Love Virtually (9 page)

Three days later

Subject: Break over!

Dear Emmi,

We've now had a three-day break from emailing. I think we can slowly resume our correspondence. I hope you have a good day at work. I'm thinking of you a lot, in the mornings, in the afternoons, in the evenings, at night, in the periods in between and just before and after—and also during.

Love,

Leo

Ten minutes later

Re: Break over!

M (Ma-Mae-Maes-Maest . . .) Dear Leo,

YOU might have had a break from emailing, but I haven't! I've been hard at work watching you take your email break. And I've been waiting for you to finish your email break. I've been getting quite impatient. But it's been worth it. Here you are again, and you're thinking of me. That's nice. Are you well? Do you have the time and the inclination for a glass of wine with me later on this evening? Not together, of course. I mean you and your fantasy Emmi. And me and my virtual Leo. And we can write to each other a bit while we're at it.

Do you like the idea?

Eight minutes later

Re: Break over!

Yes, Emmi, let's do that. Is your B. (Be, Ber, Bern, Bernh), is your husband out in the evening?

Three minutes later

Re: Break over!

You just love asking me questions like that, don't you? It always sounds a bit like you want to punish me for being happily married. No, Bernhard is at home in the evening. He'll either be in his study preparing work for tomorrow. Or he'll be sitting on his sofa reading. Or he'll be asleep in his bed. He's usually asleep by midnight. Is that a good enough answer?

Six minutes later

Re: Break over!

Yes, perfectly adequate, thank you! Whenever you talk about your husband, Emmi, it always sounds as if you want to prove that you can lead separate and independent lives, if, or although, or precisely because, you're married. You don't write “in the study,” but “in HIS study.” He doesn't sit “on our sofa,” but “on HIS sofa.” He doesn't even lie “in our bed,” but “in HIS bed.”

Four minutes later

Re: Break over!

Dear Leo,

You're not going to believe this, but at our house we really do have our own studies, our own sofas and yes, even our own beds. You see, funnily enough we also have our own lives.

Does that shock you?

Twenty-five seconds later

Re: Break over!

Why do you live together then?

Eighteen minutes later

Re: Break over!

You're so sweet, Leo! You're as naive as a twenty-year-old. We don't pin “Keep Out” signs to our study doors, our sofas are not for “authorized personnel only.” Our beds don't carry the warning “Beware—it bites!” Each of us has our own domain, but we're also very welcome to enter each other's. As you and I put it only recently, we're welcome to “intrude into each other's private life.” So now you've found out a bit more about my marriage.

Thirty seconds later

Re: Break over!

And how old are the children?

Thirty-five minutes later

Re: Break over!

Fiona is sixteen, Jonas eleven. And “my Bernhard” is considerably older than I am. So, my dear Leo, that brings us to the end of your lesson about my family. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather leave the children out of our exchanges. A few months ago you said you found talking to me was like a kind of “Marlene therapy.” (Of course I don't know whether that's still the case—perhaps you could let me know one of these days!) For me writing to you and reading your emails is like non-family time. It's a little island outside my daily experience, a tiny island that I'd much rather inhabit with you alone, if you don't mind.

Five minutes later

Re: Break over!

That's fine, Emmi. Sometimes I'm just niggled by curiosity to know what you're like outside of our fuzzy little island, what your grounded life on the mainland is like, in the secure harbor of your marriage. (Forgive me, it just worked so well.) But I'm all island again now. So when are we going to drink our glass of wine? Midnight too late for you?

Two minutes later

Re: Break over!

Midnight would be perfect! I look forward to our rendezvous.

Twenty seconds later

Re: Break over!

Me too. Till then.

Midnight

Subject: (no subject)

Dear Emmi,

Leo here. Here's to a heavenly midnight,
à deux
, just for the two of us. May I embrace you, Emmi? May I kiss you? I will kiss you. Right, let's drink. What are you drinking? I'm drinking Sauvignon Visconti, Colli Orientali del Friuli, 2003. And what are you drinking? Reply immediately, Emmi, immediately, O.K.? What's Emmi drinking? I'm drinking white wine.

One minute later

Re:

Doesn't sound like your first glass!!!

Eight minutes later

Re:

Oh look, Emmi's writing again. Emmi. Emmi. Emmi. I'm a little drunk, but only a little. I've been drinking all evening and waiting till midnight, till Emmi comes to visit me. Yes, you're right. It's not my first bottle. I'm longing for my Emmi. Do you want to come over here? We can turn the lights off. We don't have to see each other. I just want to feel you, Emmi. I'll close my eyes. It's pointless with Marlene. We're draining the lifeblood from each other. We don't love each other. She thinks we do, but we don't, it isn't love, it's just enslavement, just possession. Marlene doesn't want to let me go, and I, well, I can't hold on to her. I'm a bit drunk. Not very. Will you come over, Emmi? Shall we kiss? My sister says you're very beautiful, Emmi, whoever you are. Have you ever kissed a stranger? I'm going to have another swig of the Friuli now. I'll drink to us both. I'm already a bit drunk. But not very. And now it's your turn again. Write to me, Emmi. Writing is like kissing, just without the lips. Writing is kissing with the mind. Emmi, Emmi, Emmi.

Four minutes later

Re:

Ah well, I suppose I imagined our first midnight date would be a bit different. Leo drunk as a fart!! But it does have a certain charm. Do you know what? I'll make it short—the words are probably swimming at this stage anyway. But if you're in the mood, if you can manage it, why don't you tell me a bit more about your home life. Please don't write anything that you might regret tomorrow morning, when you wake from your delirium. I'm going to drink a glass of French red from the Rhone valley, a 1997. Here's to you! But I'd advise you to switch to water. Or make yourself some strong coffee.

Fifty minutes later

Re:

You're so harsh, Emmi. Don't be so harsh. I don't want coffee. I want Emmi. Come over to my place. Let's drink another small glass of wine. We could wear blindfolds, like in the film. I don't know what the film's called, I'll have to think about it. I'd really love to kiss you. I don't care what you look like. I've fallen in love with your words. Write what you want. Feel free to be harsh. I love it all. You see, deep down you're not harsh really. But you force yourself to be, you just want to make out you're stronger than you are. Marlene doesn't touch booze. Marlene is a very sober woman, yet fascinating. That's what everybody who knows her says. She got together with a pilot, from Spain. But it's all over now. She says there's only one man for her and that's me. That's a lie, you know. She can't have me anymore. It really hurts when you split up. I don't want to split up from Marlene again. Mom liked her. My mother's dead, she was unlucky. It's very different from how I thought it would be. Part of me has died with her. I've only been aware of it since it died. My mother wasn't that interested in me, just in my little sister. And my dad emigrated to Canada and took my older brother with him. I fell somewhere in between. I was ignored. I was a quiet child. I can show you photos. Do you want to see photos? I was always Buster Keaton at carnival time. I like silent, sad, funny heroes who can make faces. Come over, let's drink another glass to us and look through carnival photos. Shame you're married. No, it's a good thing you're married. Would you cheat on your husband, Emmi? Don't do it. It hurts so terribly to be cheated on. I'm already a little drunk, but my head's still clear. Marlene cheated on me once. I mean, once that I know of. You take one look at Marlene and you know that she'll cheat on you. I'm putting that all behind me now, Emmi. Here's a kiss. And another kiss. And another kiss. And another. Whoever you are. I long to be close. I don't want to think about my mother. I don't want to think about Marlene. I want to kiss Emmi. Excuse me, I'm a bit drunk. It's all behind me now. I'm off to bed. Good night kiss. Shame you're married. I think we'd be good together. Emmi. Emmi. Emmi. I like writing Emmi. Left middle finger once, right index finger twice and, two rows above that, right middle finger. EMMI. I could write Emmi a thousand times. Writing Emmi is kissing Emmi. Let's go to bed, Emmi.

The next morning

Subject: Hi

Hi Leo,

How's your head?

Lots of love from Emmi

Two and a half hours later

Subject: (no subject)

Are you still wondering how to explain to yourself and, more to the point, how to explain to ME last night's emails? You don't have to, Leo. I liked all those things you came out with; I really liked them, in fact. You should get drunk more often, you become a much more emotional person: very open and forthright, tender, even bordering on ardent and passionate. This unbridled side suits you! I'm honored that you wanted to kiss me so often! So please write to me. I badly need to know what you think about all this. You always try to rein yourself in when you're sober, quite different from the Leo who's unleashed when he's a bit drunk. I hope you didn't throw up.

Three hours later

Subject: (no subject)

Leo???? Why aren't you writing back! It's not fair, and it's a real turnoff. It smacks of a man who in the morning is not willing to stand by what he whispered into a woman's ear the night before, when he was drunk on love. It smacks of a pretty typical, pretty average, pretty dull man. But it doesn't smack of Leo. So will you please write to me!!!!

Five hours later

Re:

Dear Emmi,

It's now ten o'clock. Do you want to come over to my place?

I'll pay the taxi fare. (I live on the edge of town.)

Leo

Almost two hours later

Re:

Whoops! Dear Leo, it's now 11:43. Are you still dreaming, or are you asleep? If not, I've got a few questions for you:

1) Did you really want me to come over?

2) Do you still want me to come over?

3) Might you be “a bit drunk” again?

4) If I came over to your place, what do you think you and I might do?

Five minutes later

Re:

Dear Emmi,

1) Yes

2) Yes

3) No

4) We'll see what happens.

Three minutes later

Re:

Dear Leo,

1) O.K.

2) Right

3) Good

4) We'll see what happens? Whatever happens is always what people want to happen. So what do you want to happen?

Fifty seconds later

Re:

I really don't know, Emmi. But I think we'll know the moment we meet.

Two minutes later

Re:

And what if nothing happens? Then we'll just stand there like idiots, shrugging our shoulders, and one of us will say to the other: “Really sorry, for some reason nothing's happening.”

And then what?

One minute later

Re:

That's a risk we'll have to take. So do come over, Emmi! Be brave! Let's both be brave! Let's trust in each other!

Twenty-five minutes later

Re:

Dear Leo,

I find your urgency strange, and it's beginning to get on my nerves. It's not your usual style. I have a hunch that you know exactly what might happen. You're probably still feeling the effects of last night. Are you still on a bit of a high? You're looking for intimacy. You want to forget Marlene, or rather, you want to make her forgotten. And you've read enough books on how this works, you've seen plenty of movies, last tangos with Marlon Brandos and so forth. I know those scenes, Leo: he sees her for the first time, preferably in semidarkness, so that everything looks beautiful even if it isn't. And then not another word is spoken, and the only sound is of clothes dropping to the ground. They fall on each other as if they're about to starve, they stop at nothing, rolling around for hours from one end of some designer apartment to the other. End of scene. In the next shot he's lying on his back with a self-satisfied smile playing across his lips. His eyes wander lasciviously across the ceiling, as if he even wants to get off with that too. She lies there with her head on his chest, satiated like some doe after a herd of rutting stags has passed through. One of them might be having a cigarette, exhaling smoke through his or her nose. And then there'll be a subtle fade-out. But what happens after that? That's what most interests me. What happens after that???

That's not the way it's going to happen, Leo. Just for once you've been behaving like a stereotypical male. We could have got past all this, of course. That blindfold fantasy you let slip yesterday when you were drunk—we wouldn't even have to see each other. You open the door to me with a blindfold on, and we fall into each other's arms. We have sex blindfolded. We say good-bye to each other blindfolded. And tomorrow you'd write me more sanctimonious emails about fidelity and I'd write you bolshie emails back, like I always do. And if our night together was good, we'd do it again, uncoupled from our other lives, entirely independent of our correspondence. Sex with the minimum attachment possible. We've got nothing to lose, nothing would be jeopardized. You'd have your “intimacy,” I'd have my little extramarital adventure. It's an exciting prospect, I must say. But let's face it, it's a bit of a male fantasy, dear Leo, and we should run a mile from it. Or to spell it out, you can forget it with me! (And I say that very gently, I promise!)