Fabian Hischmann

“Arriving in the garden, I pause for a moment and take stock of the situation: off to the right there’s another young man sitting on a beer bench in the sun, he nods at me cheerfully. His hair is short and very blond. He’s carefully picking currants and tossing them into a bowl with quark. Straight ahead are vegetable beds, I recognize zucchini and tomato plants, and beyond that there’s a meadow with three fruit trees. In the half-shadow of the trees sits a table, covered with a tablecloth, and a woman is sitting at the table cutting bread. There’s a grill set up next to the table and Maria and Jan are standing in front of it. He’s fanning the flames with a piece of cardboard, she’s smoking, flicking the ash off, watching the poisonous powder float away, and in so doing sees me. Her dress is sea-blue with a white triangle on the chest. She waves hello. Jan, too, turns briefly toward me and then turns away again. I cautiously raise my hand as if I’m a hesitant bidder at an auction and the object being sold is out of my price range. Anton reaches the table and kisses the woman.
 
I tromp over too, walking as casually as can be.”