Bunker by Andrea Maria Schenkel Read Free Book Online

hair-pulling, spraying each other with water and teasing, but all the same we all knew what the others were doing. The others were the boys from the village school. They were always out and about on their bikes from morning to evening. The photo with Joachim was taken on a cycling trip. One of my girlfriends had a camera from a branch of Photo Porst. I remember it very well. The camera cost ten marks at the time, a cheap one, but to us that was a lot of money. And as usual I had Joachim tagging along with me. I had to take the silly little brat everywhere, he was a real pain in the neck. I was never on my own, he wasalways hanging on. Clinging like a burr. He used to eavesdrop on the rest of us and tell tales at home. How that little snoop got on my nerves! In the photo he was wearing those nasty pale blue canvas shoes with the striped laces. I’ll never forget them! And the way he whined. ‘Can’t go any further!’ ‘Want a rest!’ ‘Want a drink!’ Then, when I gave in to him and we went into the café on the allotments – what did it call itself? The Sunlit Land or something like that – I’d found there were only fifteen pfennigs in my purse. And that little horror pretending he didn’t know anything about it. He squirmed and screeched like mad. Everyone was looking at us. A man got up from the next table and came over to tell me off. Until I took Joachim’s purse out of his trouser pocket and found my five marks fifty in it! That little thief! It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but this time I’d caught him in the act.
    So why the picture? Does this guy know me from the past, from my childhood? Or Joachim? I’ve no idea.
    I lie here, far away in my thoughts. I’m thinking of the village, the meadows in summer. Lush grass, knee-high. I can remember the warm wind, and how I ran over the fields with my dress blowing in the breeze and my plaits dancing. If I close my eyes I can still feel the warm sunlight on my face. I run and dance over the soft green until I’m out ofbreath. Hands propped on my bare knees, I breathe deeply in and out. I have the smell of the newly mown grass in my nostrils. Its aroma is green and earthy. I’d like to stay in that lovely meadow.
    I’m brought abruptly out of my memories by the creaking of the floorboards. I keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep. Even a daydream is better than the reality. I hear steps in the room, and the trapdoor falling into place with a thud. Only now do I open my eyes and sit up in bed. There’s food and drink on the table. Oh, how thoughtful, he’s taken away the plastic bag full of my pee and left a new one on the chest of drawers!
    After I’ve eaten I’m bored again. I’m slowly losing any sense of time. I haven’t washed for ages. My teeth feel coated when I run my tongue over them. I expect I’m beginning to get smelly. How long have I been here? I sleep, wake up, eat, doze gently, go to sleep again. The sky is cloudy, it never gets really light in this room. The paraffin lamps are still here, but he hasn’t lit them again, and there are no matches to be found. I’ve looked everywhere. He probably doesn’t trust me with fire. Any more than he trusts me with soap and water. But at least he’s leaving me alone.

The hospital reception area has neon strip-lighting. The light is cold and glaring. Through the frosted glass panes of Accident and Emergency, the blue light of the ambulance shows as a blurred beam regularly flashing. The two halves of the big glazed door open automatically and slide apart without a sound.
    Noise, footsteps, calls.
    The paramedics hurry in with the injured victim, moving fast, pushing the stretcher ahead of them down the corridor.
    Nurses and orderlies hurry to meet them, take the stretcher. One glance and they see how serious the situation is. Everything happens quickly, without a word. The stretcher