by Hill, Roxann
“Your passport. I can only hand this ticket to Ms. Michaela Krämer. I need to check your personal data.”
“But, as I just explained to your pubescent colleague, the one with the acne, my purse got stolen. My purse with the ticket and my passport. And if I don’t catch my flight, I’ll lose the man I love, my future, and everything that I worked years to build. Do you think you can take all of that from me just because you bake your Christmas cookies with butter?”
A gray-haired colleague came over from the neighboring counter. He wore an unflatteringly cut blue-and-white suit. There must have been a nest somewhere.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Problem?” I shouted. “There is no problem here! This walking Christmas elf”—I pointed to the woman behind the counter— “refuses to give me my ticket. She’s purposely trying to destroy my life!”
The man looked questioningly at his colleague, who seemed not to have gotten my insult. She was scratching herself with the pencil again, this time on her forehead. “She has no passport,” she said.
The man turned to me. “You have no passport?”
“No passport? Of course I have a passport! Just not here. Or, rather . . . wait!” I reached into the purse, pulled out the wrongly folded map of Paris, and banged it on the counter.
“Here’s my passport. And if that’s not enough, here’s another,” I said, tossing the pack of Marlboros next to it. “I have all types of passports in this bag. Just give me my ticket!”
A diabolical smile appeared on the counter-woman’s face. She again held out my ticket within my reach, and then tore it apart in one swift motion.
She raised her hand and called out, “Security! This woman would like to go.” As if out of nowhere, two brawny guys appeared on either side of me, grabbed me under my armpits, turned me around, and led me—or, to be more precise, carried me—out of the airport. The man from the neighboring counter followed us with my two suitcases.
Outside, it was almost dark. The cars were driving with lights on, and it had grown even colder. The gray-haired man set my bags on the sidewalk next to an enormous mound of snow and made a quick hand motion. The musclemen let me go.
“Well, Ms. Krämer,” he said. “We are very sorry about your situation. But we are in no way responsible. Should you enter our airport again, I will have you arrested for disturbance of airport activity. Do you understand?”
This time, all I could do was nod in silence.
He turned around, paused a moment, and then faced me again. “And we wish you pleasant holidays, of course.”
He’s probably still grinning with schadenfreude at this very moment.
I stood on the sidewalk with airplanes taking off and landing all around me, so close and yet so far. Not a single person who knew and cared about me in sight. Banished, humiliated, and completely alone in the world.
A bus stopped across the street. Its destination sign read “Center.”
I couldn’t stay here. Perhaps someone would help me in the city. A German consulate was there. I could ask the bus driver to let me get on without paying. Or I could simply risk it and evade the fare. I made an instinctive decision, grabbed my suitcases, and began climbing over the mound of snow that loomed between me and the street’s curb. I’d almost gotten past the summit when one of the bags got stuck. I didn’t want to let go. It was the last thing I still owned. So I pulled harder—but it wouldn’t budge. Furious, I yanked on it with all my strength. It came unstuck all at once, and I tumbled backward into the middle of the road.
As two headlights approached, I immediately realized that the car wouldn’t be able to brake in time. It was about to run me over. I closed my eyes and awaited my violent end.
To my great surprise, I heard an infernal screech. I opened my eyes to see an enormous red-pink hunk of rust standing half a meter in front of my face.
The driver’s side door opened, and David stepped out. He said something I couldn’t understand. And this time, I really fainted.
8
I awoke as if out of a deep sleep—fresh and oddly rested. I lay on my back, on the sidewalk. Directly above me was a small freckle-faced girl with huge blue eyes and brown locks. Then someone from behind sat me up halfway and held me by my shoulders.
The girl’s cheeky blue eyes examined me intensely. “Are you dead?” Emma asked. And in that moment, everything came back to me.
“I wish I were,” I said, starting to sob.
“Well, you certainly gave it a good shot!” That was David’s voice behind me. “What were you thinking, climbing that snow mound? You almost got yourself killed! Completely irresponsible.”
Instead of replying, I sobbed even harder. Then I stammered, “I w-want to go into the ci-ci-city. I want to go to—to the consulate. I—I need money and a pa-assport. I want to go h-home!”
A large hand nudged Emma a little bit to the side, and then David’s face appeared in my field of vision. He seemed upset. “If you go to the consulate now, you won’t be able to accomplish anything. They’re closed at this hour.”
“B-but I have to f-fly to Berlin im-immediately. At all costs.”
“Fly? We’re getting hit with a real blizzard. This place will be completely snowed in. All the planes in Geneva will be grounded for the next few days.”
David stood up and reached down for my hands. With his help, I got up awkwardly, rocking back and forth.
“Did you hear what I said?” he asked. “Anyone who doesn’t leave this evening will probably need to wait until Christmas.”
“Christmas?” I screamed. “You beast! You monster! By then my life will be completely ruined!”
David tried to placate me, but his kindness did just the opposite. Desperately, I beat on his chest. It was as hard as a rock, and my fists accomplished nothing. But it felt good to get out some of my frustration.
After awhile, he held down my hands and pulled me closer. As I came up for air, exhausted, he said, “Emma and I need to get to Berlin, too.”
“And?” I said, breathless.
“If you want, we’ll take you with us.” He let go of my wrists but continued holding me still with his dark-blue eyes.
“Really?” I said. “That’s right. You’re driving to Berlin. But . . .” Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks as I pointed at the red-pink monster. “In this car?”
A proud smile came over David’s face. “I see that you’ve fallen in love with the Citroën.”
A small hand grabbed my right one. I looked down and was confronted by those wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that right?” Emma said. “We have the most beautiful car in the whole world! And you, Michelle, are even allowed to sit up front with Papa!”
I had no idea how to respond to this childish logic. Also, I felt a new bout of dizziness coming on, as though I might lose consciousness again.
Powerless, I fell forward. But this time David was there to catch me. His arms were around my back and my hips. And it felt good, the way he stood there, hugging and supporting me. Maybe he even held me for a moment longer than he needed to.
I got bashful and took a step back.
“Question,” he said.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah?”
“Please don’t think I’m being importunate, but when was the last time you ate something?”
“Food? This morning,” I said. “A little fruit salad without sugar, a decaf coffee with sweetener and skim milk.”
“That’s it?”
“After that, my purse got stolen. The taxi driver abandoned meat the rest stop. I escaped from the pig truck, walked twelve kilometers on the side of the highway, and ruined my most expensive boots in the snowstorm.”
David raised his hand and, to my own surprise, I fell silent. “I think,” he said, “that we should get you something to eat.”
I wanted to
deliver a quick-witted response, but I simply uttered, “That makes sense.”
David led me to the car while Emma watched my suitcases. It was easy—all we had to do was to walk around the mound of snow. Why hadn’t I seen that option before? Climbing the mound and falling down the other side hadn’t been necessary at all.
The Citroën, which looked as dingy and run-down as it had an hour ago, was relatively warm inside, and the leather of the old seats smelled pretty good. While David struggled to stow my luggage in the trunk for the second time today, Emma crawled up from the backseat. She rested her hand on my shoulder, pressed her tiny face next to mine, and whispered, “I was hoping you’d come back. You’re funny. We always have fun with you.”
I patted her arm just as David opened the driver’s side door. He slid behind the wheel and gave me a conspiratorial look.
“Yes?” I asked.
“What do you think—is it going to start?” Without awaiting my response, he reached for the ignition. This time I was ready. A short, hard bang followed by a tremor that rocked the car chugged us into motion.
“Yahoo! We’re moving!” Emma cheered.
I leaned back in my seat and exhaled deeply.
“Papa, Papa!” Emma said. “You forgot something!” She pointed to the old radio. “Michelle loves music. Maybe you’ll find a Christmas song.”
David pushed the half-broken button, the antique speaker crackled, and I braced myself for George Michael’s voice.
Far from it!
It was Bing Crosby’s turn, and the blithering idiot was actually dreaming of a white Christmas.
9
The tires rumbled clumsily over the fresh snow. Night had fallen, and the headlights were tearing yellow holes into it.
“Where are we going now?” Emma asked.
“Well,” David said, “it’s late and we’re all pretty hungry. It’s time to go get something to eat.”
“McDonald’s!” Emma cheered. “We’re going to McDonald’s!”
The shock of hearing that was so big that my heart missed a beat before it started pumping heavily. I had taken for granted that we’d go to a real restaurant—sure, probably one for average people, and, for all I knew, one without a single star, but one that would at least have menus, tablecloths, and waiters. Now it was clear that we were on our way to a greasy fry joint.
“I haven’t any money,” I said.
“That’s OK,” David said. “We can afford to feed one more mouth.”
At the edge of the road, I spotted a sign with the characteristic golden “M” against the red background and the number of kilometers remaining. David slowed down and turned.
“Can’t we go somewhere else?” I asked meekly.
David shook his head. “I’ve tried, believe me. But when we’re away from home, Emma won’t eat anywhere else.”
“Exactly,” Emma chimed. She bounced in her seat. “Michelle, you’ll see! They have the best food! You don’t even need plates or silverware. And it doesn’t even matter if you stain your clothes.”
I gave her a pained smile, looked back at the road, and said to David, “Surely you know that this devil of a company gets children addicted by conning them into eating unhealthy food with the help of plastic toys? I think it’s irresponsible of you to expose Emma to it.”
David gave me a derisive look. “Maybe so, Michelle, but it would be absolutely irresponsible to let Emma starve.”
I didn’t want his comment to go unanswered, but the brakes screeched, and he drove into the parking lot. He cut the engine, this time without any grand gestures. From my seat, I could see straight through the glass storefront into the restaurant. Dozens of people sat inside, stuffing themselves with cholesterol-rich fast food. I suddenly felt ill. I could almost taste the disgusting fat on my tongue.
“Well, are you coming with us?” David asked. Emma had already gotten out and was dancing around the car.
“No,” I said. “Go ahead. Please don’t mind me at all.”
David gave me a scrutinizing look before pressing his lips together in resignation. “Your loss. If you change your mind, we’ll be inside.”
He closed the door, took Emma by the hand, and they disappeared into the restaurant. Honestly, I was a bit annoyed by David’s reaction. He could have tried a bit harder to persuade me. Then I would have had the chance to school him condescendingly. But he wouldn’t do me that favor. He might have been poor, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew that he’d end up with the short end of the stick with me.
I kept watching people go to their seats with their big trays and happily stuff their bellies. They lacked any sort of eating culture, not to mention basic table manners.
It was stifling in the car, so I rolled down my window a crack. It put up a fight and made a horrible creaking noise. The chilly air felt good, but the scent of fresh snow was mixed with something else. The smell of fried food.
My stomach growled in pain. I had to bend forward to calm it down.
And then something happened that I never would have thought possible: I opened the door, jumped out of the car, and rushed into the joint. I knew that I’d hate myself for it. I knew I’d be ashamed of it for the rest of my life. But my body proved stronger than my mind.
As soon as I pushed through the swinging glass door, I spotted Emma and David. They sat alone at a small table. I walked over to them. Well, to be honest, I think I ran. Emma and David were just starting to eat. A third plastic tray of food was waiting in front of an empty seat.
Without saying a word, without even looking at either one of them, I sat down, ripped open the cardboard box, took out the huge burger (it was so big that I could barely hold it), and allowed myself to enjoy it. In between bites, I stuffed handfuls of fries into my mouth and washed them down with a sugary cola.
This must have been how a junkie feels when he uses again after abstaining for years.
It was only after I was finished that I realized David and Emma were watching me, spellbound.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. I slurped the rest of my cola through the wide straw.
David made a vague hand gesture. “Nothing.”
But Emma didn’t hold back. “Wow!” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so fast before.”
“It wasn’t that much,” I argued lamely.
David pointed to the empty packaging piled up on my tray. Only then did I realize how much more I’d eaten than I’d actually been aware of.
“Two big burgers,” David said, “and three portions of fries.”
“Papa, you forgot my apple pie. She ate that, too,” Emma added.
I felt my cheeks flush and no longer knew where to look. To make the nightmare even more complete, a small burp escaped my mouth at that very moment.
Emma clapped with delight. “You liked it, Michelle! I told you so!”
David obviously noticed how embarrassed I was and decided to rescue me. As though nothing had happened, he pushed himself up with both hands and said, “I’ll bring you another apple pie, Emma. And I think Michelle and I will need a coffee now.”
“A coffee would be perfect,” I answered faintly, not daring to look up. “But without sugar, please—”
“And with low-fat milk, I know,” David finished as he walked away.
While her father stood at the counter, Emma and I played with the silly little toys that served as advertising bait for the food. The spring-loaded plastic figures hopped amusingly across the table, and Emma and I had fun goofing around with them.
Soon, David was back, and a steaming hot coffee sat before me. Emma bit into her apple pie. She declared it too hot, put it down, and said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
David got up immediately, but Emma grabbed his arm. “No, Papa, you’re not allowed in there. I’m going with Michelle. She’s a girl, like me.”
&nb
sp; This was really the last thing that I wanted to do in life—accompany a five-year-old to the toilet. I was about to say something when I looked into Emma’s expectant eyes.
“Of course,” I heard a voice say. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” The voice was mine.
Emma’s small, greasy fingers—full of salt from the fries and sticky from all the other unspeakable stuff—closed around my hand and pulled me along. Just as we reached the restroom, the door opened. A young lady came out. She looked at Emma and me, and a smile came over her face. “What a charming daughter you have. A real petit chou!”
I thanked her with a nod. And I was almost sure that I let her believe I was Emma’s mother simply out of politeness.
10
The night, the cold, and the snow had us in their grips again. The Citroën droned unremittingly as we pressed on. Emma had chattered animatedly for the first few minutes, but, soon after, exhaustion got the better of her and she fell asleep.
So that she wouldn’t freeze, I took off my ski jacket and lay it over her. The sweater I was wearing was warm enough, and the car’s heater was functioning rather well.
The snow had started again, and a white wall enveloped us.
“We can’t keep driving in this weather tonight,” David said. “We’d better look for a hotel.”
I sighed. “I’m sure it’ll be difficult for you to find an appropriate one.”
He glanced at me before focusing on the road again.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, because you really don’t have that much money,” I said.
I could see the muscles in his cheeks tighten.
“Nothing to be ashamed about,” I added, even though that did not at all correspond with my true opinion on the matter. “Look for a place just for you and Emma. I can sleep in the car.”
“You’d do that?”
I pretended to be interested in the view through the windshield. “I’ll just get some warm things out of my suitcases. I’ll manage somehow.”
David moved the stick shift lever next to the steering wheel. The gear put up a fight, then the car moved forward dutifully.
