Its getting dark, p.10
It's Getting Dark, page 10
In the mornings, the cathedral was closed to tourists. When I walked in, Mass was just being read. I crossed myself and sat in one of the rear pews. I haven’t been to a religious service for years, and after a few minutes I knew why. I looked around impatiently, but here too there was nothing but old people. Only the priest was my age, and he was a pretty good-looking fellow. I wondered what he had on under his surplice and whiled away the time imagining myself following him into the vestry and watching as he was transformed from a dignitary to a proper man.
The cruise was Frank’s fortieth birthday present for me. He had booked it in spring and was proud of having got it at a steep discount. Too bad that our relationship ended in the summer at the end of six years. A month or so after our final breakup, he gave me a call and suggested doing the cruise after all, but just as good friends, as he said. In fact he had tried to cancel the booking, but the low low price he’d got was not refundable, and as far as his travel insurance was concerned, our breakup wasn’t a valid reason for canceling the trip. I said, no chance, I would go by myself, and I’d have a nice time without him. Maybe I’ll meet someone, I said, there’s meant to be lots of singles on these cruises. I know, it was vindictive of me, but I’d had enough of his miserliness.
The performance at the cathedral started to drag, so I left and wandered on through the old center. Now that no one was telling me what to look out for and which building was built when and for whom, I started noticing much more, the strolling tourists, the workers knocking off in a café for a bit, the scrawny cats, the traders doing their business in the entryways of houses as though they were protecting them from aggressors. Some of the shop windows looked as though they hadn’t changed in decades.
The guide had told us where the bus would collect us at the end of the afternoon, but after a short time I’d lost all orientation. It felt like lunchtime, and I started looking for somewhere to eat. None of the restaurants I passed looked likely, and by the time I told myself I’d go into the next one I came to, there just weren’t any more. There weren’t any businesses in this part of the city either, just seedy-looking tenements, and going from bad to worse, with graffiti on the walls. Then it began raining, to begin with gently. I put up my collar and walked faster, not knowing where I was going. The rain grew stronger, and I ran for a few steps till I came to a covered passage where I could shelter. Wet and out of breath, I stood in the drafty passage and wondered what I was doing there. I was angry with Frank, as though the rain was his fault, and with myself for not having taken my umbrella, and with all the wretchedness in my life and the world.
The passage led into a yard full of builders’ rubble and all kinds of junk. I wondered if the house and the back building were even inhabited, that’s how abandoned everything here looked to me. Even though it was early afternoon, it had gotten chilly and dark, and I paced back and forth to try and get warm. The rain by now was sheeting down. I had been standing there for quite some time when I heard a loud buzzing and crackling and then a blurred voice, saying in German: Come on up, second floor, left-hand side. Reflexively, I pressed down on the door handle, just before the buzzing stopped. The door slammed heavily behind me.
The stairwell was dimly lit and smelled of damp and mold. It wasn’t until I was climbing the sagging stairs that I thought it wasn’t particularly sensible to be following the invitation of an unknown voice in a strange city into an abandoned house. But I was in the sort of frame of mind where everything was a matter of indifference to me, and I’d never been timid anyway. In bad situations I’d managed to defend myself.
The door on the second floor was cracked open, and a warm light spilled out into the stairwell. I walked into the apartment. The first thing that struck me was a strong smell of sandalwood and the colored bulbs in the lamps, which gave the room an exotic appearance. Everything here was colorful, the carpet, the furniture, the things on display everywhere. On the hat rack over the coat stand was a stuffed crow, and over the mirror next to it a twinkling chain of colored lights. There were pictures on the walls, old prints of torture scenes and witch burnings, reproductions of icons, a crucifix. I felt I’d stumbled into a curiosity shop or a yard sale.
It wasn’t until he began to speak that I noticed the man standing behind one of the doors off the corridor. Won’t you take your coat off? he asked in an almost unaccented German, and pressed past me to close the front door. He looked up, as though himself surprised to see such unusual decor, and said, I’m sorry, but there has to be a little fairy dust, people expect it. With that, he helped me out of my coat and hung it up on the coat stand. May I offer you a cup of tea? He led the way into another room, which was just as ornate as the hallway. Here too were colored lamps, thick Persian rugs on the floor, the walls and windows sheeted with patterned material. On a low table of hammered copper stood a wrought iron teapot and a couple of china cups—as though he’d been expecting me. There were nut pastries, of the kind I’d seen in Oriental shops. Kumar, the man introduced himself, and we shook hands. And you’re Paula, aren’t you?
I wasn’t even surprised that he knew my name, that was just one further oddity about this eccentric place. Kumar must have been my age. In the gaudy light it wasn’t easy to be sure of the color of his skin, but I rather think he was dark. He was slender, not tall, and his movements were as light and supple as a dancer’s. His black hair was short and gleaming, his features were certainly foreign-looking, but I wouldn’t have been able to say where he was from, any more than I could place his slight accent. He pointed to a couple of stools and waited for me to sit before sitting down himself and pouring tea. He looked up at me and smiled. He seemed utterly calm, which had the effect of making me nervous. I quickly took a sip of the tea, which was very hot and tasted bitter.
What brings you to me? asked Kumar. The rain, I said, and laughed nervously. Aren’t you able to tell me, or don’t you know? he asked. Or do you want to test me? That won’t be necessary. I don’t claim to be infallible. I establish facts, find connections, make prognoses, but what use you make of them is your affair. Whether you classify our meeting as an exotic holiday experience or a life-changing moment doesn’t bother me. You mustn’t test me, test yourself.
I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. I only came in because of the rain, I said. And then I heard your voice over the intercom and came up here. Your smile must have got you out of a few tricky situations, no? said Kumar. At least you seem to think so. That you have the gift of smiling problems away; or stand over matters and nothing can touch you or rob you of your composure.
I shrugged my shoulders and was so nervous I took another sip of the bitter-tasting tea. What’s this got in it? I asked. Kumar hadn’t yet touched his. You are an inquisitive woman, he said, and of course at the same time you take everything I say for poppycock…No, no, I don’t mind, that doesn’t affect me in the slightest. I mean, I don’t believe everything you tell me either. Maybe together we’ll find the real reason for your coming here. Once the motive has been found, then the solution isn’t far to seek.
Kumar pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and rapidly shuffled them. Then he laid some out in the form of a cross and three more in a line on the low table between us. Past, present, and future, he said. On the antique-looking cards were figures and symbols and pictures of people and animals, on one was a heart, on others, representations of everyday objects, a key, a whip, but also a fortified tower and a three-master on a rough sea. While Kumar was setting out the cards, he looked me in the eye and spoke in a low, penetrating voice. You are a discriminating soul. If someone wants to convince you of something, they will need solid arguments. At the same time, you aren’t averse to novelty, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You don’t leap to judgment. You are a sociable, extroverted person, and it doesn’t take a soothsayer to see it. You like to laugh, you laugh a lot. Did you know that women laugh more than men? Less to do with merriment, I suspect, than submission.
I wanted to say something back, and he seemed to sense it, because he raised his palm. No, no, I’m not claiming that you want to submit to me, these are scientific facts, with chance application to individuals. I have the sense that yours is a strong personality. But under the cheerful surface there is a cautious, even reticent woman. You are self-critical, and with a strong desire to be liked and admired by others. There is great potential in you, but you must believe in yourself, allow yourself more space.
I had to laugh. You could say that to pretty much any woman. Who doesn’t have a desire to be liked by others? Who’s not critical of themselves? This is not about others, it’s about you, he said. Suddenly he took my hand. I jumped and wanted to pull it away, but he held on to it. May I? Don’t be afraid, I won’t predict that you will have three children or will suffer a grave illness or go on a long journey, no cheap predictions. But I have a better sense of your energy if there is a physical connection between us. Relax. Leave your hand be. Trust me, I will hold you.
This was odd. I don’t have an esoteric bone in my body, and was convinced Kumar was a charlatan, a fraud, but I felt more at ease in his society than I had for a long time. Perhaps the tea—whatever it was—was kicking in, my body felt very warm and I felt slightly tipsy in my head. Everything seemed possible, nothing mattered. This is the heart line, said Kumar, this is the destiny line, and the health line. I had finished my tea and Kumar refilled my cup without letting go of my hand. He still hadn’t drunk any himself.
That tickles, I said laughing, and again tried to free my hand, but less determinedly. Are you a magician? A male witch? Forgive me, said Kumar, not letting go. Here, the Venus mount is lacking definition. Could it be that your sexual evolution was not unproblematic? That, when you get to the point, you find it difficult to let go, and surrender to pleasure? Go on, laugh. You don’t believe that a few lines on your palm are capable of revealing so much about you? That would fit, you’re not easily persuaded, and that’s not a bad thing. You don’t have to believe me. Just ask yourself frankly whether the things I tell you accord with the truth; whether you can recognize yourself in my words.
He looked down at my hand again and traced the lines with his forefinger, but it felt to me less like my palm being read than simply stroked. This line stands for a broken relationship, he said. And at this point, everything becomes blurred. If I’m reading it properly, it says you are currently without a partner. I see a man with whom there was a long relationship, he abused your trust. This experience has shaken you to the core. Can it be that he deceived you? Or you deceived him? I shook my head. At any rate, I see conflicts, said Kumar. A wish for children? I shrugged. You have been seeking, seeking for quite some time now. Perhaps your expectations are too high, you want too much. It’s not so much a question of finding the right one as being ready for him. Is it possible that you sometimes get in your own way?
At last he stopped and looked at me, as though expecting an answer to a question. When a woman goes vacationing alone, it doesn’t take too much imagination to guess she’s single, I said. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and I had a job articulating the words. I pulled my hand back, at last Kumar let it go. And if she’s a certain age, then there’s a pretty good chance she will have been married or in a long-term relationship at least once. As for wanting children, well, you know.
Kumar looked at me in silence for a long time. Then something swung in his face, it looked as though he was dropping a part. He snorted and stood up. It’s true, he said, what I said to you about your personality, I could have said to almost all my female clients, and almost all would have recognized themselves in my description. And as far as their problems were concerned, people come to me for the same reasons, you don’t need to be a clairvoyant to see that. With young people, it’s often an unhappy love affair, with older people it’s their health. Middle-aged men usually come because of trouble at work, women have relationship anxieties. It’s all just a game, a pastime. But how did you know I was standing in your doorway? I asked. And that you had to address me in German? And how on earth did you know my name? Kumar smiled and raised his hands in perplexity.
He stepped up to one of the windows and drew the curtain. It was little brighter outside, though it was still raining. When I began fortune-telling, I didn’t believe in it myself, he said in a soft voice. It was just an easy and convenient way of making a living. Then—he paused, as though looking for the right words—then I began to actually see. I was so overcome by my faculty that I used it pretty mindlessly. I told people the truth about themselves, about their past and their future. Till I realized that that wasn’t what they wanted to hear from me. Now I don’t tell them anymore what the future will bring, I tell them what they want the future to be. And for that they’re grateful, whether it comes to pass or not. I should probably tell you not to be in too much of a rush, that you need to go out of yourself, get involved in something, open yourself to fresh experiences. You will meet the man of your dreams, perhaps you already have, and just don’t know it. Do you want to know what will be? What would you do if you could see into the future, if you knew what it would bring? It might be comforting, I said. Or disquieting, he said.
What if he really knew more than other people? The idea was absurd, but also too beguiling to reject out of hand. So you won’t tell me anything? I asked, myself getting up and walking over to where he stood. There’s nothing to be afraid of, he said. We both looked out the window. I put my hand on his shoulder and had a sense of boundless trust and security. I can see how everything will end, but then it always ends that way anyway. What I can’t see is what we make of it, what we’ll look back on. And that’s what happiness is.
What about the cards? I asked. Hocus-pocus, said Kumar, and went back to the table. I followed him. He pointed to the card with the three-master. The ship is always a journey, he almost gabbled. Don’t lose yourself in your wishes and fantasies. Perhaps you’re nearer your goal than you imagine. The key, he pointed to the card next to the ship, that will help you find the right path, and reveal what is deep inside you. And the heart, he smiled, scooping up the cards and putting them in his pocket, the heart can be any number of things.
He looked at his watch. Your half hour’s up, he said. I asked him how much I owed him. I had hardly any money with me and gave him what little I had. Kumar said nothing, merely looked at me, as though he was waiting for something. It’ll stop raining in a moment, he said, breaking the silence. At least where the weather’s concerned, it helps to see into the future. Then you wouldn’t have set off without an umbrella. I could tell it was going to rain, I said, I just didn’t feel like taking it. What was the tea? Did you put something in it? Lipton’s, said Kumar, maybe it was stewed. He gave me his hand in farewell, but this time his grip felt less resolute, almost hesitant.
When I stepped out of the building, there was a young woman who seemed not to know what she was doing there. I held the door open for her, and said second floor, left-hand side. She seemed not to understand me and shook her head. Perhaps she had just been sheltering from the rain.
Of course it hadn’t stopped raining at all, but it was brighter, and the air was as clear as it sometimes is very early in the morning after a chilly night. I felt as though I’d awoken from a dream in which time and space had no meaning. I could hardly believe I’d only been with Kumar for half an hour. He had said many things that had seemed insightful and true to me, had built up a thought structure that seemed harmonious and consistent. But when I tried to remember the pieces, most of it had already slipped my mind, and the rest was as banal as the bits of wisdom on calendar pages or sugar packets. Be yourself, seize the day, the way is the goal, whatever. Still, I felt as content as at the end of a good book or a film I’d enjoyed.
No longer minding the rain, I walked back along the street I’d come on. I was less far from the old town than I’d thought, before long the cathedral loomed up in front of me, and I knew where I was and where I had to get to. I dropped into a restaurant, had a bite to eat, and there were still almost two hours before the bus would take us to the harbor.
When I walked out of the restaurant, the rain had stopped, and the sun had broken through the clouds. So Kumar was right after all, I thought, and had to smile, but then it can’t rain forever and ever. Feeling cheerful and optimistic I walked on, full of confidence that Kumar would have been right in everything else he said as well, and that we would see each other again, either in life or else in my memories.
First Snow
Under normal circumstances, the drive to our skiing holiday would not have taken more than three hours, but just behind Zurich the traffic seized up. The children were bickering, Lia said she was bored and Jonas that he was hungry, even though we’d had lunch just an hour ago. It was raining. A black SUV swooped past us and took our place in the lane, causing Franziska to brake sharply and swear. The kids were still being a pain, and Jonas was kicking against my seat. Stop that, I barked at him. Franziska told me not to yell at the children. It’s Christmas, she said, pointing to a sign, remember? We could stop and have a coffee. Great, then we’ll never get there, I said, while she already had the turn signal on and was taking the exit ramp to the roadhouse.
Although the lunchtime rush was over, the self-service café was jam-packed, with people pushing and crowding everywhere. American Christmas hits were being played over the speakers, and glittering arrangements of fir-twigs and candles were on the tables and counters. Just as I got to the till, my phone rang. It was Anita. A calamity, she said, sorry, but I need your help. One of our customers, a florist business, was having trouble with the accounting software, and bang in the middle of the Christmas rush. I tried to help them, said Anita, but you know I don’t really get those things. Did you try telling them to turn the server off and on? I asked. Anita laughed. Can you give them a call? They’re having a meltdown.
