Christopher Kloeble - Almost Everything Very Fast

“I don’t have much patience.”

“You can’t just lurk around after dark. What will people think?”

“I don’t know what people think.”

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

“Julius, when will we get married?”

“We’ll be married soon,” I said, and plunged swiftly beneath the skirt of her dress. “Very soon.”

A Human Anchor

Very soon was still several months away, months in which the bridal gown began to stretch across her hips, and then wouldn’t slip over her belly any longer, so that she brought it along to our meetings in the barn only to cover the two of us with it. One night, while Mina slept, I laid a hand on the spot just above her bulging belly button, and whispered:

“Can you hear me? Do you recognize my voice? Do you like it? It must sound completely different from in there.

“Sometimes I wish I could crawl in there with you.

“You should take your time. You’ll never again be as safe as you are right now. There aren’t any safe places out here. That’s why people say they feel safe — because they can never be safe. Maybe a little creature like you doesn’t feel anything yet. But you are safe.

“Do you know that your aunt’s belly is getting bigger, too? It frightens me. Anni isn’t ready, not yet. Ever since I came back, I’ve been thinking about the fire. I’m not angry with her. She didn’t know what she was doing. But … but she doesn’t know what she did, either. Her memory is wrong. It wasn’t an accident — it certainly wasn’t a stray spark.

“Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her how I found her with the torch in front of our burning house? Can you even tell someone something like that? And if so, how?

“Sometimes I wish I could crawl in there with you.”

I made Mina promise me something else: to keep the name of her child’s father a secret. Having no father, I thought, would still be better than having me as a father, an undertaker who loved nobody but his sister; who couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth about her past; who lived in her house and stuffed wax into his ears every night, because he was afraid he might overhear her and her Pole, and that would remind him of Jasfe and Josfer; who slaved away at the Segendorf cemetery, digging more graves than anyone needed, just to let off steam; who slept for the same reason with a Klöble who adored him and was convinced that any day now he’d make her a proposal of marriage; who, whenever he started awake from dreams of the house in flames, always immediately touched his elbow.

You could say that only my ears experienced the birth of my son. Mina’s piercing shrieks kept all the customers far away from the bakery. In my room at Anni’s house, which stood close by, I paced back and forth, pausing only when Mina’s screams went silent and were replaced by those of our child. As night fell I crept to Mina’s window: she opened it, grinning, and passed me the little boy. I asked Mina if I could take a little stroll with my son, at which she smiled and nodded eagerly, as if I’d finally proposed to her. I walked with my son counterclockwise around the bakery.

“You’re right on time. Someday you’ll grow into a very punctual man. Unlike your cousin. No surprise there. Poles aren’t known for their punctuality. Your aunt can’t leave the house anymore. She just lies there waiting, breaking the world record for head-shaking. Your uncle has to wash her and rub her impressive belly, while muttering words that sound as if they’re being said backward.

“You’re so warm. The better to soften me, you’re probably thinking. I’ll tell you something: you wouldn’t be the first to try. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t have much use for children. The only thing I really like about you is your discretion. You’re an even better listener than the dead. A while back I was walking around a house with a woman who couldn’t speak either. I miss her, sometimes. Else’s image is clear in my mind. My parents, though — I can’t even remember their faces. Whenever I try to picture them, everything goes fuzzy. Anni says it’s the same for her. That’s why I’ve decided against telling her about the fire. Why should I remind her of the deaths of two people whom we can barely remember?

“That’s certainly no reason for crying!

“I’m going to tell your mother she should name you Ludwig. After our last king. What do you think? You’re going to need that kind of name. With a mother like her. And a father like me.”

Frederick Arkadiusz Driajes followed Ludwig Reindl into the world after a lag of five days. During the birth Anni gripped my hand with her right, and Arkadiusz’s with her left — both of our faces were at least as painfully contorted as hers. Our worried creases smoothed only at the midwife’s satisfied nod, and Fred’s introductory scream was met with applause — which had nothing to do with him, but rather with the fact that at the same moment, not far away, the first cobblestone for the town’s new main street had just been solemnly lowered into place.

Eight months later, by the time Ludwig mastered crawling (and Fred his own mode of locomotion, a sort of lateral roll), the cobbles already spanned the village from north to south, running right through the middle, as Mina put it, like a river of stones. Only two years after that, the main street, which Ludwig was allowed to cross (and Fred not at all) only after looking carefully left and right, had been extended even farther south, forming part of Reichsstrasse 11 toward Innsbruck. And in the spring of 1938, while its constant through-traffic and the rattling of one-cylinder engines brought happiness to Ludwig (and bad dreams to Fred), the construction of the most angular sewer system in the whole German Reich was brought to a conclusion.

Ludwig’s (and Fred’s) seventh birthday approached, and everyone in the village who had any interest in knowing had long ago learned who his father was. Mina had turned out to be more competent at keeping secrets than I was. On many days I simply couldn’t resist the impulse to see my son. Together we wandered up and down the main street, adding up the number of cobbles, and then losing count. We tried to guess by the thunder of the approaching vehicles what kind they were, or else spat cherry pits over the river of stones. On mild summer nights Ludwig would steal out of the bakery, lay himself down in the grass not two steps away from the street, and sleep there better than in his own bed. Though I reminded him constantly how dangerous that was, showing him the squashed corpses of weasels, or giving him a slap, Ludwig wouldn’t be dissuaded — and so I had no choice but to tie myself to him with a rope and sleep beside my son, not three steps from the street, a human anchor in the grass.

Though I didn’t find much rest there, I took advantage of the little sleeper’s open ear.

“I’ve never really seen myself as a father. And I still don’t see myself as one .

“Maybe it’s enough if you and your mother do. Her faith — and not just in our wedding — is stronger than Pastor Meier’s.

“When you’re older, think twice about whether or not you want to have kids. I’m telling you, you can’t anticipate the consequences.

“You might wake up one day and realize that you love them!

“Or the opposite. Look at your aunt. The magnitude of her disappointment at having given life to a Klöble corresponds to the frequency and intensity of her head-shaking. Nobody understands that she doesn’t do it because she’s saying no, but rather because she’s glancing left and right, on the lookout for a better life.