Leipzig

By Kilb50
- 1632 reads
1.
Six months after walking out on his wife and kids Robert booked himself a four day weekend supersaver to Leipzig.
Things hadn’t been going too well since his marriage break-up: the apartment he’d rented - a first floor one bedroomed flat in an upmarket area of town - had proved too costly and the youngest of his two children had already forgotten his name. The library job he’d started a year ago was about to come to an end and his grandmother - with whom he’d never been particularly close - had taken a turn for the worse and been admitted to a nursing home. As one of five surviving grandchildren Robert was asked if he would contribute a small amount each month towards the expense to which, regrettably, he’d said yes. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Robert, edging menacingly towards 40, was trying to work out where the last thirty nine years of his life had gone. For some reason he thought a four day weekend supersaver to Leipzig might just be the tonic he needed.
2.
He’d seen the supersaver brochure lying on a table in the music school. Half an hour of each week was spent in this building, in a pale green, twin sofaed room, waiting for his son to finish his violin lesson. From along the corridor Robert could hear the six year old scratching his way through Happy Birthday and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and when the boy emerged looking sullen and utterly defeated his father wondered if learning to play the violin was worth such pain.
‘I mean, I’m not sure he gets anything out of it’ Robert said to his estranged wife as he delivered the child home again. ‘Maybe he’d be better off waiting a couple of years.’
But Sanne, a school psychologist, wasn’t having any of it. Not only was playing the violin good for the motoric senses but it helped instil a ‘sense of continuity’ something, she said pointedly, which she sensed was lacking.
Walking to the bus stop Robert calculated his half share of ten years’ worth of violin lessons. Like the apartment and the nursing home it was an expense he could do without.
3.
Ken swirled the beer in his glass. ‘Why Leipzig ? Why not Prague or Budapest ? Somewhere a bit more fucking interesting ?’
Robert shrugged. If he was truthful he’d chosen Leipzig because he liked the sound of the word - Leip, the first syllable, a bit comical and anarchic; zig, the second, something of a dull thud he had to admit, but fun all the same. And he’d always had a fondness for words containing the letter z: the zebras and zaps of childhood, the Zeppelin of his later youth. Now, he mused, the world seemed sadly devoid of words containing the letter z. Zenith was the only one he could think of and it certainly wasn’t relevant to him.
Ken handed Robert the supersaver brochure and shook his head. ‘Nah, sorry. Count me out. If you were thinking about a wild four days in Berlin or something, then that’d be different. But not fucking Leipzig. It just doesn’t sound interesting, Rob mate.’
They were standing at the bar in The Shakespeare, one of five English-style pubs inhabiting the minor Scandinavian city in which they lived. In happier times Robert, never a great drinker, visited The Shakespeare only to watch selected Premier League football matches. But over the past six months he’d found himself venturing out of his costly apartment to watch the Nationwide League, the Spanish Primera League, the Scottish Tenants, and any other league on offer. Along with Ken, another English emigre divorcee, he’d laugh at the latest hip, quirky screen ads and indulge in bouts of nostalgia for his hip, quirky homeland - a place he couldn’t wait to leave seven years previously when he’d packed his holdall and followed the pregnant Sanne to the icy wastes of northern europe.
‘Wagner was born there’ Robert countered.
‘You what ?’
‘Wagner was born there - Richard Wagner. The famous composer. He was born in Leipzig. That’s interesting, isn’t it ?’
An argument followed during which Ken questioned whether a city claiming to be the birthplace of Wagner - ‘a fucking Nazi whose sole contribution to world culture was supplying the soundtrack to Apocalypse Now ’ - warranted even the briefest consideration. ‘I mean Berlin -that’s different. Berlin’s a happening place. There’s all kinds of stuff to see in Berlin: bars, cafes, the Brandenburg Gate. We could have a fucking good time if we went there. And I’ve got a mate in Berlin - a chippy. He’d put us up.’
But Robert wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want to see the Brandenburg Gate. He didn’t want to be put up by a chippy. He wanted to visit a city with a z in its name. He wanted to go to Leipzig.
4.
The library where Robert worked lay in the centre of town. Each morning the car-less Robert (car-less forever more, it seemed, thanks to the nursing home and violin lessons) cycled to this place where he spent his day collecting books for the literature department, sorting applications to join the kiddie department, and translating customer information into English for the library’s homepage. There had been talk that this temporary one year job might well be extended or even become permanent but Robert had recently learned that this would not be so.
‘Why don’t you ring local publishers ?’ his boss suggested after breaking the bad news. ‘I’m sure they could use someone with your qualifications.’ So Robert rang a number of local publishers and outlined his qualifications: B.A English and Classical Drama, five years teaching Adult Education classes, two years post graduate research into seventeenth century apocalyptic literature. But there was little interest. Even his newly aquired translation skills, honed during the long winter evenings courtesy of the open university, weren’t required. That was another of the world’s problems: everyone was so damned proficient in the English language.
Thank god, then, for the Net! During his lunch break Robert would abandon his translation work and chat. He logged on using the pseudonym Bruce Wayne and had conversations with lonely middle aged women, teenage girls, and angry psychopathic men from three different continents. Never had Robert’s social circle been cast so far and wide. With a click of his mouse he could call up his friends Sweet Thing, Mr Nice, Tears, Joe 90, and Ziggy Starfucker and have stimulating conversations, many of which revolved around sex. After his split with Sanne Robert had been slightly fearful that he might turn into a bitter, isolated person, but this wasn’t the case at all. His sex life was thriving, even if much of it was conducted via thousands of miles of fiber optic cable (Bruce Wayne: ‘Wanna talk dirty with a man who thinks he’s a bat ?’ Ziggy Starfucker: ‘Bruce, hon - where U at ?’) And not only did Robert chat but he was able to visit the nursing home’s website and discover what his grandmother would be eating for dinner. It was gratifying to know that his small financial contribution was being converted into pork loin and mashed potato. He even occasionally e-mailed the old woman, sending her short messages and colourful landscapes of the Scandinavian countryside. Whether she ever read his electronic mails - or even remembered who he was - he wasn’t sure.
5.
‘I looked up Leipzig on the Net. You wouldn’t believe how interesting it is.’
Ken took another satisfying slug of Newcastle Brown Ale. They were sitting in the half empty Shakespeare watching Darlington play Peterborough.
‘You’re not going to change my mind, Robbie. I’ve told you: I’m not fucking interested.’
Robert tried to placate his friend. ‘No, no. I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m just saying: I looked up Leipzig on the Net.’ He pushed a ten page document across the table. ‘I printed out some of it for you to look at.’
Over the past six months Robert had found himself doing such things for Ken with increasing regularity. At the library he might borrow a book or print out an article of possible interest to Ken and present it to him in a roundabout way when they met in the pub. Not that Ken had asked Robert to bring him these comradely tokens: indeed, although Ken had picked up the document about Leipzig he wasn’t paying much attention to it, preferring instead to make derogatory comments about the Peterborough midfield. In fact Robert had the feeling that Ken wasn’t interested in books and articles at all. He was much happier sucking on his bottle of brown ale while watching football in the Shakespeare, which just made Robert ever more determined to find something that would rouse Ken from his self-satisfied tupor.
‘Actually, the city’s got very strong musical connections.’
‘Eh ?’
‘Leipzig. It’s got very strong musical connections. You remember ? We were talking about
Wagner.’
‘Were we ?’
‘Yes.’
‘When ?’
‘During the League Cup semi final first leg.’
‘Oh yeah.....’
‘Well, not only is Leipzig Richard Wagner’s birthplace but both Bach and Schumann lived there. It was also the centre of the medieval printing industry.’
Ken had lived in Scandinavia a lot longer than Robert. He’d opened a fish and chip bar in the late 80’s but the business had floundered after an early 90’s explosion of Chinese, Pizza and Shawarma restaurants. Ken had split from his wife soon after but had resisted moving back to England ‘because of the kids.’ Robert had thought this very noble but had since discovered that Ken rarely saw his kids at all. In fact Ken’s kids lived in another Scandinavian country altogether. And that, to Robert, seemed very sad indeed. So sad that he felt obliged to borrow books and print out articles for his suffering friend. Robert couldn’t bear to think of himself in such a situation. Not being able to see his kids would be the end of Robert’s life - even if one of them couldn’t remember his name.
The half time whistle went. Ken flicked through the Leipzig document then tossed it on the table. ‘Very interesting, Rob mate’ he said. ‘I hope you have a really nice time. What’s it to be ? Same again ?’
Robert nodded and a wave of intense unhappiness coursed through him. He suddenly felt as if he’d been sitting in The Shakespeare for the last thirty nine years of his life.
A roar of laughter went up at the bar and Ken returned with the drinks, grinning. ‘Eh, Robbie -Mick the barman’s just told me something interesting about Leipzig.’
‘What’s that ?’
‘The Allies bombed the place to fucking bits in the war.’
6.
‘When are you coming to live with us again daddy ?’
Oh dear. That question again - the question Robert’s son asks every Tuesday as they walk from the music school to the bus stop. Only now Robert’s son is asking the question in the bath at Robert’s flat.
‘Well, daddy lives here now, doesn’t he. In his special flat.’
‘Why’s it so special ?’ Robert’s son demands, unconvinced that such a cramped place could possibly be described as special. The flat is special because it’s so bloody expensive, Robert wants to say. Instead he replies: ‘Because it’s a secret place just for us.....a place where we can stay up late and eat chocolate whenever we want.’
‘But mommy says I’m not allowed to stay up late or eat chocolate. It’s bad for my teeth.’
Robert corrects himself. ‘Yes, that’s right. Staying up late and eating lots of chocolate isn’t good for you. Maybe we should forget that daddy ever said it was, hmm ?’
Oh dear.
Robert’s son has had problems adjusting to the new set-up. Every other Friday evening he’s delivered to the flat with a rucksack full of clothes to stay for the weekend. But it’s clear that he’d rather be at the house - the house where Robert lived with Sanne for six years - and that the costly little apartment doesn’t meet with his full approval. Not only does Robert’s son complain about the put-up bed being uncomfortable but he’s also irritated by the constant banging and scraping from the flat above. So too is Robert, although he doesn’t admit to this. The special flat has lots of special noises, he carefully explains. Luckily, though, there are no such problems with Robert’s youngest child, the one who can’t remember his name. After her first visit she refused to set foot in Robert’s special flat ever again, disgusted that her father’s 15 year old television wasn’t connected to the Cartoon Channel.
After bath time is over and they’ve shared one of the six organic wholefood bars Sanne put in the rucksack, just in case Robert should accidentally starve his son over the weekend, they sit watching a home video programme on TV. In the programme a vast array of pets, adults, and children - some the same age as Robert’s son - slip, fall, and bash themselves in a variety of ways.
Robert’s son asks what they’re going to be doing over the weekend.
‘Well’ says Robert ‘I thought we could cycle down to the sea one day or else go and feed the ducks in the park.....’
Both of these ideas are met with a loud groan. They cycle down to the sea and feed the ducks every time Robert’s son stays. ‘Can’t we do something else ? Something a bit more exciting ?’
Robert says he’ll try and think of something. Sunday afternoon in The Shakespeare with Uncle Ken comes to mind.
Later, past midnight, Robert powers up his computer and enters his favourite chat room. ‘Wanna talk dirty ?’ he asks Ziggy Starfucker, and when she refuses he exits and orders his search engine to look up Leipzig.
7.
His final day at the library and Robert enjoys afternoon coffee and pastries in the office for the last time. He’s presented with a copy of Saxo Grammaticus, the Nordic equivalent of Beowulf, and politely thanks everyone from the bottom of his heart, even though the very thought of reading this book is enough to induce a slight migrane. Then he clears out his locker, returns his keys to the head secretary, and makes his way into the world.
For the first hour or so this newly aquired life of leisure pleases him. He meets Ken in The Shakespeare and enjoys half a Guinness while watching Heavy Truck racing. Then he ambles through the town window-shopping, even stopping to buy three pairs of cotton rich socks on offer in one of the trendier men’s shops. It’s only when he returns home that the full weight of his meagre employment prospects descends. Sitting alone in his special apartment, Robert’s future looks as bleak and uncompromising as an oncoming train.
Later he chats with Tears about all this. Tears is a woman in her mid fifties who lives in a religious commune half way up a Norwegian mountain. She was a high powered lawyer for the European Union before she dropped out and found God. She advises Robert to forget about all his problems in the physical world and embrace the spiritual. ‘The modern world is a bastard’ she tells him. ‘Society is a bastard. Only God can love you, Bruce Wayne. Come and live with us.’
Robert punches in his answer: he’ll think it over.
Although he’s never met any of his chat friends in the flesh Robert knows a good deal about them: Ziggy is an art student in London; Mr Nice is a former guitarist in a famous punk rock band; Joe 90 is on death row; Sweet Thing is a 15 year old Japanese hooker. Of course all this may or may not be true. Even Robert finds it necessary to bend the truth a little when he chats (usually regarding his age). But he likes to imagine it is true. Meeting them in real life would be a disappointment, he feels. Sweet Thing might turn out to be Uncle Ken.
8.
A few interesting facts about the city of Leipzig: Early in its history it was an important centre for trading fur.
It has two airports.
Goethe was a student at the university.
There have been three battles of Leipzig. In 1631 Swedish forces won a great victory over the German army. In 1642 the Swedes defeated the Germans for a second time and occupied the city until 1650. In 1813 Prussia, Austria, Russia and Sweden defeated Napoleon.
Leipzig plays host to an annual trade fair.
Leipzig’s industries include woodcarving, papermaking and the manufacture of scientific instruments.
Before World War II Leipzig was the centre of German music and book publishing.
After World War II Leipzig became part of East Germany.
During World War II the Allies bombed the place to bits.
9.
He’s packed his holdall - the same holdall he packed seven years ago - and unplugged his computer and 15 year old television. The weather is overcast and they’ve forecast light snow. He decides to take his rain suit, just in case.
The train leaves at midday. His bus leaves in an hour. According to the travel agency’s information pack he should arrive at his destination at seven o’clock in the evening. At exactly the same time, far away from his costly flat, Robert’s grandmother will be wheeled into the dining room of her nursing home to eat boiled fish and asparagus hearts.
Robert has promised to call by the house before he leaves for Leipzig. Sanne’s working from home. Their son is running a temperature.
The house seems different when he enters. It’s not the first time he’s been inside since they split up and he senses something unfamiliar: a new smell, perhaps, or something slightly out of place.
Robert’s son is lying on the sofa. ‘I don’t have to go to violin if I’m ill, do I ?’ the child says, full of hope. Robert shakes his head. Among the pots and pans of the previous day’s washing up he notices two well-used wine glasses.
Sometimes Robert is overcome by the strangest feeling. He’ll be somewhere - the supermarket, the library, his flat, even - and suddenly become convinced that he’s never set foot in the place in his life. Just for a second - or even less. It’s happened just now at the railway station. A kind of deja vu in reverse.
He’s never set foot in Leipzig, he knows that for certain. And as he boards the train and settles in his seat he wonders if this trip will be worth the bother. For some reason he thinks it will be.
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Comments
Sounds like something's
Linda
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What a pity Kilb. I'll have
Linda
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a four day weekend
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I very much enjoyed, this,
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