Kismet (24 page)

For a moment I hesitated, then I moved as fast as I could. Effusive thanks, put the cheque away without looking at it, get to my feet, unobtrusive sign to Leila to hurry, step by step to the front door accompanied by a never-ending farewell monologue, final handshake: ‘If there’s ever anything else … ’ ‘… Oh, of course, I’ll certainly turn to you’, then down the gravel path, into the car, stop round the next corner to look at the cheque … five thousand marks!

‘Is OK?’

‘… Yes, it’s OK.’

‘What we do now?’

‘Now …’ I put the cheque away and beamed at her. ‘Now you wipe that chicken-feed off your face and we go and drink champagne!’

We sat in the bar of the Hilton Hotel for almost two hours, polished off two bottles of champagne, ate caviar on toast and laughed over Frau Beierle. Leila imitated all three of us in turn, and explained how she’d managed those tears.

‘Easy, I think hard of sad thing, then they come. Do just like that!’ And she snapped her fingers. ‘Am going to be actress, you see.’

She enjoyed the champagne and so did I, and after we had given points from one to ten to all the alcoholic drinks the two of us knew, it was agreed that we had just been consuming the best of them all. Then we told each other about our first drinks. With me it was quick: alone in my room at the age of thirteen, putting back a bottle of apple brandy in one go. Instead of appearing at my heartthrob’s party a little later, all relaxed and witty as I’d planned, I found myself in hospital next morning.

‘Me, was my father’s birthday. I twelve. I drink secretly in kitchen. Then I go at night to house next door where boy I love live, and I go to window like this.’ She tapped the air with her hand. ‘I take flowers too. Then I suddenly very ill, and the boy come, and I go like this.’ She leaned forward, retching and letting her tongue hang out of her mouth. ‘Was all over with boy. But good that way. He always so stuck-up, playing piano, top of class at school.
Later I am glad I.’ and she did a little more heavy breathing ‘.all over him. Afterwards all were angry, my father, my mother. But I drink not often, I don’t like because it make me tired, and when life normal, you know, I have soooo …’ and she flung her arms wide apart ‘… so much to do, I not want to sleep.’

If it hadn’t been for Gina and Slibulsky’s dinner at eight, we’d probably have ordered a third bottle.

On the way to the car Leila linked arms with me.

‘When my mother come, we drink champagne again?’

‘You bet we will. The three of us will drink the bar dry.’

And then, for a moment, I was breathless. Tomorrow the crunch would come – whatever the outcome. I’d been trying not to think of that all day. Suddenly it almost knocked me flat.

As we drove through the empty evening streets to Sachsenhausen, the radio was playing Van Morrison’s
Whenever God Shines His Light
, and there was a fine sunset glowing behind the tower buildings for the first time in a week. As if everything was all right now.

Not much was all right for Slibulsky this evening. Ten minutes with the assembled company in the living room around a buffet of aperitifs and nibbles were enough to show me why he was so keen to have me there. His concerns about my private life might be one reason, but first and foremost it was probably so that he wouldn’t be delivered up alone to this bunch of Mickey Mouse scholars who thought the world revolved around them. Not a chance was missed to trumpet names or professional terms through the room, not a refill of white wine came without a little Latin joke, presumably on the subject of liquor, and there were always surprised, slightly embarrassed smiles when, since I was there anyway, I contributed something I myself knew to the conversation. Now and then Gina’s glances suggested that much of her guests’ behaviour seemed to her pretentious to say the least, but the choice between her partner the ice cream vendor and ex-drugs-dealer and her museum acquaintances had clearly been made for this evening. Sometimes Slibulsky looked at her as if in pain. The obvious centre of attention was Gina’s new boss, the museum curator. A tanned, lean, good-looking man of around fifty who wore a sports jacket with a hood, flared workman’s trousers and trainers like cruise missiles similar to those favoured by Gregor, as if showing that he for one didn’t look his age. He liked to drop little references to that into the
conversation now and then.

‘… I think I told you how they wouldn’t let me into the conference building in Tunis the other day – priceless! Even though I had my pass for the occasion, they really refused to believe for a whole half an hour that I was the museum curator from Frankfurt!’

So far so priceless, but of course Gina, who was putting all her efforts into gaining the title of Silliest Female of the Evening, had to make it even more so.

‘But why not?’ she asked in surprise.

Or perhaps she wasn’t being quite so silly after all, perhaps she was actually being rather clever, she knew her boss and how to act with him. For he was only too ready to answer her question. ‘Well, I mean, look at me.’ Laughing, he indicated his person. ‘To one of those Arabs, I’m a total freak.’

In fact the members of the museum staff present were pretty freaky anyway. They were free and easy in their language – ‘Oh, Iris, you wino!’ – they weren’t taking any thought for the morrow – ‘Well, then I’ll be there half an hour late, makes no difference to me!’ – they respected no one – ‘The old bugger who wrote that article may be a big name in Italy, don’t ask me, but I’d rather not say what I think of the article itself’ – not even their boss. ‘Listen, Heiner … you, listen up! I thought for a moment when I saw your back view, hey, there’s Lukas, you know, the work experience lad who’s always trying to get us to techno parties. I mean, really, you want to wear something more respectable!’

The boss reacted vigorously to this. ‘On the day I wear what you’d call something respectable you can turn me out of the curator’s office! But you’ll have to wait a long
time …’ He shook his head, grinning. ‘However, to be serious – and it’s really nothing to do with a man’s trousers – just take a look at the way other curators run their museums. All by the rules laid down in the last century, know what I mean? Yes, yes, I know: as my colleagues see it, I just don’t fit their ideas, but to be honest I can’t imagine things any other way. Sorry, but that’s where I stand.’

In which case I’d have to go and stand somewhere else. I refilled my glass, put a cracker with cream cheese in my mouth, and set off in search of Slibulsky. He was sitting in the kitchen with Leila, the pair of them peeling garlic. Leila smiled at me and I smiled back. Champagne allies.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Slibulsky without looking up.

‘Oh, wonderful.’

‘Hm.’

‘Those elegant ladies you were talking about …’

‘All right, all right, drop it.’

I sat down at the kitchen table with them, lit myself a cigarette and watched them peeling away.

Suddenly Slibulsky put his head back and asked, ‘What’s up? Why that silly grin? Was there someone out there after all?’

‘Out there? Nope.’

‘Aha.’ He turned back to his garlic-peeling. ‘Where’d you meet her?’

‘Wait and see.’

‘I know,’ said Leila, beaming knowingly as we both looked at her in surprise. ‘Heard how you watch video again.’

‘Video?’ Slibulsky frowned. ‘Is this some kind of a joke? Julia Roberts, maybe?’

‘I said wait and see.’

‘What
is
this video, Leila?’

But when she realised that we, and particularly I, weren’t dismissing her notion as lightly as perhaps she expected, her glance suddenly became uneasy, and she quickly played things down. ‘Is only idea. Don’t really know.’

Probably it really had been only an idea. The notion that there might have been something in it didn’t exactly simplify our situation. Not a good subject.

‘Come on.’ Slibulsky wasn’t letting it drop.

‘Suppose I’m just having a kind of second honeymoon with Deborah? You ought to be glad that after all the attractions you held out in advance I wasn’t pinning all my emotional hopes on this party.’

‘I hadn’t seen them then.’

‘Elegant ladies, you said.’

‘Well, what you’d take for elegant ladies among museum curators. A little education wouldn’t do you any harm. Anyway, we were talking about something quite different. What was the title of the film? You can tell me that at least.’

‘Can’t remember. Some kind of erotic thriller. Deborah had a small part.’

‘You’re having me on, right?’

‘Oh, shut up.’ I stood up. ‘What is there to eat? Garlic bread?’

Slibulsky sighed. ‘Go and make that sort of joke out there. A lot of them are only just out of college. Someone may laugh.’

‘Why would they? They would be glad to get French cuisine.’

On the way to the living room Gina ran into me. Like
last time, she was dressed up to the nines and her eyes were shining, as if she still had a lot to do today.

‘Sorry I haven’t had time to say hello properly yet.’ She kissed my cheek, stepped back and examined my face. ‘Everything all right again?’

‘Keep taking plenty of fluids, the doctor said, and I’ve stuck to his advice. You’re looking wonderful. Like always … recently. What is it – in love?’

I meant it facetiously, but when Gina suddenly froze and blushed red the question instantly assumed uncomfortable weight.

‘Er … I didn’t mean anything. What would I mean?’

‘What indeed?’ she replied in a slightly husky voice. ‘I expect I’m a little nervous about the meal. I haven’t known these people very long.’

‘Hm. And how’s it all going at the museum?’

‘Oh, great. Really fun. That’s why recently I may have been so … oh, well.’

‘You get on all right with the boss?’

‘To be honest, I don’t have all that much to do with him. I look after my own department, and now and then we discuss things. Sometimes we have a coffee together, or we.’

‘That’s all right,’ I interrupted her. ‘I didn’t want to know all the details of how little you have to do with each other.’

She stared at me, and a trace of anger came into her eyes.

‘Not exactly a nice guy, is he? Well, what the hell, between you and me he’s a world-class arsehole. Best to avoid him as far as possible, I’m sure.’

She stood motionless for a moment until her mouth
twisted into a grim smile. ‘Thanks for the advice, but luckily I’m grown up. I can decide for myself who I’ll avoid and who I won’t.’ With which she left me standing there.

It’s a funny thing how some women always make a really big deal of their independence just when they’re about to mess things up. Or what I’d call mess things up.

There was little I could do but go back into the living room and mingle. In the process I took plenty of fluids and let a small, crisp woman in glasses deliver me a lecture on sexual stimulants in classical antiquity. Interesting the way she did it in a tone of voice as if she were reading aloud the instructions for using an electric iron. Then there was supper, and I found myself sitting at one end of the table between Four-Eyes and a man who kept saying ‘Tasty, tasty’. Now and then I cast a surreptitious glance at Gina. She was sitting at the other end of the table beside her boss talking exuberantly. But occasionally she fell silent for a moment, and I thought I sensed her looking at me. Slibulsky was between a young man with rings on his fingers and a shaved, spotty neck, and a woman who kept putting her head on one side as she listened, smiling as if she were talking to a set of soft, pink stuffed toys. They were conversing with each other across Slibulsky, discussing who would be appointed to a post about to fall vacant. Slibulsky stoically put forkful after forkful in his mouth and didn’t look as if he planned to follow any conversation for as much as two sentences together. He must have been envying Leila, who had retreated to watch TV in the bedroom.

Iris, the bespectacled woman, seemed intent on having a serious conversation with me during the meal. She
didn’t seem to mind what the subject was. In her instructions-for-use tone, which did not change in spite of her increasing tipsiness, she moved from the digital future of archaeology to the destructive effects of popular tourism, and from the subject of what I did in my holidays to the relationship between the sexes in general.

‘Do you agree that the crucial mistakes, the mistakes that will lead to a rift some time later, are made at the very beginning, perhaps even at the first meeting?’

‘Hm, er … I don’t know. Perhaps sometimes.’

‘Aha.’

‘Why aha?’

‘Interesting: perhaps sometimes. Conversely, that would mean: perhaps sometimes not.’

In one respect she was phenomenal. So tight by now that she was practically squinting and her remarks were really sheer nonsense, she kept on uttering them in the same slightly slurred, entirely unemotional way, without any intonation at all, as if talking was her job, and a badly paid one at that.

When we left the table and sat down on sofas and chairs I took my chance to slip away from Four-Eyes, and went into the bedroom to say goodbye to Leila.

‘As soon as there’s any news tomorrow I’ll call you.’

‘OK. Went well?’

‘Of course.’ I stroked her head.

‘That in the kitchen, just joke, you know?’

‘I know. Try to sleep a bit.’

She nodded, and we smiled at each other.

‘See you tomorrow.’

As before, I found Slibulsky in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table drinking schnapps.

‘I have to go. There’s a lot to do tomorrow.’

‘You’re telling me,’ he muttered to himself, sounding sozzled.

‘Is it just those people annoying you, or is there something else?’

‘Aren’t they enough to annoy anyone?’

‘Yes, sure. Well … look after Leila.’

‘Don’t worry.’

As I left I waved to Gina, received a cool nod in return, and then I was on the stairs at last. Although it wasn’t very friendly of me, as soon as the front door of the building closed behind me I’d forgotten Slibulsky and Gina.

At ten in the morning on the dot I got into the car and drove off to the station district. The sun was shining, and it had turned warm again overnight. In the streets people were strolling about, talking, doing their Saturday shopping or having the first drink of the weekend outside cafés. I had wound the window down. Laughter, children’s shouts, and fresh air smelling of flowers wafted in. Frankfurt this morning felt like a mixture between a meadow by an open-air swimming pool and a busy village square.