The tender breath of illusions E-Book

Waltraud Häcker

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

Seitenzahl: 435

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Like a dangerous virus, a man invades the life of advertising copywriter Anja Berger. He talks about scent marketing and claims that he has created a scent composition to seduce her and spend beautiful nights with her. Will he succeed? Kai Mertens, the junior boss of the advertising agency for which Anja works, thinks about the future on a trip abroad, about whether he should continue to advertise short-lived cheap products that fill garbage dumps and ruthlessly exploit our nature. He invites his friend, the art historian and painter Claus Hoffmann, who no longer finds his life worth living after the death of his childhood sweetheart, on his trip. Can nature fill the emptiness inside him with its beauty and give his life a new meaning?

Leseprobe

The tender breath of illusions

Prologue

She caught his eye immediately, like a magnet, as soon as he entered the Max Bar in the marketplace. Her blond, long hair, her picture-perfect face, her bright blue eyes and her smile, this enchanting smile that she gave him when their eyes met. The bar, with its French flair in the old town of Heidelberg, was packed and she was sitting at a table right next to the entrance, together with three young men. He went to the bar and ordered a beer. Did he know her? He couldn't remember ever having met her. Stealthily, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She must have been two or three years older than him and wore a red, light summer dress that clung tightly to her slender body. The bartender brought his beer and he took a big swig. Maybe she hadn't meant him at all, but the man who had entered the bar with him, and he had imagined that that smile had been for him. Yes, surely, she hadn't meant him.

A blond guy next to him approached him. His name was Lars and he told him that he was studying here in Heidelberg and that he often came to this bar.

- It is something very special, he said, a piece of France in the middle of Heidelberg. The owners bought the entire inventory of this bar in antique stores, flea markets or from private property in France to be able to realize their dream of an authentic Parisian workers', students' and artists' bar here in Heidelberg.

He hardly listened to him, all his attention was focused on her, on this extremely good-looking woman who kept directing her gaze at him. An irritating, tingling feeling flooded through him and he couldn't help but keep looking at her as well, as unobtrusively as possible. Lars kept talking at him, explaining that the old counter came from a shed in Le Mans and the tables, chairs and original metro benches came from a warehouse in Épinay-sur-Seine. He let him talk. Nor was he interested in the fact that Lars was going to America for a year and was urgently looking for a buyer for his Golf Cabriolet.

- I'm a student, he said, I can't afford a car. I'm happy if I can make ends meet to some extent with what I earn from my two jobs, and besides, I don't even need a car here in Heidelberg.

Again she directed her gaze at him.

- I think she's interested in you, Lars said and grinned.

- Who?

- Well, the pretty blonde, don't you see how she keeps looking over at you?

- To me?

- Of course, you can see that, Lars replied. He looked at her, directly into her eyes. For seconds she smiled at him.

- So I'll be off, said Lars, and if you do change your mind about the convertible, here's my phone number, you can always take a test drive if you like.

Lars had barely left his seat when the blonde young woman stood up, approached him, placed her cocktail glass next to his beer on the bar, and asked with a teasing glance: May I? While, without waiting for his answer, she gracefully slid onto Lars' vacated barstool. He stared at her perplexed, so irritated that he didn't immediately know what to say.

- Or am I disturbing you? Would you rather be alone? she asked.

- No, you are not disturbing, not at all, he replied, after the first brief moment of surprise, with a charming smile. But who would not have said that? Who would have rejected such an attractive woman?

- My name is Sylvia and I am a student of Media Management and Advertising Psychology. My friends call me Sylvie, you can say Sylvie if you like. The way she looked at him. What did this woman want from him? Feeling self-conscious, he turned away from her and stared at the lined-up bottles behind the counter. Her obvious interest in him, in him of all people, when there were heaps of other men here in this bar, irritated him ... and it fascinated him, it flattered his ego.

- Are you waiting for your friend? she asked.

He did not answer. He did not have a girlfriend. His last relationship was over a year ago. Sylvie, his gaze slid scrutinizingly over her face. What had he done to deserve this? What was so special about him that this picture-perfect woman's choice had just fallen on him? She caught his questioning look and smiled, a disarming, ravishing smile, a smile that could not be resisted, that had to be returned, a smile that made this evening interesting and tingling.

- Are you here often? Do you study in Heidelberg? She went from 'you' to 'you' as if it were a matter of course.

- Yes, I study here, but I've never been to this bar, it's the first time today.

- And do you like it? she asked.

- Yes, I like it, very much indeed, he replied. Such an authentic French bar here in Heidelberg is really something out of the ordinary and has a very special charm.

- Yes, you're right, she said. There is hardly anyone who doesn't like it here. Even French tourists are fascinated by the ambience of this bar and I think it's very nice that we met here today. What a happy coincidence. For a fleeting moment, she put her hand on his arm. A thrill shot through his body, warm, soothing, arousingly beautiful. Yes, what a happy coincidence, he thought, and his mind went back to those lonely evenings in the last few months. Dennis and he had been living together in a shared apartment since the beginning of their studies, two rooms, kitchen with dining area and bathroom. In the first months they had been out together more often. But then Dennis had met Lara. He had nothing against her, only that she came almost every evening and left only the next morning, that bothered him. The walls in the old half-timbered house were very light. He heard their laughter, their fooling around, and felt lonely. That's when he had started working at the gas station in the evenings, in addition to his job at the supermarket, so that he wouldn't have to be a constant witness to this young happiness, their love that couldn't be overheard. Some evenings he had just wandered aimlessly through the streets and returned late at night. And today he had decided to have a beer here in this bar he had already heard about.

- What are you doing during the semester break? she asked.

- I will work, he replied.

- And otherwise, what do you do when you're not working? Tell me something about yourself. She moved closer to him and he willingly told her everything she wanted to know about him, from his childhood to his student days here in Heidelberg. She looked at him incessantly and listened with great interest.

- You work too much, she said. Of course, I think it's very commendable that you contribute so much to financing your studies, but you can't just work all the time, you have to treat yourself to something now and then, reward yourself for your everyday efforts with something special, have fun and enjoy life. He looked at her. Enjoying his life, how right she was. What could he afford? His daily routine was so strictly timed that there was hardly any room for anything else. Sylvie, the way she looked at him, this tender pull around her mouth, this warmth and cordiality that she exuded, the exciting touch of her hand that was just gently stroking his arm. And suddenly it was there, the longing, the longing for this woman, for her closeness, her tenderness. He could hardly take his eyes off her, not from that enchanting smile that embraced him so pleasantly and stole into his heart without much effort. What a wonderful, promising evening, after all these lonely months. She was still smiling, then reached for her cocktail glass, took a sip and then told him that she had grown up here in Heidelberg and always liked to come here to meet up with friends. And then she talked quite enthusiastically about her studies and also about Freud, Adler and Jung, the three great pioneers of depth psychology, about the ego and superego and the scientific exploration of the unconscious life of the soul.

- I'm impressed by what you know about the power of our unconscious, with all its wishes and desires, which often control our lives, far from reason and morality. But he found it even more impressive that she only had eyes for him, gave him her undivided attention, and thus quite unceremoniously let him feel her joy at having met him here in this bar. Sylvie, what an extraordinary, fascinating woman. He felt understood and noticed by her, flattered when she showered him with compliments and discovered talents in him with her psychologically trained gaze that he didn't even know he possessed. He had never met such a woman before. He enjoyed her closeness, her sympathetic smile that was only for him, and basked in the warming light of her admiration. She gave him, like no other woman before, the feeling of being something special, of being more interesting and attractive than all the other guys here in this bar. And that, that did him so damn good.

- I recently took part in an experiment in which the aim was to influence the buying behavior of customers in a supermarket, to increase their shopping quantity in a very targeted way, she then reported, and I must say I was very surprised at the result. Customers who just wanted to buy a quick little something often went to the checkout with far more in their shopping carts.

- No one is that naïve to be influenced like that, I just don't believe it," he said, and then added: "At least something like that couldn't happen to me.

- Really not? she asked with a smug smile.

- No, really not, my tight budget would not allow such a thing at all. Besides, if I only want to buy a small thing, I wouldn't take a shopping cart with me.

- Well, of course, these are already arguments, only you should not underestimate the job of psychologists, marketing and advertising experts, they are professionals. Their work to seduce customers into buying with ever more efficient methods is a very subtle, extremely perfect, psychological calculation, the result of decades of intensive research. Nothing is left to chance, everything is planned down to the smallest detail according to the latest scientific findings and presented in the best light. And the customer, caressed by subtle music, seductive fragrances and the sophisticated interplay of light and color, doesn't even notice how much we influence his buying decisions, how we arouse his attention, direct his steps, shape his desires and his will and, as if guided by magical powers, he buys things he didn't even know he needed before. But let's not talk about that, we really don't have to, on an evening like tonight, talk about the methods of influence in a supermarket, there are surely other topics, don't you think? Her look too indiscreet, much too indiscreet. He put his glass of beer to his lips and drank it all in one go.

- It is so beautiful here with you, she whispered. Her perfume enveloped him, her words caressed him and her lascivious look excited and captivated him. He could hardly believe it all.

- Have you ever been to Paris, she asked.

- Me, no, he replied.

- Paris is a great city. My friend Gina studies Romance languages at the Sorbonne and I have already visited her twice during the semester break. This year, unfortunately, I can't. Gina met a Frenchman in the Hemingway Bar, in the Hotel Ritz, and immediately fell in love with him. Love at first sight, she has no time for me now. Too bad, really too bad, I would have loved to go to Paris again this year, I was so looking forward to it. Well, c'est la vie. And yesterday, yesterday she called me and said that she was with her boyfriend on the Montmartre hill and he would have taken her in his arms in front of the wall of love,on which the phraseI love you, isimmortalized in 311 languages, and said to her:Je t'aime.In front of the Wall of Love on Montmartre Hill, that's so romantic. You can't imagine a better ambience for these three most beautiful words. And then in French:Je t'aime.I think that sounds much better than in German, more melodic, more romantic, it just has a very special charm, don't you think?

- Yes, you're right, he replied.

- And then, they went together to the Pont des Arts and hung a love lock with their names on the bridge railing, swore eternal love and then threw the key into the Seine. When she told me all this, it touched me deeply and I envied her this man, I never had such a romantic friend. Visibly moved by her words and her sad look, he almost took her comfortingly in his arms, but then he only briefly and a little sheepishly put his hand on her arm. She looked up at him gratefully and then went on to talk about Paris, about the highlights that you absolutely have to see, about the Eiffel Tower, the Sacré-Coeur Basilica, the Louvre, and also about Ernest Hemingway, who said to Aaron Hotchner:If you were lucky enough to be in Paris when you were young, you will carry the city with you for the rest of your life, wherever you go ...

- Yes, who could forget this fascinating, beguiling city of love, with its charm, with its lightness of being, once he has been there, she continued, once he has enjoyed this glamorous flair on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, once he has experienced the nightlife in the clubs, discotheques or in the Moulin Rouge. If he once danced with his great love on the Quai Saint-Bernard under the stars? For me, Paris is and remains the most romantic metropolis in the world, a place of longing that offers everything lovers could wish for.

Her hand that had been resting on his arm for some time as if forgotten, her red short dress that had slipped up even further, her tanned legs that touched his, her tender gaze and her red, inviting lips that came closer and closer.

- Do you also feel it sometimes, this longing? she breathed, this longing that wants to break out of everyday life, that wants to enjoy life, love to the fullest, this deep longing that wants to make our dreams and wishes come true? She looked at him very intimately and then continued: Shouldn't we give such a longing a chance?

The noise in the bar receded, the other guests ceased to exist. For him, there was only her, she who suddenly stroked his right cheek gently with her fingertips, she who, with her words and gestures of undisguised tenderness, awakened a desire in him that could hardly be suppressed. She, who with her heartfelt, loving smile extinguished even the last spark of sanity in him and with her sense-confusing charisma captivated him so much that he did not even notice her gaze with which she sharply appraised him again and again, just for a fraction of a second. This all-pervading, mercilessly calculating gaze, with which she registered every one of his gestures, every slightest emotion on his facial expression, in order to very carefully match every one of her words to it, he didn't notice it. He also didn't pay attention to the guys Sylvia had been sitting with before, they didn't interest him, nor did he register that Lars was now sitting with them, that they kept looking over at him and grinning. He saw only her, felt next to her as good as never before, was already floating on cloud nine.

Years later

Thursday, June 8, 2006

He stood at the open window and looked out at the glittering sea of lights of the city of Stuttgart, the colorful, glowing advertising messages that were getting bigger and bigger, clamoring for attention, dominating the cityscape, the pulsating traffic and the many people who were still on the move. People with all their wishes and desires, in the midst of this labyrinth of lights, in this world of pleasure and consumption that did not rest even at night. He had undone the top button of his shirt, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. It was a warm summer evening, the first warm summer evening of the year. And while the noise of the turbulent city drifted up to him, his gaze rested for minutes on these night owls, all of whom didn't want to miss anything, who wanted to experience something when their desires and the nightclubs came to life.

He lit a cigarette and for a brief moment he too felt that longing, lost in memories, dreams he had once dreamed, but then his features hardened and his thoughts focused on her. How would she react to his call? Would she hang up right away? I wouldn't put it past her. So what if she did, he thought, and took a big drag, blowing the smoke into the air with relish, watching it rise up and get caught in a spider web above him in the left window alcove. It wouldn't change his plan significantly, no, it wouldn't. And yet, suddenly there was an uneasy feeling, but only so fleeting that it could be ignored.

He again fixed his gaze on the fragile structure between the window frame and the brickwork. With an almost scientific interest, he looked with fascination at the finely spun, almost invisible threads of this spider web. He could not discover the spider that had created this masterful construction anywhere, but somewhere it was, somewhere it sat lurking, waiting for its victim. What an intelligent animal, what a perfectly thought out strategy, he thought, and instinctively an amused, appreciative smile flitted across his face. The victim, it would come, the spider knew that, it didn't have to force it to, completely voluntarily it would fly into its web and get caught in those gossamer, barely visible threads. All the spider had to do was wait. And while the city in which it lived was in a state of emergency, it sat here somewhere in its hiding place, unmoved by all this activity, and waited.

He turned away from the spider's web and looked down at the street, where a few young people were waving flags as they passed by, chanting "Soccer is our life, because King Soccer rules the world. For weeks, even months, everything had revolved around King Soccer, a ball composed of black and white pentagons and hexagons, which had taken up its unrestricted reign and caused the marketing and advertising machinery to run at full speed. Balls were everywhere in the shop windows, surrounded by soccer accessories, from FIFA caps to matching soccer socks, soccer soup on dishes decorated with soccer balls, soccer ball grills, World Cup soccer players made of quark dough, and kicking garden gnomes. Business with the ball was booming. Everyone got in on the act: the consumer goods industry and retailers, restaurateurs, butchers, bakers and event organizers, and advertising in any case. The FIFA sponsors, who had invested a lot of money, set a gigantic marketing roller rolling. They left nothing to chance. No one was allowed to escape their advertising messages, the omnipresent World Cup mania, this billion-dollar business around the ball. World Cup fever rose from hour to hour. Tomorrow at 6:00 p.m., it would reach its temporary climax at the opening match between Germany and Costa Rica. He inhaled deeply the smoke from his cigarette. He was not a soccer fan. Of course he would watch the one or other game, one could not completely escape this soccer euphoria. But basically he was only interested in one game, his game, and that started today. His gaze flew over the glaring, alluring neon signs, the colorful World Cup flags hanging in the windows, over to Schlossplatz, where, in addition to snack and souvenir stands, three large video screens had been set up for the live broadcasts. Work had been carried out under high pressure during the last weeks and months. The construction work in the city center, the highways around Stuttgart, everything had to be ready by the time the World Cup kicked off in order to be able to offer the fans a glamorous stage. The city of Stuttgart had invested a lot in this major event in order to inspire the friends from all over the world for their city, to be able to welcome them with cosmopolitanism and hospitality.

His gaze left the open-air stage, fleetingly touched the art museum, this brightly lit glass cube on Kleiner Schlossplatz, the imposing Gothic architecture of the collegiate church illuminated by floor spotlights, the warmly shimmering lights of the old palace, and then crossed Konrad-Adenauer-Strasse over to the justice district, to the many windows of the apartment buildings in which lights were still burning. At one of the apartment buildings, he then lingered for several minutes by a window on the second floor until he finally returned, to the smoldering red of his cigarette and the smoke lost in the darkness of the room. The luminous digits of his clock radio beside his bed read 10:58 pm. There was that unusual mixture of melancholy and cold determination in his gaze now. He took one last drag, then stubbed out the nearly burned-out cigarette in the ashtray, picked up the phone and dialed her number.

- She winced, looking up from her papers in irritation. She had still been working on the texts of a layout for her advertising agency. She looked at her phone, then at her wristwatch. Who could that be? An uneasy feeling crept over her. Who could still want something from her at this hour? Persistent ringing broke through the silence of the room, imposing itself on her like an imminent threat. Three times, four times, after the fifth time, she picked up the phone.

- Berger, she announced. At the other end of the line, everything remained silent.

- Hello? Her voice sounded impatient. She was about to hang up, when she heard someone clear their throat, then: Excuse me ... your voice. Silence.

- My voice? What about my voice?

- Please forgive me, I'm a bit confused, I imagined them differently.

- You imagined my voice differently? she asked.

- Yes, quite different. There was another pause. Berger, how that sounds from your mouth, so cool, so distant, aren't you the Anja of the Mertens advertising agency?

- Yes, I work at the Mertens agency, what is it about, please? He did not answer. He couldn't. He was completely spellbound by the spectacle that had just presented itself to him. An insect had just become hopelessly entangled in a spider's web. Completely unsuspecting, without recognizing the danger, it had flown into the spider's web. Now it wriggled desperately in its fear of death to escape the clutches of the spider, but it had no chance, not the slightest. The spider, which had appeared instantly as if from nowhere, had already begun spinning in its prey. There was no escape anymore.

- Listen, if you don't tell me what you want me to do, I'm going to hang up now.

- No, please don't..., please don't hang up. I ..., I have to talk to you. I ... He spoke haltingly, broke off. Unconsciously, she held her breath. Her fingers tightened around the receiver and an oppressive feeling crept over her. What did this stranger want from her? Suddenly, on the other end of the line, the Titanic song;My Heart Will Go Onby Céline Dion.

- What a touchingly beautiful voice, he continued. These heartfelt feelings until beyond death. Did you see the movie with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, too? That beautiful couple, poor artist Jack Dawson and English lady Rose DeWitt Bukater, what a great love and then that tragic ending. He drowns in the depths of the Atlantic and with him about 1500 people with all their longings and dreams for a better, happier life in America. The Titanic is therefore also called the ship of lost dreams, did you know that?

- What do you want from me? she interrupted him indignantly and tried to suppress her growing restlessness. Why did she let herself get involved in this conversation, why didn't she just hang up? But there was something in his voice that she couldn't put her finger on, something that drew her in magically, that forced her to keep listening to him. He turned off the music. It was quiet again at the other end of the line, eerie, frighteningly quiet.

- I ..., he interrupted the silence, I wanted to hear your voice.

- You wanted to hear my voice? And that's why you call me in the middle of the night?

- Well, I still saw the light on in your apartment, I just couldn't help it, I had to dial your number. He was now lying on his bed, looking at a photo of her in the dim light of his bedside lamp, running his fingertips over the contours of her narrow face, the fine features around her nose and mouth, gently touching her smiling, finely curved lips and feeling the excitement that ran through his whole body.

- For days I've been thinking about what she could be like, your voice, he continued, the voice of the woman who magically attracts me, who awakens longings in me and promises the fulfillment of my dreams. And when I called you now, I had a very specific idea, yes, I was so firmly convinced of the voice, the way I imagined it could fit you, that it frightened me, your voice. This discrepancy. Excuse me for being so direct, but when such an enchanting woman seduces a man so irresistibly, takes him to the most beautiful luxury locations and promises him paradise on earth, he doesn't expect such a cool, business-like voice, he simply has completely different expectations. A cold breeze brushed his naked upper body. He had taken off his shirt. It lay crumpled up next to his bed.

Other expectations? What kind of expectations did this guy have? An instant feeling of fear spread through her. At this point, at the latest, she should have ended the conversation. She couldn't explain why she still didn't. Instead, she clutched the receiver tightly and asked: "Who are you? His voice sounded somehow familiar to her. She had heard this distinctive, melodic voice somewhere before.

- Who am I? But Anja, I am Johnny, you know me. No one knows me like you do, no one knows my most secret desires,my longings and dreams hidden deep inside like you do.

- Listen, I don't know you and I'm not interested in your wishes and desires. Don't you have anything else todo than harass women with your calls at night? Angry and visibly annoyed, she pushed the call away.

Any? A cold smile played around his mouth. But Anja, I'm not calling just any women. I chose you. It was this striking resemblance that forced me to do it, this same long blond hair, the blue eyes, the almost identical facial features and then also these similar jobs, I couldn't help it, I had to choose you. A cold smile played around his lips. He shivered, got up, went to the window to close it, and saw that the spider had disappeared again, only the tightly tied insect was still hanging in the spider's web. For seconds he stared at it. Was the insect dead or still alive? Spiders, when there is no need to consume their prey at the moment, can only paralyze it with their bite, turning it into a kind of living stock. The insect would then have to wait agonizingly for endless hours for the redeeming death, would have to wait for the poisonous digestive juice that the spider, just before it felt like eating it, would inject into it to turn it into a digestible, ready-to-eat food mush. And during this desperate wait, this little animal might succumb to the insane hope of being able to free itself from these extremely strong threads in which the spider had spun it. For several more minutes he looked at this tightly tied insect, waiting for the spider, but it did not come, it had no appetite now for this tidbit in its web. He closed the window, went back to bed, covered himself with the light down comforter, turned off the light, and gazed for a long time into the smoke-filled darkness.

Johnny, who was this guy? Why had she let herself be drawn into this conversation for so long? She should have hung up immediately. But this voice, this voice she knew. Where had she heard this voice before? She didn't know. She just couldn't think of it. A bottomless impertinence, calling her in the middle of the night. She turned out the light and went into the bathroom. She didn't know any Johnny, call it a night.She had to go to bed, she had a busy day tomorrow, she couldn't be bothered with this wacky guy any longer now. When she looked in the mirror in the bathroom and saw her tired face, suddenly another face appeared in her mind's eye, a familiar one. The shock that ran through her made her freeze instantly. That was not possible, that was completely out of the question, that could not be. But it was his voice. Yes, quite definitely, she was suddenly quite sure of that, there was absolutely no doubt about it. That distinctive, melodic voice on the phone earlier was the voice of Johnny Krüger, the movie actor, the voice that had thrilled millions of fans and made women's hearts beat faster. Anja saw her horrified eyes staring back at her from the mirror. She struggled for composure. Johnny Kruger. A strange chill crept up her legs and slowly spread throughout her body. She held on to the sink. Johnny Kruger had been dead for three years. He had died in a yacht accident.

Friday, June 9, 2006

Stefan Mertens, the senior director of the advertising agency, came into her office.

- Good morning Anja, he said. She looked up from her papers, looked into his gaunt face with the high forehead and the gray, thinning hair, and knew immediately that something must have happened that was bothering him very much.

- Good morning Stefan, she replied with a loving smile. Would you like a coffee?

- No, thanks Anja, I've already had two cups today. I just wanted to tell you that Bernsdorf called me last night. He had to lay off five employees. They had suffered considerable losses last year and a leaner organization was therefore unavoidable. He stood there with his shoulders slumped and Anja felt how much this news had hit him.

- I'm very sorry for Bernsdorf, she said sympathetically. Bernsdorf and Stefan had studied together and then both managed to fulfill their dream of owning their own advertising agency. They had experienced ups and downs, both privately and in business, and even if contact had broken off for a while now and then, their friendship had remained intact all these decades.

Old man Mertens stepped up to the window and looked out for a while, lost in thought. Then he turned around and said: "The difficult economic situation over the past five years has hit the advertising industry particularly hard. The advertising budgets of the big companies have steadily declined, and many orders have failed to materialize. Restlessly, he paced up and down in her office. Clients for whom we had worked successfully for years suddenly put out a presentation competition in order to cut costs. The cutthroat competition is getting tougher and more ruthless. Many agencies are fighting for sheer survival, are shrinking, have been taken over or have disappeared from the market altogether. As soon as the industry starts to weaken, marketing executives start to cut back, and the advertising budget is where most of the cuts are made. And some question our work at all. The whole economy is characterized by caution and pessimism.

- The order situation in the industry has improved considerably this year after all, and there is also a clear upward trend among agencies, Anja said.

- This year and then? I don't believe in a lasting upswing. 2006 is an exceptional year. Without the VAT pull-forward effect and the World Cup, we would only have another weak year.

- Stefan, you mustn't be too pessimistic about our situation. We have significantly more new customer inquiries this year than last year, especially in the beauty and wellness sector.

- Yes, perhaps I see it all too pessimistically, but I am no longer able to cope with the daily stress, the permanent pressure to perform, the long working days as I used to. I feel the age that is becoming more and more noticeable. I don't know how much longer I will have the strength to hold on to this agency if Kai doesn't want to take it over, he still hasn't said anything about it. Yes, the whole staff was waiting to see what Kai, Stefan's only son, would decide. He had been on a trip abroad for a year. Far away from our digitalized everyday life, our stimulus-flooded and hectic world, he wanted to reflect on the advertising agency and his life, wanted to think about whether it is worthwhile to advertise products with their short-lived, ever faster fashion and model cycles that consume immense resources, fill landfills and ruthlessly exploit our nature.

Stefan dropped heavily into one of the visitor's chairs, leaned back and crossed his legs. Resignation looked out at her from his face. He had worked for this agency for decades; it was his life. Tough and hard on himself, he had subordinated everything to it, including his private life.

- You know, sometimes I lie in bed at night and wonder if it's all worth it anymore, this eternal battle that you try to win and then lose step by step," Stefan said. I've lost my wife, the agency has been in the red for months, and my heart attack has shown me that my body can let me down from one minute to the next, that life can suddenly be over. Anja looked sympathetically at his tired eyes. After the death of his wife, who had died of cancer two years ago, Stefan had suffered a severe heart attack and had been in the hospital for weeks. Anja had visited him often. She had sat at his bedside, looking for comforting words that were not there and waiting for his: Why? Why her of all people?

When Anja picked Stefan up from the hospital after his discharge because Kai had an urgent appointment, there was nothing about him to suggest the once agile, self-confident boss of one of the most successful advertising agencies. He had sat slumped next to her in the car, staring absent-mindedly at the pulsating traffic. The arbitrariness of chance had torn him unpredictably and cruelly from his life, and he had had to learn to accept it, to adapt to these dramatically changed circumstances, because life went on, unimpressed by the suffering of individuals who almost broke as a result of the loss of a loved one. For Stefan, too, it had gone on. But it had not been so easy, this living on afterwards. Not until today. Anja knew how much effort he had had to make to keep going, to even come close to being the agency boss he had once been.

- I'm meeting with Bernsdorf tonight. He had stopped and looked at her scrutinizingly.

- You look a little pale today, are you not feeling well?

- Yes, I'm fine Stefan, I just got to bed a little late last night.

He nodded, then said, "You know I'm always here for you.

- I know Stefan, she said, feeling the bond that had developed over the years and had become even more intense since last year when Kai was on his trip abroad.

- By the way, I would be happy if you could come by for a coffee again sometime.

- Yes with pleasure Stefan.

- This Sunday I can't, but how about the next? he asked.

- Yes, I would be happy to come, she replied.

- Fine, next Sunday afternoon then. He smiled at her and left her office.

Shortly after, Ann-Kathrin Schneider, the agency's secretary, came and brought her some documents and also a letter addressed to her personally. Usually they talked for a while, they were friends and also met privately, but today she was in a hurry and left right away. Anja opened the envelope and an inner turmoil suddenly spread through her as she pulled out a red letter and a ticket forFaust 21.

Good morning Anja, did you sleep well? I lay awake all night thinking about you after our phone call. I was completely confused because you reacted so dismissively last night. I had imagined our first conversation to be completely different. Why did you say you didn't know me and weren't interested in me? Do you think I don't notice how they're always after me, your market researchers, trend and futurologists, anthropologists and psychologists. And how they are all watching me, every one of my movements, even the smallest emotional movement of mine, is being studied and evaluated by them so that you can seduce me and make me happy.

Anja stared stunned at the letter. That was the guy from yesterday. What did he want from her?

She would have liked to tear up the letter right away and throw it in the trash, but then she read on: "At first I thought, that's going too far, that's a gross violation of your privacy, but then, when I saw you for the first time, my enchanting Anja, I thought, why not, go ahead, let yourself be seduced. There is nothing better in life than to be seduced by such an attractive woman. Besides, it's all for your own good. This woman only wants your happiness and you don't reject such a woman, you don't push her off the edge of the bed. Because honestly, who is still interested in your happiness nowadays? Today, most people are only interested in power and maximizing profits. And then a charming copywriter comes along and promises you happiness, a carefree, beautiful life, the fulfillment of your desires and dreams, which your own life has always kept from you.

By the way, do you know Jean-Jacques Rousseau? He was one of the most important French philosophers and writers of the 18th century and wrote in his main educational work Émile:We are born twice, as it were, once to existence, the other time to life ...And I, I want to live at last. I am tired of this dreary existence. Yes, I am so tired of this endangered job, where I earn the subsistence level and have to slave away from morning to night. I'm so fed up with this arrogant, constantly nagging boss with his rules and instructions, this shabby office, these musty files, these annoying tables and figures, this is no life. And then there are these eternal bottlenecks at the end of the month and these barely manageable loans and financing plans. I don't want all that anymore.Man is born free and everywhere he lies in chains,wrote Rousseau. The man was right, this daily pressure to perform, this existence full of to-do lists, that is no life. And therefore free me from my chains, get me out of these restricted, miserable living conditions, out of this shabby two-room apartment in this run-down part of town and kidnap me, but please not to this island of Robinson Crusoe, of which this Rousseau was so enthusiastic in his closeness to nature, but where I then also have to fight for survival every day and first build a primitive hut, but whisk me away to the paradisiacal Seychelles or Maldives in the turquoise sea or to Saint-Tropez, on the fantastically beautiful Côte d'Azur, to this city of the rich and beautiful, and in a luxurious bungalow, because only there can my creative spirit with its artistic ambitions then really unfold freely and enjoy life to the full. Because to croak without having really lived, without having experienced life in all facets wild and intoxicating, like your perfect, successful and flawlessly beautiful people in these fantastically beautiful locations, I do not want that. And therefore kidnap and seduce me, I am already so looking forward to you and I would like to thank you, of course, for all that you do for me. And when I opened the Stuttgarter Zeitung this morning, it literally jumped into my eyes:Faust 21,play after Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. That's it, I thought at once, a ticket forFaust 21,that's the right present for my enchanting seductress. You must have heard about this political theater project by Volker Lösch. I am convinced that you will like it, especially this Mephisto will inspire you, he is, so to speak, a colleague of yours. Of course, I have to admit that Goethe's Faust, compulsory reading in school, used to bore me so much that I had to struggle from one page to the next. But today, today this Faust lies on my bedside table. Again and again I read this work and find it great. It is this Mephisto, this fascinating personality, that magically attracts me, that simply won't let me go. What a grandiose seducer. How he managed to put this Faust under his spell and lead him like a puppet, ingenious, simply ingenious. You have to imagine, this Faust was not just some naive person, Faust was a scientist, an intelligent guy, but also a human being with all his desires and longings, longings that pushed for fulfillment, that wanted a different, better life. And that's the only reason why this Mephisto managed to seduce him, to simply push his mind, his intelligence, aside. Yes, the mind simply didn't stand a chance with the aging scientist who was dissatisfied with his life and considered his spiritual striving pointless. The longing for enjoyment of life and sensual adventures that Mephisto had awakened in him was simply too great. He could not resist this temptation. The dream of a more promising, more desirable world, this captivating breath of the new, the unknown, drew him magically. Yes, he no longer wanted this old academic world, which brought him no new insights, no longer wanted to torture himself through life with this sober, monotonous science, he wanted, like me, to escape this dreary existence and enjoy life to the fullest, wanted to once again feel the power of youth within himself, the intensity of love, of passion. These all-blasting desires and then finally: ...In the valley green hopeful happiness; the old winter, in its weakness, retreated into rough mountains ...

Happiness of hope, finally light on the horizon, sun, warmth, the old, weak winter retreated and freed from the cold torpor, freed from everything burdensome and oppressive, this Faust could once again take off, once again really step on the gas and enjoy his life to the fullest. Just like me, my beloved Anja, hopeful happiness now exists for me too, because you are here now, have stepped into my monotonous, frustrating existence like a warming ray of sunshine and have shown me how beautiful life can be, life in this fantastically beautiful, happiness-promising advertising wonderland, created by such an enchanting copywriter.

I've already watched a rehearsal ofFaust 21and it totally thrilled me. In this theater project, the director, Volker Lösch, combines Goethe's verses with daily and economic politics, interferes in the events of the city and the country, for example in the billion-euro project Stuttgart 21,which issupposed to modernize the city. Goethe's Faust, who longs for pleasure and enjoyment, for rejuvenation and omnipotence, becomes in Lösch's performance a contemporary Faust, who strives for power and profit and whose longing is fulfilled in the gigantomania of large-scale economic projects. And so an old material is given a very contemporary, very political view. You will come, won't you? Tomorrow evening, 8:00 p.m., Schauspielhaus, Oberer Schlossgarten 6. I am convinced that you will also enjoyFaust 21.Maybe you, as the Mephisto of today's consumerist society, can even learn something from your grandiose colleague, since in your industry one is always on the lookout for new, even more efficient psychological tricks. In any case, I'm looking forward to our first date, to our first hours together at the Schauspielhaus, to the beginning of a happy, dreamlike time.

Your Johnny

Anja stared at the ticket, read the letter a second time and felt with every sentence that something threatening, something unstoppable was entering her life. Annoyance, anger rose in her and finally: fear, fear of this man.

- Good morning Anja. She winced, looking startled at Mike Schäfer, the agency's creative director, standing in front of her. She hadn't heard him come in.

- I'm looking for the briefing from Gabelmann, Ann-Kathrin said you had it.

- Me? she asked, completely perplexed.

- Is something wrong? You look so distraught.

- No, no, I ..., Anja hastily slid the letter under her documents.

- Who writes to you on red stationery? he asked.

- The briefing, yes, I think I have that here somewhere. Completely confused, she searched on her desk for Gabelmann's documents, which contained the most important information about his marketing goals for his new advertising project.

- Here it is. She handed it to Mike and waited for him to leave. But he remained standing.

- I'll pick you up tomorrow around 7:00 pm, is that okay with you?

- Tomorrow? Anja looked at him questioningly.

- Tomorrow evening is the opening party of the wellness and beauty farm, Weinhardt has invited us, have you forgotten? asked Mike.

- Oh, right, sorry, I ...

- You're coming, right?

- Yes, of course, she replied and forced herself to smile. Of course I'll come with you. She had been looking forward to this opening party, had bought a dress especially for the occasion. She hadn't been to a party in a long time, had spent most of her evenings alone at home in the last few months. Since the breakup with Chris, she had withdrawn somewhat. Even when Mike, who had been working at the agency for three months, had invited her out to dinner one or two times, she had always had an excuse at first. But he had remained persistent, always friendly and kind, and she thought the two evenings they had spent together in the meantime had been very nice and entertaining.

- Fine, then tomorrow around 19:00?

- Yes, that's fine, replied Anja.

- I'm looking forward to the evening, he said, smiled at her and went back to his office with the briefing. Yes, she was also looking forward to this evening. They had won the presentation competition against seven agencies. Mr. Weinhardt, the owner of the Beauty Wellness Oasis, had chosen her agency relatively quickly. Their strategic competence in the 'Fashion & Beauty' sector and their creative ideas for the image-building campaign, which should reach as many target groups as possible, had convinced him impressively right from the start. It would certainly be a nice evening.

November 2005

Inch by inch, the saw chain ate its way through the trunk of the large birch tree on the neighboring property with a rattling, deafening noise. Fog enveloped the houses, descended on the streets, the gardens and the Neckar. Everything was gray and gloomy on this cold November day in Tübingen.

Art historian and painter Claus Hoffmann sat alone, slumped over, in his armchair in front of the large living room window, looking out at the deck chair in his garden. Day after day he sat here, from morning to night, often late into the night, week after week. Torn out of a world full of happiness and dreams for the future, he sat alone in this cold, silent house, alone with his pain and his memories, alone in this gloomy, cold world from which all color had gone.

Today, however, the two men on the neighboring property disturbed this silence and forced him, with their loud chainsaw and powerful axe blows, to leave the deck chair again and again and direct his gaze to their work. All the trees that for decades had powerfully withstood every storm, no matter how violent, had been felled in the meantime, except for this birch tree, where they had already cut a drop notch in the trunk at the bottom above the root base on the side to which it was to fall. Now they were sawing from the other side of the trunk towards the notch. Just before they reached it, they pulled back the chainsaw and the all-pervasive, unnerving sound they made as they worked fell silent. Still the birch stood there calm and majestic, in all its dignity, with its spreading branches, as if the injury they had inflicted on it could not harm it. The telephone rang. Hoffmann ignored it. Immobile, he sat there, concentrating on the men's work. One of them now fetched an axe and began to drive a wedge into the felling cut with massive blows. In a moment, in a moment, the birch tree had to fall. The branches and the remaining autumn leaves began to tremble under the force of the blows. One last powerful axe blow, a dull burst, cracking and crashing, the tree crashed to the ground soaked by the rain. Hoffmann stared at the branches, at their last helpless swaying, until they finally lay prostrate, robbed of their existence, quietly on the neighboring property, resigned to their fate. His gaze wandered over the sawed-off branches of the other trees, the mangled trunks and dug-up tree roots. Tree roots that still clung to the last remnants of dark, wet soil, soil that had allowed them to grow for decades, that had allowed them to live. Within a few hours it had now been taken from them, their life. In Corinna's case, it had been only a few minutes or even seconds. She had died at the scene of the accident shortly after the collision.

Corinna. Tears came to his eyes. Everything in him longed for her, for her closeness, for her shining eyes, her carefree, happy laughter, for every single so precious, happy moment. They were going to move in together. She had already quit her job as a florist in Heilbronn. Desperately, his eyes wandered back to the empty deck chair next to the lily pond. It had been her favorite place. From there, she had always watched the filigree, colorful dragonflies perform their fascinating feats of flight.

- They dance, she had always said, when the dragonflies, in their flight over the pond, made abrupt changes of direction, even on the day when she had lain on that deck chair for the last time.

- Look how they are dancing again. I think they are very happy, as insanely happy as we are. She had pulled him to her and kissed him passionately.

- By the way, you and I will also dance tonight, I brought a CD. Before we fly to Crete, you absolutely have to learn to dance Sirtaki. Sirtaki, how he would love to dance sirtaki with her again, once again as carefree as that evening, twirling through the living room with her.

- And now one step to the right, then cross the left foot in front over the right and then ...

- Corinna, I've never been a good dancer and this sirtaki, I ...

- Now with her left foot a step forward, not to the side, she had interrupted him and with a great deal of patience kept improving his missteps.

- You can do it, Anthony Quinn did it too, even though he wasn't particularly talented as a dancer either. He also had to learn the Sirtaki for his role as Alexis Sorbas. And he did it well, very well in fact, take heart, we'll get it right. And they had danced and danced. She had given him a tender, encouraging smile again and again, and at some point he had really enjoyed it.

- See, it works after all! she had shouted enthusiastically. Only two more days, then we will dance Sirtaki on Crete, at the bathing bay of Stavros, where Anthony Quinn also danced. Our first vacation together, I'm really looking forward to it.