Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

The moderator takes the little ball with the club crest from Jones and makes it disappear into a tube. I picture a gigantic cellar under the studio building where all these little balls for the draw are sent with pneumatic dispatch and land on the pile of balls from years and decades past.

The draw continues and I comment, “The football division of Tennis Club Hamburg.”

Even if we have good relations with the boys from Hamburg, I still can’t stand their club.

“Matched against Naked Baghdad!”

“Oh, come on, Heiko, knock it off. Against who?” Kai asks while he tugs at his rustling bedding and holds his head toward the ceiling.

He looks a little like Stevie Wonder, and I ask myself if people automatically get that head posture when they’re blind. Or temporarily blind, I mean.

“Against Cottbus,” I correct myself.

“Dude, hopefully Hamburg will knock the East Bloc bitches out of it,” he says. It sounds deadly serious somehow, too serious.

“Yeah,” I say, “and hopefully they’ll fling feces at them. Next match…”

Steffi Jones runs her hand around in the bowl as if she were making cake dough or something with it. Then she removes the next ball and gives it to the moderator. He opens it, leaving two halves. He tosses the lid into another bowl and holds up the half with the club crest.

I swallow and say, “Hannover 96.” We simultaneously sit up a little in the beds. There are still some attractive teams in the bowl. Jones picks the next ball. Passes it on. It’s opened. Lid gone. The moderator looks at the logo and pulls up his lower lip in appreciation, which makes his chin protrude slightly. Now, hold the thing up to the camera already! “Against,” I start, and then I briefly catch my breath. I stare at the television, mesmerized. It can’t be true! They made a mistake, or I didn’t see it right, or it’s another club. The computer graphics for the selected pair appear onscreen. In fact!

“Against? Against who, Heiko?” Kai presses me.

I let the two words melt on my tongue slowly and with pleasure: “Eintracht. Braunschweig.”

“If this is just shitting me again, Heiko, then—”

“No, really!” I yell, and choke on my own spit. Two messages, one right after the other on my phone. The first from Ulf: “Oh my God! Epic!”

The second from Jojo: “You watching this???”

I can’t believe it. I really have to control myself so I don’t suddenly scream and tear up the bedding for joy. Then I look over at Kai and the euphoria sticks in my throat like a fat, slimy toad. He’s slipped from his upright position back onto the bed. Lying on his side. His back to me. My palms radiate sweat. My neck goes cold, as if there was a draft right behind me. I bite my tongue, till the stabbing pain becomes a feeling of numbness. That lizard is gonna suffer so bad!

I didn’t catch a wink of sleep all night. Then I drove my car to Wunstorf and sat in front of Yvonne’s building till morning, watching her shadow move across the sheet covering her window. At some point the light went out. I was completely awake and went over a thousand things in my head. Made plans for how I’d make the guys from Braunschweig pay. Considered whether I should talk it over with my uncle this time or just fuck it and continue doing my own thing. I smoke till I feel sick. I go to the all-night market at the gas station and drink till morning light.

Then I helped Arnim feed the tiger. It seems to have slowly gotten used to its pit. Or maybe just resigned to its fate. At any rate, it doesn’t even try to jump out to tear Arnim to pieces. You couldn’t blame it. But it slips down the aluminum walls anyway. Animals can get tired of that pretty quickly. At least Arnim’s having fun. He’s in the basement almost all day preparing food for his favorite. He’s reactivated his rusty butcher skills and hacks away happily, whistling to himself. The stench of blood from the basement has already spread over the entire ground floor. Since the tiger’s been there, Poborsky and Bigfoot have grown unusually quiet. They probably sense something bad for both of them. I hope Arnim doesn’t get the idea of having a test run with the tiger before the next fights. I haven’t told anyone about all of this. Not even Kai. I’m saving it for a day when he’s slipped back into himself and his thoughts and we’re sitting across from each other in the clinic cafeteria and I can’t think of anything else. I climb into the car and slam it into reverse, turning in front of the house. I hope this isn’t the day.

Kai holds onto my bicep with one hand. We’re strolling a few rounds through the clinic park. Jojo and Ulf are there too. Jojo’s running laps around me and Kai the whole time. His arms dart out repeatedly because he’s afraid Kai could stumble and fall somehow. Then he’d be there to catch him like a building-block tower that’s falling over.

“Jojo, can you knock it off now? You’re getting on my nerves! I’ve got him.”

Kai’s hair has never been this long. It falls in long strands over the sides of his head. The undercut is gone and has slowly grown out. Although I’ve brought along my clippers, Kai says it doesn’t matter what he looks like here in the hospital. He goes step by step. Completely shaky. I ask myself how quickly muscles weaken when you mostly lie around for weeks, even if it’s only one or two. Maybe it’s not even the muscles. It can’t go that fast, anyway. Most of all, he’s probably afraid the lights will go out any second or something. He also told me once he still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that he’ll have next to no spatial perception with just the one halfway good eye. Might sound harsh, but still. I can hardly stand watching. I’d like to let him slip from my arm, give him a little shove, and say you’ll manage, you’re no goddamn handicapped person. But I’m afraid he might misunderstand me.

“That sure is a fucking awesome early Christmas present,” Ulf says, referring to the Cup match on December 18.

“Should I order tickets?” Jojo asks and passes out a round of cigarettes. He lights the one for Kai himself and carefully places it in Kai’s mouth, as if he were feeding a baby. I want to tell him that Kai does in fact have his own mouth and hands he could use to light his own fucking cigarette, but then I let him do it.

Instead, I answer, “We’ll probably have something else to do that day than sitting on our asses and watching the game.”

“What do you mean?” Jojo asks, so slow on the uptake, as if we’d just met.

“You pulling my leg, Jojo? The time is ripe for those bastards.”

“So you don’t even want to watch the game?” Ulf asks.

“If it can be organized, sure. At Timpen or something, but it’d really be stupid to go to the stadium and wait to be escorted out by the cops at some point. The entire opportunity to start something would be lost.”

Ulf groans in annoyance and says curtly: “Just knock it off, Heiko.”

I suddenly stop, causing Kai to stumble over his own feet. Of course, I catch him. But Jojo’s right there and stretches out his arms.

I look at Ulf and say, “I’ll knock them on their asses. The fuckers should finally get what they deserve! And even if I have to do it alone. Don’t give a fuck.”

“You’re just making it worse,” he says, but I wave him off. Try to simply wipe away his objections.

“No fucking way, Ulf. And no one can talk me out of it,” I say and feel my throat swelling closed.

Jojo asks if I’ve already discussed it with Axel.

“Nope. Don’t know yet,” I say, “like I already said. Worst-case scenario, I’ll go it alone. If you guys aren’t behind me…”

Now Ulf’s standing in front of me at full stature and casting a shadow over me.