Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

The meal was over. I’d just accompanied Yvonne back to her car. She had to go to her night shift. “Nice that it finally worked out for us to meet,” was what Manuela had said in parting, and she gave me a sideways glance, “I was afraid that we’d never get to know you. Heiko is such a tough nut to crack. Never opens up.”

Yvonne smiled, unsure whether or not to take it as a joke. She apologized again that she’d come in her work clothes: “We can’t change at the hospital because the nurses’ locker-room is being remodeled at the moment.”

Manuela assumed a generous smile and shook her head. Her long, dangling earrings made her seem at least ten years older.

“Don’t worry about it. I hope you have a quiet shift. I bet it’s hard work at the hospital.” She went back to the patio to help Andreas and his parents clean up the picnic table. Damian was kicking my birthday present through the garden, which was bathed in evening light. I had even gone to the trouble to get him the official ball from the ’98 World Cup in France on eBay. Best ball ever.

I kissed Yvonne on her pale forehead and watched her climb into her Ford KA hatchback and drive away. Once again, she’d hardly eaten a thing all evening.

I wanted to light another cig on the patio.

“Heiko,” Manuela said, “can you please not smoke around Damian?”

I flipped the pack shut.

“But he’s playing on the grass way over there,” I snapped at her and pointed at my nephew, who was at least five meters away.

“But it blows over to him.”

Which wasn’t true. From the trees beyond the property, I could see the wind was blowing in exactly the opposite direction. And even if it wasn’t, we’re outdoors, damn it, I told myself.

“Besides, I don’t want you to set a bad example for him. If he sees that his uncle smokes, then he might want to, too.”

“He’s six!”

“Heiko, please,” Andreas butted in.

So I went around the corner, where Damian couldn’t see me, and crouched down, leaning against the wall, smoking in silence. At least the evening was almost over now. It was cooling down.

For me, it felt like the meal had lasted forever. The most exciting thing was Damian’s torrent of words. They just bubbled out of him, about the first grade and who his best friends were, and so on and so forth. The business chitchat between Andreas and his father, who’d sat across from each other in their checkered shirts, looking more and more like clones and less like father and son, made the time go by all the more slowly. Manuela wasn’t much help either, not missing a chance to praise Andreas’s many varieties of salad. She couldn’t produce something edible if you put a gun to her head, I’ll admit that. The food was actually good. Electric grill. But you don’t really need to eat outside if you’re not going to use charcoal.

Hans’s place at the table opposite Yvonne had remained empty the whole time, so Mie sat there alone and smiled silently at the circle. My father had made her load up a plate and carry it to him in the living room because he wanted to watch TV. I could see him from the patio, through the window, the bluish reflection of the tube flickering on his face and then disappearing again.

I heard voices from inside. Only then did I realize I was sitting right by the kitchen window. Andreas and Manuela were talking. It sounded like they were loading the dishwasher. Andreas’s parents joined them.

“We’d better go. I have to leave early tomorrow morning,” Andreas’s father said.

Manuela and Andreas thanked them emphatically for coming and for the generous presents for Damian, and I just thought, Good lord, how long do people need to say good-bye? At some point Andreas walked his parents to the door. The kitchen fell silent moments later. Manuela had stopped loading the dishwasher. And then I heard her suddenly start to sob. She sucked up the snot. Then another moment of silence. Then it started again. She seemed to be holding her hand in front of her mouth. I tried not to move so she wouldn’t know I was accidentally listening in.

Andreas returned.

“Dear, do you…?” He stopped. Must have noticed she was crying. Then nothing. It took me a minute to get that he’d simply turned on his heel and left my sister alone in the kitchen. No clue where it came from, but I stood up next to the kitchen window, but without showing myself, and whispered, “What’s going on?”

Manuela didn’t seem at all surprised my voice was suddenly coming in from outside. If she was, I couldn’t tell.

“It’s just… Heiko. I just can’t stand it sometimes.”

I wanted to press about what she meant exactly, but she added: “Seeing Andreas’s parents. And us in contrast. How Papa doesn’t even come to the table. And Mama…” My molars ground together so hard my jaw hurt. “Heiko. I hate Mama for it. I hate her for just running away. I hate her for not caring about us at all.” I wanted to tell her I felt the same way. That it wasn’t a family. And it never had been. At least not as long as I could remember. I wanted to tell Manuela she was my sister. I mean: of course she is. But, saying it, I wanted to say something else actually. But instead of saying that and more, what I could have said, I said nothing at all. ’Cause once again I couldn’t manage to find the words. Then it was too late, because Mie came into the kitchen with the rest of the dirty plates. We haven’t spoken about it since.

I went back around the corner of the house. My knees were soft as sponges. Damian called from the patch of lawn, asking if I could play another round of football before he went to bed. I said I’d come right away.

Andreas sat at the picnic table. There were red splotches on his cheeks, which didn’t fit with his otherwise tidy appearance. He just looked at me. Took a swig of his nonalcoholic beer and looked at me again from beneath his eyebrows. I walked by him without saying a word.

The week’s almost done. I can’t put off feeding the pigeons anymore. They’re free-flying and might be less than stupid about finding something to eat and drink along the way, but, after nearly a week, I still have to make sure everything’s in good shape. Otherwise, they’ll shit the coop full to the brim. Besides, Hans is in withdrawal. Or as Manuela calls it: rehab. At least that way I don’t have to cross paths with him.

I parked a little ways down the street. I don’t want Mie seeing the light from my headlamps when I turn into the drive. I have no clue if she’d ask me in or anything, but she’d certainly come out to say hi, and then we’d be standing there and looking at each other, and no one knowing what to say, how to end it halfway okay.

From the front, no light is visible in the house. But what if she’s in the kitchen right now and looks out? Well, then I can’t do anything about it. But maybe I’ll get lucky and she’s in the living room or already asleep. So I slip through the narrow space between the shed and the fence. There used to be a well-worn path you could take to go from the driveway to the garden. Today it’s overgrown with weeds a meter high, growing from the wall of the shed to the gutter on the roof—stinging nettles and thistles. I was smart enough to dress in long pants, though it’s brutally hot. Even after sunset. The heat of the day is so heavy and oppressive the plants just sag to the ground at night and lie there till the next morning, only to start up again.

The garden is surrounded by the house on one side, the neighbor’s property on the other, and the shed next to the street. It extends out back at least twenty meters in a rectangular shape. Judging by the high grass, which covers the entire garden like the thick fur of a huge animal, Hans hasn’t mowed for months. Wouldn’t be possible now either. All you could do would be to go in with a scythe. The one place trampled flat is the area between the patio, the coop, and the house, where a garden hose is attached to a faucet.