Ingo Schulze - New Lives

I found his insinuations tactless, removed the pillow from my swivel chair, and offered it to him. “There’s not a lot of luxury here,” I said.

That wasn’t what he meant, not for the world! It had been a quote, intended as a compliment, a quote from the treasure chest of a relative, of a true friend of animals, an adage that had become dear to his heart.

“What is it you would have of me? How may I be of service?” I asked, sensing how his stilted phrasing was already rubbing off on me.

Clemens von Barrista looked up from the bottom of the sea, bowed slightly, and said without any accent whatever, “You hoped to have reached your decision by today.”

After a bow that imitated his I replied we had first met each other on Tuesday, 50at the Volkspolizei kennel, where, much to my regret, we had barely spoken and had departed without arranging any further meeting…

“I banged my left knee at your place yesterday,” he said, flaring up, “because the light wasn’t working, and still isn’t.” With each word he gained better control over his exasperation. “We sat here and I offered suggestions. Your newspaper”—he took off his glasses and massaged his eyes with thumb and forefinger—“was recommended to me!” I expressed my regret that I knew nothing of this.

“Then you are not Herr Schröder?” His google-eyes were now peering through his glasses again.

I introduced myself, mentioned again our meeting at the VP kennel, and was about to step out and turn on the vestibule light, when he halted me with a vigorous motion of his upper body.

“My concern is the visit of the hereditary prince!”

Finally the coin dropped. Of course I knew about the prince’s ambassador. Barrista is an acquaintance, if not to say admirer, of Vera’s. Except that I had pictured him quite differently.

“We’ve been notified of your visit, accompanied, of course, by the loveliest expectations on all sides,” I offered by way of apology. I had jumped up, but then, as if this knowledge had robbed me of my energies, I realized that I was having trouble speaking. I was suddenly afraid I might spoil things, very important things. Hadn’t a smile meandered across his lips at my mention of “loveliest expectations on all sides”? It can’t have been just my fault that I caught only some words, a few fragments of a sermon, like an AM broadcast after nine at night. “…excellent reputation!..accomplishments, commitment, will…substantial…can well imagine…new energy, new energies…waiting for this…resurrected out of…trust…impeccable…times such as these…speculating…congratulations, yes, my congratulations.”

He was doling out compliments. That much I understood. His turns of phrase had me on the verge of laughter. “We bid you the warmest of welcomes. We do indeed,” I managed to say, but was afraid it may have sounded like a parody. I weighed words in my mouth as if they were fillings that had fallen out, and it wouldn’t have taken much and I would have bowed and scraped like a lackey.

Barrista had warmed to his topic, spoke, if I rightly recall, without accent now and rubbed his hands as if under a tap. With total determination he cried, “Not I! I am not one of those for whom speech is silver and silence gold. Balderdash, no, no, my good man,” he said with a smile, “special considerations not even on behalf of those involved, even a child knows that, truly, even a child. Moaning and groaning, the sooner the better, wean themselves, aware of that myself, does no good, no training, can’t fail to be noticed, no one left, nowhere, no father confessor, unoccupied position, second-rank, third-rank, an enormous transformation, absolute void, on this side and that, unique chance!”

I was no longer trying to follow his leaps and bounds from one thought to another, and assembled a few sentences about myself instead. Sprawled now on his chair, Barrista gave me exaggerated nods as I started to speak, raised his eyebrows, and with a flood of ahs and ohs urged me on — his shy pupil, who kept to short statements in order to maintain his footing. It was all so terribly simpleminded, but his encouragement calmed me. When I fell silent, Barrista look disconcerted. What did he expect? I shrugged.

“Well, he’ll probably not be stopping by now,” he sighed, and rummaged in his pants pocket. Before I could ask whom he meant, he apologized. “Oh, beg your pardon. It really is late.” He scrutinized a wristwatch without its strap. “Ten till twelve,” he said, suppressing a yawn.

“Ten till twelve?”

“My first thought,” he said, ignoring my astonishment, “was that your eyes were shining with enthusiasm. But, my dear Herr Türmer, you need to look after yourself. May I give you a ride, may I take you home?”

I pointed to the window. “I have my own—” was all I managed. I meant my car.

“Then perhaps I may escort you?” He extracted two slightly used red candles from an attaché case that I had not noticed until then, held the wicks together, and lit them both at the same time with a lighter. A candle in each hand, the attaché case under his left arm, he stood there like a Saxon Christmas ornament, his deep-sea eyes directed at me. You know my weakness for courteous people, but I had to smile all the same. He waited until I had gathered up my things. The wolf scraped with its front paws. Before I turned off the light, I noticed wax running down over Barrista’s hands and dripping on the floorboards in front of the wolf’s muzzle. I edged past the two of them, opened the door to the small antechamber, then the one to the vestibule, where I groped for the switch.

“Why do you mistrust me?” he asked. His eyes swam toward me. The switch clicked, but nothing happened. “No problem, no problem,” he cried, raising the candles higher. I was embarrassed and angry, and especially the latter because I could hear Fred’s excuses.

“I have made it my firm custom to be prepared for anything here in the East.” He again gave a hint of an apologetic bow, because he would not let me precede him. “Dealing with people is a fine art, truly a fine art.” Undaunted, he hobbled ahead of me, holding the burning candles as far away from his body as circumstances allowed. “Work must be learned as well, and never make any exceptions to that!” He anticipated my move and opened the front door with his elbow. The draft blew out the candles. Clemens von Barrista, however, strode ahead by the streetlamp’s murky glow as if he himself were still lighting the way. Then the bell of Martin Luther Church began to toll. The next moment the streetlamps went out. A brief flicker, and night had swallowed Barrista and his wolf. For a while I still heard footsteps and his English singsong. I called out my good-byes twice in his wake, and waited for the lights of his car to come on at any moment. But it stayed dark, and after the last toll of the bell there was universal silence.

I slept like a stone.

Enrico

PS: When I got to the office today, Jörg was already fully informed and asked what I thought of Barrista. “A special case,” I said, and immediately wanted to correct myself. I don’t like the term. But Jörg agreed with me at once. “A special case” was probably the best way to put it. “But whatever the case,” he said, turning to Georg, “Barrista wants us! Us and nobody else.”

Jörg had dropped by the Wenzel at eight o’clock, where he had in fact found Barrista eating breakfast and joined him in “beheading a soft-boiled egg,” as he put it. Barrista had not only filled him in on his fellow guests, but was also able to mimic their gestures and speech. It had struck Jörg as “funny as hell!”

What Barrista had to say about the hereditary prince had, despite requisite caution, pricked his — Jörg’s — interest and curiosity about the old gentleman’s upcoming visit. Barrista’s sole proviso had been a “reasonable outcome of the election.”