Read Every Seventh Wave for Free Online

MANAGER.

CHAPTER FIVE

    The following evening
    Subject: Test
    Hello Emmi,
    Let me know if you get this.
    Leo
    Half an hour later
    Re:
    Yes, I got it. But you get this, Leo, I haven’t exactly enjoyed your company these past few days. What’s the matter with you? Where have you been? What are you trying to do? What the hell are you playing at? Why are you setting the Systems Manager onto me? I thought for a moment that you’d run away back to Boston.
    Two minutes later
    Re:
    I’m sorry, Emmi. I’m really sorry! Evidently there’s been a serious software error. My Outlook account was accidently unsubscribed. Maybe I missed a payment. I’ve had no messages for three days. Did you write to me?
    Twelve minutes later
    Re:
    Yes, Leo, I did write to you. I asked you a question. I waited two and a half days for an answer. I was worried sick, felt like I did during those marvelous days before you escaped to America. I even tried to phone you. I wasn’t going to say anything, I just wanted to hear your voice, but there was a message saying that your old number had “not been recognized.” I wept at the thought of you, but no tears came. I giggled hysterically at the thought of you. It struck me that something that had never really begun was already over for a second time. Those were the high points of my miserable existence for the duration of your serious software error. As if there weren’t enough things keeping us apart, the “system,” which seems to have played a starring role in all this, throws another one into the mix. The space we’re inhabiting is so creepy, I’m just shattered. Good night. Lovely to have you back. Lovely and comforting.
    Three minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Emmi,
    Please believe me, it pains me to have hurt you. It was an act of God: computer technology, whatever, separating us just as swiftly as it connects us. Our feelings are powerless against it. Forgive me. And sleep well, my love.
    The following morning
    Subject: Your question
    Good morning, Emmi. I’ve just been on the phone to a “specialist.” The “system” is up and running again. I hope you had a good sleep. Oh yes, you said you’d asked me something. What was it you wanted to know?
    All my love,
    Leo
    One hour later
    Re:
    In short: today, 3 p.m., Café Huber?
    Thirty minutes later
    Re:
    Yes, but (…). No, not but. Yes!
    Twenty minutes later
    Re:
    Great! And it took you half an hour to come up with that remarkable causal chain, Leo dear? ONLY half an hour? Do you mind if I analyze it? First there was a “yes,” an apparently resolute affirmative. Then came a comma, in expectation of an additional element to the sentence. Then there was a “but,” heralding a qualification. After that came a round open parenthesis. Then three points to convey a variety of thoughts shrouded in mystery. Then enough discipline to close the parentheses and wrap up this confusing mystery. Then a traditional full stop to maintain the outward appearance of order and to mask inner turmoil. And then all of a sudden a truculent little “no,” as if to signify a purposeful refusal. Another comma, anticipating additional information, and after that a “not,” an outright rejection. And then another “but,” a dissipation, a “but” that is only there to demonstrate that there isn’t one anymore. All doubt has been intimated. No doubt has been voiced. All doubt has been cast aside. And at the end what we’re left with is a gutsy little “yes,” complete with a defiant exclamation mark. To repeat: “Yes, but (…). No, not but. Yes!” What a poetic description of your fickleness. What a lyrical exposition of your decision-making processes. This man knows exactly that he doesn’t know what he wants. And he knows better than anyone how to pass on this knowledge to the very individual it concerns. All in barely half an