Lazy Days Read online

  Bugger me!

  Does what I say make you angry?

  Yes, it does. We were actually discussing the castle.

  True enough. Look, children.

  Who on earth built that?

  Ludwig the Second. I’ve told you loads about him.

  Yes, you have. What a bloody castle! The fella who had that built was completely bonkers, a mental case, a fruitcake, what’s the word for it these days, Heidi? What do you lot say?

  We just say mad.

  OK, the fella who built this was mad. Nina, would you say it would be correct to assert that there was a link between Ludwig the Second and National Socialism.

  No.

  Not just an itsy-bitsy, mega-tiny link.

  No.

  OK. Did you hear that, kids? No link between Ludwig the Second and National Socialism according to your mother. Who wants an ice cream?

  Hey, there’s the woman I met in Lidl.

  Who?

  The American woman I told you about, who had a wedding cake made in the shape of this castle and all that.

  Oh yes. Where is she?

  Over there, by the wall.

  Right.

  Do you think I should go over and say hello.

  No.

  Why not?

  I don’t know. I just don’t think you should.

  OK, but now she’s coming over here.

  Kiss me!

  What?

  Kiss me.

  Of course I’d love to, but why now?

  Uh oh, too late.

  Hi!

  Hello. This is my wife, Nina.

  I’m Lisa.

  Hello.

  Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say hello. It’s an amazing castle, don’t you think?

  Yes.

  Absolutely. And I like the fact that the king who built it was a raving lunatic.

  What?

  And a homosexual, although there’s nothing wrong with being a homosexual of course.

  What?

  You didn’t know?

  I never understand you guys and your humour. But we love it here anyway. We have so much fun in Europe.

  Yes, we do, too.

  OK. I’ll go look for my family now. Take care.

  You, too. Goodbye. Shall I kiss you now?

  No.

  Actually they’re really nice.

  Who?

  The Germans.

  Yes.

  When you think about it.

  Mhmmm.

  All the things they’ve done.

  Absolutely.

  Music and literature and machines and gadgets and castles and all that stuff. Including theatre. There’s no end to it.

  No.

  Just a pity that…

  Please, Telemann.

  Don’t you want me to talk about that?

  No.

  Do you think I should keep my mouth shut?

  Yes.

  Telemann is looking for something to make for dinner and comes across a photograph of Nigella shaking a cocktail mixer with a smile on her face. He feels a pang of something close to longing. Why does Nina never go round smiling and shaking cocktails? It’s as if there is no scope in their relationship for such a possibility. What makes this situation especially titillating is that Nigella is wearing a T-shirt with a Playboy bunny logo. The colours in the photo have been treated in a slightly odd way so that it is not easy to get a clear view of the T-shirt, Telemann thinks, but he assumes it is black and that the logo is in silver with a kind of glitter effect. Quite a showy T-shirt, all in all. Especially as Nigella’s curves are clearly visible. Did she buy it herself? Telemann thinks. Could Nigella have gone out in London and bought this T-shirt? And did she actively search it out or did she come across it when she was actually looking for something else? These are important questions as aspects of her personality can be deduced from the answers.

  What are you thinking about?

  Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you come in.

  No. I didn’t make any noise.

  I see. I’m just looking for something to make for dinner.

  But there aren’t any recipes on the page you’re looking at.

  I haven’t got past the thinking stage yet. I’m deliberating.

  What about?

  Well… nothing special.

  Don’t you think that’s a bit much, wearing a Playboy T-shirt?

  What?

  Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.

  Yes, well, maybe it is a bit much. Yes, it is.

  But you quite like it too, don’t you.

  Listen to me: I was just sitting here with the cookery book open at a random page and then I got carried away, as usual, sort of, it’s the theatre again of course, playing games with me. That’s all there is to it.

  OK. Do you want me to make dinner for once?

  If you want to.

  What would you prefer?

  I’d prefer to make it myself.

  You like making dinner?

  Yes.

  You never used to.

  No.

  You’ve changed then?

  I must have done.

  Good.

  Yes, since you’ve brought the matter up I feel I’m probably going through a more or less constant process of change and evolution. Not only with regard to food but maybe especially as far as food is concerned.

  OK.

  Are you not undergoing change?

  I might well be. It’s hard to say.

  Yes, it’s hard. It’s a terribly complicated process. And painful.

  Do you think it’s painful?

  No, not really.

  But that’s the term you used?

  Yes.

  What if Charles Saatchi had bought the T-shirt for Nigella?

  The thought hits Telemann like a meteor. It’s been heading towards him for years, although he hasn’t been aware of it. And now it hits him and destroys all life. Cripes! Telemann thinks. Saatchi, the dirty old bugger. He is considered a philanthropist who buys art and makes it available to the general public free of charge and doesn’t want his name to be in the limelight. The dirty lecher. Now things are falling into place. Saatchi sees Nigella as his own private toy. By dint of cunning and money and shadowy fame he has lured her into a fiendish trap. And dewy-eyed Nigella fell for it. She obeys his every wish. That explains the photograph in the taxi, too. Saatchi has no need to sit close to her because he owns her, body and soul. He has tamed and bewitched her. The world at large believes she is free. They see her recording cookery programmes and writing books and making appearances all over the place, but in fact she is imprisoned in a sick man’s mind.

  Suddenly Telemann understands how it all fits. For the first time he sees that Nigella is in danger. She is being exploited in the most ruthless way. She needs help. Jesus Christ. Jesus. Christ.

  Telemann?

  Er… yes.

  Is there something wrong? You’re so pale.

  I… I feel dizzy.

  Have you got a temperature?

  I don’t know.

  Yes, you have. You’re hot.

  Yes, I feel quite hot.

  Do you want me to make dinner after all?

  Yes, you could do.

  OK.

  I think I’ll go and have a lie-down.

  Yes, do.

  Dad?

  Be quiet, Berthold! Dad’s thinking about the theatre.

  But Dad!

  Is it important?

  Yes.

  OK, then, out with it.

  Guess what I’m going to be.

  Do you mean when you grow up?

  Yes.

  Hmmm… no, give up.

  Guess!

  OK… something to do with transport?

  No. I’m going to be a lawyer. Or someone with a top job on Oslo City council.

  Blimey, alright, have you spoken to Mum about it?

  Yes, but what do you think?

  Both sound good, Berthold
. Great stuff.

  Do you think I’m up to that?

  Well, I don’t know. I would be the first to be overjoyed if you succeeded, but in all honesty I think you’re too scatty.

  What do you think the future holds for me?

  Can you bear to hear the truth?

  Yes.

  I think you’re going to end up as a shuttlecock in the social security system.

  What’s that?

  That’s a person nobody wants to employ and is sent from department to department until all his resistance is broken down and he’s dependent on disability benefit.

  OK.

  Mum and I will of course help to the best of our ability. We can write letters for you and you’re welcome to live at home for a little longer than is normal. We’ll sort something out.

  OK.

  And after you’ve been bitter for a few years then maybe you can write some drama for the theatre.

  Do you think so?

  That remains to be seen, but I don’t think we should rule it out.

  Hey Telemann! Bader’s outside.

  And?

  He’s wondering whether you want to go walking with him.

  What?

  That’s what he said. He’s sorry that our dinner ended up in a bit of a bad atmosphere and he’s wondering whether you want to go walking with him so that you can get to know each other better.

  What kind of walk?

  Probably just the usual type.

  Say hello and no.

  I think you should say yes.

  But I’m saying no.

  I think you should say yes.

  What did he say?

  He said you should tighten the laces on your boots and then he asked which mountain you’d like to climb.

  Makes no difference to me. What’s he saying now?

  You should have a look. There are mountains everywhere and you can choose the one you like best.

  I have no way of judging what’s good or bad. What’s he saying now?

  He says that this mountain here is called Zugspitze, that one there is Alpspitze, and then there’s Wank, Eckbauer, Hausberg and Kreuzeck.

  Can’t you tell him I’d rather stay at home and think about the theatre and work on my list of people who have had cancer?

  No.

  Can you ask Bader if he knows anyone who has had cancer?

  No.

  You’re a useless interpreter.

  I am not.

  Interpreters shouldn’t select which bits to pass on. They should be neutral intermediaries. They shouldn’t distort the message.

  We’ll leave that discussion for later.

  What’s he saying?

  He wants to know which mountain.

  Right, bloody hell, it’ll have to be Zugspitze, at least it’s not as high as the others. What’s he saying now?

  He say he likes to take the cable car up and walk down, but if you prefer to walk up, that’s fine with him.

  Walk up? Are you mad?

  Then I’ll tell him his suggestion sounds good to you.

  I bet you will.

  Have a nice walk!

  Thank you very much.

  German, German, German, German, German.

  I don’t understand a word you’re saying, Bader, not a single word, so there’s no point in saying anything. Can’t we just walk in silence? It’s beautiful here, I’ll give you that. Actually it’s fantastically beautiful.

  German, German, German, German.

  Can’t you just put a sock in it?

  German, German, German, German, German, German, German.

  What are you going on about now? Is it the war? I bet it’s the war.

  German, German, German.

  Do you mean the First World War? Yes, it was terrible. That fiendish idea of the trenches. All the more surprising that it was you lot who started the Second World War.

  German, German.

  It was becoming a bit of a habit. You didn’t think about anything else but war. That was how it was, wasn’t it? You couldn’t have enough of it.

  German, German, German.

  Yes, that’s what I think, too.

  German, German, German, German.

  I agree. Hello, there’s a kiosk over there.

  German, German.

  Are you asking if I want an ice cream? Yes please. Very nice of you.

  German, German, German, German.

  Don’t get me wrong, Bader, I’m not blaming you, I’m sure you’re a great fella. And it’s high time we put all these wars behind us. Nina says you already have done, and are moving forward, in an impressive manner. And maybe that’s right.

  German, German.

  Indeed, but let’s not talk about it any more. Let’s talk about the theatre instead. After all German theatre has a pretty good reputation. I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.

  German, German?

  German theatre, yes! Deutsches Theatre!

  Jawohl!

  And not forgetting the Volksbuehne. Isn’t that what it’s called? In Berlin? And Fassbinder, he made some films, but in a way films are theatre too, at least on one level, if you get what I mean.

  German, German, Fassbinder?

  Yes, now we’re communicating, Bader. Holy shit!

  Excuse me, but now we’ve been walking for hours. I want to go home.

  German, German.

  Isn’t there a shortcut? Or perhaps we can catch a bus for the last part of the way?

  German, German, German, German, German, German, German, German, German, German, German, German.

  Hey, I think you’re sounding a little down in the mouth. Chin up, Badermann.

  German, German, German.

  Are you still going on about the war? I thought we’d put that behind us. Or is it just that you’re a bit on the slow side? Or perhaps you love to talk about the war but feel it’s difficult because you and your compatriots have been left with the blame and the shame.

  German, German.

  If you want we can talk about shame.

  German, German, German.

  No, this is pointless, Bader, we’re getting nowhere. I suggest you shut up and we can both think about the things we like best.

  German.

  OK. I, for my part, am going to think about theatre. And a little about Nigella.

  Nigella?

  Nigella, yes.

  JA! JA! Nigella!

  That’s the one.

  German, German, German.

  Calm down, man! Now you’re getting vulgar. True, Nigella is fascinatingly voluptuous, but you mustn’t forget that behind the façade there is a fragile and lonely heart beating away, caught in the web of a sick Jew. Forget that I said Jew! I shouldn’t have said that, it’s got nothing to do with the matter and it’s particularly bad taste around these parts. Pretend you didn’t hear it. But the point remains the same: Nigella consoles all of us with her food. But who consoles her, Bader? Eh? Eh? Who consoles Nigella?

  German, German, German.

  You’re not answering my question.

  German, German?

  Can you hold my hand? You must be joking.

  How was the walk with Bader?

  Not bad.

  Don’t you feel like talking about it?

  Not a lot to say. We took the cable car up. We walked down.

  Did you chat?

  He talked a lot about the war, I think. I tried to follow as best I could.

  Did you two have a laugh?

  I can’t remember us laughing.

  Pity.

  But he bought me an ice cream.

  Did he?

  A big one.

  Good.

  Actually by the end we were beginning to hit it off. It transpired that we shared a common interest.

  What was that?

  I’m not quite sure. But I think it was food. But it could well have been something else.

  Such as?

  I don’t want to say.

  You don’t want to sa
y?

  No.

  Nina!

  Yes? What is it?

  I just made contact with my reptile brain.

  What?

  My reptile brain.

  Oh yes?

  It was quite extraordinary, almost unreal, but at the same time quite real, if you see what I mean, like theatre.

  Was it now?

  Do you want to hear any more?

  If you like.

  I was thinking about the theatre, as usual, in fact I was just on the point of making a note about something I thought should be made a note of when I became aware of some movement at the edge of my field of vision.

  Go on.

  My brain immediately transmitted chemical signals left, right and centre, I don’t know what they’re called, but I’ve heard about serotonin and dopamine and adrenalin, so it’s conceivable that some of these chemicals were involved in this case, too. I could feel it in my backbone, and in my forehead, a kind of stabbing, hot impulse, and my muscles tensed, I felt I was about to wave an arm, the left one, I think, and also about to panic.

  Heavens.

  Do you know what the movement I saw was?

  No.

  It was the end of a tea bag, where there was no tea, the end with the paper tag with Lipton written on it, or in this case: Teekanne Liebesfrucht.

  Really.

  The paper tag was swaying to and fro beside the cup. My brain must have imagined it was a poisonous spider and was preparing itself to kill it. It was a matter of life and death, you see.

  Goodness.

  It or me, it was.

  How dramatic.

  It was, wasn’t it? It was theatre at its best. Forgive me for repeating myself. It was just as good as theatre.

  Golly.

  I need to come to terms with all this, Nina. Do you mind if I go for a little walk on my own?

  Not at all.

  I’d like a sideboard.

  I see.

  With a fern leaf carving on it.

  Well, you’ve just had your birthday.

  Yes, I know, but I’m just telling you, so that there’s no need to ask next time you’re buying me a present.

  Fine.

  The sideboard should be about this high and the fern leaf shouldn’t be too small.

  I see.

  And I want it on the right of my desk at home, in front of the window.

  What made you think of that?

  I don’t know.