Thomas Pletzinger - Funeral for a Dog

on Elisabeth’s side

Unterhaltungen deutscher Ausgewanderten by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Jahrestage by Uwe Johnson

Kinder und Tod by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

Das Dekameron by Giovanni Boccaccio

Die Hebammensprechstunde by Ingeborg Stadelmann

Die Besteigung des Mont Ventoux by Francesco Petrarca

Who exactly is Elisabeth Edda Emmerich?

the 3-step system

First we speak about visible things. Because the power is still out (Claasen set a fire, Claasen chopped down trees, Claasen this, Claasen that), we’re sitting in the kitchen and watching and listening to Svensson (a transistor radio sits silently on a shelf). Filetto di persico con salvia, he says, taking a heavy pan from a hook, someone should fetch the sage from the terra-cotta pot in the garden. The boy has already forgotten his cut and wound, and Tuuli allows him to pick the sage by himself (he brings back oleander flowers). From the water we hear the dog coughing. The boy should also take a look in the chicken coop, says Svensson, setting three glasses of wine on the table, maybe they laid an egg this morning. Tuuli is smoking. This is how things look: a late afternoon with friends, the sun will set, and we’ll talk, we’ll pass around Autan (against the mosquitoes), we’ll refill one another’s glasses (against the silence). Svensson takes the packet with the fish from the sink, he praises cooking with gas (the directness of the manual procedure), he explains the secret to cooking good fish, the “3-step system,” he says (filleting, souring, salting — dispels odor and refines taste). Svensson praises the boy and lays out on the table the sage leaves he’s now found (he’s a real botanist, says Svensson, a plant expert and biologist). He drops some butter in the pan and holds up to the light the egg the boy has brought. He lays the soggy wax paper on the table in front of Tuuli, she should operate on the fish, he says, that’s always been the task of the doctor in the house. Svensson laughs, and Tuuli asks whether the fish hasn’t been refrigerated all day. Yes, the power’s out, says Svensson, but the fish here on the lake are almost too fresh to eat. To celebrate the occasion, he says, raising his glass, to celebrate this special occasion (a watery red trail of blood on the table).

Elisabeth (red)

Our honeymoon lasted three days and took us to Kolberg. Everything we needed fit in the Renault. The summer of 2003 was a summer of record-breaking heat (we were wearing a wedding dress and shorts). At the Eimsbüttel marriage bureau the throwing of rice was prohibited, and the paternoster elevator tore a snag in Elisabeth’s red dress. All you have to do is stand still, she said, and it goes continuously up and down. My grandmother brought lilies (Elisabeth’s parents took her between them). After the wedding we ate lunch in the Four Seasons Hotel and set off immediately afterward (we hadn’t even reserved a table). Maybe another life is a simpler life. The language of flowers is a foreign language, Elisabeth said later on the country road. She has been married, she has lost a child, now she wants to risk it again (her bulky baggage). I drove and Elisabeth read to me from an old newspaper, it took us two hours to reach the sea at Lübeck, we’d left everything behind.

wedding dress (red)

In my head this image remains: Elisabeth and I on a Baltic Sea beach beyond the Priwall Peninsula, the red wedding dress spread out under us (sea buckthorn and stunted pines). Elisabeth is eating peppered mackerel directly from the wax paper with her fingers. I fall asleep, and when I wake up storm clouds have blotted out the sun. Lightning flashes, the beach is empty, I’m alone (the wax paper and the dress lie crumpled in the beach grass). No wind, no rain, no thunder. Suddenly Elisabeth surfaces from the completely smooth water and comes toward me (she has nothing on). Behind her the Baltic Sea begins to foam, a balloon wafts over the water (red). When she sits on me, even though she moves much slower than usual, she comes much too fast (outside wet gooseflesh and inside unexpectedly warm). I follow suit, then the thunder, then the rain (as if she were responsible for all this). Elisabeth says that she loves me and wipes herself clean with the wedding dress, I’m forbidden to use that against her. Elisabeth laughs, I laugh too.

our strange preferences

We continued with the red: Elisabeth and I at the balustrade of the Klütz Mill, the wedding dress folded in the Renault. The sun was setting (a small detail). Elisabeth was wearing a white T-shirt, her hair tied back with a rubber band. She ordered plaice with red wine, I hesitated at the thought. If I may, said the waiter, to go with the plaice we have an excellent Chateauneuf du Pape. But it’s not about tailoring things to convention, Elisabeth declared, everyone has his own strange preferences. Isn’t that right, Mandelkern? The sun clear over the fields and flying wheat husks and swarms of mosquitoes. The same for me, I said (back then I thought we were forever). Elisabeth laughed, I laughed too.

one-eyed Jack

Tuuli asks for implements and Svensson puts bowls (red plastic) and a knife block on the table. She chooses the smallest and tests the blade with her index finger, then she sharpens it and Svensson refills our wine. The passing thought of asking my questions now without warning into the silent room and waiting for clear answers (the sound of the blade on the stone). I lay my book and pen on the table quite conspicuously, but then I don’t ask after all. Instead I watch Tuuli filleting the fish: her fingers trace the creatures’ bellies, they open the backs, lay bare the hearts, gills, liver, intestines. Even Svensson stops talking (when no one replies, there’s nothing to say). Tuuli is adept, she has no inhibitions, she doesn’t hesitate, she first wipes the blood with a towel and then brushes her blonde hair from her face. She shows the dead fish to the boy, Svensson and I follow her explanations. May I have the heart, Äiti ? asks the boy, but Tuuli throws it in the plastic bowl with the other remains, wipes the blade clean, and lights a cigarette. Hearts are not for people, she says, hearts are for the dog. Besides, Svensson adds, the fried egg is ready (may I serve, sir? one-eyed Jack?). Over the lake the heron is flying slowly, farther out is a steamer with strings of lights. Tuuli says she’s going swimming now, it will be dark soon and she doesn’t like swimming in the dark, could we manage without her for a little while?

Yes.

Of course.

Minä en pelkää .

She kisses the boy on the forehead and stubs out her cigarette. You smoke too much, says Svensson, serving the boy his dinner. By the time I get cancer, Tuuli replies, we’ll have found a cure. Then she leaves (Tuuli believes in the future).

to celebrate the occasion

First the fried egg, later a basket of bread, the bowl of salad, a plate of fruit. Svensson sets the table. The boy stands on his chair and eats with his fingers, we’re again or still drinking wine, red and white, Barolo and Lugana, the boy gets apple juice in a wine glass. Svensson stands at the stove like a television cook, he tosses gnocchi in butter and sage, he praises the boy, he cuts his one-eyed Jack into suitable pieces, occasionally he wipes the boy’s mouth with his apron (the boy’s not afraid).

Interview (Dirk Svensson, television cook)

MANDELKERN: Can I help you, Svensson?

SVENSSON: With the cooking?

M: Yes. Maybe chop something, cut? Anything.

S: You can open another bottle of wine to celebrate the occasion.

M: Where do I find a corkscrew?

S: In my pants pocket. Here.