“If only for that reason, Herr Doktor Baechler,” Marek said, who had been listening to him go on like this about his sons since day one. But even though — like everyone else — he joked about it, it never failed to impress him.
“What’s with our friend Strobonski?”
“Canceled late yesterday evening. Ten minutes earlier, and I would have missed the courier.”
“Even then, it would’ve arrived in time.”
“And once again, my warmest thanks,” Marek said and leaned across the desk to extend his hand to Baechler.
“Keep it in mind, Marek — our heads in the same noose.”
“Happy to,” Marek said. He was touched that Baechler had addressed him by his first name without the silly title “Herr.”
“Thank you,” Marek said turning to Frau Ruth, who gave him a startled look, as if noticing him only now.
In the elevator — his office was four floors down — Marek wondered if he should go directly to the subway at six or first go home and change. What he really wanted was to climb into a car right now and wave a Brazilian, or any other, flag. Ten minutes earlier, he reminded himself, and I would have missed her. The idea was so awful it seemed to protest his good luck. And if Strobonski hadn’t canceled? Marek tried to think about other things. About the mosquito bites on Magda’s shoulders or about how rattled he had been by the razor in the bathroom and how that had made her laugh. As if to make amends, to thank her for dyeing her hair for his sake, he had kissed the dark line of the part in Magda’s blond hair. Marek was still smiling as he stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall, where he ran into Elke, the intern. “You’re invited to join us, at one o’clock,” Marek called out, and it pleased him that Elke stopped in her tracks and asked, “Me?” “Yes, you,” he said. He would invite everyone who had the time, everyone — except Baechler, who was always served lunch by Frau Ruth in his office.
Around six he would first go home, pack his carry-on suitcase or gym bag and then — off to Magda’s! For a moment he imagined Magda at his place on Bamberger Strasse, and the thought didn’t sit well. He himself didn’t want to go back to that apartment, to his crypt. Marek looked out the hall window. And for the first time, or so it seemed to him, the blue sky was meant for him as well.
Marek walked over to the coffee dispenser. He wouldn’t get any work done today in any case, because a steady stream of people would be stopping by to congratulate him. He might just as well go on standing right here. Some would say they’d have to have a beer sometime, and others that they’d have to meet over coffee. And Karl-Heinz Södering, who was proud of having married a former Miss Nuremberg, would say that Marek definitely had to pay them a visit soon.
When Marek finally opened the top file to prepare for a Friday appointment, he was disappointed that everything was just as always. He loved his work. But today he wanted to celebrate, chew the fat, laugh. All he could think about anyway was Magda. There were moments when he actually believed he sensed her presence. And once he raised both hands to re-create the motion of his fingertips as they traced from her neck down to her breasts. Like a ski jumper, he had thought. But he had kept that to himself. Besides, both the gesture and the comparison belonged to another “body”—Silke, his ex-wife, had always used the English word “body.”
Shortly after noon he called Joachim, who had started with Baechler at the same time he had, but had been taken on as an equity partner one year earlier. Joachim briefly congratulated him — he was speaking with a client at the moment, with whom he’d be having lunch. Marek ran into Christopher Heincken in the washroom. At first Marek had been quite proud to have an office on the same floor as Chris — everyone called him Chris. His UMTS contracts had earned Chris the title of best horse in the stable; he was assumed to be Baechler’s crown prince. He clapped Marek on the back with a wet hand and, ripping away at one paper towel after another, said: “Now we both have our heads in the noose.” That was meant ironically, right?
At five after one Marek appeared at the front entrance. Elke, the intern, seemed less peeved at his being late than at having to have lunch with just him alone. It had been embarrassing to have to admit to her the reason for his invitation, and she was as surprised by that as he had once been by the age of Ruth’s daughter.
How had he ended up with Elke around his neck? Sven Schmidt, Frau Ruth’s pet — they both came from Wetzlar — had shown him Elke’s application, even though Marek no longer read applications, and he had underlined the phrase “career oriented” as if it were a stylistic gem, but Sven Schmidt had said that was a “must” nowadays. Elke’s attempts to engage him in conversation bothered him. And at the same time his old self-consciousness returned, his old life. Marek kept a good half stride ahead of Elke. When she suddenly halted he expected to be scolded for not being more considerate. But Elke just slipped out of her sling pumps, brushed her forearm across her brow, smiled, and, one shoe in each hand, hurried after him.
“I have an idea,” Marek said, offering Elke his arm. They crossed the street. Marek hailed a cab, passed ten euros up to the driver, and said, “KaDeWe.”
The driver explained the various flags and T-shirts for Elke and said that Sweden wouldn’t play for two days yet and that Germany, if everything went according to plan, would meet Sweden in the final eight — Sweden or England, but Sweden was better.
Marek rode with Elke up to the gourmet floor. While she was still inspecting displays of lobsters and oysters, he ordered a lobster tail for them to split and wine. “Marvelous, really marvelous,” Elke exclaimed.
When she was finished, she leaned over on her bar stool, laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, “Awesome, just plain awesome, Herr Marek.” On the ride back they sat side by side not saying a word.
When after two more hours no one had stopped by to congratulate him, he was convinced people were avoiding him as a way of protesting Baechler’s decision. Of course all the partners had had to consent, but Baechler’s word was law.
Marek felt completely calm. He could handle clearly drawn front lines. Him against all the rest of them, that was nothing new. For a few minutes Marek managed to concentrate on his brief. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. The universal snub had left him exhausted. He would open his own office, and Magda would work for him. Him and Magda, Magda and him. He would talk to her about it this evening. Suddenly he was afraid of seeing Magda again. A night like that, a morning like that — it could never be repeated. Maybe the bosses would rescind their decision, and then — Marek was certain of it — he and Magda would also come to a bad end.
When the phone rang it was accounting, a missing train ticket, and Marek promised to deal with it and to make a copy of his ticket in advance next time. He had turned that ticket in — he was certain of it. One pinprick of the thousands awaiting him.
It was five o’clock when Frau Ruth called. Would he be so kind as to come upstairs — yes, right away. She hung up without another word.
On his way in the elevator Marek decided the best thing would be for him to resign.
Baechler was standing with Heincken at the window of the reception room. They didn’t return Marek’s greeting. Frau Ruth stared at him with arched eyebrows, as if she had just asked him a question, and pointed to the conference-room door. It was ajar. “Dr. Baechler will be in soon,” she whispered, and bent over her desk again.
As if hitting a wall, he recoiled from the darkness in the conference room. The blinds had been lowered to keep out the summer sun. He groped for the light switch.… Someone shouted, “Three, four!”