Text for You

by Sofie Cramer

  Maybe Ben only proposed to her so that she would finally give it a rest and stop trying to improve him, Clara thinks sometimes. And for a short time it worked really well. Clara felt like she was walking on air after Ben officially asked for her hand on Christmas Eve. Right as her mother was bringing dessert to the table where her partner, Reinhard; Clara’s grandparents; and Clara and Ben were gathered, Ben had stood up, tapped his spoon against his glass of red wine, and cleared his throat. Five pairs of eyes were looking at him, very eager to see what he had in store. Not even when he pulled out a small jewelry box did it occur to Clara what was coming. But when Ben finished his stiff speech and went down on one knee in front of Clara’s chair, she finally realized what he was doing. With the most classic of words he asked, “Clara, will you marry me?”

  Before she could even answer her mother had already started whooping and clapping with joy. Lisbeth and the men joined in and took turns hugging each of them tight once Clara finally managed to stammer out “Yes!”

  But their happiness hadn’t lasted long. Just a few weeks later the accident happened—and whether it was really an accident or not, Clara will probably never find out.

  Clara stares off into space, twists the ring on her finger, and finally turns the light off. But it doesn’t get truly dark. It must be a clear night tonight, with a full moon. In this silvery light, she can clearly make out Ben’s smiling features in the photo she set out today. As if he were encouraging her, his great little artist, to make her moon painting project a reality, no matter what.

  sven

  The following Monday, Sven stares at his screensaver, lost in thought. He’d gotten to the office first thing that morning, before Hilke arrived, called customer service at the phone company, and said he was a business reporter and was conducting research for an article. He spoke confidently and energetically; the young man on the other end of the line provided answers in a credible and polite manner. It was just about impossible, technologically speaking, for text messages to be sent to two different recipients at the same time. Mix-ups between customers were extremely unlikely as well, the young man said, because a given cell phone number wasn’t eligible to be reassigned until six months after the original contract had been terminated.

  But it rankled Sven that he didn’t manage to find out the name of the customer from whom all the texts were coming. He was told they couldn’t make an exception, not even for a journalist. Discretion had to be maintained at all times when dealing with sensitive customer information.

  “Why don’t you just call the number and ask for the person’s name?” asked the customer service rep, too smart for his own good.

  All Sven could do in reply was make feeble excuses. He felt like a teenager who’d been caught peeping through a keyhole. He politely said thanks and quickly hung up.

  “A cheerful good morning to you! What’s the latest from Lilime?” asks Hilke as she hurries in the door, coffee in hand.

  She seems to be just about bursting with curiosity. If she had her way, she would be informed immediately whenever a new text arrives. But Sven doesn’t offer any information, he just grins at his coworker and replies: “Good morning to you, O favorite colleague of mine!”

  Hilke stares at him, vexed, and impatiently drums her fingers on her desk.

  “What’s wrong?” Sven asks innocently.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good then.” Sven is still grinning.

  After a few seconds of pretending to concentrate on the Post-it note that Breiding left on her computer, Hilke can’t take it any longer: “Well, come on already, tell me! Don’t make me force it out of you every time!”

  “But there’s nothing to force out, O colleague dear,” Sven says smugly and enjoys his early advantage in this Monday morning contest.

  “If you don’t tell me right this instant what Lilime wrote over the weekend, I’ll never have lunch with you again!” Hilke declares and leans back in her chair triumphantly as if she’s just played an unbeatable trump card.

  “Okay with me,” Sven replies, and Hilke promptly throws a packet of tissues at him.

  “Oooh, you little twerp! You can take your stupid text messages and stick them you-know-where!” Hilke yells.

  Sven sits quietly and enjoys his triumph.

  After a few minutes of cease-fire comes the next attack. “What do I have to do to get you to give up your oh-so-secret information, dear Mr. Star Reporter?”

  “Here,” Sven says, calling a truce, and slides his iPhone to his colleague across the desk. “If it’ll make you stop bugging me!”

  Satisfied, Hilke snatches Sven’s phone and starts going through Sven’s messages with astonishing speed.

  Sven tries not to let his nervousness show. It does make him uneasy, though, to have a woman poking her nose into what is currently his most intimate secret.

  Hilke reads aloud:

  Darling, would you maybe like to tell me something? I’ve finished the second painting and am waiting for a sign from you. I love you, your L.

  “I thought so! So No Name is Lilime after all. And Lilime paints . . . how sweet! Oh, and this text here is also very revealing: Did you hear from Theo? You should be very proud of her . . . So Theo’s not a man at all. Interesting!” Hilke is pleased with her research. “Lilime is so romantic. These can only be coming from a woman!”

  Sven’s heart skips a beat. Or at least it feels that way for a brief moment. He, too, has had a growing suspicion that behind Lilime there is actually a woman—a woman whose words move him in a way he can’t explain. But he can’t possibly admit this to Hilke. Romance or no romance.

  “Do you know what? The whole thing is starting to get on my nerves. I’m going to text back right now and tell this person that to stop bothering me already!”

  “No!” screams Hilke. “Then you’ll never hear from her again.”

  Sven gives her a look, his head tilted to one side.

  “Who knows?” Hilke says, pausing masterfully for effect. “Maybe she’s the woman of your dreams!” And then she gets a big grin on her face.

  Sven’s heart skips another beat. First what David said leads him to waste his precious free time fantasizing about Lilime, and now Hilke is needling him about it at work.

  “Right, and at the end of the story everybody loves everybody else and Hilke’s faith in a good and just world has prevailed once again.” Sven rolls his eyes.

  “Yeah, so? What’s so bad about that? And anyway, for somebody who’s not at all interested in Lilime you sure get emotional about the whole thing,” Hilke fires back.

  Sven sees that he’s been boxed into a corner and lets out a loud moan. But if he shows too strong a reaction now, then Hilke might think her analysis is right on target. He thinks for a second and then replies with almost a trace of pride: “All right, if you really want to know—I actually called the number last Monday to make it clear to this person that they were getting on my nerves.”

  “What? Really?” Hilke asks with a stunned look on her face and quickly adds, “And?”

  “And nothing. Nobody picked up.”

  “Okay, but did it not go to voice mail?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ugh, Svenny, you’re driving me nuts! Come on, out with it!”

  “Only if you stop calling me Svenny all the time!”

  “Spill it already! Who is she, what’s her name?”

  “No idea.”

  “What do you mean, no idea?”

  “The voice mailbox was automated.”

  “And?”

  “What do you mean, And?”

  “And? Did you leave a message?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, that’s why!”

  “And how come you haven’t tried again?”

  Sven rolls hi
s eyes again. “Why don’t you do it!” he dares Hilke—and immediately feels like he could bite his tongue. Why would he say that?

  “I’d be more than happy to,” Hilke says cheerily. She seems barely able to fathom her good fortune.

  “But hold on! Not with my phone.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll use mine.”

  She immediately reaches for her phone and dials the number. Sven, who can’t bear to watch, shakes his head, grabs a folder full of papers, and says as he’s leaving, “Good thing I have to go to the editorial meeting now!”

  He’s out the door and a few steps down the hallway before he realizes that he doesn’t have a pen with him. He stops and considers whether he should go back to his desk to grab one, but hesitates—Hilke could interpret this as a mere pretense to disguise his curiosity and would use it against him. Of course he’s interested in knowing if she manages to get through to Lilime and above all what this mysterious person might say. Slowly he walks back to his office, but he just stands outside the closed door. He looks around to make sure no one is watching him and tries hard to understand what Hilke is saying.

  Unfortunately he can only make out a stray couple of words here and there: “Um . . . sorry . . . wrote it down wrong . . . oh, thanks . . . yes, you, too . . .”

  Sven’s heart is pounding. He feels completely ridiculous and would like to just walk right back into the office. But now he really needs to get to the conference room, he reminds himself, and hurries toward the stairs. He shakes his head again and again, and the cause isn’t just his nosey coworker. No, it’s himself above all, himself and his silly behavior.

  * * *

  • • •

  When he finally gets back to his desk, Hilke is reveling in her victory. After letting him sweat a bit, making him ask her repeatedly over the course of a few minutes, she finally dishes out the hot scoop that Lilime is indeed very much a woman and on top of that has a warm and friendly voice.

  “So anyway, we chatted a bit. I acted like I was trying to reach a certain Sven Breiding,” she proudly declares.

  Clearly she couldn’t come up with anything more original at short notice than a combination of my name and our boss’s, Sven thinks. And even though the conversation can’t have lasted more than a few seconds, that doesn’t stop Hilke from presenting him with a complete profile of Lilime’s personality.

  “She’s definitely young. But not too young! I’d guess around thirty. She sounds well educated and north German. Or at least she doesn’t have an accent and doesn’t speak funny either . . . quite the opposite: Svenny, you should have heard her. A voice clear as a bell, with a note of melancholy in it, a very cultivated way of speaking . . . I almost want to say elegant!”

  When Hilke goes on to ascribe sensuality and eroticism to the voice of the stranger on the telephone who reacted in such an exceedingly polite fashion to someone calling the wrong number, it finally gets to be too much for Sven. He heads out to lunch, shaking his head.

  But as he’s walking along the Elbe, he can’t help but make his way straight to a pay phone. Even if he feels ridiculous, he just has to know if Hilke’s assessment is even a little bit accurate.

  But what is he supposed to say when Lilime picks up? Maybe he should try to get her caught up in a dull sales pitch. He could pretend to work at a call center. Maybe a kind of sweepstakes that he has to try to get her to take part in? She might even give him her personal information if his delivery sounds sufficiently believable. Then he would at least know who he was actually dealing with here.

  Sven steps up to a pay phone, dials the number, and waits anxiously for it to start ringing. He clears his throat several times, but when he finally hears what is actually a very likable-sounding voice on the other end, he freezes up with fear.

  “Yes?”

  Contrary to the plan he had just come up with on the fly, Sven is suddenly incapable of uttering a single syllable.

  After a brief pause the voice asks: “Hello?” And again after a few seconds: “Hello?” and “Who’s there?”

  But Sven still can’t react. He’s just about to hang up, like a pimply faced teenager, when Lilime asks, in a very quiet and hesitant voice: “Ben? Is that you maybe?”

  Sven gets a terrible fright and finally slams the phone back down on the cradle as quickly as he can.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sven spends the whole rest of the day trying to get his thoughts in order. Again and again he asks himself why this complete stranger has such a hold on him. And because he can find no answer that satisfies him, he resolves to approach this thing more thoroughly than he has before.

  He begins by typing all of Lilime’s texts into a Word document and marking all the facts that are revealed in them in bold. Once he’s finished, he prints out the three letter-sized pages and puts them away for later. He’ll need some peace and quiet to conduct his analysis.

  He bikes home, opens a bottle of wheat beer, puts on the Pink Floyd album that is still sitting next to the record player, and flops down onto the couch with his feet up on the coffee table.

  He sits there brooding. All right, so what do I actually know about this woman? I know she doesn’t have many reasons to laugh right now, but that she does seem to have a romantic bent. Plus there’s a grandpa whom she loves very much. She paints moon paintings and likes to dance.

  Once more Sven reads the text that came in sometime last week, late at night:

  Right now I want to dance, dance, dance. Will you come dance with me, please, right this second? I want to see you again, hear you, smell you, taste you, and touch you. Just to touch you—that more than anything.

  Sven asks himself if he’s interested in this woman, even though—or precisely because—he knows so little about her. The thing about this whole business is that it invites him to imagine his way into the life of a stranger whose love seems strangely unfulfilled and yet so full of hope. Her deeply felt emotions leave an indelible impression on him. And at the same time, Sven can sense how the melancholy that is clearly palpable in every text somehow leaves him feeling upset. He wonders if Lilime might be some kind of sign from fate, telling him to straighten up his attitude a bit when it comes to women.

  When he and Fiona first started dating, he had sent countless messages by text or email. As the months went by, though, this habit fell by the wayside, especially since there came a point where Sven no longer knew what he could say to her. Usually they discussed everything on the phone or when they were together in person, so if anything, having to stay in touch in the meantime seemed more annoying to him than meaningful.

  Lilime’s voice is still ringing in Sven’s ears. Even if he only heard her say a few words today, he’s certain that an “I love you” from her lips would sound totally different than it did coming from Fiona’s. Different than how this worn-out line sounded in his memory.

  Sven takes another sip and turns off his stereo; the record has long since ended. He feels uneasy and doesn’t quite know why. Does he actually feel lonely? Before today he’s never asked himself that question.

  Looking through his notes again Sven realizes that the tone of Lilime’s texts in the past few days is noticeably brighter, less heavy with sadness and longing. For what it’s worth, he also knows by this point that her job might have something to do with advertising and that she seems to be successful in her work but not especially happy. Besides that, he knows that her world contains a Clara, a Katja, a Karin, a Knut, a Theo, and a Carsten, as well as a Grandpa and Grandma. A lot of it revolves around profound questions and speculation. Lilime seems to miss a man whom she loves but can’t have for some reason. Maybe, Sven conjectures, he works on an oil platform in the North Sea, or he’s on a research expedition to the North Pole—after all, Lilime has referred to someplace “up there” in a lot of the texts.

  But maybe the person the texts
are meant for simply doesn’t exist. Maybe he’s dead, lying in a coma, or is a kind of made-up figure. Like a dream man that Lilime has created in order to escape her dreary everyday life, which seems to consist exclusively of obnoxious clients, meaningless ad campaigns, socially inept coworkers, and too many long hours. And so she just typed in the phone number at random. Maybe she hopes it will lead to some exciting adventure, like a small child, full of eagerness and expectation, who puts a message in a bottle and tosses it into the ocean.

  But then again, Lilime doesn’t really seem naive or immature. The language she uses makes her seem very grown up, even if it is a bit pretentious at times. At any rate, she is clearly a person with many different facets, which sometimes seem to contradict one another. So on the one hand, Lilime seems very driven, ambitious, and grounded. And on the other, Sven believes he recognizes in her a woman who is full of melancholy, romance, and a very special tenderness.

  What does she look like? he wonders and takes a long sip of beer. He’d be into a Lilime with large breasts and long legs and long, wavy, chestnut-brown hair. A bit like Fiona. But he would guess that Lilime is more on the petite side and has delicate facial features, the kind that seem to express many things at once. She seems to be rather unsure of herself and definitely does not have her life under control. That would seem to suggest more of a short, nondescript person, a bit less than attractive, the kind of person he would pass by on the street without noticing. But if he happened to get into a conversation with her, she would definitely be able to make up for her unremarkable looks with her sensitive nature and her intellect.

  Sven can’t help grinning at the thought that he himself is well on his way to creating a kind of dream woman, and that in his imagination he allows her to get much closer to him than he would ever permit any of the real women he’s shared his bed with lately. When it comes down to it, Lilime doesn’t bother him and she doesn’t make any demands. Her texts are an interesting source of entertainment. But still, Lilime’s voice is real. And that means she really exists.