Ghosts of berlin, p.1
Ghosts of Berlin, page 1
ALSO BY RUDOLPH HERZOG
PUBLISHED BY MELVILLE HOUSE
A BRIEF HISTORY OF NUCLEAR FOLLY
DEAD FUNNY
Ghosts of Berlin: Stories
First published as Truggestalten in 2017 by Galiani Berlin
Copyright © 2017 Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Koln
Translation copyright © 2019 by Melville House Publishing
All rights reserved
First Melville House Printing: October 2019
Melville House Publishing
46 John Street
Brooklyn, NY 11201
and
Suite 2000
16/18 Woodford Road
London E7 0HA
mhpbooks.com
@melvillehouse
ISBN 9781612197517
Ebook ISBN 9781612197524
Book design by Beste M. Dogan, adapted for ebook
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019945916
v5.4_r1
a
Contents
Cover
ALSO BY RUDOLPH HERZOG
Title Page
Copyright
TANDEM
BALL LIGHTNING
NEEDLE AND THREAD
IFRIT
KEY
EX PATRIA
DOUBLE-DECKER
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TANDEM
WHEN HE WAS THIRTEEN, DIMITRI had his first asthma attack. He was playing basketball in the school gym when all of a sudden he felt his windpipe contract, as if from the size of a firehose to the circumference of a straw. A doctor was quickly called to treat him, but the high dosage of cortisone pills he prescribed made Dimitri’s face swell up. The attacks became a regular occurrence—a smoke-filled kafenio or a swim in the sea could cause a bout so vicious that his friends would have to come to his aid and rush him home.
Dimitri’s grandmother was convinced that the water was to blame for his condition. She insisted that the family buy an eel for the well. “It’ll eat up the muck in there.” At first, his parents ignored her advice, but after he had several attacks in quick succession, Dimitri’s mother gave in. When he pulled aside the heavy slab that covered the mouth of the well, he’d see it down there—a long, thin shadow, swimming in slow circles at the bottom.
Though their cottage in the Pindos mountains now had cleaner water, Dimitri’s asthma didn’t get any better. One morning, Dimitri found the eel floating dead on the surface, and his father had to fish it out before it could contaminate the water supply. Dimitri’s mother, fed up with pills and remedies, finally made an appointment for him with a city doctor.
The doctor gave him two inhalers—a blue one for daily doses, and an extra-powerful red one for emergencies. For many years, Dimitri never left home without stuffing both of them into the pockets of his jeans.
Time passed, and Dimitri grew into an affable, if rather overcautious young man. He did quite well in school, and was accepted to the prestigious Athens University of Economics and Business. There he discovered that he not only had a knack for trade, but also an aptitude for languages. He was hired right out of college by the Athens office of an international industrial conglomerate based in Munich. Dimitri would often fly there for meetings, sometimes giving himself a few hours to explore the city or have a drink with his German colleagues afterward before catching a flight home. Though he rarely needed it now, he still stored the emergency inhaler in his briefcase so he’d always know where it was.
When the economic crisis got hold of Greece and wouldn’t let go, Dimitri’s cushy life came to an abrupt end. He received notification from his German employers that they were shutting down their operations in Greece, and that his position was to be terminated.
* * *
—
Some months later, when one of Dimitri’s former colleagues got in touch to check up on him, Dimitri confessed that he was making ends meet by managing a souvlaki shop. His colleague had moved to Berlin and suggested that his employment prospects would be better there, but Dimitri wasn’t so sure. Though he had a bit of money saved up to tide him over while he looked for a job, he was worried about his German. While it was good enough to get by in everyday life, he felt it was in no way adequate for conducting business meetings or negotiating deals. But his colleague insisted. He was about to leave for a sabbatical, and Dimitri was welcome to stay at his place while he was away. It would be a better investment to bone up on his German, his colleague said, than to pay rent.
* * *
Dimitri arrived to a city alight with an autumnal palette of browns and golds. They reminded him of the intense colors that swept across the mountains of his childhood home around this time of year. With every gust of wind, leaves blew down from the trees in shimmering cascades. A few tumbled onto the windshield of Dimitri’s taxi as it made its way to the north Berlin neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg. In front of the building where it dropped him off, a man was slowly progressing down the sidewalk with a leaf blower. He blasted a jet of air into the gutter, whirling serrated chestnut leaves all about the ground. A second man followed close behind, raking up the leaves and shoveling them into a bright-orange trash bag. The men paused to let Dimitri pass as he dragged his suitcase up to the marble entrance, fished the keys his colleague had sent him from his bag, and let himself in.
The apartment was a spacious studio. His friend had partitioned the room with the clever use of bookshelves and Japanese screens. Dimitri was anxious to get started on his plans. Even before unpacking, he had connected to the Wi-Fi and was on his laptop looking up classes. There was a language school that took rolling admissions within walking distance of the apartment. He could start the next day. Without a second thought, he paid for a two-month course.
This turned out to be a mistake. Though he had selected the intermediary level, the exercises were annoyingly basic—just conversations about the weather and food. After three days Dimitri’s patience ran out, and he asked for his money back.
The experience had discouraged him from enrolling in another school, so the day after he dropped out, Dimitri set off to wander around the neighborhood and plan his next move. He knew little about Prenzlauer Berg save that it had once been a popular spot for artists and bohemians, though everything around him seemed more expensive than any genuine bohemian could afford. On Pappelallee, a bustling thoroughfare, every other storefront appeared to house some chic café or boutique. BMWs and Mercedes-Benzes lined the street.
Dimitri found himself walking through a small park where young mothers and nannies sat on benches gently rocking the strollers in front of them. He noticed a cluster of weatherworn tombstones, which seemed out of place in a public park. At the far end, there was a nondescript building with the words Bibliothek am Friedhof emblazoned on its windows. The Cemetery Library? Was he reading that right? Curious now, he entered the building. Despite its name, the library’s interior was unremarkable. Two large halls full of books flanked the entrance, with computer terminals clustered in the middle. There appeared to be more visitors browsing the web than the shelves. It seemed like your run-of-the-mill library, right down to the silence that was policed by a stocky middle-aged woman just waiting for someone to violate the rules.
“Can I help you?”
Dimitri cast a quick glance around the room before turning his attention to her.
“Yes, I hope so,” Dimitri said. “I’m looking to improve my German.”
“Well, we don’t offer language classes,” said the woman flatly.
“I’m not looking for classes. I am not that bad of a German speaker. I just want to polish it a bit.”
“I see,” she said. “We have language books and audio that you can check out, if you like.”
Dimitri envisioned himself sitting alone in his apartment listening to language lessons on his headphones. It was a depressing prospect.
“No, I don’t think that will do for me. Are there any other options? Some sort of study group?”
She looked at him over her glasses. Dimitri sensed that her patience was running thin.
“Well, what languages are you fluent in? English?”
“Sure. But my first language is Greek.”
“Then perhaps you can post a classified ad online for a tandem partner.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a type of language exchange. You meet up with someone who wants to learn Greek. You speak German; they reply in Greek. You correct one another as you go along. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
She looked at Dimitri expectantly.
“Those tombstones just outside. Are they real?”
“Of course they’re real.”
“It’s weird them just being in the middle of the park, isn’t it?”
“I guess. It used to be the Atheists’ Cemetery, if you want to look it up.” She gestured toward the shelves at the far end of the room.
With that, the librarian grabbed a handful of books from the returns pile and began typing away at the keyboard in front of her. She paused and gave Dimitri one final, resolute look.
“If you end up doing your studying here in the main library, please remember to turn off your phone and kee p quiet. Danke!”
* * *
—
Late that night, Dimitri googled various groups for people looking for language partners, but no one seemed interested in learning Greek as a trade-off. Finally, he ended up on a message board for Berlin-based travelers. The site was entirely text-based. No images or animated GIFs, just messages requesting and offering all sorts of things: used armchairs, sex, exotic pets. He timidly typed in a simple message in English:
Greek seeking German for tandem language exchange over coffee.
Please inquire Dimitri Papadopoulos.
He entered his email address and hit send. He briefly wondered if he had been too vague in his post, but resisted the urge to return to it. As Dimitri prepared for bed, he could feel his despair growing. He tried to shake it off by scrolling through news articles. The reports of the worsening crisis in Greece weren’t helping to give him peace of mind. He put aside his phone and lay there in the dark, trying to relax.
He was startled awake by the sound of an email arriving in his inbox. He grabbed his phone instinctively, squinting at the glare of the screen. It was from a stranger, a woman.
Dear Mr. Papadopoulos:
Many thanks for your message. I have been looking for someone to help me improve my knowledge of your beautiful language, and I would likewise be delighted to help you with your German. I only have free time later in the evenings, however, so I’m afraid meeting for coffee won’t be possible. If that’s not an issue for you, would you consider having dinner with me on Thursday at the Bateau Ivre on Heinrichplatz?
My best,
Lotte Wuttcke
Dimitri quickly wrote back asking if she could specify a time, to which Lotte replied with reciprocal speed:
How about 10:00 p.m.? I’ll put a white aster on the table so you’ll be able to recognize me. —LW
Dimitri checked the dictionary to verify that an aster was a flower. Then he replied to confirm the appointment.
* * *
That Thursday evening, a thunderstorm swept through the streets of Berlin. Dimitri held on tightly to his large beige umbrella as he ran from his front door to the bus stop two blocks away. By the time he got there, his leather loafers were soaked through with rainwater. Mercifully, the M29 bus pulled up at the little glass shelter only minutes later. He stamped his pass and sat down in the front row of the lower deck. The bus shot off, careening through the downpour at breakneck speed. A barrage of fat raindrops pelted against the dark windows, and though Dimitri could only dimly make out the street, he noticed the high beams of cars swerving to avoid the bus. Dimitri glanced out at the street again and realized the driver was steering the vehicle right down the middle of the road. A woman walked up to the front of the bus to complain about his reckless driving, but he ignored her. He was sitting hunched over, his hands clutching the wheel, like a coachman gripping his reins. When the woman kept up her protestations, the driver turned his head away from the road to glare at her. There were heavy bags under his eyes, the kind you tend to see in long-time drinkers.
Although he didn’t look especially angry, the complainant immediately fell silent and slunk back to her seat. Soon afterward, she pressed the green button, which let out a loud bleep.
The bus pulled over immediately. “Heinrichplatz,” a disembodied female voice intoned over the speaker. Dimitri picked up his umbrella. The door opened with a hiss and both Dimitri and the woman stepped out, heading off in opposite directions.
* * *
The rain had fogged up the windows of the restaurant. Inside, heads were bobbing to and fro as if suspended on long threads. While the guests were engrossed in conversation, a waiter made the rounds of the packed tables with a tray balanced on his hand. He too was reduced to a blurry shadow. Dimitri stepped through the door into the restaurant’s muggy clamor. Now he could clearly see the diners. He scanned the room for the white aster, spotting a flower with a ray of creamy petals on the table in the far corner of the room. Seated there was a delicate yet dignified woman with white-blonde shoulder-length hair. Her skin, too, was pale, almost translucent. He guessed her to be around his age, in her late thirties, early forties. He caught her eye and waved, making his way toward her.
“Frau Wuttcke?”
She smiled at him, revealing a fine mesh of wrinkles that made Dimitri begin to second-guess her age.
“You don’t have to be so formal, Dimitri,” she said in German-tinged Greek. “Lotte is fine.” She rose to greet him and gently shook his hand. It felt cool. She surveyed him, flashing a smile.
“You don’t look the way I imagined you,” she said.
“How so?” he replied in German, sitting down across from her. He was thinking the same about her.
“I imagined you would have a darker complexion.”
“That’s just a stereotype,” replied Dimitri. “There are Greeks who could pass as Northern Europeans. We come in many varieties.”
“Hmm. German men only come in two types, unfortunately.”
“Oh?” Dimitri asked. “And what are those?”
“Barbarians and bureaucrats,” she said with a wry laugh. “Not much of a choice.”
Her amusement had a contagious effect on Dimitri, who caught himself chuckling along with her.
“It’s a little peculiar to be here having a conference with a strange man like this.”
“I think you mean synantó—meeting someone—not synedriázo—which means having a meeting or conference.”
“Of course, how silly of me,” she said, slapping her forehead lightly.
“But otherwise, your Greek is very good.”
“Thank you,” Lotte replied. “So is your German.”
There was a momentary silence between them. Lotte took another sip of her wine, keeping her eyes firmly trained on Dimitri all the while. He breathed a sigh of relief when the waiter appeared. Lotte quickly snatched up a menu.
“You go ahead, Dimitri.”
“I’ll have the spätzle,” he said, gesturing for Lotte to order too.
“Could I have the steak?”
“And how would you like it?” asked the waiter, scribbling on his notepad.
“Could you serve it bleu?”
“We could, yes, but it will be cold inside. Is that okay?”
“That’s perfect,” said Lotte.
“What is bleu steak?” Dimitri asked.
“It’s raw steak,” she explained, “like tartare, but with a seared coating. It was my husband who introduced me to this dish. He always liked to order it.”
“Is he…”
“Deceased? Yes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Dimitri gave Lotte a sympathetic look.
“It was many years ago. It makes me happy to speak about him. If that doesn’t bother you.”
“Of course not,” said Dimitri tentatively. “Tell me about him.”
“Well, he was actually the one who got me interested in Greece. You see, he was an archaeologist and spent a lot of time there working on excavation sites. I often accompanied him.”
“Really? Whereabouts?”
“He spent most of his time around Ioannina,” replied Lotte. “Beautiful city. Have you been?”
“Yes, actually, I’m from the Pindos region.”
“Such stunning mountains. We never got a chance to explore them, but you could see them from the house where we stayed. The lake too. What’s it called again?”
“Lake Pamvotida.”
“Right! I remember now.” Lotte nodded thoughtfully. “My husband worked on the Dodoni amphitheater site, not too far from town. I liked to stay behind and explore the shops across from the old castle walls. It was as if the place had been left untouched by the last century.”
Dimitri wasn’t sure what Lotte meant. During World War Two, Ioannina had been brutalized by the German occupying forces. There were monuments all over town in remembrance of these atrocities.
