Kai holds onto my bicep with one hand. We’re strolling a few rounds through the clinic park. Jojo and Ulf are there too. Jojo’s running laps around me and Kai the whole time. His arms dart out repeatedly because he’s afraid Kai could stumble and fall somehow. Then he’d be there to catch him like a building-block tower that’s falling over.
“Jojo, can you knock it off now? You’re getting on my nerves! I’ve got him.”
Kai’s hair has never been this long. It falls in long strands over the sides of his head. The undercut is gone and has slowly grown out. Although I’ve brought along my clippers, Kai says it doesn’t matter what he looks like here in the hospital. He goes step by step. Completely shaky. I ask myself how quickly muscles weaken when you mostly lie around for weeks, even if it’s only one or two. Maybe it’s not even the muscles. It can’t go that fast, anyway. Most of all, he’s probably afraid the lights will go out any second or something. He also told me once he still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that he’ll have next to no spatial perception with just the one halfway good eye. Might sound harsh, but still. I can hardly stand watching. I’d like to let him slip from my arm, give him a little shove, and say you’ll manage, you’re no goddamn handicapped person. But I’m afraid he might misunderstand me.
“That sure is a fucking awesome early Christmas present,” Ulf says, referring to the Cup match on December 18.
“Should I order tickets?” Jojo asks and passes out a round of cigarettes. He lights the one for Kai himself and carefully places it in Kai’s mouth, as if he were feeding a baby. I want to tell him that Kai does in fact have his own mouth and hands he could use to light his own fucking cigarette, but then I let him do it.
Instead, I answer, “We’ll probably have something else to do that day than sitting on our asses and watching the game.”
“What do you mean?” Jojo asks, so slow on the uptake, as if we’d just met.
“You pulling my leg, Jojo? The time is ripe for those bastards.”
“So you don’t even want to watch the game?” Ulf asks.
“If it can be organized, sure. At Timpen or something, but it’d really be stupid to go to the stadium and wait to be escorted out by the cops at some point. The entire opportunity to start something would be lost.”
Ulf groans in annoyance and says curtly: “Just knock it off, Heiko.”
I suddenly stop, causing Kai to stumble over his own feet. Of course, I catch him. But Jojo’s right there and stretches out his arms.
I look at Ulf and say, “I’ll knock them on their asses. The fuckers should finally get what they deserve! And even if I have to do it alone. Don’t give a fuck.”
“You’re just making it worse,” he says, but I wave him off. Try to simply wipe away his objections.
“No fucking way, Ulf. And no one can talk me out of it,” I say and feel my throat swelling closed.
Jojo asks if I’ve already discussed it with Axel.
“Nope. Don’t know yet,” I say, “like I already said. Worst-case scenario, I’ll go it alone. If you guys aren’t behind me…”
Now Ulf’s standing in front of me at full stature and casting a shadow over me.
“You actually know what you’re saying? You want to end up like Kai?”
He points to Kai. I look over. His head is dangling from his neck. He doesn’t say anything.
“Have you given a little, even the slightest thought to how all this might end?”
I take a step toward him, leaving only a finger’s breadth between our faces.
“I. Don’t. Give. A. Shit,” I spit out and step back a little. “You have your family, your house, your white fucking picket fence. You all have something you can look forward to at the end of the day.” I can’t stop, even if it’d be better if I did. Instead, I keep on barking: “Jojo’s seeing this coaching thing through, and when Kai’s healthy again, he’ll finish his studies and get a well-paid job.” I don’t want to talk about them as if they weren’t there, but I’m just not able to hold back. “I’ve got nothing”—I form a circle with my fingers—“nothing. This here,” drawing a circle around all of us in the air, “is what I have. Nothing more. I don’t complain about it. And you know why? Because I live for this. Because I stand for it, and I admit it. If you don’t get that, then you’re a lost cause for me, Ulf. Then all of this, all those years were just a fucking game for you.”
I take Kai’s hand off my arm and guide it to Jojo, who stares at me, stunned, and takes Kai’s hand. I slam Ulf with my shoulder as I pass by. Of course he doesn’t move.
“You actually know how pathetic you are?” he calls after me.
I turn my upper body, flip him off, and scream, “Fuck you, Ulf, for real. Go fuck yourself!”
I still remember how I sat on Mom’s suitcase. Legs extended, I kicked the tips of my new football shoes against each other, and was already looking forward to showing them off to the others while kicking the ball around. The door separating the front door and the hallway was open. Mom maneuvered herself into her high heels. She even smiled. I’d come out of my room when she pulled the heavy suitcase behind her down the stairs and it bumped down every step. She didn’t answer my question about what she was doing. Where she was going. She just grinned at me. Held my head and gave me a kiss to my forehead that I wiped off, whining, “Mamaaaa,” in disgust. Then she walked past me. She smelled strongly of perfume and left a trail of flowery scent behind her like a bridal train. I followed her forward. Manuela stood in the open sitting room doorway and pressed against the frame. She had that ugly black neckband that was so tight around her neck and that all the girls were wearing back then. It made them look like their head was sewn onto their neck. Just like Frankenstein’s monster. She had her arm wrapped around her skinny upper body and was sulking. Pouting her lips. Today you’d probably call it a duckface. At the time, I didn’t understand why she was pouting. Was just a stupid little twerp.
I heard a car’s motor. Groaning, Mom carried the suitcase to the front door and opened it. Then she retrieved a second bag and set it next to the first. They were still open. Clothing stuck out of the top. She waved someone into the driveway. Probably the driver of the car. Then she came over to me, bent over with squeezed together, bare knees poking out from under her skirt. She hugged me. I absolutely didn’t know what to do about it, and so I let it wash over me.
With her voice—unusually deep and scratchy for a woman—she said, “Take it easy, little Heiko. Love you.”
She gave me another kiss to the forehead. I didn’t wipe it away. When she stood up, she glanced briefly at the glass cabinet next to the wall with her ugly figurines. She briefly considered it and said, “Oh, whatever.” Then she turned to Manuela, who looked at her grumpily. Before Mom had reached her, Manuela retreated to the sitting room and slammed the door, making me jump. Mom sighed. Then she smiled again and waved at me, although she walked past very close. A man was taking the bags from the stoop by the front door and carrying them to the car. She grabbed the door, waving once more. Threw me a kiss. Then she closed the door. I heard the car doors slam and the car drove off. I stood in the hallway and froze. I went into the sitting room. Manuela had kneeled down on the old armchair in front of the window and was looking out. It’d been her favorite chair when it was still Grandpa’s house. That’s always where he’d sat with his beer. Or with his cup of coffee, if it was early in the morning. I grabbed the remote control, threw myself on the sofa, and turned on my cartoon about a Japanese school football team. I liked the cool, long-haired adversary of the main character much more because he wasn’t so nice and kind. Never took any shit. From the grown-ups either. And because he could kick so hard. He always had the sleeves of his dark-blue jersey rolled up. I lounged around. Manuela briefly glanced over at me.