SIDEWAYS IN LOVE

MEN TALK

My first thought the next day is the strange dream I had. Then I open my eyes to see Sam sleeping next to me and realize it wasn’t a dream. Again I have to try not to laugh. So I actually bashed Sam’s poor skull with the rolling pin. The spot is half-hidden by his dark hair. The ice reduced the swelling somewhat but didn’t stop the red discolouration.

I lie there for an hour and watch over Sam’s sleep. He would hate it if he knew, but he slumbers on. He’s far too tired after the long journey he has taken for me. I’m incredibly moved by his spontaneous decision and I’m very impressed by it. What should I think of this? I have no idea. For now, I’m just glad and happy that he’s here. Not because I’m scared of Mrs Dapperdings, but because of Sam.

If I didn’t move out of the garden shed, he told me yesterday, he’d just move in with me. There’s no way I could stay here alone any longer.

When my limbs hurt from lying down, I get up and take a shower. Then I make breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed tea, baked rolls and the clatter of dishes wake Sam. He stands sleepily at the kitchen door, tousles his hair and mumbles “Good morning.” His eyes aren’t yet shining, but shimmer calmly like a forest lake at dawn. His feet make tapping noises on the tile floor as he approaches, surprisingly hugs me from behind and rests his head on my shoulder as if to go back to sleep. I can feel him breathing in and out deeply, his hands running down my sides and stomach. There’s something very familiar about the gesture like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

My heartbeat quickens, but I let it. It also feels right to me what Sam is doing right now.

“Honey,” he murmurs. “You’re the prettiest pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re the most fascinating American I’ve ever met,” I reply. When he lifts his head, I turn mine to look at him.

“And you’re probably the most stubborn of all German stubborn heads.” His gaze wanders from my eyes, over my nose and cheeks to my curls, which are still very idiosyncratic at this time of day. I just smile and don’t say anything. He looks over my shoulder as I arrange cheese on a platter and asks, “There’s also eggs?”

“Oh!” I snort with mock indignation. Just burst in here and make claims! “I don’t have any eggs with me, so no.”

“Too bad!”

“Yes, too bad. But you’ll get enough. Besides,” I glance at the kitchen clock, which reads just before twelve o’clock, “we’re invited to my parents’ in four hours. They’ll put some sausages on the grill.”

“Cool,” Sam grunts contentedly, releasing me and stealing a bunch of grapes from a bowl on the table. “I’ve been invited?”

“Not directly. I’ll just take you with me.”

“This is Samuel Klingenberg,” I introduce Sam to my parents, wait until they have shaken hands and lead him through the living room into the garden.

Luisa, Ludger and the three little Ls are already there. Ludger looks at the borders, and Luisa breastfeeds Leopold. Lambrecht and Lauretta pull flowers out of the ground. My mother sees it, throws up her hands and tries to save what can be saved. My dad brings a beer and hands Sam one and asks Ludger if he really doesn’t want any.

He does it every time. Ludger really, really never wants a beer. He only drinks spring water, which he brings himself.

So my father feels closer to Sam, toasts him and stays with him.

“You have a nice house,” Sam says, putting the bottle to his mouth.

My father stops moving and gives Sam a very strange look that makes both him and me ponder. Then I realize that up until now Sam has only said ‘Hi’ and everyone has been too busy to really understand that he’s American.

“Tell me, are you American?” I hear.

My mother, who has also noticed, neglects the flowers abused by the children and joins them. Her expression doesn’t bode well.

“Yes. Didn’t Hannah tell you about me?” Sam is becoming increasingly irritated.

I want to step in and explain everything, but I can’t get a word in.

“So it’s you!” Despite her small size, my mother stands in front of Sam and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, you’ve got the guts to show up here and pretend everything’s fine!”

Sam lowers the beer bottle. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” my father growls. “I would be interested to know what made the insurmountable differences and distances suddenly surmountable and whether this state of affairs is permanent.”

“Insurmountable differences and distances?” Sam looks at me for help. “Honey, what’s going on here?”

“Mom, Dad, stop it!” I finally interrupt, without having sorted through the chaos in my brain. “You’re confusing things!”

“What’s there to confuse?” scolds my mother and snaps at Lambrecht, who is asking for some candy. “Not now, darling!” She strokes his head. “Pull up some more flowers, if you like. I’ll have to replant everything anyway.” To Sam she continues, “You really should be ashamed!”

Ludger, who has overheard the dispute, calls out: “Is there a problem? Can I help?”

Fortunately, he stays where he is, while Luisa tucks her breasts under the shirt and comes over.

“I think you’re exaggerating,” she criticizes our parents. “The man is here and everything else will fall into place.”

“The man will be gone in a moment,” Sam concludes. “If someone doesn’t finally talk to him.” He glares at me angrily.

“Yes, that would suit you,” counters my father. “To slip back to America where you might get other women pregnant.”

Still looking at me, Sam’s face freezes. I expect him to scold me, to blame me. Instead, he laughs. Although everyone looks at him as if he’s insane, he doesn’t stop, only raises his voice, finally toasting my father and drinking half the bottle.

All eyes are on him as he sets the beer down. “Now I get it,” he says. “Well, that’s news…”

“Oh,” snaps my mother. “Now you’re trying to tell us you didn’t know about it?”

“Sam isn’t the father,” I finally point out. “The father isn’t even an American, but someone who lives in Mühlhausen. And with him, there are distances and differences that will not be overcome in the future either.”

There is silence for a while. My father continues to eye Sam critically and growls, “Then who are you?”

Sam shrugs. “Sam.”

An hour later my true pregnancy story is told. My father is indignant, my mother no longer believes in good and evil, Luisa advocates the free will of every individual, and Ludger offers me and Jan a free counselling session. The children have now mostly uprooted the garden, with the exception of little Leopold, whose full diaper gives off a terrible stench.

Sam put his arm around me and continued talking for me when I just didn’t feel like it anymore.

“What the hell,” my father finally closes the discussion. “Whether he’s American or German, musician or whatever. Hannah wants to raise the child alone. So the situation is unchanged. Why get upset about it again?” With that, he goes to the grill and fills it with charcoal. “Come along, Mr Klingenberg. Now I’ll show you what a real - how do you say it? – Barbecue is.” Mr Klingenberg smiles at the German formality and joins my father.

It’s interesting to watch the two. After the third beer, my father starts calling him Sam, which is obviously a relief. Sam, who has made it his business to get beer, always politely asks Ludger if he doesn’t want any and ends up letting my dad engage him in a conversation about football and Formula 1.

Luisa, Ludger and the kids say goodbye around ten as the kids decide they want to sleep now. My mother, no longer afraid of losing her tiles, takes Scrabble out of the house and challenges me. My father puts schnapps on the table and starts talking about the garden. He tells how my mother signed the lease 30 years ago and he drew a line where a fence was first put up and today the hedge is 7.5 centimetres too high. When Sam offers to trim the thing and do some other chores since he’s free anyway, it occurs to my father that the house itself is in dire need of a coat of paint. Now drunk on the beer and schnapps, Sam readily agrees.

When we say goodbye, Sam can barely walk but is three times as talkative. On the drive home, he analyzes my family. My father is loyal and a great buddy, whereas he didn’t warm to Luisa and Ludger at all, which I can understand. In 26 years I haven’t managed to warm up to my sister.

“I hope you don’t give Paul as much freedom as the three little Ls,” he giggles next to me in the passenger seat. “I don’t think that’s good. At some point, he’ll walk all over you.”

I take my eyes off the road for a moment to look at him. “Paul?” My surprise surprises him.

“Well, Paul.” He points to my stomach. “The one in there.”

“Oh Sam, you joker! I don’t know if it will be a boy or a girl. I didn’t want to know that until now.”

“Of course, it’s going to be a Paul.” Sam’s face brightens as he remembers something else. “Oh yes, and your mother…”

I steel myself. “What about her?”

“Your stubbornness, you clearly got it from her.” He looks out the window with a smile. “As the saying goes: the apple fell from the tree.”

Late in the afternoon of the next day, Sam drives to the hardware store to buy the materials and tools that he needs for all the work in the garden.

When he’s gone, I grab the garden hose and water the plants. I get a terrible fright when I hear a voice close behind me, turn around and splash Jan.

He looks down at himself like it’s something gross and not water, then catches himself and starts small talk, which I don’t feel like making. I’d much rather know the reason for his visit.

“A friend of mine rents a nice apartment. Restored old building, three rooms, close to the centre, parking lot in front of the house, balcony and cellar. Thought you might like it.” I drop the hose and stomp to the faucet to turn off the water. With every step, I get angrier.

Apparently, he wasn’t listening to me at all three days ago.

“Thanks for your efforts,” I reply in a deliberately friendly manner when I face him again. “But I still think it’s very nice here and I’m staying until the fall.”

Now that he sees the garden, he seems even less able to believe it. “But this is it…” he glances around, looking from the house over the terrace and the garden, “... nothing. There’s absolutely nothing here.”

“That’s exactly why I love it here.” I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and squint over Jan’s shoulders. Sam comes back. “Oh, honey, do we have company?” Jan turns and looks at Sam. “Who’s that?” he asks me, unexpectedly growling.

Not that it’s any of his business, I think to myself, introducing the two anyway.

“Oh, that’s…” Sam bites his lip to swallow The Kid he wanted to slip out, “...the musician.”

“Now I still don’t know who you are,” Jan insists.

Sam waves it off. “I’m just a friend.”

Jan laughs maliciously. “Next, I’m sure you’ll tell me you’re gay.”

Sam studies Jan closely. “Isn’t it a bit warm for a hat and scarf?” He tugs at his shirt, puffing out his cheeks, but doesn’t give Jan a chance to react. “Well, anyway, I’ve got work to do.” He wiggles away - and swings his butt like a girl and disappears into the house.

Jan looks after him. “You can’t be serious, can you? Who is that guy?”

“A friend from the US. He’s staying here for a while.”

Why I’m even explaining this is beyond me. And if he were my lover. And if I wanted to marry him. All of this shouldn’t interest Jan in the least.

“What does a while mean?”

I’m slowly getting enough. “Jan, once again: thank you for your visit, your efforts. I appreciate it all.” I put a hand on his back and direct him toward the garden gate. “But I’ll stay. And who stays here with me is entirely my decision.”

Jan agrees and starts a new topic. “I have a gig with Just Borrowed on Saturday. Want to come?”

I’m glad he’s finally leaving. “Where and what time?” I ask, closing the gate between us.

“In the Sound Shed.”

I’ve never been there, only heard about it. The Sound Shed is an old factory that has been used for music events for several years to give regional musicians the opportunity to present themselves.

“8 p.m.” Jan walks backwards down the flagstone path and waits for my answer. “So, are you

there?”

“Let’s see. Maybe I’ll bring some friends with me.”

Jan raises an eyebrow and peers over the hedge towards the garden house. “Do as you wish.” Finally, he walks away.

I go to the terrace and flop into my sun lounger.

Sam joins me. “So that was The Kid,” he smirks, handing me a glass of iced tea. “Well, he’s quite a charming fellow.”

“You weren’t exactly friendliness personified, either,” I remind him, sipping iced tea that tastes deliciously of peaches.

“He started-”

“Bullshit!”

I interrupt Sam, unwilling to pursue the subject further.

Sam leans back in the second sun lounger, puts his bare feet up and joins me in my silence.

As we lie there, I suddenly find it unreal that he’s here. That Sam, this American city dweller, is here with me in a small German town – and also plans to stay a bit. So far he still has paid vacation, which he’ll extend to unpaid vacation if necessary and after consultation with his boss.

I wonder how long it would last? A few weeks? A few months?

My cell phone rings. An unknown Mühlhausen number is shown on the display. It’s the police. The officer to whom I gave the letters a few days ago explains to me that the Berlin colleagues asked Dagmar Dapperheld-Dängeli for an interview. He describes her as not particularly cooperative, and that she was angry at my accusation. Her fingerprints were taken, but nothing could be proven because they weren’t on any of the letters or the last envelope. Two other prints were found there - mine and Sam’s, probably. He and I should come by again to make sure.

Not enthusiastic about this, we put our iced teas away, hoist ourselves out of the lounge chairs and head into town.

It was pretty clear to me that the Dapperdings denied everything and was careful not to leave any traces.