The man from the embassy asks me, "Does all this remind you of anything?"
I say, "No, nothing. I was only four at the time."
"Do you want to try right now?"
"No, I'll call tonight."
"Yes, that would be best. He's not a man who readily receives visitors. It might be impossible for you to see him."
We return to the embassy. I go up to my room. I place the number beside the telephone. I take a sedative and open the window. It's snowing. The flakes make a watery sound as they fall on the yellow grass and black earth of the garden. I lie down on the bed.
I walk through the streets of an unfamiliar town. It's snowing and growing darker and darker. The streets I am following become less and less well lit. Our old house is on one of the last streets. Farther off it is already the countryside. A completely lightless night. There is a bar across from the house. I go in and order a bottle of wine. I am the only customer.
The windows of the house light up all at once. I see shadows moving through the curtains. I finish the bottle, leave the bar, cross the street, and ring at the garden door. No one answers; the bell isn't working. I open the cast-iron gate; it isn't locked. I climb the five steps that lead to the door on the veranda. I ring again. Two times, three times. A man's voice asks from behind the door, "Who is it? What do you want? Who are you?"
I say, "It's me, Claus."
"Claus? Claus who?"
"Don't you have a son named Claus?"
"Our son is here, inside the house. With us. Leave."
The man moves away from the door. I ring again, knock, cry out, "Father, Father, let me in. I made a mistake. My name is Lucas. I'm your son Lucas."
A woman's voice says, "Let him in."
The door opens. An old man says to me, "Come in, then."
He leads me into the living room and sits down in an armchair. A very old woman is seated in another. She says to me, "So, you claim to be our son Lucas? Where were you until now?"
"Abroad."
My father says, "Yes, abroad. And why have you come back now?"
"To see you, Father. You both, and Klaus too."
My mother says, "Klaus didn't go away."
Father says, "We looked for you for years."
Mother continues, "After that we forgot you. You shouldn't have come back. It's upsetting everyone. We lead quiet lives and we don't want to be upset."
I ask, "Where is Klaus? I want to see him."
Mother says, "He's in his room. As usual. He's sleeping. He mustn't be woken up. He's only four, he needs his sleep."
Father says, "Nothing proves that you're Lucas. Go away."
I don't hear them anymore; I leave the living room, open the door to the children's room, and switch on the ceiling light. Sitting up in his bed, a little boy looks at me and begins to cry. My parents run in. Mother takes the little boy in her arms and rocks him.
"Don't be afraid, little one."
Father grabs my arm, pulls me across the living room and the veranda, opens the door, and shoves me down the stairs.
"You woke him up, you idiot. Get lost." I fall, my head strikes a step, I bleed, I lie there in the snow.
The cold awakens me. The wind and snow are coming into my room and the floor under the window is wet.
I shut the window, fetch a towel from the bathroom, and sponge up the puddle. I tremble and my teeth chatter. It's hot in the bathroom; I sit on the edge of the tub, take another sedative, and wait for my shivering to stop.
It's seven in the evening. I am brought a meal. I ask the waiter if I can have a bottle of wine.
He says, "I'll go see."
He brings the bottle several minutes later.
I say, "You can clear away the tray."
I drink. I pace around my room. From the window to the door, from the door to the window.
At eight I sit down on the bed and dial my brother's telephone number.
Part Two
It is eight o'clock when the telephone rings. Mother has already gone to bed. I'm watching television, a detective movie, as I do every night.
I spit the biscuit I am eating into a paper napkin. I can finish it later.
I pick up the telephone. I don't say my name, just "Hello."
A man's voice at the other end says, "This is Lucas T. I'd like to speak to my brother, Klaus T."
I am silent. Sweat runs down my back. Finally I say, "There's some sort of mistake. I have no brother."
The voice says, "Yes you do. A twin brother. Lucas."
"My brother died a long time ago."
"No, I'm not dead. I'm alive, Klaus, and I'd like to see you again."
"Where are you? Where have you been?"
"I lived abroad for a long time. I'm here right now, in the capital, at the embassy of D."
I inhale deeply and say in one breath, "I don't think you're my brother. I see no one and don't want to be disturbed."
He insists. "Five minutes, Klaus. I'm asking you for five minutes. I'm leaving the country in two days and not coming back."
"Come tomorrow. But not before eight in the evening."
He says, "Thank you. I'll be at our house-I mean at your house-at eight-thirty."
He hangs up.
I wipe my forehead. I return to the television. I can no longer follow the movie. I throw the rest of my biscuit in the trash can. I can't eat anymore. "At our house." Yes, it was our house once, but that was a long time ago. Now it's my house and everything here belongs to me alone.
I quietly open the door to Mother's bedroom. She is asleep. She's so small you'd think she was a child. I brush the gray hair off her face, kiss her on the forehead, and stroke her wrinkled hands on the bed cover. She smiles in her sleep, squeezes my hand, and murmurs, "My little one. There you are."
Then she says the name of my brother: "Lucas, my little Lucas."
I leave the room, get a bottle of strong alcohol from the kitchen, and settle in the study to write, as I do every night. This study used to be our father's; I haven't changed anything, not the old typewriter, not the uncomfortable wooden chair, not the lamp, not the pencil holder. I try to write but I can only cry and think about the thing that has ruined all of our lives.
Lucas will come tomorrow. I know it's him. I knew it was him from the very first ring. My telephone almost never rings. I had it installed for Mother, in case of emergencies, to order in when I don't have the strength to go to the market or when her condition doesn't allow me to leave.
Lucas will come tomorrow. How to make sure that Mother doesn't find out? That she doesn't wake up during Lucas's visit? Get her out of here? Escape? Where? How? What excuse to give Mother? We've never left here. Mother doesn't want to leave. She thinks it's the only place where Lucas could find us again when he comes.
And it is in fact here that he has found us.
If it's really him.
It's really him.
I don't need any proof. I know. I knew, I have always known, that he wasn't dead, that he would come back.
But why now? Why this late? Why after an absence of fifty years?
I have to protect myself. I have to protect Mother. I don't want Lucas to destroy our peace, our routine, our happiness. I do not want our lives turned upside down. Neither Mother nor I could bear Lucas starting to root around in our past, reviving memories, asking Mother questions.
At all costs I must fend off Lucas, keep him from reopening that terrible wound.
It is winter. I must save coal. I take the edge off the cold in Mother's room with an electric heater that I turn on an hour before she goes to bed and turn off when she has fallen asleep, then turn on again an hour before she wakes up.
As far as I'm concerned, the heat of the kitchen stove and a bit of coal for the living room stove are enough. I wake up early to light the kitchen stove, and once it has produced enough embers I take some into the living room stove. I add a few lumps of coal and in half an hour it's warm in there too.