Sorry. Shaun Whiteside

clique left school, they left Wolf behind like a dog that wasn’t old enough to join the pack. The two years till his own school-leaving exam were a torment for him. He wasn’t interested in the kids his own age, he listened to different music, spoke a different language. For a while he grew bitter, stole money from his father and drank the evenings away, started fights and had his heart broken by a girl who looked very much like Frauke. During that time melancholy broke out in Wolf like a creeping infection.

      He passed his leaving exam with difficulty and went traveling. He explored Scandinavia, spent a month in a dilapidated hut high in the north of Norway and didn’t see another human being for six weeks. Then he took a freighter to Canada, where he worked little jobs, felled trees, and cleared snow from driveways. In the summer he slept in the forests and stayed far from civilization. Everything he owned was in his rucksack.

      After six years Wolf came back to Berlin having decided to be a writer. No one collected him from the airport the day he arrived, because no one knew he was back. For six months everything was fine, until one day his brother bumped into him in the street.

      “And there I was wondering why you didn’t answer the phone in Toronto,” Kris said by way of greeting.

      They looked at each other, they didn’t come any closer; something was missing, something had turned the brothers into strangers. Wolf was no longer little Wolf; a strange man was standing in front of Kris. It’s always difficult when your surroundings don’t change at the same pace as you do yourself. Wolf had gotten burlier, his hair reached his shoulders, his attitude was defensive. And Kris was Kris.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Living.”

      That was all that came out of Wolf. He would have liked to follow it up with another line, he would happily have laughed away the moment, but he had frozen.

      “Well, then, go on living,” Kris said at last, leaving him standing.

      Kris could do that. Kris could draw a line and go on with his life as if nothing had happened. Wolf found that very hard. The brothers remained strangers to one another, and probably nothing would have changed if Erin’s death the same year hadn’t turned Wolf’s world upside down.

      Wolf hugs Frauke. The smell of vetiver rises into his nose. Earthy, crude, warm. He feels her breath on his neck and wonders how he could ever have thought of running away for a second.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Look to your left,” says Frauke.

      Two aisles over Tamara is rummaging in a pile of socks. Frauke puts her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and whistles once. Tamara looks up, Wolf waves, and Frauke says:

      “Well, if that isn’t a coincidence.”

      Wolf twitches imperceptibly. As far as he’s concerned coincidences are an invention of people who can’t come to terms with life. The minute something goes wrong they go all helpless. If things are going well they try and find a reason why they’re going well. They haven’t the guts to say, This thing and that thing happen to be because I’m the way I am. Coincidence is Wolf’s great weak spot. Since Erin’s death he has been trying to find answers to questions that have no answers. If only I had, I would be. Nonexistent coincidence caught him off guard and Wolf is hoping for revenge.

      Kris greets Tamara and Frauke with a kiss, he’s clearly glad of their visit. When the women have gone in, the brothers hug.

      “How bad was it?” asks Wolf.

      “So-so. My boss couldn’t give me a straightforward apology. You know how much I hate that. He said I should give taz a call. Can you imagine me doing that?”

      Wolf shakes his head.

      “Thanks,” says Kris, and they walk into the apartment.

      Tamara and Frauke have occupied the kitchen. Frauke is busy washing the vegetables, while Tamara pokes about in the fridge and takes out yogurt, tofu, and sauces. It’s like family, Wolf thinks, putting his bag of books down on the floor. Kris puts his arm around his shoulders and says something that makes Frauke laugh. Tamara chucks a baby eggplant at Kris and hits Wolf. They laugh. It’s as if they have no ballast.

      We’re approaching the start. You are now ready for the present and know who’s going to be crossing your path. Over the next few days you will learn more about Frauke, Tamara, and Wolf. Kris, on the other hand, will remain a mystery to you. He’ll get close to you, but he’ll still stay out of reach. All your efforts to uncover his motivation and his background will trickle into the sand. You won’t be able to bridge the distance between you and him until the finale. But you don’t need to worry about that now.

      In a few minutes it will all begin.

      It’s midnight.

      Four people are sitting in an apartment. They’ve talked a lot, they’ve eaten and drunk and they’re glad they’ve met up again. The singing of Thomas Dybdahl comes out of the speakers, the wail of an ambulance siren rises up from the street, then it’s quiet again and Berlin goes on breathing. Calm and resolute.

      Four friends are sitting in an apartment. They have more defeats than victories to show for themselves. They live on their overdrafts, hope for the love of their lives, and shop at Aldi, even though they hate Aldi. Up until now not one of the four has the slightest idea where they’re headed. If chance had willed it, Tamara wouldn’t have picked up the phone and would still be lying on her bed reading. A frustrated Frauke would have ended up staying over with one of her three lovers, and Wolf would have spent the day outside the university and gone to the cinema with Kris in the evening. If chance had willed it, none of any of this would have happened.

      But today chance doesn’t come into it.

      “I have to piss,” says Kris, and goes off to the bathroom.

      Wolf passes the joint to Tamara. She shakes her head and says her eyes are too dry, she can’t smoke any more, then she creeps on all fours to the stereo to change the CD. Wolf tries to slap her on the bum, and misses by a foot and a half. Frauke nestles her head on his thigh. Tamara puts on Elbow. Guy Garvey sings, I haven’t been myself lately, I haven’t slept for several days. Wolf thinks the guy knows what he’s talking about. Tamara says the last time she had an orgasm she smelled flowers. She doesn’t say that when she was having her last orgasm she was by herself in the shower thinking about a film star. Wolf doesn’t want to know the details, either. He feels Frauke’s breath on his thigh and tries to suppress an erection. There’s a sound of flushing. Kris comes out of the bathroom and stops in the doorway. He looks at his friends as if he hasn’t seen them for days. Then he says:

      “Do you know what people out there lack?”

      “I know what you lack,” says Tamara.

      “No, seriously. What do people lack?”

      “Which people?”

      “Business types, for example. What are they short of?”

      “Good taste?” Wolf suggests.

      “Dammit, take me seriously here, people. Just for a minute, okay?”

      “Okay, then, tell us,” says Frauke. “What do people lack?”

      Frauke can do that. She can switch from one moment to the next, while Wolf takes a bit longer. Tamara, on the other hand, doesn’t react at all. She tosses around in her head the memory of the flowers that she smelled when she had her last orgasm, and suddenly bursts out laughing. Frauke nudges her. Tamara stops laughing. Kris raises his index finger, every inch the teacher.

      “There’s one thing,” he says, “that bosses and action men lack, and which they can’t get by without. There’s one thing that hangs over their lives like a dark shadow and pisses in their macchiato every day. No wealth protects them against it, it doesn’t even help if they make donations to charity or take out Greenpeace magazine