Er sass vor seinem PC, wie immer, Tag ein, Tag aus.
Das Schrillen des Telefons riss ihn aus seinen Gedanken über das Liebesleben der Fruchtfliegen.
“Fuchs.”
“Mr. Robert Fuchs?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Fuchs. My name is Ofir Kaplan. I am calling you from Tel Aviv. May I ask you some questions?”
“Well, I do not remember anyone by that name, and I don’t know anybody in Tel Aviv, and I am not interested in buying anything,”
“I don’t want to sell anything. I am trying to locate a person, and you are Robert Fuchs number ninety-nine I am calling.”
“I guess you are not calling to find the one Robert Fuchs who inherited a fortune from a lost and forgotten rich uncle.”
“Not exactly, but you are on the right track.”
“I cannot deny that I got curious. Let’s hear the question. Maybe it is interesting.”
“Well first of all. How old are you?”
“Too old to play games.”
“Great! Do you mind stating the number of years that have passed to achieve that particular mindset?”
“I am eighty-two. “
“You don’t sound it. Please, don’t bullshit me. It is very important to me.”
“Well, I know my boyish voice fools a lot of people. If this is important to you, you just have to believe me.”
“Have you ever been to a student camp in England.”
“As a matter of fact, yes I have, somewhere near Colchester. I think, I was nineteen, or maybe twenty. I cannot remember right now.”
“Can you tell me the name of the village where the camp was located?”
“I have forgotten a lot, but I remember the name of the village. It was Tiptree.”
“Can you remember a young woman by the name of Elana, or have you forgotten her?”
Elana, seine Elana, was für eine Frau sie gewesen war, die Älteste im Camp, hochgewachsen mit eindrucksvoller Leibesfülle an den Stellen, an denen es für Männer wichtig ist. Sie sei Sergeant, Lastwagenfahrerin der israelischen Armee gewesen, geschieden, weil unfruchtbar, hatte sie ihm erzählt und dass ihre Familie sie verstossen würde, sollte sie je erfahren, dass sie mit einem Deutschen schlief. Am Tag des Abschieds weigerte sie sich, ihm ihre Adresse zu geben. Sie meinte es sei besser so. Es gäbe keine Zukunft fuer sie. Sie sei acht Jahre älter, als er und überdies war da die Sache mit seiner Nationalität.
“Of course I remember her”, brachte Robert zustande zu antworten. ” How could I ever forget her", und nach einer Pause, "I suppose you know her. How is she?”
“She passed away a year ago. I am her son, and she left me an envelope with a photo inside, showing her embracing a young man.” My forbidden young German love Robert Fuchs”, she had written on the back.”
“Well, I am really sorry to hear that. I don't know what to say. I am touched. I did not think she even remembered me. I suppose there is a reason why you bothered to find me, and I don’t think it is just to tell me about that photo. Is there anything you want me to do? I cannot imagine what this might be. Sixty years have passed since I last saw your mother. “
“That is not correct. Count the years. They are almost sixty-two, and I am sixty-one right now."
Das Schrillen des Telefons riss ihn aus seinen Gedanken über das Liebesleben der Fruchtfliegen.
“Fuchs.”
“Mr. Robert Fuchs?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Fuchs. My name is Ofir Kaplan. I am calling you from Tel Aviv. May I ask you some questions?”
“Well, I do not remember anyone by that name, and I don’t know anybody in Tel Aviv, and I am not interested in buying anything,”
“I don’t want to sell anything. I am trying to locate a person, and you are Robert Fuchs number ninety-nine I am calling.”
“I guess you are not calling to find the one Robert Fuchs who inherited a fortune from a lost and forgotten rich uncle.”
“Not exactly, but you are on the right track.”
“I cannot deny that I got curious. Let’s hear the question. Maybe it is interesting.”
“Well first of all. How old are you?”
“Too old to play games.”
“Great! Do you mind stating the number of years that have passed to achieve that particular mindset?”
“I am eighty-two. “
“You don’t sound it. Please, don’t bullshit me. It is very important to me.”
“Well, I know my boyish voice fools a lot of people. If this is important to you, you just have to believe me.”
“Have you ever been to a student camp in England.”
“As a matter of fact, yes I have, somewhere near Colchester. I think, I was nineteen, or maybe twenty. I cannot remember right now.”
“Can you tell me the name of the village where the camp was located?”
“I have forgotten a lot, but I remember the name of the village. It was Tiptree.”
“Can you remember a young woman by the name of Elana, or have you forgotten her?”
Elana, seine Elana, was für eine Frau sie gewesen war, die Älteste im Camp, hochgewachsen mit eindrucksvoller Leibesfülle an den Stellen, an denen es für Männer wichtig ist. Sie sei Sergeant, Lastwagenfahrerin der israelischen Armee gewesen, geschieden, weil unfruchtbar, hatte sie ihm erzählt und dass ihre Familie sie verstossen würde, sollte sie je erfahren, dass sie mit einem Deutschen schlief. Am Tag des Abschieds weigerte sie sich, ihm ihre Adresse zu geben. Sie meinte es sei besser so. Es gäbe keine Zukunft fuer sie. Sie sei acht Jahre älter, als er und überdies war da die Sache mit seiner Nationalität.
“Of course I remember her”, brachte Robert zustande zu antworten. ” How could I ever forget her", und nach einer Pause, "I suppose you know her. How is she?”
“She passed away a year ago. I am her son, and she left me an envelope with a photo inside, showing her embracing a young man.” My forbidden young German love Robert Fuchs”, she had written on the back.”
“Well, I am really sorry to hear that. I don't know what to say. I am touched. I did not think she even remembered me. I suppose there is a reason why you bothered to find me, and I don’t think it is just to tell me about that photo. Is there anything you want me to do? I cannot imagine what this might be. Sixty years have passed since I last saw your mother. “
“That is not correct. Count the years. They are almost sixty-two, and I am sixty-one right now."
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