When Oskar realizes that Maike’s stream of talk has petered out, and that Sebastian is doing nothing other than tracing lines on the tablecloth with the handle of a spoon, he breaks the sudden silence by telling a vague anecdote about a young research assistant. The man got it into his head that he could come up with a brilliant idea, just as Heisenberg had while walking across an island, and he spent his entire salary on journeys to Sylt. There he tramped endlessly over one damn dike after another until he finally found out that the uncertainty principle had come to Heisenberg not on the island of Sylt, but on Heligoland—and then Oskar no longer knows where he is going with this, especially as the story isn’t even true; it had merely worked well once in another situation.
IT IS ALMOST DARK NOW. The streetlamp in front of the house has failed to go on, and will now stay unlit through the night. The mountains have sent a tawny owl as their night time spy; it is sitting somewhere in the branches of the chestnut tree, calling sorrowfully as if through cupped hands. Cutlery lies crisscross on the plates. Liam’s head is nodding slowly to the beat of his drowsiness. With his legs crossed and his arms folded, Oskar looks as if he is posing for a black-and-white photograph. Before the scene can freeze into a tableau, he stretches his back and draws breath into his lungs. It’s clear that he is going to make an announcement. He runs his hand through his perfect hair and taps another filterless cigarette out of the packet.
“Before, we would probably have met at daybreak in some forest clearing,” he says to Sebastian.
Liam’s head jerks up, curiosity stealing over his sleepy face, while Sebastian finds his way out of his own thoughts with some difficulty. Finally he realizes that the darkness in the room is not due to his confusion, tips back in his chair, and switches on the overhead light. Maike suppresses a yawn and begins collecting cutlery halfheartedly on one of the plates.
“Nowadays,” Oskar says, looking at his unlit cigarette from all angles, “there are microphones and TV cameras in forest clearings.”
“You’re talking in riddles,” Maike says, a yawn forcing its way out as she finishes her sentence.
Oskar puts the cigarette down on the table still unlit, folds his napkin, and continues speaking to Sebastian.
“TV,” he says. “The media. You like that, n’est-ce pas?”
There is something frightening in his voice that finally wipes the dreaminess off Sebastian’s face. “What are you thinking of?”
“ZDF started a new science show some time ago—Circumpolar,” Oskar says, standing up. “I’ve agreed that both of us will go on it. We’re going to Mainz tomorrow evening.” He is by the door now, raising a finger. “At eleven p.m. exactly. It’s live.”
Liam’s excited whoop gives Oskar the opportunity to leave the room. The boy runs excitedly around the table and grabs Sebastian by the shirt. At the same time, Maike has run to the open window. She is shooing a fluttering something back into the darkness.
“That was a tawny owl!” she shouts. “Did you see that? Unbelievable!”
“Daddy,” shouts Liam, “are you going to be on TV?”
“It feels more like I’m going to war.”
The bathroom door slams shut. Sebastian tries to catch Maike’s eye but she is still hanging half out of the window, looking down at the impossible bird. The last thing Sebastian feels like doing is laughing, but then his stomach begins to twitch. A laugh rises up in him like bubbles of air and shakes Liam’s small body, which is leaning on his. When Sebastian hears the sound of his own laughter, he realizes that the die has been cast. Oskar has reckoned with Sebastian’s pride, and has engineered everything so that it is impossible to refuse the challenge.
“You scoundrel!” he shouts down the hall.
Why this ridiculous word has occurred to him, he cannot say.
[7]
THERE ARE THREE EMPTY WINE BOTTLES left on the table. The window is closed and moths are flinging themselves against the glass. The grown-ups have moved to the living room; two rooms away, Liam is practicing insomnia. Low music weaves through the smoke curling up to the ceiling. Sebastian is sitting on the sofa, cradling an amber splash of whiskey in a tumbler, relishing the burning sensation in his stomach, not knowing if it is due to the whiskey or to happiness. Oskar and Maike are dancing, limbs heavy from the wine and from fatigue. Her eyes are closed and her cheek is on his shoulder. Sebastian looks on, feeling himself sink into the upholstery. His free hand scrabbles in the sofa cushions, as if searching for a lever that will stop this moment from disappearing. It is the last evening of happiness in this apartment, and it is a mercy—for Sebastian more than for the others—that humankind is not able to see into the future.