As the time, so the situation E-Book

Yasmine Meier Herbert Wolf

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 204

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

You can't do without clocks. In the story "My Father's Watches", one in particular was so annoying that the author found it hard to bear. He could not part with it. It still reliably tells him the time. In the poem "The Situation of the Situation", the author and her cat ask themselves whether the situation is hopeless or simply confused. It is always time and how it affects our situation that occupies the author and writer in the book.

Leseprobe

Dedication

For my dear dad!

Without you, I wouldn't be where I am today!

Yasmine

1. Prologue - Herbert Wolf

As the time, so the situationor in German Wie die Zeit, so die Lage,is the title of this book. The idea of publishing together was something we spontaneously thought about, Yasmine Meier and I, her colleague Herbert Wolf. Before that, we had always published alone.

She has published two novels and a large number of poems to date. Her poems have won four awards in poetry competitions. I have written five books, including thrillers and a short story collection.

We board a yacht and set sail. On board, we let our imagination set the course on the open sea

We didn't know each other or our work that well at the time. We had noticed our posts on Instagram, liked or commented on them, and we got in touch.

Our life experiences and writing focuses are very different and we had to find an overarching theme for a joint book, a colorful mixture of poetry and prose, which could express our intentions.

The individual contributions should also reflect real events that had moved us, not just feelings about this and that. If we were already cruising on the open sea, then our works should give an idea of the sea with its gentle waves, but also with its rough storms The sea often suddenly puts sailors in a threateningsituationandtimeis then short to reflect for long. This gave rise to the title.

Dear readers, hopefully we can take you with us on thisimaginative journey.

That's what we want, because in the end it's your enjoyment of reading that counts!

2. Relaxed times - Herbert Wolf

The hand continues to turn and trembles slightly,

An ICE finally arrives, the brakes screech,

Passengers push forward, time passes,

The air vibrates, a gust of wind tries to escape.

The ICE is about to leave, it's time for it,

Loudspeakers sound, a conductor stands ready,

His piercing whistle sounds and he closes the door,

The signal now switches to green, the time has come.

It's summer, what do the past days matter?

Hope for relaxation displaces annoying worries,

Neither work nor any pressure weighs on my situation,

I can already sense the surf in the morning.

The sound of the sea should lure me out early,

And neither dreams nor tiredness will keep me in bed for long.

I want to lie in the water or squat in the sand,

And nothing will prevent me from having a relaxed day.

Not the clock, the position of the sun that determines my life,

The glittering crowns of the surf fire my imagination.

The otherwise daily clocking now appears next to it,

I leave myself free from the constraints of magic.

But relaxation doesn't offer me a foothold anywhere,

To find a firm footing and extend this time,

The hand continues to turn, the silence lasts only a little while,

The hope of repetition must then guide me.

Thoughts of duties that cannot be postponed drive us forward,

I reluctantly change from carefree surroundings,

And it's always just the clock that everyone follows,

Everyday life pushes me on, keeps me moving.

3. Train to nowhere - Yasmine Meier

An almost rhymed short story

The last train she had missed.

Empty station, unplanned rest.

Like in a deserted empty town.

She was left without connection and on her own.

As if the world would end up here.

Sonja's destination was the sea.

In a small guesthouse she wanted to be.

And then – like a curse!

On it's way to make it all worse

The train had to stop due to a fallen tree.

Where the hell is she?

When she got of she was the last passenger.

Who was all alone like a stranger.

Now looking around, looking for help.

What was the name of this place?

Yes, there had been a replacement service.

But she couldn’t find the way.

And her suitcase was so heavy anyway.

So she left the station.

Maybe somewhere she could get something to eat.

But there was no chance to ask someone.

No one was there she would meet.

Where here people living at all?

In front of the station she saw a cottage near some trees.

Was someone there?

Sonja pushed her trolley right away.

Grumbling softly with every step.

Blowing in the wind her long brown hair.

She pulled her monstrous trolley all the way.

Blind eyes with tears of despair.

She thought: this looks so much like a ghost town.

Has it always been this dead?

Where would she stay? It would only be for a night.

Where was she to sleep? Who would help her right?

She had been on train for eight hours.

No food for the last six hours.

Coming closer the cottage looked even older.

But then she didn’t care as she got colder.

For the house stood there in darkness

Sonja assumed that no one was home.

Maybe she could get in there.

Perhaps there was an open window somewhere.

The house could also be uninhabitated.

However: Sonja wanted to enter!

This old cottage near the town sign

Didn’t look like a hotel for sure.

Sonja felt like she was at World’s End.

And she knew this she couldn’t endure.

From the garden she succeded in being an intruder.

Apparently it had been taken over by a hoarder.

Sonja found a small room.

Which was clean but still was not a bloom.

At least there was a sofa.

Sonja asked herself: „Will I get any sleep here?“

She drank the remains of her Rheinhessen wine.

And in her suitcase found some chocolate to dine.

Which was a blessing as the fridge here was empty.

And didn’t look so inviting.

What a meager meal, Sonja thought.

I sure have eaten better, too!

Before Sonja tried to sleep in this house

She discovered there even was a little mouse.

Oh no, she thought. But then she fell asleep.

It was five o’clock when Sonja startled out of sleep.

She surely woke up the mouse that did a shriek.

Sonja wasn’t left unnoticed anymore.

Was there someone at the door?

Did the residents return from Panama?

Sonja wasn’t seeking any drama.

Perhaps it had just been an animal and anyhow

She once had read about an escaping cow.

Shaking she stepped towards the door that was near.

Accompanied by her huge fear.

Who was there in the middle of this cold night?

Didn’t they bring any food, alright?

Even her mobile had given up its service.

And McDonald’s too was a bit of a miss.

Sonja was in here illegally.

They will think I’m a burglar!

So she decided to better hide.

Like there were jewels in every corner inside!

Whoever broke in here was more likely to leave something.

Instead of stealing. And Sonja in the middle of everything.

What if some thief pried the door open?

Who could prevent that?

What could a burglar get here, what?

Gold egg cups or silver spoons?

Only a mouse in this hole!

Because she too needed a home, this cute little soul.

The noise just stopped when she reached the door.

Was it a drunken husband or a betrayed wife?

Who else could it be at five?

Who didn’t even have a god damn watch?

Sonja was relieved when the haunting was over.

She fell onto that couch again, rolled over and over.

Fortunately no residents had come.

They would hardly welcome her with open arms.

Probably would hold her for the police to come.

They could even arrest and take her for questioning.

The bare thought robbed her of sleep.

So finally she realized she only had one option:

I won’t stay any longer, I’ll have to leave!

Her ravenous hunger wouldn’t get any better, either.

No one would satisfy her appetite.

Bread she had found was moldy and grey.

And some raspberry jam way past it’s expiry day.

She could have dined at the Maritim:

Crêpe Suzette, Omelette Surprise, sparkling wine on ice,

Coffee, toast, scrambled eggs and jam.

Here everything was so low.

Then, thinking of the mouse,

At least there had to be cheese in the house .

But no Gouda far and wide

Camembert or Tilsiter in sight.

Zero mobile service and Sonja

Wanted to eat something that was actually edible.

Instead of à la carte there was just this old cottage.

And nothing she could get from a star menu.

Grabbing her Samsonite Sonja thought: my time is due!

She felt sorry for the mouse and the inhabitants.

So she left her suitcase behind with items to fight this sadness.

For all of them to find a little more happiness.

A loud bang reached her mind harshly.

Sonja almost fell and startled slightly.

Silence again. Sonja sighed with relief.

Leave this place, just leave!

Probably an animal she told herself.

She had read about poaching wolves.

But this couldn’t change her mind.

She would leave all this behind.

She then hesitantly opened the front door

And held her breath just once more.

A newspaper lay on the floor.

No cow or wolf to frighten her.

A bold headline caught her attention.

Sonja snorted quite a while and not to mention

That this news made her choke.

And then she said out loud „Lucky!“

This disturbing letters on the paper

Finally got through to her mind and shocked her.

All thirty-two passengers on the railway replacement service she had missed

Were no longer alive.

She had to sit down to understand this:

She could have been one of them.

4. My father's watches - Herbert Wolf

Setting his watches had certainly been important to my father. Over the years, it had become an indispensable ritual for him to wind or reset the clocks in the evening. Battery-operated clocks were relatively rare back then. He took the exact time from the display on the television directly before the twenty o'clock news.

I'm not sure whether we first registered his love of clocks when he bought a dark brown wooden clock for our living room. He placed it on the living room dresser. Not only did its exquisite appearance immediately catch ones eye, it also had a chiming mechanism that we all heard day and night. It not only sounded on the hour, but also every quarter and half hour. The gongs sounded exactly once, twice, three or four times. That still sticks in my mind. At the time, it occasionally annoyed me. The wooden clock face was framed by a gold-plated brass rim. The Roman numerals were gold-colored, as were the elaborately crafted hands. My mother was still alive at the time and shared his appreciation for this clock because of its unique, hand-carved decorations, which were a real eye-catcher. Although she couldn't understand his obsession with watches, she was indulgent, she felt the same way about this watch and had always looked after it with great care.

I secretly speculated that the longer we owned this clock, the more the striking mechanism would soon give up the ghost. When my father wound up both the clock and the striking mechanism in the evening, I hoped that he would at least refrain from doing the latter. This recurring, unmistakable boing annoyed me

Every evening, when the clock was shown before the news on German telvision ARD, my father would go to the chest of drawers with the clock key, open the glass door in front of the clock face and wind up both movements. He would then adjust the position of the hands, perhaps with his eyes fixed on the television.

I left my parents' home and West Berlin to study. I wanted some distance from my family and chose Hamburg University for this. One evening during my rather infrequent visits, I discovered that my father had changed his habits somewhat. Before setting the clock on the dresser, he placed his wristwatch on the table in front of him and, this was completely new, a pocket watch. I had never seen it before. Now he had pulled it out of his trouser pocket.

"You even have a pocket watch?" I asked in amazement.

"It's a gift from my company for my anniversary, I just got it. Incidentally, the case is only gold-plated, but it's very accurate."

The TV clock was displayed. My father set his anniversary pocket watch and wristwatch one after the other and then ran to the chest of drawers. The chimes sounded exactly four times. I could see a satisfied smile on his face, perhaps to mock me a little, because he had probably guessed what I was thinking.

I was also surprised that he left the living room after the evening news had finished.

"He has a new clock with an alarm function and digital display on his bedside table. He still has to check it ... not every night, but often ...", my mother explained with a smile. "Everyone has their own hobby!"

"Well, something always changes when you haven't been here for a while," I replied ironically. I was still studying and I didn't coordinate my semester times with a clock, but unfortunately not with a calendar either ...

Two years later, during Advent, my wife Karin and I were walking along Mönckebergstraße in Hamburg. We had got married and our little girl was lying in a baby carriage. She had just turned three months old. More by chance than anything else, we were stopped at a bus stop and there was a jewelry and watch store right behind us.

"They even sell cuckoo clocks!" my wife exclaimed.

"Fine, but we certainly don't need a cuckoo clock!"

For whatever reason, a clock like this brought back memories of the living room clock in my parents' house with its annoying chimes. I certainly didn't want a cuckoo clock in my home, even if it was a more discreet way of telling the time.

"I wasn't thinking about our apartment. Wouldn't that be a present for your father?"

"Hm, not a bad idea!" I told her after a moment. It's often difficult to find a present for parents that surprises and delights them in equal measure. They had usually bought what they wanted themselves, and if they wanted anything else, it wasn't necessarily affordable for us.

The clock was not cheap with its typical wooden case, which was probably modeled on its supposed origins in the Black Forest, the clock chains and the carved pendulum. There was a small door at the top of the front for the cuckoo, which was not necessarily recognizable as such. The price seemed reasonable, even the two-tone call was remotely reminiscent of a cuckoo call. The origin surprised us, as it had been made in South East Asia, not in the Black Forest.

"And the little peep comes out from behind the wooden door every quarter of an hour?" Karin wanted to know exactly.

"Sure! The little bird, i.e. the striking mechanism, produces a cry every quarter of an hour," explained the salesman and then immediately turned the two hands to demonstrate.

Housing and the call of this wooden cuckoo convinced us, even though we had often heard a cuckoo in a familiar pitch and environment. But what did we know about how such a bird cries in Southeast Asia?

And so my father received this cuckoo clock as a gift from us on the first public holiday on christmas. He was very happy about it!

That afternoon, I was much more interested in my mother, who visibly had to drag herself from the living room table to the kitchen. I had never really been able to show her that I had been able to start a successful career in my company thanks to my studies. Sometimes I had imagined that I could finance a vacation in Rome for my parents with my earnings. Some things had turned out differently; as a young family, we were burdened with many other expenses.

In any case, the clock was a hit. My father immediately found a place for it on the wall in the living room and from then on the calls of the wooden cuckoo rang out alongside the chimes of the chest of drawers clock.

"It's getting louder and louder in the living room," Karin whispered to me. "Have you noticed that he has a second pocket watch in front of him?"

"Dad, did you have a second anniversary that I had no idea about?" I joked.

"No, I bought them when I had to send the ones from the anniversary back for a repair," my father explained seriously. "It took them so long to finally send them back to me."

My mother died a few days after this meeting on the evening of December 31. We shouldn't have gone back to Hamburg at all. She couldn't be buried until the end of January because the ground was frozen. When we sat with my father in the apartment for a while afterwards, he actually forgot to wind up or adjust his watches. However, during our subsequent visits, he seemed to have returned to his old habits.

"You enjoy seeing me setting the clocks so diligently, don't you? I guess that's what you call a quirk. But something is always chiming in my apartment and that's a good thing."

My father didn't stay alone for all the years after my mother's death. His girlfriend, a widow who had moved in with him, kept her apartment, but it didn't really make any difference. They lived together as a couple, in alternating places that were not far apart. Her passion for watches was limited, but she got on well with his quirk. She rather admired his other extensive occupation. Over time, my father had filled an entire room with books on shelves specially made by a carpenter. Not only did they stand next to each other, but he had also piled them on top of each other due to a lack of space. My father had spent years collecting works by many writers, including contemporary authors. He was particularly fond of books about German history and biographies. This passion only really intensified after my mother's death, when he had to live alone for a while. He had turned my former room into his study (or rather library) long before that.

He died unexpectedly for us at eighty-five and still mentally alert. His physical limitations had been a nuisance, but he had also learned to cope with them. Even on my last visits, I watched him pedantically winding and setting all the clocks in his surroundings. I can still hear the sound of him pulling up the chain of the cuckoo clock to wind it. I had long since gotten used to it, so I would probably have missed this routine during my visits.

I hired a clearing company to clear out his apartment, whose lack of empathy I found as painful as it was outrageous. There was no junk in these rooms, but the men from the clearance team didn't seem to care. Taking it to us was not an option, as we had built a new house on the outskirts of Hamburg two years earlier and had furnished ourselves accordingly. Our parents' furniture didn't match the style of our interior, and space also seemed to be scarce in our house. It was mainly selected and rare books that I wanted to save. And his clock collection? I left the cuckoo clock to the neighbor, who had looked at it covetously.

The clock on the dresser? Perhaps she had wanted to wake me up, because just as one of the men was getting ready to take it away, she announced with a loudboing. "Stop, I'm taking it with me!"

It's been sitting on our dresser for years now and, unless I've forgotten to wind it up again, it reliably tells the time. The only thing I never wind up is the striking mechanism; I even put a piece of fabric over the metal rods inside that make the sounds.

My watches have long been hidden in the displays of my cell phone, tablet or laptop. They always tell the time without being asked, very quietly, but they can't be ignored ...

5. Situation Of The Situation - Yasmine Meier

Let me put some questions here:

According to the current situation of the situation my dear:

Will a banana taste better then, if it could be straight my friend?

Would an egg know it could break apart in one or another way,

How should it be happy on its way?

Would a tea bag know that it could fall down into a cup of tea,

Do you think it would agree?

If light had to watch this world here,

How could it call it my dear?

So many questions indeed.

But no answer in the lead.

(My winner in the poetry competition of the Brentano Society in 2021)

6. Part time - Herbert Wolf

The old woman was now half-sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on the handle of her walker, the other crumpling a paper handkerchief that she obviously couldn't let go of. When her nephew Peter and his wife Isa had entered, she had been lying on her bed with her eyes closed. The two visitors could only guess whether she had been asleep. When she woke up, she looked uncomprehendingly into her nephew's face for seconds without immediately recognizing who was standing in front of her. He and his wife were used to this and spoke to her patiently.

"Aunt Marie, it's us! Me, your nephew Peter and my wife Isa, do you understand me?"

She slowly came to her senses and then immediately asked a question.

"You're taking me home now, aren't you?" she asked skeptically.

"We want to visit you today," Isa said, reaching for her hand and clutching the handkerchief.

"Do you know who we are now?" Peter asked doubtfully. "It's us, Peter and Isa. We're coming to visit you."

"But you're taking me with you." It didn't sound as if she had understood everything. Her face contorted in such a way that there was almost a question mark in it.

"Aunt Marie, why do you want to go home? You're doing well in this retirement home!"

"You have such a beautiful room," Isa reinforced what her husband had just said.

The room was large enough to accommodate not only a bed, a closet and a chest of drawers, but there was even an oval table with three chairs around it. On the walls were pictures that Peter and Isa had brought from Marie's apartment and hung up here. The room had its own bathroom with toilet. There was a radio and a telephone on the bedside table. The only thing missing was a television, which Aunt Marie hadn't wanted.

Peter had been so relieved to have organized this single room in a retirement home on the outskirts of Berlin. It wasn't a grand prize in the lottery, but it was a stroke of luck, as many older people could only be accommodated in double rooms. Quite a few even had to accept longer waiting times. This house seemed ideal for him and Isa, as they could easily reach it by car in half an hour.

The fact that his aunt valued this happiness so little occasionally left him perplexed.

"Oh, but I still want to go home," she insisted, once again ignoring what her nephew had just said. He tried to stroke her arm, but it didn't work. Now she even started to cry, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Do I always have to stay here? Can't I go home anymore?"