Hooligan Page 6

  Kai and Ulf are the first to turn away and go back to the road. That relieves me too. Relief sounds brutal in this context, but much as I’d like to express my respect and grief, the fact that I’m standing here is just so much fucking torture. I sneak a glance at Jojo, who’s standing next to me. He’s stock still. Doesn’t make a sound. But his upper body is racked by soft shudders. As if he had hiccups. I look at his face. His eyes are pinched tight. His lips are rolled inside his mouth. I can’t stand it, so I leave him with his little brother for a moment.

  We’re standing in the middle of the cemetery with our hands on our hips, looking at the ground or up in the sky. Huffing away in the hope it brings some relief. The worst thing is it was only the first half. We’re still waiting patiently for Jojo. He should have all the time he needs. We’re only a couple yards away. Then he finally comes over. As he takes an obligatory deep breath, I place my hand on his shoulder and press tight.

  “Well, then,” he says with a cough, picking up the bouquet he’d set down when we’d arrived, and goes ahead of us to the next row of graves.

  No one could have guessed beforehand how all this would play out. Which is why, at the time, it wasn’t possible to find two graves next to each other. Which is why Jojo and Joel’s father are one row over.

  It’s a large tombstone. “Dieter Seidel” is engraved there. There’s still space on it for his mother’s name. That’s fairly macabre. What must it be like for Ruth, Jojo’s mother, to come here every day? To her son’s and husband’s graves, and see the extra space on the stone. Jojo positions the bouquet, briefly pausing in a crouched position, and asks us for a lighter. Kai hands him his, and Jojo lights the votive candles spread across the grave that have gone out. He very carefully removes the lids, tilts the candles, fills them with flame, and then sets them back down using both hands. Doing some things with both hands is much more respectful than with just one hand. Shaking hands, for example.

  The clouds slowly start to dump on us. The thunder has already moved closer. I catch Ulf sneaking a quick glance at the sky. Then his eyes look straight at the ground.

  This time I’m the first to leave the grave. It takes unbelievable strength to be the first. You don’t want to seem as if you want to quickly put the whole thing behind you. But I can’t leave this burden on Kai and Ulf. I take the first two steps backward. Then I turn around in a fluid movement, making the rocks squelch under my soles, and go to the main gate. I wait to smoke until Jojo is back with us.

  We make plans for the evening, in the gambling hall. Blow some money, that’ll help, Kai says as we climb in. The first thing the ones in the front seats do is rub their faces.

  On the way home from picking up some cans and frozen pizza at the supermarket, we gradually shed the heavy cloaks of grief. Have to somehow. And Kai tells us, with growing excitement, he has something to show us later that’ll drive us crazy, but he doesn’t want to reveal any more now.

  “Wait till later, dude. I want to present my discovery to all of you. It’s fucking awesome.”

  We’re sitting at the bar in the Midas gambling hall, which is located in a former supermarket behind a Mongolian buffet. For the hell of it, to try something new, we’re drinking the traditional beer from Cologne in the typical miniature, kid-sized glasses. It’s still early in the evening. The constantly ringing, blinking machines on the walls are just sparsely manned. The rows of lights divide the hall into islands of red and blue. Where no light falls, it’s so dark you can hardly see anything. You can tell the newbies by the way the first thing they do is fall on their faces in the areas where there’s no lighting.

  Jojo walks in. We immediately turn and wave him over. He orders a cup of coffee. It’s surprisingly good here, for a gambling den.

  “Coffee? What’s wrong with you?” Kai asks, but I quickly punch his bicep so he leaves Jojo alone. I lean back a little to be able to see Jojo, who sits down to the right of Kai and asks: “Where’d you leave fat Ulf?”

  “Had to go home. Saskia had something planned. Who knows what?”

  “Well, great.” Kai slams his palms on the bar, which makes the barmaid glare at him, and he waves a kiss back at her. “I discovered something really awesome. I wanted to share it with all of you.”

  “Spit it out, whatever it is. Don’t piss me off, Kai!”

  “All right.”

  He raises his hands as if he were surrendering. Then he pulls out his iPhone and goes into the Facebook app. He has his head over the phone. Pulls back conspiratorially.

  “Come a little closer…. Closer,” he whispers to us.

  So we moved closer to him.

  “Not so close, Jojo. You have coffee breath.”

  “Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

  “Come on,” I say, “either you show us the pussy you nailed or I’m going right back to the machines and make myself poor.”

  Kai giggles and grins with his shark-like grin.

  “It really is a pussy, just not like the one you’re thinking.”

  He enters a name in the Search function that doesn’t ring a bell for me, and then shows the profile page of the person he was looking for.

  “Yeah?” I say. “Some random asshole.”

  “Really, Heiko,” he shakes his head back and forth, pretending to be insulted. “Then take a closer look, please.”

  “What am I supposed to …,” and now the scales fall from my eyes: “All right, okay. Then just some random asshole from Braunschweig.”

  Kai moans and says, “Dude, do I need to press the phone into your pupils so you finally get it? You can’t tell me he doesn’t look familiar.”

  I take another look at the profile picture. Blond, side part, short hair. Stupid druggy grin. Disgusting wart on his cheek. I recognize it as one of the hooligans from Braunschweig.

  “Yeah, fuck me,” escapes me.

  “Let me see,” Jojo says, and Kai passes the iPhone to him.

  “But what does it mean? That you’re going to the other side, you traitor? That the heart in your chest is changing colors?”

  “You’re kidding me,” he says with laugh. “Nah. A classmate of mine was born in that filthy town. I’ve been stalking her for a while on Facebook. Of course, I’ve been checking out her friends too, if there are a few hot ones there, and then I notice his infamous face. And this is where things get interesting: typical Braunschweig. Of course, the dickhead is too stupid to keep his profile private. It’s all Greek to him.”

  “Do you even know where Greece is?” I ask.

  “Shut the fuck up! Anyway. He’s one of the people who are constantly posting pictures and have to inform everyone where they go to drink and everything. With links to friends and place. The whole fucking program!”

  Jojo returns his phone and says: “You don’t mean—”

  Kai interrupts: “Yes, indeed, my dear Watson. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  He turns his head from me to Jojo and back. His mouth is gaping with euphoria.

  “What do you think? Should we teach the stupid idiots a lesson in data management?”

  I hook the wings of my nose between my finger, drawing a breath between clenched teeth, and say, “Let’s get something straight: you want to go to Braunschweig. To Braunschweig. And mess this guy up bad?”

  “The scales have finally fallen, you genius.”

  I reach for a beer from the tray and walk over to the wall of machines.

  “What?” Kai asks, and I turn toward them again.

  “You’re probably wondering what Axel would think about a stunt like that. He’d be heating up hell for us! He’d kick our asses so hard we’d have to clean the shit off his boots afterward.”

  I sit down in front of a machine, shake my head, mumble to myself that Kai’s nuts, and down the beer. He isn’t giving up and comes over to me.

  “Dude, wait a minute. Axel doesn’t have to know a thing. It’s just something between the four of us. Well, the three of us. We can’t rely on Ulf anymore, th
at old fart.”

  I shake my head again and feed the money-eating machine some change. Kai grabs my hand, making me look at him. Now he’s completely serious for once.

  “You keep on saying what a snooze-fest those old guys are. That they don’t have any new ideas. Finally daring something again. This is the chance, man. And if it goes well, and it will, from then on, all people will be talking about is Hannover. Then even your uncle can’t be pissed at us.”

  I pull away, dodging the question: “I don’t know, Kai. For me it sounds like too many chances for it to go south.”

  “You,” he emphasizes the word aggressively, “were the one who told me Axel took you to that insufferable junky in the madhouse. Because he wants you to take over the leadership someday. Wouldn’t this be a chance to show initiative? To prove you have everything under control? Can take the reins? In your way, Heiko, not Axel’s?”

  My head slumps momentarily under the flood of thoughts Kai is pumping into my head. Then I try to concentrate on the game.

  “Come on, at least let me play a round,” I say.

  ———

  I can remember exactly how we were lounging around on the battleship-sized sectional and zapping through the channels. Then we found live coverage of the memorial service on one of the news channels. It was taking place in Hannover’s completely overcrowded Market Church.

  “Look at that, it’s Sievers!” said Kai, who stood in the patio doorway, smoking. Jojo hadn’t made a sound since the day before, when Robert Enke took his life. I thought it was pretty spooky.

  “Come on, turn it off,” Ulf said. “Who has the remote?”

  We grope the cracks between the sofas before Jojo just stretches out his hand and turns off the television. Ulf and I exchanged glances after looking at Jojo, who was staring at the black screen, hands folded over his lap, remote in his right hand.

  “Let’s go there.”

  Ulf’s face, furrowed with worry, expressed what was going on inside me too. He asked Jojo if he was certain. “I mean sure,” he said, “Enke was the best and everything, and this whole thing is fucking tragic, honestly, I’m on the verge of tears myself, but do you really think it’s such a good idea?”

  “It’s the right thing,” Jojo answered and turned toward us.

  Kai had disappeared onto the patio to put out his cigarette but had heard everything. He came inside, clapped his hands together, and said, “All right, let’s go then.”

  Jojo whipped his head around. The fastest motion he’d been able to achieve in the past two days of robotic slow-mo. Kai returned Jojo’s gaze but not with the same seriousness as on Ulf’s and my face. He raised his eyebrows, smiled at Jojo; I looked at him sideways, making him smile. Like so many times before, I thought to myself, just how does he manage to get people to react that way? It’s Kai’s personal magic, and though the word “magic” sounds completely gay, somehow it just fits. The guy is completely charismatic. Through and through. An arrogant loudmouth, for sure, but an asshole with a certain vibe.

  Ulf and I had a tough time saying no, so we all climbed into Ulf’s station wagon. He’d bought it even before his house. There were no brats in sight yet, but if you saw the way he acted or his hustle, all that was missing was the coffee cup with the label “World’s Best Dad” or some other bullshit. So we drove the mommy taxi out of the suburban hell that’s Garbsen and into the city, and left it at the parking garage behind the train station. Me and Kai wanted to grab some beer in the station. We were at the cash register when we saw Ulf and Jojo standing outside in front of the shop. Jojo was rocking from one leg to the other, and once we paid he led the way. The general mood changed after we got past the square in front of the station and the horse statue. It was mainly occupied by people passing through with shopping carts who didn’t give a rat’s ass about what was going on in the city. Kröpcke Square was full of people. Most wearing at minimum a red scarf. Many decked out in full 96 gear. Jersey, hat, banners, and flags. Many were carrying candles and flowers. It seemed so surreal. I’d never experienced anything like it. Like a flash mob of blind dates made up of 96 fans who were all still waiting for their date, all full of silent nervousness. Typical for people from Hannover. You meet up at the Kröpcke clock or in front of the train station, at the statue.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jojo said and pulled out his wallet.

  “What’s he up to now?” I asked.

  We watched him push through the crowd of despondent gazes, stopping in front of one of the street vendors.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Ulf.

  “Not really, right?” I said. And I didn’t mean Jojo but the guy who’d blatantly set up shop with a selection of candles he was hawking to mourners.

  “Dude,” I started, and could already feel the rage shooting into my fists, “I’d really like to go over there and give that cocksucker some business.”

  Ulf said something intended to keep me from giving him a beating right then and there. Even if he deserved it. So just to be on the safe side, I memorized his face in case I happened to run into him on the street someday.

  Jojo returned with four red candles, for the price for which you could have gotten a small personalized funeral wreath. He handed one to each of us, and we waited for the procession to start. I can’t remember anymore how we found out about it, that a procession to the stadium was supposed to happen in the first place, but it felt like everyone in Hannover and the whole area knew about it. It was probably in all the papers and talked about at every kiosk and supermarket till.

  It started soon after, and this huge throng of 96 supporters drifted right through the city. We kept to the back of the crowd. At the margins. Even though Jojo imitated the other mourners and walked silently in front us, for some reason I couldn’t give in to the mood. Which is why most of the time I was going on about meaningless shit with Ulf and Kai. I was still surprised Jojo would let himself get drawn into the whole mourning business. Of course, it’s all good and stuff, but if I had everything pressing in on me like Jojo, I don’t know how I’d hold up. I can’t stop thinking about Joel anyway.

  I felt different when we got to the north entrance to Lower Saxony Stadium, where the fan shop is at. You could barely raise your cigarette to take a drag without touching the back of the person in front of you with the cherry. That’s why I mostly avoided spending time at the train station, the Passerelle mall, or the shopping streets in the city. Everywhere always so fucking packed with people. Cheek by jowl. Another reason the whole ultra thing wouldn’t have been my cup of tea. Sure, it was cool in a way to be in the stands, on your feet, screaming your head off, and guzzling the watered-down stadium piss. If it wasn’t for all the teens and wannabes among the few good men you can find in the fan sections. I guess the feeling I had from my childhood wore off at some point. Reverence for the stadium and the stands, ruled over by people like my uncle. Probably goes back to the damn commercialization. Everyone calls it the Lower Saxony Stadium still, but every few years a new company buys the naming rights, and each time a piece of tradition fucking disappears. But what’s even more important is when you’re one of the oldest in the block at some point and surrounded by middle-class kids who only have the balls to make a scene when they’re surrounded by fences and security.

  People for as far as the eye can see. Many were crying, embracing one another. Joined by the press, which caused the bile to rise in my throat, leaving a sour taste in my mouth, and made me pull the hood of my windbreaker down over my face and draw the zipper up over my chin.

  Kai put words to what I was thinking: “People, there’s way too much press and piss here for my taste. It’s giving me ulcers and making my sphincter pucker.”

  It sounded like a joke, but even Kai had lost his gift for levity. He pulled his hoodie tighter over his noggin so his eyebrows disappeared beneath the visor.

  “Jojo,” Ulf said, and tried to grab him by the shoulder.

  Some kind of Jackie Chan sense let
him guess that Ulf wanted him to turn around. At any rate, he pulled in his shoulders and said, “Just wait a second,” and then wriggled his way into the sea of mourners. We could see him for quite a while because of his mop of curly hair, which was still quite long then, twisting through countless shoulders. A short time later, he was out of sight, even for Ulf, who stuck up over the mass of heads like a shiny bald lighthouse.

  So we waited for Jojo to come back after whatever it was he wanted to do. But because even Ulf had grown restless in the meantime, we separated completely from the herd. We were waiting for him on Robert Enke Street which was still part of the Arthur Menge Shore Drive, and from the other side of the street we watched the slideshows of Enke that were being projected on screens in front of the North Curve bar.

  “Best keeper we ever had,” Ulf declared, arms crossed.

  “Together with Sievers, you mean,” Kai answered and spit to the side without watching out for people passing by.

  “Sure,” I said, butt between my lips, “Sievers was a beast on the line. The best at the time, controlling his area”—I weighed the situation with my hands—“definitely Enke. And not only that. The best damn keeper Germany ever had. He was calm like no one else and had reflexes like fucking Superman.”

  Ulf clucked and said, “Besides, he wasn’t a pampered sports car–driving idiot like most of the pros these days.”

  We nodded in unison, and at some point a “Best man” slipped out of me. Without my really consciously wanting to pronounce it.

  “This is all so fucking sad,” Ulf added.

  Jojo joined us just as Kai was returning from North Curve bar with three cups of beer. Judging from Kai’s gaze and the fact that his nostrils were flared like he’d been caught picking his nose, I guessed he hadn’t just been taking a piss in the bar’s toilets. Kai was passing out the cups when he saw Jojo and wanted to give him one of the three beers.