Almost Everything Very Fast (37 page)

“Ah.” Julius smacked. “It’s almost touching. But we both know what a relief it’ll be for you when he isn’t around anymore. No reason to be sad! I’m telling you: Fred won’t be missed.”

Albert let go of him and stood and wanted to reply that he wasn’t afraid of anything as much as losing Fred; that he couldn’t imagine life without him; that he still secretly hoped that Fred’s heart would keep on beating much, much longer than that doctor had predicted.

But Albert was exhausted, and he didn’t see any point in arguing with this man who had nothing left but a barren room and a black-and-white photograph, and who would have to be alone with himself for the rest of his life. He pitied Julius, who would never be able to understand him. It was only in the last week that Albert himself had learned to understand how lucky he could count himself for having grown up with Fred. Nobody loved as unconditionally as his father.

“Why don’t you leave?” said Julius. “It’s about time.” He pulled the bandage back over the wound on his elbow. There were traces of blood beneath his fingernails.

“One more thing,” said Albert.

Julius’s bloodshot eyes searched for him.

“Fred discovered a piece of gold … do you know anything about that?”

Julius blinked. “Gold? Never had any.”

Fred and Alfonsa were waiting for Albert outside the building. They stood on a promontory that served as an observation deck, staring out at the fog. Alfonsa carried a pair of plastic containers, one of which held a sandwich with a bite taken out of it.

Albert stood beside them, and for a while all three stared down, trying to make out something, anything, through the white.

“I visit him once a month,” said Alfonsa. “We talk a bit about the quality of the food and about the weather, and then I leave again. He’s never asked about you. I thought he wanted to leave all of that behind. Until he gave me the gold.” She straightened her black veil. “I should have brought you here long, long ago.”

Albert agreed by saying nothing.

Alfonsa turned to go. “Sister Simone is picking us up.”

“I have to go back,” said Albert. “Forgot something.”

Alfonsa handed him the makeup compact.

Albert took it from her, astonished. “How did you know …?”

Alfonsa shrugged her shoulders, and showed him a genuine smile, which Albert returned.

“Where are we going now?” asked Fred.

Albert took off Fred’s backpack, picked a couple of crumbs out of his beard, and hugged him. “We’re going home.”

Tickling. It comes from inside and gets bigger and bigger. It’s a warm feeling—a little like stepping out of a shadow into the sun. That’s what he tells Albert, he tells him that it’s starting now, and Albert drops his bowl with its vanilla ice cream and rushes over and kneels in the grass by the deck chair. He asks Albert if everything’s okay, because Albert looks exhausted. Albert isn’t listening to him. Albert wants to grab the telephone and call a doctor. But he tells Albert that he doesn’t need a doctor, tells him that he’s very sorry that he has to leave Albert all alone, and with so many fingers left. But he also says that almost everything goes by very fast. Albert certainly won’t have to live for as long as he thinks. He should eat some more vanilla ice cream. And visit Sister Alfonsa. And get away from Königsdorf, too, since he has the gold now. And then, before he knows it, he’ll go dead much faster. Albert looks at him for a long time. He doesn’t close his eyes at all. No cars are driving down the main street. It’s as quiet as if nobody else were living in Königsdorf. Albert cries a little, says that it doesn’t have to happen, not yet. But that’s not true, he responds, it does have to happen! Albert says that he certainly has at least a few more fingers left. He answers that he doesn’t know about that, because he’s already had many more—seven fingers more—than the doctor had showed him. That’s precisely twelve fingers, in all. More fingers than a normal person has! But if he does, in fact, have any extra fingers, he explains to Albert, then he’d like to eat pancakes with raspberry jam. And Albert takes his hands and holds them, holds them rather tight, and promises he’ll make him as many pancakes as he wants. And then Albert starts crying again! The tickling now comes into his arms and legs and head. It’s strong, it hurts a little. But he lets it grow. He doesn’t want to have to wait any longer for his swan-white tombstone, so close to the red tree. Because he’s very much looking forward to that. From there, he’ll be able to see the church tower, and the moor, and the sky. And he’ll be able to see Albert and Klondi, and maybe Violet, too, and Sister Alfonsa, and Julius. They’ll come to visit him, and tell him how they’re pushing the world, or how it’s pushing them. And
that
, he knows, he knows for sure, will be ambrosial.

It is no secret that a book, though written in solitude, is never composed by one person alone. I want to thank everyone who helped me turn this story into a Most Beloved Possession. Special thanks are due to:

Saskya, wielder of superpowers, with whom I fell in love thanks to this book.

Anna, Antje, and Til, who taught me the meaning of Most Beloved Possessions.

Günther Opitz, without whose trust and opening of doors “Alfred” would never have reached their goal.

Julia Eichhorn, because she believed in the story from the beginning.

Carolina Franzen, for leading Fred by the hand.

Krishna Winston and Riky Stock, for taking Fred and Albert across the Atlantic.

Kathleen Anderson, for making their passage safe.

Aaron Kerner, for providing them with a new and beautiful language.

Fiona McCrae and Katie Dublinski, for giving them this wonderful home in the United States.

When I was living in Königsdorf in the 1990s and attending the high school in Bad Tölz, I had to take the bus every morning. During that time I first noticed this tall, bearded man greeting the cars. It seems so long ago now and yet I remember exactly the touching conviction with which he raised his arm in the air, spread his fingers, fixed his gaze on an approaching vehicle, and gave a quick shake of the hand. In retrospect it seems as if he had waved to me, as if he were saying, “I’m here! I have a story to tell! Talk to me!”

You, Fred, deserve my biggest thanks.

CHRISTOPHER KLOEBLE
is an award-winning German novelist and scriptwriter.
Almost Everything Very Fast
is his third book, and his first to be published in English. He lives in Berlin and New Delhi.

AARON KERNER
is a translator, editor, and teacher. He lives in Boston.

Funding the translation and publication of exceptional literary works

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The text of
Almost Everything Very Fast
is set in Arno Pro. Book design by Ann Sudmeier. Composition by Bookmobile Design & Digital Publisher Services, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Manufactured by Versa Press on acid-free, 30 percent postconsumer wastepaper.