Ingo Schulze - New Lives

— And you?

— First-timer too.

— And where’s your blue shirt?

— Forgot.

The volunteer was still plucking at his sleeves. — Come along with me, we’re going inside right now — he told Michael.

— Me?

— Got your passport? Police record?

— No, I mean, yes, I have my passport.

— Me too?

The volunteer gave a quick shake of his head. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and stared at Michael.

— Comb your hair, and don’t fall asleep when the time comes.

The volunteer handed Michael a little white comb and stood on tiptoe.

— We, my friend and I, he’s a first-timer too, we actually wanted to do it together….

— Without a blue shirt? Sorry.

— And if I go get one, I live nearby…

The volunteer took a little hop to one side. — Comrade Becker, Wilfried, here, here I am! — He was waving both arms and running along the queue in the direction of the entrance. Michael and Rolf followed the volunteer.

— Doofus! You’re such a doofus.

— I can’t help it, I just asked him if…

— Such an asshole!

Suddenly the volunteer pulled Michael by the arm, and a moment later the bright red bow of Tina’s ponytail was right in front of his nose. The collar of her blue blouse was rolled up a little. She smelled of shampoo and fresh underwear. Somebody pushed him from behind. — Doofus! — a voice shouted.

In the next instant Michael found himself pressing against Tina. He could feel her rear end, her hair, a shoulder.

— Oh, oooh.

She turned halfway to him so that he could see the dimple on her right cheek.

— Oh, beg your pardon, but…

Michael fumbled for his passport. When he looked up the ribbon and ponytail had vanished. There was the odor of stale air, footsteps echoed through the large tiled room, whose far wall was glass brick. The election commission behind separated desks stood up like a school class and waited. Dead center was the ballot box, a piece of standard stationery covered its opening. The banner on the wall behind it proclaimed in white letters against a red background: OUR VOTES FOR THE CANDIDATES OF THE NATIONAL FRONT!

The lights were switched on, fluorescent tubes flickered. Voices blurred the way they do in an indoor swimming pool.

A fly crawled across the back of Michael’s right hand. He raised the hand, the fly vanished, only to return to the same spot a moment later. Michael slapped at it with a loud smack.

The volunteer looked up briefly and winked at Michael. Stepping forward with him were a boy and a girl, both FGY members. They were waiting for Tina. A man with yolk yellow hair and a black leather jacket shook her hand and smiled. The woman beside him had thin bright red lips that shifted in an ashen pale face. Gold-rimmed glasses dangled from her neck.

— Take your places here, my young friends. Now pull yourselves together. So, here we go now. Lots of luck.

Approaching the long table one after the other, they gave their names, handed over their passports, and quickly received them back. Tina was the last to be given her ballot.

— Hey there, my lad, no daydreaming, report over there now.

Without glancing at the names on his ballot, Michael turned around toward the voting booths. Of those missing a door, the middle one was still unoccupied.

— Look sharp, my lad, look sharp. We have to keep to our schedule here. — The volunteer clapped his hands like a gym teacher.

From his voting booth Michael was able to watch as the yolk yellow man and the woman held tight to the table while Tina climbed up on it. She stood up carefully and, without grabbing hold of any of the many hands offered her, walked to the ballot box. She laid her ballot across the top of the box, hastily unzipped her trousers, which slid down her legs. She quickly slipped her panties down, squatted over the ballot box, and began to press. With half-open eyes she stared at the damaged tile at Michael’s feet, a vein bulged above her right temple, her face took on a bronze color.

The volunteer, who had turned half away, suddenly shouted — Face toward the election commission, Tina. Toward the election commiss—!

Tina stood up in fright. Even for a fit young woman it wasn’t all that easy to move across the wiggly tables. Tina corrected the position of her ballot and squatted down over the box again. Her blue blouse hid most of her rear end.

In the meantime Michael had laid his ballot across the porcelain bowl, pulled his pants and underpants down both at once, and sat. He pressed hard too. In the booth to his left he could hear a jet of urine meet the water in the bowl, grow gradually fainter, and then abruptly end without any drops to follow. To his right Michael heard a loud fart, and a groan, and then, as something heavy fell on the ballot, a crinkling sound. Closing his eyes, the volunteer gave several nods of approval.

Michael couldn’t take his eyes off Tina. Her blue blouse, beneath which he could see the outline of the broad fastener on her bra, emphasized her athletic figure.

Suddenly she raised her rear end, hiked up her blouse — and something appeared between her butt cheeks, grew longer, a thin little sausage dropped, gases escaped, a restrained— Aaaahh —followed, and then another, somewhat darker, shorter, sausage.

The first-timer on Michael’s right had already shoved his massive vote out in front of his booth and was frantically tearing off toilet paper. And the first-timer to his left had likewise given all the candidates her vote.

Michael got up and carefully removed his work from the bowl. The ballot had gotten a little damp at the top. In the middle, however, lay his vote, round and smooth and ending in a jaunty peak.

— Like a meringue tart, just a little browner.

As he laid it on the floor, Michael couldn’t entirely suppress his smile. The rustle of toilet paper could be heard on all sides. The pattern on Tina’s panties wasn’t red polka dots, no, those were ladybugs. Her cheeks were flush, sweat glistened on her upper lip and forehead. The election commission was already removing the bouquets from their pails of water. Michael needed to hurry up.

Suddenly someone squeezed his arm. — One casts one’s vote for an entire list of candidates, not individuals. — Michael stared in bewilderment at the volunteer.

— You see, there, there, Wilfried Becker, doesn’t he get your vote? Do you have something against the Society for Sport and Technology?

— Should I… — Michael raised his right forefinger.

— Yes of course, do it, do it, everyone’s waiting for you.

Michael tried to smear his round sausage toward the top and bottom, but it was more solid than he had thought. He spit, he spit a second time, it just barely worked. But now it looked so untidy, unaesthetic. Michael was the last to stuff his ballot into the box and now glanced down very earnestly at the Thälmann Pioneer who handed him three carnations with lots of greenery. The handshake that followed the Pioneer salute was limp and damp. Now that everyone had a carnation bouquet, the applause began.

The four first-timers were given a rousing reception outside. All the people standing in front of the polling place had turned toward them and were clapping enthusiastically.

Michael was numb somehow. — I thought they’d be mad at us.

— But why? — Tina laughed. — Why should they be mad at us?

— I just thought… — Michael spotted Rolf clapping wildly. Michael gave him a nod and a tortured smile. Rolf, on the other hand, seemed to be in a great mood, and gestured to him by dangling his right hand below his belt, swinging it back and forth, while his thumb and fingers kept snapping open and shut like a hungry mouth.