Ingo Schulze - New Lives

— My grandma without a door, no way.

— Your grandma’ll get a door.

— And Tina?

— Are you so dumb or do you just act like it? — Rolf let the spit splat on the sidewalk pavement between his sneakers.

— Dammit all! — Michael hid the cigarette in the palm of his hand. — Shit, they’re waving, hey, they’re waving us over!

— No need to piss your pants. — Rolf wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His cigarette fell to the ground, he wrapped the bag around his wrist, and followed Michael.

— Don’t fall asleep, sports fans! — Michael and Rolf broke into a run the last few yards.

— So why the loitering? — The policeman hooked his thumbs into his belt.

— Just for once we were…

— I didn’t ask how often, sports fans, the question was why !

— I’m not feeling good — Rolf said.

— But smoking like a chimney?

— An occasional cigarette.

— So what’s that? — The policeman pointed to Rolf’s right hand, to the yellow stains on his index and middle fingers.

Rolf winced.

— First-time voter, huh?

— Yes — Rolf and Michael responded both at once.

— Your papers!

Rolf and Michael handed the police their passports.

— So what’s with all the trips to Czechoslovakia?

— Mountain climbers — Michael quickly replied. They could hear the radio in the police car. The shotgun responded as car 17.

— The Red Mountaineers, ever heard of ’em? — The policeman thumbed back and forth in their passports.

— Kurt Schlosser, sure, know about ’em — Michael said.

— The bag. — Rolf handed it over. The policeman unscrewed the bottle and sniffed.

— Chamomile tea, why’s that?

— Little sick to my stomach — Rolf said.

— So why haven’t you voted yet?

— Waitin’ for a buddy.

— And what’s the buddy’s name?

— Sebastian — Michael said. — Sebastian Keller.

— Keller, Sebastian. Okay. And where does this Keller, Sebastian, live?

— Georg-Schumann Strasse, one hundred…

— Don’t you own a blue shirt?

— I’ve got it on underneath — Michael pulled at the crewneck of his sweater and tugged the blue collar out over it.

— And you?

— I’m not in the FGY.

— Not in the youth organization?

— Religious reasons.

— But elections, I mean, casting your vote, you are going to cast your vote, right?

Rolf nodded warily. — Plan to. — Rolf turned around and spat on the lawn.

— Well then, enjoy yourself, have a good one! — He handed Rolf back both passports. — And congratulations as a first-time voter! — He gave a nonchalant salute. As he opened the driver’s door of his Lada, his shotgun was just saying — Over and out!

Michael and Rolf shuffled in the direction of the polling place.

— What kind of shit was that, religious reasons? — Michael whispered.

— Didn’t you see how he backed off?

— And what if he checks it out?

— What’s he supposed to check out?

Squad car 17 passed by them and stopped right in front of the polling place.

— Religion is always good. They’re even glad if you say you’re religious and then tell them you’re voting anyway.

— Have you ever imagined being the only person to do it.

— Do what?

— Cast a vote.

— What d’you mean, the only person?

— Just picture it. You come here to do it, and nobody else shows. You’re the only one to vote, just you.

— Oh man…

— I’d die. I’d rather die.

— Why die?

— Because it would be so embarrassing. Everybody would say that’s the guy who cast his vote, and then they’d giggle and shout stuff as I walked past.

— I’d like to have your problems, I mean really.

— I’ll be damned, meathead, there’s Tina. There!

The crowd in front of the polling place had begun to stir. The two photographers trotted toward the curb, a second squad car pulled up, a man with a tape recorder and mike around his neck was the first to step up in front of the family, in whose midst stood a young brunette of average height in a blue blouse, a bright red ribbon in her ponytail.

Running the last little bit, Rolf and Michael arrived to hear Tina tell the man with the tape recorder — Oh, quite normal really, like always, lots of exercise, healthy diet, lots of fresh air. — As the reporter was about to ask his second question, she added with a smile — And never get to bed too late.

Everyone laughed, Tina’s dark eyes sparkled.

Michael pulled off his sweater, so that he was standing there in a blue shirt now too.

— Four, there are exactly four! — Rolf said in triumph. They had to stand on tiptoe.

— Twenty, Mishi, you owe me twenty. Four buttons!

Michael gazed spellbound at Tina’s blue blouse and nodded. — Okay, okay.

— As far back as kindergarten — Tina said — I always pictured just what it would be like, casting my vote for the first time. We painted pictures of it, lots of times. And once we were even allowed to use modeling clay. We’ve still got that one at home in the living room.

Her father and mother nodded. Tina was the spitting image of her mother, down to the eyebrows almost merging.

— My vote is my good health. My parents taught me that early on. And I always envied my parents, how genuinely happy they were after they had cast their vote. Yes, really, they’d come home simply beaming. And I thought, I want to be able to do that too.

The faces of those waiting in line bore a look of concentration and strain, if anything was said at all it was in a low voice. The line was moving so slowly that some of them had sat down on the pavement, and didn’t even stand up to edge forward.

— Is that really necessary? — a balding, skinny man asked as he emerged from the polling place. But the woman who was seated on the steps up to the entrance didn’t answer. She didn’t so much as look up. The volunteer election warden shook his head and walked on, greeting someone now and then and tugging at the knot of his tie. He stopped beside Michael.

— Comrade Becker! — he exclaimed. — Comrade Be… — An elbow struck him in the sternum. The volunteer doubled over.

— What are you making a pest of yourself for? This isn’t your shindig — a young, sturdy guy in a beige anorak hissed. — Can’t you see we’re broadcasting?

The volunteer nodded and raised a conciliatory hand. He gave a little cough, he cleared his throat, but then stood up straight and reached for the knot of his tie.

— My favorite book is Fate of a Man by Mikhail Sholokhov, I found it very moving, such a hard and difficult life, and he struggles and hopes because he wants life to be beautiful. And I have to add that that Sholokhov manages in a hundred pages to capture a man’s fate, where other authors write big fat books and have far less to say, yes, Sholokov.

[Letter of April 21, 1990]

I really do admire him. And Aitmatov, Jamila, how difficult happiness can be, yes, Aitmatov and Sholokhov.

The volunteer held his left arm up high and tapped his watch. The young guy in the beige anorak cast him a suspicious glance.

— Can it.

— Schedule. We do have a schedule.

— So do we. — The young guy in the beige anorak gave him a gloating grin.

— I think I’m well prepared. And I’m looking forward to being able to cast my vote now. And I’m also happy to be doing it together with other first-time voters.

The volunteer reached into the sleeve of his sport coat and pulled his shirt cuff down. He was watching Michael out of the corner of one eye.

— First-time voter?

Michael nodded.