TE20 Migrant Mosaics

The Sad Guest

Yes, she said. Well, I did go sailing on theWannsee once. A man I was very much in love with had invited me along, and of course I had to pass through all the neighbourhoods along the way, which I enjoyed a lot. But that was thirty years ago now; the man and I were very young. I was confused by this admission. And as the story seemed rather implausible to me, I asked her how she reconciled it with her work. People built houses in other neighbourhoods too, I said. An architect must have to inspect her buildings now and then.

I work from home, she said.

I found your business cards at Mały Książe, I said. That’s in Kreuzberg, not Schöneberg.

A friend of mine took them for me.

And the yachtsman? What became of him? Presumably, he still lives somewhere in the city to this day, she said. He has a family and a job he enjoys. Perhaps he even has grandchildren by now. The architect spoke in a low voice, choosing her words carefully. Her Polish reminded me, as it struck me once I’d hung up, of the Polish I knew from my grandma, who came from Brzeżany, a small town that had been Polish before the SecondWorldWar but was now part of Ukraine. The musical way she blended the words into one another roused an image in my mind of ancient Potocki countesses, from a long-lost past still present in the cultural gene pool of old Eastern Europe, enduring as memory. I felt drawn to 33