Before the Feast (11 page)

FC ENERGIE

for Energie Kottbus Football Club, and on the other, equally unsubtle, a skull and crossbones and under it, in large letters:

STIL

As for Anna, she is white as a sheet. Inquisitive, helpful, low-life—they could be anything in the night she has conjured up: angels' wings folded, hooves in their shoes? She can't tell, she doesn't feel well, or not well enough to judge. She wants to face her illness, not strangers. Only her voice fails her, only a hoarse croak comes out. The tall, good-looking one smiles, his speech sings, soft like a man with plenty of time.

“Mademoiselle,” he asks, “are you okay? We saw you in trouble from far away.”

Anna whispers, “It's asthma.”

“Ah, civilization making a fuss.”

“It's nothing at all to do with us,” the smaller youth with the glum look says.

“Like a lift to A&E?”

“That's going too far, Q, if you ask me.”

“But what if it's an emergency?”

Anna looks from one to the other of them.

“Hey, do you always talk in rhyme?”

In chorus: “Us? Where would we get the time?”

“You—” Anna's voice gives way, she slumps to the ground. Undaunted, the two hurry over, help her up and get her into their van.

“Mademoiselle, we'll take you home.”

“You're not fit to be out on your own.”

Anna nods; she can hardly speak. “Geher's Farm. Do you know it?”

The two exchange meaning glances that Anna can't interpret. Anna looks at the van door. It's not locked: good.

“We don't know our way well in this town.”

“The satnav went and let us down.”

“Great.” Anna tries breathing deeply. “Down Thälmann-Strasse here, along the main road, I'll tell you when.”

The one called Q turns the van.

“Where—where have you come from?” Anna wants to keep the conversation going, however difficult her voice finds it.

“From here, from there, from up and down. Nothing to interest you tonight.”

“Henry, you're not being very polite.” And turning to Anna, “Take no notice of this clown. On such a night things get him down. Usually he's so good with words he can make counts nervous and countesses amorous, or do I mean it the other way? Never mind, be that as it may, it isn't easy with names of places, they can't be trusted in such cases.”

“You. . . okay. . .” Anna's eyes are streaming, her breath is wheezing the whole time. The van speeds up on its way out of the village—

—and at the same time Herr Schramm is stepping on the gas of his Golf. When he is doing 130 k.p.h. he switches off the headlights.

HERR SCHRAMM IS DIVORCED, NO CHILDREN. HERR
Schramm is not afraid of death, you don't know what's going on when you die. In summer he hadn't been thinking of death, in summer Herr Schramm still wanted another go at life, maybe he'd fall in love.

Frau Mahlke, manageress of the dating agency, set off on a little tour of Brandenburg to visit six men in search of a partner at home, taking stock of them on their home ground. Herr Schramm's appointment was the last. She arrived in Fürstenfelde at five, rather tired and in a worse temper than when she left the late-summer atmosphere of Pankow behind to drive out into the country.

Herr Schramm was waiting outside the Homeland House with a mug of coffee. His first words were, “Schramm, pleased to meet you,” followed by a calm, “Watch out, wasps,” as one of them tried to settle on Elisabeth Mahlke's well-upholstered shoulder. Herr Schramm is a punctilious man.

Frau Mahlke has thrown a silk scarf, golden-yellow and pale lilac, over her slightly pudgy figure and is wearing a pair of trousers that are rather tight for her age of fifty-nine. Herr Schramm looked at the trousers in a way that clearly showed he wasn't sure whether such tight trousers were right for this occasion, but never mind.

Frau Mahlke found herself taken out for a trip on the Deep Lake in the oldest rowing boat, which creaks romantically. She
was not prepared for that. The cool breeze blowing over the lake did her hot face good, she took off her shoes and dunked her feet in the water. The ferryman owed Schramm a favor, so he rowed them out to the islands. “Come along, Elisabeth, I'll show you the lakes and the deserted farms”—“Why don't we just stay at your place to talk, Herr Schramm?”

Herr Schramm wanted to show the lady from the dating agency both the good sides and the not-so-good sides of Fürstenfelde. To be honest, he wanted to do the same with himself. The ferryman had recommended it. Because if you promise a woman a lie, you'll be bound to disappoint her sometime. “You're not such a splendid fellow, Schramm,” the ferryman had said, “but telling lies would make you really terrible.”

Frau Mahlke asked Herr Schramm whether midges were a problem in the area, and Herr Schramm said, “Yes, of course.” And he added, “On average a hundred thousand midges' eggs are laid per square meter of the marshy land.” And, “It would be even worse without the bats.” And, “All the same, I've always wanted to go to Finland. They have lakes there that I've never seen. For instance, it would be good if you find me someone who'd like to go to Finland with me. I've got a bit of money put aside.”

“Well, let's begin, shall we, Herr Schramm?” asked Frau Mahlke, picking up her questionnaire.

The questions about the lady's appearance were soon dealt with: he liked brunettes. Yes, shorter than him, but not too
short. No, he had no objection in principle to makeup. Yes, she should be well groomed but not to excess, you could see plenty of that on TV.

The following came next:

Frau Mahlke: “Should the lady of your heart be the domestic type?”

Herr Schramm: “What does that mean?”

Frau Mahlke: “Would you prefer someone who likes to stay at home, or someone who can join in outdoor activities with you?”

Herr Schramm: “I was an army officer, but I don't get an officer's pension.”

Frau Mahlke: “Meaning?”

Herr Schramm: “Meaning I have to work on the black market in the daytime. But don't write it down just like that. Say I don't mind what she does during the day, but I'd like her to be at home in the evening.”

Frau Mahlke: “Speaking of work, would you like the lady to have a career?”

Herr Schramm: “I don't mind.”

Frau Mahlke: “Do you have any hobbies, Herr Schramm?”

Herr Schramm: “I've thought of something else to do with the last question.”

Frau Mahlke: “Yes?”

Herr Schramm: “Well, if she does have a job then I'd like that, if she's happy with it too. Do you see what I mean?”

Frau Mahlke: “I think so.”

Herr Schramm: “It's very important. Are you happy with your own work, Frau Mahlke?”

Frau Mahlke: “I meet a great many interesting people.”

Herr Schramm: “There you are, then. Ski-jumping and bats.”

Frau Mahlke: “What?”

Herr Schramm: “My hobbies. But I don't do any ski-jumping myself. Do you know Jens Weissflog?”

Frau Mahlke: “He was that ski-jumper, wasn't he?”

Herr Schramm: “Not just that ski-jumper, he was
the
ski-jumper. If there's a category for it, please put: ‘Would like one who has no objection to ski-jumping.'”

Frau Mahlke: “All right. Under Miscellaneous, maybe. Let's move on to something else. Do you wish for physical closeness?”

Herr Schramm: “Er. If it happens, if we like each other, I wouldn't say no.”

Frau Mahlke: “Do you drink alcohol?”

Herr Schramm: “I do drink alcohol, yes.”

Frau Mahlke: “Do you drink more than two glasses a day?”

Herr Schramm: “Two glasses of what?”

Frau Mahlke laughs: “You see, I recently had a gentleman who, well, who liked to drink alcohol very much.”

Herr Schramm: “I like it very much too.”

Frau Mahlke: “Right.”

Herr Schramm: “Yes.”

Frau Mahlke: “Should she drink alcohol as well?”

Herr Schramm: “With me, yes.”

Frau Mahlke: “That's fine too.”

Herr Schramm: “Yes.”

Frau Mahlke: “There was that Four Skills ski-jumping tournament, I watched that with my son when he was still small, he liked it.”

Herr Schramm: “Four
Hills
tournament.”

Frau Mahlke: “What?”

Herr Schramm: “Are you married, Frau Mahlke?”

Frau Mahlke: “Not now—how about housework?”

Herr Schramm: “I've been doing it myself for ages. That's no problem.”

Frau Mahlke: “I believe you. But it all depends on your expectations. What do you expect of a woman, and what can she expect of you?”

Herr Schramm: “Could I perhaps mention that I don't like ironing?”

Frau Mahlke: “We could say: shared work around the house ideal.”

Herr Schramm: “Shared? Good. Shared sounds good.”

Frau Mahlke: “A foreign lady?”

Herr Schramm: “No.”

Frau Mahlke: “Right. Should we concentrate on candidates from this part of the country?”

Herr Schramm: “Well, if there was anyone here I'd know. I can show her everything. And please write that it's lovely here but not as lovely as some other places.”

Frau Mahlke: “I really like ironing myself.”

Herr Schramm: “I see.”

Frau Mahlke: “How about children? Should the lady have children?”

Herr Schramm: “If they've left home then I don't mind.”

Frau Mahlke: “Right. How would you define yourself politically, Herr Schramm?”

Herr Schramm: “Protest voter.”

Frau Mahlke: “And what kind of political attitude should the lady have?”

Herr Schramm: “FDP.”

Frau Mahlke: “The Free Democratic Party? Ah.—Driving license?”

Herr Schramm: “You can't manage without one here.”

Frau Mahlke: “Right.”

Herr Schramm: “That bit about the FDP was a joke. And about the lady—you keep saying: the lady. She doesn't have to be a lady, that's really not necessary.”

Later, Frau Mahlke and Herr Schramm were sitting outside the butcher's shop in the sunset, but Frau Mahlke didn't want anything to eat; she was wearing her sunglasses propped in her hair in spite of the sunlight, and Herr Schramm thought: maybe that's because her eyes look all right, they're well worth showing without sunglasses, and he told her so, he put his meatballs on his plate and said, “Frau Mahlke, it's quite all right that you're not wearing your sunglasses. Because of your eyes. Because they really look good the way they are.”

And then Frau Mahlke decided to try the meatballs after all, just a little bit of one, and later Herr Schramm signed the agreement, and Frau Mahlke shook hands with him and drove back to Berlin with the sunset in her rearview mirror.

Herr Schramm got into the rowing boat and went out on the lake, alone this time. An edgy character, Herr Schramm. Face like the sole of a boot. Firm and leathery and scarred. Bright white hair, the kind of white ex-soldiers get from stress, thin and sparse. He was smoking. He had smoked a lot that day—it's two months ago now. We're not surprised that the representative from the dating agency didn't ask any questions about smoking. Herr Schramm smoked, and made up his mind to stop, let himself drift until the light was only an idea of the gleam in Frau Mahlke's eyes as she ate the meatball.

KRONE, BUTCHER'S SHOP AND CAFÉ—LUNCH

Monday: roast meat and gravy (€4.40)

Tuesday: loin of pork with sauerkraut (€4.40)

Wednesday: meatballs (€3.90)

Thursday: sausages wrapped in bacon (€4.40)

Friday: roast meat and gravy (€4.40)

Saturday (Feast Special): grill behind the shop

IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1589, AT THE TIME OF
the Anna Feast, it so happened that the Inn-Keeper here, Ulrich Ramelow, lost his Wife, and got Another in her Stead, a Woman that he did not desire to keep. Folk said that Mine Host had not entirely understood the Warning given him, not to serve his Guests bad Beer, for he had brew'd another Draft at the Anna Feast such as caus'd those who partook of it Grave Incommodity, and it was of a Vile Flavor into the Bargain.

So now the Inn-Keeper had that strange Female in his House, and could not find his own Wife any Where. The Woman told him roundly that he must endure her to keep Company with him, nor think of making any Complaint to the Mayor, for if he did so he would put her Person and his Own, and above all the Person of his dear Wife, in even greater Danger than was the Present Case. His Horses, she also informed him, were Well and throve exceedingly.

Our Inn-Keeper knew not What to do, but the Reason for his Plight was, that until he brewed Decent Beer he should not have a Decent Woman. For the Newcomer was a Sloven who thought Nothing of God and His Word, or of the Holy Sacrament, and she was much given to Cursing and Blaspheming, and moreover had a Vile Stench about her.

The Inn-Keeper resign'd himself to his Lot, so that his Wife and his Horses should come to No Harm, and he also swore
to brew bad Beer no more. Before he next brewed Beer, none the less, the Sloven had done great Harm to his Name and his Inn. She plagu'd Ramelow mightily with her Desires and her Commands, and all but impoverish'd him. Furthermore she caus'd all Manner of Riffraff, Foreigners and Scoundrels to frequent the Inn, for hardly an Honest Man would show his Face there. There was much Wrangling and Strife among the Guests, who oft came to Fisticuffs for the Favors of that Woman, who made very free with her Charms.

But on the Night when the Inn-Keeper broached his new, good Brew, the Woman was gone, leaving a Besom Broom in the Bed where she had lain. Soon Ramelow his true Wife came home, and right glad she was of it. She said, that two Men had taken her away by Force to a Cavern in the Kiecker Forest, and oblig'd her to stay there with them. The Aforesaid Men were wicked Scoundrels, Thieves and Sorry Deceivers, yet they did not molest her. They had given her good Nourishment, and she had both grave and amusing Talk with them. Many a time the Couple were Away, leaving her with a Fox to bear her company. This Fox was a very tame Beast, and they lov'd it greatly. When they return'd they brought all Manner of Fine Wares, good Cloth, fine Gowns of Damask, Atlas and even Silk with them, together with Jewelery and such Stuff.