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tale 105
love old fashioned Written by
Rainer: rainer.lehrer@yahoo.com Learn
languages (via Skype): Rainer: + 36 20 549 52 97 or + 36 20 334 79 74 |
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Love old fashioned Quickly to the flower shop, a red
rose. Elvis Presley's song "Give her a red rose" rang in his ears.
He was a little excited because he hadn't met her, as he had done before, at
work, at a wedding or via a marriage institute. These companies had all gone
bankrupt when the internet came along and the new ones just called themselves
“dating-agency”. There wasn't a pretty, female consultant there who whispered
tips on what to write in order to appear in the best light. Now one had to
think for oneself. Then ten thousand electronic messages, called e-mails,
were exchanged. Here he learned to write like Cyrano de Bergerac, actually
already knew everything about her, and had lied a thousand times. Well! How
does “man” persuade “woman”? That cost nerves, time and energy. She had sent
a photo, but of course, that wasn't a guarantee, probably improved in the
same way as his own. It was winter and the roses in the
shop came by plane from Africa, they were still cheaper than growing them
here in the glasshouse. He, too, had had to switch jobs a few times because
it was cheaper to have work done in developing countries, or because an
immigrant was willing to take on the job for a lower wage. He didn't like
this global world. Now he was fifty and had to keep studying. Every evening
he sat at home after work and studied English or something new for his
profession. Why did he have to learn another language? Wasn't German the most
beautiful, expressive and difficult in the world? He chose a nice, big rose with a
long stalk. Another quick cigarette and then some chewing gum. In his youth,
smoking was still male. Marlboro advertisement: A cowboy on his horse and the
wide prairie in front of him. He arrived there ten minutes before the
appointed time. He had thought that the place she suggested was a quiet
place, but some people were already standing here. Ripped jeans, girls almost
in bikini, a diversity of colours. However, they all had one thing in common,
they were younger than he was and they carried a smart phone in their hands,
either to read something, or to write something or to play. He pulled his
article from the Spiegel, which he had wanted to read. But why had he actually pulled it
out of his pocket? He knew very well that he couldn't concentrate on it now.
Maybe so as not to give the impression that he was waiting for her after all.
A glance at his expensive watch told him it wasn't that far. He held the rose
and felt the thorns. Why did such a beautiful thing have to be so prickly?
Who is suffering more, the rose that keeps its worshipers away with its
thorns, or the worshipers who prick themselves on it? Probably both the same,
just differently. Now he noticed a person on the
opposite side of the square who looked like the one he was waiting for. It
had to be her because the agreed marks, rose and newspaper in his hand, and a
hat in hers, indicated it. She was pretty on time, only three minutes late,
that was nothing. One of her positive qualities, or just the importance of
the meeting? It would turn out. He didn't give her a kiss on the lips yet,
only one on the left and right cheek, while he put his hand lightly around
her waist and tenderly pulled her closer. She didn't fend off, let herself be
guided. Then he presented the rose. The paper around the stalk was a little
reddened, so she quickly took out two handkerchiefs, one for the rose and the
other for his hand. The first words and touches had
been exchanged, it couldn't have gone any better. As part of the program for
the evening, he had actually thought of a concert or the theatre, but she had
declined because she said that there would be many opportunities later on
when they would have less to say to each other and needed to share new
experiences. Therefore, at her request he took her to a small, cosy inn. It
wasn't that expensive either because as a modern woman, she had insisted on
paying half the bill. It was also evident, judging her job that she earned
more than he did. The waiter came, brought the menu, and turned to her. A
light, dry white wine. He agreed. Of course, immediately the next problem
arose: what should he have with it? She ordered fish with rice and cucumber
salad, he just nodded. He had to get used to this cultural shock. No beer, no
roast beef with fried potatoes, no whiskey afterwards, and above all no
cigarettes. What a world! She didn't understand anything
about baseball either, preferred to watch tennis, and took part in aerobics
classes three times a week. A bit of modern painting and esotericism,
Mozart's Don Giovanni in a Porsche with Donna Elvira in a bikini, “Saul's
son” had to be seen, she was “up to date”. He would have to continue his
education in this direction and supplement his half-culture with another. She
noticed that he did not belong to the same social class, did not frequent the
same circles. Each period of time had its own symbols. In his mother's time,
it had been a moped, Elvis, and miniskirts. The woman sitting before him
would be a clown in fifty years. Only baseball and beer seemed to last
forever. After dinner a walk through the
park around the small, artificial lake, better than along the river bank,
because at least there weren't that many mosquitos here. She wore the light
jacket slung over her handbag so that the shoulders and the skin over the
bosom were exposed. The thin dress was tight. The shoulder muscles had sagged
a bit, around the hips only a few pounds too much, the behind more flat and
the skin porous, but still okay for her age. That matched his flat chest,
small beer belly, and thin arms. They liked each other. Why did they need each other?
Maybe more so that one doesn't have to spend the weekend and vacation alone.
They agreed on the next meeting. He later took her to her car and walked
home. |
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