Thomas Pletzinger - Funeral for a Dog

my decisiveness

I’m extremely tired, but Svensson thinks I’m sick, he’ll leave my care to the small, pretty doctor (he won’t discover my spying). At twilight and on my knees in front of the suitcase I unwrap the Astroland manuscript from the packing paper. Tomorrow I’ll continue searching: in the kitchen, in the bathroom, on the boat, in the hallway, on the shelves, in the cabinets (I’ll talk). I’ll find out the whole story. Svensson and Tuuli know how Blaumeiser died (it’s their story). I take my notebook and Astroland , I take Svensson’s books, and lie down on the mattress.

my books, his books

I leaf through Svensson’s thinned-out library (books are a takeoff into another life over the course of pages, a suspension of one’s own body for a few minutes). I reread The Story of Leo and the Notmuch , I flip through Svensson’s encyclopedias, I skip around in Max Frisch’s Montauk . I skip around in my notes and keep finding sentences that pretend to be only my own thoughts and feelings. At times I understand things as someone else has understood them. On Svensson’s mattress in his library on Lake Lugano I’m writing, but I’m making use of nothing but read words, lists, and parentheses. I’m surprised by the speed with which I forget these connections and the amazement when I then rediscover them. That’s not new, scarcely anything is new (title page Astroland: hardly art, hardly garbage ).

Craze for the Mobile Lifestyle

is printed on the front page of the Süddeutsche from my plastic bag. I speak German, English, French, and miserable Italian. I learned a smattering of Finnish from Carolina (I could brush up on it here). I’m lying between books and people, between words and bodies. My language is of no use for decisions, each word is only true for a few seconds, then it dries and turns to paper (for Mandelkern decisions as such are suspect). It would be good to be able to set clear boundaries, Hamburg would be Hamburg, a life with Elisabeth would be a life with Elisabeth (a life with Tuuli would remain an unlived life). Svensson has decided on things: he lives in a ruin, now he chops the old wood, he jumps in the clear, reliable water. Is that how one should live (is that how I should live)? Svensson has told his version of the story, he has wrapped it in paper and locked it in the suitcase, Svensson does push-ups, he plants kumquats and potatoes, he catches his own fish (Svensson has put words behind him).

PricewaterhouseCoopers

Tuuli is suddenly standing in the middle of the room. She opened the door without a sound. She’s wearing Svensson’s T-shirt (I know it from the Astroland manuscript: the much too large and bright purple PricewaterhouseCoopers promotional T-shirt). I’m lying between Svensson’s manuscript and my notebooks, I can no longer hide my curiosity, but Tuuli seems to want to disregard my notetaking (she knows the symptoms). The T-shirt actually reaches down to her knees, under it she’s still wearing green, she has knotted the bikini top behind her neck (her bare feet). My small, pretty main informant has a soup bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. Chicken soup for the soul? she asks, and smiles as if she just came up with this herself. For someone who’s sick with the flu you look quite fresh, Manteli . She takes the pen from my fingers and hands me the bowl. Yes, I say, I’m already feeling better. Tuuli remains seated next to me on the mattress and waits for me to take a spoonful of the chicken soup (Wordsworth & Naish). Only when I say it’s good does she take the first page she happens to grab from the mattress and hold it up to the light. What is this anyway? she asks and reads aloud without waiting for my answer:

“Shitty City 2000? What you don’t hold on to disappears. A hotel room on the second floor, a clock was ticking. I lay between Felix and Tuuli and smelled the darkness yawning. A double bed and Tuuli’s hand on my neck, her smell in my ear and Felix’s leg over mine. It’s bitterly cold in Oulu, I thought, and the darkness is a black dog. We lay under blankets and jackets, the heat vent was breathing dryly and uselessly, at midnight the champagne in the glasses was frozen. The darkness rose and sank calmly, through the closed blinds fell the red remains of the neon sign next door: Ravintola , firecrackers exploded on the street. The darkness lay at our feet. Felix: in this cold having your own fur doesn’t help anymore. So he put his blue parka on Lua and tied the left sleeve in a knot. Lua lay there like a disabled veteran. In this cold only liquor and other bodies help?”

Where will the small, pretty mother sleep?

Tuuli is reading and laughing, she looks straight into my face (I’m at her mercy). Astroland? she asks. She gets up and closes the door. Where’d you get this, Manteli? Have you been rummaging around in Svensson’s things? Is it possible you’ve gone a step too far there, Manteli? She’s smiling. What would Svensson say about the fact that you’ve been snooping instead of asking your questions directly? Tuuli takes Svensson’s manuscript from the mattress and lies down next to me (her smell like warm milk). Move over a bit, Manteli , she says, without even waiting for my reaction. Tuuli begins to read, as I empty the soup bowl in focused soundlessness (the clink of my spoon). She leafs through Svensson’s stories and laughs, she adjusts her bikini under her T-shirt. Then she reads on. This doesn’t have much to do with me, Manteli , she murmurs. I haven’t eaten anything yet today, I haven’t slept today, I could simply close my eyes. As I put the bowl down softly on the floor, she turns to me and kisses me briefly on the mouth (she forgives me). Sleep well and don’t worry, Karvasmanteli , Tuuli whispers, nuku hyvin älä pelkää .

I’ll read, you sleep.

And in fact I don’t wake up until I hear the boy crying from the next room, then Tuuli’s soft singing, minä tulen sinne, rakkain terveisin . In my room the light is out, the moonlight is falling through the window onto the floor (the cicadas now turned up loud, waves soft on the shore). In the spot where Tuuli was lying, the bed is still warm. I’m lying among Svensson’s papers, without a blanket and with a sleep erection. Did Tuuli notice it? I wonder whether she’ll come back. The chapter that Tuuli read to me before I fell asleep takes place on the night of New Year’s Eve in a rundown hotel room in Oulu. Felix, Tuuli, Svensson have spent Christmas with Tuuli’s father in Lapland, now they’re waiting for their car to be repaired. Outside it’s bitterly cold, the three of them crawl under blankets and hide themselves away from the world. In this story Svensson tells of a perfect moment of love, no more, no less. I wonder whether Tuuli will sleep with me, between the pages of a book in which she appears (the story doesn’t have much to do with me, she says). The momentary awareness of the improbability of this situation. The Astroland manuscript is lying read on its belly, only the last page is open in front of me. I reread the part where Svensson’s manuscript breaks off:

Lua & the Third Death.

I SEE SAMULI FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A BURGER KING ON THE A5. There’s something to celebrate, Felix said on the telephone. What’s to celebrate is his secret, and I packed my bag without a great deal of thought. You two meet in Frankfurt in two weeks, then drive down to Lake Lugano. I’ll be waiting for you. This morning Lua and I took the train from Berlin Ostbahnhof to Frankfurt, Kiki is coming later on the night train, she has things to do. I haven’t seen or spoken to Tuuli and Felix for months, the last time Felix said that the boy was born: Samuli, almost two months early, but everything was all right. Then came a year of silence. Now Felix is waiting at his parents’ house in Italy, Tuuli is leaning on Felix’s blue Fiat and smoking outside the west exit of Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof, as Lua and I emerge from the train station. Tuuli has short hair. Samuli is still less than a year old, I’m amazed that his feet reach his mouth, I’m amazed that Tuuli is smoking again. Svensson, she says, stroking Lua’s head, how are you? Good, I say, throwing my bag in the Fiat. Lua jumps into the footwell as always, and we set off heading south, Felix’s secret is waiting for us.