We kept walking along the road, we passed a Chinese restaurant, a kebab stand, a deserted gas station with rusty tires and empty soda machines behind a barbed-wire fence.
“There used to be a bike shop there,” said Samuel. “But it closed a few years ago.”
The house was ten minutes from the commuter rail station, and it wasn’t until we approached the mailbox (which Samuel emptied) and started walking up the gravel path (which was full of sticks, plastic toys, bike parts, garden tools, and rotting apples) that I realized that his grandma was still living there. I don’t know why I thought she would have moved out already but when we rang the doorbell she was the one who answered, she backed into the hall and cried:
“At last! It’s about time, said the watchmaker to the headmaster!”
*
Samuel said that they’d gone on a walk, they had bought soft-serve but forgot to bring napkins and Samuel ran into a cafe and asked if it was okay if he took a few paper napkins. On the way out he ran into a few friends of an ex. When he came back, Laide was furious that he’d taken so long.
“Were they pretty?”
“Who?”
“The girls you were talking to?”
“They were fine. But I mean, we only talked for like two minutes. Five, max.”
*
Samuel hugged his grandma. She was half as tall and twice as wide, and as their cheeks touched I saw her close her eyes and smile. It was as if she were filling up on his warmth, the hug must have lasted thirty seconds. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there in the dim light of the hallway, waiting for them to finish. As Samuel freed himself she opened her blue eyes and broke into a wide smile.
“Why . . . ? Isn’t this Laide? It’s been so long. Do you want coffee? Yes, we’d all like a nice cup of coffee, wouldn’t we? Samuel, can you put on some coffee? Here, let’s hang up your coat, for goodness’ sake, come in from the cold, shall we light a fire? No, I suppose we don’t need one, it’s so warm in here, no need for a fire, but maybe you’d like one anyway? You’re probably used to warmer weather. It’s warmer than this in Brussels, isn’t it?”
I looked at Samuel but he was already headed for the kitchen to put on some coffee. I wiggled my hands out of his grandma’s grip, hung my jacket on a hanger, and took off my shoes.
*
Another night they had been standing by a lake, talking about the differences in their grasp of Arabic, and a dog owner happened to throw a fetch stick pretty close to them. The wet dog came bounding straight for them and the owner apologized and Samuel said it was no problem and petted the wet dog and asked what breed it was and what its name was and Laide kept her distance. On the way home through the darkening woods Laide was angry because she thought he had been flirting with the dog’s owner.
“And you want to know the craziest part?” Samuel said. “The owner was like fifty.”
“Wow. Even older than Laide.”
“Very funny. I don’t get why she always thinks I’m flirting.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Because there is a difference between being nice and being flirty, right?”
He said it like a question, but it was clear that he didn’t want an answer.
*
Samuel’s grandmother looked at me and squinted.
“When did we last see each other? It must have been several months ago, right? How is everything?”
“Fine,” I said, still unsure whether she thought I was someone else or whether she was just pretending that we had met. “How are you?”
“Oh, thanks for asking, still kicking, said the soccer player to the fireworks specialist.”
“Why?” said Samuel.
“Excuse me?”
“Why did the soccer player say that to the fireworks specialist?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“Who?”
“The soccer player. Now let’s have a little coffee, we certainly deserve some.”
She took my hand and led me into the dim house. We passed a fireplace with scorched pieces of plastic among the ashes, a small room with photographs on the walls and a rocking chair on a rug. His grandma stopped to pick up a pink bowl with ornate gold details and a round lid.
“Do you know who made this bowl?” she asked.
“I’m guessing it was Samuel?”
“You’re one hundred percent correct.”
“I didn’t know you could do pottery,” I called to Samuel in the kitchen.
“Me neither,” he responded.
The smell of urine was stronger in the kitchen. Samuel cleaned the coffeemaker and tried to find the filters. His grandma sat down on a stool and asked who was minding the children.
“But Grandma,” said Samuel, “we don’t have any children.”
“No, that’s right, you don’t,” said his grandma, reaching for a bag of candy. “Raspberry boats?”
“No thanks, that’s okay.”
“But you do drink coffee, don’t you?”
“I drink coffee.”
“That’s good. And you have a driver’s license?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Good. A modern woman must have a driver’s license. You are nothing without a license. Did you know that they’re trying to take away my license?”
I looked at Samuel, he shrugged.
“They say I’m too old. That my eyesight is too poor. I’ve had my driver’s license for over forty years. How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Can you believe it? I’ve had my license for longer than you’ve been alive. And now they have the gall to say that I—I—am no longer allowed to drive. Have you ever heard the like?”
“Who said that?” Samuel asked.
“What?”
“Didn’t someone say that, like the ear doctor to his patient?”
“No, I said that. Just me.”
Samuel turned on the coffeemaker.
“It’s a Philips,” said his grandma. “That’s a Swedish brand.”
She took my hand and held it, she looked me deep in the eyes, she had silver rings on one hand, and a silver bracelet around the opposite wrist.
“Do you drink coffee?”
*
One time they went to a Chinese restaurant, but because the girl who showed them to their table was young and cute and Samuel had been a little too nice to her, Laide started bellowing that the restaurant mistreated their employees and threw her glass of water at the owner.
“Did she hit him?”
“I mean, she only threw the water. She set the glass down on the bar before we left the place.”
“She sounds unstable as shit,” I said. “Not exactly the sort of person you can trust.”
“Oh, it’s just that there are some things she feels very strongly about. But it is a little trying. Sometimes it’s like I have to watch how I’m acting all the time so she won’t think I’m doing the wrong thing.”
“Sounds unchill.”
“Well, it’s not as relaxing as hanging here, with you.”
I’m not sure if Samuel actually said that last bit, or if he just thought it. On the way home I felt happier. Even though Samuel went to Laide’s to sleep there. I knew he would never manage to stay with a person who tried to control him. Soon it would all fall apart. It was only a matter of time.
*
We stayed there for a few hours. Samuel’s grandma told us about the house’s history, how she and her husband (whom she kept calling “Dad”) bought it in the late 1940s from someone named Kuhlmeier, and even though their bid wasn’t the highest Kuhlmeier liked them so much that he chose to sell to them anyway. The only condition was that they had to invite Kuhlmeier to dinner once a year. And they did; for eleven years he came over around Ascension Day to eat dinner with her, her husband, and their two, soon to be three, children. Each time, he brought chocolate macaroons. Then Kuhlmeier died and soon the house was too small for three children so they expanded it, she stood up to s
how us where the new construction started.
“This is where the house stopped when we bought it and this whole side, the parlor, the bedroom upstairs, and the rec room downstairs, is the part we added on.”
We walked around the house, she showed us the parlor with its dirty parquet, a decaying terrace, sun-faded curtains. She led us up the creaky stairs, showed us the balcony, the maid’s quarters, the bedroom with green jungle wallpaper, and the bathroom with a pink floral pattern on the walls.
“We had a good life here, Dad and me,” she said several times as we walked through the rooms. “And I think you’ll be just as happy here as we were.”
“Sorry?” I said.
“If you buy it, that is. I know it’s a lot of money. You can’t just pull that many coins from behind your ear. But there’s no rush, go home and talk it over and you can get back to me if you’re interested.”
“Grandma. It’s me, Samuel. I stayed here on the weekends when I was little, don’t you remember?”
“Of course. Weren’t those the days. It was always fun when you came by and played with Marie and Kerstin and Benke and the little one, what was her name, the little one?”
“No idea.”
“Don’t you remember her?”
“Those were Mom’s friends. My mom. Your daughter. How can you not remember your own daughter?”
We stood in the upstairs bedroom in silence. Samuel picked a bit of dirt off a full-length mirror. His cheeks were glowing red.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Anyone want some raspberry boats?”
“Yes please,” I said.
We walked down the stairs. I saw a dark shadow across the cracked paint of the ceiling. It must have been an old water-damage stain; it was shaped like a tulip.
*
Then Samuel vanished again. When I didn’t get any hours at work and no one responded to my letters of application, I spent most of my time at home in front of the computer. I played strategy games and brainstormed legal ways to earn cash for rent while Samuel and Laide marched in leftist demonstrations and went to luxury spas and ate vegan soup and met each other’s families.
*
Later that evening, I called Zainab and told her I’d found a place for her to live.
“It’s the perfect house. It will be available in a few weeks. An old woman has been living there. There’s room for the children, it’s way up on a hill, it almost can’t be seen from the street, and there’s only one neighbor nearby.”
“For how long?” Zainab asked.
“Until further notice. But at least a few months.”
“How much?”
“It’s free.”
“Free?”
“Free.”
“Stop kidding around.”
“It’s free. You can live there for free. It will be your family and a woman named Nihad.”
Zainab was silent, she didn’t say thanks, she just stopped talking, she didn’t say anything for thirty seconds.
“Hello?” I asked. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here,” she said in a new voice. “I’m still here. I just don’t know what to say.”
Then she spent five minutes praising Allah most Glorious, most Gracious, most Merciful, Master of the Day of Judgment, who shows us the straight way, the Powerful and Wonderful and Forgiving. And I have to say that it felt a little weird to hear her praise and thank this God whom I myself didn’t believe in. After all, I deserved most of the thanks, and Samuel too. We hung up and I called Nihad, who howled with happiness and kissed the phone until it fell to the floor.
*
Samuel asked more and more frequently how things were going at work. He wondered if I would get more hours next month and how things were going with my job applications. I reminded him that we divide everything up equally and that it would all work out in the end.
“Of course,” he said. “But I’ve covered all the rent for a few months now. And that seems a little wrong since I hardly even live here.”
“Come home and live here a little more then,” I joked.
*
A few weeks later, Nihad and Zainab moved into Samuel’s grandma’s house. I got the key from Samuel and met Nihad at the station. She had two suitcases with her, she was wearing make-up, her neck was perfumed, she looked like a human resources director who was going on a conference trip and I don’t know why that bothered me. It was like I wanted her to be more desperate than she was. We walked to the house and although it was only the second time in my life I’d walked along that street I heard myself saying the same things Samuel had told me. I pointed out the library, the cafe, and the place where there had been a bike shop up until a few years ago.
Zainab and her children were waiting on the street. They had been dropped off by someone who had already driven away. Zainab and Nihad greeted each other, they had no trouble understanding one another even though they spoke different dialects. The children had their own little suitcases and they looked wide-eyed at the house as we walked up the gravel hill.
“Who else is going to live here?” asked one of the daughters.
“You’re going to live here,” I said.
“But besides us?” asked the other daughter.
“It’s just us,” said Zainab.
With a roar, the children ran up the stairs and I reminded Zainab that it was important to keep a low profile so the neighbors wouldn’t start to talk. We used the upper entrance, I turned the key, opened the door, and showed them how the alarm worked. It was simple, when you opened the door it started beeping and you had thirty seconds to enter the correct code. If you were to forget the code, there was a piece of paper under the alarm keypad that said “ALARM OFF? PRESS 9915. ALARM ON? PRESS 0” in large print.
Nihad and Zainab looked at the piece of paper and chuckled.
“Perfect for burglars. It’s okay if we take it down, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” I said.
Nihad took the piece of paper with the alarm instructions, ripped it in half, and hid it in the chest of drawers in the hallway. I felt proud when she did it. I thought that it was her way of showing that now she and Zainab and the children lived there. The children had already run into the house, I heard their cries from the parlor.
“There’s an echo in here,” cried one daughter.
“Where do we sleep?” cried the other.
I still hadn’t heard the son’s voice, but then he came back and tugged at Zainab’s clothes.
“What is it, darling?”
She leaned down and picked him up. He whispered in her ear.
“There’s a piano in there.”
*
I filled out job applications, placed them in envelopes, and waited for responses. I sat at home. I went out. I came home. Sometimes I called Samuel. Or sent a text. When he didn’t answer, I went into his room and looked through his things. I just wanted to remind myself that we still lived together. I paged through his notebooks mostly to help pass the time.
*
The plan was for the house to take care of itself. Samuel had made sure he had all the keys, and if one of his uncles or his mom wanted to go there they would have to contact him. Nihad and Zainab had been living there for a week when the dishwasher broke. Samuel and I went over there together. He showed us where the tools were kept in the basement and we went through the dishwasher, cleaning the filter and adjusting the screws. When we turned the power back on it worked again, and Nihad took Samuel’s hand and thanked him sincerely, both for fixing the dishwasher and for letting her live there. She nodded her head until her black curls bounced off her shoulders. She was holding his hand. She didn’t let go. Samuel said tfaddel with his funny Swedish accent. He looked down at the floor as if he were afraid of what might happen if their eyes met. I realized how beautiful Nihad was.
On the way back to the station, I told Samuel that Nihad had a son who lived with her ex-husband.
“Oh?” he said.
“If her son wants to move in it’s fine with me,” said Samuel.
*
In one of Samuel’s notebooks I found a sketch of something that looked like a science-fiction game. I typed Samuel’s notes into the computer and tidied them up and thought it might be an idea that could bring Samuel and me back together.
*
What do you mean, “why?” Shouldn’t you be asking “why not?” Why wouldn’t he jump at the chance to do something meaningful? He spent his days stuck in the straitjacket of bureaucracy. He followed regulations and directives, contacted embassies and booked trips to send people away who wanted to come back. At the same time, his grandma’s house was standing empty. And people needed somewhere to live. It’s not strange that Samuel wanted to help. The strange thing is that more people don’t do the same.
A few weeks later there was a problem with the upstairs toilet. We went out to the house again, Samuel seemed glad for the chance to see Nihad again, when she opened the door he hugged her and did his best to communicate in his sad, Swiss-cheese Arabic. We went upstairs. Samuel showed us how you could remove the lid of the toilet and press a little button to make the water fill up on its own. Then he spent three minutes trying to explain that there were lots of things in the house that needed fixing and that they didn’t have to feel too worried if something broke. Nihad smiled and nodded and when Samuel was finally finished she looked at me for an explanation of what all these incomprehensible guttural syllables were supposed to mean. I translated and Nihad leaned forward, pressed her large breasts against him, and kissed Samuel on the cheek.
“Your exceptionally beautiful outside truly matches your soul’s incredible inside,” she said.
Samuel looked at me questioningly.
“She says you’re nice,” I said.
Samuel blushed and scratched his ear and as we walked down the stairs he said that the house hadn’t been this clean in many years.
“Grandma would have been proud if she knew what was going on here. Tell them that they’re welcome to call anytime if there’s anything else that needs fixing.”
Nihad looked at me questioningly. I explained that she was welcome to call if they needed help with anything else.
Everything I Don't Remember Page 13
