shouldn’t force yourself to do it. Either you really want it - which I honestly doubt at the moment - or you don’t. Take it easy on yourself and me, okay?”

His silence is answer enough. I finish my cherry juice.

When I wave the waiter over, Jan says he’s paying for me. Grinding my teeth, I slip my wallet into my pocket, say thank you, and get up.

Jan also gets up but keeps his distance. “Well, if you want me to accompany you to a class, just give me a call. I’ll see when I have time.”

“Everything’s fine the way it is, Jan. A course like this,” I shake my head, “that would be too much togetherness for us.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “If you say so.”

“I’m sure.” Before he can kiss my cheek goodbye, I start walking. As I walk, I wave to Leon, who’s still standing at the bar and gestures that we’ll talk on the phone soon.

Only when the bar door swings shut behind me can I take a deep breath.

On the way through the gardens, I meet the garden manager. He’s a meticulous gardener whose leasehold was awarded the title of Most Meticulously Maintained Lot or something like that last year. Last week he pointed out to me that our garden hedge is 7.5 centimetres higher than the prescribed 150 centimetres and that the grass is growing between the paving slabs in front of the property. Something had to be done urgently, he said, after all, everything had to be in order and fit into the overall concept of the facility.

Since I haven’t used the hedge trimmers or bent down for the blades of grass, I arm myself accordingly.

“Miss Hönig,” he greets me. “I was looking for you.”

This will be cheerful!

“Oh, Mr…” I search my brain for his name. It was something to do with flowers.

“Blomma,” he helps me along.

I knew it! “Mr Blomma! I haven’t done any of the jobs you suggested, but—”

“It’s not wildly overgrown,” he says dismissively. “Your father can do it when he has a chance. Look at your condition…” He does what everyone else has been doing for the past few months - including strangers you meet at the grocery store or at the gas station - he squints at my stomach. “I have a…” he mumbles awkwardly from his shoulder bag, “letter for you. It was in the mailbox this morning.”

I accept the white envelope with some uneasiness, on which the address of the gardens and my first and last name have been printed. The letter was posted in Berlin. All mail usually goes to my parents’ address.

I say goodbye to Mr Blomma and hurry to the garden. On the terrace, I sit down in a sun chair and open the envelope. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I read.

Sweet Danaë, go to sleep!

be good for me

were you hiding?

I discovered you!

An hour later I’m sitting in the Mühlhausen police station and I’m telling the officer who’s taking the case about the four letters I received in Berlin. I’m stunned by the consistency with which Dagmar Dapperheld-Dängeli is taking action against me.

Not even now that I’m gone from Berlin, no longer working at Schlun & Winheller, will she leave me alone. She may have received motivation for the letter because Sam blocked her. It’s hard for me to publicly blame her now, but I see no other solution and I want this to stop. Immediately. So I tell the officer about the problems I had with my former colleague.

He seems very busy. No wonder. Here in Mühlhausen, the challenges faced by the police are collecting forgotten fines, patrolling the block and having pedestrians blow their noses after visiting an Italian restaurant. A murder happens once every four years and is solved within a few days. After all, everyone here knows everyone. In Berlin – oh ho! it looks - very different. Nobody knows anybody there. Threatening letters are similarly commonplace. Mühlhausen and the capital are completely exceptional.

I’m promised to be contacted within the next few days.

Back in the garden, it’s almost 1 am. I fire up the laptop and wait for it to boot up.

It takes forever, I absolutely have to talk to Sam and hope he’s still waiting for me on Skype.

I can finally start the program and am relieved to see the icon glowing next to his name. I call him and turn on the video.

“Hey, how was the meeting with The Kid?” he jokes cheerfully.

I almost forgot. “It was okay. We had some initial problems, but Leon fixed it.”

“Oh, The Fake was there?” He grimaces. “Did he take little Jan by the hand and say: ‘Come on, let’s go to the woman you made pregnant and tell her we’re going to play daddy?’ Well, that must have been a fun meeting.”

“Oh, nonsense!” I brush the offending topic aside. “I have something else to tell you. A new letter arrived today. This time by post. Sent from Berlin.”

Sam’s face turns serious. “A Danaë letter? What was it this time?”

I remember those four lines well, as I do each of the other letters. I quote them.

Sam gets up and begins circling his living room. My gaze wanders to the bright square on the wall where Klimt’s picture once hung. The square has the same effect as the artwork itself. Actually, it’s like it’s still hanging there.

“I want you to pack up and move in with your parents right away.” Sam’s demanding tone surprises me. “Do they know about it now?”

“No. There’s no way I’m going to tell them.”

Then, in addition to my worries, I also have their worries to deal with. And I don’t want to leave here.

“Dapper things is in Berlin. Apparently, she just enjoys scaring me.”

“Sure. But the lady has a vendetta. Maybe she doesn’t just want to know that she’s scaring you, she wants to observe it. You don’t know exactly what she’s planning or what she’s capable of.”

“If she were around, the letter wouldn’t have been in the mail.”

Sam walks over to the laptop, looks intently over the camera and snorts.

“I’ve seen horses throw up in front of taverns.”

I choke back the laughter at his dead seriousness and just grin crookedly.

“In front of the pharmacy…”

It’s a weird idiom meaning anything is possible (It’s weird because horses can’t throw up. Their anatomy doesn’t allow it).

“It doesn’t matter where! I’m worried about you!”

I want to calm him down. “Sam, the police are investigating. They’ll be speaking to Ms Dapperdings.”

“Perhaps she’s a murderer…”

“Sam, you’re exaggerating!”

Sam snorts a second time. “You’re a stubborn German donkey!”

Although I accused Sam of exaggeration, I still don’t have a good night’s sleep.

It’s just a half-sleep that I’m drifting into. I wake up several times and listen to noises. It remains silent except for the chirping of the birds which starts around 5 am and keeps me awake for good.

Accordingly tired I drag myself through the following day. In the evening I email Sam and tell him everything is fine, but I can’t be on Skype because I’m too tired. He doesn’t answer. I go to bed before sunset. Nothing and no one, not a bird’s chirp or a frog’s croaking, keeps me from the blessed rest today.

That’s what I thought - but I was wrong.

It’s dark when woken up by a noise, I sit upright in bed. I listen and hear nothing, listen again and finally hear something. There’s someone in front of the little house – which I luckily locked – on the terrace, to be precise. The person doesn’t even bother to be quiet. Goosebumps crawl down my back. I take my cell phone, which is lying next to the bed, and want to activate it, but the display stays dark.

Battery empty! My heart is beating wildly in my chest.

It’s just a raccoon, I tell myself, get out of bed and sneak into the kitchen to look for a weapon. The knives are all too small and their blades are too round, suitable for smearing bread rolls. So I take the otherwise superfluous rolling pin, which is used for decoration purposes, from the wall and pad through the living room to the window.

In fact, there’s someone on the terrace – unfortunately not a raccoon. The figure is scurrying around, doing something.

I want to scream in panic, but I bite my lip, creep to the door and silently turn the key in the lock. I have to surprise this guy! I tell myself, spoil his surprise for me. And thoroughly!

I push the door open, jump out, and lunge. The man seems to be about to lie down in my sun lounger – certainly waiting to jump on me in the morning. He sees me, sits up and screams in pain as the rolling pin hits him. I scream too at the sound of his voice. I immediately drop the weapon and turn on the patio light. Sam sits in front of me, holding his head and blinking at me angrily.

“Are you crazy?” he shouts.

“Are you crazy yourself?” I yell back. “What are you doing here? You gave me a fright.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up and was going to sleep out here.” Sam clamps his hands tighter on his head, lowers it, and bends forward, catching his breath. “Up until now I was dead tired. I’ve been on the road for 24 hours.”

I kneel in front of him so I can look him in the face. I gently push his hand aside, under which I suspect a growing bump. In fact, there’s quite a bit of swelling there. I blow on it, hoping to ease the pain a little. When he flinches, I stand up.

“I’ll get ice cream, I’ll be right back.”

“Why didn’t you use a hedge trimmer?” Sam growls. “It’s a more effective weapon.”

“I would have if I could handle it,” I reply as I walk, suppressing a laugh that tries to fight its way up inside me. “The garden manager has already complained to me about that. But now you’re here, you can use them.”