Hexo

19

Sunday morning. Four o’clock, Tschick said, that would be the best time. Four in the morning. I basically didn’t sleep and was awake for the night and jumped up when I heard steps on our terrasse. I rushed to the door, and there stood Tschick with a backpack in the dark. We whispered, but there were no reasons to do so. Tschick put the backpack in the doorway, and then we started.

On the way from Potsdam back here, he had parked the Lada on the street. It was only a ten minute walk from our house. A fox ran direction city center by our feet. A vehicle of the transporation management center or something flew by, a retiree went past us coughing like crazy. We felt as if it was day. Thirty meters from the Lada, Tschick gave a sign to stand still, and I stood by a wall and let my heart beat. Tschick found a yellow tennis ball from his pockets. He pressed the ball on the door handle and twirled with his other hand. I couldn’t really tell what he was up to, but Tschick said: “Professionals at work!” and opened the door. He winked at me.

Then he fiddled with the cables again, started the car and tried to park around our front steps. I sat on the passenger’s seat and examined the tennis ball. A normal tennis ball with a hole of about a finger’s size.

“And it works with every car?”

“Not with every one. But ones with central locking – it creates a vacuum.”

He scraped out of the parking spot, and I pressed the ball in my hand and couldn’t even hold it properly. Russians, I thought.

Ten minutes later, we loaded the Lada full. Our garage had a direct door to the house, and we shoved everything that seemed to make sense in. At first bread, biscuits and crackers and some conserved cans, because we thought maybe we could also eat that. We obviously needed plates and knives and spoons for that. We packed a three-man tent, sleepings bags and mats. Then we took the mats out and opted for air matresses. Eventually, half the household was in the car, and then we started to take them all out again: You didn’t need the most of them. It was going back and forth. We had trouble deciding whether you needed rollerblades. If we were out of gas, one of us could bring the tank and rollerblade to a gas station, that was Tschick’s opinion, but I thought the foldable bicycle could also do the job. At the very end, we decided to bring a pack of water, and as it turned out later, that was the best idea ever. Or the only good one. Because, other stuff were more or less shit. Tennis rackets, a huge pile of mangas, four pairs of shoes, my dad’s toolbox, six frozen pizzas. What we didn’t bring were phones. “Then none of those losers could find us.” Tschick said.

And also no CDs. The Lada had two huge speakers, but only a broken radio which was tucked under the glove section. I was, to be honest, happy about it, because that meant I didn’t have to listen to Beyonce in the car. And of course we took the two hundred Euros and all the money that I had, though I was not really sure when would that come in handy. In my imagination, we would be driving though lands without a single soul, or even desserts. I didn’t look what the road to Walachei was like on Wikipedia. But I eventually knew it, when we were on our way.

18

I ran across the dark, narrow corridor, then turned left to the hallway with the iron handrail and creeped in with my back against the wall, the two tanks and the opened door in my sight. I saw Tschick running constantly and stopping at a corner, and I could tell how clueless he was, even from the back. But he ran like a fool, at least three minutes, without noticing me already behind him. He stood still on a empty field. I rose my shotgun high and hit him in the back. A stream of blood shot out of him, and he fell to the ground. “Shit.” he said, “Where the fuck are you? I can’t see a single thing.” I switched to chain gun, played around with his body and jumped in a circle.

“Great, man. Yeah, don’t overreact, dude.” Tschick pressed new game, but it was pointless. He didn’t plan the landing whatsoever. You could run behind him for hours, and he wouldn’t notice, and I killed him every time without an effort. I was a kind of world champion in Doom, and Tschick really didn’t know a single thing.

He grabbed himself a beer.

“And, if we drove away?” he asked.

“What?”

“On vacation. We don’t have anything to do whatsoever. We could go on vacation like normal people.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Off with the Lada.”

“That’s not what normal people do.”

“But we could, or?”

“Nah. Press start.”

“Why though?”

“Nope.”

“If I beat you…” Tschick said, “Let’s say, if I beat you in five rounds. Or make it ten. Ten.”

“You’re not gonna kill me even if I gave you a hundred chances.”

“Ten it is.”

He really put an effort into it. I shoved a handful of chips in my mouth, waited until he picked up his weapon and let myself be shredded.

“Seriously.” I said, “Let’s do it.”

We almost spent the whole day doing nothing. We jumped in the pool twice. Tschick told me about his brother, and then he found the beer in the fridge and chumped down three cans. I also tried to drink one. I’ve tried a decent amount of beers before, but it never tickled my fancies, and not now either. I managed three quarters of the bottle. But it didn’t have an effect on me whatsoever.

“And if they catch us?”

“They’re not going to. And, if they wanted, they could’ve done it a million years ago and then the police would be here. They don’t have the slightest idea that the Lada is stolen. They saw us for ten seconds, at most, and they’re just gonna think it’s my brother’s.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“If you wanna drive away, it’s not gonna hurt to have a destination.”

“We could pay a visit to my relatives. I have a grandfather in Walachei.”

“And where does he live?”

“What do you mean, where does he live? In Walachei.”

“Around here or what?”

“What?”

“Somewhere out there?”

“Not somewhere out there, man. In Walachei.”

“That’s the same though.”

“What’s the same?”

“Somewhere out there and Walachei, that’s the same.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s just a word, man.” I said and gulped down the rest of my beer. “Walachei is just a word! Kinda like BFE.”

“My family comes from there.”

“I thought you were from Russia?”

“Yeah, but a part is from Walachei. My grandfather. And my great-grandfather and – what’s weird about it?”

“It’s like having a grandpa in BFE.”

“And what’s weird about that?”

“There is no BFE, dude! BFE means Bumfunk Egypt. And there’s also no Walachei. When you say someone lives in Walachei, it means they’re living in Pampa.”

“And there’s also no Pampa?”

“No.”

“But my grandpa lives there.”

“In Pampa?”

“You’re fucking crazy, seriously. My grandpa lives in a country called Walachei in this world, and we’re driving there tomorrow.”

He went serious, and I got serious too. “I know one hundred and fifty countries and their capitals.” I said and took a sip from Tschick’s beer, “There’s no Walachei.”

“My grandfather’s cool. He has two cigarettes in his ears. And only one tooth. I was there when I was five or something.”

“What are you exactly? Russian? Or Walacheian or what?”

“German. I have a passport.”

“But where you were born.”

“From Rostow. That’s in Russia. But our family comes from everywhere. West Germany, East Germany. And Switzerland, Walachei, Jewish gipsies…”

“What?”

“What, what?”

“Jewish gipsies?”

“Yeah, man. And Walachen and…”

“No such thing.”

“What such thing?”

“Jewish gipsies. You’re saying shit. You’ve been saying shit the whole time.”

“Definitely wasn’t.”

“Jewish gipsies, that’s like English French! There’s no such thing.”

“Of course there are no English French.” Tschick said, “But there are Jewish French. And there are also Jewish gipsies.”

“Gypsy Jews.”

“Yes. And they go around Russia selling rugs with a thing on their heads. You can recognize them from the thing on their heads. A fag.”

“More like a fag on their ass. I don’t believe a single word.”

“Don’t you know this film with Georges Aznavour?” Now Tschick really wanted to explain.

“Films are films.” I said, “In real life, you can only be either Jew or Gypsy.”

“but Gypsy is’t a religion, dude. Jew is. Gypsy is someone who doesn’t have a place to live.”

“Those are berbers.”

“Berbers are carpets.” Tschick said.

I thought hard for a long time, and then when I finally asked Tschick whether he was serious about the Jewish Gypsy thing and he nodded, I believed him.

What I didn’t believe, was the shit with his grandpa. I already knew that Walachei was just a word. I proved to Tschick in a hundred ways, that Walachei didn’t exist, and I only made some progress when I made some exaggerated moves with my arms. Tschick did it again, and then he went and grabbed another beer and asked whether I wanted another one. But it didn’t tickle my fancies, and I wanted a cola.

Agitated, I saw a fly buzzing around the table. I had the impression that it was agitated as well, because I was agitated. I haven’t talked with someone like this in a long time. Tschick put two bottles on the table and said: “You’re gonna see it. My grandpa and my grandma and six cousins and the girls hot as fuck – you’re gonna see it.”

In fact, the thought slowly began to bother me. But as soon as Tschick had left, the cousins ​​and everything else dissolved into a fog and disappeared, and all that remained was a miserable feeling. A crying misery, almost. But that had nothing to do with Tschick. That had something to do with Tatjana. With the fact that I had no idea what she was thinking about me now, and that I might never find out, and at that moment I would have given a lot to be in Wallachei or anywhere else in the world but Berlin.

Before I went to bed, I opened my computer again. I found four emails from my father complaining that I had turned off my cell phone and that it wasn’t ringing downstairs either, and I had to think up some excuses for him and explain that everything was perfectly fine here. Which it was. And because I didn’t feel like receiving these emails and couldn’t think of anything, I typed “Wallachei” into Wikipedia. And then I really started to think about it.

17

“Seriously, you have to do something. If you don’t, you’re crazy. Let’s drive there. I don’t care if you think it’s awkward. There’s nothing more awkward than being in a broken Lada. Put on your super cool jacket, take you drawing and get your ass in the car.”

“Never.”

“We’re gonna wait until it’s dark, and then you’re gonna get your ass in the car.”

“Nope.”

“And why not?”

“I’m not invited.”

“You’re not invited! That, and? I’m also not invited. And do you know why? Logically, the Russian motherfucker isn’t. But do you know why you didn’t get invited? You see – you don’t know it. But I do.”

“Then say it, you genius. Because I’m boring and I look shitty.”

Tschick shook his head. “You don’t look shitty. Or maybe you do. But that’s not the point. The reason is: There’s no reason to invite you. You don’t stand out. You have to stand out, man.”

“What do you mean by standing out? Come to school all drunk every day?”

“No. My god. but if I were you and looked like you and lived here and had your clothes, I would’ve gotten a hundred invites.”

“Do you need clothes?”

“Don’t chicken out. When it gets dark, we’re going to Potsdam.”

“Never.”

“We’re not going to the party. We’re just passing by.”

What a stupid idea. To be precise, it was three ideas, and every single one was stupid: Showing up without an invite, driving through Berlin with the Lada, and – the stupidest one – taking the drawing. Because one thing was clear: Tatjana would also figure out the thing with the drawing. I definitely didn’t wanna get things that far.

While Tschick tried to persuade me into going to Werder, I said unconvincingly that I didn’t wanna go. Then I said that we didn’t know the exact address, and then I swore that I wouldn’t get out of the car.

During the whole drive, I had my arms folded. This time, it wasn’t because of fingerprints, but because otherwise they would’ve trembled. Beyonce was on the dashboard in front of me and also trembling.

With all the emotions, I noticed that Tschick was driving more carefully than before. He chose the two-lane streets and got his foot off gas earlier when reaching a red light, so others wouldn’t look at us. We had to stop for a bit because it started raining and the windscreen wiper wasn’t functioning. But by then, we were almost out of Berlin. The car shook as if it were in an earthquake. But only for five minutes, only a thundery shower. After that, the air smelled really nice.

I looked through the wind shield, and I felt, for the first time, how strange it was to drive in a car that didn’t belong to you on the street. Suddenly, the red sun appeared under the black clouds. I didn’t say another word, and Tschick didn’t say anything either, and I was glad that he insisted on bringing me to a party which I really didn’t want to go. For three months I didn’t think of anything else – and it was happening now, and I would be the most ridiculous person in front of Tatjana.

The house wasn’t hard to find. We somehow found it when we were driving on the streets of Havel, but right in front of us, there were two mountain bikes with sleeping bags strapped on them – Andre and another dude. Tschick drove behind them with a rather safe distance in between, and then we saw the house. Blinking red, and the front lawn packed with bicycles. I crouched under my seat as Tschick rolled one of the windows open, put an elbow out and drove across the neighbourhood, speed eight and a half kilometers per hour. About a dozen people stood on the front lawn and by the front door. Countless in the back garden. Familiar and unfamiliar faces, girls from the other class piled with make-up. And in the middle, like a sun, Tatjana. She didn’t invite the Russian and the most boring, otherwise, she basically invited everything that could walk. The house slowly moved back behind us. No one saw us, and I suddenly realized that I didn’t plan how to give the drawing to Tatjana. At first, I considered throwing the drawing outside. Someone would eventually find it and give it to Tatjana. But before I could do something stupid, Tschick already parked and went out. I look at him going farther, frozen. I didn’t know if falling in love was so stupid, but I didn’t have any talent for it. While I was deciding on hiding under the seat and throwing the jacket on top of me or acting dead, a rocket shot from the blinking red house behind and exploded into red and yellow, and almost everyone ran to the back garden for the firework. Just Andre with his mountain bike and Tatjana, who came to greet him, were standing on the front lawn.

And Tschick.

Tschick was standing directly in front of them. They were staring at him, as if they didn’t know him. And maybe they really didn’t recognize him. Because Tschick had my sunglasses on. Other than that, he wore a pair of jeans that were mine and my grey jacket. We went through my closet and I gave him three pair of pants, a few shirts, a sweater and stuff, and now, he didn’t look like a Russian bitch anymore, he looked like he was from a fashion magazine. That wasn’t meant to be a compliment. But he didn’t look like himself anymore, and then he used a load of hair gel. I could see how he was talking to Tatjana and she answered – clearly irritated. Tschick made a gesture with his hand behind his back. I got out all hypnotized, and what happened after that – don’t ask me. I don’t know it anymore. Suddenly, I was standing next to Tatjana holding the drawing, and I’m pretty sure she was looking at me all irritated just like earlier with Tschick. But I didn’t see it whatsoever.

I said: “Here.”

I said: “Beyonce.”

I said: “A drawing.”

I said: “For you.”

Tatjana stared at the drawing, and before she could look at us again, I already heard Tschick saying: “Nope, don’t have time. We’ve still got other stuff.” He poked me, went back to the car, and I followed him – and the motored started and gone. I shoved my fist against the dashboard while Tschick switched to second and drove across the street.

“Shoud I show them again?” He asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“Should I show them again?” Tschick asked.

“Do whatever the fuck you want!” I shouted. I felt so light.

Tschick fiddled with the steering wheel and the hand brake, and the car made a one-eighty turn on the street. I almost flew out of the window.

“Doesn’t always work.” Tschick said proudly. “Doesn’t always work.”

He flew past the blinking red house, and I saw from the corner of my sight, that they were still standing on the front steps. It was as if time stopped. Tatjana with the drawing in her hand, Andre with the mountain bike and Natalie, who’s just came from the back garden.

The Lada went through the next curve with sixty, and I punched the dashboard.

“More gas!” I shouted.

“As you said.”

“More!” I shouted.

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.”

15

It turned somewhat better next morning. I waked up early just like on a schoolday, that unfortunately can’t be alternated. But the silence in the house reminded me: I’m alone, it’s summer vacation, the house is currently mine, and I can do whatever I want.

First, I started playing my CDs downstairs and moved the whole living room’s furniture. White Stripes. Then opened the balcony door, then laid by the poolside with three bags of chips and cola and my favorite book, and I tried to forget all the shit.

Though it’s still early, it’s at least thirty degrees here. I put my feet in the water, and Graf Luckner spoke to me. Because that’s my favorite book: Graf Luckner. I’ve read it for at least three times, but I thought a fourth time wouldn’t hurt. If someone is as dramatic as Graf, you could also make it five. Or ten. Graf Luckner is a pirate in the first world war and he sunk English ships one after another. And if that’s not enough, it’s all gentlemanlike. That means, he doesn’t go shitty on the people. He only dunks the ship and then bring all the passengers home. And the whole thing wasn’t made up, it’s real. The best part is in Australia. There, he acted as a lighthouse keeper and hunted kangaroos. I mean, he’s literally fifteen. He didn’t know anyone there. His ship crashed and he just happened to land on a lighthouse in Australia and hunt kangaroos. But I didn’t get that far this time.

The sun was rising, I put up the sunshade, and the wind was messing it up. I added some weight to its bottom. And then it was complete silence. But I couldn’t read. I was so excited from the “I can do what I want” thing, that I did absolutely nothing out of excitement. I’m different from Graf Luckner on this one. I imagined the whole thing with Tatjana again. Then I thought that the lawn needed some work. But my dad forgot about that, so I didn’t have to do it. But I did it anyway. It bothered me when I had to do it, but now, with me as basically the owner of the house and the garden mine, I found myself responsible for the lawn work. I stood barefoot on our front steps and sprayed all around with the yellow hose. I filled it up full, so the water shot up at least twenty meters in the air. But I didn’t reach the corners though I tried every trick to shoot further. Because, I definitely couldn’t go down the stairs anymore. That was a rule. In the living room, White Stripes was on full blast, the front door open, and me: holding up the hose high and barefoot, with sunglasses tucked in my hair, Graf Koks from the gas company was blowing up his estates. I could do this every morning! I also didn’t hate other people looking at this, but I didn’t see anyone most of the time. It was half past eight, and with the big vacation ahead, everyone’s sleeping in. Graf Koks was doing his chores alone – no, not completely. Jack and Meg, who, just like every other time, bothers him with their paparazzi shit, was paying a visit to his, and they were having a small jam session in the back room. Graf would join them in a bit and make some noise on the DJ table. The birds were chirping, the water was flowing…Koks of Klingenberg didn’t love anything more than this morning hour, in which he sprayed his lawn. He clicked the water button, waited a good ten seconds, filled it full and shot a super cool thirty meter rocket. In the cold, cold night, Meg White sang.

A flimsy car came down the street. It slowly reached our house and started parking. In an instance, the bright-blue Lada Niva was in our garage, and then the motor shut. The driver’s door opened, Tschick got out. He had his two elbows on the car lid and looked as I continued watering the lawn.

“Ah.” He said, and then didn’t say anything else for a long time. “Is that fun?”

14

Until the Vietnamese came. She comes normally three times a week. She’s really old, somewhere around sixty, I would say, but when it comes to speaking, she definitely doesn’t match her age. She passed me without a word, went into the kitchen and came out again with a vacuum cleaner. I just looked at her for a while before telling her that she didn’t have to work for the next two weeks. I just wanted to be alone. I told her that my parents were out and it’s enough if she just came at the Tuesday fourteen days later to clean up the house. But it was terribly hard to let her accept it. I thought the vacuum would fall out of her hand immediately out of joy, but that wasn’t the case. She didn’t believe me at first. So I showed her around the house and what my dad bought me and the circled Wednesday on the calender, which was when he would come back, and because she still didn’t believe me, I even showed her the two hundred euros he left. And then it became clear to me why she wouldn’t let go of the vacuum cleaner. Because she thought she wouldn’t get paid anymore. Seriously weird. It wouldn’t make any difference with the money, I said. But she understood it with great difficulty, because she couldn’t speak German, and then she finally got it, when we pointed our fingers at the Tuesday on the calender and looked at each other in the eye and nodded together, and then that was it. I still don’t know how I’m supposed to communicate with these people. We also used to have an Indian for the garden, who’s now fired because of cost issues, but he was the exact same. Weird. I want to handle them like normal people, but they take themselves as workers who work their ass off for money, and they are exactly that, but I’m only fourteen. My parents don’t mind it. And when my parents are there, I don’t have any trouble with it too. But I felt like Hitler when I was alone with the Vietnamese in a room. I really wanted to take the vacuum from her and do the cleaning myself.

I accompanied her out, and I would like to give her something as a figt, but I didn’t know what, so I just winked at her like a total dumbass and was really happy when I was alone. I put the tools, which were still lying all over the place, away, and then I stood in the warm evening air and breathed in and out.

The Dyckerhoffs were grilling on the other side of the street. The oldest son winked at me with the grilling tongs in his hand, and because he is an asshole like all of our neighbours, I quickly looked to the other side, and there came a bike down the street. It was two different wheels and a rotten piece of leather on a frame for a women’s bicycle. There was a brake for an accessory, which was bent like an antenna. There was a small basket in the back and Tschichatschow was on it. That was the last person I wanted to see after my dad. Except for Tatjana, anyone was basically the last person I wanted to meet. But the look on the Mongolian face made it immediately clear that the feeling was not mutual. “Kawock!” said Tschick, beaming, and headed for the sidewalk next to us. “Do you think what happens: I drive over there - it goes kawock. Do you live here? Hey, is that repair kit? How cool is that, give it to me.” I didn’t feel like arguing. So I gave him all the tools and said he should just put them back there afterwards. I didn’t have time, I had to go. Then I went straight into the house and listened for a while through the closed door to see if anything was happening outside, if he was perhaps running off with the tools, and finally I lay down in my room again and tried to think about something else. But that wasn’t so easy. Downstairs, you could hear the clatter of tools the whole time, a lawn was being mowed, and someone was singing in Russian. Singing badly in Russian. And when it finally got quiet around the house, it worried me even more. I looked out the window and saw someone walking through our garden. Tschick walked all the way around the swimming pool, stopped at the aluminum ladder, shaking his head, and scratched his back with a wrench. I opened the window. “Great pool!” Tschick shouted, beaming up at me. “Yeah, great pool. Great jacket, great pool. And now?” He just stood there. So I went downstairs and we chatted a bit. Tschick was absolutely thrilled about the pool, he wanted to know how my father earned his money, and I explained it to him, and then I wanted to know how he pulled the plug on that Ford guy in three jumps, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Russian mafia.” He grinned, and at that point I knew that it had nothing to do with the mafia. But I couldn’t figure out what it had to do with either, although I kept trying for a while. We just talked and in the end it happened as it had to and we ended up in front of the PlayStation playing GTA. Tschick hadn’t heard of that yet and we weren’t very successful, but I thought: Still better than lying in the corner screaming. “And you really didn’t repeat a year?” he asked at some point. “I mean, have you looked in now? I don’t understand. You’re on vacation, man, you’re probably going on vacation, you can go to this party and you have a wonderful -“ “What party?” “Aren’t you going to Tatjana’s?” “No, I don’t feel like it.” “Seriously?” “I have other plans tomorrow,” I said, frantically pressing the triangle.

“Besides, I’m not invited.”

“You’re not invited? That’s crazy. I thought I was the only one.”

“It’s boring anyway,” I said, and drove over a few people with the tanker truck.

“Yes, for gays maybe. But for people like me who are still in their prime, this party is a must. Simla is here. And Natalie. And Laura and Corinna and Sarah. Not forgetting Tatjana. And

Mia. And Fadile and Cathy and Kimberley. And the super-sweet Jennifer. And the blonde from 8a.

And her sister. And Melanie.”

“Ah,” I said, looking dejectedly at the TV. Tschick also looked dejectedly at the TV.

“Let me have the helicopter,” he said, and I gave him the controller, and then we didn’t talk about it any more. When Tschick finally went home, it was almost midnight. I heard the bike squeaking away towards Weidengasse, and then I stood alone in front of our house in the night for a while, the stars above me. And that was the best thing about that day: that it was finally over.

13

I stood for a bit. I didn’t want to go home just yet. I didn’t want today to be a normal day just like every other one. It was a special day. An especially bitter day. I really needed some time.

When I opened the door, nobody was there. A note was on the table: There’s food in the fridge. I got my things out, scanned through my report card real quick, put the Beyonce CD on and crawled under my bed sheets. I couldn’t say whether the music comforted me or just made me more depressed. I’m pretty sure it just depressed me more.

I went back to school a couple of hours later to pick up my bicycle. Seriously, I forgot my bike. My way to school was two kilometers, and sometimes I go on foot, but I didn’t on this day. I was so deep in my thoughts when Tschick babbled, that I simply unlocked my bike, locked it again and went on. Real misery there.

I went by the big sand hill and the playground for the third time today. I sat on the Indian tower there. A tall tower, which they built there for kids to play Cowboy and the Indian, as if there were kids here. At least I’ve never seen any. Also no teens or adults. Not even the homeless sleep there. Only I sit on the tower now and then, where I can see absolutely nobody. Looking to the east, the tall houses of Hellersdorf could be spotted, north ran a line of shrubs and bushes, and somewhere back there is a small garden colony. But there were absolutely nothing around the playground, really a deserted land, which had been under construction before. There should’ve been houses there, which you can still read from a big, weathered, fallen-down sign near the street. White walls with red roofs, trees and next to that the writing: Here are 96 single-family-houses. Under that are the rent information, and at the bottom is Immobilen Klingenberg.

But one day, three dead insects, including a frog and a rare grasshopper, were discovered on this field, and then the environmentalists went against the construction company and the construction company against the environmentalists, and the field remained deserted. The process was already running for ten years, and if you believed my dad, it would continue on for another ten years, because the eco-fascists haven’t started growing plants on there. eco-fascist is a word that my dad created. Sometimes he even drops the eco part, because they’ve ruined him with this act. One quarter of the land belonged to him, and they turned it into shit. If a stranger happened to stay at our house for lunch, they definitely won’t understand a single word. My dad only talked about shit, fascists and motherfuckers for years. How much effort he actually spent on the thing and how it would affect us, I didn’t know for a long time. I always thought that my dad would somehow make it work, and maybe he’s thought about it himself also. But then he just quit and sold his part. He used to spend a whole load of time on it, but he was determined with the idea that if he went on with the process, it’ll just take him more, and so he sold all the stuff way under its worth to the motherfucker. For now, that’s used for referencing his colleagues. The motherfuckers that continued on. That was a few years ago. And it was clear a year later: our holiday was ruined, and the house, which once belonged to us, maybe would not belong to us anymore or maybe even hasn’t been ours for some time. My dad said. And all that because of three dead insects and a grasshopper.

The only one that stood the storm was the playground, which was built from the very start, to show that the neighbourhood was kid-friendly. Now that’s definitely spoiled.

And okay, I give up, there’s another reason why I go over here all the time. Because when you’re on the tower, you could see two white rental houses. They’re over there behind the small garden colony, somewhere behind the trees, and Tatjana lives in one of them. I don’t know exactly, but there’s a small window on the upper left corner, and the owner would always have a green light lit, and I just assumed that it’s Tatjana’s room looking at the green light. So sometimes I sit on the Indian tower and wait for the green light. When I come back from our football training or from the afternoon class, I’ll look through the woods and carve out letters on the wood with my key, and when the light lights up, I feel warm in my heart, and when it doesn’t, it’s always a huge disappointment.

But it was too early on this day, and I didn’t wait, so I went to school. There stood my bike, all alone in the kilometer-lang parking section. There was nobody in the building. Only the janitor was taking two trash cans to the street. A Cabrio playing Turkish hip-hop went by. And it’s gonna stay like this for the rest of the summer. Six weeks without school. Six weeks without Tatjana. I already saw myself spending a load of time at the Indian tower.

Back home, I didn’t really know what I shoud do. I tried to repair the lamp on my bike, which was broke for a long time, but I didn’t have soem of the compartments. I put on Survivor and started refurnishing my room by moving my bed up front and my desk to the back. Then I went down again and fiddled with the lamp some more, but it was useless, and I just threw the tools in the garden and went upstairs, threw myself in my bed and started screaming. That was the first day of vacation, and I was already cracking up. I got the Beyonce drawing our. I looked at her for a long time, held her with two hands and started ripping her very slowly. When I reached Beyonce’s vorhead, I stopped. What that was, I don’t have a single idea. I only remember that I somehow ran out of the house and into the forest and up the hill, and then I started jogging. I didn’t really jog, I didn’t have my sport things on, but I passed about twenty joggers per minute. I just ran across the forest and screamed, and everyone else who was also running in the forest really got me on my nerves, because they could hear me, and then I came across someone who was taking a walk with ski stockings on, he was really missing some goggles, and I really would’ve kicked him in the ass for his shitty stockings.

I stood for hours under the shower at home. Then I felt a bit bitter, kinda like a shipwreck who’s been on the Atlantics for weeks, and then a cruise came and someone threw a can of Red Bull and then I got going again. Like that.

The door rang.

“What’s the stuff lying out there?” My dad shouted.

I tried to ignore him, but it was hard.

“Should those just lie there?”

He meant the tools. So I went downstairs after I checked whether my eyes were still red in the mirror, and as I got down, a taxi driver was standing at the door.

“Go down there and say goodbye to your mother.” My dad said, “Did you already do that? You didn’t remember it, or? quick, go! Go!”

He pushed me down the stairs. I was a bit angry. But, unfortunately, my dad was right. I completely forgot the thing with my mom. I remembered it for the last few days, but because of the excitement today, I forgot. My mom’s going to the clinic for four weeks.

She sat in her bedroom, wearing a coat, in front of the mirror, and she dressed up. I helped her with her suitcase. My dad brought it to the taxi, and just as the taxi started, he called her, as if he cared about her. but that was not the case, as it came out later. My mom wasn’t even gone for half an hour, and my dad came into my room and had the “I’m your father and we need to talk about serious shit” face on. It made me uncomfortable.

He looked like this when he wanted to talk about sex with me a few years ago. He also had this face, when he told me because of his allergy to cat hair, he has to send not only our cat, but also my two rabbits and the turtle away. And he looked just like this now.

“I’ve been informed that I have a business appointment.” He said that, as if he would be troubled by it. He frowned a lot. He explained a bit, but it was really simple. He wanted to leave me alone for two weeks.

I made a face that should say that I need to think carefully about the deal. Could I do it? Fourteen days alone in this environment with only swimming pools, pizzas and video games? Yeah, probably, I nodded, I could try. I would figure something out.

The serious face relaxed for a bit.

“And don’t you fuck things up! Though I don’t think you would. I’ll leave you two hundred euros here, they’re already in the drawer downstairs, and if something happens, call immediately.”

“In the middle of your business stuff.”

“Yes, my business stuff.” He looked a bit angry.

He called my mom a few times in the afternoon, and as he was calling her, his assistant came to pick him up. I came down immediately to see whether it was the same one. This assistant looks really good and she’s only a few years older than me, about nineteen maybe. And she always laughs. She laughs a lot. I met her for the first time two years ago, when I was visiting my dad in his office, and then she rubbed my hair and laughed, when I tried to not let my whole body collapse onto the printer. Unfortunately, she doesn’t do that anymore, with the hair rubbing.

She got out of the car in shorts and a tight sweater, and it became clear what kind of a business trip it would be. The sweater was so tight that you could basically see every little detail. I thought it was okay that my dad didn’t even try to make a big fuss about it. It wasn’t necessary. It was clear between my parents. My mom knew what my dad was up to. And my dad knew what my mom was up to. And when they were alone, they would scream at each other.

What I didn’t get for a long time is, why they didn’t divorce. I thought I was the reason for a while. Or the money. But at some point, I came to the conclusion that they just like screaming and shouting at each other. That they like to be unhappy. I’ve read it in a magazine somewhere: there are people who like being unhappy. That means they are happy when they are unhappy. I have to say, I didn’t quite get it. Something about it troubles me, but something about it clears out my questions.

And I still haven’t managed to find a better explanation for the thing going on with my parents. I really thought a lot about it, I even got a serious headache because of it. It’s kinda like those 3D pictures, where you have to squint at a pattern of some sort, and suddenly you see something crazy. Other people could do a better job with that than me, I’ve almost never experience that, and in the moment, when I see something crazy, like a flower or a deer or something, it immediately disappears, and I would then catch a headache. And it’s the exact same with thinking about my parents, and I get headaches because of it. So I don’t think about it anymore.

When my dad packed his stuff, I talked with Mona downstairs. Her name is Mona, the assistant, and the first thing she said to me was how warm it was and how it was gonna get warmer for the next few days. Practical stuff. But when she realized I’ll have to spend my vacation alone, she looked so sad. Leaving your parents and god and the world! I thought about begging her to rub my hair again, like that time by the printer. But I didn’t do it. But I just stared at the landscape and tried to avoid the sweater, and listened to Mona complimenting my dad. I guess being older really does have some advantages.

I was still deep in my landscape observation when my dad came down the steps with his stuff.

He said the same stuff that he told me earlier for the third time, where he put the money, and then he had his arm around Mona’s waist and went into the car with her. He could’ve spared the part. With the hand on her waist, I mean. I found it nice that she didn’t react too much to it. But when she was on our property, there was no need to put an arm around her waist. Person opinion. I shut the door, closed my eyes and stood still for a minute.

“Mona!” I cried. My throat tightened. “I have to confess something to you!” My voice echoed frighteningly in the empty vestibule, and Mona, who seemed to have already suspected that I had to confess something to her, held her hands over her mouth in horror. Her sweater rose and fell in agitation.

“Oh God, oh God!” she cried.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I sobbed, “I would never volunteer to work for the CIA! But they have us in their hands - do you understand?” And of course she understood. She collapsed next to me, crying. “But what are we supposed to do?” she cried desperately.

“There’s nothing we can do!” I answered. “We can only play along with their game. The most important thing is to keep up the facade. You always have to remember that I am an eighth-grader now and I look like an eighth-grader and that we are just going to carry on with our lives as normal, at least for another year or two, as if we don’t even know each other!”

“Oh God, oh God!” Mona cried, clutching my neck and sobbing. “How could I have doubted you?”

“Oh God, oh God!” I cried, and I pressed my forehead to the cold tiles and curled up on the floor and cried for about half an hour. After that I felt better.

12

But I have to tell you about Tatjana’s birthday now. Tatjana’s birthday is in the middle of our summer vacation, and there was supposed to be a huge celebration. Tatjana said that a long time ago. It seemed like her fourteenth birthday was going to be celebrated and Potsdam and everyone’s going to be invited and there’s even a sleepover and stuff. She also made sure her girlfriends would be there, because of course they would want to be there. And because Natalie was going to be on vacation with her parents on the third day of the summer holiday, the whole party had to be moved to the second day, and so it was really early.

This house in Potsdam was Tatjana’s uncle’s and it faced the sea directly, and this uncle basically wanted to entrust Tatjana with the house, there will be no grown-ups besides him, the celebration will go on throught the night, and everyone was supposed to bring sleeping bags.

That was a hot topic in class even wekks before, and I started to imagine myself discussing stuff with this uncle. I don’t know anymore why does he fascinate me so much, but I thought that he had to be an interesting guy to just leave the house to Tatjana and plus the fact that he’s her relative, and I really looked forward to knowing him. I already had a vision of me standing in the living room by the fireplace with him and having some super conversations. Even though I didn’t know whether there was a fireplace in the house. But I wasn’t the only one that was excited because of the party. Julia and Natalie were thinking about gift ideas like a century ago, you could tell it from the notes they’ve passed in class through many others. That means, I could read it, because I sat on the line between Julia and Natalie, and I was of course interested in gift ideas because I’ve also been thinking about nothing but what to give Tatjana at her birthday. Julia and Natalie, it was already clear, were going to buy her the new Beyonce CD. Julia gave Natalie a list to check, it looked somewhat like this:

• Beyonce
• Pink
• the headband with the (unrecognizable)
• add more

And Natalie checked the first one off. Everyone knew that Tatjana loved Beyonce. I had a little trouble with that at first, because I find Beyonce shit, at least the music. But she looked great, she even had a few common grounds with Tatjana, and because of that, I started thinking that Beyonce wasn’t so shit some time on. On the other hand, I started to like Beyonce, and I eventually liked the music at some point. No, that’s not right. I thought the music super. I even bought her two newest CDs and listned to them on loop, while I thought about Tatjana and what present I should get her. Something from Beyonce, a definite pass. Because obviously there’s going to be more that think of it other than Natalie and Julia, and then Tatjana would get like thirty Beyonce CDs and could trade twenty-nine of them. I wanted to give her something special, but I couldn’t think of any, but as I saw this list, something popped up.

I went to a newspaper stand, bought a relatively expensive magazine with Beyonce’s face on the cover and started drawing it. I drew squares with a ruler on the original picture. And then I took a huge piece of paper and drew squares that were five time the size. That’s a method that I learned from a book. Old mister or something. With this trick, you could turn a small picture into a huge drawing. You just do it a square to a square. Of course you could’ve just used a printer to copy it, but I wanted it to be hand-drawn. I wanted others to see that I put effort into this. Because, if others see I put effort, they could also think about other things. I worked on this drawing for weeks. I really worked hard. Only with a pencil, and I feel more turned on, because all I could think about was Tatjana and her birthday and her uncle, with whom I was going to throw some awesome conversations by the fireplace.

And I’ll admit, I can’t really do a lot, but I could draw. Kinda like the thing with high jumping. If drawing Beyonce and high jumping were the most important subjects on planet earth, I would be far ahead. Seriously. But unfortunately nobody gives a shit about high jump, and I kinda got bored of drawing. After four weeks’ worth of hard work, Beyonce looked almost like a photo, a huge pencil drawing of Beyonce with Tatjana’s eyes, and I would be the happiest person on earth, if I could get an invite to Tatjana’s party. But I didn’t get any.

It was the last day of school, and I was kinda nervous, because this whole thing with the party was heated, everyone was talking about Potsdam, but there were no invites, or at least I didn’t see any. And we didn’t have a single idea about where her uncle’s house was. I had the map in my head. And so I thought that Tatjana was gonna give some out at the last day of school. But that wasn’t the case.

But, I saw a small green card in Arndt’s bag. That was during math. I saw how Arndt showed Kallenbach the card and Kallenbach frowned, and I could see a little map on the card. And then I realized that everyone had this small green card. Well, almost everyone. Kallenbach didn’t get any either, stupid as he looked, but he always looked stupid. He was stupid. That was also the reason why he wasn’t invited. Kallenbach looked at the writing closely, he had myopia but somehow never wears glasses, and Arndt put the thing away and in his bag again. As it turned out later, I and Kallenbach weren’t the only ones without invitations. The Nazi also, Tschichatschow too, and then one or two more. Logically. The most boring people and the Asians weren’t invited, Russians, Nazis and idiots. And it didn’t took me a long time to know what I was in Tatjana’s perspective. Because, I was neither a Russian nor a Nazi.

But other than that, basically the whole class was invited, and then half of the class next to us and another hundred people, and I wasn’t.

Till the last session, and after the grades were given, I still kept my hopes up. I hoped that it was just a mistake, that Tatjana would come to me after the bell and she would say: “Psycho, man, I totally forgot about you! Here is the green card! I hope you have time, because it would really make me happy – and I hope you didn’t forget about my present? Yeah, always no prob with you! Well, see you then, I’ll be really looking forward to your appearance! I almost forgot about you, my god!” Then the bell rang, and everyone went home. I packed my stuff extra slowly to give Tatjana the last chance to notice her mistake.

There were only dicks and geniuses standing in the hallway, talking about their grades and other random stuff, and at the exit – twenty meters to the exit, someone gave a pat on my shoulder and said: “Super cool jacket.” It was Tschick. You could see two big rows of teeth when he was grinning, and the slit eyes were narrower as usual. “I’ll buy it. The jacket. Just wait a bit.”

I didn’t wait, but I heard him running after me.

“Favorite one.” I said, “Not for sale.” I found the jacket at Humana and bought it for five euros, and it really was my favorite jacket. It had some Chinese elements to it, and with a white dragon monster on the chest, which looked really cheap. But still great. Others would say it’s the perfect fit for Asians. But I liked it because of that, because others couldn’t see that I was the direct opposite of an Asian on first sight: rich and defenceless.

“Where are they? Hey, stop! Where are you going?” He shouted through the whole hallway. It kinda looked like he had something other than alcohol.

“Did you fail a year?”

“Why were you shouting like that?”

“Did you fail a year?”

“Nope.”

“You look like it.”

“Like what?”

“Like you failed a year.”

What did he want from me? I caught myself thinking it was great that Tatjana didn’t invite him.

“But all Fs.” He said.

“No idea.”

“What do you mean no idea? If I make you nervous, report it.”

I should report that he annoyed me? And then I get a punch in the face or something?

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if I annoy you?”

“If I got all Fs.”

“Seriously?”

“I didn’t check yet.”

“Your report card?”

“No.”

“You didn’t check your report card?”

“No.”

“Really? You got your report card and didn’t look at it? How cool is that then.” He made some moves with his arms when he was speaking, and he was next to me, and, to my surprise, he wasn’t taller than me, just stronger.

“And you’re not selling the jacket?”

“No.”

“And what are you doing now?”

“Go home.”

“And then?”

“Nothing.”

“And then?”

“None of your fucking business.” Now that I realized he wasn’t trying to rip me off, I immediately became braver. Unfortunately, that’s always the case. As long as people are unfriendly, I can hardly walk because I’m so excited. But if they become even a little bit friendly, I always start insulting them. Tschick walked beside me in silence for a few hundred meters, then he tugged on my sleeve, repeated that it was an extremely cool jacket, and slid sideways into the bushes. I saw him stomping across the meadow towards the high-rise buildings, the plastic bag that was his school bag slung over his right shoulder.

11

“A man that didn’t see Mr. K for a long time greeted him with the following words: ‘You haven’t changed a single bit.’ - ‘Oh.’ Mr. K said and blanched. That was a short story.” Kaltwasser closed the work, took off his jacket and threw it on his chair. Kaltwasser was our German teacher, and he always came in class without any greetings, or, at least, you don’t hear them, because by then, he’s already started with his class, at this point, he hasn’t even stepped through the door yet. I have to say that I don’t really get Kaltwasser. Kaltwasser is, apart Wagenbach, the only one that gives ok-ish classes, but, as Wagenbach is a total asshole, still has somewhat humanity, just because of that, you can’t get too bad out of him. Or at least I don’t. He comes in like a machine and starts talking, and then straight 45 minutes, and then he goes out again, and you don’t really know what you’re supposed to do. I can’t say if I find him nice or not. Others have agreed that Kaltwasser is as nice as a pile of shit, but I really don’t know. I could even say he’s pretty good.

“Rather short.” Kaltwasser repeated. “And they definitely thought about it, I can even get the interpretation though the short story. But then you still have to write clearly: It’s not as easy as you think. Or does someone think it’s easy? Who wants to go then? Volunteer? Na, come. The last row interests me.” We followed Kaltwasser’s sight to the last row. Tschick sat there with his head on the table, and you couldn’t really tell, whether he was all up in his book or just sleeping. It was the sixth session.

“Mr. Tschichatschow, if I may?”

“What?” Tschick’s head slowly raised. This ironic tone. The alarms should be triggered by now.

“Mr. Tschichatschow, are you there?”

“Did you do your homework?”

“By myself.”

“Would you like to read it to us?”

“Ah, yeah.” Tschick sat back again, found his plastic bag on the floor, raised it high and looked for his work. As usual, he didn’t prepare before the session. He took out several booklets and tried to identify the right one.

“If you didn’t do your homework, just say it.”

“I have it – where isit though? Where isit though?” He put one on the table, shoved the others back and flipped through the pages.

“There, there it is. Should I start?”

“If you could please start.”

“Ok, I’m gonna start now. The homework was about the story of Mr. K. I’ll begin. Interpretation of the story of Mr. K. The first question that comes up when you read Precht’s story, logically–”

“Brecht.” Kaltwasser said. “Bert Brecht.”

“Ah.” Tschick managed to find a pen in his plastic bag and scribbled something on his booklet. He threw the pen in the bag again.

“Interpretation of the story of Mr. K. The first question that comes up when you read Brecht’s story, logically, is that it’s a man who doesn’t want light on him. He is hiding behind a letter, namely the letter K. That is the eleventh letter of the alphabet. Why is he hiding? Mr. K. is actually a professional arms dealer. Together with other shady characters (Mr. L. and Mr. F.) he founded a criminal organization for which the Geneva Convention is nothing more than a sad joke. He has sold tanks and airplanes and made billions and has long since stopped getting his hands dirty. He prefers to cruise on his yacht in the Mediterranean, where the CIA came across him. Mr. K. then fled to South America and had his face surgically altered by the famous doctor M. and is now astonished that someone recognizes him on the street: he turns pale. It goes without saying that the man who recognized him on the street, just like the facial surgeon, was standing in incredibly deep water with a concrete block on his feet a short time later. Done.”

I looked at Tatjana. She had a frown on her face and a pencil in her mouth. Then I looked at Kaltwasser. There was absolutely nothing to be seen on Kaltwasser’s face. Kaltwasser seemed slightly tense, but more interested and tense. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t give a grade. Afterwards Anja read the correct interpretation, as it is on Google, then there was an endless discussion about whether Brecht had been a communist, and then the lesson was over. And that was just before the summer holidays.

10

We got our first math work back two weeks later. Strahl always writes our grades on the board beforehand to create tension. This time, there was an A, that, was impossible. Strahl’s favorite saying is: A is only for the god. But Strahl was also our math teacher and he was disturbing. There were two Bs, countless Cs and Ds, and a single F. I kinda wished for the A, math was the only subject in which I could land a goal now and then. But then I got a B minus. Always. With Strahl, a B minus is almost an A. I turned around to see where the cheers (because of the A) were. But nobody cheered. Neither Lucas or Kevin, not the other math tryhards. But Strahl had the last one in the hand and personally brought it to Tschichatschow in the last row. Tschick sat there and chewed on peppermint gum. He didn’t look at Strahl and only continued chewing and breathing. Strahl weighed himself down, opened his lips and said: “Andrej.”

There was almost no reaction. A small turn of the head like a gangster in a film, behind which a click of a weapon can be heard.

“Your work. I don’t know what it is…” Strahl said and put a hand on Tschick’s desk. “I mean, if you didn’t learn it at your previous school – you have to re-do it. You didn’t – you didn’t even try.” Strahl flipped through the pages and his voice sank, but you could still understand him. “This joke – I mean, if you didn’t have it, I completely understand. I had to give you an F, but they are in parenthesis. I would suggest you ask Kevin or Lucas for help. You can give your homework to them. Stuff from the last two months. And when you have questions. Because, if not, this won’t do.”

Tschick nodded. He nodded with surprisingly understanding, and then it happened. he fell from the chair, direct in front of Strahl’s feet. Strahl twitched, and Patrick and Julia jumped up. Tschick was lying on the ground as if he were dead.

We’ve been with this Russian for a bit, but nobody would think he’d fall from a chair because of an F in math. As it later came out, it had nothing to do with it. He didn’t eat anything for the whole morning, and with the alcohol, it was obvious. Tschick puked a whole sink in the secretary’s office, and then he was sent home.

What he wrote in his work was unclear, and I also forgot who got the A. But what I’ve always remembered and will never forget, is Strahl’s face when he saw a Russian fall to his feet.

The irritating thing about this story was not Tschick’s falling from the chair or his getting an F. The irritating thing was, that he got a B three weeks later. And then a D. And then a B again. Strahl was a total different person. He said something from “good revision” to “not behind now”, but even blind people could see that the Bs had nothing to do with Tschick’s good revision or what. It was only because he cheated sometimes and sometimes not.

So, as time went on, the teachers also got hold of that, so Tschick was warned and sent home for a few times. There were also talks with him in private, but the school didn’t take it seriously. Tschick always had a heavy fate or so what, and because after the PISA-test everyone wanted to know whether the Asian, pickled Russian stood a chance at a German high school, he never got any real penalties. After some time, the whole thing with Tschick started to cool down. What’s up with him, still knows nobody. But he did catch up in most subjects. He chewed fewer peppermint gum in class. And he hardly disturbed. If he didn’t have his occasional dropout, maybe you would even forget his existence.