16
For the whole time, I was waiting for his dad or his brother or someone else to get out, but then there were nobody. And as it turned out, there really was no one else in the car. The dirty wind shield made it difficult to tell.
“You look like a gay who’s been shitting on the garden for the whole night. Should I drive you somewhere, or do you wanna spray some more water?” He took out his brightest Russian grin. “Hop in, man.”
But naturally I didn’t get in. I wasn’t sure. I went halfway in and placed a part of my body on the seat.
The Lada looked even more horrible from the inside. Cables were hanging down the steering wheel, a screwdriver was in the dashboard.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s just borrowed, not stolen.” Tschick said. “I’ll return it. We always did this.”
“We?”
“My brother. He found this thing lying on the street and it’s basically useless. You definitely could borrow it. The owner wouldn’t care whatsoever.”
“And that?” I pointed towards the cables.
“Can be fixed.”
“You’re crazy. And the fingerprints?”
“What about fingerprints? Are those the reason why you’re sitting so weird?” He shook my arm, which were folded in front of my chest. “Don’t freak out. That’s just some shit on TV. You can touch this. You can touch everything. Now, let’s get going.”
“Without me.” I looked at him and didn’t say anything else. He really was out of his mind.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to experience something yesterday?”
“By that, I didn’t mean prison.”
“Prison! You’re not criminally responsible.”
“Do whatever you want. But keep me out of it.” I, to be honest, didn’t know what was criminally responsible. I kinda knew it, but not exactly.
“Criminally responsible means: Nothing will happen to you. If I were you, I would rob a bank, my brother always says that. Till fifteen. My brother’s thirty. In Russian they beat the hell out of you – but here! Nobody cares, not even the owner.”
“No way.”
“Just around the block.”
“No.”
Tschick pulled the handbrake, and I, to be honest, didn’t know why I didn’t get out. I was a wimp. But at that moment, I didn’t want to be one anymore. His left foot stepped on the left pedal, and the Lada rolled backwards. Tschick stepped on the middle pedal, and the car stood still. A fiddle in the cable pile, the motor started, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, we were down on the road to Ketschendorf and turned right to street Rotraud.
“You didn’t turn on your blinkers.” I said meekly, with the arms still folded. I almost died out of excitement. Then I tried to find some safety.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I drive like a world champion.”
“Then turn your blinkers on like one.”
“I haven’t done that for my whole life.”
“Please.”
“What for? The people see where I’m going. And there’s nobody anyway.”
That was right, the whole street was empty. And it was right for about a minute. Then Tschick got stared two times, and then suddenly, we were on the alley to the cosmonaut. It had four lanes. I was panicing out.
“Okay, okay. And please go back. Please.”
“Mika Haekkinen is no match for me.”
“You already said that.”
“Am I right or am I right?”
“No.”
“Seriously. Didn’t my driving skills whoosh you off your feet?” Tschick asked.
“Definitely did.” I said, and somehow wanting to pay tributes to my mom’s standard answer to my dad’s standard question, I said: “Very good, darling.”
Tschick wasn’t driving like a world champion, but it wasn’t a catastrophy either. Not much better or worse than my dad. And in the end, he reached our area again.
“And could you follow a single rule? That’s a solid line there.”
“Are you gay?”
“What?”
“I asked if you are gay.”
“Why so?”
“You said darling.”
“I had…what? That’s called irony.”
“So, are you gay?”
“Because of being ironic?”
“And because you’re not intersted in girls.” He looked deep into my eyes.
“Keep your eyes on the road!” I shouted, and I had to give in, I was turning a bit hysterical. He just drove without looking. My dad also used to do it, but that was my dad and he had a driver’s license.
“Everyone in the class is head over heels for Tatjana. Head over heels.”
“For whom?”
“Tatjana. We have a girl in the class and her name is Tatjana. You never noticed? Tatjana Superstar. You’re the only one who hasn’t looked at her. So, are you gay?”
I thought so hard, I almost died.
“I don’t think it’s bad.” Tschick said. “I have an uncle in Moscow who goes around wearing a pair of leather pants with a big hole on the ass. But other than that, it’s okay, my uncle. He works for the government. And he can’t do anything about the fact that he’s gay. I really don’t think it’s anything.”
Hammer. I also didn’t think it’s bad if someone is gay. But I’ve never had the impression that Russians run around with a hole on their pants. But I handle Tatjana Cosic like air, that was a joke, or? Because, of course I treat her like air. How else should I have reacted?
“You’re an idiot.” I said.
“I’m getting to the point. You’re not attracted to her.”
“Stop, that’s digusting.”
“My uncle –”
“Fuck your uncle! I’m not gay, dude. Didn’t you realize that I’ve been on a shitty mood?”
“Because I didn’t blink?”
“No! Because I’m not gay, you fool!”
Tschick looked at me with questions in his eyes. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t wanna bring it up. I haven’t talked with anyone about it, and I didn’t want this to be a start.
“I don’t understand. Do I have to?” Tschick said. “You’re not gay because you suck at it or something? Heh?”
I merely looked out of the window. It didn’t matter if we stopped at a crossing and two retirees were staring at us throgh the wind shield, and then they would call the police. I kinda wished the police would take us. Then something would happen.
“So, a shitty mood – why?”
“Because today is the day, dude.”
“What kind of a day?”
“The party, you fool. Tatjana’s party.”
“You don’t have to talk weird just because you’re sexually disorientated. You didn’t give a shit about it yesterday.”
“And even though I wanted to go.”
“I don’t think it’s a problem.” Tschick said, putting a hand on my knee. “I don’t care about your sexuality problem whatsoever, and I’m not gonna go further on it, I swear.”
“I can explain.” I said. “Should I?”
“Explain why you’re not gay? Nah-ah-ah.” He brushed invisible flies away.
At that point, we’ve already reachd our house. Tschick didn’t park directly in front of our house this time, but in a narrow alley, where no one could’ve seen us got out, and when we finally got to my room and Tschick looked at me as if he knew something about me, I said: “Don’t take me responsible for what you’re about to see. And don’t you dare laugh. If you laugh–”
“I won’t.”
“Tatjana is hard on Beyonce, you know that, right?”
“Yup. I would’ve stolen a CD for her if I were invited.”
“Yeah. So…that’s that.”
I got the drawing out of the drawer. Tschick took it, laid it out in front of him and stared at it. But he didn’t give as much attention to the drawing itself as to the backside, where I taped the rip neatly with clear duct tape, so you couldn’t see a thing from the front. He looked at the rip and the drawing again, and then he said: “You have feelings.”
He said that seriously, without any crap. That, I found impressive. And it was the first time I thought: He really isn’t dumb. Tschick saw the rip and immediately figured out what had happened. I’m pretty sure I don’t know a lot of people that can figure it out that quickly. Tschick looked at me seriously, and I liked that about him. He was someone that could blow you out of your mind, but if something serious came up, he could stop with the joking around and be serious.
“How long did it take you? Three months? That looks like a photo. And what do you plan to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“You have to do something with it.”
“What should I do then? Should I go to Tatjana’s and say, happy birthday, I have a small gift for you – and I don’t mind that you didn’t invite me, yeah, seriously, no problem. And I just happened to stop by and I’ll go in a bit – have fun with the drawing on which I worked my ass off for three months?”
Tschick scratched his throat. He put the drawing on the desk again, looked at it for a bit, turned to me and said: “I would do exactly that.”