Text for You

by Sofie Cramer

  Clara watches the white speck as it goes, eyes blurry with tears. Just as the little boat turns around a bend in the river and disappears, a small gap suddenly opens up in the clouds and the sun breaks through.

  On this late afternoon that Clara thought would remain gloomy and dim, a few rays of sunlight finally make it through the gray sheet of clouds. With a meek smile and shaky knees, Clara sets off for home.

  sven

  As he’s crossing the bridges over the Elbe headed south, Sven surprises himself by letting out a quick laugh. He still can’t believe that he actually took off work early and asked Hilke to lend him her car.

  “Lüneburg! I’m almost positive it’s Lüneburg!” It was with these words that he greeted his colleague when he came into the office that morning. Excited as a little boy, he told her about the latest text from Lilime.

  “Her real name is actually Clara. Clara with a C. So probably the same Clara that Theo was going to look after.”

  Hilke flashed him a cheeky grin and promptly accused him of falling head over heels for a stranger and of being jealous to boot—all of which he happily ignored. He didn’t care if she made fun of him. The only thing he was interested in was whether Hilke was willing to do without her car for an evening.

  Naturally she would have preferred to come along herself, but she and her husband had been invited to her mother-in-law’s house tonight. Sven is glad to be able to conduct his search in peace, without Hilke spoiling everything with her annoying commentary.

  And now he’s on his way to Lüneburg to search for Lilime. The fact that the chariot conveying him to the stranger he seeks had to be an old, embarrassing Opel does put a bit of a damper on his teenager-like enthusiasm, true. But ever since he got the text yesterday, he’s been downright obsessed with giving in to his intuition and just doing something totally crazy for once. Something that feels like living—something he never would have thought he was even capable of before tonight.

  For a brief moment he looks out at the glittering water and is immediately reminded of the words Clara wrote. Even though the message moved him just as much as most of the others before it, this last one was different. It sounded like the same Lilime, full of naive longing and corny words, but at the same time he could hear Clara speaking, and she seemed in every way to be the mature and sophisticated person whom Sven had always guessed was behind Lilime.

  Even the time that the text arrived was new. Just as Sven was working on what he was going to say when he called, trying to get it just right, his phone dinged—for days he had hardly let it out of his sight.

  Sven still doesn’t actually have a plan for what to do next, but he’s optimistic that he’s getting at least a little bit closer to Clara.

  And to think that this whole time she’s been much closer than he would ever have dared to hope!

  Lüneburg is no more than thirty miles away from Hamburg, and Sven is wondering to himself why he’s never spent any time in this little medieval city, not counting a school field trip he went on as a kid. If nothing else, Lüneburg of all places apparently boasts the most bars per capita in all of Europe. At least that’s what came up while Sven was researching today, searching the internet to try to find all the Italian restaurants in town that exhibited paintings.

  Driving along on the A250 now, he pictures himself going up to a young woman on the street and asking if she knows of a good Italian restaurant. In his imagination, she would decide right there on the spot to join him for dinner and finally would turn out to be Clara.

  Sven has to grin at this silly fantasy. He turns the radio up as loud as it will go, never mind that he doesn’t even like the song that’s playing. Hilke’s pitiful CD collection is just as boring; it doesn’t offer much more than musical soundtracks and shallow soft rock. But tonight it doesn’t bother him. Tonight everything is different. He could run a marathon in under three hours, that’s how energized he feels.

  But as Sven passes the town of Winsen, the doubts start to creep in—maybe it would be wiser to give up and head back home. What happens if his search today is successful and all of a sudden he’s really standing before the real Clara? What is he actually supposed to say? Will he even like her? What if she’s both dumb and dumb-looking? Or even worse: What if Clara is such a beautiful vision of a woman that he can’t think of a single sensible thing to say that doesn’t sound too much like a crude come-on?

  He keeps going through many more possibilities in his head, and meanwhile the time passes so quickly that he’s downright startled to see a sign all of a sudden that reads “Lüneburg North.” He follows the signs that lead him toward the city center until he comes to a red light and has to stop. Sven hesitates. Should he take this as an omen and turn back right now?

  But when the light turns green his foot hits the gas pedal; it’s almost like he’s in a trance. Not five minutes later he finds a parking space on a little square right next to the pedestrian zone. Before he gets out he looks down at his phone’s display to read Clara’s text one more time.

  Oh Ben, I’m so incredibly sorry that I couldn’t help you. If there’s even anything to forgive, then I forgive you. And I promise you I’ll take care of myself as best I can. The Ilmenau has carried your letter away, but I’ll carry you in my heart forever. Clara

  The words move him. Will Clara be able to forgive me, too? Sven wonders. After all, I’m literally spying on her.

  He takes a deep breath, then he gets out of the car and marches off.

  clara

  This one! This one just has to be part of the show!” Karin says proudly. Her eyes are almost shining as she lifts up the square canvas that shows a beach scene in Hohwacht in harsh, alienating colors.

  Clara doesn’t particularly like this painting. She painted it when she was feeling, yet again, like she’d been abandoned by her mother and was thinking back on that vacation on the Baltic. True, she had always enjoyed the walks that she, Lisbeth, and Willy took, but nevertheless, every day of that vacation there were unvoiced reproaches and accusations hanging in the air.

  Her grandmother never saying a word, but expressing with her looks and gestures how little she understood her daughter-in-law. And her grandfather, behind closed doors in the bedroom of the rental apartment, lamenting in a whisper to Lisbeth, wondering aloud why Karin so often left her daughter to fend for herself when she was still so little and needed her mother more than ever.

  Now would really be a good opportunity to finally have it out with my mother, thinks Clara as she stares absently at the painting. But ever since Ben’s letter turned up she just hasn’t had the energy for anything—and definitely not for an argument.

  Even though the summer weather has proved to be especially pleasant in the past few weeks, Clara feels like it’s the worst time of the year, as when winter fills her with a sense of melancholy and she fears, this time, it won’t ever disappear.

  “Hey, what’s going on with you?” her mother asks suddenly, and to Clara’s ears it sounds like an affront. She’d really like to just let it all out: My boyfriend is dead, my mother is heartless, I’m about to be out of a job, and I’m never going to find a man who I can have kids with. I’m goddamn lonely!

  Instead all she says is: “Oh, nothing. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder; you’ve been getting so little sleep lately. And I’ll bet you’re not eating enough either, hmm?”

  “I don’t even know what we’re doing here,” Clara grumbles quietly to herself.

  Her mother tries to get a smile out of her: “Oh, honey. Having doubts is part of the process. But you’re well on your way to turning your hobby into a career. And that’s a wonderful thing! Lots of people would envy you for this opportunity.”

  “I know. I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. But what if I waste all of Grandma’s money?” Clara can’t stand up anymore. Her legs give out. She sl
ides slowly down the wall and ends up crouching down on the floor of the long, narrow hallway in her apartment. In this position she feels even smaller than usual. She can’t help thinking of the hopeful smiles on Lisbeth’s and Willy’s faces when the two of them proudly announced that they would like to use the inheritance from Lisbeth’s aunt to support her in her career as a painter.

  “But they’re happy to give you the money! And it’s not as though they’d been counting on receiving an inheritance. Definitely not such a large one. But you can do something really meaningful with it!”

  “Ugh, and what if they wanted to travel around the world? Would that be any less meaningful?”

  Her mother kneels down close to her and looks at her lovingly.

  “But honey, what would you do if you were in their place? Don’t you think they would give anything they could to see you happy again?”

  Suddenly Clara feels even smaller. What she really wants more than anything is for someone to put her arms around her and just let her go to sleep. For her mother to never leave her again. Clara is all mixed up. All the paintings around her are full of emotion—and yet they represent the same feelings over and over again.

  “Why did you always dump me with them?” The words suddenly burst out of her. She can’t look her mother in the eye and buries her face in her hands.

  “Why did I what? I . . . dumped you?” Karin asks so softly that Clara can barely hear her. “I thought you always liked being with your grandparents?”

  Clara lifts her head and looks her mother right in the eye. The look on her face is glowering. “Of course I did. That’s because they were there for me when I needed them.”

  For a few moments there is only silence.

  “And I wasn’t there for you?” Clara’s mother asks, stunned. She sits down next to Clara on the floor.

  Clara feels a lump in her throat. Tears well up inside her, but she tries to choke them back as best she can.

  Karin asks a second time: “What’s going on in that head of yours? Talk to me!”

  “Ugh, you probably don’t even care.”

  “What? . . . What did I do to you? Did I say something wrong?”

  “You didn’t say anything! That’s the problem . . .” Clara gives her mother a furious look.

  “Didn’t say anything about what, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Like about why you just took off after Dad died!”

  Karin has to let this accusation sink in before she can respond. She stands back up, looks down at Clara, and says seriously: “So you think I went off and had a nice vacation while you grieved alone with Lisbeth and Willy?”

  Clara looks meekly at the floor. A tear rolls down her cheek; she can’t help it. She shrugs her shoulders.

  “But you know I needed distance from all of it. I always thought being with the two of them was the best place for you to be.”

  “I was still alone.”

  “And I was at the end of my rope. How was I supposed to be there for you when I was lost myself?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. You were happy that Dad was finally out of the way!”

  “Clara!” Karin shouts. Clara has never heard her shout like that before.

  Now Clara stands up as well. She draws herself up, looks right at her mother and says: “Other than at the funeral I never once saw you crying!” The moment she says this, Clara regrets her harsh words. She bites her lip.

  The corners of Karin’s mouth start to tremble. She stares at Clara in disbelief and places a hand on her arm.

  “Clara. Please believe me, when I think of your dad and how much he suffered, it still feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me. It’s true I was relieved when he was finally released from the pain he was in. But to this day I still love him—just as much as I love you!” There’s a tremor in her voice now. After a short while she continues: “How many times do you think I sat crying in silence, long after you’d gone to bed?”

  Clara lets out a breath—she hadn’t exhaled all the time Clara was talking—and now asks: “But why did you never say anything?”

  “I always tried to spare you from having to see too much of all of that. It went back to when your dad urged me not to tell you anything about his illness for as long as I could. We wanted you to have as carefree a life as possible!”

  “But maybe that just made it even worse.”

  “Oh, honey, come here,” her mother whispers and puts her arms around Clara. Her embrace is gentle and yet firm enough that for a moment Clara feels like a pitiful little kid.

  Suddenly Clara can’t find the words for everything else she still wants to say to her mother. But for the first time in her life she feels like her mother understands her—and without any uselessly long explanations.

  Karin strokes her hair. She speaks again in a soft voice: “I know that I didn’t do everything right back then. But like any mother I only ever wanted what was best for my child! You would try to shield your daughter as much as you could, too.”

  “But I’ll probably never have kids!” Clara says feebly, her face still buried in her mother’s shoulder.

  “Of course you will, if that’s what you want. You’ll find a new person to love. Someone different, but without a doubt someone who will give you a child. And all that I would wish for is that your child be just as enchanting a person as you are. And that’s exactly why Lisbeth and Willy are giving you the money—because it’s in good hands with you and they love you more than anything.”

  Clara can’t help it anymore now. She can’t get out another word. She’s sobbing so hard that she can hardly breathe.

  Before she found the courage to say something to her mother about how worried she was that she would never have children, Clara hadn’t really been aware of how much of a concern this clearly was for her. She’d always thought that Ben’s asking her to marry him automatically meant yes to having a child. Because he wanted children, too; Clara knew he did.

  On just their second date at Cheers Clara had been impressed by the casual way Ben had of getting right to the heart of whatever matter he was speaking about. He had come home with her, kissed her passionately as soon as they got through the door, and then asked her to give him the full tour of her apartment—including the bedroom. He had stopped in front of a photo of Clara as a child.

  “When I’m grown up, I’d like to have a couple of cute little rug rats myself. How about you?”

  Clara has to smile at the memory of him saying this. But it comes with a bitter aftertaste. How naive they’d been! Not once had they discussed the subject in a mature, detailed way.

  Nevertheless, in all the years she was with Ben she had never really doubted that she would have children. She had even felt sorry for people like Katja who made a conscious decision not to have kids. Even if Clara can no longer bear to be around some of her old friends these days because their world revolves entirely around their children, she had always told herself that she would do it all differently. She’d always wanted to try to have a career and not become one of these mothers who isn’t interested in anything anymore besides diapers and baby clothes. And she was so happy to have found in Ben a partner who seemed to feel the same way she did.

  But now that she’s read the farewell letter her suspicion has turned to certainty: Children would have meant responsibility, and Ben probably felt a lot of pressure whenever she raised the subject. Or had he just possessed far more foresight than she did? Had he known, or sensed, that they were both still far too deeply stuck in their own childhoods? Would they have been at all capable of instilling in their child the basic sense of trust that all children need?

  Clara feels a lump in her throat. After everything that has happened in the past few months, the desire for a child has faded so far into the background that for the first time in her life she’s not sure anymore if she really would like to be a mo
ther someday. She feels like she’s at a crossroads with too many turnings and not a single one of them is marked.

  But she’s happy that she has her family. Her mother and her grandparents. And in this moment Clara is filled with a massive feeling of gratitude. She hugs her mother even tighter. Finally she can let her mother see her feeling small or weak. And she’s also very thankful to have received such a generous gift from Lisbeth and Willy. She’ll be able to afford the rent for her own studio for some time, even if self-employment doesn’t work out quite as she’d dreamed it would.

  Clara senses a fresh surge of energy flowing through her body. She nods at her mother; things are okay now between them. First thing tomorrow she’s going to load up the car and take her best paintings to Beppo at the restaurant.

  Maybe I should invite my family and friends out for dinner at Castello, thinks Clara. This weekend, for example, I could celebrate the kickoff of my new era of professional freedom and thank those dear to me for all their wonderful support. Actually next Saturday is just about ideal. Clara is warming to the idea even more—because Saturday is her birthday.

  Up until now the day has been a source of dread more than anything else. It’s her first birthday without Ben, and after the great celebration last year, she wasn’t sure what she should do this year. But now she has a reason to actually look forward to it!

  Clara decides to give Ben the good news this very night.

  sven

  Sven looks thoughtfully out the window of his office at the many cranes working without cease on the harbor. Again his thoughts are on Clara and yesterday evening in Lüneburg.

  He walked around the Old City for more than three hours. The longer he walked the streets, the more beautiful, but also eerie, the atmosphere that was given off by all these small, eccentric buildings seemed to him. It seemed fitting that he was on the lookout for a woman he barely knew anything about—not what she looked like, not even if she really existed at all. Sure, he knew there was a Clara in Lüneburg whose heart was broken and whom he found fascinating, despite the fact or maybe even because of it. But he has no idea if the image he’s formed of an imaginary Clara comes even close to resembling the real person.