“But right now I can’t!”
I think she’s already disconnected, but she’s still there. “Eric, it’s unendurable. First the thing in the movie house, and now—”
“Don’t say any more! Not on the phone.”
“But—”
“Do you know how many people could hear us?”
“You called me!”
“Because I have to see you.”
“And I said come.”
“But I can’t right now.”
“Then don’t come.”
I feel dizzy. Did she really say I shouldn’t come? “Are you at home?”
She says nothing.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
I listen, and only after a while do I realize she’s disconnected.
I have to sit down. Next to the street there’s an asphalt playground, surrounded by a wire fence, with a bench at its edge.
I sit there for some time with closed eyes. I hear the noise of the traffic: honking, engine sounds, a jackhammer. The sun is burning. My heartbeat steadies.
When I open my eyes, two children are sitting next to me. A boy with a baseball cap and a girl with long black hair that has a blue bow in it. She’s about six years old, he’s about ten.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I’m sitting,” I say. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sitting too.”
We look at the girl.
“Me too,” she says.
“Do you live around here?” I ask.
“A long way away,” she says. “And you?”
“Also a long way away,” I say.
“How old are you?” asks the boy.
“Thirty-seven.”
“That’s old,” says the girl.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s old.”
“Are you going to die soon?”
“No.”
“But you’ll die sometime.”
“No!”
We say nothing for a bit.
“Are you here to play?”
“Yes, but it’s too hot,” says the boy.
“You can’t do anything when it’s this hot,” says the girl.
“Do you have children?” he asks.
“A daughter. She’s about the same age as you.”
“Is she here too?”
“In school. She’s in school. Why aren’t you in school?”
“We’re playing hooky.”
“You shouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
I think. Absolutely no good reason presents itself to me. “Because it’s not okay,” I say hesitantly. “You have to learn.”
“You don’t learn much,” she says.
“If you don’t go for a day, you don’t miss anything at all,” he says.
“So you’re going back tomorrow?”
“Perhaps,” he says.
“Yes,” she says.
“Perhaps,” he says again.
“So what are your names?”
The girl shakes her head. “We’re not allowed to tell strangers our names.”
“I think you’re not supposed to talk to strangers at all.”
“Yes we can. Talking’s okay. But not telling anyone our names.”
“That’s strange,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s strange.”
“Is she your sister?” I ask.
“He’s my brother,” she says.
“Do you go to the same school?”
The two of them look questioningly at each other. He shrugs.
I absolutely know that I’m in a hurry, that I should be moving on, that I have to get to Sibylle’s and then the conference. But instead of getting to my feet, I close my eyes again.
“Were you ever in a plane?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Why can it fly?”
“Because it has wings.”
“But a plane’s so heavy. Why can it fly?”
“The lift.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“But why does it fly?”
“The lift.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“But you went to school.”
“Yes.”
“But why does it fly?”
The darkness behind my eyelids is lit by sunlight. Glowing orange with yellow circles in it that wander and rise and fall. Even the noise of the jackhammer suddenly sounds peaceful.
“Leave the three of them,” says the boy. “Don’t butt in, just keep going.”
“What?” I blink in the sun. “What did you say?”
“I said we have to go now.”
I stand up quickly. “Me too.”
“Josi,” says the boy. “My name’s Josi. That’s Ella.”
“And what is your name?” asks the girl.
“Hans.” I’m touched by the fact that they’ve given away their names, but that’s no reason to be careless.
“Bye, Hans!”
I leave and feel so light that I could just float up off the ground. Perhaps it’s the sun, perhaps it’s hunger. I should have eaten my pasta with mussels. In order not to faint, I stop at a fast-food stand.
There’s a long line. Three teenagers are standing ahead of me, arguing with the vendor. One of them is wearing a T-shirt that says Morning Tower, the second has one that says Bubbletea is not a drink I like, the third sports a huge bright red Y. Dumb, says one of them to the vendor, absolute bullshit, to which the vendor says they should go the hell away, to which one of them replies that the vendor is the one who should go the hell away, to which the vendor says no, he’d rather they went the hell away, to which another of them says no, you do it, and it goes on like that for a while. I’m about to give up and move on, but then they run off, cursing, and disappear down the next subway entrance and I can buy my hot dog. It tastes quite good. My phone rings. It’s Ivan. Reluctantly I press Receive.
“I thought I should give you a call,” he says.
“Why?”
“Just a feeling. Everything okay?”
“Of course.”
“So why do I have this feeling?”
“Maybe because today I hoped you and I … Ah!” Now I get it. I stand still in surprise. Cars hoot, a policeman yells at me, once again I’ve gotten myself into the street without even noticing.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I told my secretary to call you, but she … just think: she called Martin!”
“Martin!”
“We went to lunch. The whole time I was wondering why.”
“How’s business?”
“Good. Like always. How’s art?”
“I have to keep an eye on the auction houses. You can’t lose control over prices. Besides …”
“Have you spoken to Mother recently?”
“Yes, right, I have to give her a call soon. She left me three messages. But something’s up with you. I can tell. You can deny it, but—”
“Have to go now!”
“Eric, you can tell me every—”
“Everything’s fine, honestly, got to go now.”
“But how—”
I press the Disconnect button. It’s a strange experience talking to Ivan, almost like talking to myself, and suddenly I’m clear again about why I’ve been avoiding him for some time. It’s hard to keep secrets from him, he sees through me, just as I see through him, and he cannot find out just yet how bad things are with me and with business, it would be too painful, a great defeat, and besides I couldn’t be sure he’d keep it to himself. The old rule: a secret only stays a secret if absolutely nobody knows about it. If you stick to that, it’s not as hard to keep them as people think. You can know someone almost as well as you know yourself and still not read their thoughts. I cannot ask Ivan for money. I cannot ask him to help me disappear. He is too upright a person, and he wouldn’t understand.
I wish he weren’t homosexual. When I found out, it made me totally crazy for weeks. Someone who’s so like me — what does that say about me, what does it mean? Nothing, I know that, nothing, nothing, it means absolutely nothing, but I’ve never been able to forgive him.