Greta Again! Read online

  “You have to be an angel to be here now.”

  Startled, Greta looked up and saw Mike standing in front of her.

  This can’t be possible, can it? Am I dreaming or is this real?!”

  “W-What, it’s you?” She wasn’t able to get another word out of her mouth. She looked down again at the burning candle, then into Mary’s face, then again at Mike. Really. He was standing in front of her. Big as life – and he offered her his hand. As in a daze, she reached out and let him pull her to her feet.

  “I had just begun to feel so well in my skin again. I had found courage and strength to face what is ahead of me and now you’re standing in front of me. I can’t grasp it. Honestly, I don’t even know if I even want to see or speak with you.”

  “Greta, it can’t be an accident that life has brought us together here again. It’s the second time this has happened to us. The first time at Olaf and Stefanie’s and now again in a church?” Mike looked around and glanced briefly across the interior of the building. “This is actually the place where I come to regain my strength. This is where I fill my tank when I feel down, when I don’t know any more . . . and then I see you in front of the statue of Mary. Honestly, even you have to admit that our being together is intended. Do you really want to leave me standing here and not even listen to me? I didn’t do anything wrong. Believe me.”

  Greta was completely confused. She felt blown away and as if she were on remote control. Since she had too much whiskey the night before and had seen him with the chopstick-hussy, and then today had gone through an emotional roller-coaster with the story about David Rose, she didn’t know how she should behave with Mike. Here he was, in the flesh, in front of her. And now what? But he was right—it couldn’t be a coincidence to run into one another here in the church. That she couldn’t deny. What do I have to lose, she thought. He can’t hurt me; he’s already done that. If I talk to him . . .oh, what’s the difference. David Rose was cut out for completely different things.

  “Fine, Mike, yes, you are right. This really is something that I can’t explain, finding you here. Maybe we’re not supposed to understand it now. But don’t believe for a minute that I’m going to let myself be taken in by some esoteric fiddle-faddle. I’m really angry and hurt and you have no right to do that to me. You have to thank our meeting here by chance today that I’m even speaking to you again.”

  Mike sighed, then nodded. “Greta, let’s go outside. We can take a walk along the river not far from here, in the sun. Do you want to?”

  Greta agreed and followed Mike out of the church. The sun shone down from the sky as if there were nothing bad in the world, and its warmth was like a gentle embrace. Greta reached for her cell-phone to send a message to Mona to let her know that she wouldn’t be meeting her for lunch. She didn’t tell her that she was with Mike. Mona would only worry, and Greta didn’t want her to. Mike saw Greta holding her cell-phone and asked:

  “You’re sure you didn’t get my messages?”

  “No. But I’ve not had my phone on since last evening.”

  “I don’t mean last evening. Rather my messages from during the day. There were definitely four text messages and two voicemails. I don’t understand why you didn’t receive them. Can I see your cell-phone a minute?”

  “No, not now. Whether the messages were there or not doesn’t change the situation any. You were otherwise engaged. One couldn’t miss noticing your beautiful companion. One also couldn’t miss how much fun you were having with her. You know what, Mike? Basically I’m still so angry with you that I can’t even talk with you. I’d better go.”

  “She’s Steve’s dealer and contact in the drug world.”

  Greta was quiet; speechless again. Mike walked slowly along the river bank and she followed him. After a long pause, Mike began to talk. He described what he had found out yesterday and what was now going on with his brother, Steve.

  Chapter 8

  The story that Mike told Greta sounded like a film, one that Greta didn’t want to see under any circumstances.

  Steve was the lead actor. A man who, because of an accident in which he wanted to save his mother, almost lost his own life. His mother died but he survived, a cripple because of a spinal injury. Disappointed with his life, he moved to a remote place in Jamaica to find himself again, in solitude and seclusion. Greta already knew the story up to that point. She also knew that Steve had come into contact with drugs there. In Jamaica, Steve had false friends and kept the wrong company –and now the punch line: Steve wasn’t only addicted to drugs himself, he had also become a dealer. Everything was even worse than everyone first thought. Steve confessed this to Mike yesterday. In jail. That’s where he’s expected to have to stay for a while. If Mike and the attorney were successful in presenting the mitigating circumstances that got Steve into this mess, however, they would try to help him fight his way out somehow. The goal was first to get him to withdrawal, and then to send him to Switzerland to begin long-term therapy . But it was a long way to that point. Steve’s contact in the drug underworld was the chopstick-hussy. She wasn’t just a dealer; she knew all the important people in the scene. She was well-known almost everywhere in the city – and the police were keeping their eye on her. But they hadn’t been successful yet in getting something on her. Without a doubt, she was getting protection. Her business sphere included, above all, the fashion and modeling world – no big surprise, thought Greta, considering her looks. She provided her clients with first access to the drugs and most of the time that was the extent of her job. As soon as it came to procuring more stuff for them, back-up guys came into play. Steve had met the chopstick-hussy through contacts in Jamaica, and as soon as Mike had gotten her telephone number from Steve, he contacted her. Their meeting took place yesterday evening. Chopstick affirmed all of the contacts but was still not guilty of anything as far as the police were concerned. It wasn’t illegal to know people who do illegal things; one simply had to be careful not to be caught doing them oneself, she thought. And she was pretty adept at not being caught .

  “What are you going to do now?” Greta wanted to know.

  “Basically, I don’t want anything to do with Steve’s drug issues. That does nothing for my life or for me. But I can’t leave him alone – he’s my brother, even if he’s an idiot. I simply have to think that he’s sick. Because of that I want to get him into a clinic and then to Switzerland, so that he has a foundation for a worthwhile life. Although he has a physical handicap, he’ll be healthy.” Mike leaned against a guardrail and stared at the water of the flowing river. “Our father is really well-off and well-connected,” he continued, “he’s been informed and will help. Don’t ask what my father thinks about all of this. He was very strict and raised us as Christians. There were rules that we had to follow and woe be to him who didn’t abide by them. His life, but above all the accident that cost my mother her life, softened him up a little. He said good-bye to everyday business matters and the notion to become even more successful and to rake in even more money. My father will support Steve financially. That’s it. I can’t imagine how they could be there for each other mentally or physically.”

  “Mike, that’s also not your job. I think it’s wonderful that you have the feeling that you want to help your brother and you have the chance to do that with your father. I can understand that you want to help your brother. As far as your father and brother are concerned, I’m sure you can’t do anything at all. The relationship is between the two of them and you have your own responsibilities to take care of. You know, it almost seems to me that the moment has arrived for your father and brother to deal with each other. Maybe your father is being prodded by a guilty conscience. He survived the accident without any harm. Your brother is the one who is paralyzed. Now he has drug problems too because he can’t make heads or tails out of his life. It seems like a good time to reconcile with one another. And you’re playing the role of the active supporter, lending a helping hand. You reach in to help befor
e the the cement dries. You’re on the spot when the shit hits the fan, when nothing else seems to work, playing the role of the fireman again, right? Just like in your job. That was the reason you had to travel to Munich so fast to see Olaf, where we saw each other again on his terrace. Am I right?

  “Yes, it sounds that way. You’re right, Greta, I’m the friend in need. That’s often been the case in my life. “

  “Just think about the cats at the farm. Even there you were the one who helped out. Do you have a helping syndrome, or do you generally need to be . . . the savior?

  Mike hesitated. “I don’t know, Greta. I only know that I’m always really pleased when I can be there to help when a need arises. When I can help. It doesn’t matter whether it has anything to do with cats or if it has something to do with my job, to be able to come up with a solution to a client’s problems. Or even if it has to do with hauling my brother out of chaos.”

  “Where do you get the strength to do this?”

  “ Good question. I really don’t know for sure. I think the strength is simply at my disposal at the time that I need it. I know then what I have to say and what I have to do. There’s a story that I’d like to tell you. Maybe then you’ll be better able to understand how this all began.”

  Mike was still staring at the river where some boats and large ferries were traveling by.

  “There’s a specific reason,” he finally said, “why Steve went to Jamaica. I sent him there, Greta, because I believed he would find help there. I myself spent time on the island in my early twenties. Actually, I wanted to experience wild times and to have fun on the beach and with the girls. I was just out of college and thought that now I’d let it all hang out. In many respects, Jamaica is a popular destination, right? You can imagine: hotels with pools and action without end right on the beach. Party ‘til early morning, drink yourself unconscious, and girls everywhere. Sounds good -- at least I thought so for a brief time. After I spent three days taking part in this carousing, I was completely ready to pack it in. I wanted to pull back for a while to purge some of the alcohol and to return to my senses. It wasn’t such a great idea, but I was traveling in the hills behind the hotel, and I quickly got lost. When it got dark, I felt really weird. I must have walked for many hours and covered many miles when I saw a fire and thought to myself, thank God, it’s all over, I’ll soon be in my little bed in the hotel again. Well, I was about to be disappointed. And what I’m about to tell you now is known by only the smallest number of people. It sounds completely crazy, but it’s true and made a deep impression on me.”

  Mike turned to Greta and looked deep into her eyes. She was completely still and didn’t want to interrupt him. She was too curious now, and had in the meantime become convinced that Mike wasn’t telling her tall tales, that he was really being totally honest. She could see it in his eyes. Mike continued to talk and took her hand while they walked in the sun along the river-bank.

  “I found a man there who had lived in the woods for five years already and who tended to the special fire whose light I had seen. The name of the man was Daddy Coo and he was in the middle of his trial in the process of becoming a Rastaman. A Rastaman, or simply, a “Rasta,” you know, is not what we understand him to be in the so-called civilized world – that is, someone who wears dreadlocks or Rasta hair. No, a true Rasta is a man of the spirit, of wisdom, and also a man of God. And he is one of the cultural rebels of Jamaica. Rastas carry no weapons and don’t take part in elections. There are various groups, and Daddy Coo belonged to those who required a seven-year trial to become a Rastaman. In these seven years the prospective Rasta must rid himself of everything that binds him to civilization. That means separating himself from all goods and chattels and from all people, even from his family and his own children. He must be alone and tend a fire in the forest – for seven years. During this time the fire must never go out. If it does, the Rasta must start over from the beginning. He can only nourish himself with plants, fruits, nuts, and berries. Daddy Coo had already lived alone in the woods for five years, and then I came along.”

  Mike paused again; he swallowed a few times and it seemed to Greta as if there were now many memories and feelings awakening in him. They walked together quietly until Mike again picked up where he left off.

  “I can’t tell you everything in detail now. It’s a unique story in my life. But I didn’t return to my hotel right away. I came back seven months later. Yes, you heard me right! I stayed with Daddy Coo and tended the fire together with him.”

  Greta was unable to say anything. She didn’t expect this.

  What was that? Mike spent seven months with a Rasta in the woods, ate nothing but berries and plants and kept a fire from going out? He lived there, far away from all civilization, without medical care?

  The thoughts darted back and forth in her mind like flashes of lightning. A complete whirling that she couldn’t follow any more. And then, suddenly, emptiness. It was hardly possible to make head or tail of what Mike had just told her and she didn’t know if she should believe everything that he said. But why not? It seemed to fit together somehow. Mike could see that in her astonishment, she was unable to say anything at all. First he wasn’t at the airport; then the story about the drugs; and the model, then the church, and now the story about the Rasta. It was a little too much – in less than two whole days.

  “It’s clear to me,” he said, turning to Greta, “that everything seems a little much. But you can ask me questions ‘til your heart’s content. I have a lot of answers, but certainly not all of them. In Jamaica I learned a lot about myself and naturally also how I could survive. Organizing my strength and energy was a learning process – and to act intuitively was another. One realization among many was that wisdom is hidden all of us. We just have to rouse it and use it. Each one of us is in a position to do so. Everyone has God-given gifts and everyone has the obligation to further these gifts. I know that with Daddy Coo I learned – or rather ‘discovered’ – many things that help me today in our world. I can’t explain to you how I protected the cats from death. It simply happened. A power passes through me that I can pass on. A little mystical, isn’t it? And yet so real.”

  Greta couldn’t do anything but nod. And together they continued to stroll.

  “Well, Mike finally said, “I actually wanted Steve to go to Daddy Coo to get his help. He did go there, too. But he also found another, less helpful group of friends. And then came the drugs; Daddy Coo probably had no chance to intervene. If you’re not ready to accept this path, nothing works. I’d have to travel to Jamaica myself to speak to Daddy Coo about Steve. But I couldn’t change anything here anyway.

  They stopped walking when they got to a bridge.

  “So,” Mike said, “now you know a whole lot more about me than most people. You know why I have a so-called sixth sense and sometimes do strange things. Everything completely . . .normal, right?”

  Mike smiled at Greta, who was still very quiet.

  “Would you be interested in a piece of greasy, dripping with sauce, delicious piece of pizza? And how about an ordinary Coke on the side?”

  “Oh, yes, exactly the right choice. I think I could eat an entire family-size pizza right now,” Greta laughed.

  Chapter 9

  Mike and Greta devoured the pizza like two starving wolves. In the meantime, it had gotten to be late afternoon; neither of them had noticed how quickly the time passed. The topic of conversation and the fresh air had affected them. Afterwards, they sat quietly on a bench in the sun, which was already on the downward slope in the sky. They shared the last piece of pizza and finally had enough to eat; their energy reserves were built up again. Greta didn’t really see the sense in asking many questions. Everything still seemed so unreal. Certainly, she had received some answers. But they were definitely not the answers she had counted on.

  “Here is my cell-phone,” Greta said to Mike and handed him her mobile phone. “You see, there are no messages from you. Something
really strange must have happened. Maybe you should check yours too. Were the messages really sent from yours?”

  It turned out that Mike’s messages had not been sent, and he hadn’t even noticed. Apparently he was so wrapped up in Steve’s troubles yesterday that it didn’t even come to his attention.

  “Well, I don’t mix it up with the police and the drug world every day, I guess. Honestly, I can’t put it away all that easily. That’s why I was in church. I’ve discovered again and again that a church is a real place of strength. I can meditate there, to find my center, and most of the time I can successfully focus on the essential. The peace that I find in those surroundings helps me to sort out my inner self. I can free myself from what burdens me and load up with new energy. Have you ever been in Venice? In the Basilica of St. Mark, the St. Mark’s Cathedral?”

  “Why are you talking about Venice now? Greta swallowed, startled.

  “When I was in the church I was reminded of my childhood. I was in Venice with my parents and my mother was the one who taught me about the ritual of lighting candles. In the Basilica of St. Mark. St. Mark’s Square with the many pigeons isn’t such a good memory, however. The pigeons were really weird. There were so many. And then, of course, the obligatory photo. I think it’s still on my mother’s dresser.” Mike smiled at her and gently held her hand.

  Greta could only shake her head in astonishment. “It is really crazy how you manage to surprise me again and again. To answer your question: “Yes, I know Venice. But I haven’t been there since my childhood. Why do you ask?”