Best European Fiction 2011

by Aleksandar Hemon

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.” The pastor places his small white hand on Dolph’s shoulder. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you…”

  “What have you heard, Father?”

  “People have been talking. But I don’t believe it. Dolph, I tell them, could not have done something like that. I’ve known him since we were kids—he has a heart. He’s not a cynic, he is not an egotist. After all, all our parks and flowerbeds are his creation. He wouldn’t leave his son out on the street…”

  “What?”

  “What do you mean ‘what’? Would Dolphy leave Brüno on the street, I ask them? But you know how it is in a small town. We’re a close-knit community. Everyone knows everyone. People are interested in each other. Not out of empty curiosity, mind you—they really want to try and understand something about themselves by looking at the lives of others. If for no other reason than to draw useful conclusions.”

  “Nothing happened, Father. He just left. He moved out immediately after high school. It’s quite normal. It’s even healthy, I would say. I myself got a place of my own when I was eighteen. No one blamed my father for that.”

  “No one is blaming you.”

  “In fact, I have no idea where Brüno might be. Everything happened so quickly. Maybe he’s gone to Poland? Though what would he do there? I just don’t know. Maybe he’s married. He hasn’t called even once. Frankly, we’ve been quite upset.”

  “I can’t believe that you don’t know! He lives under the bridge by the river. He’s been there for three months.”

  “He’s back? Living under the bridge? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “He’s officially registered at the City Council as a homeless person.”

  “You’re joking, Father, we don’t have homeless people in Osna.”

  “Now we do. It’s not such a terrible thing. We can afford it, so long as your boy doesn’t start a trend. Social Services are actually rather happy—they have something to do, now. This will keep them from being downsized. Brüno has already been awarded a little financial aid, a mattress, and a sleeping bag. They’ve also given him a medical exam card. We’re also keeping an eye on him up at the church. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “To embarrass us like this in the eyes of the whole town! As if we didn’t have enough worries!”

  “I don’t believe he’s doing it to embarrass you. I had the chance to talk to him—he seems to me to be a remarkably intelligent and responsible man. He has traveled the world, he has experienced a lot. He’s seen both good and bad. And he’s impressively well read. There’s no reason to feel ashamed of your son.”

  “Why didn’t he come back home?”

  “That I don’t know. Just like I don’t know the reason why he left in the first place. I can only guess that he’s a typical young man—highly emotional, always wanting to rebel and explore. But the years pass and as one matures one needs a better reason for one’s behavior. So in this, maybe you’re right to worry; not so much about why he left, but about why he hasn’t returned home. The reason must be very serious. I suggest you take a good look at yourself and your family. How are things at home? Your relationship with Heidi? I know it must be difficult, after so many years…”

  Dolph blinks vacantly. The shaking of the bed and Heidi’s moans suddenly rush back into his head. This continues for a few seconds, maybe even minutes, during which he sees Farb’s lips moving but hears nothing of what the pastor is saying.

  Karl returns from the supermarket with a pack of Heineken under his arm.

  “Who wants beer?”

  After a few sips, Dolph comes back to his senses. “Karl, why haven’t you told me that Brüno’s living under the bridge? Why do I have to hear about it from strangers?”

  “I’m a stranger now?” Farb is offended.

  “I was too uncomfortable to bring it up. It’s a private family matter, after all. It could seem one way on the outside but different on the inside. I don’t like to stick my nose into things I don’t understand.”

  “The pastor implies that our family situation might have something to do with my son’s decision to be homeless.”

  “I can’t believe that—you and Heidi are such a wonderful, civilized, and tolerant couple. How could you possibly have steered him in that direction?”

  “Thank you. You and Inge are a wonderful couple too and we’re always pleased when you come to visit us. In fact, we’ve always wondered how you’ve managed to keep your relationship so warm and close for…how many years now?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Now, that’s worth a toast. Prost!”

  “Prost!”

  “So, do you really hold Inge’s hand while she’s being plumbed?”

  The beer goes down Karl’s throat the wrong way and he begins to cough uncontrollably.

  “Very touching. I myself wouldn’t be able to do it. How many times a week does he come by?”

  “Who?” Karl continues to cough.

  “Your plumber. Ours is actually called Plumber, which also means plumber in his language. Can you imagine? So, what’s yours called? Where is he from?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know! We haven’t talked.”

  “What a laugh it’ll be if it turns out that Inge and Heidi share the same plumber.”

  “What plumber?” Farb is agog. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “Really? That surprises me. You’ve never been too shy about butting in on other people’s business.”

  “Now that’s enough, Dolphy, Pastor Farb’s wife passed away four years ago! There’s no reason for him to know. It’s not something people talk about openly…Everyone deals with it the best they can.”

  The mist surrounding the playground seems to recede for a moment.

  “Ha, there’s one of them over there!” shouts Dolph, pointing. “Do you see him sneaking along the wall? Never looking around? I wonder if he’s my guy. Hey, Herr Plumber! Come over for a beer! No, he’s not going to stop—they’re like robots. Haven’t you noticed them, Father? They crisscross the whole town, tiny but strong, short legs with long bodies, always freshly shaved, dressed in black, quiet, taking long strides?”

  “Yes, I have noticed them! I thought they were chimney sweeps. I even thought of asking one of them over to check on my fireplace, it’s been smoking terribly all year.”

  “Ha! Chimney sweeps! Why not? It’s just a question of terminology. Somewhere they might be called chimney sweeps. Do you remember the scandal in France? Would there have been so much noise if they were simply called chimney sweeps?”

  “Honestly, I don’t understand a thing here.”

  “Karl, why don’t you enlighten the father?”

  “Why me? Christ, I don’t know…One day Inge came to me and said, ‘My darling Karl, I am so happy with you. I believe we are a perfect match. I could watch you for hours building those little birdhouses of yours. The love you lavish on their decorations! How you elaborate every detail. I wish I was a bird, sometimes, when I see you working, so I could live in one of your fairy-tale homes. Darling, darling Karl…I know you would do anything for me. But I don’t want to ask anything of you, you’ve already given me so much. I want you to ask it for me, because it’s something women badly need. Call it a weakness, an imperfection, whatever you like…But this is how we are. Perhaps one day we may be able to overcome this fatal physiological addiction by force of will. We may be able to reach such exalted levels of consciousness that we won’t need such things anymore. Yes, I dream of the day when we may stand side by side, free, equal, and pure—like brother and sister. Unfortunately, that day is still distant and in the meantime nature makes its demands. My darling Karl, the last thing I want to do is to turn you into a tool, an instrument of masturbation. You go on making your birdhouses, don’t worry about a thing. I spoke with Frau Müller, the wife of the deputy, and she shares my feelings exactly.’ ‘I know,’ Frau Müller told my wife, ‘that if I demand it of
Johan without his really needing it, then sooner or later I will lose his respect. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he started hating me, the way one would resent being sentenced to hard labor! No, the ship of marriage should not be propelled by slaves chained to their oars. Let it sail freely, carried by the wind! People evolve, their interests change. Some needs are forgotten, others replace them: this has always been the case. That’s why, instead of creating drama, instead of hurting each other, instead of looking for mechanical substitutes or becoming involved in dubious affairs that could ruin our delicate psychological balance, it would be easier if we found some sort of mechanism, came up with a solution—as mankind always has when faced with insurmountable difficulties—that could, once and for all, relieve us of these pressures…us and our beloved partners both.’”

  “What’s on your mind, Father? You’re so deep in thought.”

  “I was remembering my late wife Hedwig.”

  “Excuse me for saying so, but one could say that you’re fortunate.”

  “You’re talking nonsense, as usual. I miss her so much. I remember how we used to sit in front of the fire on cold winter evenings. We would talk about books, theater. At the time there was a young theater director visiting, Sebastian Hirn if I’m not mistaken. A real devil! The liberties he took on stage! But she always defended him. She was very liberal. Sometimes we would just sit quietly and watch the fire. I held her hand. We would sit like that for hours. At some point, she would sigh, she would get up slowly, as plump as she was, and she would bring out some of her homemade kirsch, along with pieces of her plum cake. Ah, that cake. I’ve still never tasted anything more delicious.”

  “You don’t miss anything aside from the cake, the kirsch, and the conversations?”

  “You filthy, soulless reptile! What do you know about warmth, closeness, intimacy? Yes, I performed my marital duties, if you’re so interested! But I never let that part of my life dominate the rest.”

  “If you were telling the truth, your wife would probably still be alive.”

  “My wife died of cancer!”

  “It’s either cancer or the plumbers. That’s our choice.”

  “Cancer or the plumbers!” Karl repeats enthusiastically, jumping around like a frog. “Cancer or the plumbers! Cancer or the plumbers!”

  “Idiots! You’re not only impotent, but proud of it as well!”

  “You’re no more potent than we are! It’s just that you’re a widower, so nobody’s asking about you.”

  “Go to hell, the both of you!”

  The pastor grabs the pétanque balls and starts throwing them at his friends. Dolph and Karl run in opposite directions. Farb pries another beer from the pack and sips it silently while he too is slowly engulfed by the mist.

  Under the bridge over the River Hase, at night. A young man of around thirty sits wrapped in a sleeping bag, reading in the light of a camping lantern. The man is big but out of shape; he wears glasses and is beginning to lose his hair. Next to him is a pair of tall yellow boots blackened by mud. This is Brüno. We hear the voice of Dolph, who appears shortly thereafter out of the bushes lining the riverbank.

  “Son! My son! Brüno! Ah, there you are. Why didn’t you respond? Look, I’m not here to yell at you. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I heard you were back. You’re my only son, after all. I care about what happens to you. I care more than you can imagine. Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Good evening, Father.”

  “Ah, at least that’s something. Thank you. As I can see, you’ve made yourself comfortable here. You’re lacking for nothing. The river is rolling, the leaves are whispering, the birds are singing. It’s…fresh. Osnabrück is a very green town, as you know. I’m not bragging, but I had a little something to do with that! All these paths, bushes, trees, fountains. I gave my best years to this town. So that one day it might be called ‘the garden of Westphalia.’ You know, according to recent sociological surveys, this is the happiest town in Germany. My home is my garden! Yes, one must always live one’s life in such a way that your son always has the option to become homeless! Or even you yourself…”

  “I think you’re drunk.”

  “Maybe I am—drunk with happiness. While I was walking out this way, I finally saw the sense behind what I’ve been doing my whole life. When I was looking at all those plants I’ve cared for, planted with my own hands. I told myself that my effort has not been in vain—now my son can live in a garden. He’s who I’ve been preparing this all for. Only one thing worries me. Aren’t you lonely? Don’t you feel the need for some company?”

  “I have a dog. It’s gone for a walk somewhere, but it’ll be back soon.”

  “I mean a human. A close companion. A woman?”

  “I’m fine like this. I borrow books from the library and I read.”

  “Of course. I’m not going to intrude. Live according to your own principles. I only want you to know that you are always welcome back home. If you feel lonely, there’s always a place for you with us.”

  “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to disturb your sex life.”

  “What?”

  “I know that my presence disturbs you. I heard you two talking once, saying that your sex life was never the same after I was born. Is that true? Since you weren’t able to shout and make noises like you used to do. You said children are the murderers of sex…”

  “Nonsense!”

  “Do you remember my graduation trip to Munich? I didn’t feel like going with those idiots, so I lied to them. I told them I had diarrhea and came back home. I immediately felt that something wasn’t right. The house was strangely quiet, the curtains were drawn. Some crazy music was coming from inside. I sneaked through the garage door. You were sitting in the living room with Mother and Karl and Inge Zauer. There were candles everywhere, bottles, Indian incense. All four of you were naked. Condoms were hanging from your and Karl’s…”

  “Enough! Enough!”

  “Enough what? At that moment I really did get diarrhea and ran to the toilet in the garage, where I spent the night. And then I spent the next morning cleaning that toilet. Since then it’s always been the same for me…whenever I’m in a situation where a normal person would start crying, I just get diarrhea.”

  “I’m sorry. A horrible mistake. Nothing happened though, believe it or not. Karl couldn’t get it up, and I thought it wouldn’t be fair if I was the only one to profit from the situation. I am so very sorry. Now I understand why you left us, and maybe you were right to. You must have been disgusted. I don’t remember quite how we organized that little get-together. Maybe we were looking for variety. You have no idea how family life tires one out. We didn’t try to repeat it though. Karl and Inge are, of course, still our friends—we’re civilized people, we still invite them over…but only for barbecues.”

  Dolph shakes his head. He dries his face. “What the hell is this, I’m all wet…”

  “Someone is pissing from the bridge. When they start coming out of Lagerhalle this is their favorite entertainment.” The trickle is still dripping down. Dolph steps aside.

  “Scheisse! Barbarian! Stop that! People live here.”

  “Ebi se u glavu!” says a confident voice from above. “Fuck yourself in the head,” in Serbian.

  “Not a German, of course! What we’re made to put up with! And all because our young people hate working with their hands. It all leads to disgraces like this. I’m not saying anything against you, but what’s going to happen if everyone else decides to sit under a bridge all day?”

  Loud barking in the distance.

  “I think it’s best you leave now,” yawns Brüno. “My dog is coming back. It’s not used to strangers and sometimes reacts aggressively. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come back again when it’s gone. I would be happy to see you.”

  The approaching bark fills Dolph with an inexplicable and almost supernatural terror. He steps backward while looking at the silver face of the moon showing over the br
idge. He trips over some kind of a root, sways, and falls into the river. He crawls back out on his hands and knees, wet and covered in mud. He gets to his feet and bolts into the night, leaving a slimy trail behind.

  Now we move to the town cemetery. It is a dark, cool morning at the beginning of June. Fresh smell of green and dirt. In the middle of a trimmed lawn gapes a black rectangular hole. Next to it lies a coffin of pale wood. Gathered round it is a small group of mourners. Among them we observe Dolph, Heidi, and Frau Müller the wife of the Green Party deputy. She is a head taller than everyone else and somewhat resembles Marlene Dietrich. She seems particularly distressed, constantly drying the corners of her eyes with an elegant handkerchief. In the coffin are the remains of Inge Zauer, brutally butchered by her husband Karl. The neighbors saw him trying to bury parts of the body in his backyard: an elderly couple who had just officially announced they were leaving on vacation, though they were actually planning to proceed with a joint suicide. Disturbed by what they had just witnessed, they decided to postpone their plans and call the police.

  The entire town was stunned by the murder. Despite his pleas, Karl has not been allowed to attend the funeral, forbidden by Inge’s sister. Inge and Karl’s son, who lives in Hamburg, refused to attend. The humble ceremony is officiated by Pastor Farb, who married the couple many years before.

  After the coffin sinks into the ground, the crowd begins to disperse. Only Frau Müller and Inge’s sister stay behind. One gets the impression that the two women have different reasons to mourn. Frau Müller’s eye-liner is surprisingly resistant to tears.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” Heidi asks Dolph.

  Dolph accepts with a nod. The two turn quietly into a side path leading through some trees and follow it to a wide meadow covered with tombstones and bright wild flowers. This is the children’s cemetery, for children up to twelve years old, most of them unchristened. Among the stones are perched colorful animal figures cut out of metal, the same figures one often sees at playgrounds—sheep, bears, cows, horses alongside large spotted mushrooms. At the sight of them Heidi exclaims: