juice and the chocolate. ‘I made this for you,’ she said. A little animal made of conkers and matchsticks. He hadn’t realised right away that it was supposed to be a dog; it could have been a sheep or a cat, but then she’d said, ‘It’s a dachshund, Mr Krein, for you.’
‘Thank you, Juli,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wanted a dachshund.’
She smiled, and he took the conker dachshund, balanced it on his belly and cautiously stroked the large conker that was its head. ‘My parents,’ said Juli, and he said, ‘Yes?’ but he wasn’t listening, he was stroking the dachshund moving up and down on his belly as he breathed. She talked, and he closed his eyes and saw three circles, two large and one small between the two large ones. The two large circles touched in the middle of the small circle, then they moved apart again, and it looked like they were holding the small circle tight in the middle. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. She stood in front of him, pressing her exercise book to her chest and her chin. ‘Bye, Mr Krein.’ The dog fell off his stomach as he reached a hand out for her. ‘Stay a bit longer, Juli, I’ll take you home.’
‘No.’ She pushed the exercise book higher, until it touched the tip of her nose, and spoke through the paper. ‘My parents, Mr Krein …’
The dachshund was lying on the floor at his feet. He bent down and balanced it on its short matchstick legs. A stabbing pain in his head. He took a deep breath as he leaned back. ‘Is there a law against going for an ice cream with Juli? Is there a law against going swimming with Juli? Is there a law against …?’ He started shouting but there was no one there, only the dachshund at his feet. He had shouted when the man from the school inspection board had sat opposite him in the secretary’s office. ‘Investigations, you go ahead and do your investigations!’
‘At the moment all it’s about is unjustified favouritism and support for a pupil …’
He stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom, pressing both hands to the glass. How did that little poem go again, the one she’d recited for him when they were sitting in the sun? That May had been so warm … two ice cream sundaes. He saw her lips moving, her hands gesticulating above her ice cream while she recited the poem. She closed her eyes when she got stuck, the small crease from the top of her nose to her forehead. Was it Goethe? He knew nothing about literature. Yes, it was Goethe. Or maybe Schiller or some other poet? He’d been so happy, next to her at the table, and her hands above the ice cream sundaes, and the poem, but the only thing he was good at remembering was numbers. ‘My heart it beat …’
He took his hands off the mirror, saw the moist prints they left behind fading. ‘… the evening bowed t’ward the earth …’ The blackboard … He shuddered, didn’t want that in his head, the blackboard, the big white letters; he went to the door. He walked back down the dark hallway to the kitchen.
He stood on the tiles, feeling for the light switch. He looked over at the window; it must be evening by now. He turned on the light and took a couple of steps, then his legs fell away beneath him, he raised both arms, nothing to hold onto, then he was on the floor, and his head smashed against the wall. He lay on his back like that for a while, then slowly turned onto his side. The trampled cutlet in aspic lay next to him.
He went into the classroom. He went to the blackboard, not looking around, heard the children talking softly, the rustle of paper; he opened the two flaps of the blackboard. ‘Fatty loves Juli,’ it said in wobbly white capital letters, a heart drawn beneath it in red chalk. He placed one hand on either side of the heart and stood like that for a while, supporting himself against the blackboard, all quiet behind him now. He stood upright, saw the moist prints left behind by his hands – he could make out each separate finger –
‘Thank you, Juli,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wanted a dachshund.’
She smiled, and he took the conker dachshund, balanced it on his belly and cautiously stroked the large conker that was its head. ‘My parents,’ said Juli, and he said, ‘Yes?’ but he wasn’t listening, he was stroking the dachshund moving up and down on his belly as he breathed. She talked, and he closed his eyes and saw three circles, two large and one small between the two large ones. The two large circles touched in the middle of the small circle, then they moved apart again, and it looked like they were holding the small circle tight in the middle. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. She stood in front of him, pressing her exercise book to her chest and her chin. ‘Bye, Mr Krein.’ The dog fell off his stomach as he reached a hand out for her. ‘Stay a bit longer, Juli, I’ll take you home.’
‘No.’ She pushed the exercise book higher, until it touched the tip of her nose, and spoke through the paper. ‘My parents, Mr Krein …’
The dachshund was lying on the floor at his feet. He bent down and balanced it on its short matchstick legs. A stabbing pain in his head. He took a deep breath as he leaned back. ‘Is there a law against going for an ice cream with Juli? Is there a law against going swimming with Juli? Is there a law against …?’ He started shouting but there was no one there, only the dachshund at his feet. He had shouted when the man from the school inspection board had sat opposite him in the secretary’s office. ‘Investigations, you go ahead and do your investigations!’
‘At the moment all it’s about is unjustified favouritism and support for a pupil …’
He stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom, pressing both hands to the glass. How did that little poem go again, the one she’d recited for him when they were sitting in the sun? That May had been so warm … two ice cream sundaes. He saw her lips moving, her hands gesticulating above her ice cream while she recited the poem. She closed her eyes when she got stuck, the small crease from the top of her nose to her forehead. Was it Goethe? He knew nothing about literature. Yes, it was Goethe. Or maybe Schiller or some other poet? He’d been so happy, next to her at the table, and her hands above the ice cream sundaes, and the poem, but the only thing he was good at remembering was numbers. ‘My heart it beat …’
He took his hands off the mirror, saw the moist prints they left behind fading. ‘… the evening bowed t’ward the earth …’ The blackboard … He shuddered, didn’t want that in his head, the blackboard, the big white letters; he went to the door. He walked back down the dark hallway to the kitchen.
He stood on the tiles, feeling for the light switch. He looked over at the window; it must be evening by now. He turned on the light and took a couple of steps, then his legs fell away beneath him, he raised both arms, nothing to hold onto, then he was on the floor, and his head smashed against the wall. He lay on his back like that for a while, then slowly turned onto his side. The trampled cutlet in aspic lay next to him.
He went into the classroom. He went to the blackboard, not looking around, heard the children talking softly, the rustle of paper; he opened the two flaps of the blackboard. ‘Fatty loves Juli,’ it said in wobbly white capital letters, a heart drawn beneath it in red chalk. He placed one hand on either side of the heart and stood like that for a while, supporting himself against the blackboard, all quiet behind him now. He stood upright, saw the moist prints left behind by his hands – he could make out each separate finger –
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