Indigo (30 page)

When he opened the window, he heard the noise of a small parade, which must have been moving very nearby down one of the narrow, winding lanes of the district. Some high-pitched cheers wafted over to him at full volume. He quickly closed the window again.

That evening Willi and his new girlfriend came for a visit. Willi was fast when it came to the discarding of old girlfriends and the finding of new ones. With this one here, Magda, who was very pretty but not boring, he already had his problems. And he made no secret of them.

– But the worst! Willi snapped, raising a forefinger. The worst is when she, after she has gone to the bath . . . Do you have anything against my telling them, sweetie?

Magda, whose profile in Robert's head still occasionally merged with Elke's, made a couldn't-care-less-sweetie gesture with her shoulders. Willi laughed with relief and went on:

– So when she goes to the bathroom and . . . makes . . . okay? Well, I mean, when she's finished, okay? Then she stands up, of course, dabs herself (he imitated the female way of wiping with toilet paper the last drops of urine, as if it were a profoundly ridiculous idea to use paper when nature gave us underpants for that) and, well, then . . . (he chuckled because he had caught the hard-to-interpret look of his new girlfriend) . . . and then she comes out and asks whether I by any chance have to go too, because that way we can save water.

– What? said Cordula.

– Well, to save water and such. If both of us take a piss and flush only once, then— Don't look at me like that!

– But you ruin it when you tell it like
that
, said Magda. You make it sound as if I were forcing you. It's only an idea, to help the planet.

– By looking at what you've left behind every time I take a pee?

– Oh, you're such a rhinoceros, she said, giving him a respectful, overly cute poke with her forefinger.

Robert had to look away. His hand felt the underside of the table. He found a screw, pushed the sharp edge of the screw head, which stuck out a few millimeters, under his fingernail. What would it be like to inhale hundreds of tiny flies and choke to death on them? The inner buzzing, the beating of the wings . . .

– Water will become increasingly scarce on this planet in the next fifty years, said Magda. The next war will be over drinking water.

Cordula nodded gravely.

– But if I can't even go to the bathroom by myself anymore, said Willi, then the planet can fuck off.

Outside the window a V-2 rocket soundlessly hit the ground. Robert felt the explosion under his fingernail. He pulled the hand out from under the table and examined the wound. A little red shimmer.

– Besides, we can fight for water, said Willi. It's not really disappearing, as if it were being siphoned by aliens, but rather it's being polluted. She's right about that, of course.

– I don't think it's a bad idea at all, said Cordula. I mean, saving water. Whenever Robert takes a bath, I think:
My God, those tons of clean drinking water
. But we could bathe in the river too.

– Like in India, said Magda.

– In the Ganges? said Willi. My God, that filthy muck. Well, it's actually mainly a population control measure, that river. I mean, in India, where such a vast number of people live anyway, slums, one-armed children who play the flute, and how should I know what else, so they just invented that Hindu religion, where they don't go into a church like normal people but instead go into that river and pray there in the waves. And the river is full of
E. coli
bacteria and dead rats and so on.

– Ew, said Cordula.

– Why do you always have to suck the beauty out of everything? asked Magda.

Willi held up his hands.

– I find it bizarre, said Robert.

Everyone looked at him, happy that he was joining the conversation. Robert had to turn away again. But he went on:

– Yeah, I find it bizarre how many movies are produced every year in India.

– Oh, my God, Bollywood! said Willi.

How readily they pounced on his topic. Include him. The burnt-out dingo. He felt for the comforting, pain-giving screw, but could no longer find it.

– Everything always turns into a musical! said Willi.
Hamlet?
Musical.
Superman?
In the end they dance and sing. Even the life of Abraham Lincoln was made into a movie by them, and at one point there's a brawl between abolitionists and anti-abolitionists in a bar, and then they sing again and dance around a veiled woman . . . India in general, a totally bizarre TV country. They had this show where some kid played Michael Jackson.

– An action series? asked Robert.

– No, a sort of talent show. And a kid danced like Michael Jackson. Totally gay.

– Hey! said Cordula.

Willie went on:

– But what I don't get: Why does a young guy dress up as a pedophile? I mean, that's creepy, in a way. It's a Möbius strip.

– That hasn't been proven, said Magda.

– Michael is alive, said Robert.

– That too, Willi agreed with him. Why does a boy dress up as a pedophile? Why not at least as Elvis?

– Because he's dead, said Robert.

– But he wasn't even . . . , began Cordula. You guys always have to condemn everyone even though they didn't do it!

– True, like the flayer, my math teacher!

– What? asked Magda.

– Anyway, these Möbius strips make me totally sick, said Willi.

– You always talk such nonsense! said Magda.

She said it appreciatively.

– Snakes biting their own tails in general, said Willi. And besides, where does a kid like that get the idea to move in that way? A dance that has been dead for so many years. They should work in mines instead, break stones and such. Or beg—have you seen those drugged-out kids who roam around the city and beg in cafés? How should I know what they do, probably sniff glue. When they stand next to me, I swear, it comes up to here—(Willi indicated with a hand in front of his chest a rising water level)—and then I lose it. I become violently ill around those kids. I always look around automatically to check whether an iBall is hanging somewhere.

Robert laughed and gestured to the corner.

– Come on, you're mean! said Magda.

A second of silence.

– Oh, shit, said Willi. I'm always putting my foot in my mouth. My mistake.

Magda gave a pained laugh and stared at Robert.

– I'm not your mistake, Robert said to Willi. You can call me cupcake, but not mistake.

Willi laughed with relief.

– You craven bastard, said Robert. Shall we fight it out? Kung fu?

– I would totally humiliate you, sensei, said Willi, presenting the sides of his hands. I give you a one-punch KO Bruce Lee combination.

Robert stood up and did the typical Bruce Lee bow: stick-stiff, with tense chest muscles, accompanied by a high-pitched:

– Ooohhh.

Willi nudged Magda:

– Didn't I tell you? He's a natural talent, this guy.

Robert sat down again. His heart was beating as if he had just committed a bank robbery.

– I trained with Chuck Norris, he said. I can make people puke with my mere presence.

Magda's face became serious.

Willi laughed cautiously. Cordula was pale.

– Who's Chuck Norris? asked Magda.

– You're too young, said Willi.

You have to respect the wood, Robin,
Robert told himself, imagining the side of his hand breaking through the material. A single precise chop. Bones and tendons and joint fluid.

– Classic kung fu movies are always about the suspension of gravity, said Willi.

Robert looked directly at Magda. Okay, she was Willi's new girlfriend. And she was really good-looking. Nineties wide-rimmed glasses, somewhat out of fashion, but the spider web thing over her chest looked good on her. Accentuated her breasts.

– Yes, said Robert. Those fidgety little Asians, they're like fish in a tank, aren't they? If they move fast enough, they might even be able to fly. You're right.

– Sounds exciting, said Magda.

Willi put a hand on her shoulder.

– There's also a shot like that in the classic Easterns by the Shaw Brothers. All before our birth, but still the most sublime thing you've ever seen. The backward leap. It's actually a shot of a fighter who is simply jumping in a majestic way (Robert raised his arms in an improvised dragon fight pose) down from an elevated area, but then it's played backward so that it looks like he's leaping up backward. That really does look like flying.

Magda smiled.

– You know, a piece of gum would look really good in your mouth, Robert said to her.

He felt Cordula touching him gently with her foot under the table.

– Careful with your foot, he said to her, then he turned to Magda: What kind of gum would you prefer? I mean, the choice of gum is really important, much more important than, for example, the choice of a tie or a certain hairstyle.

– I don't like gum, said Magda.

– No? That's really too bad, said Robert. I would have liked to see it.

– Ha, said Willi.

It sounded less like a laugh, more like the bark of a dog who registers that a stranger is approaching the gate to the yard.

– Yes, he knows all about old movies, said Cordula, gesturing to Robert. But try dragging him to a movie theater . . .

– Kung fu, said Robert. You have to respect the wood. Even if you have a thick, fat, dumb block of wood in front of you, and it looks at you so damn stupidly and even brought along its new, smaller wooden block friend, you still have to respect it and . . . well, yeah, respect it. That's the most you can do. The rest takes care of itself.

He did a karate chop on the table.

– Ah, he said. You see? I didn't respect this wood here enough.

Everyone was silent. Magda twisted her mouth a bit to one side, which might have been the hint of a smile.

– Oh, now everyone's looking at me, said Robert. I've made a fool of myself. But just don't take me seriously, I . . . I don't know myself what got into me just now. Sometimes that's just the way I am, gum, well, hahaha, it can't be helped, from time to time, you know—

Willi began to laugh. It was long overdue.

– Shit, there's nothing in the world funnier than Robert apologizing, he said. I might have been able to keep a straight face even longer, but my face muscles hurt.

Magda now laughed too.

Robert stood up and gave a hint of a bow. Then he walked once around the table and pulled a pack of gum from the inside pocket of his jacket, which lay on a chair next to the peacefully wobbling newspaper. He took out a piece of gum and threw it to Willi, who caught it and laughed even louder.

Cordula had placed both hands on the table. She wasn't looking at anyone.

Willi dropped the piece of gum on the table and pounded it with his fist until it was completely flat.

– Respect, the, gum! Like so . . .

Robert laughed. Then he said:

– Hey, Willi, why do you bring a different woman with you every time you come over here?

– Boo! Willi said, and looked at Magda.

She looked as if she had been caught, Robert thought.

– Did she want to see me, hm? he asked. Visit the dingo?

– Hey, now, hold on, said Willi, raising his hand.

– I didn't want to see anyone, said Magda, turning red.

– Ah, now I know where I've seen you before, Robert said to her. In one of those parades that are constantly going on!

It was silent.

– That's not a joking matter, said Willi.

– My God, are you serious today! Robert said with a laugh. Now respect the damn wood and the stupid gum already and be quiet.

– Hey, speaking of respect, said Willi. Your face is all red again, my dear friend. Don't laugh too much, or else . . . I mean, if you have to go to the bathroom, now would still be a chance. Later, who knows . . .

Magda cried out when Robert flung himself at Willi. She was knocked off her chair and fell under the table. Cordula tried to pull Robert away from Willi, but he developed crazy strength when he was angry and desperate.

– Stop, please! she begged him. Stop!

She somehow managed to squeeze herself between the two men. Robert punched her in the stomach.

[RED-CHECKERED FOLDER]