Storymania - Seven Days Spain by Elvira Frankenheim

Seven Days Spain (4)
Elvira Frankenheim

I´m watching out for Karl-Heinz, but I can´t locate him anywhere. Some tables further onwards, a very thick and ugly woman squatted with her husband, as well not necessarily any erotic decoration, and along with their two kids. "And that you will behave during this holiday here!" she bosses her son around and the daughter alike then stirs some pound of sugar into her coffee.
Some half an hour later, Dieter and I leave well-fed and in a good temper the dining hall, while the boy finally managed to rip out some bushels of his sister´s hair. In return, she now tries to scratch out his eyeballs, just happily checking out the knives and forks around.

"Hey I know this one! Isn´t it your bosom friend Kitty?" I´m asked by my darling honey pie, while we are approaching the reception counter. Of course it is her. What a coincidence, that plump being is just taking quarters in our hotel. Quietly we steer toward Kitty and I address her smack from the side. Kitty can´t see me coming, as she is filling out the registration form. "Howdy …"

My best friend is shortly puzzled and then falls screaming with joy around my neck. "But, but, but …," she stutters and can´t omit one clear sentence at all. I tell the story, why we´re here at all. I didn´t tell her before, as I plain forgot, to answer her SMS. "Imagine, I met a totally cute guy from Berlin during the transfer here on the bus," she twitters, after having gotten herself together fast again. "A guy from Berlin? What´s his name?" "I´d love to know that myself." "What? You don´t know his name?" "I thought he would ask for my name first, but he didn´t. He´s in the advertisement." Just like Germans. When you meet somebody for the first time, you ask for the profession and then for the name. However Karl-Heinz breaks ranks. Now Kitty notices Dieter. "Oh, hi Didi." "Hi Kitty, you´re here and not in Bollywood?".

We arrange a dinner date with Kitty at one p.m. Around two p.m. her new acquaintance would show up, he was set up in some other hotel in the village, but he would come over to fetch her here. Kitty is looking forward to that rendezvous and is beside herself with joy. Good chance for Kitty finally to tell her single-life good-bye. Dieter once stated concerning those matters: "Either Kitty is going to find some stupid freak soon, which makes her three kids; otherwise you will see her sitting lonely on some park bench some 15 years later. Legs weed spread, skirt drawn up high, so that all can adore her passion killer. Or, when all else fails, she can still go lesbian." The shrink in me is sure, that deep in Kitty sleeps some fragile, slim beauty, but she is keeping her away with the help of loads of chocolate. Of course in the first place she wants to fight the utter frustration about her lonely single life with this shit loads of chocolate. What a vicious circle and of course only some prince charming can save her out of that all.

May 6, 2009 - 9:45 a.m.

When it should be somehow possible, then we will plain stay in this hotel. Shall Dieter takes care of all the other things. He wants to gape again into Mrs. Sackmann´s blouse, anyway. Shall he clear all with her at 11 a.m. I will just happily head off to the beach. Close to the reception, I discuss everything with him. Ok, he stays, and he is going to talk to the tour guide, whether we can stay here until our departure. He will find me at smack at the beach. Dieter is saying Bye-bye to me with some little kisses on my cheeks and runs to the outside. No idea, where he wants to run to.

I just stroll some more through the hotel. At the bar I find Karl-Heinz drinking beer and he looks terrible, like Donald Duck on bird flu. "Hi Karl-Heinz. How are you? Did you already check out the offers of the alcohol department? Again fit as a fiddle?" As an answer, firstly I receive a well cultivated gulp and then he says: "Fit only for a knacker´s yard. Got some plain nice hangover!" That seems to be the starting shot for some further alcoholic escapade. "I see, a nice hangover, I was already guessing so. By the way, what actually are you doing for a living, Karl-Heinz?" "Waiting. Waiting for chances. Waiting for better times to come up." "Ok, means nothing right?" "Yes, exactly!" "And how does one finance one´s holidays that way?" "By making debts." Karl-Heinz is laughing but then gets to the point. "Luckily I have a rich aunt, that on and off helps me out with some little financial injection. But the debts of course, they stay, but I´m rather Mr. Spender." "So that´s the reason you wanna fuck off in the foreign?" "Not really, I´d like to pay my debts." "And what about going to work? Already ever tried?" "Well, going to work isn´t necessarily my hobby-horse." Sloth back - sloth forth. Man has to work, has to do something. To work means, to do something for someone else, everyone has some God-given capacity, knows my father, the only thing, he´d never do, will be indulged in any sweet idleness.

"But I´m still on the search to find the right job. I´m still on the search to find my place in this world." Karl-Heinz orders another beer. "Sometimes for me life can only be understood as wickerwork of never-ending absurdities," cries Karl-Heinz. With a statement as such, during his life crisis my father would have stood up straight on some bar stool and would have donated an endless happy scenic applause for such a counter philosopher in some completely smoky bar.

I hurry to order some Coke. From the sad undertone in his voice, the shrink in me deduces instantly that Karl-Heinz just wants to over cover his insecurities and annoyance with this kind of stupid gibberish. But still better than all the damn crank yards, that constantly have to take out their own inner discontent on others. Another reason to gossip about the life of others, to have some better light cast on oneself.

"Whether or not ever cocaine was a serious ingredient of Coca Cola, will probably stay one of those ever unsolved riddles on this planet," states Karl-Heinz himself, a Karl-Heinz, suddenly a little incarnation of happiness again. "And the thoughts of a woman will always be of a deep mystery for me," he confesses. "A few secrets are a kind of effective aphrodisiacal, too. I´m going to the beach soon. What´s up with you?" "I´ll just drink some little more, I mean, doesn´t cost anything, right? And then I might be going to the pool, armed with some bath towel, and find me to challenge holiday-maker into some serious duel about the last sun chair as such, or something like that." I honor this ill rap with a grin, which I can´t plainly avoid wearing.

To challenge the so called intelligence of Karl-Heinz a little, I ask him about Bucharest. "Bucharest is the capital of Rumania. I know this accidentally." "Right, I nearly forgot," I add and fumble around in my hair. "Though school. Talk about geography, what I say. To read anything was never my cup of tea in general. The most intellectual artifact of any print matters was for a pretty long time a soccer mag. Later I actually did add a dictionary, a Spanish dictionary. Talk about any learning, I´m still able to know all the determined schemes of all Taekwon-Do belt exams right away by heart."

A man dressed up as can, joins us at the bar. A more than captivating smell finds its entrance into my nose, a mix of a very expensive shampoo and exclusive fragrance. He seems to be as old as Dieter and wants to force us into some discussions. "Does anyone know Seville? Have you ever been to Seville?" Neither Karl-Heinz, nor me are able to answer that question. "It´s really beautiful there, really. Seville is the capital of Andalusia and the fourth biggest town of Spain." "Well, exactly there, the Barber invented the hair-do," added Karl-Heinz dryly. The man plain ignores the remark and keeps on lecturing: "Seville is the home of Carmen, Don Giovanni and Don Juan." "And of Donald Duck," adds Karl-Heinz and wants to know: "And what about Don Quixote, the knight of the sad countenance? Didn´t he come from Spain, too?" "Sure enough, but strictly speaking he came from Castilla-La Mancha. However the author wrote his novel in Seville - in jail. Yes, Don Quixote, the incarnation of an antihero. In the end, finally he dies of melancholia." "And I will die of a water lack," fears Karl-Heinz, taking a hearty draft of beer and pose a question. "You really know something about this planet, right?" "I´ve already been to so many countries all over the world," the man ensured us. "Among others like eleven times in the USA," he proudly adds. "But this is only one country," corrects Karl-Heinz and puts a new question. "Have you ever been to New York? - Rio? - Tokyo? This would have been three countries." "I´ve been to New York for the second time, I have once been at the Copacabana and of course I more than adored all the coffee-skinned ladies from Brazil." "Well, you can find hot women everywhere, hmm?" continues Karl-Heinz and starts telling a story.

"Once I knew one in our town, she was some kind of black-haired, and man, she was so utterly hot, she would just plain put her finger into some pot and the water would boil up in a second, you know, like an immersion heater. But she was so damn naive. She married some kind of a dazzler. Could I fool some women, I´d have been already married, but I´m a more than a miserable actor. When I was a kid, I was more than sure, that each and every black-haired woman was some kind of nymphomaniac scorcher. It took me sixteen years to find out that´s right. Listen, this amouros tete-a-tete wasn´t unperilous, that was a close shav." "Why - what did happen?" I get prying. "Well, in the middle of the night, the lover of the black-haired came home. I really didn´t know anything about him, and of course he was as damn welcome as any controller in the tram. He wanted to come to blows, luckily I could escape."

Now it´s again the turn of the well dressed man. "Already next month, I´m going to Denmark. There, I won´t spend any holiday, but I want to have my eye problems taken care of in some private acupuncture praxis." "You go to Denmark? That shows a lot of fantasie. Next month I´m going to my personal quarry pond and will have me bit by as much mosquitoes as can." After this rap, Karl-Heinz orders a slug, of course only with the intention that the beer in his belly doesn´t feel that lonely.

"Are you alone here?" I ask the man, from whom I know neither name nor where he comes from. "I´m married, and this for the second time, but I left this wife back home. My first wife died some seven years ago, she was from the Philippines. After I had my tears dried, three days later, I went on some quest for a new one." "You did get on some plane and flew to Asia, to the islands?" asks Karl-Heinz. "No, I had myself shown the new catalogue." A wife out of a catalogue? What kinds of jokes is this supposed to be?

The man proudly shows off his wristwatch. "Look, a real Rolex. No imitation from Turkey." "Look," says Karl-Heinz and points onto his mouth. "Real teeth, no imitation. No gold teeth." The definitely isn´t losing his calm and keeps on jabbering. Pride back - pride forth. Pride is nothing but the crutch of the insecure.

I´m not at all any happy listener, it plain sucks. My inner deft of enthusiasm simply tells me to fuck off. I´d love to chill out this beautiful morning at some undisturbed place, and thus I tell the two good-bye. Ascend to my room, to pack all and everything for some serious sunbathing. A person that buys a bride, is more than suspect to me. Alike Disaster Detlef´s sister. My sister told me stories about her. She had a very suspect cleaning pratice. With a cleaning rag the dishes were washed, the bathtub and the cat litter pan were cleaned, but chronologically seen in the converse sequence.

May 6, 2009 - 10:00 a.m.

Wearing flip-flops I dilly-dally in some long white cotton trousers and in some still pink flowery H&M-top from our hotel to the beach. For a short while, I´m escorted by a bunch of tiny insects that whirr around my head. I don´t need more than a quarter of an hour to get to the bayou of Cala Marsal. The bay claims to have received its name from this hotel, which is only separated by some road from the beach. Just about as if the metropolis Istanbul has been straight named after this little joint with this arbitrary delicious doner kebab. Or like a prison wing named after Disaster Detlef. For some convict, this has the same significance, as if some artist is honored with a star on the Walk of Fame.

To find some free little spot isn´t that hard, and it´s early and its more than early season anyway. I get this big towel out of my beach bag and spread it. Then I take off my trousers and top and get comfy. Well, here I go, lying on my back in some yellow bikini and think about my future, well, with the result that things never turn out the way you expect. Right, Mr. Columbus? Man proposes, God disposes. These pieces of wisdom should be well known. Why is that so? Men who love God, like my father, are more than sure that God always has some better plan in the back, then the one you expect. But again, it is a question of time, when this becomes clear to you. This can take some weeks, months, years, or, well, a whole life. Sometimes this will never be clear to you, well; the ways of the master are more than unfathomable. This is nearly like, well, if men would have to understand all and everything that goes on in the head of the girls, they´d never find any end.

On my right hand side I observe two boys. One of them lies on his belly and has a more than an attractive body. His face, I can´t recognize it at all. I´m asking myself seriously, will this face look like what the body promises? His fat friend seems to be the total opposite of him. He lies there like some sort of stranded whale and additionally he looks bad, another of those horrifying mutants of this species man.

On my left hand side, in some distance, two German girls take their bikini tops off. I discover above the backside of one girl a tattoo like the antlers of an elk. The other with the thick bells wears some G-string. When she has something between her teeth, she still can make use of her thong, being as thin as some dental floss. Topless isn´t anything for me. Better some snow-white tits, that will be tenderly massaged by some man, than this burned brown tits, that nobody cares about that are only an object for horny men´s eyes or envious lady´s eyes. Envy back - envy forth. I´m very proud of my optimized bust size, as nature, sorry God, really meant it well with me. Though my breasts are surely still underlying gravity, too. My sister always says: Time is poison for the beauty of a woman.

Meanwhile the whale with the ugly mug sat up. Now he starts to smoke, is drawn with the despair of some crack junkie his cigarette and focuses hard on me. Probably he hopes that I would spend alittle time of my holidays in his bed.

Only some very few had the pleasure of ever seeing my breasts naked. I should have never shown them to my last lover. After a broken relationship I immediately started up a new one but without thinking. It was plain frigid love at first sight. That´s my dream boy, into all eternity, that was exactly my emotion. But feelings often lie and love is blind, anyway. But when my eyes were suddenly popping open some four weeks later, what a damn frigid idiot I got fooled by, then all and everything was already over anyway. As fast as I could, I broke away from this guy, who reduces women to their tits, ass and legs. Apart from that, he thought himself to be completely irresistible. An opinion that he seems to own the exclusive rights for.

Many men do actually cough up some kind of gentleman like behavior, when they are on a women hunt. But as soon as they got what they want, it´s like some mask dropping and they don´t hide any longer. As soon as the little meow is purring in its cage, any mimicry for the hunter is completely overdue. His real identity is now revealed clearly.

Dieter on the other hand, is completely different, he understands, is sensitive and more than passionate. This mix is really kind of extraordinary. Feelings don´t lie that´s the contents of many German pop songs. Given the idea, feelings wouldn´t lie, my father always explained to me, he would have long been a millionaire, with all his bets in horse racing. One should definitely separate between some kind of inner sureness and some feeling. A feeling is more or less vanishing as fast as it comes up. True love isn´t based on any emotions. My father knows, someone who obeys his feelings, is someone without any principles.

Oh yes, there was Tim, my first real boyfriend. Tim was the first boy that ever popped his tongue into my mouth. Well of course he would have loved to pop something else into some other parts of my body, too, but I didn´t let him, in those days back yonder. I broke away from him, when he started to make out with Caro; at those times she was my best friend and at the same time my worst rival ever. The day, that Caro for the first time met my Tim wild style, she lost three things in one go: her tongue piercing, her innocence and me being her friend. But this is already quite a while ago and I was pretty starry-eyed and innocent then. A woman does lose her ability in a certain age to give birth to kids, but her naiveté, she´ll never completely lose. By the way, today Caro earns her full living with fellatio. Let´s drop that subject.

The sun was burning onto my skin and it is time to cream myself. My belly button turned blast furnace and it won´t take too long, till the piercing will turned fluid. I straighten up and grasp the sunscreen and start right away. While I smear that shit all over me, I take some short look to my left. He comes straight up to me, but he doesn´t see me. Bruce Willis, at least his twenty years younger version. This time he doesn´t wear any black trousers, but a T-shirt in black. He doesn´t see me, because his eyes suck themselves deep into the two topless gals. Now he spots me and focuses on me. He smiles at me. He´s coming my direction. My heart starts to beat hart.

"May I help you?" Oh holy shit, no Englishman! Well, he is defiantly lacking the can of beer in his hand. Where can he be of any help? Ok, the art of smearing the shit all over, applying suntan lotion, wasn´t hard to guess, what I´m doing right now. Mh-hm... Why not? He can help me with some back rubs. When Dieter has this friggin’ tour guide fumble his ass, then well, I can have that guy easily grease me up, back wise. Why not?

"My name is Jack and I´m from Manchester. What´s your name?" Yet another! Sadly, the global warming still hasn´t lead to any subtropical climate on the British islands, so that the Englishman would be able to plain forget about any holidays at the Mediterranean. I tell him my name and Jack in black wants more basic data. "You´re from Russia, aren´t you?" "No, I´m deutsch ... from Germany." I´m mumbling. "Oh, beautiful German girl. Give me the sunscreen." He squats down next to me and I hand him the bottle over and he is bloting some onto my shoulders.

"Do you wanna ride my cock tonight?" Eh? What is this supposed to mean? What the friggin hell shall I do tonight? Ride my cock? Cock? I think a cock was one animal on Old MacDonald´s farm. This English nursery rhyme is well known in Germany. My last English class has been quite some while ago, I do need some coaching and thus I will actually ask him for the meaning. "Eh ... Jack? What is the meaning of to ride a cock?" I hadn´t registered at all, that Karl-Heinz joined us and he overheard the conversation. "Who are you?" Jack wants to know. He asks that rather unfriendly, as he feels totally disturbed in his undertakings buys Karl-Heinz´ presence.

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