Magic Hoffmann by Jakob Arjouni

‘…art and suffering go together…’, ‘…I’m thinking of a fabulous story of a man - about my age - who works in films and falls in love with the assistant…’, ‘…we’d be falling between two stools again…’, ‘…like one big family…’, ‘…nobody has grasped the tragedy of a six room apartment like Botho Strauss…’, ‘…art and heroism belong together…’, ‘…wasn’t Auschwitz just rock and roll? Against the fathers, the rich, the powerful. And at the same time a search for warmth and shelter…’, ‘I hate white socks, and all I asked was that he wear dark socks for the next take…’
    Eventually Annette swept round the corner. Her hair hung over her face, and the sleeves of her blouse were rolled up.
    â€˜Everything under control?’ she asked as she rushed to the shelf and took down a book. ‘I’ll be ready in a minute, then we’ll go and have a drink with Carlo and the others, okay?’
    Fred slid off the stool. He stretched his legs and walked hesitantly around the counter. He cleared his throat.
    â€˜Listen Annette, I think we need to get a few things clear.’
    She snapped the book shut and smiled. ‘I understand, it’s not much fun for you, but then…’
    â€˜No, I mean…’ Fred stood still and placed his hands on the counter. His heart was thumping. ‘Tell me, do you still remember Canada?’
    â€˜Canada?’
    â€˜Yes, we had it planned…’ Fred ran his tongue over his lips, ‘you know, before the robbery?’
    â€˜Oh that…’
    Suddenly Annette’s eyes widened, and she was speechless for a moment. Then, without taking her eyes off Fred, she placed the book slowly back on the shelf.
    â€˜You can’t be serious.’
    â€˜Well…at least that was what we had agreed.’
    â€˜But Fred.’ Annette shook her head as if trying to dispel a nightmare. ‘That was years ago.’ She went to the window seat and plucked a cigarette from the pack.
    â€˜Hmhm.’ Fred looked at his hands. His face had gone pale. He tried desperately to grasp a passing thought. His brain was like marmalade. However much he had understood or thought he had understood in the past hour, the possibility of such a clear and unequivocal outcome had not crossed his mind.
    â€˜How did you imagine that? I mean…what gave you the idea I would want to go to Canada? Can’t you see how I’m living, how I’m working?’ She clicked her lighter.
    â€˜Yes, but,’ Fred pressed his hands against the edge of the counter.
    â€˜And I enjoy my work, it’s what I have always wanted to do.’
    Fred nodded without looking at her. Yes but, yes but rang through the marmalade. What could he say? That she still had to come? That he had believed in her and counted on her for four years? That he went to prison for her, and she should therefore give up her work for him? And how would that sound? Like Magic Hoffmann…?
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    â€˜Now, Hoffmann: you must understand that everyone in Dieburg knows who your mates were, and whether you keep your mouth shut or not makes no difference to the two of them - we’ll get them anyway. But it makes a difference to you. Somewhere between two and three years.’
    The police superintendent stood at the open window and pointed out into the street. The sun shone upon small businesses and pastry shops, on people in bright clothes and on a café terrace full of cheerful faces, lingering over beer and iced coffee.
    â€˜Take a good look, Hoffmann . In prison you won’t get to see that for a long time.’
    Fred shrugged. ‘If it’s only a question of not seeing the Dieburg pedestrian precinct, I’ll gladly take another year.’
    The superintendent shook his head, sighing. ‘You don’t know what you’re