Philipp Winkler - Hooligan

When I turn around one last time in the front doorway, I see Arnim’s gun lying on the kitchen table. That’s enough for me. I don’t go back into the kitchen, don’t cast a final gaze into the yard. There’s nothing left for me here. I have an unpleasant feeling of pressure on my ears. It’ll get better when I’m finally gone, far away. I’m sure of that. I’m about to pull open the front door when I hear a muffled clatter. Just once. It came from upstairs. I don’t move. The door handle is ice cold under my bruised, still-injured fingers. There’s nothing for a moment. I already think I misheard, but then there’s another sound. I can hear it clearly through the thin wooden ceiling. The unmistakable beating of wings. Rustling feathers.

The pack I’d tossed onto the backseat of my car falls down into the footwell behind the passenger seat. When I drive out of the woods, the fog has lifted slightly and is now at the level of the treetops. For the last time, I drive the track to the road at walking speed. My head is a little lighter. I let my gaze scan through the windshield. From left to right. The gray boxes of the industrial area behind the fields seem almost brilliantly white. All at once, I whip my head back around to the left because something was in the corner of my eye. I stomp on the brakes and come to a stop halfway there, in the middle of the fields. Without looking, I turn off the ignition and the VW’s motor dies under my gaze in the middle distance. I awkwardly unwrap myself out of the seat belt, finding the release button with my hand. Don’t want to lose the white point that’s moving quickly over the fields. I get out. Don’t blink. My eyeballs start to burn. I blink briefly. Testing. But the white point is still there and shoots straight over the fields toward me. It’s not a white point anymore, either. But rather a body carried on four muscular legs and a massive head with a nearly square muzzle and pointy cropped ears.

Poborsky abruptly comes to a stop a couple yards from the car. His wide tongue hangs out the side of his jowls. Slobber drips from it. We look at each other. He barks a couple times, rearing up. I walk along the car, not letting him slip from my gaze. His jowls twitch in front, so I can see his teeth. He growls. I freeze next to the trunk. Then he’s quiet again. Just looks at me. Turns his head. His fur is dirty. Dried mud clings to the white. He takes a couple steps toward me and the hatchback, then pauses. I don’t move. Just watch. He continues. With swinging steps. Then he makes a leap and jumps into the car. I bend over and look through the angled rear window inside the car. He carefully moves over the middle console to the passenger side. I continue staring. He’s just sitting there and looks out the window. His warm breath makes the window fog over. I approach the driver-side door a pace away from the car so I can keep an eye on him. No reaction. I get in. No reaction. I close the door. Nothing. Hand on the ignition. I start the car. Poborsky looks out the window. There’s a warmth exuded by his body, which has become skinnier. I put it into first gear. We drive off. We’re almost on the county road, almost have asphalt under our wheels, when he turns his head to me. His nose is sandy from digging. He follows my hand as it goes to the stick shift, into second gear, and back to the steering wheel. Then he looks into my eyes. He pants. I think when dogs pant it looks like they’re smiling. We look at each other for a moment. Then he turns away and looks out the window. We turn onto the road.

I would like to offer thanks. To Kathi for so much in so few years. To my grandparents. My entire family. My friends (now we’re even, Laura). To Valentin and Elisabeth and the ERA team. To Tom and the people at Aufbau. To Mr. Gleitze and Mr. Watermann. To all those who supported me, whether while I was working on the book or before.

Copyright © 2016 by Aufbau Verlag GmbH & Co. KG

English-language translation copyright © 2018 by Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Arcade Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

First English-language Edition

First published in Germany in 2016 under the title Hool by Aufbau Verlag GmbH&Co. KG

The translation of this work was supported by a grant from Goethe Institut.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Winkler, Philipp, 1986– author. | Schmidt, Bradley, translator.

Title: Hooligan : a novel / Philipp Winkler ; translated from the German by Bradley Schmidt.

Other titles: Hool. English

Description: First English-language edition. | New York : Arcade Publishing, [2018] | “Copyright © 2016 by Aufbau Verlag GmbH & Co. KG”. — ECIP galley

Identifiers: LCCN 2017060026 (print) | LCCN 2018001363 (ebook) | ISBN 9781628728682 (ebook) | ISBN 9781628728675 (hardcover : alk. paper)

Subjects: LCSH: German fiction—21st century. | Friendship—Fiction. | Families—Fiction.

Classification: LCC PT2725.I549 (ebook) | LCC PT2725.I549 H6613 2018 (print) | DDC 833/.92—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017060026

Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt

Cover photograph: iStockphoto

Printed in the United States of America