Alina Bronsky - Broken Glass Park

“Three times with soap,” I repeated as they started up the embankment toward broken glass park and the Emerald.

Now I always run past that spot. The dandelions have long since withered and been blown away. I always look off to the side and wonder what the carcass looks like now.

Every time I have to fight the unnatural urge to dig up the hamster and have a look. And every time I tell myself it’s probably not even there anymore, as a dog or fox or something will have found it long ago.

Then one time I give in and start to root around in the dirt with a stick.

Just as I’m thinking I must have the wrong spot I find the hole — and its contents exceed all my expectations.

It is full of fat maggots, dozens — no, hundreds. They are all moving, creating a dirty-white writhing mass. It’s disgusting. But I count it as a victory of an odd sort.

Because I don’t feel nauseated, and that makes me happy.

I’ve seen enough and I scrape the dirt back over the body, throw the stick into the bushes, and run on.

Beneath the train overpass I see them.

I recognize Peter immediately. He’s the biggest. His two buddies are my size. I don’t know them. They flank him like two stunted bodyguards.

“Siamese kitty,” they say in unison as they block my way. It almost sounds as if they have rehearsed it.

“Let me by,” I say. When they don’t move, I try to push my way through. But they stand close together, and I can feel their sweaty bodies on my bare arms. Then I feel their fingers as they restrain me.

“Paws off me,” I say. “Wash yourselves before you touch me.”

One starts to laugh. He sounds drunk. Sure enough, he can barely stand up straight.

“What a bitch,” says the other one to Peter. “I love bitches.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I say. “And before you do, take your paws off me.”

“Fear?” asks Peter, smiling at me. Actually in a fairly friendly manner. “Paws off,” he says to the one who is still standing up straight. “She’s a good girl.”

The guy lets go of me.

But then Peter blocks my way. I take a step to the right and he steps in my way. I take a step to the left and he steps in my way. He follows me like a mirror image. And he won’t stop smiling. His shoulders gleam as if they are oiled up.

“Why haven’t you come to broken glass park?” he asks. “I invited you, after all.”

“It stinks too bad for me there,” I say. “Everything stinks there.”

“Even me?” asks Peter, getting right in my face. I wrinkle up my nose. He seems to use the same cheap cologne as Maria. A pint at a time. The Emerald scent.

“You?” I say. “You stink the worst of all.”

I duck just in time to avoid his fist. One of Peter’s buddies sits down on the grass. The other snickers.

“Hitting a girl,” I say. “How very courageous of you.”

“Girls like you need to be smacked around,” he says, breathing heavily. “And ones like your mother. It’s fucked up that you’re not scared of anything. I think we need to change that.”

He motions to the buddy who is still standing. He moves without a word. In an instant he’s right behind me and I can feel his breath on my neck. His hot hand reaches under my hoodie and a wave of nausea washes over me.

I ram my elbows into his ribs, rip myself free, jump to the side, and bend down. I had already seen it gleaming — an empty brown beer bottle. I grab it and brandish it above my head.

The guy lying in the grass whistles.

“Come on,” says Peter, trying to sound nonchalant. It’s hard to pull off with his teeth gritted. “Don’t play games. You’re not stupid — you can see you don’t have a chance. Come on, just once, then we’ll let you go. You only have to do me. Even a rich sugar daddy gets boring after a while. If you want, the guys here can take a little walk while we’re at it. This is a one-time offer.”

“Why me?” I ask. “Where are all your blondes with their huge tits? Have you already nailed them all?”

“Pretty much,” he says. “A man needs variety. There’s something about you I like.”

“I only sleep with guys who can read,” I sneer. It’s like I’m possessed. “Which means you’re out, dear Peter. I’m afraid welfare checks and broken German just don’t get me off.”

His mouth clenches tightly. It’s very quiet. Just a few chirps in the background.

“You are fucked now,” he says.

“No, you are, Peter. I’ll do it. Anybody who comes near me I’ll cut open their face.”

“I’m going to make your life a living hell,” he says quietly.

“Too late,” I say. “It already is. Let me through, you fucking asshole.”

He puts out his arms. I slash at his face with the bottle.

But I’ve misjudged it.

The bottle doesn’t break. It’s still whole. And it flies out of my hand, slipping between my sweaty fingers. I’ve barely hurt Peter at all. He just grunts, puts his hand up to his face, and then lunges at me. I’m thrown back by the weight of his body and my head hits the wall.

That’s when I begin to scream. At first I don’t know myself what I am screaming. It’s a word. A name.

I am screaming for Volker.

He’s startled on the phone. Probably because he’s never experienced me in a state like this. I can’t even say a word. All I can do is cry. My pillow is soaked with tears and snot. I think I’ve been grinding my teeth on it, too.

“I’m on my way,” he says finally, sounding unsure. It snaps me back together a little.

I wipe my face and press the phone to my ear.

“Not a chance in hell,” I say. “It’s too late anyway.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” he says helplessly. “Were you attacked? Did somebody do something to you? Are you crazy — walking around there by yourself at night? What are you thinking?”

“Stop yelling at me,” I say.

“What happened?” he asks again. “Would you tell me?”

“They let me go,” I say. “I called your name. Really loud. Did you hear it there in Bad Soden? Maybe they thought someone was coming. They tried to cover my mouth. I bit that hand so hard it bled. The bottle didn’t break, Volker. Those fucking bottles are so strong.”

“You should go to a doctor,” Volker says. “I think you might be hurt.”

“No, I’m not,” I say.

“I’m on the way,” he says. “I’ll pick you up. It’s been a while since we saw each other anyway.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t leave my children alone.”

“Then they should come, too.”

“I still can’t.”

“Why, for god’s sake?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No,” he says rigidly. “I have no idea.”

He always says that — he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. He’s never uttered a word about what happened between us. He is very thoughtful and caring. But he doesn’t want to acknowledge that night.

“Don’t cry,” he says quietly. “If nothing happened. . you’re very lucky. Thank god. Promise me that in the future you’ll be more careful. That you won’t go wandering around that ghetto at night. I understand that you’ve had a shock. You should talk to a therapist about it.”

“Volker,” I say, “you’re talking bullshit.”

“True,” he says. “But I can’t think of anything better to say. I’d love to give you a hug. But my arms aren’t long enough to reach. I don’t know what I can do for you.”

“You saved me tonight,” I say.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name saved me.”

He is quiet for a suspiciously long time.

“Don’t tell Felix about this,” I say.

“I wasn’t planning to,” says Volker.