The Center of the World

by Andreas Steinhöfel

  “Whatever prompted you to go swimming in the river at midnight of all times?”

  “Are you going to ask the boy what prompted him to take his dog for a walk at midnight of all times as well?”

  “Did you ask him that?”

  “Is that relevant?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see that Michael is about to move forward, but Glass holds him back by the sleeve of his jacket. Could be that Acer is trying to confuse Dianne with his strange and repetitive questioning, or it may well be that he’s proceeding according to a form of logic known only to him. At any rate, so far Dianne is managing to defend herself perfectly well on her own.

  “You get out of the river. Then what happened?”

  “The boy began screaming, which was all to the good, otherwise we wouldn’t have found him so quickly. By the time we reached him he’d managed to calm the dog down. At any rate, the creature had let go of him by then.”

  “And he didn’t have trousers on?”

  “Yes, but they were round his ankles. And there was blood everywhere. It looks quite black in the moonlight.” Her hands stop moving, and Dianne looks up. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes.” Acer looks fixedly at his document. “And then?”

  “We dragged him to the hospital. After all, it wasn’t far. The stupid mutt cleared off. You ought to find him. Maybe he’s acquired a taste for it.”

  Clickety-clack … clickety-clack …

  “Did the boy say anything to you, speak to you?”

  “Would you talk to someone who’s just caught you masturbating?”

  “No.”

  “There’s your answer, then.”

  Click.

  I wonder whether Dianne is consciously copying Glass, and if so, whether she’s doing so only in order to snub her in front of Michael and the policeman, or in order to demonstrate that over the years she’s learned to put up a light in her own defense.

  “That’s all.” Acer pulls the paper out of the machine and pushes it across the desk to Dianne. “Once you’ve signed here, you can both go.”

  Kora gets up uncertainly from her chair. Dianne signs her name and without so much as another glance at Acer marches straight toward the door.

  “You ought to read it first before signing,” Michael advises her as she goes past him.

  “Why? To correct the typing mistakes?”

  She pushes past us and goes outside, followed by Kora. Glass rubs her forehead, then reaches for the report and skims through it.

  “You ought to look after your daughter better,” says Acer.

  “Really?” I can almost feel Glass beginning to seethe. “Nothing happened to her, did it?”

  “But something might well have done. You have neglected your parental responsibility.”

  “Are you going to report me for that?”

  “Why should I?”

  With the exception of Michael, we all know why he should. It would be a golden opportunity for him to get his own back for the day when Glass brought him to the point of nearly choking on his own hiccups. There’s no better way of expressing his superciliousness than the superbly indifferent way in which he dismisses Glass and the two girls with a wave of his hand. I have to admit reluctantly that his conduct could possibly be a sign not so much of condescension as of fairness. Earlier on she hadn’t got anywhere with the night nurse at the hospital, for all her aggressiveness. I’m tired. Perhaps we’re all tilting at windmills.

  Michael offers Kora a lift home from the police station, but she turns him down. I see her close up for the first time. She’s neither pretty nor ugly. She’s one of the residents of this vast no-man’s-land inhabited by unremarkable-looking people who never get a second look, but what does that amount to? For Dianne she doesn’t belong to the Little People, in the same way that I don’t consider Kat does. I suddenly feel jealous of this girl. I can’t remember the last time I touched Dianne.

  In the car I attempt a feeble grin, but Dianne looks straight past me into space. She says nothing all the way home. None of us says anything. I get the feeling my stomach is being filled with lead. The journey home lasts less than five minutes and in that time Glass manages to smoke two cigarettes. Not until we arrive at Visible and get out of the car does she turn to Dianne.

  Within seconds the situation escalates.

  “OK …” Glass takes a deep breath. “Did you or didn’t you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Set the dog on that boy?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Glass?” Dianne places a hand on her hip, a gesture I never would have associated with her. “What makes you believe a total stranger rather than me?”

  “Because I know you.”

  “If you knew me, you wouldn’t ask me those kind of questions.”

  “How can I possibly know someone who’s as spaced out as you are?”

  “Spaced out?” Dianne’s shoulders stiffen. “What’s so spaced out about having girlfriends whose interests aren’t in guys or fucking?”

  The word catches even me like a hammer blow. Glass was going to have to cave in at the unbridled anger of this accusation. I ask myself how much energy she has left, how long this trial of strength with Dianne can go on.

  “This is nothing to do with me,” says Michael tersely.

  He goes inside the house. Glass watches him go and waits for the light in the entrance hall to go on. Then she turns back to Dianne. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “D’you really want an answer?”

  “Yes, I bloody well do.”

  “How long have you got?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Dianne flounces off, not into the house but in the direction of the trees rising into the night sky behind the wooden shed.

  Glass looks down in resignation, poking around in the gravel with the tip of her shoe. She shakes her head.

  “I give Up.”

  “Mum, you weren’t really trying.” I’m convinced that Dianne hasn’t gone far. She may still be nearby, listening, as she does to Glass and her clients. “Why don’t you go after—”

  “Now listen, Phil!” Her head shoots up. An index linger flashes out at me as if about to drill a hole. “You have absolutely no idea, d’you understand? Just no idea.”

  “Well, there’s a way to change that. I’m here. I’m not running away. What is it? What’s gone wrong between you and Dianne?”

  “Nothing you can help me with.”

  “Who says I want to help anyone?” It’s doing my head in. “I just want to know once and for all what’s up with you two. I’ve a right to!”

  “No, you don’t! So do me a favor and keep out of this!”

  “Out of what?”

  “For God’s sake, Phil. If you’re so interested, why don’t you ask your sister?”

  “Because, damn it, she’s just as pigheaded as you are!”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  Glass turns away and strides into the house. I feel like running after her, grabbing her, and giving her a good shake. I can’t believe we’ve just been having exactly the same exchange almost down to the last word as I did with Dianne when I came home from Greece three years ago.

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  Clouds race across the night sky, and as they pass near the moon they change into small bronze-colored ships. I hear a rustling sound. Dianne is standing next to the shed, barely visible between the trees, whose low-hanging boughs and branches embrace her so that she merges with wood and bark and leaves.

  “Dianne?”

  “Leave me alone, Phil.”

  “Won’t you come inside?”

  “In a moment.”

  “Listen, I—”

  “Another time. I feel lousy. I’m tired. Let’s talk another time.”

  I stand and wait, one minute, two, without Dianne making a single move or saying anything. The longer she stays back there among the trees, the more her outline starts to blur before my eyes until at last she’s completely d
issolved into the darkness. Maybe she doesn’t see me anymore either. Maybe she’s closed her eyes and is listening to the night, waiting for the clouds to open up again, for the moon to bathe her in its light and wrap her in protective silver.

  People do crazy things at the full moon.

  Two girls meeting at night by the river, to be alone together and bathe nude, isn’t crazy. Nor is a boy slinking after them and secretly watching them, and if he plays with himself a bit as he does so, that isn’t crazy either. Crazy is for a night nurse’s missing ID badge to throw me into a panic, a bunch of rowdy drunks, or the clattering of a faulty typewriter at one in the morning. Crazy is that Glass, Dianne, and I don’t live according to the rules of the Little People, that each of us has reasons to feel like an outsider, that we have more in common with each other than just the blood that flows through our veins, and that even so, we find it impossible to speak to each other.

  chapter 12

  to love

  Next morning I wait for Kat outside the school. To the east the sun hangs like a golden soap bubble over the hills. It shines as confidently as if its summer strength would last forever, as if autumn hadn’t long since spread its burning red hands across the land. The air is as crisp and clear as cold water. It’s a good morning to make my confession to Kat.

  I see her on the other side of the road. As she catches sight of me, she waves and begins running, regardless of the cars honking furiously, forced to slam on their brakes. I often think the way that other pupils keep her at a respectful distance—the headmaster barrier, as Kat calls it—is a bit much for her, despite assertions to the contrary. It’s understandable that she doesn’t want to attract any additional penalty points by being seen getting out of the headmaster’s car every morning like some diva of humanistic educational ideals.

  “One of these days you’re going to make the national headlines,” she greets me. “This business with Dianne is all over the place!”

  I shrug. I’ve no intention of talking about Dianne, even though I’ve already guessed it can’t be avoided. She wasn’t the first to leave her room this morning. When I knocked on the door, I got a snub by way of reply, not too harsh, but unmistakable. As usual after any quarrel, Glass behaved as if nothing had happened. Which may also have been due to the fact that as I came into the kitchen, Michael was patiently initiating her into the mysteries of preparing scrambled eggs without oversalting them.

  “Well?” says Kat eagerly.

  “Well what?”

  “What happened last night?”

  “How many versions have you heard?”

  “Ranging from three to eleven.” She blows her hair away from her forehead. “Well, let’s just say two. At any rate, my mother had two phone calls during breakfast alone.”

  The phone lines must have been buzzing all over the wretched town this morning. Dianne had good reason to decide to stay home at Visible. Gradually the schoolyard fills up, and I hear whispering from all sides. The Death’s Head with the helium-filled voice has done a good job, as expected. My heartfelt wishes are for him to contract some disgusting infectious disease at the hospital. Not just because by spreading a doubtless distorted and sensational version of yesterday’s events, he’s opened up old wounds again, but because with every second that ticks by with Kat and me discussing this subject, deep holes are being torn in my resolution to tell her about myself and Nicholas. Suddenly the morning seems far less bright than a moment ago.

  “Now, come on,” Kat insists. “What’s behind this story?”

  “D’you know, you’re really just as much of a sensation seeker as the rest of the pack.”

  She waves her hands dismissively. “To be honest, Phil, I don’t think it so strange that she’s supposed to have set the dog on the guy. I still remember that business with the lizard… .”

  “Kat, I’m sleeping with the Runner.”

  It certainly isn’t the most elegant way to make her shut up. But very effective. Kat’s mouth snaps shut as if she’s just been dealt a left hook. A tiny upright crease appears on her forehead. Two or three heartbeats pass as she stares at me in sheer disbelief.

  “You’re joking?” she says at last.

  “It’s not a joke.”

  “Since when?”

  “About a week.”

  “With Nicholas? With the famous Nicholas?” Kat looks to left and right as if expecting help from one of the other pupils or searching for a means of escape. Her eyes flash. “Shit, Phil. You really might have told me before!”

  “I didn’t want to frighten the horses unnecessarily. I wasn’t even sure myself.”

  That’s only half the truth—even less than half, and judging by the expression on Kat’s face, she doesn’t believe even that much. I let a second go by and take a deep breath. “Apart from that, I was afraid you might think Nicholas would want to take me away from you or something.”

  “Idiot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I hope you get covered in zits, you asshole!” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, looks down and then up again, and shakes her head. “Man, I need time to take that in!” At any rate, so far there haven’t been any reproaches of betrayal and breaking friendship, tears or outbreaks of jealousy. All the same, I don’t feel good. I watch Kat’s face working, and jump at the noise of a chestnut landing on the ground like gunfire.

  Kat sniffs. “What’s he like?”

  “D’you expect me to give you an objective opinion?”

  “For goodness’ sake, stop answering questions with questions!” She jabs a finger into my ribs. “Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth—after all, you owe me! So go on, tell me. Did he come on to you, or you to him?”

  Kat grins at me full on. Perhaps I ought to go down on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I’m sorry that I misjudged her so badly and, worse still, that I painted such a false picture of her to Nicholas. All the same, I start out slowly in order to be on the safe side. I begin with the day when Nicholas spoke to me in the library, but Kat barely lets me finish.

  “And you’re really in love with each other? Is it wonderful, is it cosmic?” She turns around on the spot, like a wind-up ballerina on a toy clock. “Will you marry and have children? And which of you will be the mother?”

  At that moment I love her for making it so easy for me and accepting my laughter for an answer. And because I don’t have to tell her that there’s never been any mention of love between Nicholas and me, that up to now he hasn’t even kissed me, and how ridiculous that is, since my lips have covered every inch of his body except his lips. Or that I lose certainty under his gaze and his touch rather than gain it, and for that reason I am feeling more and more as if I’ve got to cross a rope bridge slung across a ravine a mile deep.

  As Kat has a keen instinct for sensing when I’m preoccupied with such thoughts, I steer her attention toward something closer at hand. “Nicholas thinks you don’t like him.”

  “Rubbish,” she snorts. “After all, I hardly know him.” “That can change. He should be here any minute.”

  She grins and gives me a punch on the shoulder. “Man, Phil! And you really thought I’d make a scene? What’s he like in bed?”

  Only Kat can ask two such totally different questions in one breath.

  “In bed?”

  “Well, on the floor or a stool, for all I care. What’s he like? I mean, you do it together, don’t you?” Suddenly she’s looking at me with wide-open eyes. “Or maybe not?”

  “Of course we do it.”

  “Well, then,” she mumbles, reassured. “And what’s it like?”

  “Listen, Kat—”

  “My God, don’t be so coy. After all, I told you everything about me and Thomas!”

  “No, you did not. You said that you’d been to bed together exactly once, that it wasn’t so bad, and that you’d had a fantastic orgasm.”

  “So I did,” she said soberly. “But not till later. Once I was back on my own again
.”

  Her laughter shoots up into the sky like New Year’s Eve fireworks. We walk across the schoolyard slowly, side by side.

  “Whatever,” I say. “At any rate, there weren’t any details, and I didn’t want any either, otherwise I would have asked.”

  “And I would have told you.”

  “A blow-by-blow account, no doubt. But I don’t want to talk about it, OK? Nicholas and I sleep together, it’s great, and a lot more besides.”

  “ ‘Sleeping together’ sounds so technical.”

  “Everything else sounds vulgar.”

  “Well, yes, but vulgar is so much more fun.” Kat stops abruptly and shakes her head. “I still can’t believe it. You and the Runner. What a scandal that could make!”

  “Do me a favor, try to like him, OK?” I say quickly. “I’d be really stuck if my best friend rejects my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, never fear. I’ll put on my best smile for him. A bit like …”

  Kat pulls her face into a grimace baring all thirty-two teeth. When I realize that her leer is directed not at me but over my shoulder, I turn around. My heart misses a beat as I see Nicholas coming toward us.

  No sooner is he standing in front of us than Kat lets fly. “I know all about the two of you, all the gory details.”

  Someone heaves a quiet sigh. It’s me.

  “And?” asks Nicholas, unfazed.

  “Hush money!”

  The seconds that follow between the two of them are like a flurry of sparks, groping closer, weighing up, sizing up sympathies, a first assessment of each other’s boundaries.

  “How much d’you want?” asks Nicholas.

  “Fifty thousand.”

  “In low-denomination used notes?”

  “In large, unused scoops. Cherry flavor.”

  “Could be arranged.”

  The skirmish is over. Nicholas and Kat are smiling at each other. A lead weight drops from my shoulders.

  “Have you been admitted into the circle of Phil’s seriously psychopathic family yet?” asks Kat.

  Nicholas shakes his head.

  “My mother certainly wouldn’t object,” I break in. “She told me she’d like to get to know you.”