Ulrike
He sat - legs slightly
apart for more comfort - on a thick towel, sweat streaming down his
face and dripping at his feet. Splick... Splick... Splick... He wiped his
forehead with his other towel. Ulrike had always told him that a
second towel made complete sense when in the sauna and, of course,
Ulrike had known best. Even thirteen years after her death, he still
followed the 'rules' that she had enforced in his life. Ulrike still
knew best.
He looked around. The usuals. The grey-haired, the overweight ("why can't they look after their bodies instead of over-indulging, those lazy good-for-nothings?”), the empty pendulous bosoms, the unkempt pubic hair. All of it was usual. There were of course a few new ones, curious as to what lay beyond the grey, clinical walls outside. Sunday was his sauna day, from 2pm to 4pm, and today was like every other Sunday.
Fifteen minutes on the hourglass. He stood up, gathered his two towels and stepped down the pine benches to ground level. He put on his plastic flip flops, wound his large towel around the lower part of his body and shuffled onto the teak terrace overlooking a local school. Steaming in the cold afternoon air, he breathed in and out deeply and looked at the fallen leaves in the deserted playground. On a weekday, it would be full of screaming children, pushing and shoving each other and doing whatever it is children do. He sat down, opened his flask and poured himself a cup full of steaming black tea. He opened his newspaper, and continued reading an article he had started on the tram about the impact of the credit crisis on German retail industries and the G20 protest marches. Five minutes later, he was back inside; newspaper neatly folded, cup back on the flask.
Seven minutes to the hour. Time to get a comfortable place in the 90-degree sauna for the coming aufguss. He always sat on the second level, not too high ("It's bad for your circulation") and not too low ("You would get no benefit from sitting on the first bench; for amateurs, that's what it is.") and always near the wall. He placed his towel in such a way that he wouldn't touch the wood at all, and settled himself for the five-and-a-half minute wait. More and more people were settling on the benches. He had a trick to ensure that no-one would sit too close: he sprawled his legs and left his towel spread out as much as was socially acceptable. Then, when the aufguss started, he could retract himself and have a decent amount of space around him.
He turned his head slightly towards her, trying not to lean against the pine partition. Her feet were now on the lower bench, revealing her gentle body. He looked closer at her feminine curves. She was rather short, and had a round little belly which made a crease at her waist. Here, tiny beads of sweat collected as they rolled down her milky skin from delicate, upturned breasts. She pulled her knees up towards her chest again and hugged her thighs. Had she realised he was looking? That would be terribly embarrassing. He shifted a little and concentrated on the rhythmic circling of the saunameister's towel.
Ulrike's body had been so different; pragmatic, useful, made to bear the children she had so longed for but who had never come. When his father had died, she had held him, once upon a time, in those strong arms of hers, to comfort him. He thought that she would be there forever; strong, reliable Ulrike. All of that happened so long ago. It was a vague memory, like breathing in the sweet perfume of a flower that has long since wilted and died. Oh, Ulrike, meine Ulrike. How I miss you still.
It was getting hotter and hotter. Sweat was rising in droplets on her back. He wanted to wipe them for her. But that was a fantasy; for he would never allow himself to take such liberties. In fact, he had always restrained himself from carrying out fantasies. Desire was a useless folly and would lead him astray. His heart was beating faster and faster, and the sauna was getting to the point of extreme and intense, pleasurable heat. And then everyone clapped - it was over. People gathered their towels and filed out of the glass door. But she stayed. She lay down, extending her legs. She was so small, so delicate, like a half-seeded dandelion clock. He was afraid a breeze would rush into the sauna if someone opened the door, and she would be dispersed into many light, fluffy seeds.
Then, he realised that he had been in the sauna for 23 minutes. That just would not do.
He opened the door and quickly closed it behind him. He stole a final glance at her through the glass door. One knee was bent, the other leg outstretched. Her eyes were closed. She looked so peaceful, so calm. He sighed, put on his plastic flip flops and shuffled towards the terrace.
Written in 2009, reviewed in 2013.
He looked around. The usuals. The grey-haired, the overweight ("why can't they look after their bodies instead of over-indulging, those lazy good-for-nothings?”), the empty pendulous bosoms, the unkempt pubic hair. All of it was usual. There were of course a few new ones, curious as to what lay beyond the grey, clinical walls outside. Sunday was his sauna day, from 2pm to 4pm, and today was like every other Sunday.
Fifteen minutes on the hourglass. He stood up, gathered his two towels and stepped down the pine benches to ground level. He put on his plastic flip flops, wound his large towel around the lower part of his body and shuffled onto the teak terrace overlooking a local school. Steaming in the cold afternoon air, he breathed in and out deeply and looked at the fallen leaves in the deserted playground. On a weekday, it would be full of screaming children, pushing and shoving each other and doing whatever it is children do. He sat down, opened his flask and poured himself a cup full of steaming black tea. He opened his newspaper, and continued reading an article he had started on the tram about the impact of the credit crisis on German retail industries and the G20 protest marches. Five minutes later, he was back inside; newspaper neatly folded, cup back on the flask.
Seven minutes to the hour. Time to get a comfortable place in the 90-degree sauna for the coming aufguss. He always sat on the second level, not too high ("It's bad for your circulation") and not too low ("You would get no benefit from sitting on the first bench; for amateurs, that's what it is.") and always near the wall. He placed his towel in such a way that he wouldn't touch the wood at all, and settled himself for the five-and-a-half minute wait. More and more people were settling on the benches. He had a trick to ensure that no-one would sit too close: he sprawled his legs and left his towel spread out as much as was socially acceptable. Then, when the aufguss started, he could retract himself and have a decent amount of space around him.
But today something
different happened. She came in just as the aufguss tenderer had placed
his bucket-full of
oils next to the heating apparatus. She looked around, and was ready
to leave when no-one was willing to make space for her.
He moved, slightly to the left, and gestured with his head that she should make her way to the space he was offering. Why had he done it? It was totally out of character; personal space was extremely precious. She slipped onto the bench mouthing a "danke", tied her long hair up and pulled her knees close to her chest. The aufguss had started. The stones sizzled and fizzed the moment the oils were poured on them. Delicate pine and mint aromas floated on the hot air wafting up to his nostrils.
He moved, slightly to the left, and gestured with his head that she should make her way to the space he was offering. Why had he done it? It was totally out of character; personal space was extremely precious. She slipped onto the bench mouthing a "danke", tied her long hair up and pulled her knees close to her chest. The aufguss had started. The stones sizzled and fizzed the moment the oils were poured on them. Delicate pine and mint aromas floated on the hot air wafting up to his nostrils.
He turned his head slightly towards her, trying not to lean against the pine partition. Her feet were now on the lower bench, revealing her gentle body. He looked closer at her feminine curves. She was rather short, and had a round little belly which made a crease at her waist. Here, tiny beads of sweat collected as they rolled down her milky skin from delicate, upturned breasts. She pulled her knees up towards her chest again and hugged her thighs. Had she realised he was looking? That would be terribly embarrassing. He shifted a little and concentrated on the rhythmic circling of the saunameister's towel.
Ulrike's body had been so different; pragmatic, useful, made to bear the children she had so longed for but who had never come. When his father had died, she had held him, once upon a time, in those strong arms of hers, to comfort him. He thought that she would be there forever; strong, reliable Ulrike. All of that happened so long ago. It was a vague memory, like breathing in the sweet perfume of a flower that has long since wilted and died. Oh, Ulrike, meine Ulrike. How I miss you still.
It was getting hotter and hotter. Sweat was rising in droplets on her back. He wanted to wipe them for her. But that was a fantasy; for he would never allow himself to take such liberties. In fact, he had always restrained himself from carrying out fantasies. Desire was a useless folly and would lead him astray. His heart was beating faster and faster, and the sauna was getting to the point of extreme and intense, pleasurable heat. And then everyone clapped - it was over. People gathered their towels and filed out of the glass door. But she stayed. She lay down, extending her legs. She was so small, so delicate, like a half-seeded dandelion clock. He was afraid a breeze would rush into the sauna if someone opened the door, and she would be dispersed into many light, fluffy seeds.
Then, he realised that he had been in the sauna for 23 minutes. That just would not do.
He opened the door and quickly closed it behind him. He stole a final glance at her through the glass door. One knee was bent, the other leg outstretched. Her eyes were closed. She looked so peaceful, so calm. He sighed, put on his plastic flip flops and shuffled towards the terrace.
Written in 2009, reviewed in 2013.
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