SIDEWAYS IN LOVE

VIVA THURINGIA

As planned, the following Monday I try to talk to who Sam always calls, Dapperdings. When I walk into her office, she looks up from her screen and frowns.

“It’s just a Monday,” she doesn’t really grumble to herself. “Unwelcome visitors to the office are acceptable on a Monday.”

“I’ll come right out with it,” I say. “Stop threatening me, that’s all I want.”

The wrinkles on her forehead deepen.

“I’m trying to ignore you. If you didn’t have such horribly red hair, it would be even easier for me. I don’t remember a threat.”

I almost knew she would deny it.

“I don’t think your memory is that bad and you don’t recall last week. Stop it, no more terrible poems…”

“Terrible poems?” She interrupts me, raising her voice. “Only you have written a terrible poem. I didn’t reply because that’s not my level.”

The Dapperdings wants to turn the tables? She’s crazy! I get dizzy from all the anger. I’d better sit down, but I’ll be damned... “If I receive just one more threat, you and I will have this conversation with Dr Schlun.”

She stands up to be on my level. Her eyes sparkle with anger.

“Get out of here before I forget myself! You b***h!”

“Me, b***h?! But insults are your level?”

“Oh, you’re not?” A fake laugh breaks out of her throat. She’s red as a turkey. “You slept your way through this company. In the space of just a year, you were removed from your puny Hungary and entrusted with the Midwest. I toiled for five years to get this far, but then you came…” Now she’s screaming. It’s so loud that everyone on this floor must hear it. “You country bumpkin! First, you wrap Dr Schlun around your finger…”

My breathing quickens. I have to sit down immediately. Blinking away the dizziness, I flop onto a second chair in the room. I only hear half of what she accuses me of. She’s yelling something about not wanting to know what I did to my colleague in New York.

Yes, that’s your biggest concern, I can only think. I can’t say anything more. The dizziness is getting worse and worse. If this woman doesn’t stop screaming right now...

The door flies open.

“What’s going on here?” says Dr Schon.

“This woman,” Dapperdings points at me, “accuses me of threatening her. When I politely inquired about her stay in New York, she gave an extremely insulting reply. And on Friday, an employee of Williams Ltd. showed up here, from which I have to conclude that Ms Hönig behaved very unprofessionally with our partner.”

“As unprofessional as you are?” counters Dr Schlun, closing the door and coming into the room. “Pull yourself together and stop yelling!” He crouches next to me. “Ms Hönig? Are you okay?”

I blink again to get a clear view of him, put a hand to my head, and nod.

It’s slowly getting back to normal. I take a deep breath.

“And now look at the poor, innocent little mouse there,” the Dapperdings screeched on.

“She’s pregnant, damn it,” shouts Dr Schlun and thus informs the entire floor. “Now, be a little considerate! You can see that she’s not feeling well.” Turning to me again and much more quietly, he says: “Mrs Hönig, I’m going to drive you to your doctor. Maybe you should rest for a few days.” A few days? I think, closing my eyes. I only need to rest for a short while. Especially away from that hyena. I can’t believe what she accused me of. I can’t believe the nasty comments she’s making at this very moment about my pregnancy despite Dr Schlun’s presence. I don’t want to see this woman anymore, I don’t want to hear her anymore. I don’t want her near me anymore...

That’s what I tell my doctor when I’m sitting in front of her an hour later. The dizziness is gone, but I’m shaking from the tension. After hearing the whole story, she throws her hands up in horror.

“I’ll write you off sick and that’s that,” she decides. “Up to the start of maternity leave. You don’t need that kind of fuss.” She gets up, comes around the table and pats my shoulder. “The best thing would be for you to leave Berlin for a longer period of time.”

When I get home, I call Sam. It’s nine o’clock in the morning in New York and he’s just sat behind his desk. I tell him about my unsuccessful conversation with the Dapperdings and the visit to my doctor. Sam finds it reassuring that I’m taking a break from Berlin and getting away from the Dapperdings. He describes her as unpredictable.

After 30 minutes, he switches me to the loudspeaker so that he can continue working at the same time. He tells me of an argument with his father about responsibilities and obligations in life.

Gerald apparently thinks that Sam is being careless on both counts and is only thinking about having fun. I tell him about Jan and Leon.

I can no more advise him on his father than he can advise me on these two supposed friends. So we just listen, get scolded and scold a little, only to make ourselves laugh with some funny comment at the end.

Two hours later, we say goodbye until sometime in the week and hang up. I drive back to Schlun & Winheller to hand in my health insurance certificate and talk to Dr Schlun. The good-hearted man pats my hand goodbye and wishes me only the best.

Luckily, I don’t run into Ms Dapperdings, but I do run into a few other colleagues who look at me funny.

God, am I glad I don’t have to show up here again tomorrow!

Back in my apartment, I pull travel bags and boxes out of a closet and from under the bed and start packing, sorting my clothes and absolutely necessary things into the bags. I pack through the evening and half the night. Only one destination comes to mind when I think about leaving Berlin for a long time: Mühlhausen.

I’m so busy packing and sorting that I have to force myself to bed. My mind is too nervous and only finds sleep early in the morning. I wake up after noon and hardly take the time to have breakfast because I’m so keen to leave. I’m soon lugging the first two bags to my car. On the way back, I empty the mailbox and am not surprised to find a fourth white postage-free envelope. The company’s grapevine obviously works perfectly, and Ms Dapperdings didn’t want to miss the opportunity for a last greeting. With steady hands, I unfold the letter and read.

Sweet Danaë, go to sleep!

be good for me

You can’t see the w***e behind the angel’s face.

How thoughtful of her to give me that in writing again! Not that I’ve ever forgotten her words.

My parents are confused when I stand on their doorstep that same evening. I was in such a hurry to get out of Berlin that I didn’t even call. Their confusion increases when they see my luggage.

“Darling!” my mother calls out worriedly. “What happened? Did they fire you?” I say no.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Today I’d like to just relax.” My mother’s protest is on her lips, but she swallows it and says, “Tomorrow is another bad news day.” Then she goes into the kitchen and sets the table for dinner, guessing I must be half-starved.

My father scratches his stubble, takes two bags and drags them to my room. I follow him with a box.

Here I am in the house of my childhood and adolescence, which I had thought of leaving for good eight years ago, at the age of 18, when I went to university. Not that it was urgent, it was just the next step in life. This thought makes me feel incredibly backward. Now I’m back again.

Although my room has been used as a guest room for a long time, almost nothing has changed, and whoever my parents put up in it today, it’s always referred to as a children’s room. Only my single bed was exchanged for a comfortable double bed. The rest of the furniture, such as a desk, has remained.

The walls are draped with different coloured cloths and scraps of fabric. Posters and newspaper clippings of Elvis and Janis Joplin, slips of paper with notes, poems and song lyrics are pinned to wallpaper or fabric. There are candlesticks in the window. Cranes that I folded, old pearl necklaces and homemade shell necklaces hang from the panes.

Mismatched rugs lie on the dark floorboards. My mother keeps pillows and tablecloths in the dresser these days. It used to be filled with my clothes, colourful, beautiful hippie clothes, most of which I bought in a Berlin second-hand shop. A multi-armed candlestick stands next to the bed, my music stand and guitar unused in a corner.

Lena appears in the images of my memory. When we weren’t walking through the city, we sat on the floor and listened to music, philosophized about the meaning of life, read old letters that we had written to each other in class at some point, or studied for math while drinking tea my mother made. More pieces of sugar always ended up in Lena’s mouth than in her cup from the bowl of sugar cubes, while she was annoyed that she simply didn’t understand the f-functions.

The old days seem so tangible and make me melancholy. Back then, Lena and I just thought we had problems, but now we really do. I at least.

“Now finally get it out!” my mother says the next morning, as soon as I’m sitting at the breakfast table.

My father acknowledges this with a grumble. “Can’t that wait until I’ve at least eaten a roll?” They both work late today - my father in the forwarding company, where he works as a logistician, my mother in the pharmacy - and therefore there’s enough time to pester me.

Let’s get it over with!

“I’m pregnant. My doctor gave me sick leave because things are very stressful at the company right now and she’s concerned about the well-being of the child. So I’ll stay here for a few months if you don’t mind.” There is silence. Endless silence. As if on cue, both suddenly jump up, embrace my neck and shower me with kisses. How happy they are, they keep saying. And this is really great news. After a while, they calm down and return to their seats with big grins on their faces.

“Why didn’t you bring someone with you for New Year’s Eve?” my father asks, taking a sip of coffee.

My mother becomes sceptical of my “um”.

“And why do you want to stay here for a few months? Doesn’t he want to be there and see your belly grow and all?”

“Yeah, well…” I begin to explain. “Strictly speaking, HIM doesn’t really exist.” Again they are silent. Again it drags on. It’s getting pretty uncomfortable now.

“What do you mean?” My father puts the cup down and grabs the honey jar and unscrews it. “He doesn’t really exist? If he didn’t exist, there wouldn’t be a pregnancy.”

“You haven’t been to a sperm bank?” my mother says. She purses her lips - not a good sign.

“No. He just doesn’t matter.”

My mother frowns. “What does that mean?”

I shrug my shoulders and let the lie I’ve concocted on the drive here trickle from my lips like a waterfall: “He’s an American. We met on one of my business trips and were careless. He’s as unenthusiastic about the pregnancy as I am, and we don’t want to make this any more complicated than it is because of insurmountable distances and irreconcilable differences.”

“Insurmountable distances and irreconcilable differences?” There is an ominous undertone in my father’s voice.

I hasten to answer. “Insurmountable distances: he doesn’t want to live in Germany and I don’t want to live in the USA. Irreconcilable differences: We are too different for a relationship to work.”

“That’s a great attitude!” My mother is upset. “And how do you imagine all this? It’s not easy being a single parent! And a child needs a father as much as it needs a mother.”

“Those are completely outdated views.” Following the urge to move that arose immediately, I get up and pace up and down the kitchen. “I’ll manage.”

With his chin in his hand, my father watches the honey drip from the spoon onto the bun. “Despite all the joy of the new grandchild, we’re not really excited about the circumstances,” he admits and seems to have less appetite for his breakfast with every word. “I hope you understand that.”

“Of course, we’ll support you where we can…” my mother adds but leaves the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

She seems relieved when the phone rings, gets up and goes next door to take the call.

“Hello, Luisa,” I hear her say and groan inwardly.

Luisa is my older sister. Until she left home - luckily that was a few years before I did - she saw her responsibility as educating and teaching me.

“Yes, Hannah is here,” my mother continues. “No, she’s staying for a while, she’s pregnant.”

I puff out my cheeks, startled. My father responds with a crooked grin when I look for help, which means I can deal with Luisa on my own.

My parents have hardly left the house when my sister arrives. She has three children in tow, each of whom she had a year apart. The youngest is hanging in a shawl in front of her stomach, the two-year-old by the corner of her khaki skirt, the three-year-old peering out from behind her.

After the phone call to my mother, she must have immediately remembered her responsibilities. Now enriched not only by her experiences as a mother but also by the insights she has gained from her ten-year study of psychology and sociology, she believes she can give me valuable advice.

It will be fun!

“Hey, where’s Ludger?” I greet her, hinting that she hadn’t brought her husband either. She met him during college. Unlike her, he applies his knowledge professionally every day in the practice he opened here in the provinces, where there are far too few psychologists.

Luisa sighs theatrically and spills a ton of toys on the living room floor. Psychologically valuable toys, of course.

“At his practice like normal. Where else?” It’s a wonder she didn’t call me in right away so she and Ludger could use their combined expertise to help me. After all, he and my sister have mutated over the years into an unbeatable and inseparable unit from the genus know-it-all eco-loafer wearers.

Since the three-year-old still doesn’t want to come out from behind his mother’s back, he is encouraged. “Lambrecht, take a look,” Luisa asks him. “Lauretta doesn’t know where the triangle fits. Don’t you want to help her?” Lambrecht doesn’t have helper syndrome. He prefers to stay behind his mom and lets his sister find out on her own that the triangle fits through the triangular opening of the wooden block. Luckily, Leopold, who is only ten months old, doesn’t have to face any such challenges but can sleep in the sling in front of Luisa’s stomach.

Luisa says to Lambrecht’s refusal: “He just doesn’t want to.”

That’s one of her favourite sentences when it comes to her children. What they don’t want, they don’t have to. They don’t want to sleep. Good. They don’t want to stay seated at the table. Also good. They don’t want to stop romping on the stairs. Well, if they don’t want to...

Luisa takes a seat in an armchair and smiles mildly as Lambrecht crawls behind the piece of furniture to peer around the corner. Suddenly, her face turns serious.

“Now about you…” She raises an eyebrow. “Mum told me about your pregnancy. What week are you in?” I resign myself to my fate and take a seat across from her.

“In the ninth.”

“Oh, all right. There are a few things you should pay attention to.” Luisa makes herself and the baby really comfortable.

Neither I nor Lauretta, who is banging on the toy, nor Lambrecht, who has fallen asleep behind the armchair, interrupt our two-hour lecture. She would have kept talking if Leopold hadn’t filled his diaper. While she changes his ecologically compatible cloth diapers on the living room table, I’m granted a break in which I can quickly forget what I’ve just heard.

If Luisa had her way, I wouldn’t be allowed to wear high heels and low-rise jeans anymore.

She recommended this to me with a criminal look at my dark red boots and tight-fitting pants. In addition, chemical hair colour is absolutely taboo, and it must be considered that I shorten the tangled curls to a reasonable length.

From now on, I’m not allowed to do any work. As far as my diet is concerned, in the future, I should shop in health food stores and avoid most of the things I like to eat. Everything is not good, my sister says, some things are even pure poison. A healthy diet is the be-all and end-all. And relaxation. She recommends a therapist friend of hers who teaches various relaxation techniques in evening classes. But I should do sports. Although she excused me because I was never an athlete anyway, she still wanted to mention it for the sake of completeness.

As soon as Leopold has a new diaper, she talks about childminders, and Lambrecht wakes up and screams behind the armchair. He wants to go home. Lauretta immediately stops trying to fit the square through the circle and agrees with her brother’s demand.

“Okay, put the toys in the bag,” Luisa tells her offspring, which neither of them want to do.

That’s why she gets up and does it herself. “I’m the one who poured them out,” she justifies her actions.

I help her to make it go faster and am glad when the door slams behind the four of them.

Completely exhausted, I sit in my armchair, fumble for the remote control and turn on the radio.

The voice of the lead singer of the Berlin band Wir sind Helden resounds. “Hello, I want my life back,” she sings.

I can sympathize with that wish 100 per cent.

Five minutes later, the doorbell rings. I brush aside my fears that Luisa has forgotten an important piece of advice. After all, she has a key and wouldn’t ring the bell.

I’m somewhat amazed when I face Leon.

“Hey,” he greets me, jerking his thumb down the street behind him. “I saw your car and thought I’d stop by.” Actually, I’d like to send him to hell. Instead, I gritted my teeth and invited him in.

He doesn’t want tea, and nor does he want coffee. Not even water. He just wants to apologize. And that’s what he does – awkwardly.

“I was shocked at that moment,” he admits. “I just had to get out there and think. And I felt so silly telling you we didn’t… you know.” He looks at me for help, tapping his left foot and then his right. He doesn’t want to be really comfortable in the armchair. I notice that he still hasn’t been to the hairdresser. The dark blond hair now reaches down to his shoulders.

“That we didn’t have s*x,” I put it in a nutshell.

“Exactly.” He crosses his arms. His leather jacket creaks. “We didn’t have it.”

“What I still don’t understand to this day is why you let me think so.”

Leon’s face turns pink. “Oh, that was total bullshit.” He lets out a disparaging sound between his teeth. “It was just silly and I don’t know what got into me. I thought your reaction was kinda cute at first. Then you were back in Berlin and I didn’t want to tell you by text message or e-mail.” As he continues to talk, caution creeps into his face, as if I might smack him if he said the thought. “Honestly, at some point, I didn’t even think about it anymore.”

Yep, I really feel like slapping him. “Oh, and then the scales fell from your eyes?” is my comment instead. I don’t really want to, but it makes me grin.

Leon seems relieved, and finally, he manages to apologise: “I’m sorry!” Since his jacket now seems to be too warm for him, he takes it off and puts it over the armrest of the chair. “By the way, since then I’ve often thought about how I would have reacted if you’d been pregnant by me, and you can be sure that I’ve criticized Jan a few times since then.”

That makes me uncomfortable. “Don’t do that! I don’t need Jan.” I get up. “I’ll make coffee. My sister just gave me a long lecture about healthy drinks, but I’ll have one anyway. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“Yes, I’ll have one now.” Leon follows me into the kitchen, where I set out two cups and fill them with coffee.

He pours milk into both cups, grabs one and holds it out to me. I take my cup and clink it with his.

“Well then,” he smiles. “Can we get along? Let’s get along!”