The Taste of Apple Seeds by Katharina Hagena Page A

that. No, don’t be silly. Stay here! Iris! Come in now. Or let’s both go outside . . . Actually, come through. You remember the way to the terrace, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” I mumbled.
    As I walked in embarrassment through the house that had once been so familiar, I became even more bewildered. This was not the house I knew. All the doors seemed to have disappeared. And there was no wallpaper. No ceiling! It was all just one large space, painted white; my sandals squeaked on the bare floorboards. There was a gleaming white kitchen and a large, tatty blue sofa, one wall with books and one wall with a massive but very elegant hi-fi system.
    “Where are your parents?” I called out.
    “They live in the garage. I mean, these days I earn more than my father does with his pension.”
    I turned around in surprise. I liked him!
    “Hey, it was just a joke. My mother always wanted to get away from here, as you know. And my father was ill—very ill, actually. When he recovered, they decided to travel as much as possible. They’ve got a small flat in town. Sometimes they come and visit; it’s only then that they sleep in the garage. But my car’s not that big, and so—”
    “Shut up, Max—Wimp. Now, where can I go swimming here without you creeping up on me? Just tell me where you’re going to be over the next few days so I know the places to avoid.”
    “Calm down! I’m just doing what I always do. It’s not my fault that you’ve been studying my daily routine so you can appear under my nose without a thing on. And now you turn up at my front door and start haranguing me!”
    Max shook his head, turned around, and went into the kitchen. He was wearing a white shirt and once again had marks on his shoulder; this time they were gray green, as if he had been leaning against an old tree. While he was busy sorting out bottles and glasses I could hear him muttering words like “cheeky cow,” “character flaw” and “obsessive.”
    We drank white wine spritzers on the terrace. Of course, there was more water in my glass than wine. The terrace still looked the same as it had always done; it was only the garden that had become completely overgrown. The crickets were chirruping. And I was suddenly ravenous.
    “I’ve got to go home.”
    “Why? You’ve only just got here. I haven’t even asked you what you wanted from my parents. And, by the way, I haven’t asked you what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been living, because I know all this from my files already.”
    “Really? Where does it all come from, then?”
    “Lawyer’s secret. I’m afraid I can’t give you any information about my clients.”
    “Right, but someone must have given you information about your clients?”
    “Yes, I’ll admit that, but I’m not going to say who.”
    “Which one of my aunts was it? Inga or Harriet?”
    Max laughed but said nothing.
    “Max, I’ve got to go. I still want to—I mean, I haven’t yet . . . In any case, I’ve got to go.”
    “Right, I see. Those really are compelling reasons—why didn’t you say so right away? Perhaps you’d like to leave a message for my parents? And don’t you want to know where I’m going swimming tomorrow morning? And would you like to have dinner with me this evening?”
    As he talked he unscrewed the cork from the corkscrew with great concentration, only looking at me when he murmured his final question.
    I leaned back and took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, I’d love to, Max. I’d really, really, really love to have dinner with you. Thanks.”
    Max looked at me without saying a word. His smile was slightly forced.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, surprised. “Did you only ask out of politeness?”
    “No, but I’m waiting for the ‘but.’ ”
    “What ‘but’?”
    “You know, ‘Yes, yes, dear Max, I’d love to, I’d really, really, really love to, but . . .’ That’s the ‘but’ I’m talking about.”
    “There’s no ‘but.’ ”
    “No