Ingo Schulze - New Lives

“Chto?” the toxic blonde squealed. “Chto?” Peter Ullrich and a few others laughed. After the next sentence by Sabine number one, Joachim laughed too. Sabine number two replied. The toxic blonde had jumped to her feet. Sabine number one was blushing and attempted a smile. “Chto?” the toxic blonde squealed after the next sentence as well.

By the time Titus finally realized that Sabine and Sabine had skipped a line in their memorized text and been exchanging nonsense, Sabine number two was crying. The toxic blonde damned them both to a D, but with the possibility of improving their grades the next time. Now Sabine number one likewise broke into tears.

“Let’s go,” the toxic blonde said, giving Joachim a nod.

Titus saw Joachim shrug and heard him say, “Khorosho.” And then he pretended to lift something up onto his desk, reached for an invisible telephone receiver, and moved his finger in circles. He dialed, and when he was finished, leaned back. Titus felt sick to his stomach. Joachim went, “Ring ring.” Titus pretended to pick up a receiver too, someone laughed. Titus waited a moment, then he said, “Allo?” It was in God’s hands now.

“Zdes’ govorit, Joachim, zdrastvuitye!”

“Zdes’ govorit, Titus, zdrastvuitye.” With his right hand to his ear, Titus propped his elbows on the desk and stared down at the surface.

“Fsyo khorosho?”

“Fsyo khorosho,” Titus repeated.

“Ya khotchu priglasit tebya…” The rest was unintelligible.

“Oh, spasibo,” Titus said, and then a word came to mind that he had never spoken before. “Otlitchno!” he boomed into the receiver. It came to his lips so perfectly naturally that he repeated it. “Otlitchno!”

The toxic blonde erupted in a sharp squeak.

Titus didn’t understand Joachim’s answer, but he hadn’t heard a time of day, and so he simply asked: “A kogda?”

Joachim made several suggestions and ended with the question: “Eto udobno?”

Titus repeated the words without knowing what they meant: “Da, eto udobno.”

Joachim went on talking. When it was Titus’s turn again he simply said: “Ponimayu. A chto ty khotchesh?” That always worked.

“Chto ty khotchu?” Joachim asked.

“Da,” Titus quickly replied.

Joachim talked about books, records, theater, and said something about soccer too, which once again evoked laughter.

“Muy idyom f teatr,” Titus replied, as if it were up to him to straighten things out.

Joachim followed with another long sentence Titus didn’t understand. Titus stuck to his guns: “Muy idyom f teatr.” Joachim pretended to be upset. Evidently he didn’t want to go to the theater. Titus could sense people around him getting ready to laugh.

“Kak ty khotchesh. A ja khotchu kushat tort.”

Joachim had to wait a moment for the class to settle down. “Do zvidaniya,” Joachim said.

“Fso khorosho?”

“Fso khorosho,” Joachim declared.

“Spasibo,” Titus said. “Do zvidaniya.”

They both put their imaginary receivers down at the same time. The toxic blonde said, “Otlitchno” and “spasibo” and sat back down on her desk. She pointed out two mistakes Joachim had made, praised him for the liveliness of the conversation, and said, giving Titus a wink, that with a little effort one can achieve one’s ends even with somewhat limited means. She even said something about acting talent and noted Titus’s poker face. As she entered the grades in the grade book her hand made the same motion twice.

What a wretched little creature he was, looking for salvation in a grade, a good grade in Russian. He had pleaded with God for that? And Joachim, to whom he had lied, to whom he had not yet admitted that he would read the report — that same Joachim had just rescued him. Wasn’t that a sign? An unexpected turn of events that he wouldn’t have dreamt of in his wildest dreams? Wouldn’t God, if He were on his side, have led him just as He had now? Wasn’t Joachim his best model? Didn’t he want to be like him?

Titus stared at the new vocabulary words they were drilling in chorus. He joined in, but they were meaningless sounds and syllables.

For a moment he dared the thought that, as a reward for his own honesty, God would favor him with abilities like Joachim’s. Couldn’t he decide all on his own to do what needed to be done?

“Poker face,” Joachim whispered when the bell rang. Titus liked hearing the words “poker face” coming from Joachim.

and went “Ring ring.” In that same moment Titus felt something icy brush up against him, curdling his blood.

“Ring ring,” Joachim went for the second time. Why was he dragging him into this? Titus pretended to pick up a receiver too. “Allo?” He didn’t know whether the class was laughing at their act or because his voice sounded so pitiful. “Zdes’ govorit Titus, zdrastvuitye.” Titus propped his elbow on the desk, pressed his knuckles to his right cheekbone. He stared at Martina Bachmann’s back, at the spot where her hair almost touched the back of her chair.

“Fso khorosho?”

“Fso khorosho,” Titus repeated.

“Ya khotchu priglasit tebya…” Titus hoped it would all be over soon.

“Spasibo,” Titus replied.

Joachim strung sentence after sentence together. Pirouettes, Titus thought. The last of them a question. Titus nodded. He wanted to show: I know, it’s my turn now. He had even understood the question. But he couldn’t make it work that fast. He wanted to say that of course he accepted the invitation and wanted quickly to finish his homework so he could help Joachim get things ready for the party. He wanted to ask who else was invited besides him and if he should bring anything and whether Joachim had any definite wishes as to his birthday present.

Joachim said: “Nu?” and started over again. There was a few laughs. Titus said, “Da.”

Joachim went on chitchatting. Titus managed one more “Spasibo.” It made no difference whether he spoke or not. Titus could feel his own hand on his cheek, he could even see himself. Joachim whispered something, but since no one else was speaking they all heard it too. He wasn’t going to repeat it. His pride wouldn’t let him. Titus heard his shoe tapping the floor.

Joachim talked about books, records, theater, and even mentioned something about soccer. Titus didn’t want to say anything more. She should just give him his F and leave him in peace. Her nickname shouldn’t be Toxic Blonde, but Band Saw, she had a voice like a band saw. Joachim fell silent.

When the toxic blonde demanded he look her in the eye — those little eyes — he raised his head. He didn’t care what was coming from her blurry mouth. “I forgot,” he said, only making things worse. Compared to him Martina Bachmann was a hero.

He had had better things to do than memorize this bilge, which he would never use anyway.

Titus saw himself in the bright world where he had lingered yesterday, a world with no place for a toxic blonde.

All the same Titus was surprised when she did in fact give him an F. Why was she still picking on him? You don’t kick someone when they’re down, he thought. But of course she wouldn’t know that. What was he supposed to apologize for? He had forgotten, and for that he’d got his F. He said not a word. The toxic blonde flung her silver ballpoint across the desk, sending it bouncing off somewhere. Someone picked the pen up and brought it forward to her. She didn’t say thanks. They opened their books.