They switched off the light in the kitchen and went into the living room. Benno had insisted on real candles, and walked around the tree with a lighter in his hand. In his childhood, this had always been the big moment, and an echo of that time was still noticeable.
For a few moments they sat quietly until Tim couldn’t take it anymore.
“What should I unwrap first?” he asked.
“Always the biggest first,” Benno said.
“No, you must save that until the end,” Carolin replied with a grin.
Tim stood irresolute beside the tree. The pleasant smell of the needles spread in the house, and Rasmus stood wide-eyed next to Tim and sniffed at the wrapping paper. Finally, the boy rushed to the largest of the packages and ripped it open.
“A race track,” he said breathlessly, and opened the colorful box. Soon he was buried under an avalanche of paper.
Benno had bought Carolin a new, thick bathrobe.
“I’ve got something for you too,” she said, and reached for the smallest package under the tree. Excitedly, she watched as he unpacked it. It was a brown box from a jeweler in Lübeck. Benno carefully opened the lid. Under a layer of cotton wool was a small silver cross.
“I hope you like it,” Carolin said softly. He nodded. He had expected nothing of the kind, and felt paralyzed. “Thanks,” he said, and then had the presence of mind to ask her to put it around his neck.
Her smile told him that it was the right answer. She stood up quickly, came up behind him, and locked the chain.
“Well?” he asked, and unbuttoned his shirt in front.
“Splendid,” she said proudly, and gave him a kiss.
“Disgusting,” Tim said.
A noise at the front door interrupted their laughter. A few seconds later Benno stood at the entrance and peered through the small glass window. There was no one there.
He opened the door and stepped into the night. The yard lay dark and deserted before him. From the main road only an occasional car could be heard. Everyone in the village was probably busy unwrapping gifts. Or maybe not everyone. Because at his feet lay a package wrapped in brown paper. Tim’s name was written in large letters on it. It was very light, not a lot could be in it.
He walked slowly back inside. Tim stood in the hall and looked at him questioningly.
“Did I get anything?”
“Seems so,” said Benno and wondered how many gifts from complete strangers Tim had actually received. It hadn’t even occurred to the boy that the package could be for someone else. “Let’s unwrap it together.”
He went into the living room, blew out the last candle on the tree and led the way into the kitchen. “Careful,” he warned the boy. “We don’t know what it is.”
With serious faces, they all sat down at the table and pushed aside the potato chips. After what had happened in church, Benno expected the worst. “Let’s do it,” he said softly and tried to smile.
“Shouldn’t we . . .” Carolin tried to interrupt, but Tim had already torn the paper and was opening the cardboard box inside.
“Oh.” The boy made a long face. “That’s stupid—a crown!” Then he put it on the table. “That’s something for girls.”
It was made of sheet gold, unadorned and without stones. Still, it wasn’t shabby, and the five points had been carefully honed and polished.
“Yes, that’s for girls. This is really stupid.” Benno took the crown and placed it back in the box. “Okay, who wants some hot chocolate?” He stood up and went over to the stove. His hands trembled and almost dropped the pot. He looked out the window into the night, only not to look at the table and the crown again, but all he could see was a pale face that, he realized after a moment of shock, was his own. The features were blurred, his eyes were sunken in their sockets. It looked anxious and afraid, this face. He mustn’t let Tim see it.
When he was little, the first day of Christmas had belonged to relatives, the second day to friends and acquaintances of his parents. It had been boring, but Benno had received gifts for two more days. Here in Strathleven they had no relatives or colleagues, and he was grateful for this new kind of boredom, which was interrupted only by walks, old movies on television, and new candles on the tree.
On the afternoon of the 26th, the doorbell rang, and Benno was surprised to see the pastor. Cornelius was wearing jeans, sports shoes and an oversized sweater that appeared to be hand knitted.
“I really must apologize to you.” In the gray daylight and surrounded by thawing snow, he did not look like a pastor at all. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you on Christmas Eve.”
Benno nodded. He had not expected an apology and would have preferred not to get one.
“Who were the people outside the church?” he asked. “It was the Wild Hunt, right?”
“Ah, old superstitions. I behaved childishly.” Cornelius probably intended to look contrite, but he did not succeed. For no apparent reason, he seemed to enjoy the memory of that incident. “A few stupid folks who wanted to play a prank on the man in black.”
“Who’s the king?” Benno asked, before realizing that they were still standing outside the door. “You want to come in?”
“Oh no, thank you.” Cornelius said quickly. “I wanted to invite you. You and Mrs. Schmied and her son. My wife has been baking, and we thought . . . we’re neighbors. I’m not here as your pastor. Would four o’clock work for you?”
Benno could have imagined a more agreeable afternoon, but he knew Carolin would insist. He nodded.
“Do you know him?”
“Who?”
“The king?”
“What do you mean?” Cornelius looked at the sleeves of his sweater, which were much too long and made his hands disappear.
“Have you not seen the slogans in the village?”
For a moment it looked as if the pastor might burst into tears, he seemed so concerned all of a sudden. Then he quickly said, “At four, then,” nodded, and walked over to Mrs. Schmied’s door.
“Do I really have to go?” Tim looked almost as unhappy as his dog. Then he glanced in Carolin’s direction and immediately surrendered.
“They’ll have cake,” Benno tried to comfort him, but after days of jelly stars, dominoes and marzipan potatoes, Tim seemed unconvinced.
Mrs. Schmied and Manfred were already there, and the whole Cornelius family seemed to have gathered in the living room and kitchen. The TV was on, Mrs. Cornelius was wearing a dark red dress, and the pastor was still buried in his too big sweater.
“Come on in, come in,” he said in his strained baritone. “Sit down and please don’t touch the cookies. Feel at home—at home you’re on a budget as well.”
“Don’t listen to Walter’s jokes,” his wife said, rolling her eyes. “If he has nothing to do, he’s simply intolerable.”
It was the first time that Benno heard the pastor’s first name and it felt inappropriate, as if his wife had made a dirty joke.
“Anita mostly finds me intolerable,” the pastor said, grinning broadly.
“Shhh,” said one of the girls. She was watching television.
“We can turn off that box,” threatened the pastor.
While Tim joined the children, Cornelius took their coats and led his guests into the kitchen. It was a large, yellow-tiled room, with a table that could have seated twenty people. The table and chairs looked shabby and the walls above the tiles were in need of fresh paint.
Biscuits were on the table, and Mrs. Cornelius had just made fresh coffee. Her short hair was gray and looked a lot like thick wire.
“Beer?” asked the pastor. Benno turned his eyes away from Mrs. Cornelius and nodded.
“Wine for the ladies?”
Mrs. Schmied smiled. “But only a tiny glass.”
“I shouldn’t offer you any alcohol,” the pastor stage-whispered. “But the flesh, even a pastor’s flesh, is sometimes weak.”
“Is Mr. Heintz coming too?” Benno asked.
“He can’t
,” the widow said quickly. “His hip is giving him trouble.”
“Age is not a cakewalk,” said the pastor, grinning incessantly.
“Have you ever seen the Wild Hunt before? Does it ride through the village every year?” Since the pastor wasn’t by himself and had to be polite, he hoped to get answers this time.
“Not for a long time,” the widow said with a sigh. “When I was a young girl, it still came through the village every year, but those were the bad years. I was hoping never to see them again. It’s a shame.”
Mrs. Cornelius put the coffee on the table, cut the cake and put large slices on everybody’s plates. “Beer and cake.” She frowned.
“Heaven!” her husband said and stroked her arm.
“And have they always attacked the church?” Benno asked.
“No,” said Mrs. Schmied. “That was the first time.”
The pastor looked worried. “The window will cost a few hundred marks.”
“Do you know who the riders were?”
An uncomfortable silence ensued. Mrs. Schmied and the pastor chewed with devotion. Only Manfred hummed to himself.
“Will you go to the police?” Benno received a worried look from Carolin, but he wouldn’t back down. “You must have recognized the woman’s voice, right? Someone must have recognized it.”
The pastor took a sip of beer, licked his lips, then said, “It’s a small village. We are a small congregation. Many people are not especially fond of us. We don’t go around pressing charges.”
“The stone could have hurt someone.”
“You should be happy that nothing happened,” Mrs. Schmied said quickly. Then she looked at the pastor for help.
“It’s just a bit of glass,” Cornelius said. “We want to show love, not hate.”
Benno thought of Martin Wehrke, and what he had said about the pastor’s abhorrence of homosexuality, of the so-called peace protest and the ugly leaflets. But he sat at Cornelius’ table and didn’t want to make a scene in front of Tim and Carolin.
“What does all this have to do with the king?” he asked instead.
“Oh, just listen to you.” Mrs. Schmied might have wanted to sound more conciliatory, but her tone was sharp and even Manfred stopped humming and stared at his mother.
“Someone walks around and sprays slogans on people’s houses. The king must die. Don’t you find that strange?”
The widow looked at him directly. “Stupid talk. There is no king. Who should it be? There is only one king, and that is our Lord!”
“Amen,” said Mrs. Cornelius and got up from her seat.
The rest of the afternoon Benno tried to fix the damage his questions had done. Which for the most part meant that he kept his mouth shut. But as much as he struggled to remain polite, Carolin refused to acknowledge him. When she finally got up from the pastor’s kitchen table, he had the vague feeling that he would spend the night on the sofa again.
It was pitch dark outside. Benno had forgotten to turn on the light over their door, and so they walked cautiously on the half thawed, half frozen snow, trying not to trip. Carolin remained silent, and after he had unlocked the door, she walked past him into the kitchen without another word.
Rasmus was overjoyed to see them again, jumped up at Tim and nearly threw him to the ground. “We have to take him out for a walk,” Benno said. He wasn’t ready to face Carolin yet, and so the two of them made off with Rasmus. The sidewalks had only been partially shoveled. Even the road was slippery.
“Mom is mad at you,” Tim said matter-of-factly.
“True,” Benno said.
“Why did no one answer your questions?”
“Were you listening to us?” Benno shrugged. “If only I knew. Were the kids nice to you?”
“I guess,” he said undecided. “Am I the king?”
“Why do you ask?”
Tim groaned. “I’m not stupid.”
Benno nodded. “I don’t know why you got the crown.”
“It wasn’t meant for a girl, right?”
“Why?”
“It belongs to the king. Angela said that.”
“The pastor’s daughter?”
Tim nodded. “Do I have to die now?”
“Of course not,” Benno said firmly. “This is silly nonsense.”
“But you asked about the king yourself. You don’t believe it’s nonsense.”
“I know that you’re not a king. Kings have horses and servants. And you have nothing. You only have a dog.”
“And the gifts?”
“That is really weird,” Benno admitted. What else could he do? “But surely there is a simple explanation for everything.” But he wasn’t so certain. The reaction of the pastor had done nothing to alleviate his fear. What did the people conceal from him? “Let’s go home before Carolin gets really pissed off,” he said.
They turned around toward the old school and cleaned Rasmus’ paws extra carefully. Before closing the door, Benno saw Mr. Heintz stepping out of his entrance and crossing the front yard. With firm steps, the old man hurried down to the village. His hips didn’t seem to give him any trouble. Whom in the village would he pay a visit?
16
On 27 December, a Tuesday, Benno had to go back to the office. Hecht was still with his girlfriend on Sylt, and the atmosphere in the newsroom on Hüxstraße was generally sleepy. The small kitchen was full of stollen, cinnamon stars and other sweets, and in the afternoon, Holger pulled a bottle of cognac from his bag and poured some in everyone’s coffee.
Benno was sitting at the desk working on his January schedule. He checked the games he would attend, and got up from time to time to stretch. He had indeed spent the night on the sofa, and his left side was still sore and numb. His neck was aching. He buried his head in his hands and closed his eyes.
“Is everything all right? Or is this a bad moment for a visit?”
Benno sat up abruptly. He stared at his visitor with wide eyes and shook his head. “No, it’s okay,” he said at last.
“You look pretty horrible.” Hanne’s short, red hair glistened wet, and raindrops ran down her coat. “Should I come back another time?”
“Nah, that’s alright,” Holger, who appeared behind her, said. “All he needs is some cognac.” And he soon returned with his bottle and two glasses, and Benno introduced Hanne.
“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asked and smelled the amber liquid. That alone was enough to clear his head. Disgusted, he put the glass on the desk.
“Thank you,” Hanne said in Holger’s direction, “but I still have to work.”
“Shame.” Holger poured the contents of her glass in Benno’s and took a sip. “Ghastly stuff,” he said, and slipped away with a wink.
“Coffee then,” Hanne said.
In the rain they hurried through the streets, and sat down on the first floor of a cafe on Königstraße, with a view of St. Catherine’s Church.
“Returns,” Hanne said as she caught Benno staring at the countless plastic bags of two women near them.
“Better than Christmas.”
“Are you happy? That I visited you?”
Benno looked at her far too long. “Yes,” he finally said.
“At least it sounded convincing.”
“Good,” Benno said.
“But you wouldn’t have come back to the library.”
“Maybe not.”
“The kiss?”
He shook his head. He wasn’t even sure what or whom he was trying to avoid. “Maybe I don’t really trust myself.”
“Is that kind of a compliment?”
“Somehow. Yes.” He grinned sheepishly.
The coffee came, and Benno paid. Suddenly he felt the desire to spend the night in Lübeck. The two women at the next table showed each other their new acquisitions, laughing from time to time at he didn’t know what.
“What scares me most is that Tim doesn’t want to be healthy.”
Hanne looked at him questioningly.
&
nbsp; “I think he enjoys the attention. And the people in the village offer him gifts, they treat him like a minor celebrity.” He told her what had happened in the days before Christmas, about the crown, the riders in front of the church and the sprayed slogans. “I really believe he thinks he is a king. And that he’s in danger. But he takes everything so stoically. I can’t make any sense of the situation.”
Hanne nodded, and he was grateful that she had no advice for him, no empty phrases.
“What does your wife say?” she finally asked.
Benno sighed. He didn’t want to talk to another woman about his marriage. But who else could he confide in? Hanne was the only person he knew and who had nothing to do with his work or his family. Almost a girlfriend.
“She . . . she doesn’t pay the king or the horsemen any attention. I think she thinks that this is all just a bad joke. To annoy the pastor. For being a Baptist and overzealous.”
“And you?”
“No idea. But it scares me. I grew up in a small town, and I knew all the people, but nobody ever offered me toy cars and chocolate.”
“But you didn’t have any scars.”
“That only makes it scarier. I have no idea what they want from Tim. It’s rumored that he’s invulnerable. There’s just no end to this, as if the village were waiting for something to happen. That Tim blesses them or heals them all and makes them rich.” Church bells began to ring, and Benno looked at his clock. It was 5:30.
“Don’t you have to go back to work?” he asked.
“I’m not working today. That was a little white lie.” She laughed at him. “I just came by to see you.”
“You’re not returning any gifts?”
“What I gave to myself cannot be returned.” She winked.
“Oh,” he said.
“But I can’t show you here.”
He grinned, looked into his half-empty cup. The coffee was bitter and sour, only Holger’s cognac might have saved it.
“Are you going to visit me again some time, or should we say good-bye here?” Hanne asked into the silence.
He looked at her, let his gaze wander over the made-up eyes, her rouged cheeks, the full and yet somehow small mouth. Her ears had the roundest lobes he had ever seen. He didn’t want to find her beautiful. With an ugly woman he could have coffee, with a woman who would never kiss him and whom he didn’t want to kiss. No, he didn’t want to find her beautiful. “Yes, I’ll visit again.” He wondered if it was the truth.
Knives, Forks, Scissors, Flames Page 14
