Jonas Khemiri - Everything I Don’t Remember

“Well, it’s not as relaxing as hanging here, with you.”

I’m not sure if Samuel actually said that last bit, or if he just thought it. On the way home I felt happier. Even though Samuel went to Laide’s to sleep there. I knew he would never manage to stay with a person who tried to control him. Soon it would all fall apart. It was only a matter of time.

*

We stayed there for a few hours. Samuel’s grandma told us about the house’s history, how she and her husband (whom she kept calling “Dad”) bought it in the late 1940s from someone named Kuhlmeier, and even though their bid wasn’t the highest Kuhlmeier liked them so much that he chose to sell to them anyway. The only condition was that they had to invite Kuhlmeier to dinner once a year. And they did; for eleven years he came over around Ascension Day to eat dinner with her, her husband, and their two, soon to be three, children. Each time, he brought chocolate macaroons. Then Kuhlmeier died and soon the house was too small for three children so they expanded it, she stood up to show us where the new construction started.

“This is where the house stopped when we bought it and this whole side, the parlor, the bedroom upstairs, and the rec room downstairs, is the part we added on.”

We walked around the house, she showed us the parlor with its dirty parquet, a decaying terrace, sun-faded curtains. She led us up the creaky stairs, showed us the balcony, the maid’s quarters, the bedroom with green jungle wallpaper, and the bathroom with a pink floral pattern on the walls.

“We had a good life here, Dad and me,” she said several times as we walked through the rooms. “And I think you’ll be just as happy here as we were.”

“Sorry?” I said.

“If you buy it, that is. I know it’s a lot of money. You can’t just pull that many coins from behind your ear. But there’s no rush, go home and talk it over and you can get back to me if you’re interested.”

“Grandma. It’s me, Samuel. I stayed here on the weekends when I was little, don’t you remember?”

“Of course. Weren’t those the days. It was always fun when you came by and played with Marie and Kerstin and Benke and the little one, what was her name, the little one?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you remember her?”

“Those were Mom’s friends. My mom. Your daughter. How can you not remember your own daughter?”

We stood in the upstairs bedroom in silence. Samuel picked a bit of dirt off a full-length mirror. His cheeks were glowing red.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Anyone want some raspberry boats?”

“Yes please,” I said.

We walked down the stairs. I saw a dark shadow across the cracked paint of the ceiling. It must have been an old water-damage stain; it was shaped like a tulip.

*

Then Samuel vanished again. When I didn’t get any hours at work and no one responded to my letters of application, I spent most of my time at home in front of the computer. I played strategy games and brainstormed legal ways to earn cash for rent while Samuel and Laide marched in leftist demonstrations and went to luxury spas and ate vegan soup and met each other’s families.

*

Later that evening, I called Zainab and told her I’d found a place for her to live.

“It’s the perfect house. It will be available in a few weeks. An old woman has been living there. There’s room for the children, it’s way up on a hill, it almost can’t be seen from the street, and there’s only one neighbor nearby.”

“For how long?” Zainab asked.

“Until further notice. But at least a few months.”

“How much?”

“It’s free.”

“Free?”

“Free.”

“Stop kidding around.”

“It’s free. You can live there for free. It will be your family and a woman named Nihad.”

Zainab was silent, she didn’t say thanks, she just stopped talking, she didn’t say anything for thirty seconds.

“Hello?” I asked. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here,” she said in a new voice. “I’m still here. I just don’t know what to say.”

Then she spent five minutes praising Allah most Glorious, most Gracious, most Merciful, Master of the Day of Judgment, who shows us the straight way, the Powerful and Wonderful and Forgiving. And I have to say that it felt a little weird to hear her praise and thank this God whom I myself didn’t believe in. After all, I deserved most of the thanks, and Samuel too. We hung up and I called Nihad, who howled with happiness and kissed the phone until it fell to the floor.

*

Samuel asked more and more frequently how things were going at work. He wondered if I would get more hours next month and how things were going with my job applications. I reminded him that we divide everything up equally and that it would all work out in the end.

“Of course,” he said. “But I’ve covered all the rent for a few months now. And that seems a little wrong since I hardly even live here.”

“Come home and live here a little more then,” I joked.

*

A few weeks later, Nihad and Zainab moved into Samuel’s grandma’s house. I got the key from Samuel and met Nihad at the station. She had two suitcases with her, she was wearing make-up, her neck was perfumed, she looked like a human resources director who was going on a conference trip and I don’t know why that bothered me. It was like I wanted her to be more desperate than she was. We walked to the house and although it was only the second time in my life I’d walked along that street I heard myself saying the same things Samuel had told me. I pointed out the library, the cafe, and the place where there had been a bike shop up until a few years ago.

Zainab and her children were waiting on the street. They had been dropped off by someone who had already driven away. Zainab and Nihad greeted each other, they had no trouble understanding one another even though they spoke different dialects. The children had their own little suitcases and they looked wide-eyed at the house as we walked up the gravel hill.

“Who else is going to live here?” asked one of the daughters.

“You’re going to live here,” I said.

“But besides us?” asked the other daughter.

“It’s just us,” said Zainab.

With a roar, the children ran up the stairs and I reminded Zainab that it was important to keep a low profile so the neighbors wouldn’t start to talk. We used the upper entrance, I turned the key, opened the door, and showed them how the alarm worked. It was simple, when you opened the door it started beeping and you had thirty seconds to enter the correct code. If you were to forget the code, there was a piece of paper under the alarm keypad that said “ALARM OFF? PRESS 9915. ALARM ON? PRESS 0” in large print.

Nihad and Zainab looked at the piece of paper and chuckled.

“Perfect for burglars. It’s okay if we take it down, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” I said.

Nihad took the piece of paper with the alarm instructions, ripped it in half, and hid it in the chest of drawers in the hallway. I felt proud when she did it. I thought that it was her way of showing that now she and Zainab and the children lived there. The children had already run into the house, I heard their cries from the parlor.

“There’s an echo in here,” cried one daughter.

“Where do we sleep?” cried the other.

I still hadn’t heard the son’s voice, but then he came back and tugged at Zainab’s clothes.

“What is it, darling?”

She leaned down and picked him up. He whispered in her ear.

“There’s a piano in there.”

*

I filled out job applications, placed them in envelopes, and waited for responses. I sat at home. I went out. I came home. Sometimes I called Samuel. Or sent a text. When he didn’t answer, I went into his room and looked through his things. I just wanted to remind myself that we still lived together. I paged through his notebooks mostly to help pass the time.