Sorry. Shaun Whiteside

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      It was Erin who had sought out Wolf. It happened on the night bus. Wolf was on his way home from a concert. Erin came and stood next to him, said Hi, and then said her name. Erin. It sounded like a question. Wolf, said Wolf, and made it sound like an answer. She took him by the hand, the bus stopped, they got out, and in a deserted playground a few yards from the bus stop they had sex together for the first time. It was very quick. Wordless. Wolf came right away.

      “At last,” Erin said afterwards.

      “At last,” Wolf said too, knowing that she would disappear almost immediately and he would lose her forever. He saw himself spending the rest of his life walking around the place with a broken heart. From the beginning Wolf had had that premonition.

      They didn’t part for a minute. Time existed for them alone. Wolf lost ten pounds because he more or less forgot about eating. His new life consisted of vodka, television, dope, Pizza Express, sex, cigarettes, Vaseline, music, sweets, baths, talking and talking some more, of sunrises, sunsets, laughing, the best deep sleep of his life and of course one hundred percent of Erin.

      On the fourteenth day her cell phone rang. Up until that point Wolf didn’t even know she had one. It was three in the morning, and Wolf said:

      “Don’t answer it.”

      Erin took the call, listened briefly, and hung up. Wolf wanted to know who was calling at that time of night, but before he could ask, Erin turned onto her belly and stuck her bottom in the air.

      “Come on, fuck me again.”

      Wolf didn’t take the trouble to pull down her panties. He pushed them aside to reveal her cunt. He couldn’t understand how this woman could always, but really always, be moist and ready for him.

      It would be the last time.

      Afterwards Erin was in the shower, and Wolf was sitting cross-legged on the lid of the toilet, rolling a joint and listening to her.

      “As far as I’m concerned this could go on forever,” he said during a pause.

      “What do you mean?”

      Erin opened the shower curtain. The water sprayed Wolf and slowly covered the floor. Wolf laughed and didn’t reply. She didn’t have to know everything, after all. Erin turned the water off and reached for a towel. She said she was hungry now. She said the word hungry so many times that it lost its meaning. Then she got dressed, took Wolf by the hand, and they went to have breakfast.

      Berlin is the only city in Germany where you still feel alive at night. It was summer two years ago, they cycled from west to east and sat down in a café at the Hackeschen Markt. When Wolf crosses the market square today he feels uneasy, as if the tourists are watching him, as if everyone knows that this is the place where he failed.

      There was hardly anyone to be seen in the square that morning. There was just a council street-cleaning machine going around sweeping up the dirt from the previous night. Wolf had no idea what day of the week it was. A romantic veil lay over his eyes. Everything about Erin was right—taste, humor, every touch found a perfect echo, no words were out of place, their gestures were almost synchronized. Wolf knew he had found the right woman. She is mine and belongs to me alone! He wanted to sing it out loud.

      When the first people walked past the café on their way to work, Erin snuggled up to him and he said, “You and me and me and you.”

      “No,” Erin contradicted him. “You and me, you and me.”

      She laughed, stood up, and explained she just had to go to the little girls’ room for a moment. Wolf didn’t follow her. He sat there and played with a beer mat and let five minutes go by. He should have followed her right away. If only I had … Then I would have … Guilt began. Erin didn’t come back.

      There are days when Wolf sees her in the street, at a newsstand or waiting by a traffic light. Sometimes she sits down next to him on the subway and he doesn’t dare look at her. Today on his way to Woolworth’s he saw her on a park bench. Her legs were crossed and she had a cell phone pressed to her ear. Of course she paid him no attention, and he didn’t stop to chat with her because he had accepted long ago that Erin settled wherever and whenever she felt like it. She hides in details, she is never the sum of the whole. Since Wolf accepted that, he has stopped talking to women who are complete strangers.

      Wolf is still Wolf. He’s a bit broken, he has lost himself a little, but he’s still Wolf—a man who thinks that the love of his life is still nearby. He finds her in the tiniest detail. As if her spirit were in turmoil; as if her spirit wanted him to see her.

      Wolf found her in one of the stalls in the bathroom. Her head was thrown back, her half-open eyes stared at the ceiling as if there was something to see there. He doesn’t know how long he crouched by her motionless body watching her. At some point he leaned forward, closed her eyes, and carefully pulled the needle from her arm before asking one of the waitresses to call an ambulance. When he went back to the bathroom Erin’s left eye had opened again. Automatically, thought Wolf, feeling hopeful nevertheless, but there was no breathing, there was no pulse. He walked back to the table, sat down, and waited until the police came. He didn’t want to know what they had to say. He didn’t want to know anything. But he couldn’t go. He couldn’t simply leave Erin on the toilet in that café. Alone.

      For this reason there are days when he even avoids his friends. On those days he doesn’t want to exist, or be reminded that he does. He knows it sounds absurd. But the attempt to keep out of his own way is absurd enough already. Wolf just wants to function, with a feeling of guilt by his side and melancholy in his head. The million-dollar question is how long you can go on doing that without feeling like an idiot.

      “Look who it is,” Wolf shouts across Woolworth’s. “It’s Frauke!”

      Frauke turns around, surprised. Wolf feels his heart contracting.

       Such joy.

      “Yeah, look,” Frauke calls back. “It’s Wolf!”

      At school Wolf was two classes behind his brother. Little Wolf, so different from big Kris—wittier, noisier, more present. Kris’s clique treated him as a mascot. They took him along to parties, watched him bouncing around, trying to get off with girls and puking into the bushes behind the house. When the clique left school, they left Wolf behind like a dog that wasn’t old enough to join the pack. The two years till his own school-leaving exam were a torment for him. He wasn’t interested in the kids his own age, he listened to different music, spoke a different language. For a while he grew bitter, stole money from his father and drank the evenings away, started fights and had his heart broken by a girl who looked very much like Frauke. During that time melancholy broke out in Wolf like a creeping infection.

      He passed his leaving exam with difficulty and went traveling. He explored Scandinavia, spent a month in a dilapidated hut high in the north of Norway and didn’t see another human being for six weeks. Then he took a freighter to Canada, where he worked little jobs, felled trees, and cleared snow from driveways. In the summer he slept in the forests and stayed far from civilization. Everything he owned was in his rucksack.

      After six years Wolf came back to Berlin having decided to be a writer. No one collected him from the airport the day he arrived, because no one knew he was back. For six months everything was fine, until one day his brother bumped into him in СКАЧАТЬ