Читать книгу Time Lies - Magnus Stanke - Страница 7

Darkness descended on the land early at this time of the year. Outside the snow fell silently and abundantly. Welcome to hell on earth, Albert thought. The air was full of Christmas carols being bludgeoned by tone-deaf, impatient children blowing saliva-soaked breath into cheap recorders, going over the first few bars of ‘Silent Night’ or ‘O Tannenbaum’ endlessly like broken records, though certainly not those in his carefully curated collection. For the little ones Christmas couldn’t come fast enough.

Albert prayed it would never come again.

That morning, the last Sunday of Advent before Christmas, his identical twin Tobias brought breakfast to Albert’s room, a cup of steaming hot, milky tea, two slices of bread with quark and marmalade and a glass of orange juice. He stuck around to make sure that Albert ate it all, hoping against hope to see his brother’s winning smile, or at least a glimpse of it.

Three long years had passed since the accident, three years full of dread and death and desperation, three years that felt like three hundred to Albert; he, who hardly ventured out into the world anymore, not even into the small, contained realm that had been his life before the accident; he, who had walked like a king among his subjects.

After the accident life had gone to pieces and so had Albert. Thank God Tobias had kept things together as far as the house and the company were concerned. Yes, Tobi had really come through, pulled more than his weight, had taken over the day-to-day running of the factory much more smoothly than expected. Three or four days a week he got into Albert’s wheelchair and clothes and let the chauffeur drive him to the office where nobody even suspected that it was Tobi giving the orders, not Albert.

Thanks to a nosy nurse who had since been fired, everybody in Eschershausen knew that Albert could actually walk again, had full control of his legs and simply chose not to use them. It didn’t matter. Where was there to go? The graveyard was just next door, and all other places of any interest — the past, mostly — were in his head. Legs were optional.

Albert knew that the next two weeks would be the worst of the year. Everything reminded him of the time just before the accident, of everything he had lost. Because of the accident his heart would break all over again, day after day, year after year. He didn’t think he could get through this season once again, God willing or not. If his life before the accident had been less perfect, more like Tobias’ life, say, maybe he would be better prepared to cope now. As it was, he was too weak, too spoilt to deal with the loss and the sense of guilt he carried. He simply wasn’t conditioned for these emotions. Not even the faith that he had finally embraced seemed to help much.

Growing up in the Federal State of Lower Saxony on the Ith, the nearby mountain range, had been a safe, idyllic experience. According to legend the Pied Piper of Hamelin had once lured a bunch of children away from their homes and brought them to the Ith, but that was but an ancient myth. In Albert’s experience this place was one of the cosiest in the world.

In Eschershausen the Catholics made up about a third of the population, a tightly knit, highly observant micro community who adhered to their laws with an almost Protestant zeal. There was room for everybody as long as you were Roman-Catholic, not divorced, obviously, and a regular churchgoer. People knew each other by name and reputation, the families getting together multiple times a year. Easter, First Communion, Confirmation, camping in summer – altar boys only – and barbecues when the weather allowed it; Corpus Christi was popular with the children as they were excused from classes. The Hoffmanns were not exactly great Catholics, but they went through the motions with sufficient regularity to be considered part of the flock.

The twin’s mother died giving birth to Tobias who was born minutes after Albert, but their father Gerhardt had done a grand job bringing them up by himself. He had taken part-time work locally to dedicate himself fully to their care. They hadn’t been rich, of course, but they had never wanted for anything, never gone hungry or cold; Dad made sure of that. Albert even had enough pocket money to start his record collection after a chance encounter with Elvis Presley, the King of Rock’n’Roll, when Albert was a child.

Life in the small town had been charmed, everything he could have hoped for. His place in the pecking order was firmly established early on and his universal popularity was never questioned. School had been a breeze and he was spared military service. Of course the girls had always swooned over Albert. He fondly remembered his first, a beauty called Senta, who plucked his virginity like a ripe plum when he was twelve and she sixteen. After that, his ubiquitous conquests were a blur – until, of course, he settled for Cordula.

Cordula Schwaiger had been in Albert’s class from his first day in school. Unlike him, she came from a wealthy family; her father was in concrete and owned the largest company in Eschershausen. For many years Albert wouldn’t give Cordi the time of day, and in hindsight that was right and proper, the way it was supposed to be. It had given him the chance to experiment sexually at will without ever having to feel bad about it. He never betrayed Cordula.

Until then he coaxed, begged and demanded sex from practically every female around, though in most cases he didn’t have to. It came easy. In fact, it came so easy that sometimes Albert passed it on — never up — to his brother. The twins looked identical and always knew what the other was feeling. Still, they couldn’t have been more different inside if they tried. Where Albert excelled, Tobi struggled or failed outright, except when it came to impersonating his brother. This was possibly Tobias’ greatest skill. Switching identities had been their favourite pastime from the day they could walk. Their second favourite game was this:

‘I think you’re adopted,’ one of the brothers would say.

‘No, you are,’ the other one said.

‘No, you.’

‘No, you.’

They had just learned the meaning of the word ‘adopted’, not the word ‘absurd’; they played it only in the privacy of their rooms when they knew nobody could hear them, and it never occurred to Albert that deep down Tobias suspected that maybe, against all laws of logic, he was indeed adopted.

Their father was often not sure who was who, but he always assumed that his ‘good son’ had to be Albert. Some of the time he was right because to Gerhardt, being good meant smiling at the right time. Smiling on the outside, that is. Albert’s insides often looked different from what he let on. When he felt a bad mood come upon him for no reason at all it could last for days, and that’s when he encouraged his brother to take over and become him for the duration of the depression. This maintained the illusion of a perpetually good-humoured Albert.

Albert loved being himself and his self-esteem grew faster than his body. Tobias loved being Albert, more so when he got to have sex with girlfriends Albert had lost interest in. Nobody ever caught on to their charade, and they only stopped when Albert started dating Cordula after a Corpus Christi procession that she insisted they go to. He knew immediately he wasn’t going to share her with anybody, and he was reasonably sure he would never have got away with it if he tried. Cordula knew him too well, read him like a page-turner and couldn’t get enough of him. His mood swings became rare and he took their dating seriously, was a warm, attentive listener and never pushed her for sex. He would wait until it was right and proper, sanctioned by her church for which he lacked respect, and by her father, for whom he didn’t.

When he started to work in the office of his future father-in-law nobody begrudged him the preferential treatment he grew accustomed to. On the contrary, it was understood that he would become the boss when the time came. Back then he was charismatic, intelligent and hard-working, as well as effortlessly easy to like.

Before long, Cordula’s father Johan Schwaiger became gravely ill, a consequence of his lifelong exposure to asbestos. He was dying to hold his grandson – figuratively at first. Soon he followed through literally, and Albert agreed to marry Cordula a year earlier than planned. The wedding was a grand affair.

Nine months later Markus came into the world, as healthy and lively as boys will, while his maternal grandfather was barely hanging on. Johan’s wife Liselotte was torn between the happiness of grand-maternity and the grief over Johan. She remained of this earth only a year longer than her spouse. She had always been a frail woman, forever marked by her ghastly experiences on the run in 1945. Her family stemmed from Silesia, a former part of the country in the east that was seceded to Poland after the war in reparation for damages inflicted. The Russian soldier who chased them off their property had taken a liking to her that Liselotte never reciprocated. The baby she carried arrived stillborn eight months later and nearly killed her in the process. When she settled in Eschershausen with her Auntie Annie, she was a broken woman.

In 1972 Cordula inherited the factory and the family fortune jointly with her (by then bed-ridden) great-aunt Annie. Initially nobody rocked the corporate boat, but board members knew a reshuffle was imminent and necessary and with Albert now at the helm, trust was not an issue.

Yes, for the first twenty-nine years of his life Albert had been happy to an unreasonable degree. Now his existence was inconsequential, a two-dimensional shadow play. On days when he bothered to shave he hardly recognised the reflection glaring back at him in the looking glass. Even his famous smile failed to dazzle now, least of all himself. Not a single day went by that he didn’t recall the former domestic soundscape, a delight he used to take for granted – Cordula’s uninhibited laugh, Markus’ tiny feet running over the parquet. His grief was so deep that he wondered why it didn’t finish him off like it had Liselotte, Cordula’s mother. Surely it was at least at strong as hers.

Increasingly he wished it would.

He knew thoughts like that were sinful and unchristian, but of late he had stopped caring. Purgatory couldn’t be worse than what he was going through now, day in, day out. The accident hadn’t paralysed him physically but it had crippled him emotionally.

Why me? Why did I survive when they didn’t?

*

It happened in 1978, a few days after the Christmas celebration that was supposed to be Markus’ best ever. They overshot their own expectations by miles. On the evening of December the twenty-third, Albert brought home a two-metre-plus pine tree and locked the living room door from the inside. On the morning of Christmas Eve he played records of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio and Silesian choirs singing Christmas songs sandwiched between tracks of solemn voices reading from the nativity story — Matthew or Luke — like his father had done when they were kids. Also like his old man he considered American crooner-carols by Bing Crosby, Dean Martin et al to be cheesy and crass. They were competent singers of jazzy pop tunes, but they made everything sound banal, casual, commercial – anything but truly festive.

Markus was busy baking cookies with his mother in the kitchen when he wasn’t trying to sneak a peek at the tree his father was busy decorating, lovingly placing strips of tinsel, blade by individual blade, one by one until it would look just right. Lunch was Silesian veal sausages with sweet gingerbread sauce followed by a digestive winter walk to collect moss for the wooden, hand-carved nativity scene. The combined scents of the baking, the freshly cut tree and the humid moss contributed immensely to the season’s atmosphere.

After coffee they put Markus to bed for a nap. The evening would be long, though the boy was too excited to get much rest beforehand. Later Tobi arrived for dinner with Dad in tow. Auntie Annie was collected from the local old people’s home though the roasted duck was too fatty for her delicate stomach and she left her plate mostly untouched. Everybody wore Sunday clothes, sang carols and read the nativity story from the bible.

Markus said, ‘Why doesn’t Santa come to our house?’

Cordula turned up her eyes. She had explained this many times but she knew he wouldn’t let it rest unless Albert said the words himself.

‘Because Santa doesn’t exist,’ he said.

‘But where do all the presents come from?’ Markus said.

By now they had reconvened to the living room where the glorious smell of fresh fir and real wax candles made the house glow with the spirit of a classic German Christmas.

‘I’ll answer that one, if you don’t mind,’ Tobi said. He was tempted to make a joke but held back as he was all too aware that Christmas was not a time for pranks in his brother’s house. ‘We’re celebrating the birth of Jesus and we’re so happy he was born and that he loved us that we buy presents for each other. The man with the red costume and white beard that you saw on 6 December…’

‘…was Saint Nicklaus. I know, Uncle Tobi, I know. What do you think I am, a baby?’ Markus said.

At midnight they went to midnight mass. It was Markus’ first year, the first time he insisted on going so they woke him after he had nodded off at half past ten. After mass came, at last, the exchange of presents. Albert could never get enough of the memory of the glow in his boy’s eyes when he opened the wrapped boxes. His own eyes matched his son’s when Cordula whispered in his ear what she had known for almost a week, but kept secret until that moment. Next year they’d have another mouth to feed. She was pregnant again.

Presently Albert made a huge effort to stem the flow of memories because between Christmas of ’78 and the accident he remembered little else.

Soon the bliss would turn to horror.

(make time stop then, in 1978, or let me remember something else, anything else)

It was hopeless. The maelstrom of memories would soon drag him under. He might read the newspaper for a while, ponder the suffering of the truly less fortunate from the poor, godforsaken countries of the world. Feeling sorry for them used to help take his mind off his own misery, but never for very long.

‘Any plans for today?’ Tobi said. Albert had forgotten he was even in the room. Of course there were never any plans.

‘I’m only asking because I have an idea, something I’m sure will cheer you up in more ways than one,’ he said.

‘I appreciate this. Really, I do. What you do for me…’ Albert said.

‘Well, okay, never mind. Maybe tomorrow. Something else, though,’ Tobias said and opened the shoebox he had been carrying under the breakfast tray.

Until now Albert hadn’t noticed it.

‘I was going through some old stuff and I found this,’ Tobi said and opened the box carefully. Inside, packed in rough paper and saw dust to protect them from scratches, were the wooden, hand-carved figures from the old nativity crib, Mary with Baby Jesus in a manger, Joseph, the donkey and the cow, shepherds, sheep and the Three Wise Men. Some relative, probably Auntie Annie, had brought this back from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land years ago. Albert knew it had been part of Cordula’s life for as long as she could remember. But, like the rest of the seasonal decorations, it hadn’t come out of the box since the accident.

A sad smile lit up Albert’s features. It lasted only a moment, was gone before it had spread to the farthest reaches of his soul, but it reminded Tobias of his brother’s charm, of why he was so well-liked. The smile, even brief, still had the power to enchant the beholder’s socks off. When it slipped away it left Albert’s face bereft, more desperate in comparison than if he hadn’t smiled at all.

‘It’s probably a bad idea. I was just thinking, since we don’t use these anymore, we would donate… No. Okay, I understand. Forget I asked. Can I get you anything else, maybe the paper?’ Tobias said, and left the room as fast as possible.

Albert was briefly furious. How could Tobi not know? Albert would never part with that crib or with anything else that reminded him of his family.

The anger passed as quickly as it had flared up. He was left alone with his thoughts, and the memories streamed through his headspace. It was 1978 again, December 28.

The cursed day.

The snow that had fallen furtively on Christmas Eve didn’t linger beyond the morning of Christmas Day. The next three days brought warmer temperatures, unusually mild ones for the time of the year.

Activities in the factory over the holidays were scaled back to an absolute minimum. After all, who was likely to buy concrete at this time of the year? It was a time to spend with loved ones, even if they outstayed their welcome as Tobias and Gerhardt were doing, at least according to Cordula.

‘I know you can’t send them packing yet, but how about we get away, at least for the day? Just the three of us on a festive shopping spree in our capital city. You know we’ve earned it.’

Hannover, Lower Saxony’s capital, was little over one hour’s drive away but they rarely ventured there. After all, it wasn’t a particularly exciting town and all their shopping needs could be met within a third of the distance, in Holzminden. A family trip to Hannover had seemed like a good idea at the time. A visit to some toy shops for Markus — not that he didn’t have enough new toys already, but never mind, let’s spoil him while he is still without siblings, a bit of fashion for Cordula — her pregnancy garments from five years ago were now passé, a nice restaurant, maybe a movie…

Obviously Tobias would want to go too when he found out. Obviously Cordula would object and obviously Albert would have to break the news to his brother.

On the morning of that day, Thursday December 28, when Albert walked into the kitchen, he found Tobias making coffee. Markus was sneaking an Elisen gingerbread into his mouth and hoping his father wouldn’t tell him off for eating biscuits before breakfast. It was five minutes past eight, but the battery of the kitchen clock had run flat. Nobody noticed.

‘And how are you on this wonderful morning? The weather is fair but the man on the radio says to hang tight, there may be a cold front on the way from the icy north. The coffee is percolating, the eggs are boiled hard but the yolk is runny and the bread rolls I picked up fresh this morning,’ Tobi said, his high spirits almost infectious.

‘About today, Tobi,’ Albert said and kissed Markus on the forehead.

‘Ah, don’t worry about today, brother. I have it all mapped out. We’re going to give poor, hard-working Cordula the day off. Then we, the three musketeers of the Hüschebr ink, go out to have a manly adventure. We drop off the old man, Gramps, at home on the Ith and go take a hike to the old red caves. Remember, Bert, how we used to play there as kids? We might find bone shrapnel or arrowheads there, from the cannibals of old,’ he said in a playfully menacing voice for the benefit of his nephew.

‘What is ‘cannibals’?’ Markus said.

Albert shook his head at Tobi, meaning ‘don’t tell him’.

‘You know what Neanderthals are, don’t you?’

Markus nodded. ‘Cavemen that look like Lars’ grandfather.’ Lars was Markus’ best friend.

Tobi sensed something bad was coming before Albert started to speak.

‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but we have made different plans for today. The caves are still going to be there tomorrow or the day after that,’ Albert said.

‘Yeah? So what are we doing instead?’ Tobi said, though he knew better.

‘Yeah, Dad, where are we going?’ Markus said.

Albert lifted his son into his arms and turned away from his brother.

‘How about Mum and me are taking you to Hannover in the car, how about that?’

‘You mean without Uncle Tobi?’ Markus said, and Albert nodded.

‘Ah. Hannover, Germany’s number one city when it comes to ‘boring’,’ Tobi said.

‘Why isn’t Uncle Tobi coming?’ Markus said.

‘You heard him. He thinks Hannover is boring,’ Albert said to Markus. ‘There’re some toy shops you’ve never seen and we’re going to take you to McDonald’s or Wiener Wald, whichever you prefer, and then to the cinema or a puppet play.’

‘What’s Mad Donald or Wiener Wald?’ Markus said.

‘I’ll be right back,’ Tobias said.

Albert knew he was going to try and convince Cordula to change their plans for the day. He also knew that it would be in vain. His wife’s heart was set.

‘Don’t piss her off,’ Albert said, knowing that most likely Cordula’s mood would be affected the whole day.

Tobi gave him a look that showed how hurt he was by the fact that he was excluded from today’s plans. Albert knew he could do nothing about it. Wasn’t it high time that his brother started his own family? Of course, Dad needed looking after, more so by the day, and he wouldn’t hear of moving into an old-persons’ home. Tobi couldn’t be expected to spend all his time caring for the old man. He was understandably jealous when he was explicitly unwanted by Cordula who also had the right to want to spend a day alone with her husband and child. Something had to give, but Albert didn’t know what that something was.

Anticipating a shouting match between his wife and his brother, Albert busied himself and his son with the setting of the breakfast table in the salon.

*

Tobias reached the upstairs floor and saw that the door to Cordula’s and Albert’s bedroom was wide open. He had never done this before, not with her, but just couldn’t resist the temptation. The timing seemed right. She wasn’t looking in his direction – it was now or never.

When he entered the bedroom Cordula stood in front of a big, oval shaped mirror and applied makeup to her face. Tobias shifted his weight, his centre of gravity, by mere inches. His head moved forward. The changes were minute, all but imperceptible to a casual onlooker. If asked, Tobi himself couldn’t explain how he did it, but it worked every time. It always had. His voice became a tiny nudge deeper, his words came out a little less clipped, and the smile, Albert’s killer smile, hushed over his features. His impersonation of his twin brother was perfect to every beholder, even to their father.

Would Cordula fall for it?

He approached her from behind, making sure to stay in her blind spot for now. He’d have to be pitch-perfect, otherwise she’d turn around.

‘Cordula, my sweet,’ he said, just like he’d heard Albert say thousands of times.

It was working. She didn’t turn, just glanced around the dimly lit room, saw his silhouette disappear behind her back and anticipated his firm, dry lips on her neck.

‘Not now, Berti. I’m nearly done,’ she said.

‘How about a change of plans for today? We can always go to Hannover tomorrow, and you could do with some rest,’ Tobi said, about to put his hand on her shoulders, breathing her freshly applied perfume.

This was much easier than he had anticipated.

How far should he go with it? This was madness, but it was intoxicating. He smiled Albert’s killer smile. Even if she turned around now and saw him she surely wouldn’t be able to tell that he wasn’t her beloved husband at all. As long as she didn’t look at his clothes.

A movement behind him. Tobi already knew who it was.

Albert had followed him and watched the whole scene. He had been quiet until now, but he wouldn’t allow Tobi to lay his hands on his wife, not on his behalf.

Tobi ducked away quietly and let his brother step in, defeated in his immediate objective, but surprisingly jubilant all the same.

‘Don’t start again, you.’ Cordula turned at last and hesitated when she saw her husband further away than she had sensed. ‘You’re just feeling sorry for Tobi,’ she said while Tobi hurried down the stairs.

‘Shush, not so loud. He might hear you,’ Albert said.

He knew full well that his brother was still within earshot, but was more worried about Cordula hearing Tobias’ feet on the wooden staircase.

When they came down for breakfast they found Markus sitting alone with his grandpa, waiting for them. Tobias was nowhere to be seen and neither was the coffee he had promised. When Cordula wanted to go to the kitchen her husband stopped her with a gesture.

‘Let him be,’ Albert said, meaning Tobias who he presumed was there. ‘You won, but don’t rub it in, please.’

The atmosphere was strained after that and Cordula finished breakfast as soon as possible, impatient to get out of the house.

As she took the last bite of her bread roll, Tobias reappeared from the kitchen. The radio was on and he emerged with a pot of freshly brewed coffee and a sheepish smile that was all his own.

‘Come on, Markus, we’re going now. It’s the early bird that catches the juiciest worms,’ Cordula said.

‘You’re off already? I just made you some coffee, Cordula, the way you like it. As hot as love and as black as the night,’ Tobias said.

He looked disappointed.

‘Go on, then. I’ll have a quick cup for the road,’ Albert said.

‘Don’t. You wouldn’t like it like this. I made this for your wife especially,’ Tobias said, sitting down and pouring a cup for himself. ‘Mmmm. Strong but good. Maybe a bit strong for you, Cordula. I’m sorry, I should have known better.’

Albert knew his wife, knew under normal circumstances she would be piqued by what Tobias had said. On that day she just got up without a word. A minute later they left the house.

*

While they waited in the car for Cordula, who had gone back into the house to fetch something or other, Albert said a short prayer for the benefit of Markus. It was an entreaty they always tried to remember to say at the beginning of each journey, short or long.

‘Lord, please watch over us on our way. Amen.’

Whenever they didn’t forget — which was most of the time — they would end each trip with an even shorter prayer to thank the Lord for not running into any difficulties along the way.

Cordula reappeared carrying a basket.

On Thursday December 28, 1978, they wouldn’t keep that tradition, but not for want of remembering.