“I can ask if they have a bag for you here,” I say. We sidle up to the bar and I order two beers. “We’ll just cut out two holes for your eyes and that’ll do.”
He laughs derisively and says, “True beauty cannot be tarnished, dude.”
He adjusts the bandage across the bridge of his nose. His battered face still has the color mixture of a fruit basket. The Band-Aids and the bandages don’t make it much better, even if they cover the bulk of his face. He looks like he’s escaped from a horror film, and I tell him he shouldn’t get his hopes up too much he’ll find something to screw right away, and that, first and foremost, today we’re raising our glasses to the beginning of his recovery and his speedy return to the field.
“Ulf sends his greetings,” he mentions in passing, and lifts his glass of beer to his mouth with a slight tremor.
The bass beats of a Eurodance mix boom across the dance floor, still sparsely occupied behind us.
I say, “Hmm,” while the first sip is still running down my throat. I put it down, lick the suds from my upper lip, and ask when he saw him.
“He called this afternoon. They’re in Cuxhaven for a couple days. Wanted to hear if my face was slowly growing together.”
Kai turns around, leaning against the bar with his elbows, and briefly closes his eyes in pain. I also lean back, and together we watch the dancing dots of light on the waxed dance floor.
“You still hurt all over?” I ask without looking at him.
“Mhmmm,” he hums in confirmation, “compressions, contusion. Busted rib. At some point I stopped listening.”
He squints, looking at his glass from above and clucks, “Whatever. How was the match?”
I tell him about the Frankfurt tour. That the two skins from Langenhagen went along but didn’t cause any trouble. That we may have had to concede a clear defeat, but nothing else was in the bag. And that I’m thinking of getting a pair of hiking boots with tread for rainy weather and wet footing, so I don’t slip all the time and fall on my face.
“And anyway, it wasn’t the same at all. Without you guys, it just doesn’t rock. Just make sure that you get back in line soon, you fart.”
He nods to himself, nipping at his beer, and, lost in thought, watches the DJ on the stage who’s turning knobs on his mixing console as though bored. I look at him, and suddenly have to laugh.
Irritated, he looks at me and asks, “What’s wrong?”
“You have your undershirt on wrong, boy.”
Kai pulls his chin into his throat, looking down at himself. He reaches into his open shirt and pulls the label of the undershirt from the collar.
“Oh, crap. I was asking myself the whole time why my throat was itching so much.”
He puts down his glass and say he’s going to pop over to the toilet to pull the thing around right.
I order us two more overpriced kiddie beers and look at my smartphone to see when the draw is for the next round of the German Cup. Then I check my emails. Tomek had sent me a temporary link to the pics from the Frankfurt match. I download it and scroll through. Terrible quality. Shaky. Raindrops on the lens. You couldn’t recognize next to nothing. I roll my eyes, drink the beer, and order myself one more. At some point, I look at the clock. Kai’s been in the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes. I can’t help thinking of Leipzig and how Jojo and I waited and Kai didn’t come back, and an uncomfortable feeling gathers inside me. Such bullshit. We’re here in Hannover. What could happen to him here? It’s completely ridiculous to think stuff like that now. My phone rings. Kai’s number.
“Dude, what’s up? Did you fall in?”
I immediately notice from his voice that something’s not right. It has such a disturbing tone: “Almost. But. Can you just come?“
I cross the dance floor and dodge a couple people jumping around who are clearly tripping and have their heads pointed toward the ceiling.
“Kai?” I call as I come into the bathroom.
The smell of piss is already pungent, even though it’s still pretty early in the evening.
“Here,” a voice responds, “second stall.”
I want to push it open, but the door is locked.
“What’s up?”
“Wait,” he says, and I hear how his hand rubs over the surface of the door. “Wait a sec. Shit.” Then the lock clicks open. “So, it’s open.”
He sits on the closed lid. Holds his iPhone with both hands and fidgets with his legs.
“Close the door, all right?”
I do it and ask, “What’s up? Should I call a nurse who helps you wipe your ass?”
“Knock that shit off for a sec,” he says and sucks the snot up his nose. Had he’d already done some blow?
Then he looks up at me. I can immediately see that something’s not right. His eyes are tear-stained. The pupils dart from left to right but don’t appear to look anywhere really, don’t respond to my gaze although I’m standing right in front of him.
“I…” He swallows, his shoes tapping a fast rhythm on the tiles. “I can’t see anything.”
“What, you can’t see anything?”
“Heiko! I. Can. Not. See.”
His voice is unsteady, as if he’d just cried.
“What happened?”
I crouch down in front of him. His gaze briefly stays up. Then he appears to notice that I’ve changed my position, and sinks his head slightly. I wave my palm in front of his eyes.
“Knock that shit off,” he says.
“So you do see something.”
“Yeah.” He exhales. Stutters. Searches for the right words. “No. A little. Changed my clothes, and then. First there was some kind of spark. From outside my field of vision. Thought at first I’d accidentally looked at the light too long. Went over to the sink and washed my eyes. Then I went over here because it didn’t get any better.” His throat produces gurgling sounds. “Then the curtain closed.”
“The curtain?”
Because his jittering was also driving me completely crazy, I placed my hands on his knee and he finally went still.
“Dude!” he exclaims, and the moisture of tears spills over his cheeks. He wipes it away. “Just black. Like a black curtain. I can see almost nothing anymore. You get it now?”
“Fuck. Okay. Wait. I’ll call an ambulance. Should I call an ambulance?”
I get up and open the door.
“Heiko?”
I turn around again. He looks to the ground, turning his smartphone in his hands and once more tapping with his feet.
“I’m fucking scared.”
We waited in front of the club for the ambulance. He insisted I check if anyone was hanging around in the foyer because he didn’t want anyone to see him that way. When the coast was clear, he walked arm in arm with me, and I led him to the door with small, retired-people steps. Then I placed him by the street on a box for road salt and went back inside to fetch our jackets.
After we’d explained as well as possible what was wrong and Kai lay down, the EMTs started dabbing at his eyes. Bandages were placed over them while we drove to the hospital. They had no idea what it could be, and said we should wait for what the doctors would say.
All of that took forever. I spent half the night waiting in front of various examination rooms. Every time a doctor went by, I jumped up expectantly, but most of them stared at me with a mix of boredom and exasperation and passed on. I planted myself back on my ass.