Magnus Stanke - Time Lies

*

Tobias reached the upstairs floor and saw that the door to Cordula’s and Albert’s bedroom was wide open. He had never done this before, not with her, but just couldn’t resist the temptation. The timing seemed right. She wasn’t looking in his direction – it was now or never.

When he entered the bedroom Cordula stood in front of a big, oval shaped mirror and applied makeup to her face. Tobias shifted his weight, his centre of gravity, by mere inches. His head moved forward. The changes were minute, all but imperceptible to a casual onlooker. If asked, Tobi himself couldn’t explain how he did it, but it worked every time. It always had. His voice became a tiny nudge deeper, his words came out a little less clipped, and the smile, Albert’s killer smile, hushed over his features. His impersonation of his twin brother was perfect to every beholder, even to their father.

Would Cordula fall for it?

He approached her from behind, making sure to stay in her blind spot for now. He’d have to be pitch-perfect, otherwise she’d turn around.

‘Cordula, my sweet,’ he said, just like he’d heard Albert say thousands of times.

It was working. She didn’t turn, just glanced around the dimly lit room, saw his silhouette disappear behind her back and anticipated his firm, dry lips on her neck.

‘Not now, Berti. I’m nearly done,’ she said.

‘How about a change of plans for today? We can always go to Hannover tomorrow, and you could do with some rest,’ Tobi said, about to put his hand on her shoulders, breathing her freshly applied perfume.

This was much easier than he had anticipated.

How far should he go with it? This was madness, but it was intoxicating. He smiled Albert’s killer smile. Even if she turned around now and saw him she surely wouldn’t be able to tell that he wasn’t her beloved husband at all. As long as she didn’t look at his clothes.

A movement behind him. Tobi already knew who it was.

Albert had followed him and watched the whole scene. He had been quiet until now, but he wouldn’t allow Tobi to lay his hands on his wife, not on his behalf.

Tobi ducked away quietly and let his brother step in, defeated in his immediate objective, but surprisingly jubilant all the same.

‘Don’t start again, you.’ Cordula turned at last and hesitated when she saw her husband further away than she had sensed. ‘You’re just feeling sorry for Tobi,’ she said while Tobi hurried down the stairs.

‘Shush, not so loud. He might hear you,’ Albert said.

He knew full well that his brother was still within earshot, but was more worried about Cordula hearing Tobias’ feet on the wooden staircase.

When they came down for breakfast they found Markus sitting alone with his grandpa, waiting for them. Tobias was nowhere to be seen and neither was the coffee he had promised. When Cordula wanted to go to the kitchen her husband stopped her with a gesture.

‘Let him be,’ Albert said, meaning Tobias who he presumed was there. ‘You won, but don’t rub it in, please.’

The atmosphere was strained after that and Cordula finished breakfast as soon as possible, impatient to get out of the house.

As she took the last bite of her bread roll, Tobias reappeared from the kitchen. The radio was on and he emerged with a pot of freshly brewed coffee and a sheepish smile that was all his own.

‘Come on, Markus, we’re going now. It’s the early bird that catches the juiciest worms,’ Cordula said.

‘You’re off already? I just made you some coffee, Cordula, the way you like it. As hot as love and as black as the night,’ Tobias said.

He looked disappointed.

‘Go on, then. I’ll have a quick cup for the road,’ Albert said.

‘Don’t. You wouldn’t like it like this. I made this for your wife especially,’ Tobias said, sitting down and pouring a cup for himself. ‘Mmmm. Strong but good. Maybe a bit strong for you, Cordula. I’m sorry, I should have known better.’

Albert knew his wife, knew under normal circumstances she would be piqued by what Tobias had said. On that day she just got up without a word. A minute later they left the house.

*

While they waited in the car for Cordula, who had gone back into the house to fetch something or other, Albert said a short prayer for the benefit of Markus. It was an entreaty they always tried to remember to say at the beginning of each journey, short or long.

‘Lord, please watch over us on our way. Amen.’

Whenever they didn’t forget — which was most of the time — they would end each trip with an even shorter prayer to thank the Lord for not running into any difficulties along the way.

Cordula reappeared carrying a basket.

On Thursday December 28, 1978, they wouldn’t keep that tradition, but not for want of remembering.

Dagmar heard unfamiliar footsteps on the concrete staircase outside her studio flat. Somebody was coming up to see her, but it wasn’t him. A glance at her alarm clock confirmed that it was still too early; he wouldn’t be able to get away without arousing suspicion at this time of the evening. She had no rational right to feel disappointed, but there it was. It just so happened that she had been ready for him and keen with time to spare. Never mind. She quickly pulled a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt over her negligee. As it stood now she knew she mustn’t arouse suspicion – advice that was easier to give than to heed in this small town where life followed simple rules. If you were branded with so much as a smudge of a reputation or a label, it stuck, was neigh impossible to shake off again, especially if you were a Catholic. Once a slut, always a slut. Dagmar appreciated the distinction between being promiscuous and being, well, horny. The latter was biological, a survival mechanism of practically every living species on earth; the former was unforgivable in Eschershausen unless you were a man.

There were nights when Dagmar wanted to be left alone, without male companionship at least, but tonight wasn’t one of them. She had been horny for a long time – not constantly horny, that would have made her a nymphomaniac, but frequently horny nevertheless, hornier than her friends. Hornier than anybody she knew, in fact, boys included. But she had never been promiscuous, had said ‘nay’ a hell of a lot more often than ‘yay’, and had been stringently selective about the men she chose to go to bed with, even if not all her choices had been wise.

She let her eyes wander around the room once more before she opened the door. Just as well. The red candle in the window, her ‘all clear’ for the man she was waiting for, had to go. This accomplished, she made one mistake. She failed to change the LP for something more modern, something less sultry. Sarah Vaughn’s raspy voice crooned about broken promises and love for sale.

Dagmar peeked outside and discovered Anika, once her best friend, smoothing a cigarette and chewing gum at the top of the stairs. Anika was sporting a trendy-trashy wavy perm, new-New Romantic, and too much make up for a Tuesday night. Or for any night.

A few years earlier Anika and Dagmar had hung out together at lot on the Hüschebrink near the entrance to the graveyard, and Dagmar had never explained why she had stopped going.

‘Hello, sister – you all right, babes? I saw the light in your window,’ Anika said between attempting to catch her breath and taking a puff from her cigarette. She spat out the gum. ‘Yuck, they should do flavours that mix better with Marlboro, don’t you think?’

‘Come in,’ Dagmar said and moved aside.

Right then she wasn’t in the mood for any company but his. What’s more, Anika had the annoying habit of outstaying her welcome. Still, Dagmar didn’t want to give the landlords any excuse to eavesdrop on their conversation. When she closed the door behind Anika she inhaled, albeit involuntarily, the intense chemical mist that surrounded her former pal. Anika’s taste in hairspray wasn’t much better than her taste in men. She valued quantity over quality. More was always better.