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A few days ago, I came across the little box with the photos and my notes from that time. I had originally written them for Tom, or rather for a letter to him.
But the letter to my brother never got past the stage of a mere intention, which was repeatedly postponed. In the end, he, like me, fell victim to the circumstances of the time, which were really not such that they encouraged the writing of long letters explaining one's own situation.
Again and again I postponed the task of telling Tom about the wild events around me, and in the end the letter remained completely unwritten. Everything happened so fast back then, and when I read my old notes today, more than ten years later, I can still feel the fear and agitation of that time between the lines.
It was in the fall of 2004. I had just arrived in distant Dnipropetrovsk – well, at least physically arrived – and quickly found myself on a merry-go-round that seemed to spin faster and faster with each round.
The ride was like one of those events where, from round to round, you can feel that disaster is inevitable and the worst is yet to come. I am still amazed that I didn't get dizzy during the ride and that I wasn't thrown out far.
Maybe it's because you don't even notice how fast your own little world is turning and changing from minute to minute. You think you're young and still have all the time in the world, but the hours and days are already running through our fingers like fine sand.
While the music plays and the carousel turns, it's easy to lose your sense of time and space – at least it was for me and for some of the others back then.
As I said, ten years have passed since then. A long time, during which plenty of grass has grown over many things. But the grass has hardly taken root. When I picked up my old notes again a few days ago and the photos refreshed my slowly fading memory, everything came back to me immediately. It didn't take a second for me to see the faces and hear the voices again.
Some voices I can no longer hear today, although they are more present to me than they were back then and also more present than other voices that I have around me every day. Why this is so, I am beginning to understand today. At the time, in the winter of 2004/2005, it was not clear to me. How could it be? I was too young and inexperienced back then and certainly not the man I am today.
For a while, I tried to forget. But I couldn't. I couldn't forget and suppress what was deeply ingrained in my memory. Probably I didn't want to at any time. My experiences were too valuable and precious to me.
They are the experiences of a young person, almost still those of a child, who suddenly encounters the harshness of life with full force. You don't see it coming and it's hard to avoid. At least I couldn't do it back then, and that is probably also part of the guilt I have taken upon myself.
Yes, guilt is the right word, because I have owed a lot to many people. Not only to myself, actually to everyone, especially to Vlad and Lucca.
Today it is too late to change anything. I can neither stop nor turn back time. All I can do is accept my life story for what it is: my very own story, which I can no longer rewrite and which will always belong to me.
It didn't take long for me to realize this while leafing through the old photos and documents. There is no escape and mistakes remain mistakes, no matter how much you regret them. What counts in the end is the love that remains and the guilt that still stands between us years later. Nobody takes it away, nobody makes it go away.
It all started quite harmlessly with a careless promise and a crazy party. In the end, there was war in all its severity. I survived it. Whether rightly so, I have often asked myself and never found a satisfactory answer to my oppressive questions.
Maybe there is one and I just have to keep looking for it. Maybe silence is the only appropriate answer. I don't know.
The box of photos opened a door that I believed was firmly closed. It was a mistake, like so much of what I will tell, was a mistake.
Today I might know how it could be done better. At that time I certainly didn't know. But what I do know is that things happened as I will describe them.[/COLOR][/FONT][/SIZE]
[HEADING=1]2. An fremden Ufern[/HEADING]
[size=18][FONT=Lucida Sans][color=#FFFFFF]“This damn cold weather is killing me. If only it wasn't for this disgusting wind!” I turned up my collar and checked the zipper of my jacket again to make sure it was closed all the way up. It was, but I still felt like the cold was coming in through a thousand open holes. Who expects such cold weather at the end of November? I certainly didn't, and if the thermometer already falls to minus twenty degrees Celsius at night, what will it be like here in January or February?
By the way, this is Dnipro, 35th degree of longitude, the same one near which are also Murmansk and Jerusalem, so, seen from Germany, quite far to the east, to the end of the world, and then another ten kilometers further. As for the parallel, the city is located at about the same height as Vienna. 'City' is, by the way, a slight understatement. It is, after all, the third largest city in the country. One million inhabitants live here, most of them in some unsightly socialist prefabricated concrete tower blocks. It is an important center of the metal industry, and in Soviet times it was a strictly guarded center of the arms industry. That means that foreigners couldn't get in and locals couldn't really get out, at least not if they were employed in the relevant factories. A large-scale prison, and all because the infamous SS 20 missiles were manufactured here. In addition, there are chemical, building material and wood processing industries. Food is also produced and industrially preserved in Dnipropetrovsk, and more recently also by my father's company. No idea which oh-so-clever mind at the corporate headquarters came up with the crazy idea of tapping into the emerging Eastern European markets here, of all places, at the lower reaches of the Dnieper.
For my father's career, the idea was the chance of the century, for me it was the biggest catastrophe of my short 17-year life so far. How I envied my brother Thomas. Two years older, with his A-levels in the bag, he is now studying in Hamburg, while I am struggling through my days here at the end of civilization with my non-existent knowledge of Ukrainian and Russian.
“Sebastian, it'll be fine. Don't worry too much,” Thomas, whom I had always called Tom like all his friends since I was very young, had said on our last evening together in Germany. It was easy for him to say, since he was staying in Germany. Well, he also had to move because of the start of his studies, but at the university, surrounded by German-speaking fellow students, he will find it much easier to make friends and meet people than I will here.
Speaking of friends, Ryan had slowly caught up with me. He laughed happily and for days now has been enjoying himself whenever I complain about the cold. Well, mostly I don't just complain, but curse like there's no tomorrow. Somehow it's a kind of outlet for me to let off steam before the frustration destroys me internally. I suddenly felt Ryan's hand on my shoulder as we looked across the river to the other side together. Over there, on the other side of the bridge, was where Siberia began. No, not really, but in all my despair it seemed that way to me again and again.
“Don't you think it's time you arrived here, too? I mean, really arrived. You've been here for a month now, but your heart is still in Germany.”
I looked at him sadly. He was so right about what he said. I really have been living in a kind of daydream since I came to Dnipro. Everything seemed unreal and untrue, like a bad dream: my father's transfer in the summer, my own arrival in the city with my mother in mid-October. I kept waiting to wake up, wanted my life to continue in Germany, and at the same time was not ready to face the world and the facts here, right in front of me and my frosty cold nose. That was what Ryan meant by arriving.
He was actually in the same situation as me, but he was able to cope with it much better. His father works for the same company that my father works for. It is an international corporation with employees from all over the world. Ryan's family is from England, from Salisbury to be precise, but Ryan has long since become something of a citizen of the world due to the frequent moves in tow of his father, who is a business man roaming the world. He can quickly feel at home anywhere, even here in deepest Russia, sorry, in deepest Ukraine.
“And what do you think I should do?”
“Maybe you should say goodbye to Germany for a while, not forever, but for a longer period of time. I know you love your home and the many friends you left there,” said Ryan, who always spoke to me with great empathy. ”But you live here now and it looks like it will be a little longer than just the next three weeks.”
I looked at him sadly, but I didn't need to say anything, because he knew how I felt. We had often talked about this topic, but given my inability to respond to his thoughts, Ryan must have felt that talking to me was like Don Quixote's fight against windmills.
“What do you think about me taking you with me this weekend? A few Ukrainian friends have invited me to a small party. Just go with them, meet a few new people and, above all, don't shut yourself away all the time. You know how keen Russian women are on you.”
And how I knew. Hook one of the cute foreign sons, wrap him around your finger, maybe have his child, get married and then be “abducted” to the golden West. That, in a nutshell, was the dream of the average Ukrainian girl my age. It goes without saying that we foreigners must have seemed extremely wealthy to them all. What could be more obvious than to grab a golden goose like that? For most of them, beautiful or ugly, stupid or intelligent, love or marriage of convenience, it was always a ticket to a better future.
“You know how I feel about these parties,“ I replied to Ryan.
“Yes, I know, all the alcohol and the annoying girlies, but is there anything else that really bothered you and was different from the parties you know from Germany?”
“No, not really,” I had to admit.
Ryan smiled. “There you go. Besides, you've only been to one party since you arrived and all your prejudices are based on that. If you really want to do justice to the people here, you have to give them a fair chance. If after twenty parties you still haven't had any other experiences, then I'll leave you alone and will never ask you again if you want to come to a party, but so far you're missing at least nineteen examples in your collection.” He laughed, as he always did when he knew he was right and sensed that I was running out of counterarguments.
“All right, I give up. And which Natascha has a reason to celebrate this time?” I asked back with biting irony in my voice.
“Hey, I'm happy if you come with me, but do yourself and me a favor and try to approach the evening reasonably open-mindedly and neutrally. If you only go because you want to confirm your prejudices, it'll never work.” He shook his head. “I can't promise you'll have fun, but I do know one thing for sure: if you go there just to confirm your prejudices about the country and its people, you definitely won't have any fun. So don't make things harder for yourself than they already are.”
I nodded my head silently. He was right, but I didn't need to confirm that in writing.
“Oh yes, before I forget: the Natasha, with whom there is something to celebrate this time, is called Dima, by the way. You know him very vaguely by sight. It's that tall blonde boy you almost spilled your cola glass over at your first and so far last party.”
I was horrified. “What about that pretty boy you told me about, who is the crush of all the girls in the local music temples?”
“That's the one,” Ryan laughed.
“Impossible, I'm not going there,” I blurted out. ”I don't want to experience another embarrassment like that. The one time he looked at me like I came from another star is enough for me.”
“Don't talk nonsense,” Ryan said angrily. ”You accepted and now you're coming along. Besides, Dima is all right. He's a really nice guy and he doesn't hold a grudge against you. On the contrary, he's already asked me twice if I want to finally bring you along and I'm going to do it next Saturday, whether you like it or not. And if I have to organize some kind of Ukrainian mafia commando to drag you there by force if necessary, but you're going whether you want to or not!”
I knew Ryan well enough by now to instinctively feel that any further resistance would be futile and ultimately counterproductive. So I didn't even make the mistake of trying.
We had met for the first time a few days after I arrived, quickly became good friends, and now spent a lot of time together outside of school. It was convenient for me that I could easily talk to Ryan. He didn't speak a word of German at all, and my school English was, as my various English teachers in Germany had repeatedly assured me, definitely in need of improvement, but here in my daily contact with Ryan, the other foreigners in the city and the few Russians and Ukrainians who mastered it, it proved to be quite good.
Ryan was a character who had fascinated and captivated me from the very beginning. He had a strange flair and a cheerful openness towards everything and everyone that I had never seen in a boy of our age. He was educated and well-read, but anything but conceited. He was one of the handsomest boys of his age, one who knew all too well about his physical attributes and their effect on other people, especially on the opposite sex. But he didn't put much stock in it. Ryan remained natural, uninhibited and affable. He was someone you could just love, and he was a friend to me that I couldn't have wished for better. He was sensitive and empathetic and could listen to me for hours when I complained about my troubles, but he could also be merciless when he sensed that I was hesitant about a jump that he thought was due. That was the case now, as he wouldn't let up for minutes until he had wrung my consent out of me.
So I would only be doing it for him if I went to this damned Russian party on Saturday, senselessly pouring vodka down my throat until I no longer knew where the front was and the back, and hoping that no one would ask me how I liked it here in Dnipro. If I were ever put in the embarrassing position of having to answer the question, I basically had two options: I could answer in a symbol-didactic way. In this case, the vodka would have left my body the same way it had entered me. Alternatively, I could also lie through my teeth and babble about German-Soviet, er, I mean German-Ukrainian friendship, which would have done honor to any diplomatic New Year's reception. But I didn't really like either of the two alternatives.
“Come on now. You haven't been transferred to a Siberian penal camp,” Ryan laughed, trying to cheer me up. “There are plenty of girls here who would love to compete for the place at your side. Maybe they're not as pretty as the young women you know from Germany, but why don't you get yourself a nice girl to at least have some fun in a foreign country?”
'Oh, no, not this discussion again.' Just yesterday Ryan had really pushed me hard with this tiresome topic. He just couldn't understand that I, in his eyes a good-looking, attractive young man, should have forgotten how to 'catch mice', as he called it, here in a foreign country. I should finally come out of my shell, play my charm and turn the heads of the local ladies so much that they wouldn't know whether they were left- or right-handed.
'Oh Ryan, if only you knew how little your image of Sebastian matches reality.' But how could he know something that I never told him? After all, I had always kept silent on this point, just as I did now, or replied with meaningless phrases. So he couldn't know and basically I don't know either. Only so much was clear in the meantime: While my friends in Germany had repeatedly fallen ill with love over the last two years – at first less often, then more and more often – they were already looking forward to their evening meetings with their beloved at eight in the morning, as if they were delirious, and before and three days after that date, not even the German national soccer league, this contagious infectious disease had somehow passed me by, for some reason I didn't understand, but also without it really bothering me.
“I'll give the place at my side when the time comes,” I mumbled, hoping to quickly turn the subject aside with this meaningless phrase.
“But why are you taking so long with it? Do you want to wait until you're 25 and only some over-aged ladies who have foolishly missed the boat on marriage will take care of you?” He looked at me uncomprehendingly. “Sebastian, you're young, you live now and you only live once. So finally get involved in life. Let yourself be embraced by its wild power and drift away until you reach a new shore.”
“Maybe you're right, let me think about it a bit and give me some time.”
“All right, have it your way. You have until Saturday to think about it, but then you have to jump. And don't come back to me with any lame excuses again. If you don't take the necessary steps yourself, I'll take matters into my own hands and help you.” He grinned from ear to ear as he said this.
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, for example, I'll get myself a beauty from the country who isn't quite as shy and uptight as you. I'll put her in a cell with you, and it'll be so cramped that you won't be able to avoid physical contact.”
“Then I'll probably become a murderer,“ I replied with a slightly resigned tone of voice.
“Nonsense, you'll be grateful to me afterwards, believe me,” Ryan assured me.
I tried to give the situation an ironic touch. “Who says I want to kill you? Maybe the poor girl will be the first to believe it and you'll blame yourself afterwards.”
“Oh, don't worry,” Ryan laughed. ”I'll pick out a beauty for you, one that will make even you think of something other than murder and mayhem. But now come on, your nose is all red. It's time to get back into the warmth. Let's take the bus and go home.”
Home was a relatively new housing development on the northern edge of the city. It was one of the residential complexes that had been newly built after the fall of the communist regime. It lacked the socialist, square, practical, unified character. The complex was medium in size, the facilities were normal by German standards and the prices were modest. From the perspective of an ordinary Ukrainian, however, we lived in a luxury palace that was second to none.
Ryan's family lived just two blocks away, so we had the same way home. Ryan already knew his way around the city much better and in most cases didn't even need a map, even though he had only arrived two weeks before me. As I said, a real globetrotter, someone who swims like a fish through Amsterdam's canals, confidently walks the streets of Hong Kong the next month as if he had always lived there, or dominates the terrain here in the middle of nowhere in Ukraine as if it were the backyard of his parents' property.
When I unlocked the front door, I heard my parents' familiar voices coming from the kitchen and went inside. “Well, are you so early or am I so late?” I asked my father, because I was not used to seeing him at this time.
“Both, I'm too early and you're too late,” he laughed happily.
Normally, he doesn't come home until quite late in the evening. The new position was an ideal career opportunity, but the workload associated with it is a Herculean task that is almost impossible to manage in the long term. In the first weeks of October, while my mother and I were still in Germany and making the final preparations for our own move, he only came to the apartment to sleep. Now that we've arrived, my father is spending a little more time here. Last Sunday, he was here all day! I couldn't believe it. It was like Christmas and Easter had fallen on the same day.
Officially, he is still married to my mother, but no one in our family believes him anymore, because unofficially, the office has long since taken precedence over her in recent years. Dad is one of those modern-day work slaves who crave to become senior department heads in whatever-town and live in constant fear of being pushed into early retirement at 55, exhausted and decrepit. Here in Dnipro, he is the new deputy regional director for Ukraine and, as such, is only subordinate to Ryan's father and the large corporate headquarters in Amsterdam.
The two of them get along quite well, which Ryan and I are very happy about. In the city, they are courted by all sorts of people. No wonder, after all, most of them hope that their good relationship with our fathers will one day enable them to find jobs in the newly emerging factories for one of their family members.
The only ones who regularly enjoy the directors' titles of our fathers are Ryan and I. For us, 'Mr. Vice Regional Director' or 'Mr. Regional Director' sounds like a lot of sound and even more smoke, just like 'Admiral Atlantik' sounds to the commander of an ordinary rowing boat on the Wannsee or a pedal boat on the Binnenalster. We think our part, but say nothing.
The cozy warmth in the kitchen allowed me to slowly thaw. I listened to my father, who spoke of his working day and the talks with various city officials, but to be honest, I was only half-listening.
My thoughts were consumed by the afternoon with Ryan and the prospect of going to a Russian vodka party with him on Saturday. How could I be so stupid as to get involved in such nonsense in the first place? The prospect of becoming the object of desire for some Ukrainian Natasha at the end of the party, who dreams of a better life for herself and has discovered me as her fairy-tale prince and savior, quickly lowered my mood to the evening's outside temperatures. No thanks, I don't need it. I want to go back to Germany, I want to be around my old friends and acquaintances again. But Germany is far away and there is snow outside, lots of snow, and it feels cold.
In the next few days, I hoped that the end of the world, which had already been announced several times by the German tabloid press, would finally take place and release me from all my problems and worries in an instant. But the gods seemed to have no mercy for me and my miserable existence.
On the contrary: it was getting colder outside every day, and the dreaded Saturday was approaching inexorably, like a snowstorm from which there was no escape.
“I'll pick you up tomorrow evening around seven,” Ryan had called after me cheerfully yesterday when we parted. He was looking forward to the new day, but I had more the feeling of heading towards some kind of boredom overdose.
The Russians and Ukrainians would get drunk senseless. Ryan, who was not averse to a good tipple either, would also get his money's worth and I would stand around looking stupid – as if I had been ordered but not picked up.
At least that's what I had experienced at the first party shortly after my arrival in October. After a repeat performance, I really didn't feel like going at all. If I hadn't given Ryan my word during the week and promised to come with him, no amount of persuasion would have been able to drag me out of this room tonight.
But what wouldn't you do for your credibility? I, at least, would do a lot. Would I otherwise have dressed up so much and styled myself in front of the mirror in the bathroom for half an eternity?
'Actually much too much effort for all the lonely Nataschas,' I thought, when I finally put the comb and hair dryer aside and looked in the mirror quite contentedly with myself and the result of my hours of effort.
'But it's strange: I'm going to a lot of trouble for people I don't really know and basically don't really want to meet, and all because I promised Ryan I would.' I had just put the various cans, tubes and sprays back in their original positions when the doorbell rang and Ryan was standing in the apartment a little later.
“Hi, Sebastian, you look great. The ladies will love it.”
I shot him a brief annoyed glance, but he seemed to have either deliberately overlooked it or wanted to overlook it, which I could well imagine with Ryan.
“I'm glad you're looking forward to the little celebration.”
Once again, I gave him a reproachful look, and if looks could kill, Ryan would be lying on the floor gasping for breath by now. “You know I'm only going because I promised you in a moment of weakness,” I hissed at him.
“Yes, I know, and I love you for those sweet little weaknesses too.” He beamed from ear to ear and his eyes shone so brightly that I almost forgot my resentment for a moment. ”Come on, you know I don't mean it like that. You'd better put on another sweater and then we'll go.”
“What do you mean, another sweater?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes, firstly, it's cold outside and secondly, in this country you never know beforehand how well the apartment will be heated.”
Even before I arrived, I had heard that a long, harsh winter is a particularly cold and frosty affair for poor families in many states of the former Soviet Union, even inside their own homes. Money was more or less always scarce everywhere, and when companies defaulted on wage payments, many people found themselves in a particularly tight spot.
Savings, if any, were quickly used up, and what was left of last year's wages was eaten up by inflation. In the Ukrainian coal basin further east of Dnipropetrovsk, wildcat strikes and a lot of trouble were inevitable sooner or later.
When things got too heated, even the Western media, synchronized by Reuters and Bloomberg, would occasionally report briefly. But normally, a frostbitten grandma in the States always had a much higher news value than the more numerous obligatory winter deaths from the realm of the former class enemy.
“I thought you knew Dima and what his place looked like,” I said to Ryan as I went to the closet and pulled out another sweater.
“That's right, I know Dima pretty well and I've been to his house two or three times. But the little party tonight isn't at his place. We're just meeting up with a few other friends at his house and then moving on.”
For heaven's sake, what had I let myself in for? “And you really think that this is the right way to introduce me, a shy deer, to the secrets of the Ukrainian party and nightlife?” I asked back in surprise.
Ryan smiled contentedly: “Absolutely perfect, this way you'll get to know the differences to the West right away.”
Oh man, this had to be some kind of terrible mistake that I should clear up as quickly as possible.
Ryan was standing in the doorway again, looking a little impatiently at his watch. “So, can we finally go?”
“Well, if we must.”
“It has to be, Sebastian, you know that very well. But as cute as you look tonight, it won't take long for you to catch the first fish.”
“Yes, I know, and tomorrow we'll have fish soup. Ryan, I hate you!”
“Well then, everything's fine. Come on, let's go!”
For about half an hour we fought our way through the fresh snow, either on foot or by bus, and then we stood in front of one of those masterpieces of socialist architecture.
With my amateur architectural knowledge, I dated it to the end of the Khrushchev or the beginning of the Brezhnev era, based on the straightforward construction and the increasing deterioration of the masonry and staircase.
I wasn't too far off, as Dima was to confirm to me later when I left. The whole complex had actually been planned in the early 1960s and built by the end of the decade thanks to the heroic over-fulfillment of plans by the work brigades. Dima lived with his family on the 13th floor.
“Hello you two, I'm glad you're already here,” Dima greeted us at the apartment door with a friendly smile.
Ryan entered first, shook his hand and took a step further into the hallway. A moment later, I was standing in front of our host, who was a little taller, so I had to look up at him slightly.
“Hi, Sebastian, I'm really glad that Ryan convinced you to come with us. I was almost afraid that our first meeting had had lasting effects and that you would keep your distance from me forever.” His eyes lit up, but there was a slight vibration in his deep voice that seemed to indicate a small amount of uncertainty. Did he feel our first not-quite-happy encounter was just as stressful as I did?
“Hello Dima, uh, thanks for the invitation. Well, Ryan really - uh - I mean, well, he - uh - really had to convince me something uh, so that I - uh - come along - uh - I mean not stay at home.”
Oh man, what kind of gala performance did I just give? “Stuttering for advanced learners” at the adult education center by and with Sebastian Bongartz, that's what you could call the embarrassing event, but luckily Dima didn't go into it further.
“Come into my room first. The others aren't here yet, but they'll probably be here soon. Ryan, you can go ahead, you know your way around,” he said with a laugh, pulling me to one side while Ryan headed purposefully for a door.
“Don't worry, Sebastian, I'm not still mad at you for almost spilling your coke on my new pants the other day. I was a little shocked at first, but luckily nothing else happened. So let's just forget all the nonsense and be friends. I'm glad you're here.”
His whole appearance was still so imposing that, just like when we first met a month ago, I really had to struggle to keep control of myself and my vocal cords and to keep my stuttering in check. “I really did make a fool of myself,” I pointed out.
“Maybe so, but that's over now,” he brushed aside my explanation with a stroke of his pen. ‘Let's not think about it anymore. The important thing is that you are here and that we will all have a lot of fun together today.’ He put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me towards the open door. ”Come on, let's go to Ryan's room.”
“Who shares this room with you?“ I asked Dima after we had entered the room and I had spotted the two beds facing each other. I sat down on the bed below the window, next to Ryan, while Dima took the opposite seat.
“With my brother Sergej. He's two years younger than me, so about your age,” Dima replied.
“How do you know how old I am?“ I asked in surprise.
“Ryan told me a few days ago. I talked to him about whether it's appropriate for Sergej to come to Kirya's little party today. In doing so, we realized that you are about the same age.”
“I hope that's not a problem for you,” said Ryan, who was also a little surprised by my confused question.
“No, no, it's fine,“ I replied quickly. ‘I was just a little surprised at how much Dima already knows about me, even though we haven't had the time to get to know each other properly yet.”
“That will surely have changed by tomorrow morning,’ Dima laughed happily.
“By tomorrow morning?” A little perplexed, I looked first at Dima and then at Ryan.
“Yeah, you won't be going to bed tonight,“ the latter laughed.
“Guys, what are you planning on doing to me?” I asked, slightly irritated, but with a broad smile on my face.
“You'll see,” Ryan said, playing the mysterious card.
“But if it gets too much for you, you can leave early,” Dima reassured me, ”There will be someone to take you home safely. Don't worry, you won't be wandering around Dnipro helplessly tonight.”
I nodded reassuringly, leaned my head back until it found support on the wall, turned it slightly to the side and looked over at Ryan.
He smiled slightly and nodded confidently with his head. “Don't worry, it won't be that bad. You'll see, in the end everything is half as bad as you imagined.”
The repulsive effect of the facade and staircase quickly gave way to a cosiness that was not suspected from the outside once you had left the apartment door behind you.
But if you looked closely, as I did, it was easy to see the signs of limited financial resources. The furniture, for example, was chosen more for practical than aesthetic reasons, and the flowered wallpaper had passed its fashionable peak several years ago.
Dima and his brother had made the best of their modest means and had transformed the small room they shared into a rather respectable teenage kingdom. Large posters allowed the flowered wallpaper to show through only in the few places not covered by cupboards and shelves.
Small, lovingly arranged decorations caught my eye and it was immediately clear to me that anyone who didn't just look at the surface, but was able to see the true core behind the outer shell, could also recognize a lot of warmth and security in such an outwardly cold and sterile apartment building.
Ryan was one of those people who could always do that, no matter what the time or place. So it was no wonder that he had built up a solid relationship with Dima so quickly.
From Dima's room, you have an excellent view. For example, on the facade of the block of houses just 70 meters away. When the windows are well lit, you can easily keep an eye on your dear neighbors and then report them in writing to the block warden, so that the KGB, now called the SBU 'Shzlusba Bespeki Ukrainj' in this country, is always well informed about the lousy mood in the country.
I heard loud voices in the corridor outside the room, but I couldn't understand what was being said. Then the door was flung open and a boy entered. As he stepped out of the semi-darkness of the threshold into the light, I involuntarily winced.
His lips were tightly compressed, his angular chin was raised a little cheekily, and his broad, light-brown eyebrows were slightly contracted. He stood abruptly before me, fixing me with his deep-brown eyes, which seemed to me as if they could penetrate steel and melt ice.
His long, stringy hair, still slightly blond on the surface from a dye job a few weeks earlier, reached down to the middle of his forehead, giving his angular face the wild look of a young, burgeoning hero.
His face was youthful, but without any hint of a lingering childishness around the delicately curved nose. On his upper lip, above the corner of his mouth, two birthmarks, the right one slightly larger and more pronounced than the left.
His almost analytical, captivating gaze was stern, authoritative and probing, and his thoroughly graceful face radiated a great deal of warmth and a hidden warmth deep inside.
“Sergej, this is Sebastian. You already know Ryan.” Dima's voice rang out across the room, while I still stared, as if in a trance, at the athletic figure in the middle of the room.
A friendly smile flitted across his face as he took a step towards me and held out his hand. I jumped up like a spring, grasped the offered hand and lost myself for a moment in the depth of his dark eyes.
“Hello Sebastian, nice to meet you.” Sergej's voice reached my ear gracefully, with a slight metallic-sounding reverberation.
The dryness in my throat bothered me as I started to reply, “Hello Sergej, nice to see you too.” For a moment we stared at each other silently, our hands still intertwined.
“Man, just sit down already, you'll be standing long enough later. Kirya doesn't have much space in his new apartment and knowing him, he'll have cleared away all the chairs as a precaution to have more standing room for new guests.” Dima laughed all over his face as he said this, and a fine smile also flitted across Sergej's lips.
He slowly released his hand from mine and sat down with his brother. Then Ryan also re-joined the conversation. Just as he was about to ask when we would be leaving, the doorbell rang again. Struck like lightning, Dima rushed to the door.
“If Dima runs like that, it can only be Anna,” Sergei scoffed, while his brother disappeared through the door, only to reappear a few moments later with a dark-haired girl in his arms who was really very pretty to look at. Behind them, another woman's head appeared in the doorway.
Dima beamed like a snow king all over his face as he proudly introduced me to his girlfriend. While Anna was no stranger to Ryan either, he saw Katharina for the first time, just like me. She was Anna's best friend and, as I later learned from Dima, had had her eye on Kirya for weeks. But her yearning languishing had remained unheard because good Kirya didn't show the slightest sign of wanting to respond to her persistent courtship.
We set off quite soon after their arrival. While Anna hooked up with Dima, Katharina took over Ryan, and all four took up the entire sidewalk, Sergei and I trotted behind them, initially totally silent, until Sergei initiated a conversation that I was happy to join.
“Sebastian, how long have you been here in Dnepr?” He used the short nickname with which the locals affectionately refer to their city. ‘When did you arrive?”
“A good four weeks ago, but Ryan thinks I haven't really arrived here yet,’ I answered truthfully.
“What does that mean?”
“Ryan thinks I'm still too attached to Germany and not getting involved enough with Dnipro and the people in my new environment.”
“I can understand that saying goodbye to Germany was difficult for you. I don't know if I could just pack my bags and move to a foreign country from one day to the next either.”
“It's not just that.”
“What then?” Sergei asked in surprise, turning his head to me.
“I don't yet see Dnipro and everything I experience here as a real opportunity for Ryan; something I can use for myself. If he hadn't practically forced me to come with him during the week, I probably wouldn't be here now, but would be at home reading a book or doing something else, but definitely not going to a party with you Ukrainians.”
“I think I understand a little what Ryan might mean,” said Sergei thoughtfully. He stopped briefly and looked at me intensely. ”Have you at least gotten to know Dnepr a little bit by now, I mean, do you know the city center, for example?”
Somewhat embarrassed, I looked at the ground. “Well, Ryan has shown me a few nice spots in the city from time to time, but to be honest, I still don't really know the city. But that's not Ryan's fault at all. He really tried hard and showed me all kinds of things, but somehow I was only half paying attention. I think he could have walked with me on the moon, I wouldn't have noticed, I was still so caught up in my thoughts in Germany.”
Sergei nodded as if he had expected such an answer. “And how is it now? Are you still constantly thinking about home or is it slowly subsiding?”
“I think it's slowly subsiding,” I replied cautiously, but I wasn't sure if my statement wasn't a little too optimistic.
“So? Do you feel more like exploring the city now, getting to know it a second time, so to speak?”
“That probably depends a little on the circumstances,” I replied evasively. ”I do feel a bit more like it than I did immediately after my arrival, but I don't think I'll be able to bring myself to explore Dnipro on my own.”
“I see what's wrong with you is some kind of locomotive that you can just attach yourself to. Someone to pull you along.”
“You might be right about that.” I was surprised at how skillfully and empathetically Sergei asked his questions and in what little time he had gotten to the heart of my problem.
He looked briefly after the others, who were already more than twenty meters away, then his head swiveled around to me. “Sebastian, I would be sad if we lost sight of each other right after tonight, because I would like to get to know you a little better. Would you like to explore the city with me?”
“Yes, whenever you have time and feel like it,” I quickly replied, not recognizing myself.
There I was walking in the snow with a complete stranger whom I had only known for ten minutes, I had walked five hundred, maybe even seven hundred meters and was already telling him things about myself that I hadn't even told Ryan after such a short time.
It was crazy, or was it just me? But Sergej no longer seemed like a complete stranger to me. Actually, I knew next to nothing about him and he knew nothing about me, but I felt as if we had a long-standing, deep friendship.
Well, I hadn't really confided any significant secrets from my life to him in the last few meters; there hadn't been any reason or time for that, but deep inside me I sensed that I could safely do so when the time and opportunity came, not so far in the future.
The snow danced in front of our faces, while I thought I saw a joyful glow in Sergej's eyes as he looked past the gently falling flakes.
“That's nice. I'll be happy to show you our Dnieper, we can start our explorations tomorrow,” he said, pleased.
“Why not? Tomorrow is Sunday and I don't have any special plans anyway.”
“Good, then give me your address and phone number. I'll pick you up in the early afternoon, if you agree.”
Of course I agreed immediately and gave him the address. I only had to owe him a phone number, because the mills of the big Ukrainian telephone companies ground much slower than I had expected. Private telephone connections were apparently still strictly rationed and distributed according to some five-year plan. The idea of service must have broken down somewhere on its way east, beyond the Oder. In any case, it hadn't arrived here yet.
“Come on, let's quickly catch up with the others,“ said Sergej. ‘I have a rough idea where Kirya lives, but only Dima and Anna know the exact route.”
“Oh, don't worry about that. The others will be waiting for us,’ I tried to calm Sergej.
“Oh, you don't know my Dima very well,” laughed my companion.
“And you don't know my Ryan,” I quickly replied. ”He'll definitely be waiting for me. After all, he went to so much trouble to drag me to this party.”
“Unfortunately, Dima wasn't so keen on the idea of taking me to Kirya's party.”
“Why not? Don't you get along well with your brother?”
“Yes, we actually get along quite well. Of course, there are days when there's tension in our room, but basically Dima is a great guy and a very easy-going older brother. Some of my schoolmates have been blessed with very different brothers. Sometimes they really have something to suffer, but I've got a pretty good deal with Dima. He's a great guy and really okay.”
“I felt the same way. If you don't want to pour a full glass of cola over his new trousers, he's really nice and very easy to get along with.”
Sergei laughed happily. “Yes, I've already heard about your first encounter. He must have given you a really good telling off and you must have felt like a plucked chicken at the end. But believe me, Dima was the one who was most annoyed with himself afterwards. He was a bit more tipsy than usual, as he told me, and when he gets worked up, he really gets worked up. The only thing to do is to keep a low profile and hope for better times. I know this all too well from my own experience. Are you still angry with him about that?”
“No, not really. At first, of course, in all my anger, I wished him dead. But the next day it was clear to me that the whole row was caused by my own carelessness. If I had been a bit more careful, we wouldn't have bumped into each other and Dima wouldn't have had any reason to be angry with me. We just agreed when I arrived to forget the whole thing quickly and not overdo it.”
“I'm glad for both of you.” Sergei's relief was clearly noticeable. ”You're both great guys and each of you is perfectly fine, so it would be a shame if you had permanent stress with each other and I was in the middle of it.”
“Well, you seem to me to be a very useful specimen of the brother species for Dima too,” I remarked appreciatively.
Sergei smiled: ”I'm trying, at least. But now come on, let's go on. I'm getting cold. Aren't you?”
I had almost forgotten the cold and the snow, so absorbed was I in our conversation. Contrary to Sergej's fears, the others had waited for us at an intersection where we had to change streets and turn onto a side street. It wasn't long before we were standing in front of an old, abandoned factory site.
The gate with the delicate steel arch was half open, but the entrance didn't look particularly inviting to me. We crossed the dark terrain, which was only illuminated by the milky moonlight. Fortunately, the snow reflected the weak light of the nocturnal stars. Nevertheless, I had trouble not stumbling into one of the countless potholes.
It seemed as if all the conversations at the entrance gate had fallen silent because everyone was concentrating only on their feet. On the other side, a wall about two meters high bordered the area. Dima walked a few steps along it, then stopped abruptly and waited for the others, especially Ryan and me, to catch up.
“We have to get over there now. I hope you haven't forgotten how to climb in the west,” he said to Ryan and me. At first I thought I had misheard him, but Dima actually stood with his back against the wall, folded his hands at belt height to form a cup as a foothold for the robber leader, and asked, ”What is it, Sebastian, what are you waiting for?”
He really wanted me to be the first to climb over the wall? Horrified, I looked first at Dima, then at Ryan, who also looked a bit embarrassed.
“Well, come on, we don't have all the time in the world; what are you waiting for?”
I would have liked to ask Ryan if he wanted to go first, but that was a bit too embarrassing for me. Hesitantly, I approached Dima, climbed onto his supporting hand, swung a little awkwardly onto the top of the wall, rolled over it and jumped down on the other side.
Ryan was the next to swing himself over the wall. He looked down critically, patting snow and dirt off his clothes with the flat of his hand.
“They have a funny way of going to parties here,” I said to him, but only quietly so that the others on the other side of the wall couldn't hear.
He grinned, nodded briefly, and then looked up at the top of the wall again to see who would be climbing over next. But no new head appeared. “I think they're discussing who's next,” Ryan commented on the strange situation with a slight grin, but then his facial features changed in an instant. He listened intently into the silence.
Now I noticed it too. The Ukrainian voices on the other side of the wall had fallen silent and an almost eerie calm lay over the scene, which seemed increasingly strange to me.
Ryan was the first to understand what was going on: “They played a nasty joke on us, left us here behind the wall and ran away themselves.”
I looked at him, completely dumbfounded.
“Come on, give me a hand up. I want to see if I can still see them over there,” he urged me, lightly slapping me on the shoulder in the hope that it would help me to come to my senses a little faster.
Just as Dima had done it for me on the other side, I now formed a human ladder for Ryan.
“I can't see them. They're gone. Shit, those damned sons of bitches have really left,” Ryan cursed while standing on my hand and supporting himself with his hands on the wall.
“You're not looking for us, are you?“ I heard Anna's laughing voice a little further to the left. She wasn't laughing alone; everyone else was doubled over with laughter with her.
“I'll kill you all!” Ryan shouted against the laughter. He carefully climbed down from me. He didn't give the others a single glance; he just seemed to be seeking revenge.
Ryan's angry threat only increased the general merriment. He glared at me, hissed, “Just you wait, I'll show you!” so that only I could understand, bent down, quickly scooped up some snow with his hands, formed a ball out of it and chased after Dima and the others.
Our Ukrainian friends hadn't realized what was going on at first, they were laughing so hard. It was only at the last moment, when Ryan had almost reached him and was about to stuff the snowball into his collar at the back of his head, that Dima took to his heels.
Ryan chased after him for a few meters, then angrily threw the snowball after him and turned back. “And what are you laughing at?” He scooped up new snow from the ground, squeezed it in his hands and this time approached the lagging ones.
While Anna and Sergei instinctively took a step back, Katharina bravely approached Ryan. He was either the prey of his own arrogance or seemed to sense that his resentment was waning.
“Hey Ryan, it was really funny to see you two going over the wall.”
He had reached her, still standing threateningly in front of her with the snowball in his hand.
“That looked really cool and sporty. You deserve a reward for that.” Katharina pulled Ryan, who wasn't quite sure how to take her words, towards her and kissed him on the lips. Right on the lips and then also quite passionately, as it seemed to me.
“You always get such a nice reward here in the East when you climb over high walls,” Dima blasphemed, who had meanwhile caught up with him again, grinning from ear to ear.
When Ryan had finally recovered from his surprise and came to, he pulled away from Katharina, rushed at Dima and drove him in front of him.
The girls followed them screaming at a run; Anna determined to stand by her Dima, but Katharina? Did she also have to protect someone? Maybe Ryan from Anna? Somehow it seemed to me that madness was booming again.
Sergei approached me, laughing. “Tell me, does Ryan always react so wildly and angrily when he's kissed?”
I looked at him askance. “Are you sure that's why he's so angry?”
Sergej shrugged. ‘Was there anything else?”
“Well, it must have been the kiss that made him so angry. Ryan would never do something like that because of the wall,’ I confirmed, looking down at Sergej's somewhat strange point of view.
When I looked up again and was about to follow the others, he held me by the arm. “And you? Are you as annoyed as Ryan?” he asked with a slight trace of concern in his voice.
“If you only knew how miserable I felt just now,” I said with a slightly reproachful tone in my voice. That was quite intentional. Sergei should feel a little guilty, too. I didn't know who had come up with the little joke, but at least for failing to help me, I could calmly put Sergei in the hot seat for a few moments and let him stew there for a while; after all, punishment must be meted out.
“And you didn't even get a kiss as a reward for your climb,” he said with a thoughtfulness that seemed to me to be quite contrived.
'That old hypocrite. First he happily plays pranks on us, and then he acts all compassionate and empathetic; that's what we like.' So I added fuel to the fire. “That's right. That's why I'm going to be annoyed for the rest of the evening and think about revenge. Ryan at least got a kiss as a small compensation, but I once again got nothing and you'll pay for that.” With great difficulty I managed to finish the sentence in a serious tone of voice. To avoid giving myself away by the broad grin on my face, I looked intently at the ground.
Sergei came closer to me. “But I don't want you to go without a reward.”
“And what are you going to do, call the girls back?”
“Oh, never mind, a man helps himself!” he said, pulled me close to him and kissed me on the lips.
In the darkness, I saw Sergej's eyes glowing. My arms hung down rigidly and somehow totally lifeless. My body had the elegant mobility of a Siberian block of ice. The vocal cords reported a malfunction, breathing was on emergency standby and my knees suffered from considerable stability problems. Silent and still completely confused, I stared at Sergej.
“What? Do I kiss badly?” He smiled cautiously and there was a warm glow in his eyes.
My vocal cords reported limited operational capability again. ”I don't know.”
“What don't you know?”
“Whether you're a good or a bad kisser, I can't really judge.”
“Why not? You felt it, didn't you?”
“Yes, but I can't compare. I have no experience in the field and besides, I wasn't really with it at the time,” I tried to explain, and I was quite satisfied with the regained functionality of my vocal cords for the beginning.
“So, you lack the comparison and besides, you weren't completely focused. Well, if it's nothing more,“ laughed Sergei, pulled me back to him and kissed me again, longer and more passionately than before.
“Well, did you notice a difference?” He grinned happily, but somehow I didn't feel like grinning.
“Why are you making fun of me?” I asked disappointedly.
Sergej paused for a moment, registered what was going on between us, then shook his head gently: ”Sebastian, I'm really not making fun of you. I just didn't want you to go unrewarded for climbing. It was supposed to be a little fun – nothing more. It was probably a pretty bad joke, I'm sorry. Damn! That was crap, it was a mistake. I didn't want to hurt you, I hope you believe me.”
Completely confused and at a loss as to what to say in reply, I looked at the floor. Are all jokes made here with the intense passion that I thought I felt on my lips just now?
“Are you very angry with me?”
I looked up and saw Sergej's eyes, which now seemed deeply sad and had completely lost all their shine. Could I be angry with a person with eyes like that? I sensed his fear of having made a huge mistake. A dark shadow seemed to be falling over us, seemed to be permanently clouding the totally good and warm relationship that I had enjoyed so far. I knew I had to do something, preferably do something quickly, and then do something crazy and completely unexpected; crazy and unexpected enough to break the tense situation and release the tension that had taken hold of us both.
My hands reached for Sergej's collar. I pulled him as close to me as possible, didn't mind the questioning look in his eyes, ignored the loud, anxious hammering inside me and kissed him.
Was it a long kiss? Maybe even a passionate one? No idea. It was different from the kisses I knew from grandmas and aunts, somehow better and much more intense. I didn't know any more and I didn't have a comparison to the kisses of a beautiful young lady, because this infectious disease called 'love' had strangely not happened to me to this day.
“So now we're even,” I said triumphantly to Sergei, who still hadn't fully recovered from the shock. My spontaneous action had hit him like a bomb and had exactly the effect I had hoped for.
“Now you've caught me completely off guard,“ said Sergei appreciatively, after he had finally found his voice again. ‘Does that mean you're not angry with me anymore?’ he asked shyly.
“That's what it means,” I said gently, letting myself be seized by high spirits and once again pressing a fleeting kiss on his lips as if in confirmation.
Slowly, the tension on Sergej's face dissolved. “Does that also mean that we'll continue to be friends and explore the city together tomorrow?”
“If you still want to, that's what it means,” I confirmed.
Sergej's eyes shone again, and in the darkness, I thought I saw a glimmer of moisture in them as well. “Yes, I still want to,” he beamed, his whole face aglow. He pulled me close, held me tight and gently stroked my hair with his right hand: “Thank you for taking it so lightly. I would never have forgiven myself if I had lost your friendship over those stupid kisses.”
“You didn't,” I quickly replied, because I didn't want him to worry for no reason. ‘But now let's quickly go after the others before the kissing gets out of hand here.”
Laughing, he put his arm around my shoulder and pushed me in the direction in which we had to look for the others. ’You're right, come on, let's go.”
We trudged peacefully through the fresh snow, meeting up with the others shortly afterwards, who had also calmed down in the meantime.
“We're here, welcome to Kirya's realm!” Dima said, opening the unlocked door with an inviting gesture.
Loud music rose up to us from the cellar. I was curious to see what new forms of general madness awaited me down there. The ones I had experienced so far had already reached a very impressive level: unsuspecting strangers are chased over high walls and then passionately kissed as a reward; if necessary, also by men, when no woman is available. And because every hint of madness seemed to be followed by an even greater madness, even Sebastian, who is particularly experienced in love and kissing, diligently kisses along as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
If madness was already so rampant in a sober state, what could be expected at an advanced hour, when a certain Sebastian had a little more alcohol in his blood and all the Russians and Ukrainians hardly had any blood left in theirs?
An unhealthy mixture of dark foreboding and sheer horror descended on me like a cruel nightmare as I slowly descended the cellar stairs behind Dima and Ryan