was in the furniture store that the devil first appeared to Tanja Lewin. He came in the form of a policeman and told everyone to move on. He gathered up Frauke’s mother’s clothes from the floor, and handed them to her under the covers. He was nice. He only spoke when she was dressed. He said,
I’ll always be with you now. I will come to you with different faces, but you will always recognize me
.
Tanja Lewin would never forget those words.
The doctors studied the Lewin case at length. They questioned Frauke’s mother and gave her medication; they spoke to Frauke’s father and advised him to have his wife put in a clinic. The medication worked to some extent, but round-the-clock care was recommended.
A week later Gerd Lewin signed the papers and put his wife in an exclusive private clinic in Potsdam. The same day Frauke’s father stopped sleeping. He lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling as if waiting for the everyday to return to his life. Incredibly, he went on working, brought money into the house, and did what he had to do to protect the lives of his wife and daughter. Only his eyes gave him away—dark, burned-out hollows that scared Frauke. For over six months Gerd Lewin survived this state, and then one evening he stood by Frauke’s bed.
“Tanja,” he said, “my Tanja.”
Frauke didn’t know whether he thought she was her mother or was only asking after her. She brought him back to his bedroom, covered him with a blanket, and was about to go when he reached for her hand.
“Stay.”
“I’m not Mama,” said Frauke.
“I know,” said her father. “I do know.”
He pulled Frauke onto the bed so that she was lying on her mother’s side.
“Sleep,” he said, and fell asleep immediately.
It was his first sleep in seven months and sixteen days. The next morning he woke up next to Frauke, looked around in surprise, and started crying. He howled until the snot poured unhindered from his nose and mouth.
That was how the rituals between father and daughter began. Gerd Lewin couldn’t get to sleep alone, so for the next few years they shared a bed.
Since Frauke has had her own flat, her father’s insomnia has returned. That’s why he comes to her place from time to time. Because of the calm she gives him, because of the pathetic illusion that his wife is with him again and he can sleep. Love can be cruel. It won’t let you go, it wants to be noticed day and night. Gerd Lewin could write a book about it.
Frauke pushes a pillow under her father’s head and gets up. She is so exhausted that she can no longer think clearly. Nonetheless she sitsdown for a moment at her Mac, converts the advertisement into a PDF file, and e-mails it to Kris. Now everything’s right. Her work is done. Sleep.
When Frauke wakes up ten hours later, her father has vanished from the sofa, and Kris has left a message on the answering machine:
That’s brilliant! See you later! We’ve got to celebrate!
Frauke plays the message through four times, leaning against the wall, one foot over the other and a hand pressed to her mouth so that the laughter doesn’t explode from her. She is happy. She is really happy.
A week later the advertisement appears in
Die Zeit
and
Der Tagesspiegel
. It is set in the style of a high-class obituary, the death of a head of state or something. Eye-catching. The text is literally as Tamara wrote it during the night. It embodies Kris’s idea perfectly.
SORRY
WE ENSURE THAT NOTHING
EMBARRASSES YOU ANY MORE .
SLIPS, MISUNDERSTANDINGS
DISMISSALS, ARGUMENTS, AND ERRORS .
WE KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD SAY .
WE SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR .
PROFESSIONAL AND DISCREET .
Under the advertisement there is no homepage or e-mail address. They unanimously decided against it. Frauke only put in Kris’s landline number. It’s a gag. She wanted to see who would call, whether anyone would call, and what he would have to say.
The first day nothing happens.
The second day nothing happens.
The third day
I’ll always be with you now. I will come to you with different faces, but you will always recognize me
.
Tanja Lewin would never forget those words.
The doctors studied the Lewin case at length. They questioned Frauke’s mother and gave her medication; they spoke to Frauke’s father and advised him to have his wife put in a clinic. The medication worked to some extent, but round-the-clock care was recommended.
A week later Gerd Lewin signed the papers and put his wife in an exclusive private clinic in Potsdam. The same day Frauke’s father stopped sleeping. He lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling as if waiting for the everyday to return to his life. Incredibly, he went on working, brought money into the house, and did what he had to do to protect the lives of his wife and daughter. Only his eyes gave him away—dark, burned-out hollows that scared Frauke. For over six months Gerd Lewin survived this state, and then one evening he stood by Frauke’s bed.
“Tanja,” he said, “my Tanja.”
Frauke didn’t know whether he thought she was her mother or was only asking after her. She brought him back to his bedroom, covered him with a blanket, and was about to go when he reached for her hand.
“Stay.”
“I’m not Mama,” said Frauke.
“I know,” said her father. “I do know.”
He pulled Frauke onto the bed so that she was lying on her mother’s side.
“Sleep,” he said, and fell asleep immediately.
It was his first sleep in seven months and sixteen days. The next morning he woke up next to Frauke, looked around in surprise, and started crying. He howled until the snot poured unhindered from his nose and mouth.
That was how the rituals between father and daughter began. Gerd Lewin couldn’t get to sleep alone, so for the next few years they shared a bed.
Since Frauke has had her own flat, her father’s insomnia has returned. That’s why he comes to her place from time to time. Because of the calm she gives him, because of the pathetic illusion that his wife is with him again and he can sleep. Love can be cruel. It won’t let you go, it wants to be noticed day and night. Gerd Lewin could write a book about it.
Frauke pushes a pillow under her father’s head and gets up. She is so exhausted that she can no longer think clearly. Nonetheless she sitsdown for a moment at her Mac, converts the advertisement into a PDF file, and e-mails it to Kris. Now everything’s right. Her work is done. Sleep.
When Frauke wakes up ten hours later, her father has vanished from the sofa, and Kris has left a message on the answering machine:
That’s brilliant! See you later! We’ve got to celebrate!
Frauke plays the message through four times, leaning against the wall, one foot over the other and a hand pressed to her mouth so that the laughter doesn’t explode from her. She is happy. She is really happy.
A week later the advertisement appears in
Die Zeit
and
Der Tagesspiegel
. It is set in the style of a high-class obituary, the death of a head of state or something. Eye-catching. The text is literally as Tamara wrote it during the night. It embodies Kris’s idea perfectly.
SORRY
WE ENSURE THAT NOTHING
EMBARRASSES YOU ANY MORE .
SLIPS, MISUNDERSTANDINGS
DISMISSALS, ARGUMENTS, AND ERRORS .
WE KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD SAY .
WE SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR .
PROFESSIONAL AND DISCREET .
Under the advertisement there is no homepage or e-mail address. They unanimously decided against it. Frauke only put in Kris’s landline number. It’s a gag. She wanted to see who would call, whether anyone would call, and what he would have to say.
The first day nothing happens.
The second day nothing happens.
The third day
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