Next World Novella by Matthias Politycki Read Free Book Online Page A

between melancholy and megalomania, Schepp took to shaving his head, chose colourful handkerchiefs for his breast pocket, bought stronger aftershave, gained a certain authority with the occasional clever quibble that earned him a laugh – oh, he was tired of his reasonable mind. He hardly did any research; soon he wasn’t even publishing, and there was an admixture of mockery in the respectful empathy he now encountered from his full-time colleagues at the University. He once even overheard someone calling him Professor Unrat, after the nickname – Professor Garbage – of Professor Raat, the protagonist of Heinrich Mann’s novel. What did PhD students know about anything anyway? He also, and for the first time, offered an introductory course on the I Ching, much to the surprise of Doro, whom he now only ever saw when they drank tea together in the afternoon.
    It could probably have gone on like this for ever. But then she reappeared – the woman of whom he thought every day with a shiver of admiration. Schepp had long given up any hope of seeing her again, but when he entered La Pfiff one evening he almost stumbled into her. There was no doubt, it was definitely her. With that Chinese character tattooed on her throat she was unmistakably branded. For a Sinologist, that was not a coincidence, but had been arranged by Fate especially for him, the only one there who understood the sign. She was standing at the bar with a tray in her hands on which Paulus was placing a round of drinks. She had come back.
    This time to work as a waitress.
    Her name was Dana, and she was from Poland ‘or somewhere in the east’. Paulus knew almost nothing about her. No, he couldn’t remember ever having seen her at La Pfiff before. Or if he did he wasn’t saying, and Schepp was careful not to mention it. For the rest of the evening he watched her as casually as he could; he was bound to glance at a new waitress now and then. Once more their eyes met briefly, once more hers rested on him without any interest. When she served him she even asked the same question she had asked at the table next to his:
    Where had a nice lad like him left his girlfriend this evening?
    Schepp gulped down the contents of his glass so that he could order another drink quickly. This time he asked her straight out about her tattoo, saying he had seen her here in the summer, he was certain that he knew her.
    In her charming accent Dana replied that she knew him and his sort too, and particularly that trick; he’d have to think up something subtler.
    ‘Oh, please!’ objected Schepp. It wasn’t like that at all, as a Sinologist he must protest, he’d have known a sign like the one on her neck with his eyes closed! He would in fact have liked to have leapt to his feet and bitten her right on that spot. He didn’t say that, of course. Instead he asked whether she knew what a fateful mark she was carrying, an oracular pronouncement of which Kung Tze himself had said –
    This was too subtle for her, said Dana, turning away.
    Schepp sat there red-faced for the rest of the evening, not sure whether he should feel more offended as a man or as an academic. Even now, years later, he was overcome by embarrassment when he conjured up the scene; he ought really to have given Dana a slap in the face there and then, and that would have been that. Especially when he thought of her scent, some cheap Polish perfume that gave her an improper air, as if both the perfume and the woman were cheap and available.
    He shook himself, pulled a face, as if his room, too, were full of Dana’s objectionable perfume. He certainly wasn’t going to think about that today. It was highly unsuitable, and damn it all, he had thought of that woman Dana far too often, thought of her every day. Every night. Well? Did that make him a worse human being, a worse husband; hadn’t he always lavished care and attention on Doro? Although, even so, it was a long time, yes, a very long time since he had