Cafe Babanussa (24 page)

“Are you in touch with them now?” Mouna inquired.

“I've seen my sister on occasion. But I recently changed both my first and last names. I took on my father's name,
Agyeman, and the name Abena means ‘Tuesday's child' since I was born on a Tuesday. Anyway, my adoptive family is upset with me for changing my name. They don't understand. It's my way of acknowledging my African identity, and this was even more important since I felt so alienated from my family here.

“Then of course I was the only Black child in my school. Sometimes teachers paraded me around like I was some kind of exotic pet to be toyed with. When I did something wrong, it was always because of my race. I was always reminded of that. Everywhere I went I always felt different, like I belonged nowhere.”

“Abena, you express your pain so beautifully in your dance,” said Ruby. “I guess it is a brilliant way of symbolizing your anguish.”

“Sometimes I think the trials I faced in childhood made me a stronger person, but I really don't know. It brought about so much sadness and confusion, too. Dancing does help a lot, but it's also about having good people around you to recreate a new family, a new system of support. I think I have that now, and that's what keeps me going.”

Mouna suddenly stood up and said, “Enough sadness. I have a story to tell, too. I must show you this before you go. I am having a big fight right now.”

She unceremoniously slipped off her top to reveal her breasts, small and firm like two lemons.

“Look what they have done to me. I had my breasts made smaller because of dancing.”

She lifted up her breasts, one after the other, to reveal angry strips of swollen pus-filled skin.

“They have ruined me. The swelling is getting worse every day and the scar tissue is not healing. They know about black skin. It doesn't always heal very well because of, what do you call it—keloids! They should have known how to do a better job!”

Abena asked if she had been back to see the doctor who had performed the surgery, or if she had insurance or a lawyer. Mouna said simply that she was trying to get a lawyer to help her get them to correct it. Calm once again, Mouna sat back down to finish braiding Ruby's hair. In half an hour she was done. When Ruby asked her what she owed her, Mouna said simply: “This one's for free. I enjoyed getting to know you. You can pay me next time you come.”

One day later that week, Ruby went over to Werner's place to see if he was home. Usually he didn't answer the door, but if she used his old three knocks plus two knocks, he just might open. And indeed, a minute later Werner was standing there looking like he'd seen a ghost.

“Why don't we go down the street for a coffee?” Ruby said. “I just thought we should talk.”

“Did you get my roses?”

“Yes, I did. Come on out. Take a break from the books.”

“Okay, hang on a sec while I get ready.”

As Ruby and Werner walked down the street together an
awkward silence rose up between them. It had been six months since they'd last bumped into each other and a year since they'd split up. Ruby thought Werner looked well. Same blond hair tumbling off his head, same bright, inquisitive eyes. Werner tried to take Ruby's hand in his, but she pried her fingers free. He looked hurt, but said nothing. They were walking down to the Red Door Café, near Leopoldplatz. Ruby became absorbed in the shapes and colours of the cobblestones underneath her feet, and hummed a little song.

“Still singing, huh?” said Werner. “Remember, no Motown around me.”

Ruby laughed and thought,
That's as good a reason as any not to be with you anymore
. At the café, they looked for a table for two where they could have some privacy.

When they sat down, Werner insisted on taking Ruby's hands again and looking her directly in the eyes. He said, “I miss you.”

Ruby squirmed free and sat back in her chair. She looked up at the ceiling and then back down at him and said, “Werner, I don't know what to say to that anymore.”

A server appeared to take their order. Ruby asked for black coffee and Sachertorte and Werner ordered coffee and a linzertorte. “Why don't you start by telling me why you left me? You meant the world to me.”

Ruby scrunched her body up tight. She didn't know how or where to start. She had run through possible conversations between the two of them ahead of time, but she froze anyway.

“Come, come now. Are you saying you had no reason?”

“Werner, look. It was a confluence of things. There was so much confusion around the open-relationship issue.” Her voice drifted off and she tapped the table lightly with her fingertips.

“We could have just opened it up for discussion again, to realign things. But you were stuck on having your way,” said Werner.

“What are you saying? It was your idea in the first place.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Well?”

“You broke the rules. You became infatuated with that addict.”

Ruby sighed impatiently. “That's exactly why it's not so easy. Someone's bound to break the rules. How can you say ‘Go have lots of sex, just don't fall in love'? It doesn't work that way. Or it didn't for me.”

“Did you still love me at that point?”

“Of course I did. With your ideas you should realize that it is possible to love two people at the same time.”

“You didn't love him.”

“No, but he was special to me.”

“You put yourself in a very dangerous situation, and therefore me, too.”

“The more you go on about how dangerous life is, the more I want to go out and play hard and fast. Besides, you're the one who threatened us with a gun.”

“A toy gun.”

“How were we to know? Dom could have had a weapon, too. Then where would we be?”

“Ah, yes, but he's dead now, anyway. You think you would have learned from that,” said Werner. “No, but now you're with another fool, who just happens to be African.”

“Learned what? That I should stay with you? What I learned is that you're a control freak and that I needed a break, to be free . . . and that just grew into something longer. And so fucking what if he's African.”

“So that's it?” Werner thumped the table, his body shaking as he leaned forward. His eyes were steely and hard, and Ruby shoved herself back. The chair legs screeched on the floor and several people turned to look at them.

“I don't know if this is getting us anywhere. Werner, I really appreciate the fact that you stood by me when I was ill. You were always there for me. But I don't want a man who is going to hover over me every second of the day.”

“Hover? I'm looking out for you. That's what people who love each other do. They protect one another. Why can't you accept that? You don't know anything about love.”

Ruby sighed again. “You remind me too much of my father. I don't want to be married to my dad.”

Werner stood up, his hands gripping the table so hard that his knuckles were turning white. “I'm leaving. I only have one final thing to say. I have a paper for you to sign saying you lay no claim to any of my belongings.”

“Fine, that's easy enough.”

Werner scowled at her and muttered, “This is not what I had hoped for.”

Ruby said she was going to stay behind on her own and have a drink.

“A drink? I hope you're not on any meds!”

“Goodbye, Werner.”

“Goodbye.”

Ruby sat by herself, relieved that this conversation was over. It seemed as if Werner had finally grasped the surety with which she spoke when she said they were finished. She knew she must have been hard to live with, considering France and Dom and all. But she had no regrets.

Abena was no stranger to Café Babanussa, and Ruby soon introduced her to Emma and Lina, dragging them all out dancing in the wee hours of the morning. Similarly, Abena felt it was her duty to introduce Ruby to the small Afro-German scene in Berlin. She took her to friends' houses and off to meetings of the young Afro-German Society, where there was much talk about how they should name themselves and whether they should use the term
Afro
or
Black
in their name. Ruby was surprised to hear hesitancy expressed over using the word
Black
, but she knew to keep quiet. She was already sure she had heard people grumbling that Abena had brought an “American” to the meeting. She certainly didn't want to be seen as trying to be an expert on the subject because of where she came from.

Ruby was especially happy to have found Abena, now that Emma had announced that she would be returning to London soon. Ruby valued her relationships with women the most. Issam was a playful and fun man to be with, but it was very hard to hold a serious conversation without him changing the topic sooner rather than later.

Ruby felt that her friendship with Abena was a kind of kismet, they were so alike and so dissimilar at the same time. They could talk about Black music, Black hair, Black politics. They would spend hours in front of the mirror, choosing clothes and accessories as they got ready for a night out on the town. Abena was like a sister. One night she lay contemplating this fact, and her mind seemed more awake than usual and she felt a click in her body, a surge to a heightened awareness. From that night on, over the next weeks the adrenaline seemed to flow just a little more. Ruby felt on edge, but it was a feeling that gave her energy. Her mind was buzzing alive with thoughts of life's potential.

One day Abena approached Ruby and asked if she would attend a dance performance that she would be in. On the night of the performance, the theatre was crowded with people, some of whom Ruby had already met over the past few weeks. The performance was a modern dance piece in several acts that took a harrowing interpretation of the issues of blackness and whiteness. In watching Abena, Ruby could feel their struggle to face down the same questions: Am I Black? Am I white? What is this state of in-between? It gave her strength to know that Abena shared her history in many ways, searching to mould an identity as yet undefined.

By the beginning of the third act, Abena was looking a little pale and shaky. The next thing Ruby knew, her friend lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The crowd was hushed at first and then everyone was rustling in their seats and many, including Ruby, rushed to the stage where Abena lay.

The next day, Ruby visited Abena in hospital. She was curled up in bed on her side, looking quiet and frail, and she didn't open her eyes when Ruby took her hand and held her long, slender brown fingers loosely in her own hand, waiting for the warmth they would bring. But Ruby felt only a brisk coolness as Abena shuddered and shook Ruby's hand off. Ruby sat down quietly beside her and settled herself in, not saying anything at all at first.

Then she whispered, “Abena, what happened?”

Abena whispered back a simple, “Ssh, I don't want to talk now. Come back another time, please.”

Ruby sat for a little while nonetheless. Finally she stroked her friend's arm a few times, stood up, then lowered herself to Abena's level and spoke gently into her ear. “I'll be back soon.”

Ruby went back to see Abena another two times and always got the same response. Ruby had heard in the meantime from two friends, Kwame and Mahmoud, that Abena had been diagnosed with a particularly severe form of multiple sclerosis. Finally her friend was released, and Ruby rode her bike from Wedding to Schöneberg to pay Abena a visit at home. She sailed through the streets and along canals, the rush of the air swooping in to fill the spaces around her. The ride left her giddy and pumped for her visit. Abena let her in, wearing only a long T-shirt, but turned away from her immediately and sank into her bright orange hammock in her living room. Ruby crisscrossed the room to where the sand and shells lay in between the panes of glass. She opened up the inside window and let the sand whoosh through her
fingers as she said, “You're not going to Ghana after all, are you?”

Abena looked at her dully and replied, “No. Not now.”

“Abena, you have to get better first. This is just a temporary phase, and you'll recover. Then you can go.”

Abena just nodded her head and lay there rocking quietly back and forth on her hammock, refusing to say a word.

Over the next month Abena gradually regained some of the sunshine and warmth that used to spill out of her so easily. Ruby as well started feeling more expansive and joyful and became much more talkative than usual. Increasingly, as the weather warmed, Abena would ask to go for walks outside, and Ruby helped her, only too happy to walk off the extra energy. Eventually, Ruby asked her to go to Café Babanussa one afternoon.

“Maybe Issam will be working, or maybe Ali. Either way, they'd both be thrilled to see you.”

“I'm not sure if I'm up to that kind of thing right now.”

“Oh, come on. Just change your clothes, put on something funky and you'll feel better.”

“I don't think so.”

“Oh, for chrissake, Abena, you have to get out of here. You're gonna wither up and turn into a ghost if you don't get outside. Tell you what. I'll take you out for dinner after, just you and me, and you can tell me again all about your travels to Africa and about just how luscious that man of yours is.”

Abena smiled and swung her legs slowly out of the hammock. She sat there, letting them sway side to side for another
minute or so before she finally jumped out and yelped, “Okay, okay, okay. I'm coming.”

As usual, the café was full of friends and acquaintances, and they spent that day and others chatting, drinking tea and soaking up the jubilant atmosphere all around them. But soon Abena's health failed again. When Ruby visited her, Abena would frequently stay in bed and would have little to say. Ruby noticed certain things: the weakness of her hands; the overall slowness of her once lithe movements; the fact that her eyes had lost their lustre and were now simply uninviting.