Indigo (29 page)

– Hello? I then said. I'm back. This way we can talk better.

– Yes, Frau Stennitzer said with a crumpled voice. I didn't want to bother you long. Christoph didn't cope well with the move, and then there was your article, and now the absence of his friends too—pshaw, he still calls those filthy skinheads his friends, ridiculous . . .

– Wait, I said. I didn't really understand. Did you move?

– Yes, don't you remember? When you visited us? The boxes in the garage and everything, well, sure, you were there for only two days, in that case people see only what they have to see, I guess. For the job, haha.

– I really didn't notice. And Christoph's friends stopped coming, you say?

– Well, it's better that way. They should feel free to stay away.

– Tell me, Frau Stennitzer, have I maybe done something to upset you? I asked carefully. Because what you're saying sounds a little bit like—

– No, no, no, exclaimed Frau Stennitzer, and you sensed that somewhere in the world a fist was clenching. I didn't mean to suggest anything like . . . But the situation, the . . . events have simply been happening too fast since then. The fact that the move became necessary, after your article, that had obviously been foreseeable, and of course I had thought carefully about all that beforehand, or else I wouldn't have let you into my life, you understand.

She laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh, which lacked any trace of relief.

– I'm sorry if my articles have had negative consequences, I said. So what exactly happened? Did the people in the town harass you—

– No, no, you misunderstand me, oh, I've really expressed myself wrong. It's just that for a while events have, in a way, been happening too fast, and that was simply too much for Christoph. But he doesn't mean it like that.

– What doesn't he mean like that?

– Well, I didn't want to bother you with that.

– You're not bothering me, Frau Stennitzer. Please tell me. What's the matter with Christoph?

– Well, she said, taking a big, crunching bite of an apple, so close to the phone that I could feel first the resistance and then the sensation of bursting apple skin in my own jaw. Well, his friends stopped coming after the visit to the swimming pool, and that threw him for a loop. It is, of course, also the stage in life when everything looks somehow dark. And there are of course always many factors that must be taken into account.

– Such as . . . ?

– Oh, well, testing limits, for example. That is, of course, a big part of that stage. Bitterly big.

She took another bite of the apple, and I had a sudden vision in which the apple stood red before my eyes. A red balloon right in front of Frau Stennitzer's face. The wrinkles around her mouth, which tauten when she bites.

– And what problems is he now having exactly?

– Well, she said, taking a deep breath. It's definitely not your fault. Your visit, back then. And the two articles. I wouldn't want you to think
that.

– But what—

– Kids say a lot and of course also do a whole lot of things that they shouldn't do. In that respect they are like . . . like . . .

She seemed to be unable to think of any fitting comparison. Instead came another, somewhat softer apple bite.

– But that sounds very alarming, I said into the headset. So is he not doing okay?

– Everything heals. As I said, testing limits. Is a big part of that stage. And of course you can't disregard all the other factors either.

– Yes, you're probably right. But I still don't know—

– A man from the APUIP was here and took a look at him. Herr Baumherr recommended him to us.

– APUIP. That's that equal treatment organization?

– Well, they're sometimes portrayed that way. But they actually do more charitable things, like . . . You don't know Herr Baumherr?

– Not personally, no.

– He's from Vienna, Frau Stennitzer said, chewing the apple. And he really knows a lot about such cases. In the past he has overseen several relocations.

Somewhere, in a distant land, a needle was stuck in the eye of a voodoo doll with my facial features.

– Wait a second, Frau Stennitzer, he's done what?

She sighed.

– Christoph is doing really badly. He is . . . I mean, he tried . . . Aahhh . . . All this is really difficult, you know? I'm not asking for everything to come to a happy end for me, I mean, I'm not asking that of the world. Not after all I've been through. But the outcome should at least be fair . . . Yes, fair . . .

– Did Christoph try to do away with himself?

– As I said, Herr Setz, you shouldn't let it trouble you. I didn't want to bother you with this. So I'm going to . . .

She took a loud, cracking bite of the apple, sucked in the overflowing juice, apologized softly, and hung up.

A little plastic dinosaur hopped across my shoulder. Julia had linked arms with me, we walked along the late-winter streets of the district, and she played with the little animal. She jokingly called the plastic dinosaur my therapist.

– It's a strange world, I said. I don't understand anymore where . . . what . . . the poor boy has psychological problems, and she calls that strange guy from Vienna, that association for equality for . . . Oh, how should I know what they're for?

– You shouldn't get so caught up in this thing, Julia said, sliding the violet dino through her fingers. You've been away from the institute for a long time. You've written the two articles. Your constant headaches are better. And I'm happy that you're home more.

– I think there's something bad . . .

– What?

– I mean, they're doing some odd things, I don't know, I couldn't find out, for example, what relocations really are. Everyone uses the word as if it were completely normal, and then that weird tunnel project, and now the poor boy, I mean, you should have seen him, he had that huge cardboard mask on, when I visited them that time, that's not normal—

Julia took my hand.

– You're talking much too fast, she said. Your thoughts can't catch up.

– And then Ferenz.

– Who?

– I have no idea who he is. Or what. But back then I heard Dr. Rudolph on the telephone—

– The one who gave you the black eye?

– Yes, yes, but that doesn't matter. He was talking to him on the phone, and he mentioned that student whose parents . . .

The enormous mass of details to explain agglomerated in front of me, and I could no longer go on.

– None of that has to do with you.

– But then why does that woman call me and imply that it's my fault her son is doing badly?

– Because she's stupid.

– I don't know. There's something else. Maybe I should ask that guy, that Baumherr, from the APUIP in Vienna, I mean, he must know what this is all about. Frau Stennitzer told me on the phone that he was involved in relocations and that he—

– Clemens, not so fast. It's impossible to keep up!

We walked along silently side by side for a while. On a sewer grate, folded up and as if poised for a frog leap, was a lost glove. Light brown leather, little holes in the fingers.

– Look, I said.

Julia looked at the ground.

– There, I said, showing her the glove.

She approached it and touched it with the toe of her shoe.

– Poor thing, she said.

We walked on.

– Have you written any more?

– Of what?

– Of what I advised you to write. Your diversionary story. The one about the student who gets older and—

– Yeah, yeah, yeah, I said. Hey, you know what that graffiti thing over there says?

– What?

– Do your laundry.

– You're making that up.

– No, really, that's what it says. Do your laundry.

– Sure, said Julia.

– And that house there has a weathercock, which is actually an owl.

Julia took my arm again and pressed it tighter against her.

– Uh-huh, she said. And what does the owl look like?

– Like a weathercock, I said, and we laughed.

At the Kalvariengürtel underpass we found the second glove, the mirror image of the first. It lay in a similar position on the ground, next to a snow-filled public trash receptacle.

– Oh, said Julia, now we have to turn around and get the other one. Damn.

Silently we set off.

– The loneliness of gloves, I said.

– Clemens? Can you try something?

– What?

– Can you try to distance yourself a bit more from all this stuff?

– That's hard. Why don't you try to distance yourself from your animals?

– Okay. But don't go to Vienna to see this Baum person, all right? Call him first. Like normal people do.