"Eh? Where's the other half of my face?"
I murmur this to myself as my fingers brush against nothing but void air...where my left cheek should be. Having just been shot in the face does have the rather upsetting ability to force this question.
Must get myself fixed. I look around (note to scene-setters: Berlin at night, outside, streets and buildings) and see a, sort of, figure of a man - for I am beholding a man in a, sort of, drunken double-vision.
Instead of that rigid splitting in two and forth known and beloved to us all, one of him is bouncing and spinning at all angles all about the other him, his more stable twin...the entire existence around unstable-man dancing too, of course. 'Tis as if my left eye is hanging by a loose thread, still able to see and swinging gay roundabouts. I am not drunk and knowing this, stumble on.
"Deene Auje hängt ja so komisch. Kennst de überhäupt nok gucke?" says this bloke.
"I need help...who can fix me?" I venture in my best English.
"Naja...da gibt es nur diese eine Dame. Sie mach's heil für Euch..." responds the helpful man in his best hoch-deutsch as both hims now settle into a dubious cross, shamelessly referencing religious symbolism.
"...dort!" he is pointing across the road, or is it towards the sky? STRAIN YOURSELF, MAN! I choose the across the road bit, seeming more likely.
"Dank you." I confidently thank and walk on.
I realise now that our hero back there was pointing to a house, and its entrance. Still, I'm not getting the hang (sorry) of my impairment and struggle to reconcile unstable-world with its constant partner. Simply attempting to reach this front door of my fix produces the kind of silly walk not seen since navigating through a near-empty dance-floor on acid...what to do?
Well, that's novel. I can actually close my left eye, rendering my marvellous trip redundant...didn't see that one coming.
I get to the door (ss: rusted oak of splintering hues). The door (sign on the) says: "Komm erst mal rein". So I do.
Hmm...all lights are on and bets off. Busy noises abound: radio-music, hoovering, flowing tap-water sounds, clunking and clanking, a boom and some banging...sortiments of audio goading...a woman is talking.
I see her flitting hither and thither in the kitchen, sometimes out of view. She's barking into the phone cradled in her neck, sounding flustered as she hectically washes a couple of cups at the sink before retreating from view to another part of the kitchen...is that a cat under her arm? If so, you can choose its colour.
"Ha-llo!" the word loud, clear and drenching with urgency from its source, me, still a couple of steps away from the kitchen entrance. The woman blows back into view, the cat jumps off not amused.
"I hef no time. Come beck later." that's her.
"Please...it's my face...my eye is hanging off...LOOK!" that's me.
"Yes, I know. No time." (unintelligible yapping down the phone) "...later!".
She waves me off and is washing cups again - the cat triumphantly springs back on and fits snugly under her arm.
I feel rather bothered by the sight of this woman washing up while holding a cat under her arm, not-to-mention her skewed head allowing for the phone.
"Mama. Mama!" a little girl's voice screeches and is full of dreadful and determined finality...an ultimatum. I look up the long, steep, high and very marble staircase directly opposite the front door and see this small girl of maybe 3 years at the top. She begins a violent forward swinging motion.
"MAMA...ICH SPRINGE GLEICH!! MAMA...ICH SPRINGE GLEICH!! MAMA..." she mantras like a foiled Cartman. I look back towards the kitchen, expecting to feel the breeze as the mama whizzes past me to get to her daughter.
"Später, Kindchen - hab' jetzt keine Zeit."
"MMMAAARRRGGGHHH-MMMAAAHHH!!!!!!" a terrible, terrible cry but the woman is back to jabbering on the phone. The music on the hoover is turned up. The cat closes the kitchen door.
What about the bloody girl! I sprint up the stairs, skipping every other step, just as she begins a run-up and is about to jump head-first down them.
GOT-YA! I block her vault into doom at the death with my outstretched hands. I am a mite annoyed - how can that mother carry on regardless when her girl is imploring her like that?!
I risk opening my left eye and to my no great surprise discover that it is back where it belongs. I can see properly again and there be no void air where my left cheek should be, seen as that has also returned.
As I ponder back down the stairs I am alertly aware of the only sounds present being my very steps and the odd "humph" from me.
I will never forget the sound of that click as I shut the front door of that house on my way out.
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