The Story of the White Orchid E-Book

Eva Konrád

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

Seitenzahl: 242

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Often a door has to close for a new one to open. There are moments in our lives when we ask ourselves: Where did the mistake happen? Where is the point at which we lost our way, took a wrong turn, took a detour? Life often takes us by surprise – how do we deal with that? Do we tread water or do we open our hearts to new things? How can we find our happiness, our contentment? Lena and Oskar – a crisis-ridden couple. Inequality. Different. Their story guides us through several topics that many of us experience ourselves. Separation, anger, loneliness, death – but also kindness, joy, friendship and love. Let's go on a journey with Lena and Oskar.

Leseprobe

Any inconsistencies in the text are due to the fact that it was translated using computer-aided technology for a company-wide study.

© 2025 novum publishing gmbh

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Foreword

Even though the white orchid has long since bloomed, your kind words

The first chapter

Red lipstick

Bad Habitsby Ed Sheeran was blaring from the radio on the dashboard, and when she heard the words to "Conversation with a Stranger", she turned up the volume on the steering wheel and turned off the crowded Friday highway to the gas station. Songs can sometimes evoke a feeling that is forgotten deep in our hearts. Hidden under the leaves, in the safety of an oldtree. Be it the feeling of experienced joy or suppressed sadness, anger or fear.Itwas during this song that she realized she could sum up her entire relationship with Oskar in a single sentence: Conversation with a stranger. Without shame, without regret, without emotion, without pain and without fear. Suddenly here she was, locked in the car, able to provide the supervision she had been missing all these years.

She sat in a black Volkswagen Passat in a huge parking lot and listened to the last notes of the song. Then she opened the car door, got out, smoothed her washed hair and walked with an energetic stride towards the yellow petrol station store. She knew she was going to have a poppy seed cheesecake and a small black espresso in a white paper cup. But she liked it that way. No sugar, no milk. Hot and delicious at the same time. Just like life. In the automatic glass door that reflected her figure, she caught sight of red lipstick. She loved him. Yes, even Oskar.

But as it turned out, red lipstick was a more faithful companion. It perfectly emphasized the beautiful full lips that men always lookedat, regardless of age. And he didn't like it. He didn't like her white chiffon or satin blouses. He didn't like her tight black pants. He didn't like her white lace summer dress. Yes, black and white. And red lipstick. That was Lena.

The elderly lady from the service greeted her and automatically reached for the poppy seed cake. She had known her for years and Lena always got exactly the same thing. She handed her a tray with the words: "The same as always. Here you go."

"Yes, the same as always," Lena replied and then added: "Some habits don't change in life, but some people do."

The waitress wanted to say something, but Lena turned around and sat down on the high wooden chairs right next to the glass. She carefully slid a dessert spoon over the neat cheesecake before cutting the top off and popping it into her mouth. She closed her eyes for a second and understood that love is the most unfathomable, wonderful and at the same time most painful prelude and climax to life.

She watched the approaching cars through the window. People of different ages coming to refuel. Their partners, children, dogs. She observed the colors they chose for their cars. Sometimes she had the feeling that the same colors brought out similar types of people. They were frowning, brooding, sometimes hastily distracted. Only a few of them smiled.

What happened that we're all in such a hurry? Was she the only one who didn't want to leave even after an hour? From coffee and cake to the reality of everyday life? She wanted to dream and live her life the way she wanted to. She didn't want to learn to accept what was expected of her. Living in a small town and frequently going to the local small grocery stores where everyone knew everyone. Where everyone thought they had the right to invade other people's lives. I give them advice that no one asked for. No one could see into her head, into her feelings, andthat suited her. She wasn't introverted, she just felt comfortable not talking about herself. He liked to talk, he told her everything. And she listened patiently. From the very beginning, she paid full attention to his every word. She admired him, looked up to him. She listened to him with interest. She thought he was wise, educated and charismatic. Once, when they were cooking dinner together, he whispered gently in her ear:

"You're a great cook." She would bathe in those words if she could.

"I'm definitely not a better cook than you," she contradicted happily, smiling at heart.

"For me, it's not about whether I can cook or not. But it's true that I like it when you prepare the food," he smiled mischievously and showed his white teeth.

"So you only praise my food because you are too lazy to cook it yourself and because you like my service," she also laughed and threw a pot splattered with cream sauce at him. But he leaned over, kissed her on the mouth and then carefully licked the delicious sauce out of the pot.

"I like it when you cook, you know that. When there's cooking here, I have the feeling that everything is in order. I feel at home here," he said gently.

"I love you, my darling," she replied, feeling better than ever. He was the center of her little universe. She concentrated all her energy on making him happy.

But when she opened up to him, everything changed.

"I bought you a pink turtleneck sweater. It fits you better than your see-through blouses," he once returned home with a paper bag full of clothes.

"But I hate turtlenecks. I feel like I'm suffocating in them," she tried to argue.

"Why are you choking...?" he asked in an irritated voice.

"Well, I usually choke, just like I'm choking in this conversation now," she said angrily.

"I've never heard of anyone suffocating in a turtleneck. Look at Milan's wife. She's been wearing turtlenecks for years. They emphasize her femininity. I've known her for a long time, but I've never seen her suffocate in one. But of course, nothing I buy for you is good for you."

He tossed the bag on the shiny gray floor in the hallway and walked quickly to the door. He slipped on a pair of white Nike lace-up shoes, opened the heavy security door and closed it in a way that echoed throughout the stairwell. She could hear him trudging down the stairs until his footsteps finally faded away.

He wanted to change it. Like a cake recipe. He wrote down the recipe in an old, battered cookbook. And years later, he realized that he didn't like it. He wanted to take something away from her, change the ingredients, completely erase her identity. Had he gone mad? No. He said it was her. She was supposed to be like a neighbor. But why? She didn't understand. Did he really not understand? That she was a unique cake, fluffy, delicious. So juicy with apples. That it would never be a store bought twinkie.

***

The next evening she fried a chicken breast cut into pieces and added freshpine nuts, which he liked.

She was twenty-three when they started dating. A rude girl, disappointed by love.

He said to her: "You're like a white orchid. Beautiful, but wild. With her opinion and her dreams. Fragile, who doesn't like the touch of strangers, but at the same time able to survive even under the harshest conditions."

And she just looked at him lovingly and couldn't speak. She was not in a position to accept such a strange compliment, but deep down she felt that Oskar meant his words sincerely.

But then he broke her, took her out of the wilderness. He locked himself in the living room with the blinds drawn down. For her twenty-fifth birthday, he gave her a voucher for a tattoo studio. And so suddenly her fine hair was no longer the only thing decorating her back. It hurt and she didn't like tattoos. Not on anyone. And not on her at all. Her skin belonged to her alone, she didn't want to be painted by anyone's hand. And yet she sat in the tattoo chair with misty eyes and tears on her cheeks.

"Does it hurt?" asked the tall, stocky man who tattooed her. He had tattoos on both arms that emphasized his athletic body, and his facial expression commanded respect.

"No," she replied in tears and shook her head.

The man looked at her strangely and then said: "Tattoos sometimes remind us of the pain we have been through. And by remaining permanently on human skin, it forces our hearts to be careful." Suddenly, he wiped a tear from her hot cheek with his large hand. The gesture was so sudden, so full of kindness and humanity, that they were both taken aback and looked at each other in silence for a few minutes.

She had the feeling that he really loved her back then. But what has changed over the years? Where did the mistake happen? And now she's sitting here alone, she doesn't understand. Yesterday she turned thirty-one and everything was going to be different. She felt it and suddenly left the gas station. No, she wasn't sad, just a soft tear running down her cheek. But when she unlocked the car and felt the gentle breeze in her flowing hair, she smiled. She knew that this was what freedom tasted like and took a deep breath.

"Thank you," said Lena and then wiped the last drops of tears from her hot cheeks. And the tattoo artist continued his work as if nothing had happened.

The result was amazing. Oskar was thrilled. He stroked her naked back and admired the beautiful white orchid.

"You are my beautiful white orchid. Forever. Do you know that?" he whispered in her ear.

"I know. Only yours," she whispered and flew up. Up.

She met a neighbor last week. In the sauna. She went to the sauna from the beginning of October to the end of March. Regularly on Wednesdays and Fridays. Always at the same time. The same sauna for years. And she never met this neighbor there. She didn't know if it was just a coincidence. She saw her in the changing room. Undressed, with her back to the door. So many coincidences. Suddenly. She had a freshly tattooed white orchid on her athletic back. Exactly the neighbor Oskar had told her so much about. Her neighbor, the wife of his friend. Perfect, Oskar thought. She should have been just like her.

Lena simply stood in the doorway, stunned. And she spoke to her with a smile.

"How is Oskar?" was the neighbor's question.

The question that turned two women into rivals. Lena undressed slowly and revealed her white orchid. Just like that. She took a clean white sheet, put on her flip-flops and tied her long hair into a French ponytail. Suddenly she realized how bent over she was. And so she slowly moved up, closed her towel in front of her breasts and walked straight out of the changing room. The sauna was almost empty, she only saw two couples on loungers and an older man who was leaving. She went in and slowly sat down on the heated wooden planks. The first drops of sweat were not long in coming. They rolled down her cheeks as if they were running. But only she knew that it wasn't sweat, but tears. Calm and hot.

They burned more than a sauna and numbed more than an ice-cold bath. She would be thirty-one in a week. And now she felt old and hurt. Like a plucked, broken orchid, actually.

When she unlocked the door, it was dark everywhere. She stayed in the sauna until the end. She alternated between crying and soaking in the ice-cold water in the tub. Cleansing therapy. She didn't talk to anyone the whole time. Even when the older gentleman noticed that it was quiet in the sauna today, he remained silent. She just stared silently in front of her. She had to tire her body out, because she knew that this was the only way she could stay calm and fall asleep. She didn't want a scene, she didn't want to scream and she didn't want to cry in front of him at all. When she got home, she took off her light blue jeans and tight pink turtleneck sweater, knowing full well that she would never wear it again. Oskar had bought it for her. But it was only today that it all made sense. She left the sauna with her neighbor in the same way.

She put on her pyjamas and felt the soft touch of the satin. No, Oskar didn't buy her that. He didn't like subtlety and elegance. He liked sport and competitions. Just like the neighbor. No, she didn't call her by her name. Just the neighbor. Because the name would remain in her memory even if she left, but the neighbor would be replaced by another neighbor. But not today. He won't pack today, he won't leave. It would be too humiliating. Too painful. And she knew she had to hold out for a few more days.

The second chapter

The promise

Elena and Juraj sat nervously next to each other on worn wooden chairs in a small, unventilated room. Elena was wearing a long floral dress with a pleated skirt. She always wore it to weddings or family celebrations. She felt comfortable and well-groomed in it. The dress had long sleeves and a white knitted sweater with buttons hung over her shoulders. It was warm in the room, but Elena didn't want to look nervous, so she didn't take the sweater off her shoulders.

"It's warm here, isn't it?" asked the older, grey-haired employee, looking at the couple. Juraj nodded curtly and his still thick mane of curls waved gently. Without saying a word, Elena reached for the glass of water on the table in front of her. Her freshly curled hair fell lightly down her neck and one of it caught on the necklace that Juraj had given her for their wedding anniversary. It was their tenth anniversary.

Juraj discreetly wiped his sweaty hands on the ironed dark green trousers that Elena had prepared for him to wear with his light brown shirt. He tried to look calm, but the chair was hard and uncomfortable. Just like this whole adoption process.

He didn't want a change, he was happy without children. But Elena cried constantly over the years. She had been suffering from depression since she had undergone major gynecological surgery. After many radiation treatments, her body was weak and emaciated. Juraj tried his best to support her.

"When you're well again," he said to her as he sat anxiously by her metal bed in a nearby hospital, "I'll take you to sunny Italy in the summer. We'll just stroll carefree through the old narrow streets where you can feel the scent of the sea. And then we'll sit on the terrace overlooking the sea and I'll order you a delicious tiramisu."

Such a life was enough for him, but not for Elena. She just smiled sadly.

"I don't want to get better, my life has no meaning," and she cried. "I imagined a little boy with black curls, just like you," she sobbed.

"Elena, it's enough for me that you're here. I don't need a black-haired boy. After all, we're both happy," Juraj tried to reassure her.

But she fell into deeper and deeper depression, during which she did not leave her bed for several weeks. Until Juraj finally landed.

The adoption process took two years. During this time, officials managed to examine almost every inch of her home for feelings, privacy, devotion and readiness for a child.

"If your wife falls ill again, are you prepared to look after her and the baby at the same time?" asked the consultant, sipping her coffee.

How, again? He didn't want to see Elena ill again. Of course, he wasn't prepared for his wife to fall ill again. What kind of questions are these?" Juraj's head was buzzing. After all, he couldn't do anything when Elena was in hospital, he was so worried about her. He even started smoking in secret. At work, in the backyard, out of sight.

But his firm answer, "I'm ready," surprised even him when he said it in a low voice. At that moment, he had no idea how close the question would be to reality. If he had only had the choice, he would not have allowed an adopted child to disrupt the intimacy of their married life. After two years of endless questions, he had the feeling that nothing would change in the end. And he was actually satisfied. Elena was better. He could call her life active again. So why change anything?

But on August 9, 1998, her phone rang. Elena picked up after she had made Juraj his afternoon coffee.

"A three-year-old boy called Eduard is ready for adoption," announced the head secretary after a brief greeting.

A tear leaked from Elena's right eye and she collapsed on the chair. Juraj was shocked by what had happened and got up from the still-warm coffee that was smelling in the kitchen. He gently stroked Elena's fragrant hair and kissed her right cheek, which was wet with tears.

"Does he have curly black hair?" Elena finally spoke again and at that moment Juraj broke away from Elena. As she fell asleep in the evening with a blissful smile on her face, he quietly disappeared down the dark street and lit a cigarette. He watched the night street, it was completely quiet and seemed safe. Just like their previous relationship.

They had no information about the biological parents of three-year-old Eduard. Slightly malnourished, he was brought into Elena's arms. When the sad dark eyes looked at Elena for the first time, fear flashed through them. But Elena embraced little Eduard with her friendly voice and searched his frightened heart.

"Edko, you're with mom, everything will be fine," she whispered to him, her eyes full of tears. She had never felt such a great emotion as when she hugged Eduard for the first time. It was exactly what she wanted so much. To be a mother. To hold a baby in her arms and protect it. To give him what he didn't have. A home. She stroked his curly hair, afraid she'd wake up and Juraj would tell her it was just a dream.

***

The small, curly-haired Eduard held Juraj's cold hand tightly. He didn't want to let go of it, he was afraid of so many strangers standing around them. He purred and kept calling, "Mommy, mommy." Juraj squeezed his hand even tighter at these words until the little boy burst into tears. He didn't understand where mom was. He had never been alone for so long without her. Then the pale Juraj bent down and took him in his arms. He was only eight years old this year and was losing his mother for the second time in his life. They say that children don't remember much from their childhood, but he remembered that day forever. His mother's funeral. The looks of people dressed in black who felt sorry for him. The hand of that cold father holding his little hand. Everything down to the smallest detail. Or was it just a fantasy that fueled his pain, his grief and his restlessness even in adulthood?

"I love you, my curly-haired boy," his blonde mother, whom his father called Elena for some reason, said goodnight to him every night. And he smiled. He was an obedient child who had completely forgotten the first three years of his life. He enjoyed the love his mother showed him. A year has passed since he joined Elena and Juraj's family, when his mother's days of joy and unspeakable happiness were once again shattered by an insidious illness. However, he didn't realize it at first, his mother loved him even more and his father spent every free minute with them. The only difference was that they didn't spend so much time in the garden or the park, but at their mother's bedside. And she told him fairy tales, during which even his father fell silent and cuddled up to his mother from the other side. She had a velvety voice, so gentle, so tender.

"And then a brave knight saved the whole kingdom from an evil wizard...", and at that moment he gently fell asleep. Although he had no idea what bravery was. And he had no idea that an evil wizard called Disease would destroy his entire kingdom. Because when he closed his eyes, he couldn't hear Mommy and Daddy talking. Like daddy was crying and mommy was the brave one.

"Please get some rest. I'll carry him to bed," said Juraj.

Elena shook her head. "No, please, leave him here with us. Look how peacefully he's sleeping," she said tiredly.

"I'm afraid for you, I'm afraid I'll be left here alone," Juraj said quietly.

"But you'll never be alone again, you have a curly-haired boy," Elena smiled painfully. And as soon as she knew what was going through Juraj's mind, she said in a stern voice: "You have to promise me that you won't bring that boy home again, no matter what. You have to promise me. He can't lose his home again ... Do you understand?"

And Juraj understood, but he never felt the same love for the boy as Elena. He wanted to scream at her that he only loved her. Not a boy. A stranger. That the curls he had weren't his. That he didn't look like him. Despite the fact that Elena often said otherwise. But the pain he felt as he watched her disappear before his eyes made him make a promise he never broke.

Juraj grew old, but the memory of Elena never faded. After her death, he withdrew and remained alone with the boy. He could take care of the household, but he could not replace the love of a mother. He could only describe her in words when the little curly-haired boy begged him to talk about his mother.

"Please, Dad, tell me what Mom was like when I was a little boy..." the boy demanded, wanting to go back in his imagination to the time when she was still alive.

"She was an angel, she was fragile and she loved you with all her heart. She always told you a fairy tale in the evening. She said you were her curly-haired boy and that each of your curls was like mine. That we were her two curly-haired loves," Juraj told him, longing to hear these words for himself.

"Please tell me about the white orchid," the curly-haired boy continued to beg

"The white orchid was cursed in the castle..." Juraj told a fairy tale invented by Elena, and the little boy gently took hold of the white orchid pendant, which he never took off his neck.

And Juraj was happy. And the little curly-haired boy closed his eyes for a moment and imagined his mother stroking his hair. Her gentle scent, her caring hands, always stroking him. He didn't want to open his eyes because he knew his mother wouldn't be there. He simply squeezed the pendant that warmed him tightly and felt the warmth and beat of his mother's heart. He imagined how he had saved the white orchid and how proud his mother was of him. A brave little curly-haired boy.

The third chapter

A thousand kilometers

The airport hall was crowded. A group of young students laughed carelessly. An older man sat nervously at the bar, sipping green tea. The plane was due to take off at a quarter to six. She had a carry-on suitcase with her.

"Do you have checked baggage?" asked a young woman in uniform as she checked the ticket.

"No," she said quietly and continued even more quietly, "I could pack my whole life into a carry-on suitcase," she finished sadly, not waiting for the woman's reaction but running her fingers nervously through her hair. A message beeped quietly in the pale pink handbag hanging across her shoulder. The woman in uniform just nodded in understanding, as if she was used to such responses.

She left everything in Oskar's apartment. She didn't really tell him that she wouldn't be coming back.

"How long will you be away?" Oskar asked curiously over dinner. And she knew exactly why he was asking her. But she said with a smile on her face:

"You're afraid you'll go hungry here without me, you clever one," she replied and laughed. How good an actor must be to lock up his anger, his sadness, his pain in the deepest chamber and throw away the key. And without the key, no one will ever know what he really felt. He laughed too.

"You know you spoiled me. I confess without torture. Without your care, I'd be hungry for a whole year," he walked up to her and kissed her gently on the neck. The score was a draw. Oskar played just as well as she did. Perhaps even better.Oskar deserved an Oscar, Lena thought and laughed out loud at the thought.

She rolled deeper into her thick white sweater and made herself comfortable on a blue plastic chair. It was so soft and smelled of the fabric softener Milan had bought them. She could smell the soft notes of the orchid. As if the white orchid was following her. She let her light brown hair down, and as tears began to flow in the crowded airport hall, her hair curled even more over her face. She unconsciously straightened up again.

"Straighten up," her mother would say. "The attitude of our body shows others how we feel," she often told her. And she didn't want to be seen bent and broken. What was going on inside her was her business alone. She popped cinnamon gum into her mouth and looked at her silent cell phone. A message from Oskar.

"Good luck, Orchid." She smiled. A good actor until the last minute. She was actually doing him a favor, she thought. She left her seat alone, without shouting or arguing. She knew she had to go quietly or she would break down. And so she wrote back quietly: "Thank you, I love you."

Oskar didn't know that she had quit her job. He didn't know that she had asked friends in London for help and that she would be starting a new job in two days. In a small magical café. Like in the novel Café at the End of the World. This one was on the outskirts of London in a narrow street where there were no cars. With a beautiful terrace and a view of the park. Suddenly she remembered that she had taken the book with her. It's time to put the cell phone away. It's time to immerse yourself in other people's stories, because your own is too painful. When she was little, her mother taught her to love books. She once caught her drawing in a book. She took the book from her hand and said patiently:

"Your letters have damaged the book," she said in a mock stern voice.

"How?" Little Lena didn't understand at the time.

"It has its own letters that make up the kingdom of the book. All other letters, for example, written with a blunt pencil and your childish hand, seem like an army that has come to invade the peaceful kingdom of the book," she said slowly, looking at Lena to see if she understood.

"I'll never write in a book again," cried little Lena, regretting that her letters could destroy the whole kingdom. Her mother then hugged her and comforted her with kind words. She continued to nurture her love of books and when she grew up, she changed the words too:

"Only books soothe your sorrow, soothe your pain. They are medicine, they are hot tea with honey, they are Sunday soup." Perhaps she already suspected that Lena would be very sad one day. She repeated these words so often that she reached for the book every time Lena had problems.