16

Erich seemed to have disappeared from view. No matter where he looked, Thomas couldn’t find him. So he decided he would visit Ingrid Koerner instead.

Ingrid Koerner had been Erich’s lover for the past three years. They had been engaged for twelve months. Like Erich, she came from a wealthy family, and like him, possessed a self-confident, theatrical side. She smoked cigarettes through an ivory holder and has a liberal taste for whiskey. She paraded herself as sexually fearless, an attitude which lent her an avant-garde style. It was almost as if she thought herself to be famous; the flip-side to this was an acute self-consciousness which had become something of a debilitation, for she couldn’t act without thinking of the effect on her appearance. Thomas once saw her undress through an open doorway, an image which he was sure she had orchestrated deliberately.

Thomas arrived at her apartment at exactly noon. In stark contrast to her carefully tuned appearance, her apartment was a cluttered trove. In the entrance hall three clarinets were lined up along the wall, none of which she could play. Rose petals lay in numerous shallow dishes. A hat stand stood in the corner blossomed with brightly coloured bonnets. A stack of framed Dürer prints was piled up against a table ready to be hung. In the main living room, there was an original oil painting by Jana Constein – Ingrid had always fancied herself as something of a patron and promised to buy more work from the artist. Below the picture, a pile of typed manuscripts – a novel she was working on – were strewn haphazardly across a desk. A miniature of Michelangelo’s David stood nearby; it was now strung with brightly-coloured bead-necklaces. A single shelf in the middle of the wall stored a volume of encyclopaedias, and on the rug below, a stack of foreign literature translated into German. This charming mess was her way of keeping the world from drying up. But anyone who spent some time with Ingrid would inevitably sense that it was also a burden to her, since those unread books and those incense sticks not yet burnt were signs of a restless, dissatisfied spirit.

Exactly how Ingrid ought to live had never been fully answered. She once said to Thomas, ‘I was not put on this earth to live like a grain of sand. Why would God have wanted that?’

She had a perfectly oval face, symmetrical in every part, shallow blue eyes that were simple in an elegant way, and a slender nose bearing on a mouth that was neatly pursed. Thomas had noticed that her speech had become even more measured of late, and her vocabulary was thinning out. He felt her recent bouts of despondency were perversions of a truer, more colourful character. It did not suit her to be so solemn.

As soon as he arrived, she told him they were leaving.

‘Erich is not here,’ she said. ‘It’s just the two of us today.’

‘Where is he?’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve been looking for him all over the city.’

‘He might be with us later. That’s if he remembers. He’s been impossible recently. For now you’ll have to put up with just me.’

‘I’m sure I can manage.’

Thomas had brought some confectionary with him, toffees and fudges in a brown bag; when they arrived on the street he opened the bag and offered it to Ingrid. She laughed with condescension as if sweets were an affront to her higher tastes, but took a handful nevertheless.

They travelled on foot to Ingrid’s parent’s house that was just three streets away. Thomas had been there before; he’d eaten and drunk wine in the little pavilion at the bottom of the huge garden, and played badminton and other games on the lawn as days disappeared behind the trees.

They bypassed the main entrance of the house and went straight into the garden and to the pavilion adorned with yellow bunting. Ingrid immediately took a seat on the steps with her head in the shade and her legs in the sun as she liked to do. They sat quietly for a time, chewing sweets in the warm rays of light.

‘I am more relaxed here,’ she said. ‘When the sun is out, I hate that apartment. It’s so dark.’

‘I’d do anything to have that apartment,’ Thomas replied. Sounding envious, he thought, was a type of compliment.

Ingrid changed the subject. ‘Have you sat for Jana yet? That painting is really going to be something.’

‘I’ve not been called. I’m looking forward to it. At least I think I am.’

‘It’s a very odd thing to have someone stare at you for two hours. And she stares so firmly, it’s quite disturbing to tell the truth. Take my advice. If you concentrate on your breathing you’ll find it much easier to stay still. Do you remember the roof terrace? I didn’t move a muscle the entire time.’

Thomas paused on the thought, trying to hold back the inevitable convulsion of anxiety that the topic produced.

‘How is Käthe?’ she asked as if reading his deepest thoughts.

‘She’s fine. I took her out last week.’

‘Wonderful. She seems like a nice girl.’

‘She has many good attributes,’ Thomas said rather formally, failing to suppress a smile.

Ingrid nodded and laughed. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing. I just don’t like to talk about her very much. I think I might curse things if I say too much.’

‘So you like her then?’

‘I’m hoping to see more of her, yes.’

‘That’s good.’

‘That’s my hope anyway. Can we change the subject now please?’

‘To what?’

‘First of all, you can tell me where Erich is. You never did say.’

‘I don’t know where he is. I never know. You might say that’s one of his charms. Actually, we’re not speaking much at the moment.’

‘Not speaking? Have you had an argument?’

‘I wouldn’t say that. He’s just drunk most of the time, so I do my best to avoid him. He goes through these phases. He’s idealistic and stubborn. That’s a terrible combination, because he thinks he knows better than anyone else.’

Thomas looked across the lawn and admired the large house perched on the shelf of green at the top of the garden. The conversation paused. It seemed so strange how the urgency to speak about Erich waxed and waned.

‘He has no structure in his life!’ Ingrid suddenly started up again, this time with more agitation. ‘Nothing! Except for his willingness to drink. And he’s been arguing with his parents. They want him to go abroad, perhaps a job with an embassy. Can you imagine him? I walked in on an argument just a few days ago. It wasn’t nice. They are concerned for him.’

‘Do you think he will go?’

‘Never! It could never happen.’

Thomas considered. ‘I don’t know. He’s wayward, but he’s not incapable.’

‘In this case, I think he is. He cannot stand politics – he thinks they are all Communists. Can you imagine his father’s reaction if he heard that?’ Ingrid continued: ‘And there’s his brother too, of course.’

Erich’s older brother, Johann, was killed in the war. It was a cruel shock for a family that thought it was indestructible.

‘What about his brother?’ Thomas said.

Ingrid shifted round on her backside to face him. In her eyes, he spotted a cruel excitement as if she relished an opportunity to betray Erich’s confidence. ‘They were very close. Johann taught Erich everything. He’s still very bitter about his death. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever got over it.’

‘Do you know what actually happened to Johann?’

‘I don’t think anybody knows. There was talk of him being a spy, but really, I don’t think that’s likely. But that’s why Erich himself never fought. He’s the right age, you know? He could have enlisted, but the family made sure he stayed at home. He became a sort of jewel to his parents after Johann died. That’s why they are so generous to him. And so worried.’

‘I can understand that,’ Thomas said, thinking of his own experiences of the war. His was an undistinguished military career, stationed just about as far from action as anybody could be, with an aircraft maintenance company in Oberschleissheim where he spent three years executing pointless marching drills and restoring aircraft camouflage.

‘It was Johann’s birthday last week. I expect Erich has gone to visit the cemetery.’

‘He doesn’t speak about his brother very much, does he?’

‘Hardly ever. These days he is not very reflective. He prefers to live in the moment. You know that about him.’

‘I do.’ Thomas nodded.

Ingrid smiled. ‘Don’t mention anything to him, will you? That we were talking about him.’

‘If I ever find him, I won’t mention anything.’

After a while Ingrid stood up from the step and walked bare feet across the lawn, heading towards the base of a tree where a number of hand-sized rocks had been left. She picked up one of the rocks and carried it onto the lawn, where she carefully set it down in a particular spot in the middle of the grass. As she walked back to Thomas she held her spine vertical and her head upright.

‘Let’s not talk about Erich anymore,’ she said straight-faced. She went back to the base of the tree and took another rock in her hands. Then she said. ‘Listen.’

‘Listen?’

‘Shhhhsss! Just listen.’

Thomas fell quiet. A few moments passed, birdsong came down from the trees and the rustle of a nearby stream could be heard. Then another noise joined in. It was a melody of clocks chiming faintly from inside the house. It was three o’clock. It was a pretty sound.

‘Can you hear them?’ she said.

‘The clocks? Yes, I can hear them. How many clocks are here?’

‘Dozens,’ Ingrid said as she went off around the side of the gazebo.

‘What are you doing?’

A moment later she came back around with another rock in her hands. ‘This one is for later. I’m making a clock,’ she said. Thomas noticed the position of the first rock on the lawn. It was placed exactly where the apex of the pitched roof of the gazebo was casting its shadow. The shape of the roof meant the shadow was like a huge arrow pointing across the grass toward the house.

‘You’re making a sundial!’ Thomas shouted out happily.

‘Yes! I make them all the time. Come over here,’ she called.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Follow me,’ she said, heading off towards the woods. Thomas got to his feet and hurried after her. After following for a short time, they came upon a clearing of long grass in the middle of the wood. He noticed there were small piles of rocks scattered through the space. He had been there before and seen the rocks, but he’d not noticed the shape they made – set out in a steadily curving arc with a gap of about ten feet between each one; it was obvious to him now what they were for.

‘I used the shadow of the tall poplar tree over there,’ Ingrid said as she pointed toward the sun. The shadow of the tree fell across the open space, crossing over the line of rock piles.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘here’s another one.’

Thomas went over and found her stood beside a fallen branch. He noticed she had carved a number of notches into the bark, similar in formation to the rocks, corresponding to the shadow cast by a piece of bark that had splintered up.

‘Every hour I come back and add another mark. I like watching the shadows move, things changing. Of course, they’re only accurate for one day of the year. Besides that, things grow, and the wind moves them around, so they usually don’t last very long.’

‘They’re all unique,’ Thomas said.

‘I like to think so.’

‘Are there any more?’

‘Lots. Do you want to see them?’

They walked through the wooded area and out where the path came up beside the house. Along the way she showed him the place where she’d made a sundial the previous autumn using leaves arranged in piles. Then she showed him a tiny dial she’d made on a brick wall using the shadow cast by a twig forced into the mortar. In all, there were at least a dozen sundials dotted randomly about, and the remnants of half-a-dozen more. She said, ‘Most of them don’t last very long – the gardener moves them if the wind doesn’t. That’s fine though. Change is a part of the idea.’

By the time they got back to the gazebo, an hour had almost passed and so it was time to lay another rock on the lawn. Ingrid allowed Thomas to place the rock himself where the pitched roof indicated, just as the clocks rang out, about a yard to the right of the first stone.

It was only as the chimes rang and they arranged the third stone did they look up and see Erich plodding across the lawn towards them.

‘Can anyone tell me the time?’ Erich joked, recognising what they were up to. He walked into the shadow of the pavilion and kissed Ingrid on the cheek.

‘Hello Thomas. Are you well?’

Quite out of the blue, Thomas, who had very much enjoyed his afternoon, suddenly grew agitated. Except that it lasted only a matter of seconds, replaced almost as quickly by a fresh feeling – one of superiority.

Being there at the fine house with its extensive gardens – gardens you would never guess at from beyond the property wall – being there with Ingrid, spending time in the place where Erich should have been, stirred in him an elevated feeling. It was as if he had momentarily stepped into Erich’s kingdom and tried on his robes.

‘We missed you this afternoon,’ Thomas eventually said after these new sensations had percolated through him. ‘Ingrid has been showing me her secret places among the woods.’ His words carried more innuendo than he intended, but he decided to leave it there, dangling.

‘Her secrets?’ Erich repeated sarcastically.

‘Thomas has been looking for you,’ Ingrid said.

‘Well here I am,’ Erich said.

‘Here he is,’ Ingrid repeated, as if she had delivered one man to the other.

Thomas said, ‘So I see. We need to talk.’

‘Well then, talk!’

‘Not now. Now is not the right time.’

‘Not now? Then when? How many times do I have to tell you Thomas, there is no guarantee that tomorrow will come?’

‘Tomorrow will come. And the day after. I’m sure of that.’

‘Why not stay around a bit longer? Stay for a drink. You haven’t even finished your sundial yet.’ Erich grinned.

‘Don’t tease,’ Ingrid said. ‘If he has to go, then he has to go. Are you busy Thomas?’

‘I have to work this evening, that’s all.’ He felt his superiority draining away.

‘Well, before you go,’ Erich said, ‘I want to invite you out for dinner. Next week is Ingrid’s birthday. It’s my treat. Bring that girl you’ve been seeing as well. The one from Potsdam. What’s her name?’

‘You know her name perfectly well.’

‘Yes, you’re right. Bring Käthe along. Ingrid would like her to come – that way the numbers will be balanced. How about it?’

‘Ok, I’ll do that. We can talk then.’

‘Good. That’s settled. Now I’m going to fix myself a drink. Goodbye Thomas.’

‘Goodbye Erich.’

Thomas turned to leave. ‘Oh, one last thing,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ Erich said.

‘Tomorrow will come. But that doesn’t mean the days aren’t numbered.’