Introduction
Student, 23, missing in Munich
Munich (LR) – The Munich police are searching for clues relating to the whereabouts of Lena Beck, 23, from Munich-Haidhausen. According to eyewitnesses, the student was at a party on Tuesday night in the Maxvorstadt district until around 5 a.m. On the way home she telephoned a friend. Her mobile phone has been switched off ever since. A police search of Munich on Friday produced no leads. Lena Beck is 1.65 metres tall, petite, and has blonde, shoulder-length hair. She was last seen wearing a silver top, black jeans, black boots and a dark blue coat.
On the first day I lose my sense of time, my dignity and a molar. But I do have two children now and a cat. I’ve forgotten their names apart from the cat’s – Fräulein Tinky. I’ve got a husband too. He’s tall, with short, dark hair and grey eyes. I look at him from the corner of my eye as I sit huddled next to him on the threadbare sofa. In his embrace, the injuries running right down my back are throbbing, as if each of them had their own heartbeat. A cut on my forehead is stinging. From time to time everything goes blank or I see white flashes. Then I just focus on trying to breathe.
It’s hard to tell whether it is actually evening, or whether he’s decided that’s what it is. Insulation panels are screwed over the windows. He creates day and night. Like God. I try to persuade myself I’m already over the worst, but I can’t stop anticipating that we’ll be going to bed together soon. The children already have their pyjamas on. The boy’s are too small, whereas the girl’s sleeves go way over her wrists. The children kneel on the floor a couple metres from the sofa and hold their hands up to feel the residual warmth of the wood-burning stove. The fire has burned down to a black heap, with only the odd ember still glowing red. The high-pitched voices with their jolly chitter-chatter blend into the sheer abnormality of this situation. I can’t understand exactly what they’re saying. It’s as if I’m hearing them talk through cotton wool, while I contemplate how I’m going to kill their father.
The Night of the Accident
Hannah
It’s easy to begin with. I straighten my back and take a deep breath. I climb into the ambulance and travel with it. I tell the men in the orange coats Mama’s name and that her blood group is AB negative. AB negative is the rarest blood group and it doesn’t have any antibodies against groups A and B. That means Mama can have blood from all the other groups. I know this because we talked about blood groups in class. And because it’s in the thick book. I think I’ve done everything right. It’s only when I unintentionally think about my brother that my right knee starts trembling. Jonathan will be frightened without me.
Concentrate, Hannah. You’re a big girl now.
No, today I’m a little girl and I’m stupid. It’s cold, it’s too bright and it’s beeping. I ask where the beeping’s coming from, and one of the men in the orange coats says, ‘That’s your mum’s heart.’
My mum’s heart never beeped before.
Concentrate, Hannah.
It’s a bumpy ride and I close my eyes. Mama’s heart is beeping.
She screamed and there was a bang. If my mum’s heart stops beeping now, those will have been the last sounds I heard her make: a scream and a bang. And she didn’t even wish me goodnight.
The ambulance does a little jump then comes to a stop.
‘We’re here,’ the man says. He means at the hospital.
A hospital is a building where illnesses or injuries are treated with medical assistance.
‘Come on, little girl,’ the man says.
My legs move automatically and so quickly that I can’t count the steps. I follow the men pushing the rattling stretcher on wheels through a large glass door beneath the glaring sign that says ‘Accident and Emergency’, and then down a long corridor. As if by command, helpers swarm from both sides and lots of voices all talk nervily at the same time.
‘You can’t come in here,’ a fat man in a green apron says, nudging me to the side when we arrive at another large door at the end of the long corridor. ‘We’ll send someone to look after you.’ He points at a row of seats along the wall. ‘Go and sit down there for the moment.’
I want to say something, but the words won’t come out, and in any case the man has already turned around and disappeared through the door with the other helpers. I count the chairs along the wall – seven. He – the fat man in the green apron – didn’t say which one I should sit on. I’ve started chewing my thumbnail without realising it. Concentrate, Hannah. You’re a big girl now.
I sit with my knees up on the middle chair, picking pine needles and small brown bits of bark from my dress. I got quite dirty this evening. I think of Jonathan again. Poor little Jonathan who stayed at home and has to do the cleaning. I imagine him crying because he doesn’t know how to get rid of the stains from the carpet in the sitting room. I’m sure we’ve got the right cleaning fluid in the store cupboard, but Papa’s put two padlocks on the door. A precautionary measure. We need to have lots of these. You always have to be careful.
‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice.
I leap to my feet.
‘I’m Sister Ruth,’ the woman says with a smile, and takes my hand to shake it. I tell her my name is Hannah and that it’s a palindrome. A palindrome is a word that reads the same forwards as well as backwards. To prove it I spell my name, first from the beginning and then from the end. Sister Ruth is still smiling and says, ‘I understand.’
She’s older than Mama; she’s already got grey hair and she’s slightly round. Over her light yellow apron she wears a colourful cardigan which looks nice and warm and has a sticker with the face of a panda on it. It says, ‘Be Happy.’ That’s English. The corners of my mouth twitch.
‘You haven’t got any shoes on, child,’ Sister Ruth remarks, and I wiggle the big toe of my left foot through the hole in my tights. Mama stitched it up on one of her good days. I bet she’d be angry if she knew that I’d made the hole in my tights again.
Sister Ruth takes a tissue from the pocket of her apron because she thinks I’m crying. Because of the hole in my tights or because of Mama. I don’t tell her it’s actually because I’m blinded by the harsh light from the fluorescent tube on the ceiling. I just say, ‘Thank you, that’s very considerate.’ You always have to be polite. You always have to say please and thank you. My brother and I always say thank you when Mama gives us a cereal bar, even though we can’t stand cereal bars. We don’t like the taste. But they’re important because of the vitamins. Calcium and potassium and magnesium and Vitamin B for the digestion and blood formation. We eat three of them every day unless we’ve run out. Then we have to hope Papa comes home soon and has been shopping on the way.