The crooked guitar neck E-Book

Jürg René Ackeret

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

Seitenzahl: 365

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

He can't shake the feeling that his parents would rather have had a second daughter than him, Jonas, the whirlwind. He constantly draws the ire of his parents, prefers to pull the girls' hair in religion class instead of listening and prefers strolls through the neighborhood to homework. To make matters worse, he is also passionate about rock'n'roll. He feels like the badly dried wood of a guitar - a crooked guitar neck. A mother who never hugs him, teachers who have no interest in their pupils and the invisible dividing lines of religion in his circle of friends. The whole system stinks to high heaven, Jonas is fed up. He longs so much for a real connection - but will he find what he's looking for in the USA?

Leseprobe

Dedication

The book is dedicated to Gail.

The crooked guitar neck

I got to keep movin', I got to keep movin'

Blues fallin' down like hail, blues fallin' down like hail

Hmm-mmm, blues fallin' down like hail, blues fallin' down like hail

And the days keeps on worryin' me

There's a hellhound on my trail, hellhound on my trail

It keep me with ramblin' mind, rider

Every old place I go, every old place I go

I can tell the wind is risin', the leaves tremblin' on the tree

Tremblin' on the tree

I can tell the wind is risin', leaves tremblin' on the tree

Hmm-hmm, hmm-mmm

All I need's my little sweet woman

And to keep my company, hey, hey, hey

My company

Robert Johnson

Quake

There are experiences that are so frightening that you don't understand them at first. These can be seconds of inability, in which the safe world you live in turns into hell. I sit reading at my desk in front of the open window. Suddenly there is a rumbling that swells rapidly.Is there a danger coming from the porch door - a monster perhaps - that is making the whole house tremble?Mortal fear flares up inside me Now the desk is shaking like a ship on the high seas. My office chair is spinning. I feel as if I'm falling hundreds of meters into the bowels of the earth. I rush through the living room, past the clinking glass, the shattered television set, falling books, running under the doorframe of the veranda door. My heart is pounding in my throat.I have to get out of here! Get out!My eyes search for something to hold on to. I run. The Californian Sequoia in the garden, to which I cling, sways back and forth. The earth opens up before my eyes, wide as a bomb crater. My heart is racing. Under the orange tree, where the hedge borders the plot, the ground is littered with fruit.Is this the end, finito?

An eternity must have passed. Dead silence spreads. I take a deep breath. It's a balmy late summer evening and my whole body is shivering. Shivering, I go back into the house. There's no one there but me. Charly and George haven't even come home. The lights have gone out, the humming of the fridge has stopped. I'm confused, shocked.What the hell am I supposed to do?I have no plan.Surely everyday life must go on?Then I remember:Today is my Aikido training. I almost forgot. I've been looking forward to aikido all day.I have to go. Now.I get on my bike and race off. Through Park Avenue, past the stores. The Safeway store is a sea of jumbled food and its containers right up to the edge of the window. The front door and shop window are shattered. There, an aftershock. Fruit clatters out of the open entrance. Street lights are crooked, they are dark. Traffic has come to a standstill. A few vehicles are wedged together in a garden. An eerie silence; there are no people to be seen.What am I actually doing here?

I haven't seen my flatmates George and Charly since the earthquake started. I don't know where they are or when they'll be back. They're probably with their parents or friends. Then I'm back in the living room. I can't believe it: There's a whisky bottle on the floor that survived the fall from the shattered cupboard. I really need that now.What the fuck is going on here?I take a sip of whisky, then another. I eat two pears, turn on the radio. Voices talk in confusion. A woman's voice prays, a church choir singing psalms can be heard over another station. An announcer is reporting in a voice that is breaking over each other about the collapsed Bay Bridge, about buried cars and people. The news becomes more dramatic by the minute. Parts of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge have been destroyed, some cars have plunged into the depths. Several highways were damaged, as if after a bomb attack. The rescue services are completely overloaded.

All around me is complete darkness. Hours later, I throw myself on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Despite the sultriness in the room, my whole body shivers. A feeling of forlornness creeps up my spine.There'sanother roar, as if someone has started a giant washing machine. I go into the kitchen to make myself some tea. But there's no more electricity. I should have thought of that, as the lights have long since stopped working too. I find a few candles in Charlie's room, which he probably uses when his girlfriend Kate sleeps with him. I look around the kitchen. The floor is littered with broken glass. A kitchen cupboard with a sliding door has remained intact. Inside I find the crockery I need to prepare a meal. Meal, my ass! I open the fridge door and an unpleasant smell hits me. Sure, no electricity here either. Only yesterday, Charly, who has the tenancy agreement and feels responsible for keeping the place tidy, had stored a lot of meat in the freezer compartment. How long will it be before we can cook again? What am I supposed to live on? I even need electricity to make toast. But I'm not hungry anyway. Although it's very warm in the house, I notice goose bumps on my arms and legs, I'm shivering and unable to move. I look at the clock, it's three o'clock in the morning. The phone rings from the living room, it's Tina from Switzerland on the other end. It's hard to believe, it's my sister. It's the midday news. "An earthquake," she shouts, "Thank God! You're alive!" A lifeline, Tina's voice! I stammer: "Yes, I'm still alive." 8000 kilometers away and my sister is holding the phone in her hand. Her voice sounds fuzzy. She is worried about me. According to the reports, there have been many deaths. The epicenter of the quake was not far from Palo Alto, near Loma Prieta, the highest mountain in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I answer their questions, yes, I am healthy. My flatmates have disappeared since the quake; they are probably with their parents or girlfriends. Tina says that she heard about the earthquake with its epicenter in Loma Prieta, south of Santa Cruz, on the morning news. A magnitude of 7.1, which is quite strong. There had been reports of major damage to highways and buildings in San Francisco. When I hang up, I slump down. I can feel salty tears running down my face. But I feel a little less lonely. Like a lightning strike, it goes through my head:damn, what next? My studies?I put my hands over my face, my breath hitches.Now pick yourself up, Jonas, the quake is over. "The big earthquake", "The Big One". Was that it?

Franziska

The young woman turns her face to the pale sun for a moment, as if she wants to take a break. For the first time this spring, she is wearing a sleeveless blouse and a white floral jumper. She is twenty-four years old, could have just turned twenty judging by her appearance. Narrow face, dark blue eyes; a smile plays around her lips. But it only appears when her husband is around. When he leaves for work, a look of absent-mindedness spreads across her face. For her, Sunday and everyday life cannot be distinguished by her clothes. She attaches great importance to an appropriately elegant style of dress. She wears a light blue scarf around her neck.

Franziska carries a basket to the clothes horse in the garden. She hastily reaches into the white bag with the wooden pegs and hangs washed shirts, dark pants and woolen long underwear on the line. Her gaze goes from the laundry in the basket to the line, where she fastens the individual items with clips, to the child, who has just bent down to the ground to pick up a clip and put it in her mouth, then grabs the tip of her apron. The church clock has just struck half past ten, she is expecting Rolf for lunch. The lilacs are blooming far too early this year, thinks Franziska.

A driveway leads to the garage of a whitewashed house, on the front of which a sign with a black border reads: "Dr. med. vet. Ammermann, veterinary practice". Underneath, an enamel sign reads: "Unterstraße 9".

From the driveway, moss-covered granite slabs lead down a short flight of steps into the garden, past the clothes horse to the children's swing, where it ends. Not far from here is a pile of gravel. The garden consists of a large lawn, in which several island-shaped rose beds create order and which runs down a gentle slope. A stone wall and a few currant bushes and brambles form the border with the meadowland of the neighboring farm. At the lower end, framed by stone slabs, is a shallow swimming pool with the large gabled roof reflected in the water. A blue tarpaulin lies folded up next to it. The garden is surrounded by a high beech embankment; on the south side, a hazelnut tree protects the living areas and a seating area from prying eyes.

The front door leads into a hallway from which you can go into the kitchen or the living room. A staircase, covered with red carpeting, leads up to the four bedrooms; the staircase down leads to a subterranean world consisting of a cellar, the laundry room and the sewing room. The surgery is housed in an extension, consisting of two consulting rooms with apothecary cabinets that reach up to the ceiling.

The shrill sound of the telephone rings through the open kitchen window and Franziska rushes from outside into the house to the wall telephone. Farmer Wehrle calls, she has to inform Rolf immediately, it's an emergency.

A little later, she hurries up the stairs to the top floor, stands at the window of the children's room and pushes the blinds aside: "Jonas, stop that!" Jonas curiously brings a toad to his mouth. He doesn't succeed because it starts to stir and the brownish-white mottled slimy animal slips out of his mouth. His face darkens. Frightened, the animal crawls towards the embankment and disappears under the branches. The child runs after it, stumbles; it rolls down the short strip of meadow and gets caught in the branches of the embankment, while Franziska shouts to her son from above:

Ugh, how can you? You shouldn't touch toads!

She is struck by the thought that she gave birth to Jonas at this time three years ago today. The baby had nestled so harmoniously into the curves of her body. Tina, the first, had laughed at her two years earlier. Then she had screamed, clenched her fists and her head had turned crimson. When Rolf had taken his newborn daughter Tina in his arms, a proud smile flitted across his face. "Myni Maite!" he had shouted and kissed her baby feet. He had been so proud of the girl.

When the nurse placed the still wet baby in her arms at Jonas' birth, she wondered what reactions she would be expected to have. After all, she had been shocked when she had seen the newborn baby's snout on her second child. After they had come home from the hospital with Jonas, Rolf had put on a worried face, smiled at her, but then apologized, saying he had to spend the evening doing some bookkeeping. It was urgent.

Would he have preferred a daughter? Instead of a fidgety toddler? Tears well up in her eyes. She closes the wooden-framed window, hurries downstairs, grabs the phone and calls Rolf:

Please make a detour via the "Erlenhof". A horse is lame there.

She knows the farms and the voices of the farmers, she knows the roads, the paths, the hamlets. The first call came at six in the morning, an emergency, a cow that had given birth to a calf during the night. The vet had to remove the afterbirth, as germs and bacteria could easily enter the uterus if it remained in the womb for too long. Often calves give birth, the cow is tight in the womb or the calf lies transversely in the womb and wants to come out breech and with its hind legs first. The cattle doctor is always on hand. He's been on the road since seven. Deep furrows form on Franziska's forehead and she quickly runs both hands through her hair. There would be a late lunch. So she reheats the cheese soufflé and makes it clear to Esther, the maid, that the early afternoon quiet hour is not going to happen today. Then the VW Beetle pulls up in the driveway. Rolf puts the suitcase in the practice room, a gust of tart stable air blows in with it, he takes off his boots full of cow dung, places them on a mat and washes his hands. Then he takes his place at the end of the table.

Jonas is sitting in the whitewashed children's high chair, banging his spoon on the edge of the table in front of him and knocking over the plastic cup, the water dripping down his legs and forming a puddle on the floor. On the wooden bench next to Mother, his sister Tina's blonde frizzy head, her eyes turned to Jonas. In the bassinet at the end of the bench lies Beni, the younger brother, one and a half years old, with a pacifier in his mouth. When his dark eyes are not closed, they are focused on his mother. Esther carries the crockery and plates of vegetables and meat to the table. As the daughter of a home economics teacher, she lives under the same roof. She gets up at six and makes breakfast. She finishes work at ten, when all the children are in bed. The adults fold their hands: "Dear God, we thank you..." A wreath of meadow flowers around the edge of Jonas' plate. The clinking of cutlery, chewing noises, silence for the time being; then Franziska begins:

Sunday the day after tomorrow, who's on emergency duty, Heiri or you?

Rolf gives her an annoyed look.

We,

we

wishyou could have a day off again

Rolf turns the knob on the radio: "The Soviet Russian head of government and Generalissimo Stalin is seriously ill. According to reports from the Russian news agency TASS, Stalin suffered a cerebral hemorrhage on Monday night, which affected vital parts of his brain. The right side of his body is paralyzed, he is unable to speak and later lost consciousness. The best representatives of medical science have been summoned to treat the Generalissimo." The speaker moves on to the weather forecast: "Mostly sunny and mild weather during the day on the northern side of the Alps, frost at night in the lowlands." Now it is the father who speaks:

The Generalissimo will not survive tomorrow!It is foreseeable thatpower struggle, perhaps some will be shot.And Khrushchev willprobably gain the upper hand

Franziska looks up from her plate with a smile, nods and offers the bowl with the pieces of meat around. She then quickly turns to Esther:

The birthday cake!

Mother and father and Esther sing "Happy Birthday!" and laugh at the birthday boy. Tina claps her hands. Jonas' mouth rounds and he is allowed to blow out a white candle, but he doesn't try. Then his mother picks up the table with a commanding gesture:

Esther, I'll help you remove the dishes, but you can do the rest yourself.

She has long since written off her Sunday off with Rolf.Annoying. I need Rolf, especially the two boys, it's hard to cope with their drive without Rolf.

And then, as if it had started: a migraine. The mother goes upstairs. She slams the bedroom door behind her. She lies down in bed and puts a damp washcloth on her forehead.

The angry Hagios

Dahlias, forget-me-nots and nasturtiums bloom in the garden along the granite wall. Father is pruning roses. He puts the rose shears next to him:

Keep your hands off these scissors. They can cut your fingers bloody!

Pah, leave me alone.

Mother's gaze turns to a rack with children's books on it. She reaches for a thick book, places it on the bedspread, turns the pages and then stops at a picture.

"The Bible in Pictures", she says, turning to me,by Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld. She has to spread the cover so that she can open the book:The Fall of Man in Paradise. A thick apple tree trunk can be seen, beneath it a woman and a man, both naked and surrounded by plants and peaceful animals. The body of a mighty serpent winds its way up the trunk. The animal's tongue is aimed directly at the woman's face. "Eve" calls her mother.The woman hands the man, Adam, an apple.This snake has a sneaky look, I think. "Is the snake to blame for Adam and Eve's expulsion from paradise?" The mother says that the two humans are to blame. They shouldn't have eaten the forbidden apple. I don't understand that, because the snake seduced them.mother sits at my bedside for a long time, her hands clasped in her lap She sings the Beresina song: "Our life is like the journey of a wanderer in the night ... Everyone has something in their path that causes them grief ..."

I wake up at dawn. I crawl out from under my comforter, which feels sticky and hot. On the bedside table are the familiar picture books and a plastic cup from which a duck quacks at me. The wind ruffles the curtains. The silhouette of a giant beetle sits on the window handle, it seems to be moving its claws. My nightshirt is soaked with sweat, I'm shivering like a castle dog. The parents must not be disturbed at this time of night, not even by knocking, although I have done so from time to time: first very quietly, then louder. I stare at the door handle. The animal, a beetle almost as long as the door handle itself, is still sitting on it. The wind sings at the corners of the house, a familiar sound and I can't scream. Then I hear the parents' bedroom door - tripp trapp tripp trapp - the father on the stairs. I hear the lock on the toilet door on the first floor click shut. Silence. Then the sound of the flush. I sneak past the siblings' bedroom and slide down the banister, then stand in front of the door. I look through the keyhole directly into my father's eye, hear his heavy breathing, a suppressed gasp. I wait, my body stiffens. The toilet flushes again. The door opens, the father, in blue-striped pyjamas, buttons up his pants, a few dark hairs in between. I point to the door handle. Dad reassures me: "You had a bad dream." He looks me over, grabs my hand and escorts me into the nursery, where he covers me up. Then I hear him close the door to my parents' bedroom. My mother has gone to bed early that evening with a wet washcloth over her eyes. I lie awake, then sit up in bed, sweat sticking to my forehead. I stare at the almost bare wall. Only two pictures hang there: I look at the framed picture of the barefoot boy sleeping in the hay next to his straw hat and the other one that Mother loves so much: a meadow landscape at the mouth of a river. I turn my gaze to the open window. Father has opened it, nothing is moving. The animal on the window handle is asleep, I can't see it. It is hidden behind the curtain. From a distance I hear a grinding noise, a high-pitched singing sound, a rough male voice that gets louder. This voice hurls angry words against the closed shutters. Horses snort. Curious, I climb out of bed and go outside. From the bedroom I hear the regular breathing of my parents. I slide down the stairs and press my nose against the glass of the front door. It's only ajar. I slip out. My feet feel the cold granite tiles, I keep my hand on the door latch. The cursing slowly but surely becomes menacing as the cart, pulled by broad-shouldered horses, approaches.

The sun rises, its light shimmering in the dewy grass. The farmer dismounts, cursing, pulls the scythe off the cart and walks down the embankment, climbs over the fence and begins to cut the meadow furiously.Ssssh, Ssssh, goes the scythe through the tall grass. Ssssh, ssssh. Over and over again, interrupted only by the curses of the farmer, who talks to himself as he takes on mow after mow and then piles it up in heaps with his fork. The squeaking of the rusty brakes grinding on the iron-shod wooden wheels interrupts the "Ssssh" of the scythe as the farmer continues his excited soliloquy:

You fucking whoremongers!

Hagios swings himself onto the buckboard, the horses' manes blowing in the morning wind. Jonas presses his back against the front door, leaning on the stone with both fists. "Ssssh, Ssssh!" the whip cracks down on them. The farmer yells at the animals, whip lash follows whip lash, their skin bursts open in several places; he pulls on the reins, the horses stop abruptly. They stand up on their hind legs, then pull wildly on the axle of the carriage, which jumps forward jerkily. Boards creak, wood splinters. Hagios curses loudly while the whine of the brake crank hurts my ears. The horses come to a halt under the farmer's "Ho!" and the furious tugging on the reins. He climbs down from the buckboard and heaves the freshly cut grass onto the cart with his fork. The animals flap their tails to get rid of the flies. They eat tufts of grass. He climbs back onto the buck. His eyes turn to the next pile of grass. His thinning hair falls into his face, with a smoking cheroot sticking out of the middle. As he lashes out with the whip again, the cigar butt lands in the grass. The acrid smell wafts over to me. An outcry, a torrent of coarse words. Annoyed, Hagios turns his head in the direction of his yard. He takes out his whip and lets it crack on the backs of his horses. They tremble like aspen leaves. I'm frightened and want to go back into the house, but the door is closed. The cart with Farmer Hagios high on the buckboard slowly moves away. I'm freezing, I just want to get inside. I press against the door with both palms and it stays shut. It's cold. I bang on the door until Dad opens it for me in his pyjamas, his hair tousled:

Hagios was there.

What are you doing out there in this cold? I told you to stay in bed.

Father takes me by the hand, then carries me back into the house.

One day, the mother is gone. She's in hospital. "Gallstones," my father says to me. "Where are the stones," I ask suspiciously. My father remains silent, but I want to know the truth. Hospitals are a bad thing; you only go there when you're very ill.

She has stones in her stomach that are about the size of pebbles.

The father brings the thumb and index finger of his left hand together, leaving only a small gap.

This can happen after a pregnancy.

Every night when I go to bed, I ask Esther about her mother. Esther doesn't know anything and I can't sleep for a long time on these nights. Once I call for her father. He comes into the bedroom.

Tomorrow we will visit them together.

Dad and I are walking through a park. The path is full of fallen trees scattered on the forest floor and along the edge of the path, some of them sawn up. After walking for a while, we stand in front of a castle-like, ivy-covered building. A fountain with a naked, emerald-green boy playing the flute stands in front of the entrance. The mother is lying in a bed made of metal bars. Her head is buried deep in the pillow. The air in the room is bad. The sirens of an ambulance sound. I feel sick. I shake her hand and she smiles tiredly. While the parents talk, I stand at the window and watch sparrows fighting over crumbs of bread on a garden table. I'm bored to death

When are we finally leaving?

The father gives me a disapproving look:

Remember, you won't be seeing your mother for a while.

When I lie in bed, I miss my mother's beautiful voice. The songs she sings to me before I fall asleep:

All the birds are already here,

all birds, all of them.

What singing and music-making,

Whistling, twittering, chirping.

Mother

Esther and I hang up the washing together. Jonas crawls around on all fours between our legs while we talk about the upcoming lunch, peas, mashed potatoes with meat birds. She's in her first year. I have to explain a lot to her:

Put two pans of water on for me, please. For the vegetables. The pressure cooker for the potatoes. I'll be right there.

Jonas? Let's go inside.

In the kitchen, Jonas presses a hole into a piece of bread that I have given him. He looks through the hole and laughs, gnaws on the salivated bread, blows loudly and chokes some of it out again. He explores the apartment on all fours. He drools, I wipe his mouth and he screams. He doesn't like that. The phone rings, I wipe my hands on my apron, go into the hallway and pick up the phone. Farmer von Allmen reports: "Cow with uterus ... the animal is in a lot of pain."I run back into the kitchen, which is steaming. Jonas is whimpering, he's fallen over, screaming like a banshee and scattering breadcrumbs everywhere. The phone rings again. Beni has been whimpering in the playpen for half an hour, having thrown the pacifier, the wooden train set and the Lego bricks between the bars. I can't take any more. I need a moment's rest. Urgently! "Esther, can you take Jonas? I'm upstairs." I take the call in the bedroom. Rüdisühli. There he goes again. He's already called three times this week. "One of the sows has red fever," he says. Probably a false alarm, as usual. Last time it was swine fever. Rüdisühli gasps. I calm him down and promise him that Rolf will come by. Then I try to reach Rolf. Jonas screams. I call for Esther. Something smells burnt. Where is Esther? It's quiet downstairs, she's probably lifted Jonas up with her. I can't reach Rolf. I leave a message on his voicemail and run out of the bedroom. I have to hold on to the banister on the stairs because my legs almost give out. Steam billows out of the kitchen. Esther has forgotten the peas and the potatoes don't have enough water. At the last moment, I pull the pressure cooker off the stove. Tina is dragging a colander behind her that has fallen off the table. Then she clutches my apron. I watch as Jonas squeezes through the parlor door. Why doesn't Esther deal with him? He crawls across the corridor to the stairs, puts his right foot on the first step, pulls his left foot up, holds on to the second, looks back briefly to get my permission to climb on. There is no one there to catch his gaze. He knows that adventures on the steep stairs don't go down well with me. He looks again between the bars of the banister towards the kitchen where I'm preparing lunch. I shouldn't always say "no" when he wants to try something. But he has already hit his head twice when falling down the stairs and bitten deep wounds into his tongue. I can't take it anymore. I take him in my arms, put him on my hip and then into the child seat, which doesn't go off without a lot of shouting. After lunch, I retire to the bedroom while Rolf opens the newspaper. I lie under the heavy down comforter, put a cold washcloth on my forehead and try to breathe calmly. The curtains are drawn. Suddenly Jonas is standing by my bed. He steps from one foot to the other and keeps checking to see if I'm awake. When I open my eyes, he pinches his lips together and then smiles at me. Later, I accompany him upstairs and help him out of his clothes. I reach for the Schnorr book in the top row of the bookcase. The heavy book falls on my bare feet. My eyes must be distorted with pain because Jonas looks at me, startled. Then I open a page and explain to him:

The picture shows the break between God and Adam and Eve immediately after they were expelled from paradise.

Jonas looks at the picture, the Lord God wrapped in a floor-length cloak. Long hair falls down to his shoulders and a terrifying halo surrounds him. The stern gaze that frightens the child is directed at the couple kneeling in the rootstock of the tree of paradise. Even the snake ducks away from its master. Its ominous gaze is not directed at the couple as in the image of the apple thief. I explain to him:

Eve and Adam hide from God's face. They ate from the apple tree despite the prohibition. This is how evil came into the world.

What actually is evil?

I remain silent for a moment.

If we parents have to scold you after you've done something stupid. Then you're bad.

I can guess what he's thinking at the moment: we parents are always united against him. But I continue:

The way back to paradise is blocked for people. They have committed a sin.

What is a sin?

When people do evil against the will of God, he turns his back on them. In the same way, children can be evil monsters. Albert Schweitzer once aimed a slingshot at birds. That is sinful. Afterwards, he went to church in repentance to ask for forgiveness.

I want to tell him something about Albert Schweitzer, the jungle doctor from Alsace, whose books my mother used to read to me. But his eyes are closed.

"The moon has risen, the golden stars are shining bright and clear in the sky," I sing on the edge of the bed and kiss him goodnight. "Sleep well."

Then I turn out the light. Jonas cries out. The father comes and carries the child to his bed. He has seen a snake lying under his bed, says Jonas. He falls asleep immediately. In the morning, my husband carries him back to his crib.

Years pass

At the end of November, heavy flakes fall from the sky day and night. Only a few tufts of grass can still be seen on the snow-covered mountainside. Shrubs and the tangled branches of old apple trees stand out against the sky like ghosts. The horizon is bordered by a fringe of giant fir trees, which soon merge into a black expanse as darkness falls.

Jonas is four and a half years old. He is wearing a hand-woven, checked jacket with a collar made of fox fur, with a red woolen tip and woolen gloves that are soon soaked through. His favorite toy is the shovel, shiny green, that his mother bought him this morning at the hardware store. He pokes around with it in the ankle-deep snow. As night falls, he slips away from the house unnoticed on his sledge. Dusk creeps in from the nearby edge of the forest. He pulls the sledge uphill. He continues up the slope. Then Hampe and Reto from the neighborhood join him. Together they pull their sledges up the hill through the deep snow. Jonas' breath is steaming. Now they have reached the first fir trees, the sledge run has been reached. Then the cord slips from his clammy hand, the sledge slips away from him before he can sit on it, gains speed and hurtles off into the night on its own. Jonas falls forward, his head plunging into the sticky water. He shivers from the cold. Reto and Hampe have long since made off on their sledges. Jonas' hat is lying somewhere in the snow; his eyes are watering. His nose is dripping red. He tries to stand up, he slips, hard ice presses against his tender cheeks, his feet have long since gone numb from the cold. He remains lying down. Only when his mother appears does Jonas cry.

You're out of your mind sledging here alone! Why did you steal away?

She lifts him up, wipes away the snow. The mother holds him, the wet, trembling bundle in her arms, she wraps him in dark wool.

You see, she says, what can happen if you just disappear!

Later that evening, the phone rings: "Yes?" says the mother. Then she calls out to Dad: "A miscarriage!" One look through the parlor window is enough: It's snowing heavily. There's no more bathing at this time of night. Jonas watches on as Dad puts on the snow chains, swearing.

When his mother comes to his bedside, Jonas calls out: "Moo moo - does the cow." He imitates the roar when the cows wait outside the barn to be milked. Then his head sinks contentedly onto the pillow.

Day after day, Jonas is left to his own deviceswhile his mother washes the soiled clothes of her husband, the vet - baggy pants, baggy chasubles and aprons - and the children's clothes; when she sits at the table with Esther, gives her instructions and teaches her about housework or helps in the kitchen Esther has only been here for a few months. Her mother sometimes takes Beni out of the playpen and praises Jonas when he builds towers with the plastic blocks, which Beni can destroy again. After a while, he gets bored; then Jonas goes exploring in the house and garden. He loves climbing and gets stronger every day. He climbs the bench in the living room to play with the cushions. Once he falls off the bench onto his chin. His tongue gets stuck between his incisors. It bleeds profusely. He screams so loudly that the neighbors, an enterprising couple, ring the doorbell two by two. Mr. Etter plucks at his goatee, which still has egg yolk on it from breakfast, and makes a sour face. Mrs. Etter, a plump lady with ample breasts, nudges her father in the side: "Why don't you go and get the car out of the garage, the boy needs to see a doctor!" But the mother has already called Doctor Mächler. His Mercedes is just pulling into the garage driveway. The corpulent doctor with a black suitcase in his hand smiles kindly. Jonas is allowed to sit down at the kitchen table. "Can you stick your tongue out at me?" the doctor instructs him. Then he takes a closer look and notices that the tongue has a tear in the middle, the tip of the tongue is only attached to a piece of skin. The doctor's gaze becomes serious:

I guess we'll have to sew!

He opens his leather case. Scissors and knives of various sizes become visible, and at the same time a pungent disinfectant smell spreads that Jonas knows from his father's surgery. The doctor reassures Jonas:

Come here, we'll do a few stitches, you'll need a whole tongue for the rest of your long life!

The child presses himself under the parlor table.

When the tongue is stitched, you will be able to eat raspberry ice cream again; today.

Jonas refuses to come out. He gives his mother a desperate look. Father is also summoned. He stands there with both hands in his pockets:

Jonas, come out at once, you recently saw me stitching the tongue of a sheepdog.

The dog was asleep, Jonas exclaims.

He crawls to the other end of the table, and before his father has grabbed him under the table with his strong arms, Jonas jumps up, runs up the stairs and is gone, hiding in a corner of the bedroom. Dr. Mächler's patience is now at an end, it's just before noon. He leaves an ice pack and an ointment behind. The mother presses the pack to her cheek to cool the wound. Mächler packs his suitcase and wishes him "Bon appétit", slamming the front door behind him. Jonas is only allowed to drink a bitter tea for lunch. The excitement has tired him out. He spends the first few hours of the afternoon on his bed, legs drawn up, sobbing into the pillow. His father has put a shaggy teddy bear by his side before he sets off on his practice round. In the evening, it turns out that his tongue is red and very swollen. Jonas is given porridge made from sweet-tasting vegetables. Raspberry ice cream for dessert. His face brightens up for the first time since the injury.

The next morning, Dr. Mächler appears at ten o'clock. He looks into the child's mouth. His tongue is swollen but bleeding slightly. Although he is only allowed to eat porridge, he has bitten his tongue again. It is bleeding. Then the doctor stands at the kitchen table, supports his head with his elbows and says:

We will not stitch the tongue, it will grow together over time. There will always be a gap in the front part of the tongue. I'll leave some disinfectant for Jonas.

He says goodbye by patting Jonas on the head. Even after this story, Jonas is no more careful with his games.

In the afternoon, he explores what it looks like beyond the garden wall. He climbs over the stone wall and falls into the high meadow belonging to farmer Hagios. His pants are slit open at the knees. Suddenly he is standing in front of a large pyre, with an old clapboard house behind it. He and his mother recently collected his father's hiking boots from this house. Shoemaker Knorr has a long beard like the Lord God from the picture book in the Bible. And he is always smiling to himself. Jonas' hand reaches effortlessly up to the door handle. A little bell rings as it opens. The boy steps onto a stone staircase that has been worn down by many kicks. The shoemaker, bald skull, only a bundle of hair on either side of his ears, a roughly patterned shirt, a leather apron over it. His back is bent over a shoe clamped in a vice. From wall to wall of the cellar vault a wooden table, tins of shoe polish, all kinds of tools scattered across the table. Jonas enters and Mr. Knorr smiles at him. He grumbles that his cat (Jonas remembers the fiery red animal) has not been seen for a week. He lives alone, his wife died many years ago after a fall on Kirchgasse, he continues on his own initiative. Jonas watches him at work. He loves the smell of leather and glue. At lunchtime, the shoemaker says he is going upstairs to his apartment to get something to eat. He closes the store behind Jonas, who only finds his way home with the help of Mrs. Etter, who, pulling a large shopping cart behind her, delivers him to the front door. The mother holds up both hands imploringly:

Never again must you simply run away!

Mrs. Etter stands silently by. Jonas blushes and averts his eyes in embarrassment.

After dinner, Dad is in a cheerful mood. He kneels down in front of the wooden record cabinet. He pulls a black disk out of the open drawer and places it on the turntable. A dark, hoarse voice is heard; Louis Prima, Buona Sera Signorina ... A smile flits across his father's face. Jonas lies down on the soft red carpet and listens to the exciting music.

In the spring of 1940 - the German army has begun to attack England from the air - Gertrud receives a visit from her friend Franziska. Franziska presses the doorbell. Just to the right of the entrance is the light switch for the hallway. A door leading to the cellar is open. A musty smell wafts up from there. The twenty-two-year-old woman climbs the stairs of the gloomy stairwell and is met by her friend. The first door on the left leads into Gertrud's bedroom, empty except for a narrow bed, a tiny desk and a huge maple gramophone cabinet, and a door into the kitchen. Straight ahead is the living room. She asks for the toilet and Gertrud points her to a white-rubbed door in the stairwell, the paint peeling off in streaks. There is a pungent smell in the toilet and it is cold. When Gertrude waves her into the kitchen, she recognizes a man from the hallway. He is sitting on a stool, cleaning his glasses and leafing through a newspaper. He is taking small sips from a coffee cup. The two make eye contact for more than three seconds. He then offers her a coffee and tells her that he is working as an assistant at the animal hospital in Zurich. Franziska has traveled from Ritterwald in the Bernese Oberland to visit Gertrud. She is training to be a bank clerk in Bern. That's what her mother told me later.

Franziska would never have thought that a student would be interested in her. The farmers' sons from the area were all down-to-earth guys. They didn't read the newspaper. Their hands were heavy and full of calluses. Their voices were rough when they swore about agricultural policy and banged their fists on the table in the "Bären". They didn't hesitate for long when another round of beer was offered on Saturdays. After all, they were here for a reason. At the request of the Protestant pastor, they had to arrange who was to ring the bells in the Reformed church on Sunday mornings. No one wanted to get up and so the task fell to the person who had drunk the most beer and left the "Bären" long after midnight. A rope was hung from each of the three bells in the church hall. These had to be rung at a quarter to nine on the dot.