Forever Yours (7 page)

Bianca: “Not feeling well, Frau Wangermann?” Her: “It's just my circulation.” Bianca: “Do you want a Red Bull? I always have a Red Bull when I'm feeling dizzy.” Judith had sunk into her office chair and was staring at the scrunched-up ball in the wastepaper basket. The letter she had just read did not exist. The man who'd written it did not exist. Cut out. Delete. Forget. Erase. Burn. Scatter the ashes in the air.

“Is it your ex?” Bianca asked. Judith sat up straight and gave her apprentice a look of astonishment. Bianca: “Is he still being a right pain?” Judith: “Yes, he is.” Bianca: “It takes some guys a hell of a long time before they get it.” Judith: “He's watching me. He's following my every step. He knows everything I'm doing.” Bianca: “Really? That's bad. Like a ghost.”

Judith: “Bianca?” Bianca: “Yes, boss?” Judith: “Would you mind walking home with me?” Bianca: “No, not at all. And if we see him we'll tell him to piss off. It's the only language some of them understand.” She showed Judith her raised middle finger.

*

“I'll go up with you in the lift as well. You can never be too sure. I saw this film once, right, where the guy was waiting in the lift, right, and he came up behind the lady, right, and strangled her, with a red tie I think,” Bianca said. “Sounds great,” Judith said.

She had only just begun to recover from the surveillance protocol when she noticed another dreadful plastic bag hanging from the door handle. She shuddered and grabbed onto Bianca's arm.

“I think I'll stay with you for a little bit until you calm down,” Bianca said. “We could order some sushi.” Her: “Yes.” Bianca: “Shall I see what's in the bag?” Her: “No, I don't want to know.” Bianca: “Maybe it's just some advertising and you're getting worked up for no reason.” Her: “I'd really like not to care what it is.” Bianca: “But you do care. No offence, but you look totally knackered.”

Bianca stayed for a few hours. Having her there did Judith the world of good. She tried out eye shadows, mascaras and nail polishes, improvised a little fashion show from the contents of Judith's wardrobe, and was allowed to keep three T-shirts and a short dress, whose seams might just sustain her upper body for another three meals.

“I don't think he's a serial killer,” she comforted her boss, who looked on as Bianca gobbled down the sushi. “I mean, when you talk to him he's really nice. He wouldn't hurt a fly. It's just that he's infatuated with you and he's freaking out a bit at the moment. He'll clear off soon enough.” Judith: “Really?” Bianca: “Did you sleep with him?” Judith: “Of course I did.” Bianca: “Maybe you shouldn't've. I bet he's thinking about that all the time now.” Her: “Bianca, really, I'd rather you didn't…” Bianca: “O.K., I'm sorry.” Her: “That's alright. Bianca, could you please see what's in the bag on the door?”

Bianca took out a letter and a small box. “It's got a heart on it. Do you want me to read it to you?” Judith bit her lip and nodded. Bianca read: “Darling, why don't you listen to your voicemail? How are our roses? Have they dried yet? I'm sure you've solved the puzzle by now. It was a simple one. I'm giving you what belongs to them. It's better for me that you've got them. Now I'm going to withdraw from your life. You have my word! Yes, you are released, Darling! Yours, Hannes”

Bianca shook the box. “Little stones, or something like that,” she said. On the lid it said: “Question: What do these and these and these roses have in common? Answer: No…” Bianca opened the box. “Thorns!” she cried out. “Thorns,” Judith mouthed.

“Is that bad, Judith?” Bianca asked. Judith began to sob bitterly. “Thorns.” In her mind she could see the deep scratches on his forearms. “I don't mind staying the night here with you, if you'd like,” her apprentice said.

Three weeks had passed. Five hundred hours. Eighteen walks to the shop. Eighteen walks back home. At least a couple of dozen routines of unlocking the front door, opening the door to her flat, bolting the door, searching the terrace, looking under the bed – not forgetting the wardrobe.

Three weeks. Thousands of double victories for Judith. A thousand instances of leaping over two sets of hurdles: her own personal ones and his invisible ones. At least two thousand instances of pulling down the blinds, getting undressed, going into the shower, coming out of the shower, looking under the bed again, lifting the duvet, checking the pillow. Lie down. Close eyes. Open eyes. The coffee machine! Leap up. Dart into the kitchen. The coffee machine. Was it in the same place? Wasn't it a little further to the left?

Three weeks. Twenty-eight hours of overtime for her minder, Bianca. An aborted trip to Amsterdam. A non-attendance at a christening. (Veronika, her niece, four kilos twenty, healthy. Hedi well, Ali happy. At least Ali was happy.) A visit to the police station: “Has he caused you bodily harm? No? Has he threatened you? No? Is he pursuing you? Yes? Stalking, excellent. We have strict laws against that. What information can you provide us with? What have you got on him? Thorns. I see. A letter, excellent. Where is it? You threw it away? That's not so good. That's bad. Please keep the next letter and bring it with you.”

Three weeks. No calls. No texts. No e-mails. No letters. No messages. No roses. No thorns. Bianca: “He's given up. Bet you.” Judith: “But he's got to be somewhere.” Bianca: “Well of course he's somewhere. But the main thing is that he's not here, is he?”

Around three p.m. on the first Friday in September, as the summer was bidding a muggy farewell, a pale, light-shunning, vaguely familiar-looking woman offered Judith her hand. “Wolff, Gudrun Wolff,” she said. “I'm awfully sorry to disturb you, but I'm hoping you might be able to help us. Frau Ferstl and I are worried, you see, and we thought…” “Do I know you?” Judith was about to say. But her fear, which soon proved to be well founded, was so great that her voice failed her. It was the woman who had waved to her in the Phoenix Bar that evening. She was one of his two colleagues.

“We're worried about Herr Bergtaler. He hasn't been to the office in weeks. And he hasn't called either. And today…” Judith: “I'm sorry, I can't help you in any way, please understand.”

She attempted to guide Hannes' colleague to the door. But the woman had already taken a piece of paper from her angular, severe-looking, cream-coloured handbag. “And today we got this letter,” she said. She waved it around as if trying to banish evil spirits from the place.

“
I'm sorry to have to leave you
, he says.
Soon I will exist only on paper…
” Gudrun Wolff paused to catch her breath. Her voice sounded theatrical and reproachful: “
Soon I will exist only on paper. And in the heart of my beloved, the love of my life
, he says. And that's it. So you can understand why Frau Ferstl and I are worried. And we thought that seeing as you are practically the only…”

“Sorry, but I really can't help you. I broke off contact with Herr Bergtaler weeks ago. For good,” Judith said, drawing a sharp line in the air with her fingertips. “Is everything O.K., Frau Wangermann?” Bianca was now at Judith's side to catch her if she fainted. Judith: “I have nothing at all to do with him anymore, I'm sorry.” Gudrun Wolff: “But perhaps you know…” Judith: “No, I know nothing. And I don't want to know either.” Bianca: “I don't think my boss is feeling so well. It would be best if you went now.” Gudrun Wolff: “I really hope he doesn't get any silly ideas into his head.”

After work, Judith fled the city. Bianca helped her pack, accompanied her to her car, checked the side streets and said: “All clear, you can go.” She'd sent her brother no more than a short text message: “Be with you late this evening. Can I stay till Sun? I won't be a burden. J”

By dusk, whose violet-blue shimmer warned of a stormy night ahead, she had reached the old manor house in the Mühlviertel. As she got out of her car she could hear Veronika, the baby, crying. Ali tried to give her a warm welcome. He looked tired and stoical; perhaps he was on medication again. “Well, this is a surprise!” he said, without specifying whether it was a good or bad one.

A few hours later they were chatting around the table and, determined to prevent any awkward pauses, sticking to the obvious topics: Veronika's difficult birth, the exhaustion of the present and the uncertainty of the future. There were photos, too, live pictures at Hedi's breast and the shrill soundtrack from the cot.

Judith waited patiently to be asked why she'd come, what was wrong with her, why she looked so distraught, how she was feeling. But Ali didn't raise any of these questions. For him, Judith had always been the one person who could never be worse off than he was. If ever she were to break out of this role, his porous world would begin to crumble.

He'd given up his job as a pharmacy photographer. Judith: “Why?” Ali: “It was pure employment therapy. I couldn't accept it anymore.” Hedi: “You know Ali, he's got his pride. It would've been different if things between you and Hannes… well, you know.” Judith: “Yes, I know.” Ali: “Please don't take that as a criticism.” He stroked her forearm tenderly.

Judith had already decided to drive back home that night. But then all of a sudden a surprise guest appeared, and gave her such a haunting, concerned stare that she couldn't help crying. “How lovely that you've come to see us again, Judy,” Lukas Winninger said, as if he'd become a member of the family. He was not slow to speak his mind. “You're in a bad place, aren't you? You look so pale, your cheeks are sunken. You're washed-out. Is there something the matter?” Judith: “You could say that.” For Ali's sake she smiled. Lukas: “What's up? Is it your boyfriend?” Judith: “Ex-boyfriend.” Lukas: “Did he chuck you?” Judith: “It's a long story. You wouldn't have time for it.” Lukas: “I've got all the time it takes.” “You don't mind if I leave you two alone, do you?” Ali asked. To avoid an answer he gave his sister a hurried kiss on the forehead.

*

Judith didn't wake up until midday. She had slept through without dreaming. Overnight the year had conjured up autumn and taken on smells that were not a bit reminiscent of Hannes. The sun reflected a cool orange in the open window-pane, similar to the light emitted by the red ceiling lamp from Krakow which hung in her showroom.

They had sat up for five hours, she and Lukas. “We'll think of something,” were his final words. “WE'LL think of something.” He had promised her. And when she followed the aroma of the coffee there he was, leaning against the kitchen cupboard and offering her a cheery smile.

Her: “Do you live here?” Him: “Sometimes, on special occasions.” Her: “But Lukas, I don't want you to…” Him: “Two sugars, no milk?”

Back in Vienna she swore she would declare war on Hannes Bergtaler, with Bianca at her side and Lukas bringing up the rear. How to be rid of his shadow? “By luring him into the light” (Lukas). All she had to do was wait patiently for him to turn up again. To demonstrate that she'd regained her strength, to provoke Hannes, to entice him out of his hideaway, she even put on his hideous amber ring a few times. “Is that a lucky charm?” Bianca said. Her: “No, it's more of a weapon.” Bianca: “Well, I'd wear a knuckleduster too, boss.”

Two more weeks passed without any surprises from, or traces of, Hannes. From her level of anxiety Judith judged that it wouldn't be long. This time she wanted to preempt him. “Why don't we call him at his office?” Bianca suggested. Judith: “You'd do that?” Bianca: “Of course, I'm totally interested to find out what's happened to him too. You see, I don't believe he's topped himself because of you. Men just say that to make themselves look important.” Judith: “And how would you react if he answered?” Bianca: “I'd say: Oh, sorry, I must have dialled the wrong number. He'd never recognise me. I'm epic at disguising my voice. I can talk like Bart Simpson.”

His colleague, Beatrix Ferstl, picked up the phone. Bianca: “Could I speak to Herr Bergtaler, please?” (It sounded more like Mickey Mouse than Bart Simpson.) “I see, so when's he coming back?… On sick leave?” (“He's still alive,” Bianca whispered to Judith. Then she continued in her Mickey–Bart voice) “In hospital?… What's wrong with him… Oh, I see… Oh, blimey… Aha… No, I'm just the daughter of a friend of his… No, that's not necessary. I'll call back when he's out of hospital… Er… when will he be out?… And which hospital's he in?… Joseph. Right… With an
f
or
ph
?… O.K.… O.K.… Thanks, bye!”

“Well?” Judith asked. Bianca: “So, he's in hospital – Josephsspital – with a mystery illness. He's got to stay there for at least another two weeks and no-one's allowed to visit him. But we wouldn't want to anyway, would we?” Judith: “No, we wouldn't.” Bianca: “Why are you looking so distraught? If he's in hospital we've got our peace from him. Maybe he'll fall in love with a nurse and you'll be rid of him for good.” Judith: “A mystery illness – that doesn't sound good.” Bianca: “Maybe he's got bird flu. Or mad cow disease. Or even A.I.D.S. Eh, Frau Wangermann? Actually, I don't think so. He's not the junkie type, and he's not gay either, is he? Bi at most, I'd say. But to be on the safe side you ought to get an A.I.D.S. test. I've had one done. They take a bit of your blood, that's all. Doesn't hurt a bit. You just mustn't look. You see, when I look…” “Thank you, Bianca, you can go now. You've been a great help,” Judith said. “I'm really happy to have you around.”

On her way home after work, in the twilight of a windy autumn evening, Judith was seized by fear and uncertainty. In the hallway, as she waited for the lift, she imagined she could hear a groaning from up above. In a panic she left the building, joined the flow of passers-by, called Lukas and, in between sobs, told him of Hannes' supposed illness and his stay in hospital, which contradicted her gut feeling and the groaning in the stairwell.

He could be in Vienna in two hours. “No, Lukas, that's not necessary,” she said. Yes, it was necessary. And nothing she said was going to stop him. All Judith had to do was get through the next couple of hours. A fresh attempt, bold and braced for anything, brought her almost to the front door. But then she turned and dashed towards the underground station where the lights were brighter. Even out on the street she felt uneasy. An ambulance siren scared her to death. Perhaps they were bringing Hannes to her place, or, worse still, away from there.

She jumped into a taxi, called her mother, said she happened to be in the vicinity and asked whether it was alright if she popped by. “You still alive then?” Mum said, and quickly followed with “Of course, child, you know you can come round any time you like.” Mum looked dreadful, like someone who'd just been ditched by Father on good terms, and it went without saying that she, the daughter, was to blame. As punishment Judith had to read out to her the leaflets detailing dosage instructions and side effects of the medicines she'd been prescribed to combat blindness, heart attack, grief and so on. And yet: there was no mention of Hannes. Judith kept looking at the clock at one-minute intervals. “Are you going so soon?” Mum asked. “Yes, I'm meeting Lukas,” Judith replied. “Lukas?” At last, open criticism in the form of a name. “Why Lukas?” “Why? Because he's a friend and because one sees friends from time to time,” Judith said acerbically. “Lukas has a family!” “Mum, I'm not discussing this with you now,” Judith replied, jumping up and slamming the door behind her. For a few minutes she stood outside, conscious of the miserable state she was in, then she rang the doorbell again. Mum opened hesitantly, her eyes were swollen. Judith fell into her arms and apologised. “I'm not in a good way at the moment,” she said. “Yes, I know,” Mum replied. There was a short, oppressive pause. Judith: “How do you know?” “I can tell just by looking at you, my child,” Mum replied.

They had arranged to meet at Iris. Lukas was already there, finishing a telephone conversation. In front of him a glass of Aperol, lit through by a candle. It lent his angular face a reddish-orange glow. When she approached him he put the palms of his hands to her cheeks, at once a gesture of protection and tenderness. Why couldn't she have a man like this?

“You mustn't worry, Judy, he really is in the Josephsspital,” he said. A Herr Hannes Bergtaler had been admitted there the previous Monday. The hospital was not at liberty to disclose which ward he was in, the reason for his admission or his state of health. This had been stipulated by the patient himself.

“Lukas, am I being paranoid?” Judith asked. “No, of course not.” Her: “So why do I think he's in hospital because of me, and that because of me he doesn't want anybody to know why he's there.” Lukas: “Perhaps because it's true.” Her: “Exactly, perhaps.” Lukas: “Perhaps is enough.” Her: “But perhaps he really is seriously ill and needs my support.” Lukas: “Perhaps that's exactly what he wants you to think, and as often as possible.” Her: “Perhaps.” Lukas: “Whatever, he's forcing you to worry about him.” “And I'm forcing you to worry about me.” Him: “No, Judith, you're not forcing me; I'm doing this of my own accord and I'm very happy to do it. That's the difference.”

*

The difference lasted until closing time. Judith had drunk more than she could take. Lukas acted as if he'd stayed sober, despite all the Aperol and wine. A few times his arm slipped its way around her shoulder, but was immediately retracted. At any rate he took her mind off Hannes in a discreetly attractive or at least attractively discreet way. Occasionally they sighed or chuckled about their long-lost intimate past. What would Antonia say if she knew he'd abandoned his family and the countryside to follow his protective instinct, and had been up all night trying to comfort his paranoid ex-girlfriend in a dingy Viennese bar? She'd be fine with that, he assured her. “She knows how close we are, Judy. And she knows that I'd never abuse your trust.” “And hers?” Judith asked. “Definitely not hers,” Lukas replied. On his lips this sentence sounded more erotic than any whispered sweet nothings.