Your Perfect Year(85)

“Asshole!” she yelled as she grabbed a framed photo of Simon and herself, which had been standing on the bureau by the sofa. She smashed it against a wall with all her might. “You great big damn asshole! How could you do this to me?”

She stamped her foot, screamed “Asshole!” again, this time so loudly that she feared the neighbors would come ring the bell. How could Simon have done this to her? However scared he had been, however worried that she would suffer the same fate as his mother, this was unfair.

It was unfair because it had robbed Hannah of the chance at least to say goodbye to him. At least to hold his hand one last time, to take him in her arms and tell him everything she had wanted to tell him. He had simply walked away and left Hannah speechless with a ridiculous letter and the remark that his love was not enough for him to carry on? Aaaargh!

Hannah’s eyes fell on the car keys on the bureau next to the documents. Simon’s Mustang. His sacred relic.

She grabbed the keys, stormed out of the apartment, and was downstairs by the car a moment later. At first she wanted to destroy it, to smash the headlights, snap off the windshield wipers, break the mirrors, drag the key along the dark-red paint with a screeching noise and leave deep, scratched scars. As deep and sharp edged as the cracks in her heart.

But then she came to her senses. Breathing deeply, she stood by the Mustang as calm gradually descended on her. She had ranted and raved enough, given herself sufficient release. Instead of reducing the car to scrap, she got in and started the engine.

She had other plans for Simon’s treasured possession.





43

Jonathan

Monday, January 15, 8:33 a.m.

It was incredible. No sooner had Jonathan decided on his plan of talking with his father than his intention was validated by the mysterious diary.

We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.

Albert Einstein

This quote headed the entry for today, and Jonathan found himself nodding in agreement as he read it. He also liked the rest of the text:

Today, do the exact opposite of what you normally do. And look forward to seeing what happens as a result. Change means changing your ways—only by so doing can you have new experiences that may surprise you. Make a break with your habits, test yourself, expand your horizons! If you usually hold the phone in your right hand, use your left. Do your shopping in a different supermarket and buy different brands, take the bus instead of the car, be particularly friendly to people who usually irritate you. If you eat out, order food you don’t usually eat. Experience the world around you as something completely new, as though you were a different person and not yourself. Enjoy!

P.S. And since our dear Mr. Einstein has said so many wise things on the subject that I really couldn’t decide which to use, here’s a second quote from the master of relativity: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Jonathan laughed and shook his head. He had never seen it like that, but it was so true. It was insanity!

Most people did the same things over and over, following their habitual paths and always being surprised at the end that they yielded the same results. Jonathan himself was no exception. It was only since he’d found the diary that his life had become filled with unusual happenings.

Sarasvati, Leopold, playing tennis with Markus Bode, and, not least, the Sebastian Fitzek reading that he would never normally have attended: he had, in fact, been doing exactly what the Filofax was exhorting him to do today—it was just that he had been unaware of it.

So today, he would have that conversation with his father. He had felt a slight fluttering in his stomach when he considered revealing to his old man that Grief & Son Books was experiencing a few difficulties, forcing him to look for new solutions. But now he saw that it was the right thing at least to try.

What was the worst that could happen? The most probable outcome would be that Wolfgang Grief wouldn’t be able to follow what his son told him, and Jonathan would ultimately be no wiser than before.

After having breakfast, showering, and getting dressed, Jonathan picked up his briefcase, along with the diary and his car keys, ready to head for the Sonnenhof on the Elbchaussee.

Out in the driveway, he clicked open the doors of his Saab and was about to get behind the wheel when he paused. The diary had suggested he go by public transport today. If he got into his car now, it would mean disobeying the instruction, so he dropped his car keys into his coat pocket and marched off on foot.

A few minutes later, he realized he had no idea where he was going, since he had not been on a bus or U-Bahn train since he was a boy. Why would he have? He had a car, so there was no reason to bother with Hamburg’s public transportation.

He didn’t know how to get from Innocentia Park to the Elbchaussee. He only knew it was quite a distance, one that took him half an hour with his own four wheels. How long would the door-to-door journey take if he caught a bus? At least an hour, for sure. That would be a waste of time, wouldn’t it? And Jonathan had a pathological dislike of waste in every aspect of his life.

He went back to his car. In this, he would just have to ignore the recommendation of the Filofax, since he didn’t have time to waste.

Once again, he clicked open the doors—but paused again. Hmm. It didn’t feel right, as if he were doing something forbidden. As if he were about to drive away without a license (which, of course, he would never, ever do). Click. He locked the car, turned, and walked back down the street.