Authors: Peter Stamm
The administrator tried to cheer me up. In America, bankruptcy wasn’t dishonorable at all, on the contrary it was proof that you had taken a chance, had had a go at something. This isn’t America, I said. She said I should try and hustle for orders, anything that brought in money, even if it was just licking envelopes. I called Ferdy. I hadn’t heard from him in ages, and it was embarrassing to approach him for work, but I didn’t have any option. He said he was sorry but he couldn’t do anything for me, he would be lucky to get through himself. Come and see us, it would be nice to meet your little girl. I asked how Alice was doing, and we talked on a bit in a desultory way, but the old intimacy couldn’t be restored, my begging mission came between us, and I felt vaguely despised. Chin up, said Ferdy, with a show of cheerfulness, as we said good-bye.
The administrator canceled the contract on my leased car and got me a new, smaller one, a white Opel Astra. Maybe that was the single worst thing of all. Not that I cared that much about cars, but every time I parked the Astra next to her Mercedes, I felt my failure anew.
As soon as she was gone, I sat down at my desk, even though I felt like an impostor. I couldn’t stick it out in the office. Whenever possible, I drove out to the building site in Vilsheim. But there too I noticed how my presence was only disruptive, and a distraction to the workmen. Often I would check into a bar at four in the afternoon and sit through the time until I could collect Sophie from school. We drove home in silence. I made dinner and put her to bed, and then I fiddled around until midnight. I went to sleep for five or six hours, showered, woke Sophie, took her to school, and went to the office, where the administrator was already waiting for me.
The spite of our rivals was bearable. Some were up to their necks in trouble themselves, and avoided direct comment. The whole sector was suffering, everyone was hurting, lots of companies had already let people go. Sonia was right of course, there wouldn’t have been anything for her here. She stayed with Antje in Marseilles, and called every other day or so, but the calls were usually brief. She didn’t want to hear about the company, and we didn’t have much else to talk about. I was pleased each time Sophie took the phone out of my hand to exchange a few words with her mother.
After a month, Sonia came back for a long weekend. It was early August and the weather was beautiful. The world looked lush and peaceful. The green of the trees had already taken on the blackish hue of late summer, and the color of the water in the lake had darkened too. We strolled along the shore, watching the sailboats and looking at the lovely old villas. The kids were playing badminton in the gardens, and from somewhere you could smell the aroma of grilled meat. We read the menus of the lakeside restaurants. Sonia said prices had doubled since the introduction of the euro, we’d be better advised to stay home and eat.
On the way back, Sophie started moaning. Since Sonia’s return she had hardly spoken to her, and wouldn’t hold her hand on our walk. From the very beginning Sophie had a closer relationship with me than with Sonia, and the long separation hadn’t improved matters.
The next morning, Sonia was short-tempered and irritable. We drank wine at lunchtime, and in the afternoon, when she was tired and needed a rest, she scolded Sophie for not being quieter. She blamed me for things, and she was cynical when I tried to talk about the future. Even though she was suntanned, she seemed exhausted, and her features were harder and thinner, and there was something unattractive about her. We squabbled all day, and in bed at night we fell upon each other and made love more passionately than usual, but the sex had something desperate about it, as though we were trying to save ourselves. Stop it, said Sonia, you’re hurting me. I dropped off, and we lay there side by side, sweating and panting. Sonia said I had changed. I didn’t ask what she meant by that. For the first time in all our years together, I felt ashamed in front of her.
In those months I thought about Ivona a lot. When I went out onto the terrace late at night to smoke, I imagined her standing in the dark with her camera, watching me. The notion simultaneously excited and infuriated me. I imagined hauling her in and interrogating her. She was obdurately silent, and tried hiding the camera behind her back. So I stripped her naked, and we slept together on the sofa, or in Sonia’s and my bed. And then, still in the darkness, without her having said a single word to me, I would send her packing.
Once I called Eva’s cell, but I hung up before she could answer. I didn’t want to hear any more about Ivona’s childhood or her family or her life without me. All that bored me, just as Ivona had always bored me with her saints’ lives and schlocky TV movies whose stories she narrated, as if they’d happened to her. When I thought about being with her, it wasn’t the yearning you felt for a friend or lover, it was an almost painful desire, something uncontrollable and brutal. On nights like that I sometimes drove into Munich, and sat in the car in front of Ivona’s building for an hour, in the crazed expectation that she would sense my presence and come out. Of course she never did, and eventually I’d drive home feeling slightly sobered.
When I came back from one of those excursions, Sophie was awake. I heard her loud crying as soon as I set foot in the house. It was a long time before she would settle down, and I was so exhausted from my exaltation that I ended up yelling at her and threatened to leave again if she didn’t cut it out. The whole time I felt as though I was somehow standing outside myself, watching, disgusted by my own heartlessness. But I couldn’t help myself, and that only deepened my fury and my self-disgust.
We had deadline issues on the building site. Perhaps I’d been too optimistic in my planning, perhaps it was the builders’ fault. At our meetings I would urge them on and threaten them with breach-of-contract suits. But by now everyone knew about the moribund state of the business, and when I swore at them, they avoided eye contact and scribbled on pieces of paper. July had been rainy, which contributed to some of the delays. In August the weather improved, and finally things got going on site. But in the middle of the month the plumbers’ foreman fell from a scaffold and was badly hurt. When I got to the site, he had already been taken away. The workers were standing around, talking. No one could explain to me what happened, everyone had just heard a cry and then the sound of the impact. The scaffolding was solid, that was checked up on right away. So what was it?, I asked. They said he had been an approachable guy. The ambulance men had carried him away on a gurney. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, I said. They looked daggers at me and went back to work. The next day we learned that the plumber had broken four vertebrae in his spine. The spinal cord wasn’t affected, but he would be gone for at least a couple of months. At least it was no problem finding someone else in the current climate.
I started drinking more heavily. I spent a long time over lunch, drinking beer and sometimes wine, until I felt tired, and work was out of the question. I knew it was stupid, but I thought alcohol helped me relax. After I’d had a few, the situation didn’t seem so hopeless, and my mood brightened a bit. After hours I continued. Once, when I was driving Sophie home, I missed a set of lights and almost hit another car. After that I stopped drinking in the daytime, but more than made up for it at night. Soon I couldn’t go to sleep without alcohol.
Once in that time Rüdiger called. He wanted to talk to Sonia, and when I told him she wasn’t there, he agreed to talk to me. Sonia’s in Marseilles, I said. Rüdiger said he was in Munich, if I’d care to have a beer. I didn’t really feel like seeing anyone, but I’d long intended to quiz him about Sonia, so I said okay.
We arranged to meet in a beer garden, but when we met, it was so cold outside that we went to a bar around the corner instead. The place was almost deserted, the air stank of stale smoke and chemical cleaner, but Rüdiger seemed not to notice and sat down at the nearest table. He was looking good and seemed relaxed. He had heard about our troubles, and he must have been able to tell from my appearance how badly I was doing, but he didn’t let on. He talked about Switzerland, where he felt very settled now, and his institute outside Zurich, high over the lake. A little paradise, he said, and—not that I asked him about it—promptly started talking about his job. He talked about spontaneous networks and people who had a sort of entrepreneurial approach to their lives, and kept asking themselves, okay, what are my strengths, my preferences, my assumptions? What am I making of them all? Where am I going, and how will I get there? That’s where the future is, EGO plc. And what if EGO plc goes bust?, I asked. Sure, there are some losers, said Rüdiger. The way things are looking now, we’re headed for a new class society, where two-thirds of society will have to work more and more to carry the social burden of the remaining third, which can’t find a niche in the new world of work. I said, that doesn’t sound too good. I’m not here to judge, beamed Rüdiger.
And apart from that, how are you doing? Are you still with Elsbeth? Rüdiger creased his brow, as if trying to remember. No, he finally said, that’s over now. He hadn’t heard from her in ages. I remember seeing her once at one of your parties, I said, I thought back then that she was a bit loopy. She was working on some project that involved bread. Rüdiger laughed. Her father was a baker, that’s what that was about. For a time she made sculptures out of chewed-up bread that looked like those pastry cutouts we used to make at school. Her tragedy was, she didn’t have anything to express. Having a thousand ideas in your head didn’t help either.
He shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite believe he’d ever been in love with Elsbeth. He hadn’t found the ideal woman yet. Maybe you’re asking too much, I said. The ideal woman doesn’t exist. Either they’re too young, he said, or they’re divorced with kids. For a time I was with a teacher who had two sweet little girls, but I want my own kids, and she said she didn’t want another pregnancy. The joys of bachelor life, eh, I said.
Ach
no, said Rüdiger, I’m fed up having to look and chase all the time. I’d like to be able to sit at home and watch a soccer match on the television and be content.
I’d ordered my fifth pint by now, while Rüdiger was still on his first. I interrupted him in the middle of a sentence, and said I had to go to the restroom. As I washed my hands, I looked in the mirror and thought I still looked pretty good, not like a loser or an alkie, just a bit tired. I’d had bad luck. One day I’d get back on track, I was still young, everything was possible.
Back at the table, we sat and faced each other in silence awhile. The place had filled up, and Rüdiger nodded at the corner where a lone woman was sitting, reading a book. Do you remember how we picked up that Polish girl, he said. She reminds me a bit of her. Say, did you and she ever have a thing together?
I didn’t answer. I wondered how to begin. Finally I asked Rüdiger if he believed Sonia loved me. He looked at me in surprise. How do you mean? If she loves me. Sure, said Rüdiger. Why did you and she break up then? Rüdiger laughed, then coughed. Beats me, it’s a really long time ago. Which of you wanted to break up then? I think it was me, Rüdiger said slowly. How could you leave such a perfect woman? Now Rüdiger started to look worried. Have you got problems? I don’t mean with the company. Did you love her?, I asked him. I like her an awful lot, said Rüdiger, she’s absolutely perfect, a wonderful human being. He smiled encouragingly. You’ll get through it, don’t you worry. The building industry will recover, you’ll see.
I was sure he wouldn’t say anything more about his relationship with Sonia, either out of loyalty or because he really couldn’t remember. I said I had to go. Next time we’ll all meet up, yeah?, said Rüdiger.
As we left the bar, Rüdiger tapped me on the shoulder. Look, he whispered. A man was standing by the table of the woman with the book. He was talking insistently to her, and she was smiling shyly. Rüdiger walked past me and held the door open. The next story, he said.
I had brought Sophie to my in-laws just ahead of the meeting with Rüdiger. It was just after ten when I rang their bell. Sonia’s mother suggested I should leave Sophie with them overnight. I said I wanted to take her home. Don’t you think we should let her sleep? I’ll carry her into the car, I said, she can go on sleeping there. Have you been drinking?, asked Sonia’s mother. Not much, I said, just a little bit. Sonia’s father emerged from the living room, newspaper in hand. He too suggested I should leave Sophie with them overnight. He could drive her to school tomorrow morning. I didn’t want any more arguing, so I climbed up the stairs and got Sophie. She was half-asleep as I carried her down the stairs. She was clutching my neck and pressing her head into my shoulder, and I had a sense—I don’t know why—of liberating a prisoner. Sonia’s parents were standing at the foot of the stairs, with serious expressions. I hope to God you know what you’re doing, said Sonia’s father.
The house looked terrible. To save money I’d told the cleaning woman to stop coming, but I had neither the time nor the energy to look after the place myself. Often I didn’t have any clean clothes left, or I had to wear my shirts unironed. The freezer was full of frozen meals. Sophie didn’t seem to mind the microwaved junk, in fact she liked it, at school the food was terribly healthy, and she hardly ever had meat. In fact she was very well behaved throughout the whole ordeal, playing quietly with her dolls when I had to work and going to bed without making a fuss. When I woke up in the morning, I would often find her lying beside me, and it would take me a long time to wake her up, hardly being able to crawl out of bed myself. Sometimes I went back to sleep, and then she was late for school and I was late for work.
I could feel my body disintegrating. The stress, the alcohol, the smoking, were all taking it out of me. One morning when I was sitting on the toilet, I noticed my bare feet, and I thought I’d never seen them before, they were the feet of an old man, the veins shimmering blue through the pitifully thin skin. This is how it’s going to be from now on, I thought, my body will disintegrate, piece by piece will fail. I felt weak and incapable, and without the strength to pull myself together. Even though the state of the business, objectively, wasn’t all that bad anymore. While I had let myself be incapacitated by my self-pity, the young architects who were working for us had hustled for work and managed to land a few minor contracts. Just carry on like this and we’ll pull through, said the administrator. She talked about it as though it were her firm, which in a sense I suppose it was. We need to convince the creditors that we’ll make it, she said. We’ll draw up an insolvency plan, you pay down a mutually agreed portion of the debt, and in three years you’ll be in the clear, able to start afresh. I said I wasn’t sure I had the energy for that. She said you’ve got no choice. Where I should have been grateful to her, I hated her for her cheery optimism.