•

‘When you finish,’ said Birgit, busy sorting the food, ‘I’ll take you up to see something.’

‘Up?’

I had a couple of meat patties to deal with, not quite hamburger, blobs of white sauce on them. On one side were French fries and a perfunctory garnish of salad.

‘Yes,’ she said. I connected her provocative smile with the email she’d sent me, wishing me Merry Christmas about a month in advance, and not the local historian she was pretending to be.

‘You’ll see,’ she said, foraging. She was ravenous.

My patties didn’t taste of very much. I reduced them till only a quarter remained.

‘Should we share an apple strudel and cream?’ I glanced at the traces of white sauce on the plate. I couldn’t imagine not rounding off on dessert.

‘You’re allowed to have a whole one, you know.’ She was thin. I wondered if she was hungry.

‘I can’t!’

•

We climbed up with the urgency of childhood friends.

‘You see?’ she said, placing herself in the middle of the room, waving to her left. There were mirrors on both sides, their lustre dimmed by having to absorb the room without interruption. She was an unsteady axis; I couldn’t tell if she was going to try out a dance step. ‘Women came here to learn ballroom dancing.’ She glanced at the brimming chandelier.

The chairs looked back at me. There are spaces in which you sense time, but also inhabit the viewpoint of those who’ve already been there. You see through the eyes of those who’ve gone. These perspectives are intense but momentary.

I turned to find her unsteadily in my proximity.

‘You see?’ she said.

I wondered what might happen – if we would begin to dance. We were almost circling each other; we were eye to eye.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. It reminded me – what could it remind me of? This wasn’t my history. But I felt an intimacy, an undecidedness, that had to do with her being nearby.

She moved. She was taller than me – she’d gained a couple of inches, or was floating above the floor. But she also had the angularity of one whose feet are firmly planted.

‘Should we go?’ Suddenly, she didn’t want to linger. The others we’d been were receding. We found we were alone with ourselves.

‘I’d love to stay a bit more,’ I said, mooning.

She looked over my shoulder.

‘But it’s getting late,’ I said.

We scurried down the stairs.

What happened then I’m not sure. It was late; I thought I’d get a taxi back. It was a long way to the Böll Professor’s apartment, but taxis are cheap here. The city’s bankrupt; people rent more than they buy; they use taxis as much as they drive. Taxis stay parked near U-Bahn stations, whatever the time of night. I paused before I opened the door. Birgit paused. ‘It was lovely!’ She leaned forward and, taking us both by surprise, hugged me. It was as if we were preparing to wrestle. She disengaged herself. ‘Bye!’