The Outsider(S) (5 page)

“No. I don’t jog,” I would respond.

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?” I would ask hopefully, hoping that she wouldn’t start something about Ramona and her lovely family.

“A woman’s body was found floating on the Rhine. She looked like you. Not blond like Ramona…” she would finish, and anytime she did, I could feel the disappointment in her voice. Sometimes it changed to the Neckar or to some other river. One thing was certain. She was as convinced about the bad things waiting to happen to me as she was of the good things waiting to happen to Ramona. Seeing that no one wants to have someone speculate on their death, my decision to avoid her was not just justified but also reasonable. This wasn’t difficult at all. Except during Christmas.

On that Christmas morning, I went to the gym and was surprised to see quite a number of people. I wondered what their real reason was for being in the gym on a Christmas morning. Were they escaping the loneliness in their own homes? I knew that keeping fit was the last reason on my mind when I grabbed my gym bag.

I stepped onto the Stairmaster and watched a woman in front of me working out and reading a magazine. I felt dizzy just watching her. An hour later, I was done. On my way home, I realized that the streets were completely empty. I made up my mind to go home and make myself comfortable. I switched on the TV. There was crap and more crap on pretty much all the channels. Three hours and fifteen minutes and three packs of Marlboros later, I was on the A8 headed home, to Mother. The Autobahn was full. I noted that it wasn’t going to be a white Christmas after all. It had snowed consistently for a week. On December 21
st
, it had stopped. I don’t know if the guy up there is malicious, but to crash so many dreams of a white Christmas seemed to me at best a malicious act. What was left were small blocks of ice on the sidewalk and a longing for snow. This didn’t bother me, though. I enjoyed the drive. It was almost always the best part of the trip.

I drove down the small street that led into the small town where Mother lived. I had grown up in that small town, though not in that same house. Mother had inherited that house from her parents, the Eickelschafts.

Houses tell a lot about their occupants. My grandparents’ house was castle-like with a stately arrogance about it. In my memory, it quite fit their personality. On my right-hand side, around the corner, stood the big house of the Wickles. It was a house I had always admired. It was painted pink in my memory and had something glamorous about it. I watched carefully and realized that it was no longer pink. And there was certainly nothing glamorous about it. The walls had lines of dirty water, perhaps from being rained on. The window frames were no longer white. They were cream-colored and gave the impression that no one had cleaned them in a long time. On my left, I saw the big black Mercedes of my grandfather’s former accountant. To the best of my knowledge, he had swindled my mother and her brother out of Herr Eickelschaft’s big inheritance.

I parked the car farther down the street from Mother’s house. I was careful to park it where no one could block me from making my escape. There was only one thing to do after arriving at Mother’s. Make an escape. I had polished it to the level of a science.

“You’re here!” Mother said when she saw me. It was one of those statements that left one wondering whether it was a question or just a simple observation.

“Yes,” I said tentatively. Mother had that effect on me. The most straightforward things always seemed complicated when Mother was involved. The table was set.

I could see that the big dining table that could be adjusted to accommodate sixteen people hadn’t been lengthened. There were only chairs for eight.

“It is very dangerous on the Autobahn. A woman crashed into a truck this morning,” Mother said absently.

“Oh really?” I responded but only for conversation’s sake. I knew what was going to follow.

“She looked just like you,” Mother said solemnly.

I watched her and wondered if she really believed that all dead people looked like me.

“I have been promoted to senior vice president,” I said, bursting with excitement. I was finally as good as Ramona.

“Get me the scissors on the kitchen table!” Mother responded. I swallowed hard.
Maybe
she
didn’t
understand
, I thought silently. I walked into the kitchen and came back with the scissors.

“When is Ramona coming?” I asked finally, not able to hide the alarm that was slowly gripping my stomach. I liked seeing Ramona even though I couldn’t quite remember the last time we had had a proper conversation. There always seemed to be this child or that child trying to get her attention.

Mother was busy setting the table. She examined the golden spoons she was holding in her hands. I moved closer, suspecting that age was catching up with her and that she hadn’t heard my question. I cleared my throat.

“When will Ramona arrive?” I asked while moving closer to her and pretending to touch some book so as to give the impression that I didn’t care about the answer. I was dying to see Ramona’s reaction when I finally tabled the evidence that I was just as good as her. Senior vice president.

“Ramona is a married woman with a family,” Mother responded in a way only she could. It was her passive aggressive way of showing her disapproval that, at thirty-nine, I was still unmarried.

I felt anger gripping me. “Mother, I do know that she is married. But when is she and her family coming?”

She raised her eyes without quite raising her head but didn’t say anything. The doorbell rang. I walked to the front and opened it.

“Hello!” Herr Helmut Eickelschaft, my uncle and Mother’s only brother, was standing at the door. Next to him stood a young woman in a tight, pink jacket and too much makeup. She wore shiny silver boots that reached up to her thighs. To top it all off, she wore a beige, pleated miniskirt. I felt myself smiling. Justice.

I walked them into the sitting room. Mother raised her head from lighting the candles. She opened her mouth to say something but no sound came. For a few seconds, we stood there as if struck by lightning.

“Don’t I just love being here?” my uncle was saying with a chuckle.

“I have spent the most of my Christmases in this house. Irmtraut, have I hugged you yet?” Before I could say anything, he grabbed me and gave me a tight bear hug.

“Helmut, you are not invited. I have guests coming.” Mother said firmly without acknowledging the young woman. She grabbed her spectacles from the top of the big bookshelf and put them on. She then lowered them to her nose and continued to the door. She opened it and stood by it. No one moved.

“I am feeling cold,” the young woman said in broken German. I watched Mother. I had never seen her in a vulnerable position. She was always the one who knew how everything had to be done.

“Get out!” Mother snapped back in response. “You are not invited to my house!” I noticed that she used the
du
form, the one used to address kids or adults of inferior stature.

“Don’t you dare…” my uncle started while unbuttoning his long black jacket. In a sadistic kind of way, I felt pure pleasure engulfing my soul.

There were voices outside, and I saw a well-dressed couple walking up to our house. Mother closed the door quickly and in what can only be described as a pleading tone said, “No trouble!”

Six more people came. They were all friends of Mother. I noted that I didn’t know any of them. Mother’s idea of friendship was befriending whoever had something that she wanted. Anyone who wasn’t of value to her didn’t last long. Every season she had new friends. Those who remained friends with her all had a special characteristic. They had no backbone or had such low self-esteem that they were grateful for her friendship.

While waiting for the meal, I stood next to Uncle Helmut and his girlfriend. I had learned that her name was Olga and she was an au pair from the Ukraine. Her visa was about to expire, and she and Uncle Helmut were contemplating what to do. Marriage, Uncle Helmut had said with a chuckle, was the only viable option. I attempted to make polite conversation with Olga but it didn’t amount to much. She was too busy chewing gum and gazing around restlessly.

I walked slowly into the kitchen. When I saw Mother remove the duck from the oven, I was glad I had made the trip. It was golden brown. Mother always served roasted duck and red cabbage cooked with apples.

“Can I help with anything?” I asked and felt my mouth watering.

“Nooo,” Mother and one of her friends, Silke, responded simultaneously. They both turned to look at me and smiled brightly. My heart sank. I made a mental note to leave as soon as I had eaten.

A little while later, dinner was underway. Mother raised her glass for a toast. “You all know my daughter Irmtraut,” she started, looking at me approvingly.

“She has been promoted in her company to the post of senior vice president!” There were claps and glasses clinking. Uncle Helmut added a whistle. Mother threw him a dirty glance but quickly fixed her stare on me.

“I am very proud of you, Irmtraut,” she said. I recalled our one-sided conversation earlier and wondered whether it had been a figment of my imagination. I looked up at everyone and smiled politely. Silke, eager to say something to please Mother, quickly grabbed the moment.

“I want to tell you, Irmtraut, that you have very lovely blond hair!”

I smiled at her uncertainly. For a woman in her fifties she was overly dumb.

“She isn’t blond!” mother responded and the whole room fell silent.

“She hasn’t been blond since she was five. It is Ramona who is blond!” I looked around the room and hoped that none of Mother’s new friends understood our history.

Silke looked at me and then at Mother. She knew where her loyalties lay.

“Now that you mention it, I have just realized that it is a bit too ashy. Definitely colored.”

I sat there chewing the piece of duck intensely. I was thinking of standing up and screaming something at Silke. Wasn’t there a limit to sucking up to other people?

“Irmtraut, you know how your mother swindled me out of this house?” Uncle Helmut started with a chuckle. I raised my glass in his direction to signal that I was very interested in what he was saying. Silke cleared her throat, but before she could say anything, Uncle Helmut threw her an aggressive glance. “She came here every single day of her life,” he started, and turned to face Mother.

“I don’t have to listen to this bullshit!” Mother started and attempted to move her chair and get up.

“That is OK. I will just tell your guests the rest.”

Mother stopped and looked around at the guests. There were uneasy glances exchanged among the guests. But no one moved.

“It was a process,” Uncle Helmut continued. The room was silent, and even Olga was for the first time looking very attentive.

“She poisoned them against me,” he said while looking threateningly at Mother. Again she attempted to say something, but nothing came out.

“She pushed me out.”

I looked at Mother and saw that she had a defiant expression on her face.
Pathetic
, I thought. But Helmut wasn’t finished.

“And then she got you and your sister,” he said in my direction.

“You were the nails in my coffin.” He burst out laughing and sipped the vodka that he had generously served himself prior to the meal.

“Who names their children after their own father and not the kids’ father?” The whole table was now totally into it. Uncle Helmut was enjoying himself.

“I’ll tell you who. A manipulator!” He looked at Mother, and the contempt in his eyes could literally be cut by a knife.

“That settled it. They transferred everything to her, including this house.” I looked at Mother. All my life I had hated my names. She had not only given me an old ugly first name that had made me the subject of bullying but had even gone a step farther and named me Eickelschaft. I felt cheated. I wondered then as I often did how differently my life would have turned out if she had named me differently.

“Olga, she is the reason I am poor. She destroyed me.” He put his hand around the au pair protectively, and I saw her pinch his hand, a gesture I interpreted to mean that she agreed with him. He retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and made as if to get up, but then he changed his mind and took a long sip from his glass. There is a way conflict simmers through, however much one tries to cover it. I had hardly seen Helmut for the most of my life, but he seemed to be quite aware of the conflict between Mother and me. I looked at Mother, and of all the things felt pity for her. I wanted to neutralize the moment so I thought of something to say.

“I am going to Africa,” I said slowly, and felt my voice cracking. There were gasps all around.

Uncle Helmut, who had been stretching his arms to grab a toothpick, stopped midair.

“Good for you!” he said cheerily. “That is where the future lies.”

Olga elbowed him. “Ukraine and Russia, that is where the future is!” she said in broken German. The room fell silent again. For one evening, there seemed to be a tad too many things going wrong. Mother and Silke, and one of Mother’s new friends whose name I didn’t know, stood up simultaneously and began clearing the table. A spoon fell on Olga’s foot. She stood up and straightened herself.

“Let’s go. This woman catastrophe! Catastrophe!” she wailed while pulling Uncle Helmut’s sleeve. Uncle Helmut stood up and they both walked out into the corridor. They put their jackets on, but then he came back. I walked up to him. I was torn between being nice to him and humiliating Mother in the process and giving him a cold shoulder and seeming like Mother’s accomplice. He hugged me lightly and in the direction of Mother said:

“Irmtraut, good luck!” And just like that, he and his chewing-gum girlfriend were gone. I locked the door silently and came back to my seat. Mother didn’t say anything. For what seemed like an eternity a kind of deathly silence engulfed the room.

Eventually one of Mother’s sidekicks brought the dessert. It was ice cream with chunks of deep red strawberries. Mother went to the cabinet and brought new glasses for wine. She seemed to have regained her composure. I should have left at that point.