Your House Is on Fire, Your Children All Gone: A Novel (23 page)

“I’ll leave Hemmersmoor,” she says suddenly, and nods several times.

“Yes,” I say.

“Each and every day I walk our streets. Every day I see the same people, the same houses. But I never left. It’s been like a curse—I couldn’t leave.”

I nod my head.

Linde takes a long drag and says, “I hope Alex gets his due and dies.”

I nod again and light a cigarette for myself. “He looks pretty healthy to me.”

She laughs. “Did he show you his blueprints and maps? Did you drink with him?”

“Of course,” I say.

“You never had a soul.” She says it without anger; she doesn’t care about me. “You were always a ghost.”

I nod once more. I say, “A spirit.”

“You’ll see. Alex will bite the dust before me.”

“Sure,” I say, but my answer isn’t good enough for her and she turns away and leaves. She’s a good friend. In her own way she’s still loyal to Anke Hoffmann, as though the two were still wearing the same rolled-up braids. She’s never forgiven Anke; that she owed to her friend. Her hatred bound them together, and now that Anke has died, Linde only keeps on living in her hatred for Alex. What use does she have for a new house in a new town?

What about myself? I don’t have anything to forget or forgive. Nobody has ever loved me enough to hate me beyond my grave. My wife is dead, and she never knew me, couldn’t see the boy from Hemmersmoor. She did away with my past like discarding a worn coat.

The chest of drawers stands in the same spot it did when I was young, and I’ve gathered all the old photographs. The baker Meier and my dad smile at me. They have faded, turned gray; they almost look harmless. Two young men who have just started their lives. But the dead are restless spirits—they meddle with
everything. I’m a light sleeper, and they sense that and invade my dreams. This is very easy for them. I can swat at them as though they were fleas or cockroaches, but I can’t get rid of them. My mother and sister keep me company and lament their fate, my housekeeping, and the state of my wardrobe. The
Gendarm
visits me, and the von Kamphoffs stop by as well. With Alex’s help, their house will rise again on the hill Hüklüt the Giant left behind. All visitors gather in my living room, make themselves comfortable on the sofa and the carpet in front of the fireplace. I despise them, but if they should ever turn their backs on me, what will I have left? I was raised in this village. I can’t replace them.

If I should leave Hemmersmoor once again, I won’t need to burn down my house. Alex has offered to buy it, and he’ll get rid of my belongings faster than any fire could. He plans to open a small boutique, maybe an antiques store. With his help, I will take all my memories with me; I will be less than a ghost. Should anybody ask about my whereabouts, Martin, Linde, and Alex will shrug helplessly and shake their heads. I can count on my old friends. Christian Bobinski, the pale boy? Never heard of him.