Every Seventh Wave by Daniel Glattauer

later
    Re:
    LLL, TTT!!!!
    (Listen, Leo Leike, tell the truth!!!!)
    Ten minutes later
    Re:
    O.K., Emmi. Bernhard knows about us. Or at least he did know about us. That’s why I bowed out.
    One minute later
    Re:
    ??? What kind of absurd statement is that, Leo? What is it that Bernhard knows? What was there to know? And how do you know? If anyone was going to know, it would be me, don’t you think? You seem to have got carried away by some weird conspiracy theory. I demand an explanation!
    Three minutes later
    Re:
    Emmi, ask Bernhard, please! PLEASE TALK TO HIM! It’s up to him to explain all this, not me. How was I to know that he never told you? It’s unimaginable. I refused to believe it. I simply thought you didn’t want to talk to me about it. But it seems as if you really don’t know. He hasn’t told you, even to this day.
    Two minutes later
    Re:
    I’m beginning to worry about you. Have you got a fever? Where are your fantasies leading you? Why in God’s name should I talk to Bernhard about you? What do you imagine that I would tell him? “Bernhard, we’ve got to talk. Leo Leike says you know all about him, or rather about us. Who is Leo Leike? You don’t know him. He’s the man I’ve never set eyes on, and haven’t told you about either. So you can’t possibly know him. But now he insists that you do know about him, and about us …”
    Come on, Leo, get a grip. You’re making me nervous!
    One minute later
    Re:
    He read our emails. And afterward he sent me an email himself. He asked me to meet you once and then leave you in peace. After that I took the job in Boston. That’s it in a nutshell. I’d rather have told you this face-to-face.
    Three minutes later
    Re:
    No. I don’t believe that. That’s not Bernhard. He would never do that. Tell me it’s not true. It can’t be true. You have no idea of the harm you’re doing. You’re lying to me. You’re destroying everything. That’s a monstrous thing to say about anyone, and Bernhard does not deserve it. Why are you doing this? Why are you wrecking everything between us? Or are you bluffing? It that supposed to be a joke? What kind of a joke do you call that?
    Two minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Emmi,
    I can’t rewrite the past now. I hate myself for it, but there were only two options open to me. Either bow out and keep quiet about it forever. Or the truth. Much too late. Unforgivably late.
    Unforgivable, I know. I’m attaching the email Bernhard sent over a year ago, on June 17, immediately after his “collapse” on that hiking holiday with the children in the South Tyrol.
    Subject: To Mr. Leike
    Dear Mr. Leike,
    I have found it very hard to write you this message. I’ll admit I’m embarrassed, and the embarrassment I’m bringing upon myself increases with every line. My name is Bernhard Rothner—I believe I don’t need to give you more of an introduction. Mr. Leike, I have a huge favor to ask of you. When I tell you what this favor is you will be amazed, maybe even shocked. I will then try to explain my motives for asking this favor. I am no great writer, unfortunately, and I’m not really comfortable with email. But I will endeavor to say all those things that have been concerning me for months, things which have put my life out of joint, my life and that of my family, even my wife’s, and I believe I can judge this accurately after so many harmonious years of marriage.
    And so to the favor: Mr. Leike, meet my wife! Please do it, finally, and bring this nightmare to an end! We’re grown men, I can’t dictate what you do. I can only implore you: meet up with her! I’m feeling inferior and powerless, and suffering because of it. How humiliating do you think it is for me to write lines like these? You, on the other hand, haven’ t shown the slightest weakness, Mr. Leike. You’ve got nothing to reproach