Love Virtually (13 page)

Leo

Thirty seconds later

Re:

Night.

Three days later

Subject: (no subject)

Hi Emmi,

Are you looking out the window too? Spooky, isn't it? A hailstorm's like a taste of the end of the world. You've got this strange, ochre veil hanging over the sky, all of a sudden it's covered by a dark gray curtain, and then billions of these white pebbles hurtle to earth at breakneck speed. What's that movie called where it rains toads, or frogs, or chickens? Do you happen to know?

Love,

Leo

An hour and a half later

Re:

Animal Farm
.
The Frog Prince
. Kentucky Fried Chicken—I don't hear from you for three days, and then I get these effusive minilectures on meteorology. It's driving me nuts! Please email them to someone else. Do you think I've stuck with you in my in-box these past six months, and do you imagine that I've spent God knows how many hours a day for the past weeks and months, just so we can now start discussing heavy showers and ochre veils hanging over the sky? If you've got something to tell me about yourself, go ahead. If there's anything you want to know about me, ask away. But I've got better things to do than correspond about the weather. Has Mia turned your head so far that all you can now see is hailstones? I've got a couple more questions, since we're on the subject. Did you ask her to keep quiet about your dates for the moment?

What's that all about, some kind of silly adolescent secretiveness? An information blackout? What a childish little game. If I'm going to be honest, Leo, that's really spoiled all the pleasure of emailing with you.

Have a nice day,

Emmi

Two hours later

Re:

Dear Emmi,

I've known Mia for less than a week. We've met four times. We hit it off rightaway. We get on like a house on fire, mostly. But it's far too early to predict how things will progress. And it's far too early to spill the beans, do you know what I'm saying? Mia and I have to be clear about our feelings for each other first. To what extent are they influenced by the circumstances in which we met? Are they just temporary, or might they have a future? These are questions that we have to answer for ourselves. So please be patient, Emmi. I'll tell you everything in due course. And I imagine that Mia feels the same, precisely because you're her best friend. Just give us a little time. I hope you understand.

Best regards,

Leo

Ten minutes later

Re:

Dear Leo, You can't see me or hear me right now, so let me tell you that as I write this I'm feeling cool, calm, and collected. I'm not in the least irritated, hysterical, or aggressive. Oh no. The following words are written with utter composure and serenity:

Leo, that's the shittiest email I've ever read. Good-bye!

Fifteen minutes later

Re:

Well then I'm terribly sorry for you, Emmi. I'd better stop writing to you for the time being. When you're in the mood to get back in contact with the mouthpiece of your “other world,” just write to me.

Love,

Leo

Five days later

Subject: Yearning . . .

Hi Leo,

How are all your “things” developing? Have you and Mia managed to sort out your feelings for each other yet? Do you now know what's just “temporary” and what might “have a future”? Have you now answered a few questions “for yourselves”?

I miss the old Leo who said what there was to say and felt what there was to feel. I really yearn for him!!!

Have a nice day,

Emmi

P.S. You probably know about Mia and me. Now that I'm aware she doesn't know what to say to me either, I've asked her to consider Leo Leike a taboo subject.

Three hours later

Re: Yearning . . .

Dear Emmi,

That last comment was a subtle piece of understatement. If I'm informed correctly, what you actually said to your friend Mia on the phone the other day was, “Either you tell me everything about you and Leo, or nothing at all. If you choose the latter, I suggest we give our long-standing friendship a few months' break.”

What's wrong with you, Emmi? I don't understand you. After all, it was YOU who brought Mia and me together. YOU were the one who insisted I meet her. YOU thought we'd make a dream couple. Why are you now being so cynical and malicious? Were you too sure of me, Leo, as a supplement to your emotional life, as your possession outside your family life? Are you now angry because you think you've lost your virtual property to your best friend?

Emmi, for months you were the person I was closest to. And I was (I still am) happy that our attempts at a “physical” meeting have consistently failed. I don't care what you look like, as long as I can see you as I want to see you. I'm grateful I don't have to find out that in reality you're a different person from “Emmi the heroine in my email novel.” Like this you're perfect, no one can touch you.

But Emmi, this is why our relationship can't progress any further. Everything else is happening beyond our computer screens. The best proof of this is Mia. I'll be honest with you, in the beginning I was quite hurt that you wanted to get me together with her. My first meeting was more of an act of defiance against you, Emmi. But I soon understood the difference between you and her. You, Emmi, don't even dare describe your piano because it's got no place at all in my world. By contrast, half a meter away from me Mia leans forward over a tiny table and winds spaghetti al pesto around her fork. When she turns her head to one side I can feel the gust of air this produces. I can see, hear, touch, and smell her all at the same time. Mia is a physical being. Emmi is fantasy. Both have their advantages and disadvantages.

Have a nice evening,

Leo

Half an hour later

Re: Yearning . . .

My piano is black, rectangular, and is made almost entirely of wood. Part of it juts out horizontally and if you lift the curved, black lid you'll find some black and white keys. I should really know how many of each there are, but I'm ashamed to admit I'd have to count them. Can I give you an exact figure later, Leo? I do know that the white keys are a bit bigger, and there are more of them. If I press a key, a sound comes out somewhere near the top of the piano. You never know
exactly
where it comes from though. You can't really check when you're playing. Much more important is the sound it makes. If I choose a key to the left, it produces a deep tone. And the further a key is to the right, the higher the sound when I press it. If I press several black keys many times in succession, I get a simple, Chinese tune, a bit like a children's song from the Far East. If you'd like me to tell you any more about the white keys and what you can do with them, just ask. But I think I've managed to explain the most important features of my piano. There you go, I've dared to describe my piano to you!

Devotedly yours,

Emmi

Five minutes later

Re: Yearning . . .

Nicely done, Emmi. I think I've got a good idea of your piano now. I can even picture it right here in front of me, in fact. And you, Emmi, are sitting at it, counting the keys. Thanks for letting me watch! Good night.

One hour later

Subject: (no subject)

Hi Leo, it's me again. I'm not tired yet. And basically I don't know what to say. I just feel sad. I thought Mia might bring us closer to each other, physically as well. But instead it seems she's forcing us farther apart. And I can't even blame her for it, because it was all my idea. I'm going to be honest with you: I did want you to meet each other, I admit, but I didn't want you two to get together. To me you two were (you still are!) anything but a “dream couple.” I was too sure of what I thought about you, Leo. I thought I knew you. I didn't think it possible that you would fall in love with her. There's no doubt that Mia is attractive. But she's about as different from me as anyone could be. She's a sportswoman through and through, she's strong, she's lithe, she's sinewy. Even her moles have had a full workout, and her armpit hair is probably pure muscle. You can hardly see her breasts for her rib cage. And her sun-wrinkled skin is one big coconut-oil refinery. Mia is fitness personified. For her, sex must be like a combination of push-ups and pelvic-floor exercises, interspersed with breathers to allow for her orgasms. She might be one for a surfboard, for therapeutic fasting, for the New York marathon. But she'd never be the woman for Leo—at least that's what I thought. I imagined you very differently, Leo. If you lust after Mia, you reject me. Can you understand why I might find that depressing?

Ten minutes later

Re:

Who says I'm lusting after Mia? Who says she's lusting after me?

Two minutes later

Re:

You do, Leo! You! You say it! And the way you say it, it's hideous! You couldn't say it more hideously than you did in your icky, noxious, we-have-to-be-clear-about-our-feelings-for-each-other email. “In many ways we're incredibly alike,” you say. Yuck!—I'd never have thought you capable of
that
, Leo!

Five minutes later

Re:

But it's true—Mia and I
are
incredibly alike in many ways. I'm not making any of this up. For example, our observations and opinions about you, dear Emmi Rothner, are strikingly similar!

Three minutes later

Re:

Please don't tell me you slept with her.

Four minutes later

Re:

Emmi, you're behaving like a man again, aren't you? Stick to the subject. It's completely irrelevant whether or not I've slept with Mia.

Fifty-five seconds later

Re:

Irrelevant?? Not to me it isn't! Anyone who sleeps with Mia is never going to sleep with me, not even on a spiritual level.

And I mean that.

Two minutes later

Re:

Don't always reduce our relationship to the mere fact that on the odd occasion we've slept with each other spiritually.

Fifty seconds later

Re:

So you've slept with me spiritually? First I've heard of it.

Sounds good though!

One minute later

Re:

Speaking of sleep, now it's time for the real thing. Good night, Emmi—it's two o'clock in the morning.

Thirty seconds later

Re:

I know, isn't it great? Just like old times!

Night-night,

Emmi

The next morning

Subject: Not a word about sex

Good morning, Leo. What observations and opinions about me did you trade with Mia? What did Mia tell you? Do you now know which of the three Emmis with size 6 1/2 shoes I am? Am I at least the Emmi your sister said you could fall in love with?

An hour and a half later

Re: Not a word about sex

You're not going to believe this, Emmi, but we were talking about your personality, not your appearance. Right from the start I explained to Mia that I didn't want to know what you looked like. Her reply was, “Well, you're missing something!” (She really
is
a good friend.) Of course, Mia knew too that the last thing you wanted was for her and me to get together. It took no time at all for us to understand the roles we'd been allocated. After only ten minutes in each other's company we were allies in all matters pertaining to Emmi Rothner.

Twelve minutes later

Re: Not a word about sex

And then you fell in love with each other to spite me.

One minute later

Re: Not a word about sex

Who says?

Eight minutes later

Re: Not a word about sex

Leo Leike says: “Half a meter away from me Mia leans forward over a tiny table and winds spaghetti al pesto around her fork.” Sighs. “When she turns her head to one side I can feel the gust of air this produces.” Sighs. “I can see, hear, touch, and smell her all at the same time.” Sighs. “Mia is a physical being.” Swoons. Do you know what, Leo? With Marlene I forgive you. She came before me, she has prior rights. But Mia's gusts when she turns her head—what a cheek! I'd like to be able to turn my head too and produce a gust of air for you to feel, Maestro Leo! (O.K., I take the “Maestro” bit back.) What do Mia's gusts have that mine don't? I can generate fabulous gusts of air when I turn my head, and you'd better believe it.

Twenty minutes later

Re: Not a word about sex

We also talked about your marriage, Emmi.

Three minutes later

Re: Not a word about sex

Oh really? Getting back to our favorite subject, are we? And what does Mia have to say about it? Did she admit to you that she can't stand Bernhard?

Fifteen minutes later

Re: Not a word about sex

No, not at all. She had only positive things to say about him. She says that your marriage is
the
model marriage. It's spooky, she says, but everything about it is just perfect. She says that ever since Emmi's been with Bernhard, her vulnerabilities have just disappeared. She's forgotten how to show any weakness. When she turns up somewhere with Bernhard and the two children, it's as if the dream family has arrived. They're all smiling, all friendly, all happy. You and your husband don't even need to talk to each other—a peaceful harmony reigns. Even the kids just sit and hug each other. The perfect idyll. When friends invite the Rothners over, they'd best book themselves a few hours of therapy afterward, Mia says. Other people immediately think they've done everything wrong. They feel like failures. Either because their partners are no longer supportive, or they don't like the look of them anymore—or both. Or they've got children who terrorize them. Or all three. Or they've got none of the above—they've got nobody. Like Mia, Mia says. And it makes her miserable, but only if she compares herself to Emmi.

Eighteen minutes later

Re: Not a word about sex

Well, I know what Mia thinks about my marriage and my family life. She doesn't like Bernhard because she feels he's taken something away from her: me, her best friend. It's true, damn it, she really suffers from the fact that things are no longer going as badly for me as they are for her. Not badly enough for me to go and have a cry on her shoulder. Our friendship has become very one-sided: we had more in common before. We shared the same troubles, the same adversaries—men and their flaws, for example. That was extremely fertile ground, we could go on for hours about it, we had an embarrassment of riches there. But when I met Bernhard everything changed. For the life of me I can't find anything bad to say about him. There's no point in me pretending I'm annoyed about stupid little things just so that I can affect some kind of solidarity with Mia. So we find ourselves in fundamentally different lives. That's our problem.