Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

I nodded. Well, I think I did. Still remember that somehow it felt more like I was drawing back my head and then pressing it forward. Like I was trying to swallow a whole sausage all at once.

“I will,” I said.

They kept Kai in the hospital in Leipzig for two days. While he lay hardly responsive in his room, I occupied the row of chairs in the hallway. It was almost impossible to sleep, but I didn’t let the doctors and nurses get rid of me either. Jojo and Ulf went ahead, leaving the next day because they had to work. I simply didn’t let Axel know. He didn’t call me to ask where I was at either. On the third day, Kai was transferred to Hannover, to the medical school. I wasn’t allowed to ride along. I’d made a ruckus in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, so the EMTs had stopped halfway there and kicked me out, despite the flashing lights and the whole nine yards. So I took the fast train to Hannover.

Kai’s parents completely ignored me when they brought over some clothes. Shooting recriminations at me. I went to the clinic’s cafeteria and waited till they left again. I didn’t go home once. No show. Always the same clothes. I could already smell myself. My greasy clothes gradually fused with my skin. Kai had made progress the last few days. By now, he was able to eat some things that weren’t poured into him from a tube. Just stuff that had been through a blender, but still. He couldn’t even get his injured mouth open an inch. When he talked, it sounded like his teeth were glued together.

I help him with all the motions he goes through with monotone groans. I stabilize his head. Pay attention so he doesn’t bump it climbing in. He muffles a groan, and I lift his legs into the car. He closes his eyes in pain. His face looks like he played with two ADD kids who couldn’t decide whether they wanted to play doctor or paint his face. The physicians insisted he should be kept there for several more days, if not a week. We ignored them and packed up his stuff. I close the trunk and climb in on the driver’s side. The chemical smell of his various bandages, Band-Aids, salves, and the general hospital stench—which by itself is enough to make you sick—spreads through the car. He rolls down his window a crack. Then he rolls his head toward me, past the headrest, while I’m backing out of the parking spot, and says, “You stink, pal.”

I laugh, saying not everyone’s lucky enough to be bathed and washed by a hot nurse. He laughs too, then coughs and groans. Squints and groans even more because his eyes hurt so much.

“The eyes are the worst,” he wheezes, “everything is so bright. A little like you’re looking into the sun, but instead of going away, it just stays that way. But keeping them shut almost hurts as much.”

I say, “Hmm,” because I’d already run out of fitting comments to stuff like that in Leipzig. Instead, I look down at him and crank up the heat despite the open window. He’s still wearing his hospital gown. He would never have done that otherwise. Normally he’d have insisted, despite the pain, on getting dressed up before going out in public. But at least he kept the backside open during our short, sluggish walks down the hall. He wanted to offer the nurses something. No one can beat that out of him.

We’re silent during the drive into the city. He has his face turned to the side window, and I don’t know if he’s looking out or sleeping. My phone rings in my pocket. I reach inside. Press End Call without looking. The city seems unusually calm. Cars, trains, street cars. Everything rolls past muffled by the windows. The sky looks like it’s covered in smoke. Gray streets below and people in colorless raincoats who silently push past each other.

When I park in front of Kai’s house, I see his parents’ car. They get out and walk toward us. Must have spent the whole time waiting in the car. I get out quickly so I can be at the passenger side before them and help Kai out.

“Bag’s in the trunk,” I say to his father, who walks around the car and takes it out. The single step before the front door is already a barrier, and I almost have to lift Kai so he makes it. The shaking of his legs is so severe it transfers to me.

“Thanks,” he whispers while his mother holds the elevator door behind him.

“Sure I shouldn’t come up with you?”

“Go take a shower. You stink like a tiger cage.”

I grin at him. The flushed corners of his mouth twitch like the wings of a dying bee.

“I’ll be in touch,” he whispers.

I wait in the doorway till the elevator door closes and swallows his parents, who are still looking grimly at me. We used to get along. I go back to my VW hatchback and yell at the meter cop who’s hard at it on the other side of the street that I’m on my way. My phone rings again. The meter cop bitch waves excitedly. As if there was nothing worse in her sad shitty life than a car that stops for a minute, double parked. I drive off and take my phone out of my pocket. No number. Without giving it much thought, I pick up.

“Yeah?”

“Heiko?”

“Who’s there?”

“Heiko?”

“Yeah.”

“Hans is here. Very drunk.” The barely audible female voice at the other end draws out the u unusually long. “Out of rehab. Is very drunk. Angry.”

“Mie?” I ask.

“Please come,” is the only answer I get, then she hangs up.

I turn onto the driveway to my father’s house when Axel calls. Fuck! When it rains it pours, of course.

“Hello?”

“Heiko, come to the gym. We have to have a little talk.”

I can’t produce an answer.

“Heiko?”

“Yeah. But I can’t right now. Something’s going on with Hans. Can’t leave,” I say.

A pause follows. I look around. Manuela’s car is by the sidewalk in front.

“Tomorrow,” my uncle says, and it sounds like a threat.

I hang up, go to the front door, and ring the bell. The door is immediately ripped open. Mie is standing there. She’s wearing pajamas with a teddy bear pattern. Her long hair isn’t flowing down her back as usual but has formed a crazy nest on her head.

“Please come. Your father. He is completely furious.”

“What’s he doing here?” I ask, but she silently points past me. To the stairs.

My foot bumps against a suitcase in the hallway. The commotion can be heard from above. Accompanied by some sort of incomprehensible swearing that rises and falls. I walk past the kitchen. In the corner of my eye, I see someone inside. I stop and turn around. Manuela had pulled a chair away from the table and is sitting on it. Face buried in her hands. Crumpled tissues on the kitchen table.

“What’s going on here?” I ask.

Above us, something heavy is pushed over and slams onto the floor with a thud. My sister doesn’t look up.

“Manuela?”

“Please leave me alone,” she says, sounding like she has a cold. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Confused, I look to Mie, who pushes past me and sits down at the table behind Manuela, wrapping her toothpick arms around her upper body. I walk up the stairs. Every stair squeaks like I’m stepping on a pile of cats. The white glazed door of the bedroom at the top of the stairs is ajar. Even when I come closer, I still can’t understand a single word of the mumbling. I push open the door, saying my father’s name. The bedroom is very small. There’s hardly any space to really move around next to the king-size bed that’s right behind the door. An armchair is lying on its side in front of the wardrobe. I step on the rug, which is as thick as a bear’s pelt, and every step is padded. I look around the door and close it. My father is sitting on the edge of the bed. Head thrown back. Urine-colored rivulets of beer flow out of the can, past his mouth and down his neck. They stain his wifebeater yellow. He lowers the can and lets loose a loud “Ahhh,” as if the long swig had been infinitely refreshing. There are empty cans spread over the rug in front of the bed, leaking backwash that soaks into the fabric of the rug. It smells like a recycling bin with flatulence. The nightstand has also been knocked over. The contents of the drawers dumped out. The sheets are covered with beer stains.