Yours,
Leo
The following day
Subject: You call that a good-bye?
Was that your final email? I can’t believe it! I hereby lose all faith in final emails. I mean, Leo, hellOO! If you want to just disappear, I’m not expecting some kind of comic tour de force. But what the hell was that, a tragic farce? That’s no good-bye! How do you want me to picture you as you melodramatically blow at your keyboard? O.K., fair enough, I’ve been letting myself go a little. And I’ve started to drone on a bit. My bubbly disposition has sometimes been as heavy as a sack of cement. Yup, I’ve been carrying around the cumbersome baggage of our electronic mail. I’ve fallen just a little bit in love with Mister Anonymous, it has to be said. Neither of us has been able to get the other quite out of our head—I think we’re both guilty here. But that’s no reason for us go on like we’re some kind of virtual Tristan and Isolde.
Off you go to Boston, then. Sever email contact with me if you like. But don’t finish it like that!! That’s beneath you, both stylistically and emotionally, and it’s way beneath my dignity, dear friend. Puffing on the keyboard? For God’s sake, Leo! What a load of crap! It makes me wonder, “Is that how the guy spoke to me the whole time?”
Please prove to me that wasn’t your last email. I’d rather have something more upbeat, something surprising, a finish with a flourish, a good punch line. How about: “To round things off I suggest we meet up!” At least that would be a funny ending. (And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and have a good weep.)
Five hours later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Dear Emmi,
To round things off I suggest we meet up!
Five minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
You’re not serious?
One minute later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Oh yes I am. I wouldn’t joke about that, Emmi.
Two minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
What am I supposed to make of that? Is that a whim? Is it because I gave you the right cue? Have I turned you from a melodramatist into a satirist?
Three minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
No, Emmi, it’s not a whim, it’s a well-thought-out proposition. You just preempted me. Let me say it again. I’d like to conclude our email relationship with a meeting. One single encounter before I move to Boston.
Fifty seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
One single encounter? What do you hope to gain from that?
Three minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Insight. Relief. Catharsis. Clarity. Friendship. The solution to a personality puzzle that I created and then blew out of all proportion. A clearing of blockages. Feeling good afterward. The best antidote to the north wind. A conclusion befitting this exciting phase in our lives. The simple answer to thousands of complicated, unresolved questions. Or, as you said yourself, “At least that would be a funny ending.”
Five minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
I have a feeling it might not be at all funny.
Forty-five seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
That depends on us.
Two minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
On us? You’re on your own there, Leo. I haven’t agreed to a last-minute meeting at all, and quite frankly I’m a long way from doing so right now. First I’d like to know a bit more about this “first date/last date” meeting. Where do you want to meet?
Fifty-five seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Wherever you like, Emmi.
Forty-five seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
And what will we do?
Forty seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Whatever we want.
Thirty-five seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
What do we want?
Thirty seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
That remains to be seen.
Three minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
I think I’d rather get emails from Boston. Then we don’t have to wait and see whether either of us wants anything. At least I know that I want something, and I know what it is: emails from Boston.
One minute later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Emmi, I’m not going to write you emails from Boston. I’d like to stop it, really I would. I’m convinced it would be the best thing for both of us.
Fifty seconds later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Then how long do you intend to keep on emailing me for?
Two minutes later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
Until we meet. Unless you say you definitely don’t want to. Then this would be a kind of final sentence.
One minute later
Re: You call that a good-bye?
That’s blackmail, Maestro! You can put things pretty crudely sometimes: just read your last email. I’m not sure I want to meet somebody who writes things like that. Good night.
The following morning
Subject: (no subject)
Good morning, Leo! I’m DEFINITELY NOT going to meet up with you in Café Huber.
One hour later
Re:
We don’t have to. But why not?
One minute later
Re:
Because it’s the kind of place you meet up with coworkers or chance acquaintances.
Two minutes later
Re:
Chance acquaintances? Who could be better qualified for that than us?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Have you maintained that attitude throughout our correspondence, beginning, middle, and end? If so, I suggest we don’t have this chance, ephemeral meeting.
The following day
Subject: (no subject)
What exactly is the matter with you, Leo? Why are your emails so boorish and obstructive all of a sudden? Why are you disparaging “our story”? Are you actually trying to be insensitive and vicious? Is this an attempt to make your exit easier to stomach?
Two and a half hours later
Re:
I’m sorry, Emmi, I’m at my wits’ end trying to get “our story” out of my head. I’ve already explained why I need to do it. I realize that since “Boston” my emails have sounded horribly impersonal. I hate writing like this, but I’m forcing myself to. I don’t want to invest any more emotion into “our story.” I don’t want to continue building things up before I let it all collapse. All I really want now is this meeting. I think it would do us both good.
Two minutes later
Re:
And what happens if we want to meet a second time?
Four minutes later
Re:
As far as I’m concerned that’s not a possibility. I mean, I’ve already excluded it as a possibility. I want to meet just this once, to give “our story” the ending it deserves before I go to America.
Fifteen minutes later
Re:
And what would you consider that to be? Or to put another way, how would you like me to remember you after we’ve met:
1) Quite nice, but not nearly as interesting as in his emails.
Now I can perfectly happily delete him from every aspect of my life with a good conscience.
2) I can’t believe I’ve spent a year with this bore.
3) The perfect man to have an affair with. Shame he’s going to be living on the other side of the Atlantic.
4) He’s drop-dead gorgeous! What an intoxicating evening! Really worth all those months of emailing. Now that’s checked off I can concentrate on packing Jonas’s lunch.
5) Shit! He’s the one. I’d have dumped Bernhard and given up my family for him. But now he’s escaping to America, the land of no emails. But I shall wait for him! I shall light a candle for him every day. And I shall include him in my prayers—after the one for the children—until he returns in all his glory and splendor . . .
Three minutes later
Re:
I’m going to miss your sarcasm, Emmi.
Two minutes later
Re:
You can take a whole heap of it to Boston with you, if you like. I’m not short of it. So: which of these men would you most like to be after our official parting?
Five minutes later
Re:
I’m not going to be any of them. I’m going to be who I am. And you’ll see me as I am. At least you’ll see me as you think I am. Or see me as you want to think I am.
One minute later
Re:
Will I want to meet you again?
Forty-five seconds later
Re:
No.
Thirty-five seconds later
Re:
Why not?
Fifty seconds later
Re:
Because that won’t be possible.
One minute later
Re:
Everything’s possible.
Forty-seconds seconds later
Re:
Except that. Because it’s impossible, full stop.
Fifty-five seconds later
Re:
Things that seem impossible beforehand often turn out to be possible after all. And sometimes they’re not the worst.
Two minutes later
Re:
I’m sorry, Emmi. There is no possibility that we’ll meet again. You’ll see.
One minute later
Re:
Why would I want to? If I know that there’ll be no second meeting, why would I want to come to a first?
Two minutes later
Subject: To Mr. Leike
Dear Mr. Leike,
We’re going through a torrid time. If this doesn’t stop, our marriage is going to collapse. I can’t imagine that this is your intention. Please, meet up with my wife and stop writing to her (I swear I have no idea what you’re writing to each other, nor do I want to know anymore. I just want it to stop once and for all).
With kind regards,
Bernhard Rothner
Three minutes later
Re:
You yourself have to know why you want to meet me, Emmi—if you do want to. All I can say is that I definitely want to meet you! I think by now I’ve explained why. Have a nice evening,
Love,
Leo
One minute later
Re:
Icy Leo Leike. “Is that how the guy spoke to me the whole time.” Pretty sad, really.
CHAPTER NINE
Three days later
Subject: Questions outstanding
Hi Leo,
It seems you’re not emailing me anymore. Are you still going to answer my emails? How long for? When are you going to Boston?
Kind regards,
Emmi
Nine hours later
Re: Questions outstanding
Good evening, Emmi. I’m afraid my life is a mess. I’m right in the middle of preparations for my move to America. My flight’s on July 16, so two weeks from tomorrow. So I’ll say it again: it would be great if we could meet before then. If you’re not sure whether you want to, then just do it for my sake, please. I really want to! I’d be so happy if you said yes. I know I’d feel better afterward. And I’m sure you’d feel good too.
Twelve minutes later
Re: Questions outstanding
Don’t you understand, Leo? As it’s supposed to be a “farewell meeting,” I’ll only feel good afterward if it turns out that you’re different from the man who’s been writing to me for an entire year (apart from some of your ghastly, impersonal messages of late). If you are “different,” our meeting would be a huge disappointment, and the only good thing about it would be that it’s our last. So if you’re convinced I’d feel good afterward, then you’re telling me indirectly that the meeting would be a disappointment. And so I’ll ask you again: Why should I agree to a meeting that can only be a disappointment?
Eight minutes later
Re: Questions outstanding
I don’t think our meeting would have to be disappointing for you to feel better than . . . you do today, for example.
One minute later
Re: Questions outstanding
Today? How do you know how I feel today?
Fifty seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
You’re not in good form today, Emmi.
Thirty seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
And what about you?
Thirty-five seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
I’m not in great form either.
Twenty-five seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
Why not?
Forty-five seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
For the same reason that you’re not.
Fifty seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
But you’re to blame, Leo. No one’s forcing you to disappear from my life.
Forty seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
But they are!
Forty seconds later
Re: Questions outstanding
Who is?
The following morning
Subject: I am!
I am!
I’m forcing myself. Me, and reason.
An hour and a half later
Re: I am!
So who is it that wants to meet up with me? Is that you and reason too? Or you and unreason? Or sheer unreason? Or (the worst option) sheer reason?
Twenty minutes later
Re: I am!
Me, my reason, my emotions, my hands, my feet, my eyes, my nose, my ears, my mouth. Every bit of me wants to meet you, Emmi.
Three minutes later
Re: I am!
Your mouth?
Fifteen minutes
Re: I am!
Yes, of course: to talk.
Fifty seconds later
Re: I am!
I see.
Two days later
Subject: O.K.
Hi Leo.
As far as I’m concerned, we might as well risk it. Let’s meet up, what difference would it make? When are you free this week?
An hour and a half later
Re: O.K.
I’ll let you decide. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday?
One minute later
Re: O.K.
Tomorrow
Three minutes later
Re: O.K.
Tomorrow? Fine, tomorrow. Morning, lunchtime, afternoon, evening?
One minute later
Re: O.K.
Evening. Where, though?
Ten minutes later
Re: O.K.
At a café of your choice. At a restaurant of your choice. At a museum of your choice. On a walk of your choice. On a park bench of your choice. On a chair of your choice. Or in any other place of your choice.
Fifty seconds later
Re: O.K.
At your place.
Eight minutes later
Re: O.K.
Why?
Forty seconds later
Re: O.K.
Why not?
One minute later
Re: O.K.
What do you have in mind?
Fifty-five seconds later
Re: O.K.
What do YOU have in mind, Leo? You’re the one wanting this farewell meeting, if I may say so.
Thirty-five minutes later
Re: O.K.
I’ve got nothing at all in mind. I just want to see the woman who’s been with me for months, who’s made
a mark on my life. I want to hear more of her lovely voice, more than “whisky” and “toes.” I want to watch her lips as she says, “What do YOU have in mind, Leo? You’re the one who wanted this farewell meeting, if I may say so.” How do the corners of her mouth move, how do her eyes shine, how do her eyebrows rise when she utters sentences like these? What expression does she have when she’s being ironic? What traces have the years of nightly north wind left on her cheeks? Hundreds of things like these interest me about Emmi.
Five minutes later
Re: O.K.
Your interest comes a little late, Leo. One evening might not be long enough for this kind of physiognomical research. How many hours were you planning for? How long should I stay?
Three minutes later
Re: O.K.
For as long as we both want.
One minute later
Re: O.K.
And if we don’t agree?
Four minutes later
Re: O.K.
Then I suppose we’ll go with whoever wants to finish up first.
Fifty seconds later
Re: O.K.
Which will probably be you.
Forty seconds later
Re: O.K.
That’s not certain.
Twenty minutes later
Re: O.K.
It’s astonishing how little is certain, despite the fact we’re writing to each other all the time. How will we greet each other, for example? Will we shake hands? Clap each other on the shoulders? Should I extend the slender fingers of an elegant hand for you to kiss? Should I proffer one of my cheeks, weathered by the north wind? Will you approach me mouth-first? Or will we just stare at each other for a while, like aliens?
Three minutes later
Re: O.K.
I suggest I put a glass of wine in your hand and we’ll make a toast. To us.
Two minutes later
Re: O.K.
Have you got any whisky? And I don’t mean some nasty old bottle with three millimeters of some algaefied yellowy-brown liquid at the bottom. In that case I’LL be the one who decides when we finish, and it’ll be a very short meeting indeed.
One minute later
Re: O.K.
It’s not the whisky that will scupper our meeting.
Forty-five seconds later
Re: O.K.
What will, then?
Two minutes later
Re: O.K.
Nothing. It’ll be a lovely, lively, harmless and enjoyable meeting, Emmi, you’ll see.
Three hours later