Two minutes later
Re:
I have vast trunks and closets full of feelings for you, Emmi. But I’ve also got the keys to lock them away.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Does your key come from Boston, by any chance, and is she called “Pamela”?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
No, it’s a universal key and it goes by the name of “common sense.”
Fifty seconds later
Re:
But your key only turns in one direction, it only closes things. And inside all those closets your feelings are beginning to suffocate.
Forty seconds later
Re:
My common sense makes sure that my feelings always get enough air.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
But they can’t get out. They’re never free. I’m telling you, Leo, you’ve got an entire warehouse of closeted feelings. You need to work on that. I’ll say good-bye for today, then (my common sense is telling me to), and let the words you have or haven’t spilled about our imminent meeting wash over me. Good night!
Twenty seconds later
Re:
Sleep well, Emmi.
The following day
Subject: Straight to the point
Hi Leo,
Let’s get it over with, then: I can do Saturday at two. Shall I tell you what I look like, so you don’t have to spend too long searching for me? Or would you rather I found you? You could be sitting somewhere in the crowd looking bored, leafing through a newspaper and waiting for me to come and talk to you. I could say something like: “Excuse me, is this seat taken? Erm, you wouldn’t be Mr. Leike, by any chance, the man with closeted feelings? Well, I’m Emmi Rothner, glad to meet you, or rather, to have met you at last. So …”—peering at the newspaper—“… what’s going on in the world?”
Two hours later
Subject: Sorry
I’m really sorry about my last email, Leo!! It was so, so, so … well, it wasn’t particularly friendly, that’s for sure. I probably deserve to get the Systems Manager for that one.
Ten minutes later
Re:
Which Systems Manager?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s a running joke between me and myself. Does that work for you, Saturday at two?
One minute later
Re:
Two o’clock is fine. Have a good Wednesday, Emmi.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Which is more or less the same as saying: “That’s the last email you’ll be getting from Leo today, Emmi.”
Seven hours later
Subject: (No subject)
At least you’re sticking to it!
Three hours later
Subject: Just for the hell of it
Is your light still on, Leo? (You don’t have to reply. I was just wondering. And since I was wondering, I thought I might as well ask you.)
Three minutes later
Re:
Before you come up with the wrong answer yourself, Emmi, yes, my light is still on. Good night!
One minute later
Re:
So what are you up to? Good night.
Fifty seconds later
Re:
I’m writing. Good night.
Forty seconds later
Re:
Who are you writing to? Pamela? Good night.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
I’m writing to you. Good night.
Forty seconds later
Re:
To me? What are you writing? Good night.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
Good night.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
Oh, I get it. Good night.
The following day
Subject: Two days to go
Dear Leo,
This is the last email I’m going to send you until you send me one (first). That’s all I wanted to say, really. In case you don’t reply, see you the day after tomorrow at Café Huber. I definitely won’t be wandering through the café searching for you with a crazed look in my eye. I’ll be sitting at a small table, somewhat apart from the crowd, waiting for the man who spent two years corresponding with me, building and dismantling feelings, until he decamped to Boston and locked away closets full of his own Emmi-feelings, waiting until this man finds me, so that we can bring this adventure of the mind to a fitting conclusion, once and for all. So I’m asking you to try your best to identify me. You have three versions to choose from, as you know. And in case you’ve forgotten your sister’s descriptions, I’m happy to give you a few prompts. (It soooooo happens that I have your email from back then.) Emmi One: petite, short dark hair (could have grown a fair amount in a year and a half, of course), boisterous, “a dignified arrogance masking a slight insecurity,” a bit lofty, fine featured, rapid movements, buzzing, temperamental. Emmi Two: tall, blond, large breasts, feminine, a little slower in her movements. Emmi Three: medium height, brunette, shy, unsociable perhaps, melancholic. So I don’t think you’ll have any problem finding me. Do write back, and if you don’t, have two relaxed/stress-free days. And take care of that key of yours!
Emmi
Ten minutes later
Re:
Dear Emmi, you’ve made it easier for me to recognize you, easier than you meant to, I expect. You’ve finally admitted that you’re Emmi One, which is what I’d presumed all along. Do you want me to tell you why?
One minute later
Re:
Damn right I do! I love it when the amateur psychologist in you gets all excited, Leo! It means I can resuscitate you when your heart stops beating and even force you to write emails when you’re completely bottled up.
Fifteen minutes later
Re:
Dear Emmi One, it soooooo happens that I’ve also got our emails from back then, when we were practicing telediagnosis on each other. For “Emmi Two,” you glossed over my sister’s observations about her being “self-confident, cool,” the way she “looked at men very casually,” and how she had “long, slim legs” and a “beautiful face.” All that mattered to you was that she had slow movements and large breasts (something you’ve been shooting off about ever since we’ve known each other). It’s obvious that you don’t particularly like her. So you’re not her. Same with “Emmi Three.” She doesn’t interest you. You dismiss her shyness immediately, this being in any case a trait that I suspect is alien to you. And you say nothing about her “exotic complexion,” her “almond eyes,” the way she avoided eye contact, all those things that might make her sound interesting. It’s only with “Emmi One” that you’re generous in your observations. You like to point out that her short, dark hair may have grown, you mention her “dignified arrogance masking a slight insecurity,” and that she’s a bit “lofty.” You do say “buzzing,” but you leave out “hectic” and “nervous.” These are traits that you’re not so happy about. So, my dear Emmi One, I’m looking forward to meeting you in the café on Saturday afternoon—dark hair, lofty, and buzzing. See you soon, Leo.
Ten minutes later
Re:
If I’d known how euphoric you can be (can write) when you think you’ve seen through something, I’d have tried a little harder to be transparent, my love. I warn you, though, you should expect any one of those Emmis. Who knows what goes on in the outside world, and how strongly—or feebly—this is reflected here, where words make sense of themselves. Besides, of the two of us, you’re the one who’s been shooting off about large breasts. The very mention of them evidently triggers some kind of stressful oedipal situation. I don’t know how else to describe it, but you always seem to be up on your “large breasts” high horse, if you’ll forgive the metaphor.
Until soon,
Emmi
Five minutes later
Re:
That’s something we can chat about in the café, if you like. It’s looking as if we might not get beyond the subject of “breasts, yes, no, large, small,” my dearest, my love, my dearest love.
Ten minutes later
Re:
Let’s avoid the following discussion topics when we meet:
1) Breasts and all other body parts. (I’d rather not talk about outward appearances—they’ll be obvious enough.)
2) “Pam” (and how she imagines her future in “Old Europe” with Leo Leike and his closets full of feelings).
3) Plus all Leo Leike’s other private matters that have nothing to do with Emmi.
4) And all Emmi Rothner’s private matters that have nothing to do with Leo Leike.
This hour should please, please, be about nothing other and no one other than the two of us. Do you think we can manage that?
Eight minutes later
Re:
What are we going to talk about then? You haven’t really left us with much.
Fifteen minutes later
Re:
You appear to be taking fright again, Leo—your chronic, dormant, contact-with-Emmi fear. You’d probably prefer to stick to “large breasts,” am I right? I really don’t mind what we talk about. Let’s tell each other tales from our childhood. I won’t pay any attention to the form and content of what you say, only to how you say it. I want to SEE you talk, Leo. I want to SEE you listen. I want to SEE you breathe. After all this time of close, intimate, auspicious, measured, endless and yet curtailed, fulfilled and unfulfilled virtual reality, I’d just like to actually, finally set eyes on you. That’s all.
Seven minutes later
Re:
I hope you’re not going to be disappointed. Because I don’t LOOK particularly exciting, neither when I’m talking, nor when I’m listening, and certainly not when I’m breathing. (I’ve got a cold.) But that’s what you wanted; you were the one who wanted us to meet.
Three hours later
Subject: ??
Have I said something wrong (again)? Have a nice evening.
Leo
The following day
Subject: Scared
Good morning, Emmi. Yes, I’m scared. I’m scared that what I’ve meant to you (and maybe what I still mean to you) will evaporate the moment you set eyes on me. You see, I think that my on-screen words read better than my face looks when it utters them. You might be shocked when you discover who it is you’ve spent two years wasting all those words and feelings on, and what kind of feelings they were. That’s what I meant when I wrote yesterday, “But that’s what you wanted; you were the one who wanted to meet up.” I hope you understand me now. If I don’t get another reply from you, then see you tomorrow.
Leo
Five hours later
Re:
Yes, I do understand you now; you’ve made yourself beautifully clear. When it’s been about “us,” you’ve always talked exclusively about what you might mean to me, and in fact you still do. Because that’s how you measure how much I might mean to you. In other words, if you mean a lot to me, I mean something to you. If you mean little to me, I mean nothing to you. My physical being is superfluous as far as you’re concerned, and so you don’t especially feel the need to meet me in person, which is why you’re not exactly enthusiastic about being forced into it either. Because whoever and whatever I really am meant nothing and still means nothing to you. But back to your fear, perhaps I can put your mind at rest: what you mean to me is well on the way to evaporating, even before we meet (that’s a poorly constructed sentence!). What you look like won’t matter in the slightest, my dearest.
Ten minutes later
Re:
I think we’d best forget our meeting, my dearest.
Twenty seconds later
Re:
Yup, let’s forget it. You might as well re-activate your out-of-office message, my dearest.
Ten minutes later
Re:
All my fault. I should never have replied to you after Boston.
One minute later
Re:
All my fault. I should never have written to say that lights were on in flat 15 at three in the morning. What has it got to do with me? Oh, by the way, in case you were getting what you mean to me out of all proportion, I just happened to be passing in a taxi.
Two minutes later
Re:
You’re right, my lights have nothing to do with you, but I admit it was very kind of you to want to help me keep my electricity bill down. For the record—even if this is a meaningless comment now—you can’t tell whether the lights are on in flat 15 from a taxi.
One minute later
Re:
O.K., so maybe it was a double-decker bus, or a propeller plane. From where we now stand it’s irrelevant. Night-night!
Seven hours later
Re:
In case you haven’t just flown past, tonight the lights are on again in flat 15. I can’t sleep.
Ten minutes later
Subject: Meaningful stuff
Let me get this clear, Emmi.
1) What you mean to me means at least as much to me as what I mean to you.
2) It’s precisely because you do mean so much to me that it means a lot to me that I might also mean a lot to you.
3) If you hadn’t meant so much to me, it wouldn’t have mattered to me how much I mean to you.
4) But as it does really matter, this means that you mean so much to me that it has to matter how much I mean to you.
5) If you knew how much you meant to me, you would understand why I don’t want to stop meaning something to you.
6) Conclusion one: You obviously had no idea how much you meant to me.
7) Conclusion two: Maybe you do now.
8) I’m tired. Good night.
Four hours later
Re:
Good morning, Leo. Nobody’s ever said that to me. And I don’t believe it’s been said by anyone to anyone else before. Not only because no one could ever formulate such a thing in such a (circuitous) way twice. But also because very few people can think with such intense feeling. I’m so very grateful for that. You have no idea what it means to me!!! See you later, 2 p.m. at Café Huber?
One hour later
Re:
2 p.m. at Café Huber.
One minute later
Re:
So that’s four hours and twenty-six minutes.
One minute later
Re:
Twenty-five.
One minute later
Re:
Twenty-four.
Forty seconds later
Re:
And this time you’re really going to be there!
Fifty seconds later
Re:
I certainly am. What about you?
Two minutes later
Re:
Of course. I’m not going to do us out of our “fitting conclusion.”
Twenty minutes later
Re:
Was that your last email, then?
Twenty seconds later
Re:
No. Was that yours?
Thirty seconds later
Re:
No, mine neither. Are you excited?
Twenty seconds later
Re:
Yes, I am. Are you?
Twenty-five seconds later
Re:
Very.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
You needn’t be. I’m a pretty average person, nothing to get excited about when you first set eyes on me.
Twenty minutes later
Re:
It’s far too late for damage limitation, Leo! So was that your last email?
Thirty seconds later
Re:
My second last, dearest Emmi.
Forty seconds later
Re:
This one’s my last! See you soon, Leo. Welcome to the World of Real-Life Encounters.
<
br /> CHAPTER THREE
That same evening
Subject: (no subject)
Thank you, Emmi.
Leo
The following morning
Subject: (no subject)
My pleasure, Leo.
Emmi
Twelve hours later
Subject: Was it …
… so awful?
Two hours later
Re:
Why do you ask? You know what it was like. You were there. You sat opposite your “illusion of perfection” in person for 67 minutes and smiled at her for at least 54 of them. I can’t even begin to itemize everything you managed to pack into your smile, your range was that comprehensive. There was certainly a fair portion of embarrassment in among it all. But no, it wasn’t awful. It wasn’t awful at all. I hope your throat is feeling better. As I said: Isla-Mint lozenges, preferably red currant flavor. And gargle with sage tea before you go to bed!
Have a nice evening,
Emmi
Ten minutes later
Re:
“It wasn’t awful at all.” What was it then, dear Emmi? What was it at all?
Five minutes later
Re:
Hey Leo,
Since when have you been the one to ask all the exciting questions? Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be providing the exciting answers? So if it wasn’t awful, then what was it, Leo dear? Take your time.
Night-night,
Emmi
Three minutes later
Re:
How can two identical Emmis write and speak in such different voices?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
With a lot of training, Mr. Language Psychologist! Now sleep well, dream nice dreams, and breathe freely.
By the way, dear Leo, your “Thank you, Emmi” was feeble. Very feeble. Well below your potential.
The following evening
Subject: A stranger
Dear Emmi,
For an hour I’ve been deleting chunks of an email in which I’m trying to describe what I thought of you at our meeting. I can’t seem to collect my impressions. No matter what I write about you, it sounds banal, clichéd, “well below my potential.” So now I’m going to try it the other way round. I’ll tell you what you thought of me when we met. I hope you don’t mind if I use one of your handy lists, just for a change. O.K., here we go:
1) You didn’t like the fact that I got there before you.
2) You were amazed that I recognized you straightaway, because you knew that I hadn’t counted on finding “this” Emmi.