further, Kris has passed the pad on to Wolf, and put his hands on Tamara’s cheeks.
“You bloody genius,” he says and kisses her.
When Frauke comes back into the room at half past four, her answering machine is flashing. Three messages, three times the same voice.
How are you …
What are you doing …
When are we seeing each other …
Frauke deletes the messages without listening to them all the way through, and pins Tamara’s text to the corkboard beside the monitor. Kris said she should take her time, Wolf would really want to do it himself, and Tamara had no opinion, because she’d gone to sleep on the floor.
Frauke promised to set about designing the text right away the following morning. But she’s so uneasy that she doesn’t know if she can even get to sleep. To calm herself down she takes a shower. Her brain is intoxicated with the ideas that they all had last night. It feels a bit as if they had traveled into the past together to bring their youthful immortality into the present.
I’m immortal, what about you?
I’m not tired
, Frauke thinks and gets out of the shower to switch her computer on.
Two and a half hours later Frauke pushes herself up from her desk. She has turned Tamara’s text into an advertisement, and is now so amped that she can’t sit still. Work as a pick-me-up. Her muscles are tense, her thoughts a bright flame. In a few minutes Frauke has put on her running things and is out the door.
• • •
The Tiergarten is deserted at this time of day, the morning light is like underwater photographs on a rainy day. Colorless and crisp. Frauke runs three times around the little lake, her body has found its rhythm, her breathing adapts to her footsteps.
As if I could slow down time, as if the minutes were collapsing into one another and the clock hands slowing down
. Frauke likes the idea. The faster she runs, the harder it gets for time to advance. Time becomes material. Frauke has the feeling that she can stretch, compress, or tear that material. Time has torn so often for her before that Frauke finds herself wondering how it is that time still exists at all.
When she gets back from her run, he’s waiting for her by the door to her apartment. She often wonders how he manages to get up the stairs. The tenants are very suspicious and even discuss on the intercom with the man from the parcel service because they think he’s delivering some sort of junk mail.
He’s sitting on the floor, his back resting against the door of the apartment, chin on his chest, hands clasped in his lap. Once a neighbor found him like that and called an ambulance. Frauke knows he isn’t asleep, he’s in more of a twilight state. Or as he once explained:
Half the time I’m on standby
.
She shakes him by the shoulder. He stirs, opens his eyes, grins.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” says Frauke.
“What? And what am I supposed to do in
your
opinion, if you don’t call back?”
He sits up and she helps him; even though she doesn’t really want to, she helps him. He gets to his feet, groans and sighs, then tries to hug her. Frauke shrinks back.
“Let’s go in,” she says.
Frauke’s flat isn’t big, and with him inside it shrinks by half. Space and time. It all comes back to her father.
“Have you been running again?”
“What does it look like?”
He takes his shoes off and marches into the living room as if he does this every day. Frauke hears him sigh again, then he falls silent. Even though she knows he expects coffee, she puts on water for tea. Green tea that tastes like hay, which she drinks when she wants to punish herself with health.
“What’s that supposed to be?” he asks when she comes into the living room with the tray. He holds up one of the printouts. Black text on a white background. Frauke sets the tray down and takes the printout from his hand.
“Since when have you been doing obituaries?”
Frauke is glad she used a dummy text, otherwise she
“You bloody genius,” he says and kisses her.
When Frauke comes back into the room at half past four, her answering machine is flashing. Three messages, three times the same voice.
How are you …
What are you doing …
When are we seeing each other …
Frauke deletes the messages without listening to them all the way through, and pins Tamara’s text to the corkboard beside the monitor. Kris said she should take her time, Wolf would really want to do it himself, and Tamara had no opinion, because she’d gone to sleep on the floor.
Frauke promised to set about designing the text right away the following morning. But she’s so uneasy that she doesn’t know if she can even get to sleep. To calm herself down she takes a shower. Her brain is intoxicated with the ideas that they all had last night. It feels a bit as if they had traveled into the past together to bring their youthful immortality into the present.
I’m immortal, what about you?
I’m not tired
, Frauke thinks and gets out of the shower to switch her computer on.
Two and a half hours later Frauke pushes herself up from her desk. She has turned Tamara’s text into an advertisement, and is now so amped that she can’t sit still. Work as a pick-me-up. Her muscles are tense, her thoughts a bright flame. In a few minutes Frauke has put on her running things and is out the door.
• • •
The Tiergarten is deserted at this time of day, the morning light is like underwater photographs on a rainy day. Colorless and crisp. Frauke runs three times around the little lake, her body has found its rhythm, her breathing adapts to her footsteps.
As if I could slow down time, as if the minutes were collapsing into one another and the clock hands slowing down
. Frauke likes the idea. The faster she runs, the harder it gets for time to advance. Time becomes material. Frauke has the feeling that she can stretch, compress, or tear that material. Time has torn so often for her before that Frauke finds herself wondering how it is that time still exists at all.
When she gets back from her run, he’s waiting for her by the door to her apartment. She often wonders how he manages to get up the stairs. The tenants are very suspicious and even discuss on the intercom with the man from the parcel service because they think he’s delivering some sort of junk mail.
He’s sitting on the floor, his back resting against the door of the apartment, chin on his chest, hands clasped in his lap. Once a neighbor found him like that and called an ambulance. Frauke knows he isn’t asleep, he’s in more of a twilight state. Or as he once explained:
Half the time I’m on standby
.
She shakes him by the shoulder. He stirs, opens his eyes, grins.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” says Frauke.
“What? And what am I supposed to do in
your
opinion, if you don’t call back?”
He sits up and she helps him; even though she doesn’t really want to, she helps him. He gets to his feet, groans and sighs, then tries to hug her. Frauke shrinks back.
“Let’s go in,” she says.
Frauke’s flat isn’t big, and with him inside it shrinks by half. Space and time. It all comes back to her father.
“Have you been running again?”
“What does it look like?”
He takes his shoes off and marches into the living room as if he does this every day. Frauke hears him sigh again, then he falls silent. Even though she knows he expects coffee, she puts on water for tea. Green tea that tastes like hay, which she drinks when she wants to punish herself with health.
“What’s that supposed to be?” he asks when she comes into the living room with the tray. He holds up one of the printouts. Black text on a white background. Frauke sets the tray down and takes the printout from his hand.
“Since when have you been doing obituaries?”
Frauke is glad she used a dummy text, otherwise she
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