Forever Yours (3 page)

The following Friday of a working week which had consisted of eight interim meetings with Hannes – three cups of coffee, two mugs of tea, two flutes of prosecco, one glass of Campari and orange, and countless cups overflowing with compliments – was, at 28 degrees, the warmest day of the year so far. Harnessing all her mental effort Judith somehow managed to get six o'clock to come round. After a cold shower she deliberated, for the first time since Carlo almost six months previously, over what underwear she should put on. And catching herself in deliberation she was struck by self-loathing. No, actually, she loathed Carlo for all those lost nights; she still felt embarrassed by her occasional relapse into submissiveness. Discarding all those undergarments which had been for Carlo's eyes, she chose instead one of the white orthopaedic knickers with kidney support, which she always wore to her gynaecologist, Dr Blechmüller.

As ever, Judith applied the make-up subtly to those chestnut-brown eyes that often led to her being mistaken for a doe. Her lips received a thin layer of shimmering red lavender-honey balsam. She spent ages blow-drying her natural-blonde hair – why “natural-blonde”? Was nature blonde? – until finally she achieved that perfectly dishevelled look. “Brash” was what they called it in styling magazines. Jeans and T-shirt had been laid out two days ago for the occasion. With her chic new black-leather jacket and cool lace-up boots she intended to show Hannes what fashion could be if one didn't leave it merely to chance or a clearance sale. “Stunning,” she breathed onto the mirror until it misted up. She'd definitely knock the socks off Hannes.

They went out for dinner; it was their first proper evening together, just the two of them. A new Vietnamese restaurant had opened up in Schwarzspanierstrasse. As if especially for their date. Hannes had booked for eight o'clock. Judith counted every one of the thirteen minutes she deliberately arrived late, without doubt the longest of that day. Their table was in the courtyard garden. When he saw her Hannes leaped up and flailed wildly with his arms. The other diners swivelled around to see what sort of woman could bring a man out of his state of zen tranquillity so spontaneously.

This time Judith wasn't the least bit nervous. She talked about her childhood in the lighting shop, how she had hitchhiked around Cambodia with her brother, Ali, and her traumatic experience of Brazilian Macumba rituals with voodoo-practising healers. She devoured her three-course menu as quickly and as feistily as she spoke, washed down with cola and green tea. All the while she allowed herself to be venerated by Hannes, who picked at a dry rice dish without any real appetite and never took his eyes off her.

Besides the usual compliments – which hardly omitted a single facial feature, body part or inner quality of Judith's – she felt flattered by the warm sparkle in his gaze, which settled on her lips the moment she opened them to say something, no matter how inconsequential. She could have gone on like this for hours.

But, with a surprisingly jerky movement, Hannes grabbed her hand, yanked it across the middle of the table and buried it in his huge fingers, unleashing a strange feeling inside her. For all of a sudden he looked more serious and fiery than ever. And, in a very different, far more solemn tone than that with which lovebirds on their first rendezvous usually swap innocuous stories from their past, he said: “Judith, you are the woman I have always longed for. I want to give you every ounce of my love.” As this was not a question, Judith didn't know how to reply. And so she left it at: “Hannes, you're so lovely to me. I still can't take it all in.”

She wanted her hand back beside the teacup. But Hannes wasn't finished with it yet. With a particularly firm grip on her fourth finger, he slowly pushed something over it. Judith couldn't pull free in time. But then Hannes let go of her hand and, wide-eyed in astonishment, she was free to look at what was different about her finger. Her reaction was not an instinctive one; she'd watched scenes like this too often in films. So she stuck to a script which befitted the occasion: “Hannes, are you mad?” “What on earth have I done to deserve this?” “It's not my birthday.” And there was an “I can't possibly accept it” thrown in too.

“Just see it as a little memento of our early days together,” Hannes said. She nodded. “Do you like it?” he asked. “Yes, of course, it's wonderful,” Judith replied. That was her first lie, flung right into the middle of Hannes' rapturous face.

To get over the shock of the ring, she suggested they move to the Triangel, a bar behind the Votivpark. She'd been there a few times with Carlo. Hannes had every opportunity to make amends. The sparing beams of the yellow and red ceiling spots reflected off opaque glass walls, blurring the faces of the guests in the half-light. In here people were transformed into beautifully coloured, shapeless figures, hard to tell apart. Whenever Carlo had urged her to pop back to his place (which meant, of course, popping into bed), it was the Triangel where she'd usually given in and said yes.

Hannes was not the type to capitalise on the mood of a bar designed for the purposes of seduction. This earned him volumes of respect in her eyes; she even found it attractive. All the same, he had succeeded in putting his arm around her shoulder, holding onto it like a powerful guardian. The two of them stood at the bar like a couple in folk costume who'd lost their way, relaying trivial details from their lives.

In the end Judith needed a couple of harder drinks to summon the courage for the question: “What about a kiss?” She shot an inviting look right into the centre of his startled eyes, and knew that at that moment she must look stunning. She would have kissed her, at any rate. At least he said “yes” without hesitation.

“But not here and not now,” he added, to her bewilderment. “So where then, and when?” she asked. Hannes: “My place.” (Without mentioning a specific time.) Judith: “Your place?” With the tip of her thumb she caressed the angular surface of her new ring. She hated amber. Maybe his entire flat and all its furnishings were made of amber. “No, mine,” she said, astonished by her assertiveness. “O.K., let's go to yours then,” Hannes replied hastily. He smiled with every one of his faded sunbeam wrinkles. For him, “then” obviously meant “straightaway”, Judith thought as he prepared to pay.

She'd picked up the lamp that stood beside her ochre sofa in the living room in an antiques shop in Rotterdam. The adjustable shades hung from a thick, curved stalk like laburnum blossom. The light source flowed back into itself and petered out. The room got no more than the rays it needed.

It had taken Judith ages to set all the shades at the optimal angles. Now the light had the ability to make even the most tired eyes twinkle, the gloomiest faces shine, and bring the saddest people to laughter. Had Judith been a psychotherapist, she would have simply sat her patients here for a few minutes in silence, and afterwards asked them what worries they had, or if they could remember them at all.

Judith was so receptive to intimate lighting and its effects that she could sense it even now, when her eyes were closed, at the solemn ceremony of her first kiss with Hannes kiss. What had Lara asked on the phone? “Is it nice kissing him?” Nice? Kissing him? She touched his lips with her fingers, he put his hand at the back of her neck and gently pulled her head towards his. Then she could feel him in several places at once, spread over her entire body. His legs clamped hers. His left shoulder was pushed firmly against her torso. His elbows brushed her hips, his arms squeezed her narrow waist and then inched upwards. His hands took hold of both sides of her neck and fixed her head. She was in a tight clinch when his lips positioned themselves for a landing on her mouth, like the wheels of a heavy aeroplane on soft tarmac. They bumped up and down a few times then dropped and vacuumed tightly to hers. Judith opened her mouth and released her tongue, which proceeded to be tossed all over the place, as if in the spin cycle of a full wash.

She slapped the back of his head with the hand she was able to free. “Hey, not so hard, I can't breathe,” she complained. “Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry,” he whispered into her ear. Only now did she open her eyes. The sight of him reassured her. Hannes looked contrite, like a clumsy schoolboy who's done it all wrong again.

“Do you always kiss so… violently?” she asked. “No, it's just, it's just, it's just…” He needed three run-ups. “It's just that I love you so much, I don't know what to do,” he said beseechingly. O.K., she thought: an acceptable argument. “But that doesn't mean you have to swallow me up, lock, stock and barrel,” she said gently. He gave an embarrassed smile; his eyes beamed in the light of the laburnum lamp.

Judith: “You have to be gentle with me, I'm made of porcelain.” She tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger. He placed his hands tenderly on her cheeks. Her: “Why are you trembling?” Him: “I want you so badly.” Her: “Do you want to sleep with me?” Him: “Yes.” Her: “Do it, then.” Him: “Yes.” Her: “But we're keeping the light on.”

June started out hot and dry. The daylight shone bright white, as if from a cosmic neon tube. Sunglasses were required to make out colours. The small azalea bush on her roof terrace had dropped the last of its red blooms. But now the huge weeping fig, which Hannes had brought over, was pushing out one shoot after another. Judith intended to go on gazing at it until the autumn, when sadly she would have to prune it.

*

Sitting on the stone steps, she closed her eyes and focused on the yellowy-white blocks forced beneath her lids by the sun, hoping that she might fathom something about herself. She was impatient, she wanted to know there and then what had happened to her over the past few weeks, why she was where she was, and where she was in the first place. Indeed, where was she?

Did she want a man? (Not especially, not anymore.) One “for life”? (Only on certain conditions.) Hadn't she already gone through every single type? (A few weeks ago she would have said yes.) Wasn't she at one with herself? (Yes, most of the time. It was only when she was drunk that she was at two or three with herself.) Didn't she have a good grip on everything? (Yes, well, sometimes, normally on workdays, and mainly lamps.)

So, almost three months ago she'd met someone. “Someone” was a dramatic understatement. Hannes Bergtaler! Architect. He was currently drawing up plans for their future together. The shell was already there. If he had his way they'd move in tomorrow.

The man had an unusual, inflated, vertiginous capacity for love. He loved and loved and loved and loved. And who did he love? He loved – her. How much? So much. “More than anything” was just a small part of it.

Watch out, Judith! Maybe he was leading her on, maybe he led all women on, maybe he loved someone like her every few months, maybe he was a professional “more than anything” lover. No, not Hannes. Hannes was genuine. He wasn't a gambler. He wasn't an imposter. This was precisely what made him different from any man she'd ever encountered before. There was something permanent in the way he loved her, an insane claim to eternity. He was so earnest in his devotion, so faithful in his actions, so genuine in his expression, so focused on her. And she found this so uncannily… attractive. Attractive? She didn't know if “attractive” was the quite right word. But it was something along those lines. She found it, found it, found it…

She was surprised at herself. Did she want to be idolised like this? (Only by her father.) Did she want to be the centre point of someone else's universe? (No, not even her father's.) Did she want to be the chosen one? (No, actually she always wanted to choose for herself.) Yes: this, in a nutshell, was the problem. Hannes left her with no choice. He did the choosing. He was always three steps ahead of her. Which prevented her from ever taking her own steps. As events happened she stumbled behind. She was being pulled along by the towrope of his emotional mountain trek.

Which scared her a little. For in the direction he was heading there wasn't much further to go. The path was too steep for her. She couldn't keep pace with him any longer. She was out of breath. She needed a break.

She'd seen him every day for three weeks. EVERY DAY. He came into her shop for a coffee every few hours, and if there wasn't any coffee then he made do with a light bulb. If she had customers he'd wait with the patience of a saint until she was free. By now he knew all the lighting catalogues inside out, as well as the names of the hundred “most epic club nights”, according to Bianca. In the evenings they went out to eat, or to the cinema, or the theatre, or a concert – it didn't matter. He'd have quite happily visited rubbish tips, parade grounds and car graveyards. The only condition was that it had to be with her.

And yes, at night they slept together. That's to say, she slept while he stared at her. She hadn't once opened her eyes without seeing his gaze fixed on her. As a child she'd waited in vain for a protecting angel to stand by her pillow and watch over her dreams. Now, in her mid-thirties, an age by which all illusions have been dispelled, suddenly she had Hannes Bergtaler at her side.

Sex? Yes, of course – not as frequently as he would have liked, but still three times as often as more than enough. For her it was… well… no, it was just fine. He really enjoyed it. And she enjoyed his enjoyment of it, his enjoyment of her.

Was that bad? Was she narcissistic? Had she been using Bergtaler to find herself beautiful and desirable again? Had she needed him to make herself feel worth something again? How worthless must she have felt? How bad a shape had she been in without noticing? How happy did she feel now? How would it go on? And where?

No more answers came. The yellowy-white blocks went dark. Judith opened her eyes. It was just a small, harmless, fluffy cloud.

On the Friday before Whitsun Judith paid her first visit to his flat in Nisslgasse. He'd gone home hours before she arrived, to “tidy up”, as he put it, although she couldn't imagine that anything in his life could be untidy, and certainly not his home.

He behaved rather oddly at the door and opened up hesitantly, as if he feared he might be plagued by unwelcome guests. When they were inside he locked the door and shot the bolt. “What's got into you?” she asked. “My love for you!” he replied. “There must be something else; you're very tense.” “You, in my flat – if that doesn't make me tense, what will?”

From the way the flat was furnished she realised how little she knew about him and yet how clear everything was. Each object, including some dark antique pieces worth a considerable amount of money, had its own place and gave the impression it could not be moved. From his grandfather's sofa you had a magnificent view of a monstrous ironing board, which was stationed in the middle of the room and illuminated by an energy-saving bulb in an ugly shade of milky-coffee-coloured chunks of glass. The kitchen was small and surgically clean, as in a catalogue. The crockery was hiding in cabinets out of sheer terror that it might get used. Judith just wanted a glass of water.

The only vibrant room, the only one that looked lived in, was the study. Only here could you get the sense that the tenant was an architect and not a retired trustee. There were plans everywhere: on the walls, on the desk, on the parquet floor. It smelled of pencils, rubbers and painstakingly detailed work.

The door to the bedroom was closed and she'd have been happy for it to remain so. Hannes opened it, however, just a crack, as if to avoid waking the two single beds with their checked quilts, flanked by bare tables, from their thousand-year sleep. A white full moon hung from the ceiling. As Judith knew, sphere lamps never did justice to their light.

“Lovely,” she said at thirty-second intervals. “Not everything's my taste exactly, but really lovely,” she dropped in a few times. Hannes held her by the hand throughout the tour of his flat, as if she might stray into an inaccessible area or step on a landmine. “Have many women have come and gone here?” Judith asked. “I don't know,” Hannes replied. “The previous tenants were a dentist couple.” He was a master of the art of misunderstanding questions which nobody could possibly misunderstand.

When the tour was at an end they stood for a while in the vicinity of the ironing board, unsure how the programme should continue. Soon his face assumed that unmistakeable Hannes look with the myriad sunny wrinkles of laughter. He hugged and kissed her. They staggered the few steps to the sofa. Just before they collapsed, Judith managed to squeeze out some words from their tight embrace. “Darling,” she whispered. “Shall we go to my place?”

“So, what shall we do at the weekend?” Hannes asked. Saturday was already an hour old; the light in Judith's bedroom (bestowed by the playful brass chandelier from a young designer in Prague) was off. She was only just awake, her head on his tummy in her bed, and could feel his powerful fingers pleasantly massaging her head.

She sighed deeply, trying to sound as pained as she possibly could. “I'm afraid I've got to go to the country, to see my brother Ali. I have to be there. It's a big family party. Hedi's birthday. Hard work, let me tell you. She's highly pregnant. And my mother's going to be there, of course. I've told you, haven't I, that Hedi and Mum aren't a good combination. Tiresome. It's going to be really rather tiresome.” She rounded it off with another sigh of resignation.

“We'll go together,” announced Hannes from above. He had sat up in bed. Judith: “No, Hannes, no way!” She was startled by her own tone and softened it immediately. “Listen, Darling, I've got to do it on my own. It's going to be exceedingly tiresome. I can't ask you to come. You don't know my family.” She stroked his hand tenderly with her nail. Hannes: “I'll meet them and I'll like them.” Judith: “Yes, of course you will, but not all of them at once, believe me, that's too much in one go. My brother can be so tricky. And then there are friends of the family coming too, a couple with two children. It's going to be pretty tight. No, Hannes, it's very sweet of you, but this time I've got to bite the bullet on my own.”

Now they were sitting up side by side in bed, Judith with her arms crossed. Hannes: “No, Darling, that's out of the question. I'm not going to leave you in the lurch. Of course I'll come with you. Together we'll work it out somehow, you'll see.”

Judith didn't want to work anything out together. She turned on the light; he needed to see the determination in her face. “Hannes, it's not going to work. This time it really isn't. There's not even a bed for you. We'll see each other on Sunday evening and I'll tell you all about it. O.K.?” She stroked his cheek.

He said nothing and pulled a face she'd never seen before. Behind his tightly pressed lips he was evidently gritting his teeth, for his cheekbones were sticking out. Although the laughter lines around his eyes were still there, without the laughter they were no longer rays of sunshine, but shadowy furrows. Finally he turned onto his side and let his head sink into the pillow. “Good night, Darling,” he murmured after a long pause. “Let's sleep on it.”

It was early, Judith had hardly slept, but she could smell coffee, and classical music was playing on the radio. Hannes, who was already half-dressed, bent over her, woke her with a kiss and beamed.

“Your mother called,” he said. “How come?” What she meant was, how come he knew, why had he gone to the phone and why hadn't he woken her up? Hannes: “Your mother called and asked when we were going to pick her up.” Judith: “We?” That was an exclamation. Judith was wide awake and livid. “I told her I probably wouldn't be coming along.” Judith: “Oh.”

Hannes: “
What a pity, maybe you'll have another think about it
, she said. She'd have liked to meet me.
My daughter's told me so much about you
, she said.” Judith: “And?” (She'd hardly said a word to her mother about Hannes, Mum always got all her men mixed up.) Hannes: “If you don't want me to go with you, then of course I won't. I don't want to impose, I really don't. Maybe you're right, maybe it
is
too early for a meeting.” Judith: “Yes, it is.” She took a deep breath. She tickled his neck.

Hannes: “But I'd like to come. I like your mum. She sounds lovely on the phone. Her voice is like yours. I'd really like to go. It'll be a nice weekend, Darling, you'll see. I like your family. I like everything about you. Can I come?”

Judith laughed. He looked at her with the eyes of a well-drilled St Bernhard who'd just spotted steaks in her pupils. She tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger and kissed him on the forehead. “But don't say I didn't warn you,” she said.

After breakfast he left. He had some shopping to do. Judith caught up on her sleepless night. Late in the afternoon, as it began to rain, they drove together (in her white Citroën) to her mother's. “I'll just dash up and you can stay in the car,” she said. He came with her. In his right hand he held a large purple umbrella; in his left a bunch of Whitsun roses, which he presented to her mother at the door to her flat with a theatrical bow. She took to him instantly; he was wearing the sort of clothes that had been fashionable in her youth. She embraced her daughter more ardently than usual, a gesture which signalled congratulations that Judith had finally found a man who was right for her – meaning
her
: Mum.

“So what do you do for a living?” Mum asked during the journey. Hannes: “I'm an architect.” Mum: “Oooh, an architect!” Hannes: “My small office specialises in refurbishing and building pharmacies.” Mum: “Pharmacies, how wonderful!” “Maybe he'll build one for you,” Judith said acidly.

After two and a half hours they had reached the patched-up old manor house in the wastelands of the Upper Austrian Mühlviertel, where Hedi ran a small organic farm. Ali worked as a landscape photographer, but only rarely – the landscape really had to beg to be photographed. Material things were not so important to Hedi and Ali; they could even make do without hairbrushes and beard trimmers.

“I'm Hannes,” he said with the irrepressible euphoria he bubbled with whenever he met new people, thrusting his hand a little too keenly towards Ali. Judith's brother flinched instinctively. “Hannes is my boyfriend,” Judith said, explaining both him and the situation. Ali stared at him as if he were the eighth wonder of the world. “He's an architect,” Mum added, as her eyes wandered, beneath raised brows, from Ali to Hedi and back again. Hannes gave them a three-bottle box of organic wine from southern Burgenland. “The best from the region, at least I think so,” he said. Ali couldn't stand wine. Judith wanted to turn around and go straight back home. She doubted anybody would have noticed.