Robert, a sixty-year-old former investigator for the Zurich drug squad, lives a very secluded life. At Rome airport, he meets the young American Megan, who is on her first trip to Europe. Due to a bomb threat, the airport must be evacuated, all passengers are put up in hotels and the two stranded people become close. But who is Megan and why does she seek contact with him of all people, the tired old man who can no longer find any real meaning in life? Why does nothing discourage her and why does she stay close to him all the time? Conflicted between skepticism and longing for closeness, Robert accepts the chance acquaintance that brings him two nights of love. In the end, Megan is like an ocean wave that slowly but steadily washes away the boulder in the universal certainty that she has nothing more to do than stick with it. However, she hasn't reckoned with Robert's reawakening investigative spirit ... And so Megan meets her greatest adversary.
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Table of contents
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Wax wings of retribution
Nelle Lin
The story
Robert, a sixty-year-old former investigator for the Zurich drug squad, lives a very secluded life. At Rome airport, he meets the young American Megan, who is on her first trip to Europe. Due to a bomb threat, the airport must be evacuated, all passengers are put up in hotels and the two stranded people become close. But who is Megan and why does she seek contact with him of all people, the tired old man who can no longer find any real meaning in life? Why does nothing discourage her and why does she stay close to him all the time?Conflicted between skepticism and longing for closeness, Robert accepts the chance acquaintance that brings him two nights of love. In the end, Megan is like an ocean wave that slowly but steadily washes away the boulder in the universal certainty that she has nothing more to do than stick with it. However, she hasn't reckoned with Robert's reawakening investigative spirit ... And so Megan meets her greatest adversary.
The author
Forensic psychiatrist, living and working in Switzerland. Adherent to the philosophy of development until the end of life.
Cover image AI-generated
Cover design: Rouska Nenov
CH-8213 Neunkirch
1.
Robert slept well that night. The fire in the fireplace had gone out and it was insanely cold, but the silence at night, far away from the thundering of the trucks, the galloping of the neighbors in the staircase and the slamming of doors, did him good. The silence was deep inside him and he lay paralyzed under the warm woolen blankets, wishing that this state would last forever. Everything was beautiful, everything was as it should be. He was alone, as he had not always been, but for some years now, yes, for some long years, even if it no longer bothered him and was actually a very good thing. Last night he had listened to records on the old gramophone and his brain was still humming the echo of "Summer Wine" for a long time afterwards, until he fell asleep.
"Strawberries, cherries and an angel`s kiss in spring.
My summer wine is really made from all these things.
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time.
And I will give to you summer wine (...)"
He had listened to that, my God, he thought, the winter isn't over yet, but he's thinking about summer, as if he wants everything at the same time and has no more patience. But he sang along, danced lightly to himself and ... was happy! No clenched fists, no bated breath, no worried thoughts, no sadness ...
His lungs took a deep breath and it was as if a yellow-orange light came in with it, warming and relaxing him. His body was no longer the body of a sixty-year-old man, plagued by the whistling in his ears, the kidney stones, stomach pains and high blood pressure - without exaggerating, the body that often felt like a coffin in which his soul lay buried.
He looked at the window in front of him as the sun crept out from under the upper window frames and illuminated the room. Robert stared into the light, which gave the world back all the colors that had gone out during the night and, as long as it was there, freed him from worries and loneliness. In the light, the green outside smelled and even the cooled earth was fragrant. There didn't have to be flowers for you to smell and feel the life around you. It was all well and good how he felt now, how he saw things around him, but why couldn't it always stay like this, why couldn't he always see it like this?
After breakfast - he didn't eat much, just an egg and a slice of bread with cheese - he set off for a walk. The blue of the lake was enchanting and immediately he smiled again, but this time it wasn't a heartfelt smile, it was just a smile out of the superficiality of the moment, which demanded nothing more of him than to stop right there and look in front of him. It was a reflex, an echo of an old happiness he had felt on this lakeside many years ago. Just like the records he had listened to last night, just like the light-footed dance to which the music made him glide, just like the old feeling of intimacy and love that he had once felt in this chalet for several days together with Liane. But even now it was beautiful because it was quiet and calm. Small puddles of water had formed in the curves of the stones, reflecting the glittering sunlight. The wind came up and hit a small gush of water against the wooden jetty. A few splashes of water flew over, caught his hand and he felt how cold the water was.
And then the moment was over.
The heaviness overcame him again and Robert walked away, bent over as if he had been broken in his middle and as if the whole sky had fallen on his shoulders.
I have to go home, he thought, I've had enough oxygen and none of all this here will do me any good.
He arrived at the chalet, got into his car, and drove off without going into the house and taking his luggage with him. Perhaps he had forgotten it.
Robert had to be careful, very careful, that he didn't drive off the winding road, so he took his foot off the accelerator. Then it suddenly occurred to him that it wouldn't be so bad if he went off the road and fell down the cliff. He even wondered why this had frightened him so much in the past, when it would surely only be a matter of a few painful moments before the almighty calm of death fell over him. The hum of the engine caused him to sink into a strange tiredness and he felt his eyelids getting heavier and finally closing completely. So nice, he thought. So it's that easy, I'm about to fall asleep and let go ... yes, let go ...
Suddenly a loud honk. A truck drove up the road and towards Robert's car. The driver's face was white as a sheet. He pressed the horn with both hands and flashed his headlights several times. Robert woke up from his drowsiness and hastily pressed on the brakes. At least he was in time. The truck drove past and he could see the wildly gesticulating driver. Anger and fear in his face.
Robert pulled over. He was breathing heavily, his pulse was racing and it felt as if a stone had been lodged in the pit of his stomach. The pressure in his left back had increased and he thought about his diseased kidney and the fact that he hadn't taken his diuretic. He had forgotten. Like so many things, again and again. The veil of forgetfulness was the shadow, the harbinger of the abyss into which he would soon fall one way or another.
"Too bad," he said half aloud to himself. "It would have been over in one fell swoop."
Robert turned around and drove back to the chalet. He put out the fire in the fireplace, checked that the power was off and this time took his rucksack with him.
2.
It was a twilight and a silence that felt very strange. After yesterday's incident, Robert had gone to bed and just slept. He was exhausted and didn't even know why. It scared him how helplessly he was at the mercy of what was going through his head and how quickly his mind had shut down. His left kidney was glowing because it had become inflamed, his liver had to process a lot of alcohol again, erosions had certainly formed in his stomach and blood was seeping out of it, drop by drop. The blood mixed with the mucus of the white, inflamed whale, just like the pictures from the last gastroscopy had shown. Now it didn't matter. Everything. Maybe just not the dream last night, in which a woman had come to him with a little girl in her arms. The child held out a piece of paper on which she had drawn flowers. Robert even sensed that these flowers gave off a delicate scent, even though he knew that flowers on paper could not smell. He took the paper, but it disintegrated into dust in his hands. Then Robert woke up, got up and drank a glass of red wine. And then another. Three hours later, when the bottle was empty, he still couldn't get to sleep, even though he was terribly tired. The pain in his left groin rose up to below his ribcage and made breathing difficult. He was overcome with a dull fear of having another heart attack, then he remembered that he had been about to throw himself off a cliff the day before. He wondered how this fear of a heart attack, which came close to a fear of death, was even possible if he had also felt a desire to die. A complete loss of reason, that's all it could be! The madness of old age cast its shadow over him, even much earlier than with other people. But then, if that was the way it was going to be, it should happen! The main thing was that he would no longer feel anything so bad afterwards and all the misery of the world that seemed to have accumulated in his soul would dissolve forever. Then it occurred to Robert that it wasn't death itself that he was afraid of, but the possibly arduous path to it, the powerlessness in the face of the finality of everything that would happen to him. The pain in his left kidney made every step a torture, but he went into the shower and washed himself with all possible care. The warmth and the painkillers made it more bearable. When he lay down in bed, the pain had subsided, but the bed felt like a stretcher.
"I can't leave without saying goodbye to Felina," he whispered. "I can't do that to her. When I wake up, I'll make my way to her."
3.
Robert knew immediately what he had set out to do the night before. It was still dark and his eyes couldn't see much, but it was as if his mind could see everything. He knew this feeling from the time when he went to sports training every day and solved chess puzzles in the evenings to keep his mind fit. It was good to feel alive. The pressure in his left groin was dull and his urine was brown, but everything was fine. Fine, in fact. He knew other people who lived without a partner or family and was now grumbling to himself that he had given himself up so much. What had happened to him? How could he have let this happen? After the shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. His body was still muscular and upright. People used to say that he was the bad kind of man, the kind who made women's hearts stumble. His gaze slid from his broad shoulders down to his stomach and stopped there. Well, that was probably it for the glorious past.
Two hours later, he was overcome with desolation again and his strength was gone. But he didn't let up, took the day's ration of his medication and packed the rest, along with fresh underwear, a sweater and a toothbrush, into his rucksack. There was a crash as he stood in front of the apartment's exit. He had knocked over a vase, which fell to the floor and broke into pieces. "Old thing," he said and walked out.
4.
The hotel room was quite comfortable, the bed wide, the mattress soft. The laundry smelled of detergent, not much, just right. There was no fridge, but the bathroom was spotlessly clean and there was a small chocolate on the pillow. And he could see the sea from the balcony!
The afternoon passed faster than Robert thought. He had read that the pub across the streetopens at six o'clock in the evening. Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in front of the entrance. It was warm and cozy inside. There were already two men sitting at the bar who - as homely and familiar as they acted - were very probably regular customers. One was blond and tall, the other dark-haired and short - they couldn't look more different, but they were equally drunk.
A sturdy woman served them, she was probably in her forties, quite young, but with a serious and serene expression in her eyes, which she had certainly gained through life experience. Robert assumed that she was the owner.
She smiled broadly at him, wiped the counter in front of him with a damp cloth and put down a glass container of wheat sticks.
The outside door opened and a couple entered the restaurant. Even in the poor lighting, Robert could see that the woman was quite a bit older. The two hung their jackets on the wooden hooks next to the entrance and chose a dark corner behind the music machine to sit close together.
"What can I get you?" asked the landlady, who had only glanced at the new guests. "I can offer you prosciutto di Parma and wine today. Or maybe something proper for dinner? Pumpkin soup, pasta with seafood, grilled fish?"
His stomach growled, but Robert didn't feel hungry. The closer the meeting with Felina came, the more he was afraid that she might not come at all. He ordered a soup with bread, just to order something. The landlady nodded kindly and wiped the counter in front of him with the cloth again, probably out of habit. On the way to the kitchen, she turned on some music.
"Give him more gas, Vincenza!" the blonde man shouted immediately. "Old Ennio - there's no one better! You know what, I know him personally, we used to travel around together."
"He's not from here. Morricone is American, you idiot," replied the dark-haired man.
"You're ill-informed, I went to the same school as him, he's from here!"
"You're about to say that you slept with Claudia Cardinale and Brigitte Bardot," the dark-haired man laughed at his buddy.
"I slept with a lot of people, I can't remember who all I slept with!"
The outside door of the pub opened again. A gust of wind came in with a young woman and Robert's body shook slightly. Her jacket was all wet and she stood at the door as if waiting for the water to drip off her.
"Salute, mia cara, what a weather!" the owner called over to her.
The woman finally took off her jacket and cast a casual glance over at Robert before coming over to him. She dried her wet hands on her skirt and sat down next to him at the counter. She was wearing a yellow roll-necked sweater and knee-high boots.
Someone ordered red wine, somewhere behind them seemed to be a heavy door rattled. The two guys started singing. The young woman took a few of the wheat sticks and ordered a Coke.
"So, here I am," she said. It wasn't words, but knife stabs.
"I wanted to see you," said Robert. "I'm flying back home tomorrow."
In the glow of the bar lighting, he could see how pretty Felina was. My child, he thought, so beautiful, so grown up! He wanted to hug her. When was the last time he had hugged her? Ten, fifteen years ago? Maybe longer. It must be twenty, he thought, and felt guilty. Guilty like the day Liane had thrown him out. It had been on Felina's twelfth birthday, of all days, when Liane had found out about the affair with the woman, what was her name again? Robert couldn't remember her name, but he did remember that he had lied at the time. The affair shouldn't have happened at all. A short-lived affair, pure impetuous stupidity. Felina's beautiful birthday cake was lying in the snow, her favorite cake. And she watched him from the terrace and cried. He still had the candles in his jacket pocket and his fingers felt them, puzzled, undecided, his gaze alternating between Felina's crying face, the red strawberries in the snow and the suitcase that Liane had thrown at his feet ...
The landlady had baked slices of pizza and they smelled like home cooking. A middle-aged man and woman were standing at the bar; Robert
