Crystal Garden

5

At the end of winter, Sunny told me about her. We had lunch in the school canteen. Neither of us had an appetite, but for different reasons.

“Check out that girl,” Sunny said to me as he nodded off to the side, but when I looked, I actually saw several girls. They were from senior class and were having fun discussing something.

“Which one?” I asked.

“That one with the long hair and the green dress.”

“I don’t see her.” I looked harder.

“C’mon, her hair is, uh, pure copper. Look! She’s smiling at us.”

He smiled back at someone, but I didn’t see anybody. The girl he described was not there. “Look, isn’t she a beauty?” Sunny was still smiling. “Such a kitty.”

“Kitty?” I looked around, trying to find the girl he was talking about.

“Yeah, she looks like a kitty. So pretty, and her eyes are so green.”

“Sunny, there is no such girl there!” I was getting embarrassed, as he was clearly hallucinating.

“There she is! Oh, she’s walking away.” He jumped to his feet, probably planning to rush to her, but I held him back. “She started at school at the beginning of the year. I often see her during breaks. When I see her next time, I will definitely introduce you to her.”

But there was no next time. It happened at the beginning of March. The snow had already melted, but the puddles had not dried yet, even though the sun was as warm as late spring. After school, we walked home. Sunny was very excited, chatting non-stop, tugging at my sleeve every second and pointing at everything. Dogs, cars, people – almost everything fascinated him. He was as happy as a little kid and was eager to share his excitement with me. I just nodded absently and said, “yes, yes, yes”. I was thinking about Annie. This morning I managed to exchange a few words with her, and it felt like the greatest achievement of my life.

And then I saw her just a few feet away in front of us. The girl that Sunny was always talking about. She really did have beautiful long hair with a copper tint. She looked straight at me and smiled. I slowed down without taking my eyes of her and waved my hand. I wanted to nudge Sunny, but he wasn’t there. I stopped, still holding out my hand and looking at the girl whose smile had become more sinister. Before I had a chance to call out for Sunny, I heard a loud car beep, then squeal of brakes and a scream.

It took a while for me to realise that the scream was mine.

Sunny was lying in the middle of the road, just a few feet away from the car that hit him. I rushed over to Sunny, but everything was happening in slow motion. It was as if I was not me, as if I was watching it happening to someone else. I ran up and shook his shoulder, unable to ascertain whether he was conscious or not. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t blinking. It seemed like he wasn’t even breathing. A crowd gathered. They spoke about something. Someone tried to lift me up, but I broke away as I wanted to help Sunny. Someone grabbed me and lead me somewhere. What was going on? I couldn’t understand.

Then there was darkness.

I was woken by my own voice.

“Sunny.”

I leapt up, and I was in my bedroom. The clock read 1.30am. It was dark outside, and it seemed to be raining. I needed to find out if the accident had really happened or whether it was just a bad dream. Please let it be a dream. Repeating these words, I took my mobile phone and dialled Sunny’s number. The operator informed me that the person I was trying to call was not available. I went into my sleeping parents’ bedroom.

“Mum,” I touched my mother’s shoulder. She shrugged but didn’t wake. “MOTHER.” I shook her more aggressively. She woke up and looked at me. In the darkness, I saw her eyes widen.

“Walter,” she said in a whisper, and I saw that she was scared.

“Mum, what happened?” I knelt beside the bed.

“Walter…” she started to say, but her words broke off.

“What is it, Mum?”

“Walter, Sunny is gone,” she said under her breath, but it seemed to me like she was screaming. Her words pierced my brain like a bullet. Sunny is gone? No, I refused to believe it.

I wondered when this nightmare would finally be over. I thought I would wake up, and everything would be fine again. Those early days passed in a blur. I barely remember his funeral. I remember there were many people, and it was a beautiful sunny morning. It was as if there had not been that terrible injustice. I remember his face. Quiet, peaceful, almost childlike. 15 years old. Only 15! He had such a short life, but so many plans.

I woke up from that blur in April. I remember I was sat drawing on a bench in the orchard and suddenly the realisation hit me. He was really gone. At that moment, I felt desperate. The despair was so deep and intense, that it was as if I hit the bottom of a deep, deep pit with no way of getting out. Darkness surrounded me, and I was enveloped in it. I felt my heart trying to fight back from the searing pain and I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I wanted to hide in a secluded corner and disappear, as if I had never existed. What was my place in the world now? Who needed me? A feeling of helplessness engulfed me. I couldn’t change anything, fix it, or turn back the clock. My world faded without him. I would never see him again. I would never hear his voice or his laughter. We would never again walk together after school, and he would never tell me about his grand plans again. I wanted to howl and climb the walls. I stopped eating and sleeping. If I fell asleep, I dreamed the same dream about the garden covered with white snow and Sunny on his knees with his back to me. I came up to him, but he was cold and still. I woke up screaming.

6

One night I was drawing in my room by the lamp light. I was trying to draw my beautiful Amazon in the heat of a battle with a terrifying monster, but nothing would come. I wasted dozens of sheets of paper and tore the last one up. I got furious. The door opened, and my mother entered the room. I pretended I hadn’t seen her, took a new sheet of paper and scribbled on it. Mother sat on the edge of the bed. She was looking at me without saying a word. I scribbled some more, and it became an outline of a face.

“Walter,” mother said quietly.

I didn’t respond and kept on sketching until I’d drawn a stiff upper lip and nose.

“I know it’s hard,” she said. Well, yes it was. But in our family, we didn’t communicate with each other. We all lived our own lives, and I was perfectly fine with that. Why break the tradition? I carefully drew one eye, then the other. My mother was still talking, trying to encourage me to “open my soul”, telling me she “understands me and wants to help me”, and that she is ready to listen to my problems. No way!

I added the eyelashes, then after some thought I lengthened them. They were never interested in my problems before, and now all of a sudden, they’ve become important.

“I know a very good doctor.”

Stop. Doctor? I was going to finish off the curls, but at the mention of a doctor my pencil hovered in the air, and I paused to listen.

“Albert is a very good doctor. He’s worked with adolescents for almost 20 years. He’s a psychologist and the kids love him.”

Albert. A psychologist. Kids … It was nonsense. I didn’t need a doctor. I continued to draw; a neck, shoulders, hand, sword in hand. Or should that be a spear?

“Walter, I’ve made an appointment for next Monday.”

I opted for spear, then started to make changes to the hand. Mother sat for a while looking at me. Then she nodded either to me or to herself and left the room.

On Monday, we went to see Albert. He was one of those experts who was adored by parents who believed he would help their children. However, the children did not like Albert, and neither did the teenagers. I was lying on the couch in his office while he sat next to me in his leather chair making notes in a large notebook. I don’t know why people think that lying on a couch helps you open your heart to an unsympathetic stranger. I was lying there examining the picture on the opposite wall. It depicted a summer meadow and a little girl playing with a big sheep dog.

“Walter,” he said. “You are going through a difficult period, but it will end soon.”

“Are you sure?” I thought.

“If you shrink into yourself, it will be more difficult for you to move on. Open up to me, share your feelings, and together we will decide what to do next. We all knew Robert, he was a good friend to many, and your loss is our loss.”

Robert. No-one called him Robert. Our loss? Who the hell are you to talk about him? Thoughts raced through my head, but I was silent.

“Death doesn’t only choose the sick and old”.

Oh, really.

“Sometimes it takes the young and healthy, but God works in mysterious ways.”

C’mon, and God is here, right.

“We have to believe that he is in heaven, and he’s ok.”

Are you a psychologist or a priest?

“He’s gone, but we continue to live, and we must not give way to grief.”

You try that.

“We must find the strength to move on …”

Blah, blah, blah. He talked a lot. He tried to appeal to my feelings, then to my mind, and then just resorted to asking questions that I only answered yes or no to. Later I heard him telling my mother that he was able to get talking teenagers who were far more troubled than me, and advised her to talk to me more about what was going on.

It made little sense, and the annoying questions angered me even more. I continued to go to the therapy sessions, but still refused to open up to Albert. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I knew that they sympathised and were only trying to help. I knew that Sunny was gone, and I had to find a way to carry on. I knew that someday I’d probably adjust. I couldn’t share my feelings with my mother, who had suddenly remembered that I existed. Moreover, I had nothing to share with Albert, who really didn’t understand troubled teenagers like me. So, gradually the hideous monsters, who fought my beautiful Amazon, started taking the form of Albert and my parents.

7

In early May, one of my classmates, Alex, had a birthday party.

I did actually have normal relationships with my classmates. I wasn’t an outcast or a nerd, and I wasn’t an object of jokes or bullying. We just kept a respectful distance, which was a conscious choice I’d made. I never really strived to be a part of their company. It was enough for me to communicate with one person only – Sunny. But now, without him, my world became too empty. There were times when I didn’t talk to anybody for days, but now I desperately wanted to communicate. So desperately, that I went to that party.

Alex had a big, beautiful house just a few blocks from my parents’, but our house was nothing compared to his. The doors were wide open when I arrived, and I heard the music and laughter. At first, nobody noticed as I walked in and hesitated in the doorway. But soon all eyes were on me. Some people were surprised, some absolutely indifferent, and some even looked at me with sympathy. Sunny’s death was a shock for everyone, though not as great as it was for me. Two girls ran up to me and began offering me beer and vodka cocktails.

I don’t remember what I chose, but I was drunk pretty quickly. I sat slumped in a chair and stared blankly at the girls dancing in front of me. In one hand I held a cigarette, and in the other a glass of something alcoholic. I felt weird. My head was spinning. I inhaled, and the room disappeared in the fog. Suddenly I found myself on the steps of a ruined gothic church. Big snowflakes were falling from the night sky. My lonely footprints were lost somewhere in dark thicket of old trees.

“Walter”, someone whispered in my ear. I turned around, but saw no-one. “Walte-er”. The vision became fuzzy, and I was back in the room. A smiling girl was sitting on my lap.

“Hey, where were you?” She asked. I looked at her and said nothing. She reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland when he disappeared and only his smile was left. That’s all I saw now, a smile but no girl.

“Welcome back to the real world,” she said as she tapped me on the cheeks.

But I would argue that the vision of the gothic church was much more real.

The next time I came around, I was in the midst of a Latino dance with another girl. Everybody crowded around us applauding. Enthusiastic cheers and whistles rang from all sides. It looked like I was taking the lead, even though I had no idea how to Latino dance. It was actually quite funny.

But then I saw Anna. She was standing at the other end of the room and was looking right at me. Her face reflected a mixture of astonishment, bewilderment and resentment. Our eyes met, then she turned and left the room. I stopped right in the middle of the next step and ran after her, trying to keep my balance.

I have never been as drunk as I was that night. I went out into the street. The smell of blooming chestnut trees hit me. I looked around and saw her. Anna was walking away, wrapped in a jumper, as if she was cold. I went after her, but my legs wouldn’t obey my brain, and I kept bumping into lamp posts and trees which seemed to come from nowhere. But I didn’t care, as the girl of my dreams was just a few steps away.

“Who do we have here?” I caught up with her and tried to put my arm around her waist.

Anna removed my arm, so I lost my balance and fell. She sighed and helped me up. “Yes, that’s what I am, a pig,” I said, trying to walk by her side. “I guess I had too much tonight. Why don’t you talk to me?”

There was no answer, so I went on.

“Look! The whole world is having fun today!”

And the world really was having fun. Moths were swarming in the lantern light, like the little elves that Sunny and I searched for as children. Stars danced in the sky to the sound of chirping crickets. Staring at the stars, I stumbled and almost fell again, but managed to grab hold of a lamp post. While I was embracing the post, I began to sing a children’s song. I would definitely have danced if I wasn’t so unsteady. Anna stopped and looked at me wearily.

“Come on,” she said as she took me by the hand.

Oh, it was the happiest moment of my life. We walked hand in hand, like a couple of sweethearts. Well, at least that’s how it seemed to me, even if it was a different experience for Anna. She said nothing, but I think she was smiling. I didn’t notice how we got to my house, but turned out she knew where I lived.

“It’s the first time I’ve walked a guy home.” Annie smiled at me and tried to free her hand, but I didn’t let go. “I have to go” she said gently but firmly.

“I don’t want you to go”, I whispered and leaned over to kiss her, but she turned away, and my lips barely touched her cheek. Her skin was as soft as peach and smelled like chocolate orange. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment.

She gently pulled away from me and said, “Goodnight, Walter.” I nodded. She turned and slowly walked away. I wish I hadn’t let her go, so she could have stayed with me forever. But I just watched her until she was completely out of sight.

8

The next morning, I felt terrible. And not only physically. I was tormented by my hangover and the vague sense of shame over how I behaved the night before. I was particularly distressed by the fact that most of the night had vanished from my memory. But I remembered Anna very well, and that wonderful romantic moment between us did not seem so romantic anymore. I reproached myself all day, and by the evening I came to the only decision that felt right under the circumstances. I would run! The devil had possessed me and was making me do it. I put some essential items in my backpack, then I took the money from my piggy bank. For almost two years, Sunny and I had been saving for motorbikes. We didn’t manage to save that much, but it was enough to keep me going for a couple of weeks at least.

Once my parents were sound asleep, I left the house. I didn’t have a particular plan. I just walked to the station and jumped into the first train to Munich. There weren’t many people onboard, but I didn’t sit down. I remained at the exit doors for almost three hours, leaning against the window and looking into the darkness. My heart was joyful and anxious at the same time. Adventures! I was ready for them and couldn’t wait for them to begin.

By dawn, I was in Munich. I walked out of the main station, and was immediately met by a city of glass and metal. It had been raining overnight, and the streets were fresh. Raindrops glistened on the windows in the rays of the rising sun. The streets were quiet, almost deserted. Only the roar of the garbage truck echoed from the walls. I was standing and looking around, gradually figuring out what to do next. I decided to surrender to fate and go wherever it took me. I was going to see the country and maybe even beyond to Europe. I planned to stay in different cities, large and small. I was going to find a place that filled my heart and soul, and I would stay there. I’d find a job and start a new life as an adult.

I hitch-hiked my way along. I walked for dozens of miles, slept in train stations and ate at roadside diners. I was stopped by police a couple of times, but I managed to convince them that I was going to Nuremberg or Dresden to my beloved grandmother. Once, I almost ran into a gang of skinheads. I ran away very fast.

At the end of my fifth day of travelling, I was somewhere between Austria, Germany and the Czech Republic. Hooray to the united Europe! I was walking along a country road that ran through vineyards. The sun was setting, and I was thinking of a shelter for the night. When I noticed a building on a hill in the distance. It was small, one story, and painted burgundy. I walked closer and saw there was a man in the yard. He stood with his back to me, cutting his roses.

“Good evening” I said to him in German.

“Good evening” he replied as he turned and looked at me.

I think he may have smiled, but I’m still not sure. The man was not very tall, well-built, and about 50 years old. His short dark hair was greying, and he had piercing blue husky-dog eyes.

“Could you tell me, please, if there’s anywhere nearby I could stay for the night?”

“The closest motel is 40 miles from here,” replied the man, waving his hand to the side. “You’ll get there by the morning,” he grinned. His *Hoch Deutsch [*standardised German] was flawless. “You can spend the night here.” The man nodded towards the house.

I agreed without hesitation. I slept like a log and didn’t have any dreams. The bed and the pillow felt like the greatest inventions of mankind.

I woke up early to drizzling rain pounding outside. The small room he’d offered me was dark and cool. In the corner, an old clock was loudly ticking away. It was 5.30am. The owner of the house was walking around. I could hear the creaking of floorboards. I stretched and was about to get up when I saw a dog and startled. A large black Labrador was sitting in the middle of the room and was staring at me.

“Alicia” called the voice of the man, and the dog jumped up and ran out of the room.

I got dressed and followed her through the living room and into the kitchen, which emitted the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee. The man was conjuring something up at the stove. Alicia, the unusually named dog, was sitting next to him, apparently waiting for breakfast.

Without turning around, the man said, “Sit down.”

I was confused, did he have eyes in the back of his head or something? I hadn’t even had a chance to say good morning to him, but he already knew I was there.

“Sit down” he repeated and pointed to the table.

My breakfast was waiting for me. Scrambled eggs, ham and fresh bread, which seemed to be just out of the oven. I sat down and began to eat. The man sat across from me and stared for a while as I was eating. Then he asked,

“What are you looking for in this area?”

The question surprised and puzzled me, as I didn’t even really know what I was looking for myself.

“A new life” I said uncertainly.

“A new life, heh?” he laughed. “A new life” he said again and shook his head, then got up from the table.

Coffee was boiling in a coffee pot on the old gas stove. The man turned off the heat and began to pour liquid into cups.

“And what about your old life?” he asked.

“I failed” I answered.

“How old are you, boy?” he said as he put the cup in front of me.

I looked at him. He had an unusual gaze and looked at me without any particular expression. It was difficult to decipher his mood, but even still I felt comfortable with him. I thought I could trust him. The hell could’ve I trusted him! But more on that later.

“Fifteen” I answered.

“Well, if you are looking for a new life, I have an offer for you.” He sat back in his chair and reached for the cup. “I need an assistant. There is a lot of work to do, but you’re not afraid of a challenge, are you?” He leaned forward a little.

“No,” I answered.

“I’ll give you shelter, food and anything else you need in exchange for a promise. You must stay here until November, when the last harvest of grapes is gathered.”

“All right” I promised.

He held out his hand and I shook it. His grip was strong and confident. This was not a man of compromise.

9

So, that’s how my life at the vineyard began. I worked from early in the morning until late at night, and soon forgot about everything. I had no time to mourn Sunny or think about Annie. My insomnia had disappeared, and my appetite returned. I grew four inches and gained strength. My old clothes now became too small, and my mentor brought me some new trousers, shirts, and boots. They were clearly custom-made, even if they were old-fashioned. They certainly weren’t t-shirts and jeans, but I wasn’t complaining. I definitely liked this new style.

The Mentor, which is what he insisted on being called, brought me back to life. He became a father figure to me. He took care of me. I remember I once spent the entire day in the scorching sun working in the vineyard, and in the evening I came down with a fever. He took some cans from the kitchen cupboard and made an absolutely crazy concoction. The smell alone made my eyes water.

“Do not worry, this won’t kill you. It will help you,” he said as he handed me a mug. Indeed, in ten minutes I was back on my feet and ready for my next job. I had never felt so light and cheerful.

“Nature gives us everything we need,” he used to say when talking about his herbs.

The Mentor taught me how, where and when to gather herbs, their types and purpose. And finally, how to make concoctions that not only cured any illness, but also improved strength, courage and even charm. Actually, the Mentor taught me a lot. I don’t recall my real father teaching me anything at all. I thought the Mentor was my friend. He never lectured me or tried to probe into my soul. He didn’t ask too many questions. He accepted me for who I was without trying to fix me or make me less “difficult”. He didn’t even think I was difficult. He encouraged me if there was something I couldn’t do and never scolded if I made mistakes. However, I couldn’t really call him a kind man. He rarely expressed any emotion and rarely smiled. If only I knew who he really was. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have changed anything if I did know.

The vineyard stood apart from busy routes and other farms. There was no-one else for many miles, and the Mentor didn’t allow me to go far, since I’d made my promise to him. To tell the truth, I had no desire to go anywhere. I came to enjoy the quiet and measured life full of village romance and fresh air but without any conventions, norms of behaviour, unnecessary questioning or false sympathy.

In my spare time, mostly in the evenings, I took a horse and rode around the area. The Mentor had five black thoroughbred horses. I fed and cleaned them and their stable. As a reward, the Mentor allowed me to ride. He taught me that as well. I discovered other passions too. Passions that I never would have imagined. In the living room there was a large bookcase with so many wonderful books hidden there! For connoisseurs of antiques, they were worth millions of Euros, but here they just gathered dust on the shelves. There were first editions of Shakespeare and Goethe, old maps of Europe, treatises of Greek classics. I’d never been a lover of books, but the Mentor’s library absorbed me. I spent hundreds of hours leafing through old, yellowed pages.