Читать книгу Diving the Wrecks - magdalena zschokke - Страница 9

“I came for the aquarium,” she said.

“That’s lovely. You know how to set one up? I can’t help you, but I’m sure the person who sold it might help.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just going to the pet store and get some, like, starter fish. You know, goldfish and such. I don’t think I can mess them up too much.”

She did not argue about the price as he carefully packed it in a box. Within minutes she was on her way, the bulky package carefully cradled in her arms.

She managed to get it back to the apartment without problems. Well, except for Mrs. Meyer waiting behind the entrance door.

“Are you aware that you left all your windows open and lights on?” she asked sternly.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Meyer. I left in a hurry and forgot.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again! We all pay for that when the monthly bill comes.” Her index finger even wagged just like a caricature of a scolding schoolmistress.

“Yes, Mrs. Meyer,” Emma said just like the other half of the caricature. Mrs. Meyer glanced sharply at her to see if she was being sarcastic, but Emma looked at her in all seriousness.

“I am sorry. This is heavy, and I better go close those windows.” With that she escaped up the stairs and soon was inside her cold lit-up apartment.

By the time the boys were home from school, the aquarium was enthroned at the back of the hallway directly in line with the entrance door. The light glowed an unearthly blue, and the water pump bubbled. Emma thought she saw the same relief in the boys’ faces that she felt: Finally there was something to look forward to in the apartment. More likely, though, she was projecting. After all, the boys had lived in this place for most of their lives. It would feel safe to them. Wouldn’t it?

Before they took their shoes and coats off, the three of them were down the stairs again, heading for the pet store. The whole way they debated what they would need and would like. For sure, Karl insisted, they’d need a pirate ship with a treasure chest and a diver.

Ron kept saying, “But I want a turtle. I don’t want dead pirates. I want a turtle.”

In the pet store, they bombarded the teenage sales clerk with questions and demands. After a lengthy debate, the boys agreed to half a dozen goldfish and a clay turtle.

“Maybe someday we can have a salt-water aquarium, and then we could get more colorful fish,” Karl said longingly, looking over to where the exotic fish coursed through their small tanks.

“I want a clown fish. Promise?” Ron asked.

“Yes, and Karl, you can get a samurai fish, and I can have rock shrimp,” Emma said as they stood in front of the reef environment exhibit. “Aren’t they amazing?”

“Look at those pretty eels,” Ron said and tapped the glass.

Robert, the sales clerk, stood patiently behind them with a plastic bag with tiny goldfish. They found a turtle and a highly satisfactory treasure chest with gold pieces that would spill from it. They added some pebbles, rocks, greenery, and, finally, even a rubber ducky to float on top before they hurried home.

Manfred was standing in the hallway with his coat still on, looking dazedly at the water tank.

“Dad, look. We’ve got an aquarium with fish and treasures,” the boys shouted and rushed past him in their haste to colonize a new world.

The time until dinner was taken up with placing and replacing the ferns, the fake coral, the ship, and pirate treasure chest, while the goldfish placidly circled in their plastic bag, which waited in the sink. Manfred had settled in his usual armchair with the newspaper and a drink, but soon Emma could hear him in the hallway, participating in the debate.

Emma dumped a can of spaghetti sauce into a saucepan and added garlic and chopped onions. She put on the water to boil. The whole time she was listening to her family in the hallway. Manfred argued for his placement ideas as heatedly as the boys did. With a sigh, Emma realized that, as was his way, Manfred pulled the authority card frequently but so far not enough to cause a tearful breakdown.

She had often wondered what it was about the boys that got Manfred so intensely heated up. He seemed to be as competitive as if they were three boys the same age, rather than father and sons. As soon as either of the boys threatened his authority on anything, he had to show them up. And now, he had to win in the competition as to where to place a plastic treasure chest. “At least,” she thought, “he seems to be interested in the project.” Their debate was over about the same time the spaghetti was ready. Karl called to her to bring the fish, and she lowered the plastic bag into the tank, undid the strip that held it closed, and they watched the fish drift into their new world.

That night, the boys got to keep their bedroom door open so they could watch the fish in their aquarium. “But only for this first night!” Manfred had declared. In the silence of their bedroom, Emma waited for Manfred to question her, but it didn’t come. He undressed, hung his pants between a clothes press as carefully as always, climbed into bed, and turned his back to her—all in silence. She considered raising the issue herself but wasn’t sure she wanted to get into a fight. Instead, she got ready for bed, climbed in with her book, and listened to him settle into sleep. He drifted off quietly as always, lying on his side, tucked into himself with his hands under his head. The only reason she knew when he was asleep was because his breathing got slower and, if anything, more quiet.

A couple of hours went by. She was still very much awake, and the book wasn’t exactly keeping her enthralled. She listened once more to Manfred’s breathing, turned off the light, and lay still for a while. He turned over on his back and settled into serious sleep—the second phase of the night, when he often snored, more like a loud sighing than a sawing snore, and sometimes he spoke. She slid out of the bed, wrapped herself in her robe, and opened the door to the hall. There it was, brilliantly lit and quietly going about its life—a self-contained paradise. She closed the bedroom door behind her, closed the kids’ door as well, and slid down the wall until she sat with her legs straight out next to the silent, peaceful world. The pirate’s treasure glittered, and the seaweed swayed, while the small goldfish glided back and forth, back and forth.

“Mesmerizing,” she told Stacey. “A cool word … mesmerizing … isn’t it?” The California girl did not know about Dr. Mesmer, so Emma explained. “He was pretty famous for a while, here in Europe, convinced he could cure the world with dangling crystals and magnets and such. And neither his medical theory nor his remedy survived, only his name. I wonder if that’s worse than if you disappear all together?”

After a few minutes, she answered Stacey’s question and said, “Funerals. Yeah, they’re big here. Manfred bought a double plot for us, and twice a year we go visit and clean leaves away … a dismal, cold, and silent place from which there’s no escape.”

She wished Stacey were real so she could ask how they did funerals in California. She sat next to the bubbling water tank and saw herself in the coffin, heard the frozen clumps of dirt bang on the lid. Her breath caught. She promised herself she would write a will in the morning and would stipulate that they put a string on her finger with a little bell at the other end which she would be able to ring if she found herself in that situation.

“Like they do in New Orleans. It’s where they have all those ghosts and vampires. Not because they bury people alive, but … I actually don’t know why.”

New Orleans. It was so not-Bern! The coffee-table book in the bookstore showed a city of music and stately houses with ceiling fans and big verandas that went all around the house. It was a place of heat and moss-draped oak trees that loomed across roads and set everything in damp shade. People in New Orleans were looser. They walked free, relaxed, and slow in the heat. They had soft lips and got together and sang because life was good. There were stray dogs and feral cats, and musicians who sat on the ground in public spaces and nobody made them move. And all that music made the city hum. Not like here, where the silence after ten o’clock was mandatory, and the only noise was a solitary drunk yelling once in a while, or a police siren blaring. Here, the burghers were home, tucked in, and getting the required rest in preparation for their next day’s labor. Or, if they were not, like her they did their improper doings quietly behind solid walls.

“What are you doing?” a voice whispered. Manfred moved to stand in front of her, his pajama bottom sagging, and his fly buttons done up crookedly. His eyes were red-rimmed, and without his glasses, they looked naked and vulnerable, but his voice was a dangerous, disapproving hiss.

“Come and see,” Emma said and patted the floor next to her. He stood for another long moment and then, to her surprise, slid along the wall until he sat next to her. She looked over at him, and he looked as surprised as she was. She took his hand and said, “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

“I was going to ask you tomorrow, but … uh … whatever possessed you?”

“The aquarium was very cheap. From the secondhand store, you know?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So I’ve seen it there for weeks now, and today was so cold and gray. I just thought it … would fit here.”

“Well, the kids seemed to enjoy it. I guess it can teach them to look after a living thing. You must make them responsible for feeding the fish and cleaning it, so they learn something from it.”

Emma shrugged, surprised at finding herself feeling disappointed. She’d expected a fight and had been prepared to stand up for her right to … to what? Spend money? Buy a pet? She couldn’t have said, but she’d been ready to fight him for it. And then he’d simply come up with his thin educational warning.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.

“Why? Apart from the fact that I’ll catch pneumonia sitting here because of you … ” His words drifted off. He really wasn’t himself.

“How’s work going?”

He shrugged irritably. “Not worth talking about. I’m fine.”

He rose, climbed over her legs, and locked himself in the toilet. She could hear him pee, flush, then run water to wash his hands. He was a clean man, diligent in his personal hygiene. He reemerged, stepped over her legs again, and said, “Oh, by the way, I have invited Frank to dinner tomorrow. Are you coming to bed?”