Marek was aghast. Lights, faces, laughter. To the melody of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” they sang: “For he’s the twenty-third now, he is the twe-henty-third now, he’s the twe-henty-thi-hird now, and so he’s one of us.”
His partners stepped aside — a cake decorated with a “23.” And then they struck up their song again. He stared into Frau Ruth’s mouth, he saw Chris and he saw Baechler, who was pretending to conduct. Yes, he was number twenty-three, in collusion with twenty-two others. Corks popped, and three waitresses passed trays of glasses. Someone shouted, “Speech!” And then others: “Speech! Speech! Speech!”
He wanted to ask why, of all of them, he was the one to receive such a posh reception. But it occurred to him just in time that he had in fact never been present when someone was made equity partner. They always celebrated among themselves.
His speech failed miserably. Nothing occurred to him, not one thing that could have made the others laugh for real. He was literally overwhelmed, speechless, and touched — which was what they had wanted.
The first ones left around seven. Everyone said their goodbyes to Marek, invited him to join them for coffee or a beer or even to visit them at home, as soon as possible, while summer lasted, for a backyard barbecue. Wiener’s Party Service started removing platters.
The loveliest part, however, had not been the surprise, but that while he spoke with the others he could think of Magda and that he would now walk out on the street, climb into a taxi, and ride to her place. And he thought, this is what pure luck feels like — pure good luck.
Baechler repeated his thing about heads in a noose, and as he extended his hand to Marek he placed the other hand on his shoulder. Marek resisted the impulse to give Baechler a hug. “Thank you,” Marek said. “Thank you.”
The last stragglers were gathering at the end of the conference table, from where you could look out on Savigny Platz. Now they could finally drink beer.
Sven Schmidt opened two windows, a pleasant breeze flowed in. And Joachim asked what they should do to follow up. “Tonight’s my night out. I’m thinking a party at the very least, what with our heads in the same noose.”
Chris had reserved a table at Dicke Wirtin for ten to eight, in time for the game with Brazil. “Marek has to treat,” he shouted. “Marek needs to be fleeced. I forked out a couple thousand back in my day. An evening in front of the TV can’t hold a candle.”
“I can’t,” Marek said. And above the boos, he shouted, “Somebody’s expecting me!”
They called him names — penny pincher, wet blanket — but it didn’t sound like they meant it, and Marek was relieved.
“And it’s set in stone?” Sven Schmidt asked.
Marek nodded.
“Call and tell them what’s happened. A night like this comes once in a lifetime!”
“No,” Marek said. “It really won’t work. She’s been waiting since six.”
“She! Sex!” Sven Schmidt whistled through his teeth.
“How’s that, Marek, a lady?” Chris asked.
“Yes,” Marek said. And now that he had put it in words Magda no longer seemed to be a dream.
“Marek has a girlfriend!” Karl-Heinz Södering shouted. “Have her come along!”
“Congratulations,” Joachim said. “And? Is she the one?”
“Yes,” Marek said. “She’s the one.”
“Be careful,” Chris said. “Don’t go getting married tomorrow.” They laughed.
“Day after,” Marek said.
“A free night, and then look what happens,” Sven Schmidt said. “But you’re not going to slip away from us this easy, let me tell you. Not this easy.”
Joachim hugged Marek. Marek said his good-byes, shaking hands with the others.
“Can you tell us the name of the lovely lady?” Joachim asked.
“Magda,” Marek said in an almost toneless voice.
“Magda!” Sven Schmidt announced. “And she’s very beautiful?”
Marek nodded.
“Blond, long hair, slender, and with a nice perky pair?” Sven Schmidt held his hands before his chest, rippling his fingers and looking at Marek.
“Believe it or not, yes!” Marek said.
“And she loves you,” Joachim said. “And no night was ever so beautiful as with you?”
“Shut up,” Chris hissed. “Let him go.”
“She loves me and I love her, and no night was ever so beautiful,” Marek said.
“Congratulations,” Karl-Heinz Södering said. “Have a great evening, Mr. Lawyer.”
“Shut your trap!” Chris shouted.
“What’s with ‘Mr. Lawyer’?”
“‘The curious Mr. Lawyer’? Is that her name for it?” Joachim asked.
Marek looked at Chris, then back at Joachim.
“Damn it, Marek,” Joachim said. “It can’t be. You didn’t really fall for her?”
“I don’t know what you guys mean,” Marek said, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean by ‘Mr. Lawyer’?”
“Your dick,” Sven Schmidt said. “Svenya evidently hasn’t come up with anything new.”
“Her name’s not Svenya.”
“You’re right there,” Joachim said. “Her name’s not Svenya, or Johanna — and not Magda either, Marek.”
“Chris?” Marek asked. “Tell me what’s going on here.”
“Your new partners have said it all.” Chris removed his jacket from the back of the chair.
“Now don’t pass out on us,” Sven Schmidt said. “Do you think the old man would send you the news by courier service, when Miss Ruth would only have to take the elevator down a couple of floors? Or that our majestic doorman would let her in?”
“Her name’s not Svenya,” Marek said.
“Only the old man himself knows her name,” Joachim said. “So best leave her be.”
“Baechler?”
“Oh, Marek! Of course Baechler, surprise, surprise! Welcome to the club.”
“Baechler?”
“Do you suppose Miss Ruth does the job for him? A guy who loves it like he does?”
“Damn it, Marek. You Poles have got plenty of hot women, if anybody’s got classy women, then it’s you guys. You don’t have to get mixed up with someone like …” Sven Schmidt said.
“He’s really fallen for her,” Karl-Heinz Södering said. “He still hasn’t caught on.”
“Shut up, will you finally just shut up,” Chris said. “I’m sorry, Marek, but nobody here figured on this.”
Three hours later — the match with Brazil was already over — Marek was still sitting in Dicke Wirtin with Joachim, Karl-Heinz Södering, and Sven Schmidt.
Marek was tired. He was close to letting his head sink to the table. But not to sleep, no, not that. There was simply no room for sleep, not at this table or any other. There would be no spot where he could get some rest, no matter how long he looked. Sleep was out of the question.
When Magda was suddenly standing before him, his first thought was that she was drunk too. Something about her wasn’t right.
“Come,” she said. “Come on.” He was puzzled because she acted as if only he and she existed, as if they were all alone in the room. She knew Sven Schmidt and she knew Joachim, and she even knew Karl-Heinz Södering from Wetzlar, Frau Ruth’s favorite. Why didn’t she greet his colleagues too? They were all easy to recognize. Sitting here in suits — compared with everyone else they looked like a delegation. And then all the Swedes. The city was full of Swedes already. And of lawyers, four of them were sitting right here, four lawyers.
“Come on,” Magda said. “Come with me.”
Marek discovered you had to watch her lips to get what she was saying. Otherwise you could barely make it out. Something wasn’t right about her. He first held one eye closed, then the other. But at this distance that didn’t change anything. Marek saw what everyone saw. She was short, blond, and very, very tired. But maybe she knew some spot where you could sleep.