Funeral for a Dog: A Novel (30 page)
Read Funeral for a Dog: A Novel Online
Authors: Thomas Pletzinger
Interview (the whole story)
KIKI: You won’t write about this, right?
MANDELKERN: No.
K: Good. When I got off the train early in the morning at the Lugano train station, Svensson was standing on the platform with a stuffed animal, the Euromaus. He seemed tired, but somehow cheerful, he said he was happy. Tuuli was waiting outside in the parking lot, the Fiat was much too small for three adults, a child, and a dog. I had to squeeze in between the child safety seat and bags, stupid Italian cars! Tuuli greeted me, reservedly but not impolitely. We drove down the mountain to the lake, along the lakeside promenade and then beyond Castagnola up the serpentine roads to Monte Brè. Samy and Lua were sleeping like stones, the rest of us admired the sun and the cypresses, the white gates of the villas, the shimmering lake. The air felt clean, crisp, like it does after a storm. What really happened that night in the hotel room at the Europa-Park in Rust, why the two of them decided to eat cotton candy and keep Felix waiting with his surprise, is between them, you see? They don’t know themselves, I guess. Tuuli and Svensson can’t agree on the reason for the delay. Svensson says that on the long drive Tuuli was anxious to take a break so they could talk in peace, and Tuuli claims that Svensson was anxious to ride the carousel, which seems reasonable. Both blame the other, probably they’re both right and wrong. In any case I was lying in the night train to Lugano and couldn’t sleep. To make a long story short: what was said or straightened out or done that night is at least the reason the blue Fiat arrived twelve hours late in Lugano, early in the morning on August 7. We then drove through this sixties-style residential area above Castagnola, when Tuuli suddenly said into the lake view that she couldn’t reach Felix, not on his cell phone, not in the house either. He must be worried, she said. Svensson laughed, Felix Blaumeiser never worries! When we arrived at the road’s highest point, we could see to the end of the lake for the first time. We were like birds, Daniel! On the way down to the shore, through the tunnels, Tuuli then drove much too fast. All of a sudden there was a disconcertingly cheerful tension in the air, a weird lightheartedness. We crossed the Italian border without being stopped, the border guards winked at Tuuli and waved.
Buon giorno la bionda!
For the narrow village roads and the sharp curves the Fiat was perfect, Svensson rolled down the window and Tuuli honked like an Italian. We drove past the small ports, Albogasio and San Mamete, Castello above us on the mountain. At the Stella D’Italia we noticed a runover cat, right by the hospital, Croce Rossa Italiana, just before the Chinese restaurant. Svensson told jokes, and the closer we came to the end of the lake, the louder Tuuli laughed, you could tell they were hoping to be happy. I let myself be carried away by all this, everything struck me as more genuine than in the travel brochures, the mountains, the lake, the old villages. Then Tuuli stopped suddenly at a large yellow villa, Lua and Samy woke up. Svensson turned around and grinned at me. I remember perfectly the crunch of the tires on the white gravel, I was surprised by the size of the house. The billowing curtains in the open windows! Lua jumped out of the car and immediately ran down to the water. The terrace doors stood open, the car doors too, oleander in the terra-cotta pots along the path, red and white. On the white pebbles there was a colorful trail of confetti leading from the house down to the shore. I was completely overwhelmed by so much storybook Europe, Lua’s barking by the water sounded like he was barking into a bucket, hollow and artificial. Holding Samy, Tuuli walked across the veranda and followed Lua to the water. She sang Felix’s name, her voice like dripping water. When there was no reply to this singing, her shouting for Svensson finally came loudly and clearly. I entered the house after Svensson through the terrace door, Tuuli was following the confetti trail to the water, half walking, half running. On the set table, among confetti, streamers, and burned-down candles, there was a piece of paper. Next to it two party hats. The table completely bedecked with expensive dishes and cut glass along with a decoration kit from the supermarket, corny, Daniel, you wouldn’t believe it. No rings, Felix’s penchant for symbolism didn’t extend to that. It was as if the marriage proposal were supposed to be made ironically, Felix must have been absolutely confident. Almost as if he found these industrially manufactured and plastic-wrapped gestures more appropriate than a serious one. Almost as if a few party hats would be enough to turn things to good account. Felix wanted merely to sketch this big step. So between expensive dishes and cheap decorations there was a note.
M: From Blaumeiser?
K: His handwriting wasn’t proficient, blue ballpoint-pen ink on thin, lined paper. I didn’t read the note, but Svensson’s fingers on my back trembled as he read. The air smelled of candle wax and standing lake water, I remember that perfectly, deck chairs and cigarettes. That we didn’t put on or even touch the party hats on the kitchen table, one blue, the other pink. An absolute silence despite the occasional cars and birds. Then: Tuuli’s abrupt and brief scream, but that’s not the right word, she howled. A horrible sound! Svensson and I ran after the scream and Lua’s barking, following the confetti trail, all over the garden furniture streamers and candles and lamps along the path. Even though the sun was shining, just like right now, Daniel, just like today.
Milk?
At this moment Samy is standing in the room and rubbing his eyes. Kiki and I didn’t hear his footsteps. She interrupts her story, gets up and bends down to the boy. Milk? she asks, and Samy nods. Kiki puts a glass on the table, she gets crayons and paper, she sits the boy on my knee and says
Lua is dead,
but he wasn’t sad and fell asleep peacefully, because everyone was with him. The boy takes a sip of his milk. Did he want to make the dog a farewell gift? She heard he could already draw, says Kiki, and Samy nods absently (so early in the morning he can’t understand death). Kiki gets up.
Interview (main informant Kiki Kaufman)
KIKI: Felix Blaumeiser was lying next to
Macumba
on his belly in the shallow water, his left leg twisted, his shoelaces caught in the the oarlock, navy blue Converse like two pigeons. On the floor of the boat bottles were banging together, Samy was screaming, little children always cry with their mothers. Tuuli and Svensson were kneeling on the slippery concrete of the boat ramp, she was holding Felix’s head, and he was feeling around frantically on Felix with his fingers, the learned procedures couldn’t bring Felix back. Svensson tried again and again to detach his shoelaces from the boat. Pale streamers were wrapped around Felix’s neck, he was wearing a sodden party hat with an elastic band and his white polo shirt had turned pink and yellow and blue, the bottles were banging and rattling and clinking, two bottles of Veuve Clicquot and one wine bottle, all empty. Above Felix’s right eye was a bump, the water had already washed off or diluted the blood. The bluish shards of a bottle of Bombay Sapphire were shimmering in the water.
MANDELKERN: An accident?
K: Svensson called the police and the ambulance, yes, he used the words “accident” and “
Unfall
” when he did so. The swan hissed, Lua barked. The sirens along the shore got closer and closer, Samy was hungry and cried, a bizzare peace hung over everything, as if something had occurred that everyone had long been expecting. The emergency doctor put his finger on Felix Blaumeiser’s neck and declared him dead, but it was Tuuli who closed his eyes. I was standing next to them with Samy, but I didn’t get what was going on, we were paralyzed. The forensic specialists in Como handled the case, and the police investigations didn’t last long either. Felix’s blood alcohol content was high, but not deadly. His shoelaces had gotten caught, he must have fallen and hit his head on the concrete, but his skull hadn’t been fractured. Felix didn’t die of an injury. He simply lay unconscious in the water and drowned. An accident, yes.
M: And then?
K: The next afternoon the police briefly questioned us again, this time with three interpreters from Lugano. Tuuli, Svensson, and I gave statements about our versions of the day in our native languages, we didn’t exactly understand one another in the process. When a policeman inquired what it was that was actually supposed to be celebrated here, Tuuli still didn’t know the answer to this question, but Svensson mentioned the surprise: engagement. Tuuli suddenly realized that she’d been eating cotton candy with Svensson instead of getting a marriage proposal from Felix. The paralysis turned into a brief and fierce quarrel, Tuuli stood on the terrace and screamed. Svensson had never been able to be as spontaneous and carefree as Felix, and now, of all times, he’d wanted to ride the roller coaster, a fatal roller coaster. He’d wanted to talk about their love! He’d kissed her! He’d wanted to prevent this marriage! Because of him they’d kept Felix waiting, he’d indirectly killed him! And so on. Svensson shouted back that she’d turned off both their phones, that she’d had to explain to him on the way to Felix’s, of all times, that they were three and not alone. Still! Felix and Kiki were waiting, he’d said. Then he hadn’t kissed her, but she him. In confusion he’d bought beer and cotton candy, and when he could no longer drive, she’d refused. Even though they’d run out of words and there was nothing more to explain besides the end of the past and the beginning of the future. But that was impossible after Felix’s death, because without him they could neither finish nor start anew. Tuuli screamed and howled, she called Felix and Svensson accomplices, she blamed both of them for her sorrow. She would have said yes, I assume. Then she lay down in Felix’s room and slept for two days. It was a tragic accident, the two of them have been grappling with the consquences to this day. I have no idea who’s right, not the slightest idea, Daniel. Svensson took care of Samy during those days, he sat down next to the baby carriage on the dock and filled up page after page of a whole notepad. Then he crumpled every single page and threw them into the lake. For two days I waited for the arrival of Felix’s parents and the release of the corpse. I tried to sort all that out, eventually gave up and cleaned up the house. I just believe him. The parents decided very pragmatically on cremation. Not without discussions, Svensson was for a burial. At the cremation an Italian priest spoke Italian and Latin, I understood only snatches. We were allowed to see the corpse, Tuuli surpassed Svensson in staring, he pressed his forehead to Felix’s forehead and remained like that for a few moments, it felt like forever. Felix was wearing a white shirt, the coffin was some sort of expensive tropical wood. The ashes were then scattered one or two days later at the deepest point in the lake, illegally, of course. No one will notice, said Felix’s father, the fine is affordable, the lake will keep it a secret. Tuuli left with Samy directly after the ceremony, she seemed sobered and was anxious to put affairs in order in Germany. Svensson and I stayed awhile longer. He mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges, I took pictures, he refurbished the boat and repaired the motor, we climbed the Monte dei Pizzoni with Lua. Svensson wanted to work with his hands rather than with his head. Blaumeiser’s parents then offered us the unused house here. Nobody ever
used it but Felix, you know. Our last night on the lake, two weeks after Felix’s death, Svensson translated the note for me, I know it by heart: “My dearest bride, dear best man,” he said, “I am celebrating our engagement today and since you are late, idiots, I will have to drink everything by myself. In case you should arrive, come down to the water, chin-chin & much love, Felix.”
garbage bags and oleander
We put away the remaining dishes in the cabinets, we mop the floor, we help Samy with his farewell gift, we wait for Svensson. Kiki has told me everything. We move on to simple subjects, foreign languages and boats and baby food. Around noon Tuuli’s singing from upstairs, her cigarette-lighting in the kitchen and her forehead-kissing (smoking, she kisses first the boy, then me on the forehead!). On the lake a pleasure steamer is chugging, Samy explains his picture: Lua in his spot on the boat, his flowers, a can of his favorite beer (I drew the oleander). Suddenly Svensson is standing in a sweaty basketball jersey in the doorway to the kitchen: could someone help him with the dog? Sit down first, says Kiki, Tuuli nods in her green nightshirt (the sun at her bare feet). Svensson sits down at the table, he drinks the glass of milk that Kiki hands to him, he buries his face briefly in his hands. Then he looks up and gazes at the boy and his picture. He looks tired. For the first time I understand that Svensson strikes me as much older than he is (the years cling to him). I sit on my chair and observe these people, how they’re still sitting barefoot around a table and drinking coffee, in the smoke of the past years, with sleep-creased faces and unbrushed teeth. On the fridge hangs Felix Blaumeiser’s smile, on the picture on the wall the red wine has dried, down by the water waits the suitcase with the dead dog, and Svensson in the kitchen pours Tuuli coffee, because he knows how she likes it: with milk and no sugar. She takes the cup without a word. Kiki sets plates on the table in front of us, Svensson gets knives from the drawer, Tuuli wipes pap off Bella’s chin. Life goes on, between pictures and children, between plates and cups and animals, between chairs and oleander, between the dead and ghosts and stories. I want to go back to mine. I take the pack of cigarettes out of the plastic bag and put it on the table in front of Tuuli.
I have to go!
I say into the kitchen and point first to my dirty shirt, then to the plastic bag: I’m four days late. The people look up from their life. Svensson doesn’t contradict me, and Kiki puts the milk in the fridge.
Manteli?
Tuuli asks with her mouth full, pointing to the cigarettes. I don’t actually smoke, I say. She takes a crayon and pulls the newspaper out of my bag, she writes two phone numbers on the front page. “Air in Sunken Mini-Submarine Running Out,” I read, and wonder whether the air will have lasted long enough for the eight Russian crew members, I’ll be able to find out. I read “Caesarean Risk,” before my eyes the sticky Renault under the trees of Bismarckstrasse, Elisabeth, the linden blood on the windows, the green of the chestnut trees. Tuuli folds the newspaper and pushes it back into the bag, from up close I smell sleep and smoke and milk. Call me if you’re in Berlin, she says, the first number is my cell phone, the second the office number in the Charité. She takes Samy from my knee, I stand up and reach for the bag. It would be my pleasure! Thank you, I say, and then Tuuli stretches herself toward me and kisses me a bit too clearly on the mouth, as if the others weren’t there. Kiki’s voice interrupts us: are you taking Lua to the vet? she asks, and Svensson answers, yes, and says I could accompany him, half an hour won’t make a difference at this point. Right, Mandelkern?
