Chapter Text
Chapter 1
A thought occurred to me,
Lying underneath the peach tree,
A moment in the sun:
Our little funny lives are so brief,
Our frail little bones
Were here and then were gone.
Paul Landers was standing on the balcony with a cup of coffee and watched the trees in bloom. All over Berlin fruit trees dressed themselves in snowy white and soft pink to celebrate the coming of the spring in their best attire. Gentle April wind carried the smell of flowers to every corner of the city and promised a new start. A new start was what Paul needed, needed very much.
Normally at this morning hour he would be in a rush to his studio to record another album, which some rich daddy bought for his shallow protégé, or to autotune some third-rate shit by some pretty faced boys band till it sounded like music, or, the worst of all, to fabricate a well calculated jingle for a shopping mall. Paul was paid very well for his job, he even received some awards for sound engineering, but he considered himself a skilled craftsman, as far away from art and creativity as an assembly line worker. But today he stood on the balcony, sipped his coffee with milk, and grew stronger and stronger in his decision never to set his foot in that damn studio again.
Normally Paul would talk about all his troubles with his wife, and she would find right words to encourage him to go on with his trade. Arielle was always good with words, and the letter she left him about a week ago would suit in a cheesy paperback love story. Paul could recite it word for word, as it still rang in his mind as an alarm bell.
Dear Paul,
you’ve changed. The fire in you that kept me warm died away and I just can’t rekindle it, no matter how hard I try. I’m sorry to spill it out to you on a paper like a coward, but I can’t look in your sad eyes anymore. Your wrinkles used to be like rays of sunshine, that radiated from your soul. And now they’re just old, crumpled skin. I hope you will understand me, you yourself must have felt that our marriage has become a lament instead of love song. I have met someone who sparks joy in me, and I am happy again. I’m sure you’ll be alright, and your new freedom will give you new courage.
Thank you for everything, Arielle.
When Paul first read this note, written on a piece of expensive paper in Arielle’s artistic handwriting, he thought it was a joke. After all, they really needed to spice things up a little bit. He tried to call her, but her phone appeared to be unavailable. He went to her make up studio, only to discover a hot gossip that she went windsurfing with some mysterious guy. To make things worse, the rumor had it, that the guy was really tall with cleanshaven head which made him incredibly sexy. As if Arielle didn’t laugh enough about Paul’s stubborn unwillingness to shave his bolding head and about his collection of beanies. And the height! It was all a very bad joke.
But as days went by, Paul came to realize that it was true: his wife left him with nothing but a note like in a bad written romance. At first the man carried on with his life as if nothing has changed, the momentum was strong. To the studio, back home, to the studio again, as he did for the past twenty years. After all, when you’re in your late 50s it’s hard to change your ways, even if the circumstances change. But then the weather altered, and grey half-winter gave way to the boisterous spring, a seed of something new was planted in Paul’s soul. Now, as April came to its full potential and peach trees blossomed, the seed sprouted.
Finally, Paul Landers was done with his coffee and took a look at his watch. It was time to go. As he was planning to change his life, he decided to ask for a little help of his friends. His only real friend, to be frank, Flake Lorenz. They knew each other for a lifetime: both came from East Berlin, both spent the most exciting years of their youth in punk bands, both set their hopes high with Neue Deutsche Harte and a band, which name anyone hardly remembered now. But after the failure of their last joint project their professional ways parted. Paul carried on with the music and got back to sound engineering instead of guitar playing. Flake traded his keyboard for a typewriter and became a writer. His power of observation coupled this quick-witted tongue made him one of the best modern authors in Germany, with millions of copies sold and translations to numerous languages.
Paul hoped that a meeting with Flake would help him to plan what to do next with his life, so he came to the café both nervous and excited. But as soon as he saw the lanky features of his fellow, all his worries left him.
- Flake, you old punk, you just don’t age, do you? And don’t buy new clothes, huh? I’ve seen this sweater like 10 years ago. – Paul hugged his friend and immediately felt better.
- Textile industry is safe as long as you indulge to your obsession with hats and scarfs and whatsoever, my friend. – Flake patted the shorter man on the back. – How are you?
The ordinary question sounded so genuinely concerned, yet delicate, that it made Paul appreciate once again how lucky he was to have such a good friend.
- Bewildered, you know. – Paul answered, as they sat down at a table close to the window. A peach tree was growing just outside it, fresh leaves were shivering in a light wind and soft pink petals were carried away, like in a fairytale. – I can’t say that I am angry at Arielle, or that I hate her or want to make her come back. Probably, she was right that we drifted apart a long time ago. I just don’t know what to do now. As if I was walking along a familiar path without really looking around, and now the path came to a crossroad, and I have no idea where to go and where to find courage for a new step…
- Oh, I thought you found courage to join a travelling circus or a gypsy band, judging by your jacket, - Flake interrupted Paul’s rambling with a poker face.
Only the arrival of a waitress saved the café from witnessing a bloody murder. A cup of latte for Paul, a cup of tea with lemon for Flake, and the peace was reestablished.
- I even took out my old guitar, - Paul continued, - I thought playing again might be an outlet. But I guess I’ve become too rusty for playing music after pushing buttons for so long. I feel like the fire in me just died away…
- Too bad, I was just looking for a talented musician for my project.
- Wait, what? Are you planning to have an audio recording of one of your books? I have a wonderful technician who works with this stuff.
- Not really, I need someone to be a composer for my Hollywood movie.
Flake’s face was as inscrutable as ever, just a sly spark danced in his eyes behind the glasses.
- A Hollywood what?! So, I’m sitting here crying on your shoulder about my pointless life and you don’t tell me you’ll have a Hollywood movie!
- Well, you are much more important than any movie. – Flake said seriously and made Paul almost tear with gratefulness. – And I’m telling about it to you now, because, actually, I need your help. And maybe it will help you in your crisis as well.
- For god’s sake, tell me everything!
- Alright, alright, - Flake sipped on his tea and frowned a little at a sour taste of the lemon. – You remember my bestselling novel about the adventures of a punk band in GDR?
- Of course! I laughed out loud reading it and remembering our old days.
- Yes, much of it is inspired by all the crazy stuff we did back then. Anyway, I was contacted by one Hollywood studio that grew very interested in my book and now wants to adopt it for the big screen. It seems like punk in GDR is some sort of exotic stuff for them. It will be a joint production with European studios, so luckily I won’t have to go to America. – Flake sight in relief while Paul was listening eagerly. – The thing is they want an authentic soundtrack and I want you to work on it. Don’t let those capitalists ruin our legacy.
- Flake, that’s so awesome! Congrats!
- Thank you, thank you. But what about the job?
- I’ll be honest with you, - Paul said and Flake nodded, not expecting anything else, - this is an exciting opportunity, a chance of a lifetime. But I’m afraid to let you down, really. I haven’t been composing or even playing for a long long time. What if I fail?
- OK, I see. I don’t accept your decline, but I will give you time to decide. A place to decide.
- What do you mean?
- Paul, my friend, I didn’t want to tell you, but I think Arielle is right. You lost it. The Paul I knew would have jumped in before thinking and would energize everyone around him. But, - Flake added before Paul could interfere, - I want to help. You need a change, you need inspiration, you need to get out of your comfort zone. So here are the keys to my villa on Princes’ islands near Istanbul. Go away, come back and take up the work.
Flake sounded so sure that Paul was lost for words and just took a key.
- You will like this place. I wrote the best parts of my books there. Go pack and see you in a couple of weeks. Now I need to go.
With these words Flake left the table with a half-finished tea, patted still puzzled Paul on the shoulder and walked out of the café.
Paul stayed for a while, fidgeting his cold coffee cup, and looking out of the window without seeing anything. Flake was right, he needed a change. Istanbul? Why not. He used to love oriental hustle of the city before he grew too comfortable in his petty bourgeois lifestyle. It’s settled then. Paul finally rose and left the café. As he stepped out, a petal of a peach flower landed on his shoulder. A new start. Breathing deeply and freely, Paul made his way home to pack, happier and calmer, than he was in a long time.