TE23 Double Feature

Marzahn, Mon Amour

Katja Oskamp

‘Where are they going?’ I asked in surprise. ‘We haven’t finished yet.’

bed had become inaccessible from the sheer amount of rubbish – spent his nights in his armchair in front of the TV. When the rubbish started cascading over his balcony railing, the neighbours called the police and lodged a complaint. That’s how Herr Hübner ended up in the hands of psychologists, therapists and social workers, vowed to improve himself and got a place in supported housing for addicts. ‘Every so often I have to go to a self-help group and chunter on for a bit, and sometimes I have to go to the office to fill out forms, but apart from that they leave me in peace, to watch the telly, lie out in the sun or see mates.’

‘They’ve finished work,’ Herr Hübner said, visibly relaxing. He made himself comfortable in the chair; it wouldn’t have taken much for him to casually cross his legs. I looked at the clock: half past three, on the dot.

‘Social workers,’ said Herr Hübner. ‘The thin one is the fat one’s student.’

With the coarsest burr head and the highest setting I’d ever used, I set about the surface of his nails. Herr Hübner didn’t complain or make a fuss; he didn’t even notice me fitting a blade in the scalpel handle. While I shaved thick strips off his heels, he told me stories about his life, not without some pride. He had learned nothing at school and he’d never worked, but ever since his teenage days he’d drunk like a fish. He’d sat rotting in his plattenbau apartment and–once the path to his 272

‘And bake cakes,’ I say.

Herr Hübner waved this aside. ‘I wouldn’t touch that cake myself. But the girls need something for their efforts, so I do my best.’

Meanwhile I had smoothed down his heels with 273