The Säntisbahn E-Book

Andri Peer

• Herausgeber: novum pro Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 517

Beschreibung

A writing workshop at UMass (University of Massachusetts) Dartmouth in the year 2043. The participants do not know in advance what tasks await them. It is almost always about exciting intercultural aspects, but without pointing a finger. Indirectly, the stories can also be seen as a call for integration, especially as the peculiarities of different cultures - in particular how they deal with sexuality - are highlighted. However, the common ground is always emphasized and not the divisive aspects. The fact that joy and sorrow are not neglected makes reading the book a continuous pleasure. Finally, the idea of setting the stories in the future opens up another appealing field.

Leseprobe

The Säntisbahn

1Orchestra rehearsal for poetry

The report on the spring writing workshop at the University of Massachusetts in Dartmouth MA US turned into an anthology of stories that are so closely interwoven that one might suspect that it is the work of a single author. The opposite is the case. The number of participants reached an all-time high of 248 that spring of 2043. Normally, the university archives the products of its writing workshops in digitalized form and provides participants whose work is deemed particularly valuable by the supervisors with ten solidly printed copies, bound in Sky and adorned with the university's ceremonial seal and the author's name in gold letters, free of charge. In a subject that the majority of the population considers to be at least superfluous, this contributes more to the image of the university than to that of the writers. The latter are usually only interested in gaining a handful of credits for their Bachelor's degree in the least painful way possible.

The question is justified as to why a small university like Dartmouth can afford such a superfluous luxury when it can only afford the expenses for the actual subjects of the future - Engineering, Marine Science & Technology, Business & Law - with great difficulty. Well, Darthmouth is a branch of the well-known University of Massachusetts in Boston, which is a factor of 10 larger, and it is conceived as an experimental university that also maintains departments such as the College of Arts & Sciences, a department for Continuing Education from the cradle to the grave and a medical nursing school that aims to turn its graduates into real partners of doctors and thus help to relieve and regenerate the battered American hospital system. Art has to do with everything, and all subjects ultimately correspond to what was taught as arts in the Middle Ages, from the study of the classics to that of mathematics and astronomy. And most importantly, Darthmouth uses powerful, highly networked computers to organize and process all the educational films as well as the fundamentals for generally recognized distance learning exams that have made Boston University one of the better-known distance learning universities where you can earn a generally recognized diploma without attending classes or traveling to take exams. That's the true future, dear Watson! If you don't believe it, buy yourself a doctorate in patient care at Trump University for good money and hang the diploma covered in seals in your lounge.

The sponsors who make it possible to invite well-known, English-speaking, foreign writers from Europe, India, Japan or Africa to lead the writing workshops, some of whom also publish in their local mother tongue, are also unusual. In a country where a good part of the population doesn't even know that there are other languages besides American that are spoken worldwide, this is by no means a matter of course. In the case of Fatima, my wife, and me, the cranky sponsor who had been fooled by the English translation of our two-handed science fiction thrillers went one step further. We both speak reasonable English, but Fatima's mother tongues are Syrian-Lebanese Arabic, Ivrit (her father was an Israeli consul in Damascus), and Italian (the language of her nanny, who in her noble family was almost entirely left to raise the little one until she was 6). I call myself Andri Peer, my mother is descended from winegrowers who emigrated to France, she spoke French at home, my father spoke Swahili with me and I spoke Swiss German with the children in Zurich. My father was a translator in the Swiss branch of a certified organic spice production and trading company on the spice island of Zanzibar and wanted me to study economics at the University of Zurich at all costs, which I did for his sake. He had no idea that I secretly wrote poems in Züritüütsch and he showed me his most beautiful round saucer eyes when I placed a copy of the dialect thriller Em Chrigi sin Sackhägel on his desk, with which I had achieved great success with Zytglogge Verlag under the artificial name Andri Peer. After looking at me thoughtfully for a long time, he said something like "Ikiwa unaweza kupata pesa kutoka kwa hiyo, basi andika riwaya za upelelezi" - If you can make a living from it, then write crime novels. He was still as sweet to me as a little boy, but only spoke French to me. He had given up hope that I would one day follow him. So my Kiswahili also faded and I studied French literature and philosophy in Fribourg in Üechtland. My father paid for me until my Master's degree, then I think he forgot about me and my mother and went back to Africa. I currently give lectures on literature in French-speaking Switzerland in Fribourg im Üechtland. Towards the end of my studies, I met and fell in love with my future wife Fatima (whose full name is Fatima Bné Muhammad ibn Achmad Abu Nureddin), who had initially come here to do a doctorate on Arabic poetry from pre-Muslim times, wanted to teach in Geneva, now teaches comparative literature in Fribourg/Fribourg and also publishes a crime novel with me every year, which usually achieves a fairly high circulation. La Tuerie de Petersham is the name of the last one published by Editions Amalhée, which is set in le Havre, Petersham MA USA and Mali. Our two children are still small (3 and 5 years old), so we didn't have to worry about alienating them from their school environment and playmates when we received the call to teach German and French at the University of Dartmouth as guest lecturers for two semesters, taking turns to organize writing workshops.

I was allowed to hold the first workshop and decided to redesign it. My predecessors had designed it as a learning event and set the tasks towards the middle of the previous semester: "Read work A1 pp. x - y, from writer B work B1 etc., the whole thing running to several hundred pages, which hardly anyone leafed through (the diligent ones got an overview thanks to Wikipedia). A seminar morning went something like this: Starting shot at 08:30: "Imagine you are Mark Twain 120 years later, studying here, stepping out of your campus building in the morning, strolling through the parks, attentively observing fellow students and professors hurrying to various destinations and making a few notes on thoughts that have occurred to you." Lunch break 11:45-13:30. In the afternoon until 5 p.m. everyone reads their sentences aloud, no one too small to be a little Twain, they correct each other's spelling, word order and vocabulary, in the last half hour the lecturer makes comments on rhythm, style and local color and distributes the tasks for the next day. There are no grades, only attendance certificates, which are needed for the coveted credits. Nothing against our predecessors, they did what was expected of them. We were allowed and wanted to do things differently, only arrived shortly before the start of the semester and could only give a title. We hadn't even decided which of us would lead the event. So we chose the following title:Let the soul write and the hills will sing. A short statement and instructions:"Be aware that all great deeds began with a dream. In the coming weeks, take half an hour at least once a day to dream in a relaxed way and say to yourself: 'Right now I am doing something very beautiful and very useful. Life is a miracle'!"We faxed the task to our friendly sponsor and he was so enthusiastic that he ordered a poster in street format from a young artist: a kind of paradise garden with dancing, pastel-colored figures floating in space like silhouettes of Mathis and seeming to be searching for the words in the title. Hundreds of such posters were distributed on campus and caused a great stir. The Rector, Counceler and our future colleagues were slightly confused, the reverend representatives of various local churches, from the Lutherans to the Latter Day Saints of Jesus Christ, pored over the words to check whether they might reveal any unchristian values and in the end decided to rate them as pious,inasmuch as theyspoke of the soul and a peaceful mourning for paradise lost could be interpreted as the dew of a soothing repentance and thus as preparation for receiving the Holy Spirit.Consequently, therewas no cause for alarm. Finally, the undergraduates, whose hormones were still roaring to the rhythm of late adolescence, did not need to be told twice to dream and indulged in their usual daydreams. Some were already imagining practical exercises with relish.

The invitation to tender was not intended to reveal anything about the proposed themes, hence the poetically crazy title:Let the soul write and the hills will sing, by which poet again? We don't know, it was a shared inspiration, after hours of in-depth discussion based on the principle of free-floating attention without any specific intention. Ouch! If that goes well ... But it is the technique with which we write four-handed, deeply concentrated and completely devoted to writing, like a pianist and a violinist who are interpreting a late sonata by Buxtehude or Hindemith. The rest is a gift and sweaty diligence: the plot must be a Clockwork Orange, the language precise, polished and at the same time so translucent that the reader can be carried into another world without resistance. Well, of course we didn't quite reach this level of art with the undergraduates at Dartmouth, especially because they crowded into one of the largest lecture halls at the opening and were quite restless. I then put it like this:

"Ladies and gentlemen! I ask for silence. I want you to get a little more out of this event than a few lousy credits, so please be quiet, otherwise you won't even hear yourself think. We will work hard. Dreaming is not child's play! Please spread out in the following 12 rooms (list on the board), in such a way that no one can watch the others write. Keep silent like monks. I will go from room to room with a few assistants and check. Your task is as follows: you try to remember an event in which you experienced such a strong feeling, be it joy, pleasure, shame, sadness or despair, that it blew up all your previous experiences, that you could not find any words for it, that you did not want to share your state with anyone because it was too intimate, too sensitive to any rough touch from outside. To really find your way back to that state, think very specifically of smells, colors, sensations of warmth and cold, sounds, and try to recall as much of it as possible. When you feel that you have reached an optimum, take a step back and try to describe this experience in a few sentences for yourself and only for yourself. No one will ever see your notes, you will never tell anyone about it, this is you, this is your innermost being, a reflection of your soul, a sanctuary! And as a symbol of this, we will gather at 11:30 in the Parkrondell, where a small fire will burn, and everyone will step forward briefly and throw their notes into the fire, so that the secret is sealed forever. In the afternoon, after the break, from 13:30 to 14:00, you will each write down a list of fellow students with whom you would like to make up a story. You can coordinate with others, but it must not get loud in your room."

When I saw my Pappenheimers in front of me again at 2 p.m. in the large hall, I could feel the tension on my skin. The morning had shaken them up, the solemn cremation ceremony had turned it into a ritual, now came the hour of fellowship. I suspect that, depending on their disposition, the performances ranged from a baseball team's pre-game cabin talk to singing gospel songs together. Now it had to become something tangible:

"You've understood: now comes the transition to community work. But this also needs to be prepared, initially each person individually: anyone who joins a community brings a gift with them, something valuable if possible. Try to put your experience from the morning into an artistic figure who lives in a completely different world, has a different name, perhaps even speaks a different language, who no one can identify with you, and who is now writing a diary. You write a sketch that contains the following: The plot: what does this person experience with others? A list of people: Who is she experiencing this with? A minimalist script: outline of the story to orient the reader / duration of the events / mode of presentation: Notes? Dialogs written down from memory? Introduction by a later publisher?"

This was yet another completely new task; no one had ever asked these young people to do anything like this before, even though quite a few of them probably actually kept a diary. And it was also quite an extensive task, which I immediately divided into manageable parts for them: They had 3½ days. They could write the small scripts directly into their laptops and upload them anonymously to the campus computer on an ongoing basis using a key. They decided for themselves when they wanted to release their script for viewing, by Friday 18:00 at the latest. Part of the task was to give the project as appealing a title as possible. By entering an agreed code, everyone could call up this list on their own screen and, if they particularly liked a title, click on it to read the corresponding script. On Monday morning of the following week, the task was to report the numbers of those authors (2-4) with whom one would like to write together to the central office. An algorithm, not unlike the one used to put together a timetable from the requirements of the program, the available lecturers, their wishes, the preferences of the students and the available rooms, would then put together the groups, this time with the real names of the participants. This would create surprises and made the whole thing extremely exciting for the students. And indeed, they tried harder than ever before in a writing workshop, as many of them confirmed to me later. Incidentally, at the suggestion of the participants, we agreed that all the stories would take place in the same geographical location, which was equally unknown to everyone, namely the canton and city of Zurich. We made numerous photographs, a lexicon and a grammar of Zurich German as well as a cleverly designed volume Züritüütsch i drüü Tääg available on the web. This was a particularly exotic language for the young people, but easier to handle than Chinese.

When the time came for the actual writing work to begin, I gave them an example from another genre of art:

"You all know Grandma Moses, the daughter of poor farmers, who worked as a maid for most of her life and had no time to do what she loved best: painting everyday life and the people around her. But when she was finally allowed to follow her passion at the age of 75, she created one painting after another, dozens of which now hang in the largest museums and all of which have brought comfort and joy to countless people. She also wrote, an autobiography as impressive as her paintings. Well, there is a Grandma Moses in all of you. Encourage each other, don't argue, help each other, be as careful with each other's contributions as you are with yours, and I'll change a sentence now, you'll know where I stole it from: Where two or three or four are together in her name, there Grandma Moses will be in their midst. Together with the ladies and gentlemen assistants, I circulate in all rooms and am always at your disposal."

The students were fascinated and then set to work with enthusiasm. There was devoted discussion, eager work, frequent laughter, with thoughtful pauses in between, and all participants came closer to each other than they had ever experienced in a seminar before. Individual players came together to form small chamber orchestras, the writing workshop became an orchestra rehearsal for poetry. When the stories were finally read out by each group of authors in front of everyone else and then excerpts were even recited in the Aula Magna in front of an audience of around 800, no one had the feeling that they had left themselves at the mercy of others or that they should be ashamed, and everyone was aware that something very valuable had been created.

Everyone confirmed this, and only then did I approve the manuscript that you now hold in your hands for publication in English, French and German, and took responsibility for it as publisher. In my opinion, the idea I initially expressed, almost as a dream, that the 7 stories you have here seem to come from a single hand, has also been largely fulfilled. Fatima and I regard this little volume as genuine, albeit modest, literature. And I would like to conclude with a didactic insight: give young people honest confidence and they will exceed your expectations.

I wish you an enjoyable read!

2The broom cupboard

Two Afghan street cleaners at Bürkliplatz in Zurich. They live in a transit camp (an air-raid shelter on the outskirts of Zurich) and are allowed to do cleaning work as part of an employment program, for which they receive a modest allowance. It is enough to transfer 100 francs a month to their relatives, which almost feeds their family...

Mahdokht(the older of the two, gray face under a gray mane, his work clothes hanging limply, but his arms look muscular and sinewy from under the short sleeves; has just fetched a broom, rake and shovel from the shed).- Hand me the thermos flask. I can't do without coffee.

Benafscha(bright red beret. Spits out.): - "The leaves! Phaah!" turns the visor backwards.

Ma- What, the leaves?

Be- Still lying around. On the right, the pile that Sven has swept up and which the morning wind is blowing away.

Ma- October, what do you want? There's always wind in the morning.

Be- Yes, but why didn't the other one shovel it into the compost bin? What does that look like? You'd think we'd never give a broom stroke.

Ma- Exactly, I'm telling you, they'll take us and then we'll be out for a while.

Be- Doesn't change much either.

Ma- Changes everything: 80 m2 with wire mesh around it. Here you can look and walk for miles, and in front of you is the lake.

Be- There's a morning walk in the camp, so you can get some exercise.

Ma- Yes, morning walk! Qua, qua, qua, five steps, stop again, qua, qua, qua... Stroking a cow that sticks its head over the electric fence and almost bites your hand off for salt, flattering a mountain dog: "But you're a very nice one, yes, you won't bite me, will you? Stroke, stroke, stroke, I'm telling you, I can do it with dogs", and in the meantime freeze off your rump in the morning mist, only to say "Yes, yes, yes" at the end in the round ("Was it so good for you?")? No, thank you!

Be- Do you have something better?

Ma- That's the thing, there's nothing better. If you refuse, they'll immediately say: "Mahdokht, that's not good at all, you're uncooperative. Come on now, don't be like that. No, I didn't pull your arm, I just invited you to come along immediately, but of course you can refuse, you have the right to do so, I'll just have to inform the camp management, and of course that has consequences. As I said, it's your free decision, you're free, of course, we're here in Switzerland, not with the Ben Ladens, that would be even nicer."

Be- And when the camp director comes, today, tomorrow or in ten days' time, he explains to you once again that there will of course be consequences, but it's your decision. Simply because they have to keep an eye on discipline, you won't get any more post until further notice and you'll have to hand in your cell phone. "Put yourself in our shoes for once. You have it good, you have board and lodging in one of the most modern Swiss bunkers, plus a free trip to the city center every few days, you could spend half the day on the phone, and the little bit of mopping up you do to earn a good allowance, a very good allowance I must say, you can spend on endless conversations with your cronies in Ben Ladenland while we're here non-stop: Counting, organizing, ordering, checking, admonishing, giving German lessons that don't seem to interest you ... Yes, we're at it all day, our work is really exhausting, if you only knew ... And the responsibility, the responsibility! It weighs heavily on your shoulders, you'd never have thought, would you? By the time you've assimilated even one of you, you'll have gray hair!

Ma- Did he give you the camp order sermon once?

Be- Better pass me the thermos.

Ma- Because if you don't have the 5 pages of camp rules in your dorm room in your stock anymore, you are entitled to a half hour sermon: loss of papers equals 1 week without cell phone. Appeal possible, but the appeal goes back 20 days andis considered an aggravating circumstance at the final asylumor airplanehearing.

Be- Stop it or I'll pour the coffee over your snout: in the end, it's either an airplane or go under anyway.

Ma- Go into hiding? You can't.

Be- You can: 90,000 to 250,000 in Switzerland, around 20,000 in the canton of Zurich, the churches offer a contact point, the SPAZ, which really helps. If the sans papiers in Zurich go on strike and occupy the Predigerkirche, the city council will also get red-faced and look for a negotiated solution, even if you should have been on a plane to Karachi or Kabul for them in Bern for a long time.

Ma- Karachi or Kabul or Kandahar, get the thermos out at last ... There you go ... Wuallachi!1The brew is only lukewarm!

Be- That's what happens when you talk about the morning walk.

Ma(throws Benfscha the broom, rake and dustpan in one motion, bends over the toolbox again to pick up his set, tucks it under his arm, spits into his hands, grabs the broom, whirls it in the air like a flag-waver, catches it deftly andstarts sweepingin the same motion): - Alhamdulillahi2, let's sweep up the garbage or we'll get it.

Be- Don't pretend they're watching us all the time. For the good Swiss, Afghan street cleaners are invisible, you don't look at them.

Ma- And what happens if we haven't swept up all the leaves in our area by midday, regardless of whether there's no wind or new leaves are constantly falling from the plane trees? I'll tell you what happens: They throw us into the broom chest and sit on it!

Be- Shall I tell you something? You have delusions of persecution. You were no longer afraid of the Peshmerga. You weren't afraid of the Americans. You laughed at the Pakistani gendarmes, shrugged your shoulders at the Pakistani military; when they fired after us, you jumped between the bullets and hummed 'in shah' allahu3. As soon as you stood on the banks of the Zürisees, you shook like the leaves on the plane trees. You've been caught, jabunnaja !4

Ma- I've got it and you'll get your ass handed to you if you don't stop chatting and start working!

Be(begins to wipe listlessly and immediately interrupts again)- Man,they can'tdo more thanlock us in the isolation cell. It's hardly more confining than usual.

Ma(Wipes briskly, with powerful movements)- But colder!

Be(mimicking the warden): - Don't play the pants off like that, it's bad for yourhealth, I tell you. You have to learn to make sacrifices for yourconvictions. It's good for your assimilation, isn't it, you'll understand that, won't you? Think of the responsibility that weighs poor Mr. Warden down, and wring out a tear if you can.

Ma- Grr! Don't talk like that to a dog that wants to get out of the kennel. You can survive false friends, you can negotiate with enemies, you can learn to put up with muzzies like you, but you're powerless against dogs that want to get out of the kennel.

Be- You think so? Then take a look at this! (Goes to the broom box, opens it, rummages under the tools and pulls out an electric leaf blower with a cable reel, closes the box, goes to the cable socket with the reel, pulls a key out of his trouser pocket, unlocks the flap of the cable socket, puts the plug in, unrolls the cable to the Bürkli meadow where the two of them are standing, starts the professional blower and whirls up a wide comet strip of leaves over the meadow, which artfully collects again at the edge to form a dense pile of leaves.)

Ma(Watched open-mouthed): - Man, you're efficient as a crook, you'll always find someone to help you cheat.

Be- No one will know that we didn't sweep up the junk by hand; I got the tool master some of the best Lebanese hemp so that he can relieve his wife's rheumatic painswithout havingto get a permitfrom thecantonal doctor for each dose and pay the bill at the cantonal pharmacy; he's sure to help us and is eternally grateful to me!

Ma- All right, Alhamdulillahi, blow up the good leaves and then we grab them with our hands and carry them to the compost pit.

Be- Why would you want to pick it up with your hands when we have a leaf shovel that saves us having to bend down?

Ma- So that we can say with a clear conscience that we worked manually and so that we don't scare the earthworms in the pit.

Be- Don't scare the earthworms? Have you already infected them with your fear of persecution?

Ma- nonsense! If you run a big, dark ground leaf shovel over the pit, they flatten out instead of greeting you.

Be- You have a screw loose. Earthworms crawl, squirm and drill holes in the ground. I've never heard of them making males when you throw your dirt in.

Ma- But they do, you ignoramus, and do you know why? Because leaves are high-quality compost, and when the lid is closed and airtight again, the anaerobic bacteria take hold and turn it into alcohol, leaf schnapps, so you can grab it with your wooden head. The worms drink their fill, and drunk worms stretch their abdomens straight out of the humus.

Be- Ana ... what bacteria?

Ma- Anaerobic, without air! The worms can eat, drink, burp and make little men without air. The tool master explained to me that they are very bright, they read and educate themselves every free minute, not like certain sheep bricks from Afghanistan who don't want to work with their hands or their heads.

Be- Well, the thing about the boozing worms actually still makes sense to me. I was once on the Oktoberwiese,"collecting papers", as an Afghani Kuli, before they deported me to Switzerland because a great-great-uncle of mine lived here five years ago, who has since left for New York. And of course I heard theoozopft is! and also swallowed amoass...

Ma- you drunkard!

Be- nonsense, the stuff is so thin, it comes out the front as piss, not even the prophet would speak of harrar .5

Ma- I'd rather keep my conscience than my beer. A promise is a promise, manual work is manual work and if we do it particularly quickly, there might be a bonus and maybe I can secretly buy a snack bar and bring my family here.

Be- I may be comfortable, but you're a hopeless dreamer!

Ma- I have visions and you ask: "Why?" But I dream and ask: "Why not"?

Be- Saying of the Imam?

Ma- Wikipedia, George Bernard Shaw. Could be mine.

Be- Wiki what? George who? Couldn't you speak intelligibly?

Ma- You should read more than you talk. The imam could put together a program for you.

Be- A program for what?

Ma- To educate yourself, you blockhead. Further education is a duty for a good Muslim. If everything runs and you stand still, you'll fall on your ass.

Be- Come on, let's throw the leaves into the pit instead. Then I'll take care of the leaf blower, you take care of the tools and I'll get us two beers. You should also revise your ideas about harrar. Further education is a duty.

3Home or never

Stage

Sophisticated shoe store in Zurich's old town, run by the 4th generation of a long-established Zurich family. Sale, around 20 customers in the narrow store, including some older couples. Many are standing, others are sitting on chairs between, in front of and opposite the shelves for self-selection (they only contain the left shoe). Oppressive heat, despite the fans. The owner, between 50 and 60, stocky but very agile, has her eyes everywhere, briefly admonishes one sales assistant here, encourages another there, provides information, monitors the till, also serves.

Sabine K(Standing diagonally in front of her husband Anton, the first sales clerk sits opposite him and tries to put a hiking boot on him)- That's the fifth one, and you can't even get into it!

Anton K-’t’s a good one, it fits.

First saleswoman- What if he hurts you afterwards?

Dario F(In the other corner; black brilliantine mane swept back, corduroy trousers, two smartphones, button in ear) -Healthy, healthy, my orthopaedist is an idiot, it's all so ugly, I can't sit with these monsters.

Second saleswoman- Don't you think this pair is elegant? It was even on the catwalk in Milan.

Dario F- On the loft ... I don't understand you.

Second saleswoman- La posseräle.

Owner(approaches - to the second saleswoman) -I'll take over.

Nadine S(Goes to the checkout counter, one foot in a dignified shoe with a medium heel, the other unshod. Shakes the counter bell) - I've been waiting 10 minutes for the second shoe!

Owner(Looks over to her)- I'll call the basement, I saw the colleague go down to get your shoe. (To Sabine and Ernst K): Excuse me a moment!

Third saleswoman(Her face contorted with pain appears on the spiral staircase coming up from the basement. Limping)- Excuse me, foot.(Quietly to the boss): The A-hole has put the model MK 7-8955s away incorrectly, it's on the gallery, I can't get up there.

Nadine S(Has come closer and listened in)-And I don't have time to wait any longer, my train leaves in 20 minutes. Goodbye!(Slams a left shoe on the floor, pulls the door open, her own shoes in her hand, almost stumbles over the 3 steps, straightens up, slams the door, the glass of which rattles menacingly).

Anton K-(Has meanwhile hobbled laboriously to the opposite end of the store): Tammisiech6! I don't like this stuff! Don't you have any decent nail shoes in this place?

Sabine K-(Accompanied him. Loudly): Now pull yourself together, you're not at home there.

Anton K(even louder)- Neither do you, you have nothing to command here.

Joshua o'Hara(From the background)- That's it! Be brutal, be tough!(Laughs uproariously and knocks over a chair).

Owner(twirls around her heels, grabs a box from the counter and waves it)- I've got your Fae Moon Wolf Native American Style mocassins, Sir, US 14, look here!(To the 3rd saleswoman leaning pale against the counter): Pull yourself together!

Third saleswoman- I think I have a torn ligament!

Owner- Then phone the emergency, but get away from here, it looks damn bad in front of the customers.

Third sales clerk-(Snorts. The store door flies open, a courier comes in with a tower of shoe boxes in his arms, behind him a gaudily made-up, over-fat lady with another box in her hands).

The lady(loudly)- Watch out, you almost ran me over!

Courier- What? (The top parcels fall down onto the counter, one jumps up, shoes roll out).

Third saleswoman-(Already crouching behind the counter with her cell phone, waiting for the connection).

The lady(shouts at her shrilly)- Hey, you, could you actually listen to me instead of hanging around here?

Courier(holds out a piece of paper to the saleswoman)- Sign, please.

Third saleswoman(quite audible)- Fuck you!

Joshua o'H- Yeah!(Throws his cowboy hat in the air, a few shoes fall from the top shelf next to him).

Anton K(red in the face, even louder)- Tammisiech! I've had enough of you now, you stay in the store if you want, I'll go to Walti, you won't see me again today!

The excitement spreads, loud voices can be heard from everywhere:

- Hey, the porn movie theater is right next door, maybe you'll get better ideas!

- Miss, that's too loud for me, you can't even hear yourself think I'm coming another time.

- I don't understand how we could have been recommended such a store!

Owner(walks into the center with decisive steps, grabs a chair, climbs onto it and holds her hands in front of her mouth)- Ladies and gentlemen, the weather is getting to us all, it's far too hot to do anything sensible. The house offers you a crate of cool mineral water, which was intended for our saleswomen. (Cheers.)Graziella, you get supplies from the Blue Oak opposite. Who's going to help me fetch bottles and glasses? A few of our young customers, perhaps?

The mood has changed and customers are starting to talk.

Anton K(Quietly, to the first saleswoman)- Listen, I'll take the first pair, like my wife said, won't I, Sabine? Can you still sell them to me?

Third saleswoman- If you can make it to the checkout, yes, you can.

Graziella(second saleswoman) - I'm crossing the aisle, my customer has left.

One and the other buys something else, two volunteers help pour the drinks to relieve the sales clerks. A C sharp-G sharp horn can be heard approaching through the Altstadtgasse and falls silent in front of the store: the ambulance. The door bursts open again and two paramedics enter the store.

Firstparamedic(sees the injured sales clerk at first glance)- Did you call us? Ladies and gentlemen, please make way!

Jörg W- Läck! They send us the prettiest ones!

Second paramedic- Nobody sent you anything, move aside, can't you see that the woman is in a lot of pain?(Pushes him aside with one hand. You get the impression that the slim but athletic young woman could grab him by the neck and put him away if she had to).

Yörg W(startled)- All right, all right. Women Power seems to be in charge today.

First paramedic(puts her first-aid kit down next to the sales clerk)- We have to cut open the trouser leg, the knee is already very swollen.

Sales clerk(cries and whispers)- Tomorrow would be my first date with ...

Owner(has discreetly come close to her without obstructing the paramedics and holds her hand)- He should visit you in hospital if you're still there tomorrow, that's a good test of whether he's worth anything.

Second paramedic- It's not a torn ligament, but I wouldn't put my hand in the fire for the meniscus. We'll give you a pain injection, splint your leg in a slightly bent position and then fetch the stretcher. You'll be fine, the best doctors work at the university hospital.

Yvo(husband of the owner, comes up from downstairs after closing time. Quietly to his wife)- Shh…itty day! I admired you, Anna, I heard everything downstairs. I'm really proud of you. Without you, we would have had to call the police and that would have really damaged our reputation. So we only lost a little revenue.

Anna- Not even once! As soon as the first thirst was quenched, the customers cheerfully started buying again. Without water, several of them would have got heatstroke, I knew that straight away - after all, that's what you serve in the Uster fire department for!

Yvo- I fell in love with you there too, you were gorgeous in your dashing uniform!

Anna- Come on, we still have to do the accounts.

Yvo- With electronics, it's all much quicker nowadays.

Anna- Some invoice is always issued incorrectly.

Yvo- Couldn't we do this sometime tomorrow, the heat has been so horrible down there that mistakes have been made. I need to check it all out and it's supposed to be cooler tomorrow.

Luca(the pen: has also come up from the basement in the meantime. To Yvo) -I could help. You know I'm good at typing, I could enter the corrections for incorrectly issued receipts and look for incorrectly filed shoes in the magazine.

Yvo- You're the champion in the stair race. Yes, I would be happy if you came. Is 10 o'clock okay for you?

Luca(nods and disappears)- Bay!

Anna- If you want to do it again tomorrow, fine by me, I need a full day's rest.

Yvo- OK, as long as you don't ask us to do inventory too ... But I could do the accounts sometime tomorrow while you're resting.(Lowers the shutters, opens a couple of windows behind them, a slight draught appears, promising cooling. The two of them sit on the floor behind the bar for a while. Outside, it seems to be heading for a thunderstorm. The smells become more intense, it smells of Russian leather and stained wood, a scent that is both numbing and soothing).

Anna- Sometimes I ask myself why we do all this. We don't have any children ...

Yvo- Anna! Please, don't bring up the subject again. It only hurts both of us, and it certainly doesn't help us. Go home now and get some rest, I'll continue here for a while, it's already getting cooler, I'm sure downstairs too, the cool air is sinking in.

Anna(following her train of thought)- We have quality-conscious, tradition-conscious customers, we are an institution in a way, ideally suited for vacation brochures. But can we carry on like this? With a store where our sales assistants have to run back and forth three or four times for each customer. And no automated stock management system to avoid many mistakes. Can we carry on like this? We should renovate quickly and thoroughly, without compromising the appearance, otherwise we'll have the homeland security on our backs. We don't have enough time or money for that. In the end, we'll just be a piece of old town décor, an old couple in an old traditional box. But live, live! ... Who cares if we're really still alive? Can we even still say "the two of us", or do we have to look for ourselves in the inventory? I would like to go home for once, to a real home, not just a regeneration workshop for the next day.

Yvo(has put his hand on her shoulder): - Anna! What's wrong with you? The heart?

Anna(silent for a while, with tears in her eyes): - Maybe ... I can't go on, if I stay any longer I'll keel over ... I'm quite miserable ... Home now or never ...

Yvo- You're scaring me! Never going home again? Anna, I'm calling our family doctor now, there's no more discussion!

Anna- Yes, maybe ...

Yvo- Dr. Suhner also has time for us on a Saturday afternoon when it's urgent, and this time it's urgent.(Puts his hand on her shoulder): Anna, I love you, I won't leave you alone now.

Anna(quietly)- I will continue to pull the cart for a long time, even if I stumble once.(Coughs).

Yvo- But I don't want you to be constantly harnessed to the cart and have the feeling that this is the end for you. I'll call Geri in the morning on Monday, he's already agreed to help us, so he can certainly start earlier. And he's so good that from now on we'll have a real deputy who can stand in for us if one of us needs some time off. And hey! Have you forgotten that we're on vacation in two weeks? In two weeks, you have to be absolutely fit to enjoy the vacations! Sleep in late, stroll through the city and store as tourists in the morning, dine in a café by the lake or on the Limmat, take a rowing boat or a traditional steamer on the lake in the afternoon, have a candlelit dinner, and have plenty of time to sleep at night.

Anna-Yes, vacations now ...(Her voice turns into a barely audible whisper). It's now or never ...

Yvo- Anna, for heaven's sake! Where is Dr. Suhner's damn number stored? Anna, stay awake now, you're not going to sail off with me, are you?

Anna has a bluish tinge to her lips and her breathing is barely audible. Outside, the first drops fall, it smells of burnt flint, wet earth and compost, lightning flashes through the sky, followed by a never-ending firework display of more lightning against the backdrop of a dull, rumbling, endless volley of thunderclaps. The first drops surprise the crowds of people pushing their way through the narrow old streets. Soon a fierce downpour pelting the cobblestones and the few umbrellas open like frightened pigeons. A haze spreads over the alley and houses, people flee in fright in all directions, to the nearby main station, to the next streetcar stop, under the portals of the old town houses. A few young people laugh and get drenched dancing like the Fair Lady. The drumbeat furrows the Limmat, which dissolves into pastel-colored longitudinal stripes, as if it will soon float up into the cloudy sky like a swarm of colorful kites. The rain clouds beat on the lake and turn it into pearly pigeon fluff. Zurich shudders and senses the first wafts of mist on the flanks of the Albis and the Lägern. End and beginning, everything seems possible.

4The garden bench

March 22 (Green Thursday) 2040

Today was a wonderful morning, I went shopping with Mae for her wedding dress. Actually, I think it's a bit early, the wedding isn't until the end of May. What if she changes her taste by then, or Mark doesn't find the dress to his liking? Either way, I wanted to be there. Fortunately, I was able to convince Mae not to go to a store on Seefeldstrasse, like all her friends, indeed, like the whole Zurich chic crowd. Of course, I looked around in advance and discovered a store on Kreuzplatz, right next to the Swisscom store, that impressed me. Not necessarily the name: Happy Wedding, but the range and, I have to admit, the owner. A Yemeni woman, Salima Abul-Hasan as-Said, who has shown so much courage, intelligence and business acumen that she was able to escape the tutelage of her wealthy family and set up a highly successful store here in Zurich. She secretly learned German back in Yemen and speaks it fluently; she understands Swiss German perfectly and even begins to speak it now and then. But what impressed me most was her beauty, I admit it. It comes at just the right time for me! Ever since Karin told me one day ex abrupto that she knew more interesting men than those who only had IT and the NZZ on their minds, and one of them wanted to marry her now and she wanted that too, she was going to file for divorce, since that day I've been treating myself to a little variety, in addition to the NZZ, with younger beauties, and my daughter Mae, as a modern young woman, has nothing against it. Only my last one, Molly ("How can you be called that?"), she always grumbled that she was far too possessive - and she was right. Molly wanted to get married and have children, but subito. Of course, the daughter of a Yemeni clan could also be possessive, but Salima broke out of that very clan and cut all ties. But to get in touch with her, I need the help of a female intuition, i.e. Mae, and she has already agreed to help if Salima convinces her.

Easter Sunday, April 1

The kind of Sunday I love: being free and taking it easy. An hour of fitness at the gym in the morning: as a -45-year-old, you have to do a lot to stay "interesting" for younger women. Then lunch by the fire: rösti, cervelats and a malt beer from Feldschlösschen Rheinfelden ... Mae and her future husband are in Toggenburg today, his home region, and I have time for my diary. I don't even know if the afternoon and evening will be enough, so much happened yesterday.

The morning was already packed full. Mae was immediately impressed by the store on Forchstrasse and even more so by the owner. With sure instinct, she picked outthewedding dress from her extensive stock, which almost knocked Mae over - with enthusiasm.

"None of your friends have ever worn one of these, said the owner, and they never will unless they become my customers. Feel free to advertise for me, Mae, I can assure you that there will be something in it for you too. I could really use your support as a business lawyer."

Mae had already told Salima Abul-Hasan as-Said (her full name) that at 28 she was already a partner in one of Zurich's most renowned business law firms, and Salima was deeply impressed:

"I guess we're similar in terms of drive and energy, and you're exactly the lawyer I'm looking for. I have a lot more confidence in someone who has already made it to such a position at the age of 28. You know, there's also a danger here: that you can brilliantly win difficult cases together with other brilliant partners and over time settle into a brilliant routine so comfortably that you can't think of anything else. My principle has always been: take stock of your career every four years and make a radical change if necessary. I've done very well with that. If you trust your intuition and follow your instincts, you can go much further.

- Taking it far sounds good, but can you give me a more detailed outline of where you want to go?

- This business on Forchstrasse is just the beginning, I already have leases in place for two more locations, including one on Bahnhofstrasse, and I'm prepared to pay for that. A German strategist once wrote that if you want to win a fight, you have to slog, not to give weak blows. I have the clothes made by hand in Yemen, from spinning with distaffs, weaving with a mechanical loom according to traditional patterns, dyeing with traditional Yemeni dyes, cutting and hand sewing to packing - everything is done by Huti women in the countryside, otherwise it would be unaffordable. On the other hand, I pay the women a more than decent salary by local standards. You must know that my family always stirs with a big ladle ... Is that how you say it in German?

- Almost: stirred with a large ladle.

- In other words, it's done with a big ladle. When my father founds a new retail chain in Yemen, which he does every four to five years, he wants to have branches in New York and Paris as well. I'll keep it similar, that's the only thing I'll take over from him. You will be able to win interesting contracts for your law firm.

- Let's proceed step by step: You can book me as your lawyer for the opening of your two new branches, I'll sort out the paperwork for you and use my contacts with the authorities to speed things up. Then we'll soon see if we're mutually satisfied with our work."

I stood discreetly to one side the whole time and listened carefully; after all, as a father, nothing else was expected of me but to pay. But quietly I thought: "How about, Salima, if we both tried to do business together and assess step by step whether we are happy with each other?"

On the street, Mae then promised they would help me:

"You have to keep them warm! I'll be happy to help you set up a first meeting, for example at Starbucks, which is only a few steps away from her store: simple and discreet, a short coffee break. You'll have to do the rest yourself.

- Agreed, but then you have to be there as a chaperone, otherwise I guess our Salima won't even let us invite her for a green tea."

So much for the morning. The afternoon was something completely different, with a touch of tragic oppression and even a hint of violence, but not in such a way that it wasn't very interesting for me. I like dicey situations, they have something tingling and very instructive about them, you always rediscover yourself in them. And sometimes one of the contemporaries I have a soft spot for. Thrown off course by some stupid coincidence, landed in the gutter, avoided like the plague by our oh-so-orderly society, treated like a stinking rag.

And yet there is a potential in them that is just waiting for a tiny switch in the right direction to suddenly unfold, a queen of the night who presents herself to the fertilizing insects for an hour and then has to wait a year until the next time - or perhaps never be fertilized again. This blissful moment, this kairos, in which we glimpse the hidden light side of a person in a matter of seconds, that is what fascinates me again and again, and if I can help a little here, sprinkle a little pollen on the flower stigma with a careful brush, I have the strong feeling that I have been useful at least this once. It certainly didn't happen in a matter of seconds with the person I met on the afternoon of March 25, but in the end, after many setbacks, doubts and tests of patience, it did work out and I made one of my best friends in the process. So, and now one thing at a time! It's good to digress, but with moderation.

After shopping for the wedding dress, I said goodbye to Mae and took the good old (but now brand new) Forchbahn to Zollikerberg for a meeting with the owner of a renowned bakery. In the past, it was enough to offer a few specialties made on site according to family recipes to become a popular destination for the better and best of Zurich's bourgeoisie and make a tidy profit. Today, when production costs have risen in all areas, you have to form at least one chain of individual stores to keep up the race. But if you also want to guarantee the same old quality, and thus also that all links in the chain produce the same specialities from the jointly purchased raw materials with the same care and according to the same recipes at the same time, and that at most two or three specialities with a longer shelf life are prepared centrally and distributed with perfect logistics, you need an enormous degree of organization in which electronics play a central role. This is where my role begins.

Do not expect any names from me, neither from companies nor from people who do not belong to my close circle of friends and acquaintances, and even then with a great deal of discretion. Surreptitious advertising is out of the question for me, it spoils the business in the long run. So, I'm talking to the owner of the bakery chain in question, and as luck would have it, the conversation turns to Happy Wedding and its owner. And my baker says that he would marry her if he was free. And with a quick glance over to me:

"You also have eyes in your head and a nose for special talents and, if I am correctly informed, you are now single again, aren't you?

- So, so, apparently information is getting around quickly. But I think we should stick to our business and, as usual, I'll offer you a ready-to-use solution that you can test at will and make changes to until it fits perfectly. Do you agree? Shall I send you a preliminary contract next week?"

I don't let people look at my cards, it's none of their business who I find attractive and highly talented or not; if it comes to that, they'll still be informed soon enough. But of course I feel reinforced in my opinion of Salima and can hardly wait to drink green tea with her ...

But first I have a completely different encounter. On the return journey on the Forchbahn to Stadelhoferplatz (I want to take the 15 there and then the 46 at Zentral to Höngg, where I live), I see a ragged clochard with a paper sack full of beer cans, which he is diligently pouring into while throwing the empty ones onto the floor, where they roll around clattering. With his hat pulled down to his nose, he sits on a seat right by one of the exits, swearing loudly and gesticulating wildly with his fists, shouting "Bastard!" from time to time. Apparently he's heading for the booze scene on Stadelhoferplatz. For those not from Zurich: in front of Stadelhofen station and its forecourt is the beautiful, elongated Stadelhoferplatz, covered with gravel and surrounded by mighty horse chestnut trees and plane trees that tower up to the roof ridges of the surrounding, not exactly low buildings. At the lower end is the small, original cast-iron fountain that first appeared at the Paris World's Fair in 1900. A dense stream of pedestrians flows over it in all directions, and the tracks of two streetcar lines and the Forchbahn encircle it, the latter with its final stop. On fine summer days, a pavement café extends its terrace onto the square. However, two or sometimes three benches are reserved for a small scene of alcoholics, the Alkis, as they are known here. After a few police raids during an impressive zero-tolerance round by the city government, they have learned to keep a low profile and not bother anyone.

But our clochard's plan to get off at Stadelhofer inconspicuously and join his clique was a complete failure. He had just stood up to get off the train and was clinging desperately to the handrail to somehow save his wobbly balance when a green-brown Niagara of stinking vomit poured out of his mouth onto the floor of the Forchbahn. In a matter of seconds, the two compartments leading to the exit platform were transformed into an odorous Augean sty. The passengers tried to hop over the slurry with daring steps or, if they were unable to do so, scrambled to find the few places that were not covered with the thickest layer. Some of them cursed loudly ("they should be wiped out"), our clochard cursed back manfully and obviously overdid it, because he slipped on the exit step and, with one toe dangerously caught between the step and the sidewalk, fell lengthways onto his snout, which he bruised quite badly as he couldn't get his rowing arms to the ground in time to break his fall.

I was immediately aware of the danger - apparently the only one - because the train driver couldn't see him, he didn't even get out for a short cigarette break in the busy timetable and the side mirrors didn't reach the wheels at the back of the train. So it could have been that he drove off and the trapped foot would have been crushed between the wheels and the curb before a warning signal lit up in the driver's cab. I therefore overcame my disgust and made an effort to pull the clochard's foot out, accompanied by a few mocking interjections such as "Watch out, wash yourself in the fountain, otherwise you won't even be able to pick up a Nigerian woman on Sihlquai" and "Let him die, it's just natural selection!" Sometimes I really think my clean contemporaries stink worse than a puked-up vagabond.

Be that as it may, my Lumpazivagabundus got back on his swaying hind legs, staggered to the nearest lamppost, turned around and bellowed a loud "Bastard!" at me before staggering on to the next Alkibank, where he was greeted with a loud shout. I don't know what happened next, I didn't feel like looking back and I hurried to nearby Bellevue so that I could catch the 15 and not have to wait until it arrived at the same sidewalk where the ungrateful fellow had got off. When you act on your convictions, you sometimes have to be able to put up with losses. Tant pis, I had helped the wrong person, I wasn't going to let that spoil a day that had started so well and that I would make sure ended pleasantly. And that's what I'm doing now at the Radium cinema, which is also open on an Easter Sunday and is currently showing a retrospective of Akita Kurosawa's film career. Today it's the turn of The Immortal Seven Samurai, and during the interval I rattle these words into my tablet. If that's not a good experience!

Thursday, April 5

Mae told me on the phone that things weren't going as quickly with Salima as we had expected; not because she was a prude, sometimes even she, Mae, had to blush when they talked “aboutwomen” and Salima expressed her views on sexuality in a completely unvarnished way. Apparently, modern Arab women have already reached a phase of liberation that we are only just entering. But they have learned to hide this perfectly from their conservative contemporaries: "In Sanaa, we board the plane with a triple step on the gangway, clad entirely in black, faces hidden behind the nikab, heads bowed. As soon as we get into the cabin, we undress unabashedly - that's why Kuwait Airways has organized women-only flights - slip into short, skin-tight, low-cut skirts and then it's time for a devoted make-up session, for which the airline has already provided the most exquisite cosmetics. Basically, everyone knows this, but the mullahs don't need to know, and that's enough: What happens in the harem is beyond their competence, they have done their duty of supervision." Yes, well, it has nothing to do with prudery if Salima is careful with all contacts. It only happened so quickly with me because she intuitively took an instant liking to me and acted with lightning speed: