Why We Took the Car (26 page)
I heard noises downstairs. There was a scream, a crash, and a rumble. I didn't pay attention for a long time because I figured my parents were just fighting again. I rolled onto my back and stared at the letter. Then it occurred to me that my father wasn't around because he was out looking at an apartment with Mona.
I heard more crashing and looked out the window. Nobody was in the backyard, but there was a chair floating upside down in the pool. Something else â something smaller â splashed into the water next to the chair and sank. Looked like a cell phone. I went downstairs.
My mother was standing in the frame of the backdoor hiccupping. In one hand she had a potted plant â holding it like she was choking it â and in the other hand she had a glass of whiskey.
“It's been like this for an hour,” she said with despair. “The fucking hiccups won't go away.”
She stood on her tiptoes and threw the plant into the pool.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“What does it look like?” she said. “I'm not attached to this crap. And besides, I must have been out of my mind â look at the pattern on this fabric.”
She held up a red-and-green-checkered throw pillow and tossed it over her shoulder into the pool.
“Remember one thing in life! Have I ever talked to you about fundamental questions? And I'm not talking about the shit with the car. I mean really fundamental questions.”
I shrugged.
She gestured around the room. “None of this matters. One thing that does matter: Are you happy? That. And that alone.” She paused. “Are you in love?”
I thought about it for a second.
“That's a yes,” said my mother. “Forget about all that other crap.”
She had looked pissed off the whole time. And she still looked pissed off, but now she also looked a little surprised. “So you're in love? And does the girl â does she love you?”
I shook my head â for Tatiana. And shrugged â for Isa.
My mother got very serious, poured herself a fresh glass of whiskey, and threw the empty bottle into the pool. Then she hugged me. She pulled the cables out of the DVD player and tossed that into the pool. Then went the remote control and the big potted fuchsia. A huge splash went up when the fuchsia landed and dark clouds of dirt bubbled up as red flower petals floated on the choppy surface.
“Ah, isn't it lovely,” said my mother, beginning to cry. Then she asked me if I wanted a drink. I said I'd rather throw something into the pool.
“Help me.” She went over to the sofa. We carried it over to the side of the pool and threw it in. It flipped over and its feet bobbed just below water level. Then my mother pushed the round table onto its side and rolled it in a big half circle across the terrace. It finally fell into the back of the pool. Next she took apart a lamp, put the shade on her head, and tossed the base into the pool like a shot-putter. Then the TV, CD racks, and coffee tables.
My mother had just popped a bottle of champagne across the terrace and put the spraying bottle up to her lips when the first policeman came around the corner of the house into the backyard. He tensed, then relaxed when my mother removed the lampshade and greeted him with a bow, holding out the lampshade like a feather cap. She could barely stand upright. I stood by the side of the pool holding the comfy chair that matched the sofa.
“The neighbors called,” said the police officer.
“Those snooping Stasi assholes,” my mother said, putting the lampshade back on her head.
“Do you live here?” asked the policeman.
“Sure do,” said my mother. “And you, sir, are on our property.” She went into the living room and came back out with an oil painting.
While the cop was saying something about the neighbors, disturbing the peace, and suspicion of vandalism, my mother held the painting above her head with both hands like a hang glider and sailed into the pool. She did it well. And she looked cool doing it. She came across like somebody whose favorite thing in the world was hang gliding into pools using paintings. I'm pretty sure the cops would happily have hang glided in after her if they hadn't been on duty. I let myself fall into the pool with the comfy chair. The water was lukewarm. I felt my mother reaching for my hand as I sank. Together with the chair, we sank to the bottom and then looked up from there at the iridescent, glittering surface of the water, with furniture and other dark shapes floating in it. I know exactly what went through my mind right then, as I held my breath and looked up. I thought that everybody at school was probably going to start calling me Psycho again. And that I didn't care if they did. I thought that there were worse things than having an alcoholic mother. I thought that it wouldn't be long now until I was allowed to visit Tschick at the detention center. And I thought of Isa's letter. And of Horst Fricke and his carpe diem. I thought of the storm over the wheat field, of nurse Hanna, and the smell of gray linoleum. I thought that I would never have experienced any of it without Tschick, and thought about what a cool summer it had been â the best summer ever. All of that went through my mind as we held our breath and looked through the bubbles and shimmering surface at the two perplexed policemen who were now bending over the pool and talking to each other in a muted, distant language, in another world. And I was insanely happy. Because you can't hold your breath forever, but you can hold it for a pretty long time.
