Seven Years

Seven Years - By Peter Stamm



Sonia stood in the middle of the brightly lit space; she liked to be at the center of things. Her head was slightly lowered, and she kept her arms close to her sides. She was smiling with her lips, but her eyes were narrowed, as though she were dazzled or in pain. Like the paintings on the walls, to which no one paid any attention but that were supposed to be the occasion for the presence of all these people, she seemed somehow not there, or only superficially there.

I was smoking a cigarillo, and watched through the plate glass gallery window as a good-looking man went up to Sonia and spoke to her. It was as though she woke up from her slumbers. She broke into a smile and touched glasses with him. His lips moved, and I could see an almost childlike astonishment come over her, then she smiled again, but even from where I was I could see she wasn’t listening to the man, she was thinking about something else.

Then Sophie was standing next to me. She seemed to have something on her mind as well. She said, Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world. Yes, I said, and I stroked her hair. She is, your mama is the most beautiful woman in the world.

It had been snowing since morning, but the snow melted as soon as it touched the ground. I’m cold, said Sophie, and she slipped back into the gallery, through the door that someone had just opened. A tall bald man had come out, with a cigarette between his lips. He stood far too close to me—as though we knew each other—and lit it. Ghastly pictures, he said. When I didn’t reply, he turned and took a couple of steps away. Suddenly he seemed a little uncertain and awkward.

I kept watching through the gallery window. Sophie had run in to Sonia, whose face brightened. The good-looking man, who was still next to her, looked sternly, almost offended, at the girl. Sonia bent down to Sophie, and the two of them had a short conversation, and Sophie pointed outside. Sonia shielded her eyes with her hand and peered in my direction with a strained smile, creasing her brow. I was pretty sure she couldn’t make me out in the darkness. She said something to Sophie and gave her a little push toward the door. I felt a momentary impulse to run away, to merge with the crowds getting off work and striding through the light that poured out of the gallery. The passersby glanced cursorily at the elegant, nicely dressed people within, and then hurried on their way, heading home with the rest of the crowd.


I hadn’t seen Antje for almost twenty years, and even so I recognized her right away. She must be about sixty, but her face was still youthful. Well, she said, and kissed me on both cheeks. Before I could say anything a young man with a silly-looking ornamental beard appeared by her side, whispered into her ear, and pulled her away from me. I saw him lead her to a man in a dark suit whose face was familiar, maybe from the newspapers. Sophie had collared the man who a moment ago had approached Sonia, and was flirting with him, to his evident embarrassment. Sonia listened with an amused expression, but once more I had the feeling her thoughts were elsewhere. I went over to her and laid my arm around her waist. I enjoyed the man’s jealous look. He was asking Sophie how old she was. Guess, she said. He pretended to think. Twelve? She’s ten, said Sonia, and Sophie said, you’re mean. You’re very much like your mother, said the man. Sophie thanked him with a curtsey. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, she said. She seemed to know just exactly what was going on.

Do you mind if I take Sophie home now? Sonia asked. Antje will probably have to stay till the end. I offered to take Sophie home myself so she could stay, but she shook her head and said she was really tired. She and Antje had the whole weekend to look forward to anyway.

Sophie had asked her beau to fetch her a glass of orange juice. He asked if he could get anyone else a drink. Will you stop ordering other people around? I said. I wonder who she gets it from, Sonia said. She bit her lip and looked down at the ground and then into my eyes, but I pretended I hadn’t heard. We’re out of here, she said, and kissed me quickly on the mouth. Try not to make any noise when you get home.


The gallery started to empty, but it was a long time until the last of the visitors had gone. In the end, there was only Antje and me, and an elderly gentleman whom she didn’t introduce. The two of them were standing side by side in front of one of the pictures, talking together in such quiet voices that I instinctively left them alone. I flipped through the price list and kept glancing at the two of them. Finally Antje put her arms around the man, kissed him on the forehead, and walked him to the door. That was Georg, she said, I used to be crazy about him. She laughed. Weird, isn’t it? That was a hundred years ago. She went to the bar and came back with two glasses of red wine. She held one out to me, but I shook my head. I’ve given it up. She smiled doubtfully, emptied her glass in a single swallow, and said, well in that case, I’m all set.

The gallery owner had left the keys with Antje. She spent ages flicking the light switches until it was completely dark. Once outside, she slipped her arm through mine and asked if the car was parked nearby. It was still just snowing. What weather, she said. Next time we should meet in Marseilles. She asked me if I liked the paintings. You’ve gotten a little calmer, I said. Subtler, I hope, said Antje. I don’t understand art, I said, but unlike before, I could imagine having a painting of yours up on the wall at home. Antje said she wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

I asked her if she had invited Sonia’s parents to the opening. I had expected them to be there. Antje didn’t reply. If you want to visit them, I can loan you the car, it’s just a hop and a skip to Starnberg anyway. Antje still didn’t say a word. Not until we got to the car did she answer that she hardly had any time, and she was too tired to go driving around the countryside. Getting the show ready had really taken it out of her. I asked her if there was anything the matter. She hesitated. No, she said, or maybe there is. They’ve gotten old and narrow-minded. Surely they always were, I replied. Antje shook her head. Of course Sonia’s parents were conservative, she said, but her father at least used to be genuinely interested in art. She had had many conversations with him about it. Of late, he had become more and more inaccessible, perhaps it was an age thing. He didn’t have any use for anything new, and had turned bitter. He doesn’t need to agree with me, she said, but I wish he would at least listen to what I have to say. The last time we met, we had a huge argument about Gursky. Since then I haven’t felt like seeing him.

I wondered whether there might not be other reasons for Antje not to see Sonia’s father. I often suspected there might have been something between them. When I ran it by Sonia once, she reacted indignantly, and said her parents had a good marriage. Just like us, I thought, and said nothing more.

Even though there wasn’t much in the way of traffic, it still took us a long while to get clear of the city. Antje didn’t speak. I looked across to her and saw she had closed her eyes. I thought she was asleep when she suddenly said she sometimes wondered if she had done me a favor back then. How do you mean? What with? Sonia wasn’t sure, Antje said. For a while neither of us spoke, and then Antje said Sonia wasn’t sure whether we were a good match. You mean if I was good enough for her?, I asked. You had potential, Antje said, I think that was her word. The other boy … Rüdiger, I said. Yes, Rüdiger was fun to be with, but he wasn’t focused enough. And then there was someone else. She tried to recall the name. The one who later married the musician. Ferdy?, I said. Maybe, said Antje.

I couldn’t imagine Sonia ever being interested in Ferdy. It didn’t last long, Antje said. Did she really have a thing with him? We were stuck at a light, and I turned to Antje. She smiled apologetically. I don’t think she slept with him, if that’s what you mean. Didn’t she tell you?

Sonia never did talk much. It often felt as though she’d had no previous life, or whatever it was had left no traces except in the photograph albums on her bookshelf, which she never took out. When I looked at the pictures, I had the sense that they came from another life. Now and then I asked Sonia about her time with Rüdiger, and she gave me monosyllabic replies. She said she never asked me what I’d done before either. It doesn’t bother me, I said. After all, you’re mine now. But Sonia was stubbornly silent. Sometimes I wondered if it wasn’t that there was just nothing to say.

Antje’s smile had changed, she looked a little mocking now. You men like to make conquests, she said. Try and see it in a positive light. She checked through her possibilities, and chose you.

A car honked behind me, and I accelerated so fast the tires squealed. And what was your part in the whole thing?, I asked. Can you remember the first night the two of you stayed at my place?, asked Antje. Sonia went to bed early, and we sat up and looked at my pictures together. I had half a mind to seduce you. I liked you, clean-cut little college kid. But instead I just led you up the garden path, and told you Sonia was in love with you. And the next day I gave her a spiel. What did you do that for? Antje shrugged her shoulders. Are you annoyed? Her question sounded serious. It was for fun, she said finally, I put in a good word for you. There was something with another woman, a foreigner, if I remember. Ivona, I said, and I sighed. That’s a long story.





I’d been sitting for hours with Ferdy and Rüdiger in a beer garden near the English Garden. It was a hot July afternoon, and the sunlight was a dazzling white. We’d handed in our final thesis projects ten days before, and in another week we had to go and defend them. We didn’t have much else to do except while away the time and give each other courage. All three of us had chosen the design of a modern museum on a site bordering the Hofgarten, and we were sketching out our plans and pushing notepads back and forth. Our voices were loud and excited, and we didn’t care that the other customers kept turning around to look at us. Rüdiger said my plans reminded him of Aldo Rossi. I was offended, and said what did he know? There are worse people to imitate than the old masters, said Ferdy, but Alex tries to reinvent the wheel every time he draws something. Then tell me where Rossi fits in, I said, and pushed my plan across the table. But Rüdiger had already moved on. He was talking about Deconstructivism, saying the architect was the psychotherapist of pure form, and more bullshit of that type.

A couple of girls were sitting at our table. They were wearing light summer dresses and were attractive enough in an uninteresting way. After a while we got talking. One of them worked for an advertising agency, and the other was studying art history or ethnology or something like that. It was a flip sort of conversation, made up of one-liners, jokes and comebacks, all going nowhere. When the girls paid to leave, Ferdy suggested we all go to the English Garden together. They hesitated briefly, and conferred in whispers, then the advertising girl said they had other plans, but we might meet up later at Monopteros. As they left, they had their heads together, and after a couple of steps, they turned and waved and laughed at us.

I’m having the blonde, said Ferdy. The brunette is much prettier, said Rüdiger. But the blonde is really stacked, said Ferdy. There you go, deconstructing again, said Rüdiger. Two women between three guys doesn’t work. Ferdy looked at me. You’d better find yourself a girl. Why me?, I protested. Ferdy grinned. You’re the best-looking of the three of us. That girl over there has hardly taken her eyes off of us.

I saw a woman reading a couple of tables away in the shadow of a big linden tree. She was probably our age, but she was completely unattractive. Her face was puffy, and she wore her midlength hair loose. Presumably she had gotten a perm some time ago, but it had grown out, and her hair was hanging in her face. Her clothing looked cheap and worn. She had on a brown corduroy skirt, a patterned blouse in wishy-washy pastel colors, and a scarf around her neck. Her nose was reddened, and a few crumpled-up tissues were on the table in front of her. While I was still taking her in, she looked up and our glances met. Her face twisted into an anxious smile, and in a sort of reflex I smiled back. She lowered her eyes, but even her shyness seemed inappropriate and disagreeably flirtatious.

Women are helpless in the face of his charms, said Ferdy. He’ll never get her, said Rüdiger. You wanna bet? Before I could answer, he went on. I bet you don’t get her. There was something sad about his eyes now. I said I wouldn’t even take her if she was offered. Well, we’ll just have to see about that, said Ferdy, getting to his feet. The woman was watching us again. When she saw Ferdy making straight for her, her expression changed to a mixture of dread and expectation. He’s mad, I groaned, and turned away. The whole thing was embarrassing to me already. I looked around for the waitress. Surely you won’t bail at this stage, said Rüdiger, come on, be a man. What’s the sense of this, I said, and stretched my legs. My good mood was gone, I felt useless and rotten, and was angry at myself. It was as though the voices and laughter faded into the background, and through the sound I heard the approach of steps across the gravel.

Meet Ivona, said Ferdy. She’s from Poland. This is Rüdiger, and this—is Alexander. He was standing behind me, I had to look almost vertically up at him. Have a seat, said Ferdy. The woman put her glass down on the table, and next to it her tissues and her book, which was a romance novel with a brightly colored cover showing a man and a woman on horseback. She sat down between me and Rüdiger. She sat there with her hands folded in her lap and a very straight back. She looked restlessly between us. There was something stiff about her posture, but her whole appearance was somehow sagging and feeble. She seemed to have given up all hope of ever pleasing anyone, even herself.

Isn’t the weather lovely, said Rüdiger, and giggled foolishly. Yes, said Ivona. But it’s hot, said Ferdy. Ivona nodded. I asked her if she had a cold. She said she had hay fever. She was allergic to all kinds of pollen. All kinds of Poles?, asked Ferdy, and Rüdiger laughed like a drain. No, grass, dust, said Ivona, not batting an eyelid. And so it went on. Ferdy and Rüdiger asked her stupid questions, and she answered them seemingly unaware that she was being made fun of. On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy their interest in her, and smiled after each one of her monosyllabic replies. She came from Posen. I thought you were from Poland, said Rüdiger. Posen is a town in Poland, Ivona replied patiently. Her German was almost accentless, but she spoke slowly and cautiously, as if not quite sure of herself. She said she worked in a bookstore. She was trying to improve her German, and supporting her parents back home. Her father was an invalid and her mother’s earnings weren’t enough for them both.

From the very outset, Ivona was disagreeable to me. I felt sorry for her, and at the same time I was irritated by her docile and long-suffering manner. Instead of holding Ferdy and Rüdiger back, I was closer to joining in their mean games. Ivona gave the impression of a natural-born victim. When Ferdy said we had arranged to meet up with two girls in the English Garden, and didn’t Ivona want to join us, I felt like protesting, but what would have been the use? Ivona hesitated. Four o’clock at Monopteros, said Ferdy, turning to us. Shall we go?


We were there in good time. The two girls arrived shortly after us, only there was no sign of Ivona. She’s not coming, I said, thank God. Who’s not coming?, asked one of the girls. Alex’s girlfriend, said Ferdy, and he turned to me and said, you can wait here for her, you know where we’re going.

Rüdiger said quietly he’d keep me company. We sat down on the steps of the little temple, and he passed me a cigarette. The ugly ones are the hardest to pull, he said. Because they never get a man, they think they’re something special. I shook my head. Nonsense. Ivona reminded him of a girl he’d gone out with in the early years of high school, Rüdiger said. Subsequently, he’d not been able to tell himself why. In fact he’d already been in love with Sonia at the time, but she’d been too much for him, with her looks and everything. I must have gone for the other girl because of fear, said Rüdiger, or else I was trying to get a rise out of Sonia. Brigitte wasn’t a looker, and she was really hard work, and most of the time she was in a bad mood. I wasn’t allowed to do more than kiss her and grope a little bit. But somehow I wasn’t able to break up with her. She manipulated me, I never quite understood how. He went on talking, but I stopped listening. My own mood hadn’t improved. I was tired from the beer, and sweaty, and I felt unwell. I asked myself what I was doing waiting for Ivona if her company was so unpleasant to me. Perhaps some remnant of manners, perhaps curiosity, or perhaps just because heading off would have needed a decision on my part, and my lack of initiative was crippling me.

Ivona arrived twenty minutes late. She was wearing the same outfit as at lunchtime, plus a little beige cardigan, even though it was still warm. She didn’t apologize and didn’t say what had made her late. All right then, said Rüdiger, and he stood up.

We met the others at a place by the lake where we often went. The girls said hi to Ivona, but more or less ignored her after that. We had brought blankets, and Ferdy had a couple of lukewarm bottles of beer. We lay there torpidly, passing bottles around, and talking about all kinds of things. Ivona didn’t drink anything, and she didn’t contribute to the conversation. She just sometimes blew her nose and smiled a stupid-looking smile. Once or twice she made as if to speak, but one of the others got in first, and she gave up. I noticed that she was watching me. Each time I looked across to her, she looked away, as though I’d caught her in the act. Again I felt like hurting her, being rude to her. Her ugliness and pokiness were a provocation to me, her desire to belong exposed us and made us laughable. I wondered how I might shake her off. Shall we go cool down?, I finally asked. We grabbed our things. Ivona hadn’t said anything, but she trotted along behind us to the Eisbach. The greater part of the meadow was already in shadow, and the few people who were still there clustered in the last patches of sunshine. I had expected the presence of nudity to deter Ivona, but she showed no reaction, and silently sat down on one of the blankets, as though she was entitled to it. Ferdy said he was going for more beer, and took off.

The girls were wearing bikinis under their dresses, and Rüdiger and I stripped and ran naked down to the water and jumped in. When we returned a little later, the girls were lying side by side, talking together softly. The blonde had her top off, and turned onto her stomach as we approached. Ivona was sitting in the shade, she hadn’t even taken her cardigan off. She looked at me in surprise, and my nakedness embarrassed me, and I pulled on shorts and pants. Then I played Frisbee with Rüdiger. The girls seemed to have no interest in us, presumably they were talking about what they were going to do that night and we didn’t figure in their plans. And that’s what happened, Ferdy returned finally, and they said they had to go. Ferdy half-heartedly tried to keep them, but I think basically we were all relieved when they went. Only Ivona made no move to leave.

By now the whole meadow was in shadow. The last of the bathers had dressed and gone, and were probably drifting through the bars and beer gardens of the city. I was seized by a mixture of melancholy and expectation, it felt as though the present moment had shrunk to something infinitesimally small, separate both from the past and from whatever lay ahead, which felt distant and notional. Rüdiger and Ferdy started talking architecture again, but it wasn’t like before. Ivona sat off to one side, her arms clasping her pale legs. She didn’t say anything, but she was still getting in the way. Ferdy, who was sitting with his back to her, made choking motions with his hands, and leaned forward to me and whispered, I think we have to throw her in the water or else we’ll never get rid of her. Rüdiger heard Ferdy and said half aloud, you asked her, she’s on your watch. She’s Alex’s responsibility, said Ferdy. I didn’t know if Ivona could hear what we were saying, but she didn’t react anyway. She had rested her head on her arms and was looking into the trees. It’s no use, said Rüdiger, and stood up.

We cleared our stuff. Ivona got to her feet awkwardly and watched as we rolled up the blankets. When we left, she followed us, without our having asked her to. She was always a couple of feet behind. At the count of three, let’s run, said Ferdy, and he sprinted off, but after a few steps he stopped and waited for us to catch up to him.

We went back to the beer garden where we’d been for lunch. We had to sit at a table with strangers. Ivona sat next to me. Again, she didn’t say a word, she didn’t even seem to be listening to our conversation. Later on, a couple of friends of ours came by, and we had to squeeze together. Ivona was pressed against me, and I felt the softness and warmth of her hips and thighs.

Eventually, my head was reeling with alcohol and noise, I dropped my hand on Ivona’s thigh and absentmindedly started stroking her. I wasn’t caressing her exactly, it was more like an animal lying next to another animal for shared warmth. When I got up shortly after and waved good night, she got up too, and followed me like a dog following its master. As we left the beer garden, she said she had to go to the ladies’ room for a moment. I thought about making a break for it, but by now I was turned on by the idea of being with her. It wasn’t the usual back-and-forth, the game of trying to seduce a woman. I had the feeling Ivona was giving herself to me, and I had absolute power over her, and could do whatever I liked with her. I felt utterly indifferent to her. I had nothing to lose and nothing to be afraid of.

It was a long time before Ivona emerged from the restroom. I asked if I should walk her home. She said it wasn’t far. We went through a small park. The air felt cooler, and there was a smell of wet earth and dogshit. At the darkest point, I grabbed hold of Ivona and kissed her. She let me, and she didn’t resist when I groped her breasts and bottom. When I tried to undo her belt, she turned away and took my hand.

She lived in a student residence hall for women. She walked up the stairs ahead of me. I was feeling a little more sober than before, and it slowly dawned on me what an idiotic thing I was doing, but I was too excited, and it didn’t seem possible to turn back now. Ivona unlocked her room and switched on the light. No sooner had she closed the door behind us than I embraced her again, and dragged her over to the narrow single bed. I tried to undress her, but she wouldn’t let me. She twisted and struggled with surprising agility. I kissed her and touched her all over, and pushed my hand down the front of her skirt, but her belt was so tight, I could hardly move my fingers. My hand was pressed flat against Ivona’s belly, and I could feel her woolly pubic hair. Ivona was whimpering, I couldn’t tell if it was desire or fear or both. I hadn’t been so excited in ages, maybe because I so completely didn’t care what Ivona thought about me. I tried to undo her belt with my free hand. Again she struggled. I said some stupid nonsense or other. She murmured no, and please no. Her voice sounded dark and soft.


When I woke up, I was muzzy and hardly knew where I was. It was brightening outside, the room was in twilight. My head hurt, and I needed to pee. I was shirtless, Ivona had all her clothes on, only the top buttons on her blouse were undone.

While I pissed into the sink, I opened the mirror cabinet, which was stuffed with shampoo samples and unfamiliar medicines. I turned and saw that Ivona was awake and watching me. I said, I’m going now. Then she got up and came over to me and whispered into my ear, I love you. It didn’t sound like a declaration of love, more like the statement of an immutable fact. I reached for my shirt and T-shirt. Ivona watched me dress with something like entitlement, her eyes were full of pride. I walked out without another word.

I stopped outside the dormitory to get my bearings. I couldn’t remember which way we’d gone the night before. The birds in the trees were fantastically loud, and for a moment I had the ridiculous idea that they might attack me. I asked myself what I was doing here, and how things had ever gotten so far. The whole business was embarrassing to me, and I hoped no one had seen me leave with Ivona. At the same time, though, I felt strangely exhilarated. Everything I’d previously experienced with women struck me as a sort of game in comparison to the night I’d just been through. I had felt grown up with Ivona, and responsible, and perfectly free.


I lived in one of the bungalows in the Olympic Village. It was a tiny place, but my friends in shared apartments or student dorms were all jealous of me. There were hundreds of these bungalows along narrow lanes surrounded by towering apartment buildings, and they really were like a sort of village. They had been built for competitors at the Olympics. After the games, the area was handed over to students. I paid three hundred marks a month for a little house that was roughly 250 square feet. Downstairs there was a walk-in closet, a kitchenette, and the legendary “Nice” shower, a plastic bath unit where you felt you were in a spacecraft. Upstairs was the bedroom and study. One wall of the study was glass, and there was a little veranda outside. To save space, a bunk bed was installed at the top of the stairs. The village was full of stories of couples falling out in the course of wild nights, but presumably that was just student talk.

The bungalows had been run up quickly and weren’t in good condition. The windows were poorly insulated, and even so you had to air out the space all the time, because otherwise you got mold in the walls. The student union had provided us with paint for the facades. Some people had made proper works of art, others had scrawled political slogans on the walls. Some of the paintings looked like children’s drawings.

There were always parties in the village, and spontaneous barbecues. It was noisy, especially in summer, which made it hard to concentrate on your work. You could hear everything from the bungalows on either side. I had a German lit student next to me. I barely knew his name, but I knew all about his sex life, and I heard every quarrel and every reconciliation with his girlfriend. Sonia, who was taking the same courses as me, sometimes came to visit. She was interested in the architecture of the village, and later on she would come and study with me. One hot summer afternoon, when we were both cramming architecture history, we could hear shouting from next door. I was about to knock on the door to complain when it got quiet. Shortly after that, there were the loud shrieks of pleasure of a woman. Sonia didn’t understand at first, and said shouldn’t we check up on what was happening. I don’t think they need help, I said laughing. Only then did the shoe drop. I said I should have studied German, where you didn’t have to work so much, and had time for other things. Sonia blushed, and said she was going to the bathroom. When she returned, the noise still hadn’t stopped, and after a few more minutes, she said she had to leave, she had a date. From then on we did all our cramming in the library.

It was before seven a.m. when I got home. Everything was peaceful in the village, and the paths were deserted. I put on the coffee machine and took a shower, then I set off for nowhere in particular. I felt euphoric and needed exercise. I headed for the city center and thought about the future. Everything seemed possible, nothing was going to get in my way. I would find a position in a big architecture firm, in time I would set up on my own, and realize big projects all over the world. I walked through the city, staring at the windows of car dealerships, and already pictured myself at the wheel of some luxury model, going on tours of inspection from building site to site.

I went to the library and read a long newspaper article about a wave of refugees from East Germany, and somehow that went with my feeling of freedom and adventure. Everything seemed possible, even if the commentator urged caution and doubted the imminent collapse of the GDR. At noon I had a sandwich, then I moved on. I bummed around the city, bought myself a pair of pants and a couple of white T-shirts. When I returned to the student village in the evening, I was tired and satisfied, as if at the end of a long day at work.

I went to bed early, and even so I didn’t wake up until noon the following day. It was the telephone that woke me. It was Sonia. She asked me if I was doing anything. No, I said, just recovering from the strains and stresses of the final project. We agreed to meet for lunch near the library.

My relationship with Sonia wasn’t altogether straightforward. She had caught my eye on the very first day of school, but I had only got to meet her through Rüdiger. We got along well, and sometime we started doing our drafting together. She was more gifted than me, and had more application. But she was generous-spirited, and would never have trashed someone else’s work, the way Ferdy and I did. She wasn’t uncritical, but she was always fair, and whatever her critique might be, it always seemed to be positive. She was just as popular with the professors as with the students. She was able to admire people, and maybe that’s why she was admired herself by others. She and Rüdiger seemed to be a dream couple. They could have been married, the way they planned parties and asked us to their parents’ homes, as though they had already come into their own. At one of those parties, I met Alice, and we had been going out for several months now. Then Sonia and I broke up with our partners at about the same time, in the middle of exam pressures—maybe that brought us closer to one another. My breakup with Alice was rough, and Sonia, who was a friend of Alice’s, had spent nights hearing all about what a son of a bitch I was, and how badly I had treated her. Remarkably, none of that seemed to affect us in any way. Quite the contrary, it was at that time that we grew really close. First I thought it was Sonia’s intention to bring Alice and me back together, until one day she said Alice mustn’t hear about us meeting, because it would wreck their friendship. Rüdiger knowing didn’t matter, they had ended it amicably and with no bad feelings. When you saw the two of them, you might have been forgiven for thinking they were still an item. I asked Sonia what had caused their split. Oh, she said, and made a vaguely deprecating gesture.

Sometimes I entertained the idea of falling in love with Sonia myself, but however plausible it was as an idea, it didn’t seem at all appropriate. Perhaps we knew each other too well, and our friendship was too cemented. One time I tried to hint at something. Wouldn’t it be perfect, I said, if Alice started going out with Rüdiger, and the two of us … What an idea!, said Sonia laughing. And she was right. I couldn’t picture her as my girlfriend, not in bed, not even naked. She was certainly very beautiful, but there was something unapproachable about her. She was like one of those dolls whose clothes are sewn onto their bodies. Although, Sonia said, Rüdiger and Alice would make a good couple. So would we, though. It would finish Alice, said Sonia. Anyway, I don’t have time for a relationship at the moment. She first had to concentrate on getting a job. She wanted to go abroad, and a serious relationship would just get in the way. I’d like to see you head over heels in love, I said, so badly that it hurts! She laughed. Trust me to say something like that.


I got to the café before Sonia, and watched through the window as she crossed the street toward me. She was wearing white pants and a white sleeveless T-shirt, and she was tanned. When she walked into the café, the whole place turned to stare. She came up to my table and brushed a kiss on my cheek. As she sat down, she looked briefly around, as though searching for someone. The waiter was at hand before I could even call him.

Sonia talked about a competition she wanted to enter, a day care for a big industrial company. She put on her glasses, which I liked her even better in, and showed me her sketches. I made a couple of suggestions, which she turned down. I’d had better ideas before, she said. I told her I hadn’t been sleeping well. She looked at me with mock sympathy, and went on talking about her project and integration and shelter and the personality of the children and their uniqueness and potential. My client is the child, she said, and pushed her glasses up over her hair, and laughed.

Sonia was the absolute opposite of Ivona. She was lovely and smart and talkative and charming and sure of herself. I always found her presence somewhat intimidating, and I had the feeling of having to try to be better than I actually was. With Ivona, the time went by incredibly slowly, full of painful silences. She gave monosyllabic replies to my questions, and it was a constant struggle to prolong the conversation. Sonia on the other hand was the perfect socialite. She came from a well-off background, and I couldn’t imagine her doing or saying something unconsidered. She was bound to have a successful career. She would find a niche in the design of social housing, and get a seat on various boards, and bring up two or three children on the side, who would be clean and just as well-behaved and presentable as she was. But Sonia would never say to a man that she loved him, the way that Ivona had said it to me, as if there was no other possibility. Ivona’s declaration had been embarrassing, just like the idea of being seen in public with her, but even so the thought of her love had something ennobling about it. It was as though Ivona was the only person who took me seriously and to whom I really meant something. She was the only woman who saw me as something other than a good-looking kid or a rising young architect. Ever since waking up, I kept thinking of her, and I was sure I would have to see her again, if only to free myself from her. She had told me she worked in a Christian bookstore. It couldn’t be all that hard to find her.

Sonia was talking about a torchlight parade that she had gone on, for the victims of the Tiananmen massacre. The night I had spent with Ivona she and a few like-minded people had marched from Goetheplatz to Marienplatz, and had marked the Chinese sign for sorrow in lighted candles on the square. According to Buddhist beliefs, the souls of the deceased would go looking for a new body at the end of forty-nine days, she said. It was so moving, I cried. She seemed to be surprised by her own emotional outburst. I only hope your soul doesn’t find a new body for itself, I said, that would be a shame. Sonia looked at me as if I’d personally shot down the Chinese students. I’ve got to go, I said. She asked me if I planned on going to Rüdiger’s farewell party. I couldn’t say yet.


I found three Christian bookstores listed in the phone book. I went to the first of them, but they said they didn’t give out information about people who worked there. I took a look around the place. When I didn’t see Ivona anywhere, I went to the next place. The manager here wasn’t so cagey. He said he didn’t have any Polish girls working for him, and there wouldn’t be any at the Claudius bookstore, the third one on my list, either, because that was Protestant. He thought about it for a moment. The parish church of St. Joseph in Schwabing had a small shop attached to it, where they sold books and knickknacks. Maybe my girlfriend worked there. She’s not my girlfriend, I said.

I had to go once around the church before I saw the store. It was in an adjacent building, in a small recess. A couple of steps led up to the door next to a display window with a few candles and a couple of yellowed-looking pamphlets. Jesus and TV, I Lift Up Mine Eyes to Thee, The Everlasting Bond, things like that.

I looked through the glass door but saw no one. When I walked in, I set off a little bell. It took a moment, and then the velvet curtain parted at the far end. The back room was in bright sunlight, and for an instant Ivona looked like an apparition, bathed in light. Then the curtain fell shut behind her, and the room was once again in dimness.

Ivona looked at me attentively, and without a trace of recognition. She sat down on a chair behind the counter and busied herself by straightening some stacks of miniature saints’ pictures. I looked at the books, which were arranged by theme on a couple of shelves: Mission, Help through Faith, Marriage and Family, Sects and Other Religions. There was even a category called Witty and Provocative. I pulled down a book of clerical jokes. On the cover there was a drawing of a lion kneeling down before a priest, paws folded in prayer. I put it back and turned to Ivona. She still wasn’t noticing me. I went over to the counter and stared at her until she raised her eyes. My image of her had changed in memory, and seeing her in front of me now, I wondered how I could possibly have wanted her so much yesterday. Her expression was anxious, almost submissive, and I felt disgusted by her again. Without a word I left the shop. After a few feet, I turned and looked back. Ivona was standing pressed against the glass door, she looked satisfied, or perhaps just apathetic, as though she really didn’t care whether I stayed or left, as though she knew for sure that I would be back.


I went home and took out my thesis again. In three days’ time I would have to defend it, and I had the feeling I had forgotten everything I had pondered over the last few months. I leafed through the drawings and sketches. Rüdiger was right, my design was derivative, it lacked originality and force. While I’d been working on it I’d been conscious of a vague energy, a creativity, but I hadn’t known in which direction to take it. And then, without my really knowing it, I’d followed my idol. It wasn’t even Rossi’s buildings that impressed me so much as his polemics against modernism, his melancholy which maybe wasn’t anything more than cowardice. Sonia had often poked fun at my old-fashioned taste. She said Rossi’s buildings looked as if he’d taken out his children’s building blocks and played with them.

My work looked shallow and unimaginative to me. Even so, I felt pretty sure I would pass. But it bothered me just being mediocre, and to have to admit to myself that I wasn’t the genius I always dreamed of being. Feeling rather disgusted with myself, I put away the papers. I thought of Ivona and tried to sketch her face from memory, but it was more than I could do. I called Sonia, but there was no answer. I ate a snack, and then took myself for a walk. I avoided those places I normally went to with Rüdiger and Ferdy, I didn’t feel like running into them in case they asked me some uncomfortable questions. I walked through the city, feeling very much alone. I was shocked to realize that there was only one person I wanted to see, and that was Ivona.

It took me a while to find the student residence. The doorbells only had numbers next to them, no names, and I had no idea what Ivona’s number was. I stood in front of the residence, smoking. Finally a young woman came out, and I managed to wedge my foot discreetly in the door before it snapped shut. I stood there while she unlocked her bicycle and rode away.

The buildings must have been from the fifties, the floors were tiled gray, the white on the walls had yellowed, and the banisters’ plastic insulation had been worn away in places, showing the metal below. Even though I’d been pretty drunk on the occasion of my first visit, I found Ivona’s room without much trouble. On the door was a little number plate, like in a hotel. Below that, Ivona had put her own name, with a difficult surname written out in a childish hand, which I forgot right away and don’t know how to spell to this day. I knocked, and Ivona let me in. She didn’t say anything, but she stepped aside and let me in, as though she’d been waiting for me. The TV was on, some historical costume drama with romantic music. I shut the door behind me and went up to Ivona, who shrank back, with a sort of cunning expression on her face. When she reached the window she couldn’t go any farther, and I seized her hands and kissed her palms and her soft whitish arms. Ivona squirmed a little, then she seemed to give in, and dragged me away from the window. She moved to the bed and fell back into it without taking her eyes off me. Her expression was vacant, like an animal’s. I lay down on top of her and went on kissing and embracing her and felt through her thin top for her breasts. She let it happen, only when I tried to undress her she resisted, just as determinedly as the first time. In the background, the music swelled to some sort of crescendo, the film was reaching its high point, or perhaps it was just over. I was very turned on, but it wasn’t the standard feeling of being with a girl, not a physical excitement, but excitement of feeling, a warm, dark sensation, a kind of overwhelming safety. I felt no shame as I pulled off my clothes, even though I guessed how ridiculous we must look, a naked man rubbing himself against a woman in ugly old-fashioned clothes. I couldn’t care less. Ivona was breathing deeply in and out, her hands were clasped across my back, as though to hold me to her. Without anything happening, I had the feeling she was giving herself to me.

This time I didn’t stay overnight, though again when I left it felt like a sort of flight. Ivona had said nothing most of the time, she didn’t say she loved me, only from time to time emitted a little gasping sound I was familiar with. When I took her hands and tried to lead them to me, she pulled away. When I finally gave up, tired and unsatisfied and still aroused, and we were lying together side by side in the half-darkness, I naked, she with creased, loose clothes, I asked, what are we doing here? What’s happening? Then she said she’d prayed that I would come to her. Her voice was the voice of a little girl who was completely convinced her prayer could change the world. I don’t believe in God, I said. That doesn’t make any difference, Ivona said. I laughed. Do you really think God’s got nothing better to do than attend to your love life? She didn’t respond, but when I looked at her, she again had that proud and rather simple expression on her face that she had had that afternoon at the door of the bookstore. I was mad with her, I could see myself tearing the clothes off her body, holding her by the hair, and taking her against her will. Her expression didn’t change. It was the self-complacency of the saints in the little pictures in the shop, which seemed to be saying any wrong you do me will only tie you to me even more tightly.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, full of shame at what I was thinking. When Ivona touched my back, I jumped. She said she had prayed that I would talk to her. She had sat close to me a couple of times in the beer garden, but I hadn’t noticed her. I shuddered. The notion of being Ivona’s chosen one had something eerie about it. Why me? She gave no reply. I have to go, I said, and quickly got dressed. I tied my laces on the stairs.


For the next few days I avoided Ivona. I should have been preparing my defense, but instead I started again from scratch. I got up early in the morning and made a new set of sketches. At first they weren’t up to much, but in spite of my continual failure, I got the feeling my thoughts were getting sharper, I was starting to understand something that was more important than form or style or structural engineering, and against all reason I felt optimistic, and was enjoying my work. It was as though I had the answer in my brain, and just needed to lay it bare, clear away all the debris of my training and find the single gesture, the single line that was true to me.

My original blueprint had been elaborated from the geometry of the floor plan, I had worked it up from the space afforded by the size of the plot and the permitted height of a building, the way a sculptor might conceive a figure from a block of stone. The result was a purist construction, not without some appeal as a model, but completely unoriginal and unthought-out as to its interior. This time I tried to work from the inside, from the exhibition space, not the front elevation. I pictured myself as a visitor to the museum, and developed the structure of the building in an imaginary tour of the rooms. I was proceeding not from construction so much as from intuition, trying on the different rooms like clothes. Often I would stand in my study with eyes shut, pushing the walls this way and that, checking the angle and the quantity of the light, groping my way forward. If someone had seen me, they would surely have thought I was crazy. But over time what evolved was a system of rooms, corridors, and entrances that was more like a living creature than a building. Only after that did I turn to the shell of the structure, which really was pretty much just that: a shell.

It was very hot in the bungalow, and I spent whole days in my underwear behind closed blinds. I drank great quantities of coffee till I broke out in cold sweats, and didn’t eat till I felt almost sick with hunger. In the evenings I would go out to get a couple of bottles of beer and to pick up a kebab, which I had wrapped and took home with me. In the student village there was loads going on just as the term was ending, every night there was loud music and the sound of festive parties from nearby bungalows and the central plaza. I kept out of everything, sat on my little terrace, looked at the sky, and thought of Ivona. I pictured her in front of me, standing in the communal kitchen of the student lodgings, making herself a simple dinner, scrambled eggs maybe, or boiled potatoes, and taking them to her room and eating alone at her little desk. When she was finished, she went back to the kitchen and cleaned up, maybe she exchanged a few words with another Polish girl she knew to talk to. But before long she said she was tired, and she went back to her room and sponged herself down with a washcloth. That was the most erotic vision I had of her, standing at her sink and washing her belly with brisk movements, her shoulders, her soft pendulous breasts. Even though the room was hot, the cool washcloth gave her goose bumps. She pulled on a thin oversize T-shirt that showed the impress of her nipples. I wondered whether she would kneel down to pray or slip straight into bed. She lay there in the dark, on her back, as if dead, and listened to the sounds of the other students, the flush of a toilet, the ringing of a telephone in the corridor, and then a voice calling out someone’s name, and after that another voice, just a murmur, and maybe music or traffic from outside. She lay there awake, thinking of me thinking of her. The thought made me strangely happy. It was as though we were guarding each other in a world full of strangeness and danger.

The next day I went on working. I didn’t answer the telephone, I already had half a dozen messages on the machine. There was Sonia, telling me her presentation had gone really well, and wishing me good luck for Thursday; there was Rüdiger, Ferdy, my mother, all of them wishing me good luck.


The day before the examination I had worked long into the night on my new project. On Thursday morning I got up early and took a last look at my old blueprint, which I would have to defend in a few hours’ time; it didn’t look possible to me.

On the way to the train, I saw a kite being attacked by a crow. The bird of prey was calmly tracing its circles, while the crow flapped around, then climbed higher and dropped onto the larger bird. With a minimal adjustment of its tail the kite altered its course. I stood there fascinated for a long time, watching. One time the kite appeared to give up, headed off in a different direction, and disappeared behind some trees, but then it was back again, and the crow continued to harass it. What have I got to be afraid of, I thought, it’s just an exam. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just have to retake it next year.

I was glad I had an early slot. It was still cool in the hall and there was hardly anyone there. Sonia had offered to come, but I said I’d rather she didn’t, she would only make me nervous. In one of the rows at the back I saw my parents. They waved to me when I walked down to the front.

During the presentation I stumbled once or twice and mixed things up; I spoke of my debt to Aldo Rossi, as if that might take the wind out of the sails of my critics. To my surprise, the first expert on the panel expressed a fairly positive view of my work, even if, as he said, my debt to certain models was pretty obvious. The second examiner spent a long time on one detail, the staircases, which in his view were too narrow, but he closed with a few words praising the overall design. The other professors declined to comment, I had the feeling either they were bored or they were saving themselves for the students who were following me. After a quarter of an hour it was all over, and I left the room, followed by a couple of assistants who carried out the presentation table with my blueprints and model. The next candidates were already lining up outside, among them Rüdiger. There was a gleam in his eyes that made him look drugged. I patted him on the back and wished him good luck. He smiled uncertainly and said nothing.

My parents came out of the hall shortly after I did. They stood off to the side, beaming with pride. I talked to some other students for a bit, and then I went and joined them. That seemed to go all right, said my father, with a questioning rise in his voice, and my mother nodded, even though I was sure she couldn’t have understood the half of what was said. Unlike me, they had dressed up, and they insisted on taking me out to lunch. I could feel their uncertainty. They seemed much older to me here than when I saw them at home in the familiar surroundings, and I felt a bit sorry for them. We went to a moderately priced restaurant. When we said good-bye after lunch, all three of us seemed relieved somehow to have gotten through it.

On Friday I got my grade, 2.0, which was better than I’d expected. Ferdy got the same, Sonia got a 1.0, while Rüdiger had lost his way in the course of his presentation, and when he realized, petitioned the committee to retake his finals next year, which had been granted.


The evening after we received our grades, there was a great big party. We danced into the wee hours, and I had much too much to drink. It was getting light already as I crawled home. For a long time I was unable to sleep, all sorts of things were racing through my head; I was relieved and at the same time felt apprehensive. From now on no one was going to tell me what I had to do and what not. I thought about my new blueprint. It must be possible to create space that would allow feelings, that would enable and communicate the sort of freedom and openness I was thinking of. I envisaged lofty transparent halls, open staircases, the play of light and shade. I wasn’t quite sure whether I was awake or dreaming, but all at once I saw everything before me, very clear and distinct.

I woke up in the early afternoon, still reeling from so much alcohol. I hadn’t said I would show up to Rüdiger’s party, and come evening I dithered over whether to go or not. I didn’t feel that great, and I was afraid I’d run into Alice. In the end I went.

Rüdiger’s parents had a house in Possenhofen, right on Lake Starnberg. His father was a business lawyer who worked in the automobile industry; so far as I knew his grandfather already had had money. Rüdiger never boasted about how well off his family were, but you could feel it in the casual way he treated people and objects. At the time I was impressed; later on I felt sorry for him.

When I arrived, the sun was already low in the sky, and Rüdiger was just lighting some wax tapers that were dotted around the garden. He greeted me exuberantly. Hey, haven’t seen you in ages, he said, thumping me on the back. He seemed perfectly relaxed, even though he was the only one of us who’d been tripped up in the exams. On the lawn between the house and the lake was a long trestle table with a white cloth, but the guests were down on the shore, a few still in the water. If you want a swim, you’d better get a move on, said Rüdiger, I’m just starting the grill. He left me, and I looked out to the others. I had the sun behind me, and everything was gleaming darkly. The scene overpowered me with a sort of timeless meditative quality it had. There was actually someone playing a guitar, and if it hadn’t all been so exquisite, it would have seemed preposterous. I strolled down to the water’s edge and was greeted by cheers. Sonia was lying on a blanket on the grass, she held out her hand to me and I pulled her up. She was wearing a white swimsuit with a light blue man’s shirt thrown over it. She hugged me, and kissed me on both cheeks, more warmly than usual, I got the feeling. With her hand still resting on my shoulder, she whispered into my ear, look, and nodded her head to the side. Only then did I see Alice, with her head pillowed on Ferdy’s belly. He was toying with her bikini top.

Those two?, I asked. Do you feel bad?, Sonia asked, and took me by the hand. Come on, let’s go for a walk. At first I didn’t know what she meant. It didn’t feel bad at all to see Alice with Ferdy, quite the opposite, I was glad she had someone. Even if I didn’t think Ferdy was right for her. I had been anxious about seeing Alice, been afraid of her sad face and her reproachful looks. Now I felt relieved. I walked through the grounds with Sonia, and she told me the story of how Alice and Ferdy had gotten together. That old pimp Rüdiger had a part in it. He brought you and her together too, remember. I never noticed, I said. Anyway, I’m glad she’s not alone anymore. Me too, said Sonia, and she looped her arm through mine. Now we just need to find someone for you. And for you, I said. Sonia laughed and shook her head. I don’t have time for things like that. I said I didn’t believe a word of it, and she laughed again, and lowered her eyes, as though she’d spotted something in the grass. Are you all right?, she asked. Yes, I said, I think I am.

Rüdiger came out of the house carrying an enormous platter of meat, followed by his mother carrying a basket full of rolls. Sonia ran over to them and asked if she could help, and the three went back into the house. I imagined what it would be like, being here with Ivona. She would sit around stolidly, and not open her mouth, or just say bland things, like in the English Garden. I would feel ashamed by her, that was for sure. Even the notion of being alone with her by the lakeside had nothing really tempting about it. Ivona bored me, we had nothing to say to each other. It was only in bed that I liked being with her, when she lay there heavy and soft in her ugly clothes, and I felt completely free and uninhibited.

The buffet was ready. Rüdiger’s mother stood in front of it. She had her hand up shielding her eyes, looking into the sun and in my direction. She waved to me, and I went to her, and she greeted me with a faint kiss on the cheek. How nice of you to come, she said. I’ve missed you.

I didn’t know her well, but even the last time I was here, I’d been struck by her warm and easygoing nature. Don’t worry, she said, I’ll leave you to yourselves soon enough. Stay and eat with us, Mom, said Rüdiger. She laughed and shook her head. I’ll go to bed early. I just wanted to say hello to this young man here.

She asked me a couple of questions regarding my blueprint, and listened attentively when I told her about the revised version I’d begun, and made a couple of remarks that I thought made a lot of sense. Why don’t you do mine for me, said Rüdiger. Rüdiger’s mother said she had studied art history. She had always had a soft spot for architecture. Back then after the war, so many heinous things had been perpetrated. Then she went back inside, and Rüdiger called the others and put steaks and sausages on the grill.

We were a small group, just over a dozen men and women. Half of us had studied with Rüdiger, Alice and one of her friends were attending the conservatory, one of Rüdiger’s friends was just embarking on a career in the diplomatic service. There was Birgit, a med student, who shared an apartment with Sonia and another woman. I had seen her once or twice when I’d visited Sonia, but never exchanged more than a few words with her. A few of the guests I didn’t know at all. One of them was a veterinarian, there was something agricultural about him, he didn’t speak much and put away astonishing quantities of meat.

Rüdiger had drawn up a seating chart, and pointed us to our chairs. Obviously he’d been sure I would come. I was between Sonia and a woman I didn’t know. Ferdy and Alice sat at the other end of the table. When I ran into Ferdy at the buffet, he seemed to think he owed me an explanation. You’re not mad at me, are you?, he said. I shook my head and looked astonished. Why should I be? I’m glad she’s in good hands. He grinned and raised his hands, and waggled his fingers. How’s your little Polska chick? I pretended not to know what he was talking about. Did you have your foul way with her? I said I didn’t know what he meant, and went back to my seat. Ferdy’s remark had spoiled my mood. Everything felt artificial to me, the conversations of the others bored me, their big ideas, Ferdy’s bullshit about Deconstructivism and the suppressed impurity of form. He had always been better at talking than drawing, and he changed his idols like other people changed their shirts. One day Gehry was the greatest, the next it was Libeskind or Koolhaas. His drafts changed accordingly, they had no individual idiom, they were tame, popularized versions of others’ great ideas. He was bound to be successful, and make a lot of money running up second-class buildings in medium-sized cities, which his employers would take for great architecture.

Sonia started to argue with him. She worshipped Le Corbusier and loathed Deconstructivism. She talked about machines for living, and social function zones. Her naive love of the lower class must have something to do with her bourgeois background, I said. I saw that I’d offended her, but I didn’t care. Rüdiger took little part in the discussion. He was probably the most gifted, certainly the most imaginative among us, only he could have failed so spectacularly. His ideas were striking and completely original, but he didn’t have the energy to think them through, or if he did, he was so sloppy that the teachers couldn’t be blamed for giving him bad grades. Even so, they all respected him. He had “potential.” Whenever there was talk of Rüdiger, you heard that. He listened to us and then made some comment that none of us understood. He tried to explain it, and made even less sense, and then finally gave up with an enchanting smile. Then, apropos of nothing, Alice launched into an account of a concert she had gone to. Her self-promotion was even more pitiful than that of the others, she talked with a kind of artificial gush and showed off like a little girl. All the people she met were geniuses, all the books she read were masterpieces, all the music she heard or played was fantastic.

After a while I couldn’t stand any more of her nonsense, and I went down to the lake. On either side of the swimming spot were old trees, which looked like living beings in the flickering light of the torches. I could make out the lights on the opposite side, glinting and multiplying on the surfaces of the water. I lit a cigarette, and heard footsteps behind me. It was the veterinary med student. He was holding a sausage in one hand; with his mouth full, he said, we haven’t met yet, and held out his other hand. His name was Jakob. He had a strong regional accent, and said he was from some place in the Bayerischer Wald, called Oberkashof. Had I come across it? It wouldn’t be anywhere near Unterkashof, I asked, and he laughed deafeningly and smacked me on the back. You’ll do, he said. Then he started raving about Sonia, whom he called an attractive hussy. I don’t know how he got onto the subject of folkloric costume, and how he thought the dirndl was the perfect garment for the female body. It supported the bosom and emphasized the waist, and covered the less pleasing aspect of the hips. Imagine Sonia in a dirndl, he said lasciviously. I had to laugh. Suddenly he was talking about eunuchs. Early and late castrates, family eunuchoidism, reeds and silver tubes and Chinese castration chairs with slanted armrests. A eunuch’s physique was distorted by the absence of male hormones and the disrupted assimilation of protein. I said I would get myself something to drink.

When I passed the table, I heard Alice talking about the death of Karajan. He had managed to conduct one rehearsal of Un ballo in maschera, she said, her voice growing shrill. She shook her head and rolled her eyes like a lunatic.

Lass uns ihn gerettet sehen, ew’ger Gott!

O lass uns ihn, lass uns ihn gerettet sehn!

Er stirbt!—Er stirbt!—

O grauenvolle Nacht!*

I took the subway back into the city with Sonia. As I said good-bye to Rüdiger, he had asked me about Ivona too. I motioned dismissively with my hand, that business was embarrassing to me, not least with Sonia standing next to me. On the train she started asking me about her. Wow, she said, with an ironic smile, a Polish girl, eh. It’s nothing, I said, Ferdy talked to her, and then we couldn’t get rid of her all evening. Poles are spirited women, said Sonia, you should watch yourself. You should see her, I said, she’s not attractive, she’s boring, she doesn’t talk, and if she does say something it’s just a platitude. Sonia looked at me in surprise. Don’t be so defensive. And anyway, she’s a devout Catholic, I added. The woman doesn’t interest me, is that so hard to understand? But you walked her home. That was politeness. The way you talk about her isn’t especially polite. I rolled my eyes. When women get sisterly with each other, it’s best not to say anything. Sonia didn’t speak for a while either. She seemed to be thinking. Then she said she was going to Marseilles the following week, to see Le Corbusier’s Cité Radieuse, and would I like to go with her. She was going to drive there, and we could stay with a friend of hers, a German painter who lived in the city, on account of the light.

I thought a couple of days off would do me good after the stresses of the exam, and the trip wouldn’t cost much. Maybe I would finally be able to shake off Ivona if I went. I wouldn’t have to be thinking about her all the time if I was with Sonia. Sure, I said, I’d like that. Even though it’s not my scene. Sonia laughed. I know you don’t like any other architect except yourself, that’s the presumption of genius. I looked at her with mock condescension. I knew she was making fun of me, but even so I liked it when she called me a genius.


We were going to leave on Monday. If we set off early, Sonia said, then we could do the drive in a day. So I just had Sunday to make my preparations. I got up early and went to the laundromat, which was in the basement of one of the buildings. When I stepped outside my house, I looked around. I was probably scared Ivona would get wind of my plans. I felt I was betraying her in getting ready to go on a trip with another girl. There was no one to be seen. I didn’t think Ivona knew where I lived. She was probably in church, busy praying for me. That threw me into a rage, and for a moment I thought of sending her a note telling her to leave me alone, and that I never wanted to see her again. But what could I hold against her? It wasn’t her doing that I had to think about her all the time, that she had some power over me, a thought that simultaneously fascinated and infuriated me. I was almost certain her hold would only last as long as she kept me at a distance. If I really wanted to get free I would have to sleep with her.

I put the laundry in a washer and slid in the coins. Back in the bungalow, it was baking hot. I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was in the sort of feverish mood I often got into when there was a trip ahead, and I couldn’t face doing anything, and could only sit around and wait. Maybe that was why I got further and further into something till I couldn’t think straight anymore.

I walked rapidly through the almost empty streets, where the heat bounced off the pavement and walls. I broke into a sweat, and the few sounds I heard reached me as though through a filter. The thought churned around and around in my brain, I’ve got to have her, I kept thinking, she wants it too, she’s waiting for me. Outside the student residence, I stood under the projecting shade of the roof for a moment. My T-shirt was sweated through, and I was out of breath from walking so fast. I could still turn back, I thought, and nothing would have changed. For one disembodied moment, time seemed to stand still, but it wasn’t hesitation, it was more the moment at the start of a race, a moment of maximum stillness and absolute concentration. Then I saw my finger press Ivona’s bell, and I imagined I could hear the shrill of it tearing the silence. A minute later, I saw Ivona through the glass door as she came downstairs. She was wearing a dark blue skirt and a white blouse, her church clothes, I guessed, her Sunday best. When she saw me, she paused for a moment, then hurriedly took the remaining steps and unlocked the door. I took her hand, and she stood there, twisting a little, something that would have been appropriate in a little girl but looked ridiculous when she did it. I followed her upstairs and into her room. I was still very calm, but Ivona must have sensed there was something amiss. She backed up toward the window, and I followed her. This time she didn’t turn to the bed, but stayed where she was. I started to unbutton her blouse. She placed her hands over mine, and held them, but I freed myself with a sudden movement. I took off her blouse and her skirt, slip and tights, which she wore in spite of the heat. At first she resisted a bit, but I was the stronger, and eventually she gave up any resistance. When I pulled down her panties, she said, no, but she stepped out of them, first one foot then the other. She stood there awkwardly, both feet on the floor, and trying to cover herself up, but I held her hands and knelt down in front of her, kissing her. Her white untouched flesh had something vegetable about it, the pleats in her skin which was thickly sown with moles, her black, crisp pubic hair. I was almost beside myself with lust. Then she turned around and took another step forward to the window, so that she could have been seen from the street. I got up and, while I quickly stripped, looked outside with her. There was no one in sight, no witness, I thought. Come, I said, and made to pull her over to the bed. Then she started crying. Her crying got more and more violent, until her whole body was cramped up and shaking. She collapsed into herself, and sat hunkered on the floor, still crying softly. It was as though I woke up. I sat down on the bed and stared at her. I remember something Aldo Rossi had said, that every room contains an abyss. The abyss was between me and Ivona. I stretched out my hand to hold her, and hold her to me, but she shrank back. She looked deep into my eyes, her expression was full of fear and sadness. I quickly got dressed and left.


* Let us see him safe, Almighty God! / Let us see him safe and well! / He dies!—He dies!— / O dreadful night!