Read Online Magic Hoffmann by Jakob Arjouni - Free Book Online Page A

and said out of the corner of his mouth: ‘Very funny.’ Then he shoved the door open and they entered a large, dark room, where a crowd of people sat on the ground in front of a television set. Most of them were also wearing sunglasses and carrying vodka bottles. The cowboy bid Fred sit down. ‘Take a slug if you want.’
    Confused by the answer to his question about the baseball tournament and by the scene in front of the television, Fred knocked over a bottle, which rumbled noisily over the parquet. A few shades turned their heads, and one mumbled: ‘Better forget that slug.’
    Fred wanted to pursue the bottle, but as the flooring creaked beneath his feet he rapidly sat down.
    His gaze wandered round the high-ceilinged, old apartment. Again there was only one object in the room, the television. The walls were white, the only decoration being the polaroid portraits of cheerily grimacing youths pinned up beside the TV. Three doors and a window marked the edges of the room. Beneath the window Fred noticed two sleeping dogs. Why did Berliners like dogs so much?
    The TV was showing a Japanese video with Swedish sub-titles. Fred carefully fished up one of the vodka bottles that were lying around, and took care not to gurgle while drinking it. Once the vodka had begun to kick in, he leaned over to a short-haired character with a severe parting and earrings like machine guns. He pointed at her dark glasses, then at the TV, and whispered: ‘Eye test?’
    One rapid suspicious glance and the shorn head turned back to the film. Or are they blind, shot through Fred’s mind, and he could see himself dropping another clanger. No, blind people would hardly seek out a Japanese film, unless they were Japanese. Reassured, he raised the bottle again. Maybe dark glasses were just part of the film business, even if this seemed to Fred to be mildly illogical.
    On the TV two men were now going through a cave. The screen was dark. Their footsteps could be heard, and intermittently a snatch of Japanese dialogue. The shades looked on, spellbound.
    So these are Annette’s artist friends, thought Fred. Well, something similar would come up for her in Canada. When the film ended and the lights came on, Fred had drunk half the vodka bottle, and he was swaying as he stood up. The short-haired woman beside him was plucking fluff from her skirt. A short skirt from which fabulous legs emerged. When she looked up Fred said, smiling: ‘Hi, I’m Fred.’
    â€˜Hi,’ she mumbled, as she turned round and picked up her cigarette, ‘Silke.’
    â€˜Ah,’ Fred raised his eyebrows, ‘a pretty name.’
    The woman turned her head round slowly and gave Fred a filthy look.
    â€˜May I?’ Fred plucked something invisible from her back, ‘By the way, I’m unemployed.’
    â€˜Imagine that. Overqualified?’
    The woman walked off, and Fred watched as her legs left the room, accompanied by other legs. He shrugged. In Berlin there were clearly different rules for flirting than in Dieburg. He’d get to grips with it yet.
    He was alone with a couple who were sitting on the ground, kissing passionately. One of them was the cowboy. The only person Fred knew here, so to speak. Fred wanted to ask him where Annette was.
    He went to the window and gazed at the dark treetops, then he turned towards the TV and examined the polaroids. He even bent down to the dogs and pretended to stroke them. But the snogging continued, and when nothing more occurred to Fred, he cleared his throat. The couple looked up, and only now did he realise that they were both cowboys. He let out a vodka-enhanced laugh. ‘And I thought balding women looked stupid.’
    Words and laughter echoed round the walls and faded, while the cowboys stared at Fred, unmoved. He was struggling to withstand their gaze. Had they misunderstood him? Did the other cowboy object to the mention of his partial baldness? Types like