Sometimes you have no choice E-Book

Elisa Bragy

• Herausgeber: novum pro Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 1257

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Isa is married, has two grown-up children, works as a freelancer for a translation agency and is involved in the cultural sector. Tim is a successful theater and film actor, freedom-loving, unattached and over ten years younger than Isa. A deep bond develops from an encounter after a performance and subsequent conversations. The intensity of their love and the kindred spirit that exists between them changes both of their lives. They have no choice, these feelings force them to cross conventional boundaries, even though the fear of loss is great. Will they find a way?

Leseprobe

Elisa Bragy

"The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched,

they are felt with the heart."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen nor

It'sthe eyes. Those improbable eyes. They take on a life of their own in that beautiful masculine face, tanned by the sun. They are blue, a very special blue, and they make this look what it is. They don't just look at you, they penetrate you, they look through you or into you, they fix you. Depending on the situation. You can't lose yourself in those eyes, you may feel like you can, but you can't. What you can do, however, is freeze to them or break. They are like mirror windows. It sees out, but you can't see in unless it lets you, which doesn't happen too often. When that boundary opens or closes is up to him, not you.

His mouth can smile, his words flatter you, he can be charming, wrap you around his finger, his laughter beguiles you and his exuberance carries you away. He makes you feel like he's all there with you, but when you look into his eyes, you realize that's not the case. His gaze tells you that he has been somewhere else for a long time and his thoughts have already moved on, consciously or unconsciously. Still, those eyes won't let you go. They play with you, they have captured you. Suddenly, for whatever reason, the boundary is open, he is there again, allowing them to see you. It's like the beat of a butterfly's wings that touches you, you are enchanted you float. You become Icarus and swing towards the sun, but don't get too excited. This border is unpredictable, soon it is closed again and the moment is over. But you are already too close to the sun. The wax of your wings melts away and you fall into the bottomless pit.

Are they the mirror of his soul? Do they reflect the knowledge of encountering the uncontrollable? Do they reflect the fear of losing freedom orbeing exposed toinjuries again, of crossing the border - or is it simply arrogance and self-absorption?

To answer any of this with 'yes' would be too simplistic. This person is too complex for that, his passion too great and the border too close for him.

He is popular, a welcome guest, intelligent and idolized by people. He knows what not to laugh at and knows human values.Likewise, he knowswhen and where to behave and how, uses his good childhood.Moreover,he knows the magic formula to be asked to enter. He does not allow himself to be restricted, not forced, does not correspond to the 'ideal' of a common man on closer inspection. He is aware of this, but he doesn't want to be.It doesn't matter to him - not at the moment - he is still young enough, successful and fiery. He can still burn, he still has a choice. He lives his life at his limit, has platforms to not have to cross that limit. That's what makes him. That's what he was born for, that's what he fought for. This is what he lives for.

***

I realized this and much more in one fell swoop when I met him for the first time. It was like déjà vu. Everything I had read, heard and seen about him made even more sense. Spellbound, I watched him. He played his very own composition, played exactly the notes he wanted. Determined the tempo, the beginning and the end of the score and took over every voice he needed to. And he was heard. People hung on his lips, were attracted to his essence like moths to a flame. It would be too easy to say it was just the women. No, he had the ability to captivate everything human.

And there I stood, at a safe distance, spellbound, afraid and overwhelmed at the same time. I was intoxicated like a teenager, unfortunately no longer so naive, yet I didn't know whether I should stay or save myself for safer climes. Enchanted and infinitely sad at the same time. Sad because I had already realized that I was like Icarus and was infinitely attracted to this sun. This despite the knowledge of crashing into infinity at the end. Nevertheless, I had neither the strength nor the will to turn away. As this man went his way, I had to go mine, that was the only thing that was clear to me at that moment. So I stayed where I was and waited for the opportunity to speak to him briefly so that I could tell him my concern.

It lasted. While I was standing there, I noticed that he turned his head once or twice and briefly looked over at me before turning back to his counterpart. I had the feeling that my keeping my distance irritated him somewhat. He couldn't quite place my behavior, since all the others were seeking his proximity. I, however, stood there quietly by the pillar and just watched. After some time, when the ladies, intoxicated by his closeness, somewhat ecstatic and with red cheeks, had taken their selfies with him and received their autographs, and the men slowly no longer knew what to talk about, the group dispersed. He turned around again, bowed and thanked everyone and walked relatively briskly towards the door. This was now the moment when I had to start moving, if I still wanted to stop him. I started walking and just as he was about to push down the door handle, I spoke to him.

He paused and turned to me, surprised to see the woman who had been glued to the column all this time standing in front of him.

For a blink of an eye,he seemed tired, absent, and somewhat annoyed.Thenhe was back, smiling charmingly.

"Yes, please, do you have a request?"

I looked at him and said- Yes, I have been waiting for this sentence for a long time ...

No, I certainly did not say that! My cowardice was too great or my quick wit too small or both.

"Good evening, Mr. Brechner. My name is Bergmann. Please excuse me for keeping you. I am not a journalist, but have come with a request. I would like to ask you for a short conversation. Not now, but if possible in the next three days," I answered him with a smile.

"Yes, what is it about? Usually people contact my agency," he said, still very friendly.

"I know, but my request isn't big enough to drop it off at their agency. They wouldn't forward it because in their opinion it wouldn't be important enough to steal your time with it," it came from my side.

"Alright, can you tell me briefly what this is about? I still have an appointment!"

The tone changed by a tiny nuance, became a shade darker, and his eyes fixed on me.

"Gladly, it's about a project you've set up. You have developed your own personal form for a classical work in order to bring literature closer to young people. When I read that, I was fascinated by the idea. Especially because you are still a bridge builder for me today, in a figurative sense of course. Now I would like to know from you how this could also be brought to us. For this reason, I would like to talk to you about the project at that time. I will be here until Monday morning and currently live at Lenkaigasse 17. I have written down my cell phone number where you can reach me. If you're up for it and have the time, I'd really enjoy talking to you."

I held his gaze, not letting on that I would have loved to shake him so he would really listen to me, and handed him the envelope.

"Well, I'll see if I can find the time," he said with a charming, noncommittal smile.

"That's nice, thank you very much, and please don't throw it away or lose it," I smiled back.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind. Well then, you will hear from me." He said goodbye and as he was about to open the door, he looked around again. Astonished, he looked toward me, as I was still standing in the same place.

"I just want to say thank you for the evening, it was a great performance!", I said with a friendly smile.

Now he took a step towards me again and looked at me. His gaze was directed at me, the border open, and the smile that brightened his face and made the expression 'ok, done' evaporate reached his eyes. He perceived me, respectively what he heard, I could see that right away. What a transformation! Suddenly the bustle had fallen off him and he seemed to have all the time in the world.

Now it was me who said goodbye with a smile, simply turned around and walked away. Thank God he did not see how much strength this cost me. There I went with a beating heart, agitated, happy and full of hope, afraid of the next encounter or non-encounter. The feelings young, the packaging a little more mature, not much more clever than years ago, only more knowing.

On the way home, I strolled leisurelyalong the streets, past the beautiful old houses with their magnificent facades.They werewell-kept and increasing in value, objects worthy of protection, as they were called. At thatmomentI wished I were a house and not a woman. A woman gets older, but is not worth protecting in the common sense, just gets old. Even the beautiful old trees that stood there so majestically, with every annual ring adding to their beauty, even they did not help to pull me out of my gloom that had invaded me without warning. For us women, wrinkles and spots are covered up, the body is trimmed, years are made up and denied. We are expected to leave this planet young, beautiful and fit.

A man has it a little easier, especially if he is successful. The doors are still open tohim, despite his round belly and flabby mass. He laughs at a young creature as a fountain of youth and shows the whole world what he can still do. If a woman laughs at a younger man, everyone thinks they know that he certainly has a mother complex or that she is so stupid that she doesn't realize why he puts up with her. I knew there was a teeny bitterness in me, andwhy that was, I also knew.

Tired and yet somehow very awake, I pushed open the garden gate.The gravel crunched under my shoes as I walked to the entrance. Iopened the door and stepped inside. The coolness of the entrance hall made me shiver. My footsteps on the beautifulblack and whitetiles echoed a little too loudly in my ears. I slowly climbed the steps to the second floor and then stood in front of my door and entered. The first thing I did was slip off my shoes. When I felt the floor beneath the soles of my feet, it was liberating as always. The threshold into the living room welcomed me with a soft creak. I flicked on the floor lamp next to the table and opened the double door. With the glass of red wine waiting to be finished, I stepped out onto the balcony.The sky was full of stars and the moon could already be glimpsed behind the leaves of the trees. In about an hour, it would be above the treetops, peering into my bedroom. Only this would be empty, as almost always in the last days. I was working on a translation and that meant that I really wanted to make use of the few days in my self-imposed exile. Nevertheless, I was honest enough to admit that there was already something that might prevent me from doing so. Something that was perhaps even more important to me than my writing. A conversation with Tim Brechner.

When I closed the balcony door a moment later and sat down, I wondered whether he would get in touch or whether he had already disposed of the envelope, that is, left it lying around or thrown it away.On the one hand,I was almost sure I could gauge his behavior,but on the other hand, I didn't know him.If he was as I imagined, curiosity would prevail. To know what exactly I wanted from him and why, could possibly induce him to contact me. But as I also knew, he did not fit any pattern.Like all of us, he was a person of many layers,with the difference that he also lived these different layers or sides, which could be read everywhere. Nevertheless, I had the feeling that he was somehow predictable in his unpredictability despite everything. Imagination on my part?

I could have pondered over thisforhours and not come to a conclusive result. So I decided to continue with my work. Surprisingly, I succeeded better than expected and was able to direct and implement my thoughts. As usual, I forgot the time. Suddenly my cell phone rang. Surprised, I noticed that it was already two o'clock and looked at the display. Suppressed number, what the heck? Without thinking too long, I pushed the call away. Just as I was about to turn back to my work, the ringing started again. Annoyed, I picked up and .answered with a rather snappy "Yes" when I heard the voice of Tim Brechner. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my mouth go dry, my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, so all I could get out was a miserable "hello".

"Am I disturbing you?" a wide awake and very present voice asked me.

"No, no, not at all."

I almost couldn't speak, my throat felt tight, at least that's how it felt to me.

"I'm standing down here in front of your house and I see that your light is still on.Ihave time to talk to you now. Can I come up?" he asked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to ring someone's doorbell at two in the morning and ask if he could come in.

Anyway, how did he know that the light belonged to my apartment? Acceptance or willingness to take a risk?

"Yeah, sure, hold on, I'll open up for you. Come on up."

I sprinted to the door, pressed the buzzer and opened the apartment door a crack. Then I ran into the bathroom like a startled chicken, looked in the mirror and was surprised that it didn't crack at the sight of me. What the heck, there was nothing I could do about it in that short time. His excited "hello" was already outside the door and I heard him enter and kick his shoes off his feet. Okay! Full speed ahead! As we all know, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, a favorite saying of my mother's came to mind. "Composure, dear lady, composure, that's what you need now," my inner voice, on the other hand, whispered to me.

There we were in my living room at two o'clock in the morning, me in leggings and T-shirt, barefoot. He barefoot in jeans and shirt, still some makeup on his face, his hair rumpled, an old bag slung around. His posture a question mark in exclamation mark style, grinning all over his face. A boy with fluff, wide awake and full of curiosity. An indescribable charisma. My nervousness was blown away from one moment to the next. It seemed to me as if it was the most normal thing in the world to stand here with him in my living room at two o'clock in the morning and ask him if he wanted something to drink. To transform such a crazy situation into such a normal one, not many could do that. This was one of his great conscious or, what I rather suspected, unconscious gift strengths. Very few people can captivate others like that without big words and only with their presence.The question ofwhether someone else might be here did not even occur to him - all he wanted was to find out what I wanted from him. When I asked him how he knew that the lighted window belonged to my apartment, he said that he had learned that there was an Airbnb on the second floor. And I would have said yes, that I was currently living there. Clever head ... and he had really listened to me!!!

After receiving his glass of water and the requested tea, he sat down cross-legged on the sofa, looked at me and waited for me to start. Small talk was absolutely not required - thank God!

Well, where did I start? No idea! Before I couldputmy thoughts intowords, he already pestered me with the first question.

"How do you know about ... No, I'm Tim and who are you?"

"I am Isa," I replied.

"So, Isa, how do you know me and since when?"

"Well, when I first noticed you, I'm afraid I don't really remember, somehow it was by chance." That was certainly not the answer he wanted to hear, but fact is fact!

"What I have heard and seen has impressed me very much. I have several CDs and films of yours. Also, I read how your journey started with your mobile theater production and experiment. I watch your interviews and attend performances when possible. In doing so, it has become clear to me that you live and play outside the norms. You have no fear of contact, no inhibitions about being who you are. I like the way you embrace your roles. You'll do anything to avoid being pigeonholed. Well understood, this is a laywoman speaking, not a professional who knows her way around the theater and acting world, but somehow you're a familiar soul to me."

"Am I?" he asked, looking right into me.

"Yes, I also didn't fit into any pigeonhole and still don't, although differently than you. Even when I was young, I was sometimes a nightmare for those around me. But let's get back to you, my story has nothing to do with this and is not relevant. I don't know how it is with you, withme thisposturing about cultureoften leavesa stale aftertaste. It's very elitist in parts."

"What do you mean?"

"For example, there's still the one about E and U entertainment. If you belong to those who understand art and know what it's all about, then of course you listen to E-music, go to the opera and the theater, visit the must-see exhibition, and only read books that are really 'substantial'. But if you belong to the group of 'more simply wound people', then you consume U-music andbooks, but certainlyonly shallow stuff. When I hear such statements, I feel sick. Then I could scream and jump out of my skin! Culture in all its facets must be accessible to everyone.For many people, the inhibition threshold to get involved in culture is simply too high, because they only associate culture with theater, opera, etc.. In addition, they are put off by the posturing of certain people. It is precisely this behavior that has an intimidating effect on them and thus confirms their prejudices against what they see as culture. Thus, they will never take the important step across this divide. I am convinced that many more people would be interested if they didn't have to be afraid of embarrassing themselves. It would be great if they were aware that you may not understand some things, nor do you have to like everything. You would just have to find a way to show them that culture has many colors and you don't have to be bored with it, that there is not just an either-or. They should also know that among the so-called culture experts there are many who don't understand anything at all, but just puff themselves up like a peacock. This is why I think what you are doing is so brilliant. You are tearing down boundary fences and daring to experiment. You have the ability to do this with respect and passion. Through your personal engagement with the works,you show thatthese so-called old dusty texts have lost none of their relevance at all and were definitely not made just for a certain class of society. You present them in such a way that they find access, both to the young and to those who have always been bored with them until now. You outsmart the 'conceit' of arrogant people. You are such an exception that even the 'respectable' citizens can't help but listen to you, respect your skill and boast that they know this brilliant madman."

Tim burst out laughing, his eyes flashing mischievously as he said:

"So, so, a genius madman I am. Good roar, lioness! But then you are a crazy chicken."

"Something like that," came spontaneously from my side.

"What do you mean?" he asked with a grin, looking at me.

"Yeah, let's just say I'm kind of a crazy, middle-aged hen, that would be more like it!"

He grinned even more. "Ah, the lady is fishing for compliments now."

"Fishing for compliments, who, me?", I grinned back cheekily.

I looked at the clock.It wassoon four o'clock and the day was already outside the window. God, I was tired and yet wide awake.

Without transition, Tim asked me, "Could I sleep here on your sofa for a moment? It's going to knock me out next."

"Sure, no problem, I'll get you a blanket." I rose and went into the bedroom.

When I returned, he was lying stretched out with his eyes closed, one arm bent, already asleep. Carefully I put the blanket over him and allowed myself the luxury of looking at him for a moment. It was unbelievable, here he was now, lying peacefully as if he couldn't stop a water, calm and relaxed - on my sofa in Morpheus' arms, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. A fifty-year-old man or a faun from mythology - or both?

Dead tired, but happy, I retreated to the bedroom, closed the door and lay down. A pulse beat later, I followed Tim into the land of dreams.

I did not hear the chirping of the awakening birds, nor did I feel the sun's rays on my skin. A new day had awakened, but I still held on to the old one with all my strength. Who knows when there would be such a day again, respectively a night.

There were people, many people, and they looked at me. One asked me reproachfully:

"How could you!? What were you thinking, just leaving him lying there? We were waiting!"

Jesus, what was going on, I just tried to leave, but I couldn't. Something was holding me down and it was so incredibly warm. I was flailing around, I couldn't take this racket anymore. With a jolt, I opened my eyes and finally woke up. It was a dream! I had been dreaming this confused stuff. Thank God!

With difficulty, I unwrapped myself from the blanket that had wrapped itself around me so that I could no longer move my legs. There I sat now on the edge of the bed and tried to clear my head. I looked at the cell phone, it was just before noon. The sun was shining full on me through the window pane. That's why I was so warm. First slowly and then abruptly I remembered again.

There was someone else in the living room. On quiet soles I went to the room door and opened it. The sofa opposite was empty, it couldn't have been emptier. No sign of Tim, his bag and he were gone, but his shoes were still by the door. The whole thing was almost as weird as my dream, from which I could hardly wake up. If there hadn't been that scent hanging in the air, which I had noticed as soon as Tim entered, I would have had no trouble believing that the shoes had already been there when I had moved into this apartment a few days ago.

Had he just left like that, just up and gone? Immediately I remembered a report Ihadread in which a woman wrote that you couldn't stand it with him because he was never where he was supposed to be. That unreliability was his middle name, but he was still her best friend. Well, that didn't quite fit the situation. After all, we weren't friends! The blanket was carefully folded. On it lay a note, on which was written:

"Hello and good morning, went when you were still asleep. I'll be in touch! Thanks for the sofa and the blanket! Bye!"

Good, no, not good at all. But then what would be good? I turned on the coffee maker and made myself a strong coffee. With the hot black, wonderfully fragrant brew, I sat down at the table. After a moment, I stood up again. Restlessly I wandered through the apartment and finally retreated to the bathroom. There I stood under the shower, turned the water on cold and let it rush down on me. The cold shock put my world back in its proper place. As an almost new person, combed, dressed up a bit and dressed, I sat back down and started my midday breakfast. As I lifted my head, my eyes wandered around the living room and the open entryway. My eyes lingered on the shoes. I had to smile, thinking, "so it's really true, he actually loses his shoes from time to time and marches around nudis pedibus." My heart did a little skip. I too lost my shoes regularly, whether at home, in the office, at meetings, or under a lectern. Then I would sometimes stand there and not notice until it was pointed out to me or someone dropped a more or less great line. Of course, it was not written about as with Tim, but my person was a little too low.

"Whatnow?", I thought. Did I stay home or did I go for a walk? I decided to walk along the river, with cell phone of course. Always ready ...

Watching the water and the play of lights did me good. It smelled like summer. Dragonflies flew over the water, butterflies danced in the warm air and you could hear the buzzing of insects. Small eddies formed by the stones on the shore and the water gurgled softly. The stalks of grasses along the shore swayed in the faint breeze that had sprung up. After a while I returned to the apartment. There I took the water carafe from the refrigerator, flicked a few lime slices into it, and poured myself a glass of it. As I drank from it a little later, I realized how thirsty I was. Before I started writing, I wanted to call Jonas. I hadn't been in touch for two days. At home everything was in the green and that calmed my guilty conscience, which I didn't really need to have. Just as I was about to start writing, my cell phone rang. Without looking at the display, I answered.

"Hello, late riser, are you awake?" a voice already familiar to me asked me.

"Yes," I replied, "hours ago."

"So, hours ago already? When I left, everything was still dead quiet behind your door, and that was about hours ago," came the answer and I could see his smirk right in front of me.

"Listen, can we meet again today and continue this conversation?"

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to," came from me.

"Well, I'm still rehearsing a new role, but after that it would suit me."

"Can I help you with that?", I asked him spontaneously. In interviews, he had mentioned that he had developed his own technique for studying roles.

"Would you be up for it?" asked Tim.

"Yeah, sure, if I can do it and it benefitsyou."

"Of course you can, then would you mind coming to my house?"

"Not at all, where should I come and when?", I asked him.

He gave me his address. "If I'm not there yet, please wait, I'm on my way home now."

"All right, I'll see you in a minute," I replied.

A short "bye" and he hung up. He really wasn't from this planet, I realized again at that moment. He lived in his world, in this world the clocks simply ticked differently. What other very well-known and successful actor would just give you his address after a somewhat lengthy night conversation? It was very special, but I liked it and it showed me that he was a very open person at his core. I looked at my cell phone, it was fourteen o'clock . On the spur of the moment, I got in the shower again, put on something comfortable, checked my makeup, packed my laptop and other things in my bag. Then I looked for a bag for Tim's shoes. Unfortunately without success. So they came along bagless. I called a cab. Just as I closed the door and was about to go down the stairs, I met the elderly lady from across the street. She was standing in front of her door and greeted me kindly. We exchanged a few words briefly and she asked me if I was looking for a shoemaker for the shoes in my hand. Somewhat perplexed, I replied:

"No, why?"

"Oh, just so, the men's shoes look a little used and you're not from around here."

"No, no, I'm not looking for a shoemaker - I'm just returning them," I knew I was riding a little devil, but I couldn't help it, "but thank you! Goodbye."

Smiling to myself, I descended the stairs, so observing was just as common there as it was with us. But the nice way of the lady made me her 'curiosity' but very sympathetic. When I arrived downstairs, I saw that the cab had just driven up. I opened the car door, got in, greeted the driver and gave him the address. When I looked up, I met his gaze in the mirror. Friendly, he smiled at me. "So, madam, do you like our place?"

A little surprised, I looked at him. Why did he know that I was not from here? Did I look so different from the locals? And this 'madam', it made me age by years, not to say by felt decades. But my smile held well on my face thanks to the make-up and I answered quite tamely:

"Thanks for asking, yes, it's beautiful here."

Which was true. Satisfaction spread across his face. Maybe I was wrongly dabbed and he just wanted to be polite. That I was not from here, one could hear by my German. But before I could do this man any more wrong, we had arrived. I paid, got out and looked around. It was nice here, not far from the center, but still quiet and very private. I climbed the few steps to the front door and rang the bell. Inside, the bell rang loud and clear. It sounded a bit shrill and tinny. No reaction, everything remained silent. Apparently he was not back yet. Without further ado, I sat down on the steps, let my gaze wander through the small front garden and watched the pedestrians strolling along the hedge. It was still warm and the air had that summer heaviness that automatically slowed our steps a bit. Just as I was about to unpack my laptop to do some work, he came around the corner. Barefoot, his bag slung around him and some pieces of wood in his hand. Laughing, he came up to me and just said:

"Yes, yes, that punctuality. This one seems to tick in each of you just as much as diligence."

You could tell he didn't mean any harm, but you could sense some sarcasm and somehow he pushed me into a position I didn't want to be in.

"Apparently you've been a busy hummer, too, seeing all the stuff you carry!", I replied with a bit of a biting smile.

"Touché ma chère! But I wasn't busy, I just couldn't pass it by - I'm just a collector."

"Do you ever wonder what things would tell you if they could talk? I often ask myself this question when I stand in front of old and used things at the flea market. At home I have a very old table and when I touched it for the first time, I wondered how many destinies that have been decided at this table it could tell. I am aware that it sounds a bit whimsical."

I had to force myself not to continue speaking, suddenly I was very, very nervous. He looked at me, no, he actually looked into me. Tim gave me the feeling that he saw to the bottom of my ego, then he sat down next to me on the steps and said:

"It's nice that you feel the same way, if only more people would pay attention to these contemporary witnesses. Or if you had a little more imagination to see what nature can create. Maybe then they wouldn't just pass them by carelessly."

This sensitivity, this closeness touched me very much. Where was the restless and constantly in motion living Tim, about whom one always read? But before I could think about it further, the chapter was closed by him. He got up, went up to the door, unlocked it and entered. Almost impatiently he waited for me to follow him. I quickly grabbed my bag and his shoes and went after him. Somewhat astonished, he looked at my hands.

"Aren't those my slippers?" he asked me.

"Yeah, sure, I thought they'd do better on you than me since the size doesn't quite fit my foot size unfortunately!"

"Oh, these shoes, I forget them everywhere, terrible!"

"For you or the shoes?"

"Well, what do you think?" But he didn't expect an answer to that, you could tell from his posture.

We stepped into a somewhat sparsely furnished living room. The first thing he did was to put the items on the table and empty his bag. What all came to light! A few loose sheets with colorfully painted words, a specially shaped stone, a piece of bark and bleached, really beautifully structured pieces of wood. A real little smorgasbord. There were more glow-in-the-dark pens and leaves on the table, as well as a script. Those were the only splashes of color besides the pillow and blanket that lay on the sofa. The room seemed large and airy. The wooden floor was beautiful and added charm to the room. Through the high windows you could see into the garden.

"What do you say we work on my lines now and continue our conversation from yesterday later?"

"That's a good idea. Can you please explain what I have to do?"

The first thing we did was turn off our cell phones so we wouldn't be disturbed. Then he showed me which sentences I had to read to him and explained how. For the next few hours, we wandered through his apartment, with him putting a hand on my shoulder in between. I tried to read each line as neutrally as possible. The change was fabulous. The Tim from last night disappeared and the actor took his place. A man charged with energy, who absorbed the sentences like a dry sponge absorbs water, only to release them again with the corresponding gestures. He was enraptured by the here and now and became more and more a part of the role. He repeated the sentences umpteen times until they flowed out of him as if they were his own. Pure energy, space-filling, captivating and intoxicating. And all this just while learning. At that moment I personally experienced what he meant by the statement 'I make myself available'. He had crossed the line between him as a person and the role he was playing. Experiencing this time travel so close was incredible and I was very shaken up. I turned around and was surprised to see him. I can't say what I expected to see. He was strange to me and yet familiar. He was here, yet not there. Without comment, he turned and went into the bathroom. Shortly after, I heard the shower. I looked at the clock. It had been almost three hours since we had started rehearsing the part. I opened the window and sat down on the sofa to digest what I had experienced. The thoughts in my head were buzzing around like a swarm of bees and I was glad to have a moment to myself.

The man who came out of the bathroom after some time was Tim again, as he lives and breathes. Hair rubbed dry, standing crisscrossed on all sides, open shirt, comfortable pants and barefoot. On his cheeks the dark sprouting whiskers were already casting shadows and on the side his hair had a silver sheen. He looked sexy as hell and smelled good enough to eat. Did he care? No, not at all.

"I'm insanely hungry," he said, asking me, "how about you?"

"Now that you ask me that, I have to confess, I'm actually hungry as hell!"

"Then I'd better cook something before you jump all over me!" he replied with a grin.

Immediately I noticed a great embarrassment spreading through me. Just do not let on that I found him to nibble on.

"I don't know now if I should think that's the better offer!" came glibly from my side.

"Well, attacking me is a bit too dramatic. Don't you think?"

"Gosh are you petty!!!"

He turned around laughing, fixed me with his gaze and said, "Am I? And you, are you brave?"

" No, no, I am a coward!"

"You're not, I know that."

"If you say so, I'll take your word for it."

I was glad that I could turn the situation around a bit. What he didn't know was that in such moments only my quick wit saves me. Even if you had to dig deep, inside I was still the same shy as in my younger years.

"Can I help you?"

"No, I don't like that. We can keep talking and continue our conversation from yesterday, that would be great, but hands off my kitchen!" he said with a charming smile on his lips, but still no less convincing.

"Well, that's a word!", I replied.

I poured myself a glass of water and sat down at the small round table that stood in the corner. You could see at first glance that this kitchen was needed, and that someone was cooking in it who liked to do so. When Tim started cooking, I watched him. Actually without transition we continued our conversation from last night. He was meanwhile handling the knife, cutting the vegetables and whatever else he needed. Tim underlined his statements with his hands. It seemed almost virtuosic. Where did this man get his seemingly inexhaustible energy? With every word he said and the way he said it, he confirmed to me how important it was for him that the young people could relate to literature. That was a very, very big concern for him. He was convinced that all you had to do was arouse their curiosity about it. Then they could see that the texts were as relevant today as they were then. That way, they would not be put off by society's fusty and elitist thinking. He came over to me and sat down. When I asked him whether it would be conceivable for him to carry out such a project, of course on a much smaller scale, even today, he said:

"Look, this is a very difficult business today with my commitments. While I'm very independent in my work, and as I'm sure you've read, I'm always on the go. Because of that, my schedule is very busy. This afternoon you could witness that learning a new text involves quite a bit of work for me. It's exciting, and in the end it makes me who I am. But it takes me a relatively long time. What did you think the whole thing would be like?"

Just as I was about to answer him, his phone rang. To all appearances, he had activated it again. He got up and went to his cell phone, which was lying on the sofa. When he saw who it was, he turned to me, shrugged his shoulders and said:

"Excuse me, but it's important!"

Shortly after the greeting, he began to walk back and forth. While talking, he came into the kitchen, adjusted the heat of the oven, and then returned to the living room. I heard only scraps of conversation, but he seemed very taken with what he heard. When he returned, he seemed electrified and tense. He looked at me and said:

"I'm going to Berlin tomorrow evening, I'm filling in for a colleague."

My heart stopped, that was it! Instinctively, I knew that it was enormously important how I reacted to this statement. That raced through my head within nanoseconds. He stood in front of me and his eyes did not let me go for a blink of an eye. I did not avoid his gaze and said:

"Hey, that's great that you can do that. Would you rather I go? I'm sure you need some time to yourself."

His gaze lost that certain rigidity, the blue of his eyes changed and the border, which for a moment was more than closed, opened again. I felt a warmth spread through my body. With relief, I could have just started crying.

"No, everything is in the green, now we continue to eat and discuss. My necessary things are always packed ready to go and I know the roll well, so I only have to go through it once or twice."

Before my put-on cheerfulness could leave me, I asked him if I could use his bathroom. He didn't even turn around, but just said:

"It's the second door on the left." Just as I was about to open the door, he called out, "You can eat in five minutes."

"Okay!" I sat down on the toilet and tried to pull myself together. If I was already so messed up, how would this all develop, should it develop at all? It was high time to draw a line here, now and immediately. A line under my feelings, otherwise there was nothing at all, under which one could draw a line! I blew my nose, flushed and washed my hands. When I looked in the mirror, nothing of the storm that was raging inside me could be seen in my face. Maybe a little bit in my eyes, but you had to know me well for that. Suddenly I could smell his aftershave. I liked the scent a lot, masculine but not overbearing. I already noticed him last night when he was in my apartment.

"Food is on the table," sounded from the kitchen.

I opened the door and answered, "I'm on my way."

Smiling, I came around the corner, the table was beautifully set. He had poured a glass of wine for both of us and put a carafe of fresh water with it. The food and the baguette gave off a promising aroma. So he also mastered this side of his complexity. It tasted excellent, the discussion was highly interesting, only sometimes I wished for a few seconds a somewhat simpler counterpart. After coffee and dessert, I looked at the wall clock. I could hardly believe it, it was already past midnight again and Tim was still going strong. Now the question slowly came up in my mind - how to continue? My batteries had to be recharged as soon as possible, I was dead tired, not to say exhausted. With a heavy heart I said:

"Tim, please don't be angry with me, but I have to go now, I'm very tired."

"Would you like to lie down? You're welcome to use my guest room. I don't offer the sofa to a lady on principle," he stated with a grin.

"That's very sweet, but I'd like to get back to the apartment. Can you please call me a cab?"

I felt more than cowardly, I hated myself at that moment, but I knew I had to go. Some feathers on my wings were very loose and the wax was already soft.

"Too bad, as I said, my guest room is at your disposal, but I'll be happy to call you a cab," he replied.

"Thank you!" was all I could say in response.

As he walked me to the door, he gave me a quick hug and looked at me. I returned his gaze and tried to hold those blue eyes. I thanked him again sincerely for taking time for me, and for spoiling me with a good meal and a nice evening to boot. Without looking back, I walked down the steps. Just as I reached the last step, he suddenly stood next to me. He held me by the arm and turned me to face him.

"I could come by your house again between eleven and twelve. Would you then briefly go through the role with me?" he looked at me questioningly.

I couldn't help but just beam at him.

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to."

He gave me another quick hug, smiled and said:

"Bye, see you later, sleep well and sogni d'oro," turning and running up the steps.

"Sogni d'oro anche a te!", I called after him with a smile. I almost floated to the cab and was wide awake again.

The cab driver looked at me, beaming people at this hour were apparently not the usual here either. Arrived at home, I went to the bathroom. Before I lay down, I set the alarm clock for ten o'clock. Contrary to expectations, I slept soundly. When the alarm clock rang, I felt fresh and rested. Humming to myself, I went to take a shower. Somewhat satisfied with the result, I left the bathroom, gathered my wardrobe and got dressed. Then I went into the kitchen and started up the coffee maker. The coffee smelled wonderful as it flowed into my cup. I took it and went out to the balcony with it. There I watched the clouds pass by like big cotton balls in the sky. The air was no longer as heavy as it had been the day before; it was just the way I liked it. My thoughts flew towards the clouds and moved on with them. I tried not to think about tonight or tomorrow. Then I heard the garden gate open and shortly after it rang. I went inside, pressed the buzzer and opened the front door. A moment later he was standing in front of me. His wheeled suitcase was dragged behind him and he had put on the bag, which I already knew. He was smiling, freshly showered, and looked a teensy bit rumpled in a charming way, but he was wearing shoes on his feet. A handsome fellow from head to toe. Before I knew it, the shoes were gone, the rolling suitcase, jacket and bag parked next to the sofa, and he was standing in front of me. He hugged me and waved a promising paper bag, from which it smelled seductive, in front of my nose and said grinning:

"Smell, that's what paradise smells like!"

"Well, well, open it up and let's move in!", I returned with a grin.

"Yes, lady, it's not that easy, you'll have to make me a good offer to take you!"

"Oh no, even for paradise there are conditions. Well, I'm not like that, what does the Lord say to coffee or tea?"

"Well, you are so smart, since you guessed what I was after right off the bat! Applause, applause, you angel."

"That's enough you cheeky bugger, tell me what you want, coffee or tea? I have real Yorkshire, which is really only for select guests, mint tea, espresso, coffee or cappuccino."

"Well, the answer is as clear as day - I'm a chosen guest - aren't I?"

"How could it be any other way!", I joked back. If he knew how right he was. He would probably throw the bag down and run away.

"Do you take it black or with milk?", I asked him.

"Just black. But a coffee please, no tea. Am a black soul, don't you know that yet?"

"What, no Yorkshire?"

"No, sorry, I don't feel like a cup of tea."

"Just as you like." I made the coffee and he set the table on the balcony. When I came out with the coffee, he was sitting there, legs long out on the one chair, looking up at the sky.

"Did you see the clouds?" he asked me. "They look like sheep passing by."

"Yes, I love it when the sky is streaked with clouds. It makes me feel like I'm in England."

"You like England a lot, don't you?" he asked, looking at me.

"Yes, that's so, I feel very connected to this country and often miss it because of that. But come, let's enjoy the coffee now, before it gets cold, and devote ourselves to the wonderfully fragrant pastries. It would be more than a shame if we didn't appreciate it properly." He nodded, grabbed one and bit into it with relish.

"What do you call these croissants?"

"These are Schillerlocken with eggnog cream, that one is Waldviertler Mohnzelten and this one is Nuss- und Mohnbeugel."

I laughed and he looked at me questioningly.

"What?"

"Is there anything you will not tempt us poor strangers with?"

"Actually, no! We try to do everything we can to be successful," he replied, purring with delight almost like a cat in front of the cream pot.

As I looked at him, I became painfully aware of how much I would miss this banter and this person even after this short time. For a moment, an infinitely deep sadness rose up in me and almost took my breath away. As if he sensed it, he looked up. His eyes fixed on me and I couldn't look away. I don't know where I got the strength to push away my feelings and tear away this sadness that threatened to envelop me.

"Would you like another coffee?" he asked, already standing next to me. "I'll get another."

"No, thank you, but I'll get the carafe of water and two glasses. I've had enough coffee today." I also got up and followed him into the kitchen.

"Shall we start working then?", I looked at him questioningly.

"Actually, I thought we could talk a little more about the project. Since my gig isn't until Friday, I can go over my lines later, I can always find someone to help me with that."

I looked up, somewhat surprised. He really took my request seriously, and was already thinking about 'how to continue'. I immediately fetched my notes from last night and sat down opposite him. Without point or comma, he resumed the conversation exactly where we had left off. After some time, we noticed how the sky darkened and we heard thunder rumbling from a distance. Astonished, he looked at the display of his cell phone and said that his driver would already be here in an hour. Again, time had flown by much too quickly. We packed up our papers and moved into the living room, where we briefly summarized everything again.

"Get back to me as soon as you know more and you've talked to the appropriate people."

"I will, can you still tell me who to call?"

"Well, me of course, that's for me to decide and no one else." Then spoke a man who knew what he wanted.

"Will you give me your phone number then, please?"

"You don't have those yet?" he asked me in surprise.

"My dear man, how could I possibly have your cell phone number," I thought.

"I called you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, but with the number suppressed!"

"Did I? But I didn't want to, was apparently still set incorrectly. Here it is. Please don't pass it on."

"Ah, you mean you don't want me to put them on the net?", I couldn't help grinning. Isn't that what they call gallows humor? He looked at me a bit dismayed.

"Geez, I was just kidding. Do you really think for a second that I'm betraying your trust?" I stood up and put my phone on the kitchen cover.

"No, Isa, to my surprise, I don't think that about you at all," he replied almost reproachfully, looking at me with his now almost glacier blue eyes.

"Are you aware of your gift to make people do things within a very short time that they never wanted to do again in their lives or swore they would never let such happen to them again?" he said, standing up and coming closer.

"Do you really believe that of me?", I asked rather uncertainly, somehow he seemed almost a little angry.

"No, I don't think so, I've known that since I ambushed you at two in the morning and talked to you!" He came even closer, if that was even possible.

I felt like a trapped animal, I was trembling inside and would have liked to run away. Then I heard briefly a car horn and felt inexplicably a little safer. But I felt wrong!

Before I could think anything else, he put his index finger on my mouth, lowered his head, tenderly probed mine with his lips, and kissed me. An improbable feeling of familiarity flowed through me. It was as if I had returned to where I had been many lifetimes ago. After a moment, when he lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes were a deep unfathomable blue. Those two blue windows looked at me inquiringly. He released his hands from my face and hugged me tightly. Then he turned around, took his jacket, put on his shoes, grabbed his luggage and left without turning around. On his way out he said:

"You'll hear from me!"

The only thing I got out was, "Have a good trip!"

I went out on the balcony and looked after him. The tears ran down my face without me noticing. Just before getting in, he turned around again, stopped for a moment, looked up and raised his hand in greeting. As soon as he got in, the car drove off. Everything in me screamed, "Stay, stay, please, please, don't just walk out of my life like that." But the car drove away and with it the magic. All the colors turned gray. I was in terrible pain, it was as if someone was plunging a knife into me and twisting it around inside me with great pleasure. It was pouring now and within a few seconds I was wet through and through. Who cared? Staggering, I walked back into the living room. Completely soaked, I sat down on the sofa and couldn't stop crying. I closed my eyes, his deep blue eyes, they wouldn't let me go, I was trapped in them. His last look was there in front of my face. I still felt the pressure of his lips and painfully felt the warmth of his body. I could still smell his scent, which surrounded him like a second skin. Without me being able to stop it, he had crept into my heart and soul, and that within a few hours. I was inhabited by him. The wax on my wings melted and melted and I could not stop it. Where were my experiences accumulated over the years, where were they - nowhere. They had dissolved, they no longer existed. Even though the years had increased, they could not offer me protection against these fierce feelings that came crashing down on me with a primal force. After some time I found the strength to undress and stand under the shower. The warm water poured comfortingly over my body and slowly I found myself again. I had known it from the beginning that the chances of me getting burned were more than great. And so it was. But I had to dare and now I had to continue on this path I had started. I had no choice.

Back in the kitchen, I carefully took the cup he had been holding in my hands and let the afternoon pass me by again. It was like a movie in slow motion and without end. Once again I heard his voice, heard his laughter and saw his grin clearly in front of me. I saw his eyes, his gaze, felt his lips on mine and felt the firm, almost fierce embrace. If I had been a sorceress, I would have taken him back without hesitation. But it was good that I was not one, because time would write our history and not me. With all clarity I realized that I had crossed a line.

Suddenly, my phone rang. I held my breath before glancing at the display. Disappointed, I recognized the number from home. I didn't like to answer, I would call back later. It was not the time to talk to my family. This admission helped make me feel even worse. But what the heck. I started packing my things, washed the dishes, put everything I no longer needed in my rolling suitcase, and was actually ready to go. Nothing was holding me back anymore, just nothing - except the crazy hope that Tim would suddenly ring the doorbell. How could anyone my age be so stupid or so weak? Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a suitable answer. I stepped out onto the balcony and saw that the rain had stopped. Single drops still fell from the dark green leaves onto the asphalt, as if they were tears. Deeply I sucked in the fresh air. The sight of the beautiful old trees that stood in front of the balcony and had watched over this house for many years comforted me a little. What had they already seen? How much happiness and suffering? My inner voice whispered to me, "Be grateful for every moment you've been able to experience, no one will ever be able to take that away from you." This comfort had to be enough for now. But how could it be enough when part of my self, whether I wanted it or not, was simply gone? To fill that void, I needed all the comfort in the world.

I went back to the bedroom, took my cell phone and called home. Jonas was happy about my callback. Thank God he didn't see my crying face. When asked if I had not heard the first call, I answered with:

"Unfortunately, no. I put the phone on silent so I can work in peace."

A few questions went back and forth and suddenly I felt myself struggling to just keep talking. Without thinking for long, I said:

"I'll be in touch as soon as I'm on the train tomorrow. Okay? Now I have to do some more work. I haven't quite finished the schedule for the phone calls on Tuesday. I wish you all another good evening. Bye and see you tomorrow!"

"No problem. Bye and have a good trip."

His voice was full of understanding and I could hear that they were looking forward to seeing me at home.

"Bye!"

Relieved, I hung up. What kind of person was I? I had no choice. Sure, many other people would say that you always have a choice. But that wasn't so.

It had become dark and before I crawled under my covers, I made myself a warm milk with a teaspoon of honey and cinnamon. The taste was comforting, as it reminded me of my childhood. Then I set the alarm and reviewed the last two days. With a heavy heart, I wondered if Tim felt as lost as I did. If I ever wanted to get an answer, there was no other way than to hold out and wait. Unsuccessfully, I tried to fall asleep. It wasn't until morning that I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming the craziest things. When the alarm clock rang, I rolled out of bed, exhausted and totally sweaty. A quick glance at the display showed me that I hadn't missed a call or a message. I took a shower, put the last things in my suitcase and went to the kitchen. There I made myself a double espresso, grabbed a roll and sat down with it on the balcony. I wasn't hungry, but the day would be quite long, so it was better not to start it with an empty stomach. Afterwards I put the dishes in the dishwasher, checked that I hadn't forgotten anything and ordered a cab. The house was quiet and I didn't see a soul. When I stepped out, I heard birds chirping. The sky was blue and the sun was already shining quite warmly. A window was opened above me and I looked up. There I saw the old lady from the day before yesterday, standing at the window in the stairwell and smiling at me.

"I wish you a good trip. It would be a pleasure to welcome you here with us again soon."

"Thank you very much, that's very sweet! I wish you all the best and I sincerely hope that I can come back soon," I answered kindly.

I stepped onto the sidewalk, closed the gate and got into the waiting cab. After I told the driver where I was going, we drove off. Once again I looked up at the window and there I saw her waving at me. Spontaneously I opened the window and waved back. Before yesterday's goodbye came back to me, I started a conversation with the driver. He was friendly and when he asked me if I had visited my grandma, I looked at him in surprise.

"Why do you think?"

"Well, the old lady gave you such a warm send-off."

"Oh, no, that was just an acquaintance, but your countrymen are very nice."

Was I flattering him? No, I meant it just the same. After about forty-five minutes, we reached the airport. After I had paid and was about to get off, the driver politely opened the door for me, reached for the rolling suitcase and lifted it out for me. Was I now a feminist and not letting him do it, or was I just a woman and glad of his politeness? Who I was, I knew, even without putting him on the spot. As long as we still had big discrepancies in the important things, I could easily be helped with a suitcase and this without losing anything of my 'womanhood'.