Alina Bronsky - Broken Glass Park

I hear the doorbell ring and Anton’s bright voice breaks the silence of the apartment. Half an hour later Alissa’s squeals join in.

I pull the covers down off my head and look at the telephone on my desk.

I’ve been thinking about it for an hour already and keep chasing the thought from my head. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about it. I try to tell myself it’s because of Grigorij. I just can’t accept his presence. Maybe it’s good for Maria and not bad for Anton and Alissa. But I can’t stand it.

I smooth out the business card on my knee and dial the handwritten number. The last thing I feel like is talking to a secretary.

I let it ring for a while. I’m about to hang up. If voicemail kicks in I’ll listen to his greeting and try again later. If I don’t lose my nerve in the meantime.

And then he picks up. He says the two syllables of his last name in one breath, as if he’s just run to pick up the phone.

“Good evening,” I say as a wave of shyness suddenly washes over me.

“Yes?”

“It’s Sascha Naimann,” I say. Now I’ve done it. I can’t hang up now without losing face.

There’s a long pause. I scrape my fingernails across the face of the business card and silently hurl insults at myself. Before I’m finished cursing myself out the voice is there again, louder and more calm.

“Sascha? What a surprise. Now I can talk.”

I’ve forgotten what I want to say.

“Is everything okay?” he asks in a friendly tone. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s about your offer.”

“My what?”

“You said I could call you if I had a problem.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he says. “What’s the trouble?”

“I can’t stay here at home,” I say authoritatively.

“Why not?” he says, shocked.

“Just the way it is,” I say.

“Got it. And what can I do?”

I take a deep breath. “I need a place to stay,” I say. “I need to get out of here — at least for a few days.”

He is silent for a while. I count off the seconds: five, ten, fifteen — at seventeen he speaks.

“Have you thought,” he says, “about a hotel?”

“Whatever,” I say, closing my eyes and uttering a silent, incoherent prayer — despite the fact that I’m not religious.

“Or were you thinking. . I don’t mean to be too forward, I’m just trying to understand what you mean. . Would you like to stay over at my place?”

I open my eyes and swallow the gasp that wells up inside me. “I don’t know what your situation is,” I say. “Tell me if it’s a stupid idea. I don’t care where I go, as long as I don’t have to sleep here.”

“We have a guest room,” he says. The “we” stabs painfully at my ear. “I just want to be sure I haven’t misunderstood you. If you are looking for a place to stay and you’re asking me for help, it goes without saying that I’m willing to put you up — but there are other places, as well.”

“If you don’t have anything against it, I would opt for the former arrangement,” I say. Suddenly I don’t care anymore. “Where do you live, by the way?”

“In Bad Soden,” he says. “Not right in the town center — in a section a little ways out. But I can’t pick you up until five-thirty. I’ll wrap up a bit early. Does that work?”

I can’t believe my ears. “You’re going to pick me up?” I ask, feeling that for the first time in two years fortune is smiling on me. “Here at home, is that what you mean?”

“You haven’t moved, have you? If you use public transport it would probably take you two hours. I’ll pick you up at five-thirty.”

“Great,” I say. I’ve gotten up now and I’m dancing in place in my little room. I feel like jumping and singing.

“I’ll just need your address.”

“My what? Oh, of course.” I tell him the address and mix up the street number and the apartment number. It takes a few attempts at straightening it out before he finally reads back the correct address.

“Perfect,” he says patiently. “Just one more thing. Call me if you change your mind, okay? Call my mobile. You have the number.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” I say. “You can call me if you change yours.”

“Right, see you in a bit,” he says calmly and hangs up.

I open my wardrobe and throw some underwear, jeans, and a hoodie onto my bed. I shove it all into my backpack. I grab a toothbrush from the bathroom and return to my room, spinning around looking for things I might absolutely need.

But I don’t need anything. Shortly after five I go into the kitchen. It’s filled with the smell of crepes. Maria, keeping watch over a cast iron skillet, steps out of the plume of smoke. Alissa is standing on a footstool staring at the skillet as intently as if a cartoon were being shown in it. Anton is sitting quietly at the kitchen table drawing. I look over his shoulder — it’s a row of black tanks in flames.

“Maria,” I say, “ever heard of a ventilation fan?”

“What?” She turns around and ducks her head down.

“Alissa,” I say, “it’s time you took care of these things. There’s a switch up there — Maria should turn it on before she starts cooking. That way the whole apartment won’t stink of fish or cauliflower or burnt crepes. We won’t see each other for a few days. I’m going to a girlfriend of mine’s place.”

Maria would never dare to ask questions. But Alissa has no such inhibitions.

“Which friend?” she asks, turning her jam-smeared face to me. “Do you have any girlfriends?”

“Yes,” I tell her. “She lives in town. I’m going to stay with her for a few days. It’s totally normal.”

“When are you coming back?” Anton asks.

“We’ll see,” I say. “I’m taking my mobile. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Good,” says Alissa. Maria remains silent.

“The crepes are burning, Maria,” I say. She turns around, grabs the skillet, and flicks it. The crepe flies up, turns in the air, and lands back in the pan.

Maria has a lot of these artistic moves up her sleeve.

“Take me to the door, okay?” I say to Maria. “Be good, you little hooligans. I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya,” Anton says, and Alissa waves with a wooden spatula. Maria follows me to the apartment door and stares at the backpack in the entryway. Her lips tremble.

“Did you say something?” I ask her.

“Is it. . ” she says, barely audible. “Is it because of me and Grigorij? For god’s sake, sweetie, I never thought that this would be such. . please, Sascha, don’t do this to me!”

«Don’t be so dramatic, Maria,» I say firmly. «Everything’s fine. I’m just going to see a friend. I’m old enough. Take care of the little ones. Don’t let them watch too much TV, read to them, make sure they do their homework — even if you don’t understand it. And make sure they eat some fruit.»

“I buy fresh fruit every second day,” Maria starts to say, but I silence her with a wave of the hand.

“Call me if anything comes up.”

She looks at me sadly.

“I think it’s good that Grigorij only comes over when the kids aren’t home, got it?”

She nods so forcefully that her double chin wobbles.

“Then everything’s all set. See you soon.” I throw my backpack over my shoulders.

“Little Sascha,” Maria says, “Not that I care one way or the other, but do you really have a girlfriend?”

I look at her blankly.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” she says, coming closer so she can look me in the eyes. “You’ve got something against men. Maybe it’s better for you to be with women. The most important thing is to have someone.”

“What?” I scream. “It’s not that type of girlfriend. I’m not a lesbian. Unfortunately. But I’m not one.”