Sibylle Berg
DOG, WOMAN, MAN HUND, FRAU, MANN
Englisch von Neil Blackadder, Galesburg (USA) 2004
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Sibylle Berg DOG, WOMAN, MAN Inspired by the story “Housebroken” by Yael Hedaya Translated by Neil Blackadder
Characters: Dog, 1 year old Woman, around 40 Man, around 40
The Man: He was an unremarkable creature with the physique of a hyena and the grace of a bird. He kept his tail wedged firmly between his hind legs—legs which would have possessed a certain charm had they not constantly trembled. His bent pelvis and protruding ribs lent him an abject appearance, due mostly to the way he moved: half sitting, as if apologizing and fleeing from an imaginary kick. For weeks he’d been lying in the corridor in front of the door to the man and woman’s apartment. He was an animal who suffered in silence, almost a melancholic, something the occupants of the building had grown used to, like a slightly more conspicuous doormat. So they were all the more shocked on the day when the dog fell into a rage and, with an almost desperate expression on his face, bit off the left ear of an old lady. On that day, the dog-catchers had to be called, the dog gave himself up into their noose as if he was relieved, and it became clear to everyone who had to watch all this, that the dog wanted to get out of there. * The Dog: The woman sat alone at home. She was an unremarkable person--not particularly attractive, but not ugly. She looked the way women do when they’re in their prime. One wouldn’t have been able to determine her age were it not for an expressive line around her mouth which made her appear older than she would ever become. “Yes,” that line seemed to say, “I’ve come to terms with it. I no longer believe in miracles, I no longer believe that life is a festive celebration; I don’t believe at all any more that I’m entitled to something special. I have a nice apartment, a few friends, a job from which I don’t expect too much. I get by, and … Love, well you know, that’s no longer the world I’m fighting for. Mr. Right, something holy between man and woman, I haven’t believed in all that for a long time. I’ve learned not to expect anything out of the ordinary.” In any case, the woman went along with what the line around her mouth expressed. She said: “Very well then”--and looked very grown up as she said it. The woman managed okay, and only now and then did she get pains in her stomach which felt like hunger, and she was sad because she really didn’t know what she was hungry for.
It was a Sunday. It hadn’t stopped raining since that morning, and the woman couldn’t think of any more parts of her body that she could pamper. Her calculation of how many more hours she had to kill before she could go to bed was interrupted by a call from a distant acquaintance who had made a specialty out of pairing up single people. * The Woman [talking on the phone]: It’s Sunday, and I just despise Sundays. Have you looked out of the window? Everyone’s been evacuated, only no-one told me, so I’m sitting here waiting for them to pick me up. No-one ever does pick me up, and the truth is, on Sundays there is no me: nobody says hello to me, nobody calls, I don’t even get any bills, which would be a sign of my existence. You think I should go out? Ah, go out like that again, you mean? Great idea. Did I tell you how your last attempt to set me up turned out? He was like something out of a nightmare, sitting there in the café. He had no hair, and his hands were so white it was disturbing, and they crawled like insects over everything that was anywhere near them. I watched them for the three hours during which he told me stories about semiconductor technology. I went home with him. I’d imagined it all before hand like a movie, big love, sex in a penthouse and so on. So I went home with him. It smelled of cats. He put his pants on a hanger and folded his socks, and then he stood there in his underwear. He was wearing briefs with an elephant’s head on them, and his prick was lying right in the trunk. I lay down, closed my eyes, and thought about wonderful, empty penthouses. Then I went home and watched TV. It was raining. * The Dog: The man sat alone in his apartment. An unremarkable man. Attractive he had never been, and yet he held some appeal for women. I think they weren’t afraid of him, because he was so reassuringly average, and smelled good. Women aren’t especially choosy when they reach a certain age. In any case, the man liked living on his own, since there was no shortage of activity in his bedroom, and when a man has never lived with a woman, he has no idea that he might be missing something. After work he went out drinking with his colleagues, and afterwards he went home, to read or watch TV. He would never have claimed to be happy, and yet there was a certain contentment about him, and if he had to describe his life as a natural phenomenon, perhaps he’d have said it’s like a pleasant day in October, somewhat cool in the morning, around midday an
unrealistically bright light and in the afternoon, turning into evening, a dark cloud behind bear tree-tops. Yes, I think that’s how he would see his life.
Just as he was about to get himself another beer, which would have been the sixth that Sunday, he got a call from a distant acquaintance who had made a specialty out of pairing up single people. * The Man [talking on the phone]: No, stop, you’ve already tried that, and it ended with me going to bed with her out of pity and then she followed me for four weeks. She disguised herself as a box tree and as a garage, she hung in front of my bathroom window, and in the end from her rafters. I can’t take all this sadness. The loud laughing, the false teeth, the desperate expression, it really puts me in a bad mood. Complimenting them, touching them, feeling their cellulitis under their lingerie. I mean, I have a hard time with all that--I have feelings too, you know. How nice-looking is she, I mean, how nice is nice? She’s a translator? Does she wear glasses, perchance? Yes, I know about the naked teachers in Playboy. Women don’t interest me. * The Dog: Why did they meet up? Because it was Sunday, because no-one’s in good spirits on Sundays, because it was a bad night for TV, and so they went to a restaurant, without any expectations. They had put no effort into making themselves look nice, and yet it became very bright in the room when they saw each other, very bright as they sat opposite one another in an empty restaurant on an empty Sunday.
* She: Shall we have another bottle? He:
Let’s.
She: So do you like being a graphic designer? He:
I’ve never asked myself that question.
She: I understand. At some point you just stop asking yourself things. That’s nice too. He:
And in your free time?
She: I like to swim. He:
I can hold my breath for two minutes.
She: Wow, that’s amazing. He:
Let’s have another bottle.
* The Dog: A few hours later. They’re still sitting at the table, with two empty wine bottles. She: I find it really nice, getting older. I’m much happier than I used to be. He:
What things make you feel that way?
She: Oh you know, little things. He:
You mean like walking barefoot in the sand, dead birds in spring-time, and rocketing unemployment?
She: Yes, exactly, do you find that so wonderful too? He:
I know a lovely sunset poem, shall I?
She: I love poetry.
He:
“When the sun falls into the sea, we can make a wish. She said. They stood and waited. The sun fell into the sea. He turned away.” That didn’t come out right.
She: Why must love always be sad. He:
Happy love isn’t interesting enough to talk about.
* The Dog: A few more hours or years later. They’re in the restaurant, holding hands, with four empty wine bottles. She: But you know, it’s much easier for men than for women. A woman who isn’t young any more … He:
The age when it was easy, that’s behind me. I can’t even remember it. I know I used to go dancing, and good-looking girls came with me after one or two drinks. That’s so long ago, I’m not even sure I didn’t see it in a film. The only women still around today are those who got left on the shelf. They sit in cafés or bars, and they’ve done themselves up so nicely that you could cry, because they look like traffic lights changing in the night when there are no cars. Naturally they go with you and try everything they can so that you don’t discover their age; they act like they’re happy and they scream really loudly in bed, throwing their heads from side to side, and the next morning they look at you and say, “You’ll call, won’t you?” Of course, you say, and of course you never do, and you’re afraid you’ll run into them again. It’s so tiring. There’s certainly no pleasure in it. And I’m not so interested in copulation any more, or not like I used to be. Shall we go to your place?
* The Dog: At this point in the young relationship I entered the life of the couple. I was just about to lie down and relax with a book behind a trash can when I saw them standing outside the front door. They looked to me like friendly and wellbalanced people. Since it had been raining for weeks, I was yearning for a little domesticity. So I went over to them, for I had nothing to lose. * She: That was a nice evening. He:
Yes, it was a nice evening.
She: Well I guess I should go. He:
Now you’re supposed to ask if I’d like a cup of coffee.
She: Would you like a cup of coffee? He:
I’d rather have a dog – look at him.
She: An intellectual, ascetic creature. He looks as if he likes playing in puddles after dark, lit by the neon sign of a closed bar. He:
And watching the cars which sneak up to the puddles at night to drink out of them.
She: Look, I’ve got the feeling he wants something. * The Dog: Of course I wanted something. Your house, your blanket, your car, your credit card. Listen, I said, I just saw a wonderful film by Wong Kar Wai. No, you’re wrong, I don’t only watch Lassie, so anyway, this film dealt metaphorically with the human inability to love. It was about projections and early-childhood character formation and by the way, sir, have you reflected on the harm you might bring upon yourself by going upstairs with this lady? You know, I’ve just got this sense that … Now of course I didn’t really say that. Instead I said the usual crap: I’m hungry, I said, and really don’t want to sleep on the street tonight. It’s autumn, it’s cold, I’m sure you’ve got a place for me, I’ll be no trouble, I don’t chew carpets, and so on--everything you expect from a dog, that’s what I said.
* She: I always used to want a dog. I imagined houses in the country, in soft focus, with cherry trees, a dog outside the door, and Grandma still alive … Yes well, today I’d find it embarrassing to have a pet. He:
I understand.
She: I don’t think you do. He:
We’ve had a good meal, wine, now we’re going to your place for coffee.
She: Shall we take him in with us for one cup? He:
It’ll be our good deed for the day.
* The Dog: That’s how we got to know each other. Back then. I wasn’t so surprised when they took me into the apartment. More often than not, human beings’ guilty conscience about all they’ve done to us since our enslavement wins out for a while. The woman’s apartment looked strangely deserted, as if it had just rained and a crowd of wedding-guests had hurriedly left an old garden café. After they’d fed me they gave me a blanket and withdrew. That was a big moment for me, because as I perhaps already mentioned, I’d been living on the streets since I was born. So I lay on the blanket in the warm apartment and wondered if it would turn out with these two the way it always does with people. A brief period of caring, until their humanity broke through again. They like to humble you, but that’s nothing new, and I don’t want to say anything more about it. I’m not concerned about being the centre of attention. I’m more of an introvert. So I lay on the cosy blanket and read a book by Asushi Inoue. Right before I fell asleep I thought: perhaps this is the beginning of a new life for me, and then I smiled, as I heard the two of them in the bedroom.
* She: What are you thinking about? He:
Nothing.
She: What’s nothing? He:
I was just wondering whether there isn’t something funny about sexual intercourse. Beforehand you’re in a dressed-up mood, wearing a tie, and you’re talking about poems, and then you quickly take off your clothes, you sweat and you shout and then afterwards you try to find your way out of the awkwardness and back into your suit. Why are you crying now?
She: It’s nothing. He:
And why are you crying if it’s nothing?
She: Just put your suit back on. He:
How do you mean that?
She: Just go. He:
If you say so. (He gets dressed.)
She: What’s going to happen with the dog? He:
Shall I take him with me?
She: It doesn’t interest me. He:
Okay then, I’ll take him with me.
She: Please. He:
I could also leave him here.
She: I don’t care. He:
Well alright. So I’m off. I’ll call you.
She: Sure.
* The Dog: After the man left, I watched her, and I’d rarely seen such a desperate person. She sat quite still for a long time and then ran through the apartment with her upper body bent forwards. Her appearance suggested someone who’d just been beaten up. She took no notice of me, and I had to watch out that she didn’t kick me by mistake, or flush me down the toilet. This state, which looked to me like a kind of derangement, lasted for a few hours and then suddenly gave way to a brief outburst of destructive anger, which I’d rather not say any more about. When people are enraged, they lose their faces, and it would be unpleasant for me to describe it. After the attack she got into bed and cried for a long time. Between you and me, that was the point where I lost interest in her, because I got hungry and so I made myself a tofu sandwich. The next day she stayed at home. She gave me nothing to eat. Her condition gave cause for concern. I had a dark premonition which at the time I wouldn’t have been able to give a name to. When she noticed me, it was a critical moment. I could tell by looking at her that because I reminded her of that evening, she was thinking of throwing me out of the apartment. Luckily her impulse was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. * The Woman [talking on the phone]: It’s you. No, nothing, I wasn’t expecting it to be anyone else. Once again, noone’s called. I have too little that might interest a man. And what little I do have I share with lots of women, only they’re mostly ten years younger. Why should it have been different this time? Actually I know already at the start. If I like someone, then I know it’s not going to come to anything. It’s always been like that, only I used to think that it just took time to meet the right one. I don’t believe that any more. I’m going to make my peace with living alone, after all it won’t be for too much longer. You know, I’ve got what it takes to be lonely. I’m going to enjoy the beautiful things in life. You can’t share feelings--if you do you end up with fewer of them. I’m really glad that I’ve made this decision. I’m no longer in the competition, that totally relaxes me. It’s like an inspiration. Now I’m going to go out for a while, totally relaxed, and I’m going to have fun.
* The Dog: And so she went out and had fun. She walked through the streets and for the first time it seemed to her as if she honestly didn’t notice that nobody was looking at her. She had never been a person about whom one could have maintained that she drew looks, and yet for two years now there had no longer been any looks at all. On that evening it didn’t bother her that there were no looks, it belonged to the ascetic lifestyle she had just invented for herself. I’m a neutral entity, and it’s good that way, she thought. Then she sat down in a café, looked out of the window, and when she saw a young girl standing next to a parking-meter, she began to cry. After that she ran home through the rain. In the meantime the man had been outside her apartment. He’d brought food for me and flowers for her. When she didn’t open the door, he thought that she was perhaps out with some other man, that she had just been drunk that night, that it was all just a mistake, then he got cold, and so he went away again. He liked the woman quite a lot. Her brittleness appealed to him, and he saw, beneath her stern exterior, something of her earlier attractiveness. Not to mention that he was more and more often feeling lonely. He was finding his nocturnal expeditions through the bars of the town increasingly tiring, and he’d noticed that he was starting to envy his colleagues who spent their weekends with their families in the garden, grilling small animals. Perhaps the woman was just average enough to not demand too much of him. Perhaps, he thought to himself, with her an eleventh-hour compromise would be livable. An agreement that would rescue him from his loneliness. So he overcame his pride and went once more to her place. * She: Aha. He:
I wanted to see how the dog was doing.
She: Don’t force yourself. He:
So how are the two of you?
She: The two of us are fine thank you. He:
And do you want to keep the dog?
She: I don’t know yet.
He:
I brought him something to eat, and also I thought that maybe we could go out, what do you say?
She: What makes you think I’ve got the time? He:
So you don’t have the time.
She: I didn’t say that. Maybe I just don’t feel like having the time right when you want me to have the time. He:
Now that I don’t understand.
She: So I noticed. He:
I thought it would be nice if we did something together.
She: Nice, huh? You don’t have some more important appointment? He:
I think it would be better if I left. You seem to be in a bad mood.
She: Yes, sure, go, that’ll be easiest for you. He:
You’re pissed because I left yesterday.
She: The day before yesterday. He:
I thought, I wanted to, that is, I didn’t want to put pressure on you.
She: Interesting explanation. * The Dog: In short, they argued for a while longer, then they made up and went to bed. There was something desperate about what they did in bed, and following whatever it was, they both lay on their backs and looked out of the window. They thought about what it would be like if their lives carried on just as they had so far. So they slept together and talked a lot. They seemed to get along well and yet, as if they’d agreed on it, neither of them spoke about their childhood. Maybe it bothered them that their youth lay so far behind them, or else they’d already told the same stories to other partners so often that even just thinking about repeating them again made them feel tired.
* She: Did you used to have a dream, I mean, a dream of your great love? He:
The dream looked like you.
She: And what’s the truthful answer? He:
Oh, let’s talk about something else.
She: Come on, tell me. I won’t be upset, really. He:
Okay, well I always imagined a Claudia Schiffer type.
She: Aha. He:
Are you upset now?
She: No, not at all. I just don’t feel like lying in bed any more. * The Dog: They saw each other for a few weeks. Nearly every day. And they tried really hard to have a good time together. * He:
We have a really good time together, don’t you think?
She: Yes. * She: I find that we have a great time together. He:
I think so too.
* Together:
We have a totally good time together.
* She: You’re not at your own place very often these days. He:
Does that bother you?
She: No, that’s not what I was trying to say. He:
So what were you trying to say?
She: Well if you can’t work that out for yourself, I might as well forget about it. He:
Don’t be like that. Look, it’s Sunday, there’s a clear sky, we’re lying in bed and we could be having such a nice time together.
She: That’s all you care about. You want things to be nice. Just so long as there’s no conflict. He:
So. And what are you trying to tell me now?
She: Nothing. He:
Oh come on, I am slowly getting to know you, let me put it together. I’m at your place more than I am at mine, which is unpractical. And there’s something else you just don’t have the courage to simply propose. Let me guess a bit more. You’d like us to move in together?
She: No, I … He:
Relax, just nod or shake your head. Do you want me to move in with you?
She: (she shakes her head) He:
You want to move into my one-bedroom with me?
She: (she shakes her head) He:
You want us to look for an apartment to move into together, a nice little lovers’ apartment.
She: (she nods)
* The Dog: They told me about the new situation and decided to adopt me. They rented a bigger apartment for themselves, and were strangely dejected after they had signed the lease. They sat in a café and laughed very loudly, as a light autumn rain fell outside. They held hands and stroked each other, as if to soothe themselves. Then they looked at the dark sky and were silent for a long time. He didn’t ask himself about the reason for his sadness, because he was a man, and she explained her mood to herself by focusing on the apparent finality with which she had settled for second best. She had signed the lease for an average three-bedroom apartment. That meant there would probably never be a house by the sea in her life, or a car, or expensive clothes, that was it now, that’s all there was until the end. * She sat in her apartment and had already been awake for hours. The mood she’d been in yesterday had passed, and she was filled with great excitement. She’d made herself look nice. She’d drunk coffee and had gone through her apartment, her life, and had found there was nothing in there worth mentioning. Today they would buy furniture, next week they would move in, into the new apartment. She took a sip of coffee, drinking to age, to autumn, to long evenings in stocking feet, said goodbye to herself, nothing worth mourning, and she cried a little, because for all her happiness she had the feeling that there would be no going back for her. She cried because nothing at all came to mind that would be worth going back for, then she straightened herself out and went to his place, without looking around any more. * He sat in his apartment. It was 9 o’clock on Saturday. He wanted to not open his eyes, to not move, just to keep sleeping, ideally forever. But once his eyes were open, he looked around. He saw his stereo, his socks on the floor, his light-bulb, which hung almost indecently naked from the ceiling. He felt a deep pain, without being clear why. Very slowly, the synapses in his brain start to communicate. Furniture store, the woman, the apartment, never again another one. He put the scraps together into a sentence. It’s Saturday, and he had to go to the furniture store with his girlfriend to buy things for their apartment. Their apartment. That sounded as if his head was located directly beneath a 20-foot high ringing church-bell. Reluctantly he got up. Then the two of them sat in the car.
* She: A lovely morning for buying furniture. He:
Yes.
She: A wonderful day for the start of a new life. He:
Yes.
* The Dog: The car was a Faraday Cage: the bad vibrations bounced from the roof onto the windshield and into both their skulls. Silence. Frost. Arctic circle. Execution. Bugs. It was clear to her when she saw him that this would be a disappointing day. He reminded her of a child who can see Christmas trees in other people’s houses and knows that his family won’t be celebrating. She felt sorry for him, yet she was unable, with some regret, to take account of his feelings. For they were planning great things, and that demanded great sacrifices. He’ll have more fun, he’ll have to have more fun, she thought, because if not, what would become of their new life. She sat next to him, he drove the car, she looked at his hands, and for the first time it became clear to her that her happiness depended on a person who was totally alien to her. They didn’t find their way to each other that day, the first day of their life together, and one might have wondered why they didn’t say goodbye and return to their separate lives. The answer’s simple: it was already too late. They had arranged the furniture in the apartment. They had drilled and hammered, and all this activity was accompanied by great seriousness. They didn’t laugh, because there was no lightness about them. They painted and moved furniture in silence, and they hung their things next to each other, as if they hoped that their clothes, which seemed to get along fine, would give off some spell that would carry over to them. Only the spell didn’t show up, and the sunlight which ought to have been caught on the ceiling didn’t show up, it was a strangely dark day, turning unnoticed into evening, and then, in the night, there was nothing left to do, and so they had to start living together.
* She: I’m so happy. He:
So am I.
She: I’ve never lived with a man before. He:
Why not?
She: Because I was waiting for the right one. He:
Is that true, or would you really like it to be true?
She: Are you trying to say I’m lying to you? Are you trying to say that before you there’s never been anyone who wanted to live with me? He:
No, not at all, really, I just wanted to ...
She: To what? He:
Why does it have to be so difficult.
She: Is it too much like hard work, is that what you’re trying to say? * The Dog: On the first night of their beautiful new life, he slept on the sofa, and she didn’t. She cried, until she could no longer stand to hear herself, and she was sure that the next morning he’d have disappeared. She had the sense that she ceased to exist when she looked at him, and that she only screamed so loudly so that something of her might come back. She had the sense that he was beginning to slip away from her, and she knew that she couldn’t name one reason why he should stay. Yet she needn’t have worried. He didn’t want to admit to himself any more than she did that they had made a mistake. Not with each other, but in their lives. They could have both taken joy in the fact that they were no longer waking up alone in November, but simple thoughts like that don’t occur to people. The next morning they sat for a long time at the table, in silence, before she said something, just as he was about to stand up.
* She: I don’t know why I say what I don’t mean. I don’t recognize myself this way, so complicated. I hope you can hold out until I turn normal again. He:
I have no choice. I don’t have my own place any more, remember.
She: Does that mean you regret it? He:
Hey, calm down. I’ve got an idea, we’ll take a vacation. Let’s just take off, away from this cold city.
She: What is it you need a break from? He:
From daily life, from the weather, from …
She: But couples who’ve just fallen in love are supposed to be on vacation all the time. He:
We’ll walk around some place like tourists, we’ll go out for meals and act as if we’d just got to know each other.
She: You’re starting to get bored. He:
No, I love the familiarity we’re slowly developing. I just thought that we should take a trip together.
* The Dog: I sensed that, alongside everything they did and said, even when they were laughing or lying in bed together, there lingered a great sadness, and their feelings, it seemed to me, were not strong enough to do anything to change it. It was as if their fear that they would yet again fail at something that everyone else before them had managed was so great that they were no longer in themselves. Whatever it was, perhaps the trip to Paris would do us good. * He:
We’re going on vacation, like grown-ups.
She: We are grown-ups. He:
They’ll throw us out of the hotel for not being of age.
She: And because we’re not married … He:
I’ve never been to Paris.
She: What, you’ve never been to Paris and you’re already 40. That’s funny. He:
Yes, really funny.
* The Dog: I liked travelling a lot, and so did she, and she especially loved Paris, a city that’s very attentive towards single ladies. She’d been there many times, and actually she wanted to impress him a little with her knowledge of the language and of places. He hated travelling, foreign countries, bad food, and tourists. He cursed himself for his suggestion from the second we got on the train. He couldn’t remember any more why he wanted to take a trip with her. He’d been hoping to get something out of it. In any case he spoke no French. Already on the first day he chose to stay in the hotel while she went off to get them some breakfast. She was happy again for the first time in months, everything looked to her just like it used to, as she wandered through the city, enjoying the compliments of French men, and yet it heightened her sense of wellbeing enormously to know that her man was at the hotel. From the first day, when she came back to the hotel after three hours, it was clear that the vacation would not do them any good. Or at least not in the way that he had briefly imagined it might. The better her mood, the more miserable he became. She dragged him to sightseeing spots, to markets, to cafés, she spoke French incessantly, laughed, was brilliant, and with each passing hour he became more silent and in a worse mood. It almost seemed to him as if she was only in good spirits because she was able to humiliate him. On the journey home they were both quiet. She smiled to herself as if his state didn’t interest her at all, and he was almost in tears, without knowing why. After their return, the situation quickly got worse.
* In bed She: I’m so glad it’s the weekend and we don’t have to go to work. He:
Hm.
She: What shall we do with the day? He:
I actually wanted to do a bit more work. By the way, I don’t like it when you say we. Maybe I’ve got different plans than we have.
She: Before you carry out your plans, I’ve got another question. He:
Yes?
She: Is there any reason why you don’t sleep with me any more? He:
Well congratulations, we’ve got a new problem. Please, we’ve been together for three quarters of a year, it’s normal, and besides I’m just a bit worn out at the moment.
She: After we’ve just been on vacation? He:
Yes. Because we’ve just been on vacation.
* The Dog: In the following weeks, their interaction with one another was marked by the kind of careful impoliteness that you see in travellers in first class who unfortunately have both reserved the same seat. They began, with a certain somnambulism, to do the things couples do who are slowly realizing that they don’t have much in common. They spent evenings playing card games, they went for walks and watched lots of television in an effort to counter the boredom that was constantly with them. Their relationship--for that, I’m afraid, is what one has to call it--began to follow a normal course. Sometimes the woman talked to me because she couldn’t think of anything to say to him. * The Woman: I always thought that what I was lacking in order to be happy was a man. It was as if there was always one quarter too little there. And now that I’ve got one, I’m almost more unhappy than I was before. I get sad as soon as I come across him in the bathroom, I hardly get enough air, because I’m so anxious that he might go away, I feel it so acutely that he makes me into nothing, and I get confused. Why am I afraid he’ll leave if I felt better on my own?
* The Dog: I suggested that she take in some more animals, so that her fixation on him would be loosened. But she preferred to do what the women’s magazines told her to: she bought herself lewd underwear and put it on at the dinner table, which she had covered with aphrodisiac foods. Then he came home. * She: You’re late. I mean, that’s not a problem, your coming home late, I’m sure you had a lot of work to do, I can warm up dinner. He:
Leave it, I’ve already eaten.
She: Then sit down with me and have some wine. He:
Thanks but I’m really very tired.
She: Then we can go to bed together. He:
Oh my god, what happened to you?
* The Dog: You might say that this intervention was not a success. * (We hear the sobbing of the woman.) * The Dog: It’s possible that they just weren’t able to recognize their own hopelessness in the other one. Whatever the case may be, it wasn’t my problem, and I’d so often observed relationships like theirs, even if it was usually from a distance, that I considered it normal. No reason for me to get worried. I dedicated myself to working out a plan. At some point there would be an armed revolution, and I would be the leader. I didn’t yet know for sure what it would be a revolution against, but it had something to do with capitalism and international understanding. “Nina, Nina tam kartina illi traktor i motor” was an old Russian poem that kept coming into my mind. And also I’d have liked to find myself a mate again--a thousand such thoughts went through my head, now that I was leading a normal day to day existence. A few days after the failed evening, the man, who’d been feeling really ashamed about his reaction to her efforts, came home with a bouquet and some good ideas. * (He takes her in his arms.) He:
We should try not talking. Just come to bed.
(He appears with an elefant mask) He:
So, you wild thing, now I’m going to really show you.
She: Have you gone crazy?
* The Dog: This erotic experiment likewise yielded no noticeable change in the temperature in our apartment. No reason to panic, I thought, and dedicated myself to my plans for revolution, and to some new inventions. I was developing a support that would make it possible for a dog to mate with, for instance, a hedgehog or a ferret. One evening, I was busy sketching a device that would swallow up unfriendly people when a serious conversation made me pay attention. * He:
We need to talk.
She: And what would you like us to have a conversation about? He:
We’re with each other by choice, so that we’ll be happier than we were on our own. But we’re not happy.
She: If you say so. I think you have to work at a relationship … The Dog: Ouch. She: Nothing is just given to us. He:
I’ve thought about this a lot, and I think it would be better if we maybe moved back into separate apartments.
She: If you think we can solve our problems by avoiding them, then go ahead. But we won’t get anywhere like that. You want to split up with me. Fine. But you’ll reach exactly the same point with the next one, that I promise you. He:
I don’t want to split up with you, I just want to get back some peace and quiet.
* The Dog: His decision--and that’s what it was, for men don’t share their reflections until they’ve already decided on a solution--made me uneasy. For months I’d been living between the two of them, like a friendly piece of furniture. I’d allowed myself to not give any thought to my future accommodation, and the idea that I might have to live on the streets again made me go all numb.
* She: And how did you imagine it working, taking a breather like this? He:
Well, I could look around for a small apartment for myself …
She: And I’m supposed to pay for the big one on my own. He:
We can also look for a small one for you.
She: And the dog? He:
Well whichever one stays in the apartment can keep him
She: Now you’ve contradicted yourself, see, you aren’t thinking about a temporary solution--you want to end it. He:
No, that’s not what I said.
She: So what are you saying? He:
My God, you’re making me crazy. No-one could stand it with you.
* The Dog: A few days after that conversation, when the mood was, as you can imagine, not very relaxed, the man got sick. He couldn’t stand up, he got so dizzy; he had stomach cramps, and kept throwing up, until all that came out of him was bloody stuff. He couldn’t leave the bed. * She: I’m so sorry, it’s my fault. I’ve spoiled everything. I’ve upset you too much. I’ll look after you, I’ll be there for you, I’m always there for you, you know that right, even if you have to spend the rest of your life lying in bed. I would always be there for you. * The Dog: How true.
* (At his bedside) She: I’ve made you some broth, and some tea and a compress. I love you so much. Maybe more than anyone, ever. I love you more than I love me. I know that’s a problem, it oppresses you. But I’ll get better. I swear. Come on, have another sip of tea. You know, I could take care of you for ever, I could sit with you until the end, looking at you and taking care of you. * The Dog: For about a week the man hardly left the bed. Calling a doctor was something he refused to do, since he was a man. She regained her friendliness during that week. The strange thing was that each of them could only feel good when the other one felt wretched. It was a game I didn’t understand. Still, she did make a nice job of looking after him. She sat at his bedside day and night, as if she was hoping that in this way he’d eventually recognize that he couldn’t be without her. Then after a week his condition seemed to be improving. * He:
I think I’ll get up tomorrow.
She: Don’t you think that would be too soon? He:
I think I’m okay again, I’ve got so much to do, I have to get back to work, and besides, I have to look for an apartment.
* The Dog: Between you and me, that last sentence would cause him quite a bit of trouble.
* He:
What are you doing?
The Dog: After his announcement, she had gone into the broom closet and come back with several pieces of rope. She bound his arms and legs very tightly to the bedframe. I’ve always had something against those kitschy metal beds. She: I’m tying you up. He:
I see that, but why?
She: You’re not going to get up, you’re not going to go to work, you’re not going to look for an apartment, that’s just how it is. He:
You’re out of your mind.
She: I think not. For a whole week I’ve given you a new chance every day. I’d say it’s more that you’ve screwed up. He:
Come on, don’t give me this shit, untie me, this is seriously uncomfortable.
She: You think I’m just having fun, how sweet. He:
Right, that’s what I think, now stop it.
She: I’ve had the doors padded, given in notice for you, and so on. I won’t bore you with details, but nobody will miss you. He:
That’s enough of this nonsense. Untie me.
She: I understand that you want to resist your fate, but you know one can’t do that. You’ll calm down, accept the situation, and in the end you’ll like it. He:
Listen, let’s talk.
She: What about, darling? He:
First untie me.
She: You silly-willy.
* The Dog: I prefer to spare you the awful details. For a week he tried everything: he screamed, threw fits, cried, flattered her, cursed her, and after seven days he was nearly unconscious from hate, anger, and exhaustion. * She: I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Look what I bought us for dinner. Fish, like you’re so fond of. I had a crazy day today. I got promoted, what do you say to that, now I’m the head translator. Then I bought myself a new dress, went to the hairdresser, and then to a café. I don’t know what to say, but it’s been years since so many men talked to me as they did today. And you, what have you been up to? Did you watch a bit of TV? He:
You’re crazy. You’re absolutely deranged.
She: No, I love you, and I don’t what you to make any mistakes. * The Dog: A few more days went by, and it seemed to me that his resistance was growing weaker. I still thought everything might get worked out. The two of them might fall into each other’s arms, laugh, and say, let’s just calmly give it another try. Something along those lines, I thought, but it turned out differently. * She: Look, now you can get the books you want by pressing a button, and I’ve come up with something for the toilet too. He:
I’d like to see the sky.
She: Come on bunny, you know we can’t have that. I can’t go opening the blinds, else something will happen that you really wouldn’t like. And we don’t want that. So. And now I’ll come to bed and read something to you.
* The Dog: We dogs and you humans resemble each other in many different respects. For instance, we deal similarly with catastrophes. We accept them. After three weeks the man gave up his resistance. He had forged plans and rejected them, thought about escape and failed, he had tried everything he could to change the woman’s mind, he had appealed to her sympathy, had got furious and silent and now, after three weeks, he saw that it would take some kind of accident for him to be freed. A gas explosion, a fire, the police storming the apartment--but he couldn’t influence any of that. So he made his peace with the situation. He started watching TV, ate the food she prepared with a healthy appetite, read books. In short, he began to get used to his new way of life. I, however, could only tolerate the game they were playing with some difficulty. Everything that previously had made them tolerable fell away, leaving only what a human being is without support. And that’s something that doesn’t smell very good. The way that he, a man I’d considered to be of strong character, dissolved, made me feel ashamed. At the end of the three weeks he’d spent tied up in the bed, I moved out onto the landing, and from then on I only occasionally saw what they were up to. * She: How was your day? He:
Crappy TV. But now you’re here. How was yours?
She: It was a nice day, I got a raise and next week I’m supposed to go to a translators conference – do you think I can leave you on your own for a week? He:
Oh, but it’ll get so boring.
She: If you ask me really nicely, I won’t go. He:
Please, please.
She: You’re so sweet. You can ask me for something. Anything. He:
Sleep with me.
* The Dog: Gruesome!
* He:
It’s odd, but I feel so light, maybe more than I ever have before.
She: I understand what you mean. He:
It’s as if I’m a new person, one who doesn’t need to be afraid of anything any more.
She: Tell me more. He:
I’ve been wondering why I feel so content. And I decided it’s because I no longer have to be anything. It takes so little.
She: Perhaps it’s liberating to have no choice any more, if I can say so without hurting you. He:
Maybe.
She: If you could have one wish, what would it be? He:
For everything to stay the way it is now.
She: It will, that I can promise you. * The Dog: At some point in the following weeks she quit her job too. From then on the two of them lived in bed. It floated like a boat over the filth and the bad smell that pervaded the darkened rooms. It wouldn’t stop raining. If I saw them, which didn’t happen very often, they came across like people who had lost something important. Something that characterized other people, but still didn’t make them happy. My short story of that year has a happy ending. For the two of them. For me, my life ends today. I understand the world through my observation of them, and it’s a world I don’t want to have anything more to do with. Now I shall die. For there’s nothing left for me to say.
