In Free Fall(18)

He walks in an arc across the asphalt divided by white lines, and although his stride gets longer with every step, he feels unable to move from his spot, as in a nightmare. It is only when he gets to the exit ramp, and is looking at the autobahn with its shiny cars disappearing at high speed over the hill, that the rise and fall of the occasional horn brings him to his senses. The frequency of sound waves, Sebastian often explains to his students, depends on the relative motion between the observer and the source. The Doppler effect. It’s the same with light. If Sebastian’s senses were a little sharper, he would register that the vehicles moving away from him are red while those coming toward him are blue. Every one blue, like the Volvo that he has lost.

He runs across the grass, past overturned bins and crudely made picnic tables. Some distance away, two truck drivers are standing next to the raised hood of an engine, cradling cups of coffee in front of their stomachs, watching him. For some reason, Sebastian has his hands in his trouser pockets, which slows him down as he runs. His mouth is already open and he wants to shout, but something clicks in his brain. Tell no-bo-dy.

“Lost something, mate?”

The fat one’s voice is too high for his girth. Sebastian waves the question aside and forces himself to slow down to an innocuous stroll. He has to dictate every movement to his limbs and he almost stumbles; he must look like a madman. He comes to a halt again in the middle of that ghastly void where his car had been. His heart feels constricted in his body—it is looking for a way out through his left lung. Growing in the hollows of a manhole cover is a fleshy plant that Sebastian has seen in Japanese rock gardens. The parking lot swims around him in a blur. This is what the world looks like from one of the roundabouts that Liam preferred over everything else in the playground before he grew too old for them.

Sebastian’s temples are cold as ice. Time is a card index with an infinite number of cards. He starts flicking through it, looking for the parallel universe in which he had not left Liam sleeping in the car. Or one in which Maike had not come up with the idea of scout camp. Or even one in which he had studied mechanical engineering and lived in America. He takes a step to one side to make room for the Volvo, which any moment now will emerge from thin air in the spot where it was parked before. Sebastian grips his forehead. The truck behind him shakes and rattles like a beetle before takeoff, angles its nose to one side, and rolls toward the exit. Vera Wagenfort. Wagen fort. Car gone. Jokers, jokers everywhere. All will be revealed.

A family is returning to its yellow Toyota. Two children climb into the backseat. The girl is Liam’s age.

Sebastian’s phone rings.





[5]


THIS TIME HIS BODY does not require specific instructions—it reacts before it has received any orders. Lips, tongue, and teeth crash together and scream into the mobile.

“What do you want? I can get anything!”

A hand lands over his mouth and stops him from speaking; it is his own hand. There is an uncertain pause on the other end of the line. A woman clears her throat.

“Herr Professor, I’ve been instructed to give you a message. A single sentence. I’ve been told you will understand. Are you ready?”

“My son,” Sebastian groans.

“Excuse me, I don’t know what this is all about. I just have to make sure that you understand the sentence. Shall we continue?”

It is the woman’s friendliness that does it to him. He never knew that pain could come from so deep within the human body. He never knew how it could claw at his throat, desperately trying to reach his brain. Vera Wagenfort takes a breath. Then she says it.

“Dabbelink must go.”

The sun has set behind the treetops and taken the shadows with it to preserve them till the next day. There are still a few cars parked here and there, but not a soul in sight. A random wind races over the ground, chasing empty paper cups in circles and flapping his trousers. Sebastian looks at his watch as if he had an important appointment and no time for further chat. Just after nine thirty. The time tells him nothing. He has never felt so alone.

“Would you repeat that?” he asks.

“I’ve been told to add this when questions are asked: ‘Then everything will be all right.’ Did you get that?”

“You can’t do this,” Sebastian says. “I’m begging you.”

“Apart from that, you probably know the rules: No police. Not a word to anyone. Not even to your wife.”

There is a pause, as if they are in the middle of a difficult personal conversation and don’t know how to continue. The caller’s voice is not unpleasant. Sebastian imagines her to be a healthy young woman. Perhaps, he thinks, we would get along well under different circumstances.