Chapter 9

When Erik entered the room, Felix was on the phone.

To someone like Erik, who barely understood any foreign languages, French sounded like someone reluctantly mumbling a few words because they were too lazy to speak, occasionally gasping for breath. So when he first heard the phrase “French is the most beautiful language,” he almost burst out laughing, thinking the French were shameless to the core. But now, hearing Felix speak the language, he suddenly felt that the statement wasn’t so laughable after all.

Felix turned his gaze toward Erik, smiled, and raised a hand, making a “five minutes” gesture, then continued whispering into the phone.

Most of the time, it was the person on the other end of the line who was speaking, with Felix only occasionally interjecting a word or two. His tone was soft and sweet, each syllable seeming to carry an endless charm, especially the breathy pronunciations—utterly enchanting. If it weren’t for the fact that eavesdropping on someone’s phone call and staring at them were both considered extremely rude, Erik would have wanted to step closer to not miss a single word that came from those lips.

“Oui, bien. Je t’aime aussi*,” Felix said.

Erik understood part of that sentence—the part that all Europeans knew. For a moment, a strange feeling gripped him, and he uncontrollably turned his head away, no longer looking in Felix’s direction. It took him a while to realize what it was: a feeling that was far from noble. He was jealous (or envious) of the person on the other end of the line and the ear that had heard those words—the soft voice whispering them close by.

Following this thought, shame and disbelief flooded his mind. Why was he feeling this way? It was ridiculous. Felix was just a temporary guest here. They weren’t even friends—he hadn’t even known him for thirty hours yet.

Felix said something else, quick and urgent. Then he hung up the phone and turned to Erik.

“Hi, you’re back?”

“Were you talking to a lover?”

The words slipped out before Erik could stop himself, and he immediately wanted to bite his tongue.

Felix paused, then laughed. “No, it was my mom,” he said lightly. “A runaway kid needs to check in with his mommy.”

Erik wanted to say something in response to the joke, but it was impossible. Words were never his strong suit, and in front of Felix, he always seemed to struggle to find the right ones.

“Seriously, what’s your deal?” Felix raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Do you think someone with a lover would be wandering aimlessly around the countryside alone on a long weekend?”

Erik felt his ears burning and was desperate to change the subject to divert attention from that stupid remark. Fortunately, he immediately noticed something else.

“Felix, what happened to your hair?… Did you cut it?”

He remembered Felix’s hair had been a rather unusual style before, shoulder-length with the bottom few inches dyed black. Now it was a neat, short cut, pure golden without a trace of anything else.

“I found a shop in town and had it cut,” Felix said, touching his temple. “‘Wilhelm and Partner’ or something.”

“‘Wilhelm and Partner’!” Erik was surprised. “That’s the hardest place to book in town. They actually cut your hair without an appointment? How did you manage that?”

“Oh, I didn’t plan to go there. I cut my hair myself first, but it turned out so bad it looked like it had been chewed by a goat,” Felix said nonchalantly. “So I had to go to the barbershop and beg them to fix it. They refused at first, saying you had to book in advance, but then they gave in—probably because I was sitting on their doorstep with such a terrible haircut, looking so pitiful that they were worried passersby would think they were the ones who ruined it.” His green eyes sparkled with mischief.

Erik couldn’t help but laugh. The feeling of embarrassment dissipated.

“Who cut it for you? Wilhelm or Hans?”

“Hans, the short one. I think he did a great job.”

“Lucky you! He’s never cut my hair. I don’t know why I can never get an appointment with him.”

Felix gave him a strange look. “You’ll never get an appointment with him. You’re on their blacklist.”

“What?”

“Of course, I’m joking. Hans thinks you’re a nice guy.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “He even recommended the shop you usually go to, and I bought two outfits there.”

“Did you have lunch at the Italian restaurant I told you about?”

“No. I didn’t make it to the restaurant before I got a call and had to handle something urgent for work, so I bought a sandwich at the bakery and came back here.” Felix pointed to the desk behind him. “Sorry for using your computer.”

“Oh, no problem,” Erik said. “I told you, you can use anything here.” It’s not going to be my home much longer anyway.

“After I finished, I just listened to music and surfed the web here, watching the squirrels in the yard.” He gestured toward the fir tree outside the window. “Erik, have you ever climbed down from that tree?”

Erik had never considered the possibility. “No,” he said, walking over to the desk and examining the tree close to the window. “It seems possible… no, I don’t think so. You’d fall. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re someone who lives in a climbing gym,” Felix said. “By the way, if I were you, I’d change the photo on the homepage.”

“What photo?”

Only then did he notice that the computer screen on the desk was open to their climbing gym’s website. Against a dark green background, under the words “Fritz and Friends’ Little Corner of the World,” was a blurry photo: himself wearing a helmet, a gray jacket, and sweatpants, standing next to Fritz in the same outfit, both of them smiling brightly.

Erik didn’t know why Fritz had chosen this old photo for their website’s homepage, but of course, he hadn’t objected—Fritz had been the one managing the site. He could only guess that the photo held special significance for his stepfather: at the time, he was attending a climbing summer camp at the gym, and his mother often came to watch their training. During one break, she had taken this photo—it was probably the most harmonious period for the three of them. On the other hand, in the photo, he was only thirteen, still undeveloped in height, and standing next to the robust Fritz, he looked very much like “dear old dad and his precious big boy.” Later, he quickly grew to a height where he could easily look down on Fritz’s head, and the resemblance faded.

“I think you should redesign the website, get rid of this outdated photo,” Felix said, looking at the picture. “And post a bunch of your current photos and your Instagram handle: you’re good-looking and stylish, it’ll definitely attract more customers.”

“I don’t have an Instagram account,” Erik said. “And it’s not necessary anyway, the gym’s already closed.”

“Why not keep it going? Aren’t you the heir?”

“I am, but not the only heir,” Erik replied.

So he told Felix all about Fritz’s will, the legal inheritance rights, and the fate of the climbing gym. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but once he started, he naturally recounted everything from beginning to end. Felix had a calm demeanor, perhaps because it didn’t concern him, and he simply listened attentively, occasionally interjecting a word or two; he also didn’t express the sympathy or pity Erik had feared.

“What are you planning to do next?” Felix asked.

“Try to sell the gym. There’s another climbing center west of town, much bigger than this one. I’m going to ask if they’re interested in buying this as a branch. If they’re not, I’ll have to sell it to a real estate agent, and it might be torn down or rebuilt into something else.”

“Erik, I mean you—what about you?”

“I don’t know yet. I have some odd jobs, commissions from the climbers’ association and the mountaineering club, leading outdoor groups and training programs. I also teach beginner classes at the climbing center and give private lessons. If the money from selling the gym is enough, maybe I can buy a small apartment on installments… if not, it’s fine.” He looked down at his hands. Strong, thick fingers, some with climbing tape wrapped around the knuckles. “There’s always a way.”

Felix looked at him. “But losing the gym is really hard for you.”

“Yes,” Erik forced a smile. He didn’t know why Felix always hit the nail on the head.

“I’ve been here since I was fourteen. All these years, it feels like everything I’ve done has been for it… I don’t know what to do without it.”

“Erik, you’re a certified climbing instructor, right?”

“Yes, I have both top-rope and lead climbing certifications.”

“Have you ever thought,” Felix said, “that maybe you could go somewhere else?”

“I don’t know,” Erik said hesitantly. “… I don’t think so. I like it here.”

“Have you been anywhere else? I mean, farther than Stuttgart?”

“I’ve only been to Berlin once, and Salzburg, on a school trip,” Erik said. “We rarely traveled—when the gym was open, there were no vacations.”

“So you’ve only ever lived here?”

“I wasn’t born here. Before—when it was just my mom and me—we lived south of the Danube. We moved here because I changed schools, and there was no bus from where we lived to the new school,” Erik said.

“But the climbing gym feels like my first home. When I was a kid, we were always moving around, but here we finally settled down: I had a school and teachers I liked, good friends, lots of mountains and forests, and the climbing gym—Fritz always said the gym would be mine someday. I thought…”

He shuddered, suddenly aware of the resentment he harbored deep down toward the deceased: Fritz had chosen to end his life without sorting everything out, leaving him, Diana, and everyone else without the gym, without jobs, without the central purpose that had supported them for so many years.

Erik shook his head. It wasn’t right to blame Fritz. And thinking about it now was pointless: the decision had been made. He checked his watch and decided to change the subject.

“Felix, I’m heading to the climbing center in town at six to teach a class. Do you want to come? You can hang out there for a bit if you’re interested in climbing.”

“I think I’ll give it a try,” Felix said, glancing at the screen again. “I was a member of the climbers’ association in high school. But I stopped for a long time and only recently started practicing again.”

“There’s a great pizza place next door. We can have dinner there after I finish work.”

“Sounds good,” Felix said. He reached out to turn off the computer monitor but stopped.

“Erik, why is the default browser setting on your computer in accessibility mode?”

Erik felt a pang of annoyance. He had just managed to end one unpleasant topic, only to run headlong into another. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide these things from Felix, but discussing them wouldn’t help. He had too many difficulties and troubles. And the time he could spend with Felix was so precious—why waste it on these matters?

Felix cut straight to the point: “Is there something wrong with your eyes?”

“No, it’s not my eyes,” Erik said. “I have dyslexia**.”

He sat down at the desk, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote his name on it. ERIK BERGMANN. Each letter was written large and spaced out. “See, they have to be at least this far apart for me to understand them at a glance, otherwise they’ll just tangle together in my vision and mind,” he explained. “When I’m reading something simple, I’ve learned to memorize it—like a picture—and then slowly spell it out word by word in my head. But reading long passages is still difficult. So when I’m browsing regular websites, I use accessibility mode—it’s much faster than reading it myself.”

“I see,” Felix said. “Have you had this problem since you were a kid?”

“Yes. It was worse when I was younger—I could barely read anything, and I spent a few years in community school without learning a thing. Later, I went to a special learning center and slowly learned to read and write.”

“Is that why you transferred schools?”

“Yes.”

“That must have been hard—being in community school before that?”

“A little,” he admitted. “It wasn’t too bad. Some of the kids at the community school weren’t very nice… they kept calling me an idiot and making fun of me for not being able to write my own name. Of course, I was pretty slow back then.”

“You’re not slow at all,” Felix said. “I’ve been in community school too, so I know what it’s like. There are always some bratty kids who bully others just because they have a slight advantage.” His green eyes darkened with a shadow of gloom.

Felix must have had similar experiences. Erik thought. He could easily imagine it: a boy as delicate and beautiful as a porcelain doll would be the easiest target for teasing and bullying in a mixed-age community school.

“At least we all grew up safely,” he said. He looked at Felix’s hand gripping the edge of the desk, wanting to hold it to show understanding, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

“You should’ve beaten them up—they’d learn to shut up,” Felix said.

Erik smiled at him. “Fighting isn’t the answer,” he said, deliberately lightening his tone. “Winning wouldn’t make them think I’m smart. Besides, I was really small back then—I probably couldn’t beat anyone.”

“It’s not about winning—you have to make them hurt. Even the worst jerks are afraid of pain,” Felix said coldly. “Just use all your strength and aim for the spots that hurt the most. Once they think you’re a bit crazy, they won’t dare do anything.—No one messes with a madman.”

He stopped, as if suddenly realizing something.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t judge you by my standards. My thinking is often extreme.—I’ve always been a problem child.” He tilted his head and gave him a radiant smile. His voice returned to its usual tone: light, cheerful, with a hint of soft mockery.

The smile left Erik feeling confused and flustered. He tried to focus his gaze on Felix’s eyes rather than the curve of his lips—after the bizarre experience of the previous night, he found it hard to look at those beautiful lips without his imagination running wild—but the green eyes were equally unsettling. Felix leaned against the desk beside him, so close that Erik only needed to reach out to pull him into his arms… The thought made him restless, but he couldn’t banish it from his mind.

“…I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” he said softly.

“Yesterday you thought I was a runaway delinquent,” Felix said, the mockery in his smile deepening.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” Erik repeated quietly but firmly.

He looked into Felix’s eyes. Translucent green irises like verdigris—not long ago, he’d seen them glistening with water… His breath hitched, and he desperately pushed the image that rose in his mind aside: Felix in his arms, his damp cheek pressed against his neck and chest.

Felix looked at him without speaking. The air in the room suddenly became unbearably thick.

“Everyone has some problems, me included,” Erik added, somewhat awkwardly.

“Completely different.—You have no idea what it’s like,” Felix said. He tapped the desk lightly with a finger. “Honestly, Erik, I think you have some mistaken feelings about me,” he said thoughtfully, looking at him.

Erik’s heart raced.—What did he mean?

“What?”

“You like me,” Felix said. “Far more than I deserve.”

Erik’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat. He couldn’t speak. The words had cast a spell, pinning him to the chair, waiting for what would come next.

“People don’t invite complete strangers to stay overnight unless they really like them,” Felix said calmly, the corners of his mouth still carrying that light, mocking smile. “You like me, you trust me. It makes me feel a bit embarrassed. Because you’re a good guy—the kind of good that’s obvious at a glance—and I’m not: I have a lot of bad intentions. If you’ll allow me to be more candid, I don’t want to be the kind of friend you confide in. I’ve told you about my anxiety issues. In my experience, people are afraid of those with mental health problems, even minor ones are enough to make them keep their distance. But even that didn’t make you wary, didn’t make you keep your guard up around me.”

“Why should I be wary of you?” Erik finally found his voice. “What can you take from me? I have nothing to lose. And I’m much stronger than you.”

“You’re stronger, but you’re soft-hearted and completely unguarded,” Felix said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if stating a universally known truth. “Your computer and phone don’t even have passcodes. Don’t forget, I study communications technology: I could easily deceive you, steal from you, or hurt you.”

A chill ran down Erik’s spine. He realized Felix wasn’t joking: he really could.

—But why would he say that?

“You wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“You have no idea what I’d do,” Felix said. “You don’t know me at all.”

A sudden surge of anger flooded Erik’s chest. He stood up abruptly.

“You’re trying to scare me,” he said, looking down at Felix, his chest heaving. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. If you don’t want to stay here, you can just leave.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” Felix said. “Of course I want to stay here. Very much.”

Erik stared at him. It felt like every word Felix said could tie his stomach in knots and stop his breath.

“I want to go to the climbing center with you tonight, like you suggested. I also want to go to ‘Huangyan’ with you tomorrow, climb the mountain, and retrieve the gear you left there. I like it here, I want to stay with you all weekend. That’s why I think it’s better to be upfront: Erik, you can’t assume someone is a good person who needs your help just because they broke down crying in your arms once.—I’m not that kind of person. Your unconditional kindness is completely misplaced here: it makes me very uncomfortable.”

His green eyes met Erik’s gaze without flinching.

“…What do you want me to do?” Erik asked.

“Treat me normally, like anyone else you’ve just met. Don’t try to help me out of some misguided sense of obligation, and don’t say things that make it seem like you understand me,” Felix said. “Listen, I’m happy to pay for my food and lodging—that would make me feel more comfortable.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Alright, no money,” Felix smiled. “Can I stay, Erik?”

Erik stared at him for a few seconds, then looked away. For a moment, it felt like multiple voices were shouting in his head. He really wanted to tell him to leave immediately, to get out of this warm, cozy room, out of this small town in the Swabian Alps, out of Erik Bergmann’s life, and never come back.

“…Of course you can stay,” he heard himself say weakly.

“Thank you,” Felix said.

“—Now, would you like some honey cookies before you go to work?”