12. The Invited Guest
The Invited Guest
The fluorescent lights cast a harsh, cold white glow across the floor. Wet, smeared footprints clung to the rough tiles. Beyond the glass storefront, rain lashed relentlessly against the windows.
The metallic rattle of shopping cart wheels echoed through the aisles.
Nadja was about to reach for a basket when a wire cart rolled up close beside her. Karl gripped the handlebar and pushed forward as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You don’t have to follow me so closely.”
“I’m just pushing the cart.”
Nadja didn’t answer. She pulled the list from her jacket pocket and smoothed it across her palm.
It was short: eggs, spinach, cold cuts, coffee, laundry detergent.
Things so ordinary that merely looking at them irritated Nadja even more.
She stopped in front of the produce section, let her gaze move over the little white price tags, and compared a fresh bunch of spinach with the cheaper package whose leaves already looked slightly wilted beneath the plastic.
Karl stared at the list in her hand. Before Nadja could decide, he reached for the plastic-wrapped package with the yellow discount sticker and tossed it carelessly into the cart.
Nadja looked at him. Karl simply pushed the cart onward.
At the refrigerated cold-cut case, she stopped again. Her fingers touched the edge of the more expensive package, then recoiled when she saw the price on the label.
A tiny movement. Barely worth noticing.
But Karl noticed. He tapped the discounted package on the shelf below. “That’ll do.”
Without waiting for her answer, he picked it up and tossed it into the cart.
Nadja pressed her lips together. Her hand involuntarily crumpled the grocery list, but she continued in silence.
The metal cart turned into the final aisle. Karl reached for a jug of cheap store-brand laundry detergent and a plain package of ground coffee with no fancy branding.
Everything was on her list. Everything was exactly what she herself would have chosen because of their financial situation.
“Do you do this often — buying groceries for other men’s wives?” Nadja asked without fully unclenching her teeth.
Karl placed both hands on the cart handle. One corner of his mouth barely lifted.
“No,” he said. “I just want to make something up to your husband.”
Nadja clenched her jaw. She turned her head away so she wouldn’t have to look at his disgusting, self-satisfied face anymore.
The produce display stood at the end of the aisle, covered in a fine mist from the sprayers. The air was colder and damper here, heavy with the smell of wet greens and plastic.
Nadja picked up a cucumber from the bin.
The moment she lifted it, a rough old arm reached over her shoulder. Karl picked up another one. Noticeably thicker. Longer. Slightly curved.
He held it provocatively right in front of her eyes, then dropped it into the cart. “This one suits you better.”
Nadja froze. At first, the remark didn’t fully register. It sounded too casual, as though he really were only talking about vegetables.
Only a few seconds later did the filthy double meaning crawl into her mind. Her fingers clenched around the cucumber in her hand.
Karl’s face remained completely still. Only the right corner of his mouth twitched almost invisibly upward.
With a sharp clack, Nadja threw the cucumber in her hand back into the display. Then she aggressively grabbed another one—a pathetic, short cucumber barely longer than her palm—and hurled it hard into the cart.
Karl looked down at the small vegetable now lying among the other groceries. He didn’t say a word. But the faint, filthy grin on his lips was more humiliating than any remark could have been.
They moved on to the refrigerated meat section.
Karl’s hand slid across the chilled shelf and picked up a package of thick, heavy sausages. He held it between two fingers and looked at Nadja with outrageous innocence. “You always go for the modest things, Mrs. Keller.”
Nadja spun toward him. Her jaw tightened hard. “Do you want me to leave you standing here?”
Karl raised both hands to chest height in surrender. “I’ll be quiet.” But the greasy smile remained.
The cart rolled onward toward the breakfast foods. Nadja didn’t look at him again. She picked up a loaf of whole-grain bread, two packages of smoked cheese, and three trays of raw meat with bloody liquid already gathering in the corners beneath the plastic wrap.
Karl stared at the packages. “For Mr. Keller?”
Nadja remained silent. Her lips were pressed into a thin white line.
Karl said nothing either. He took the meat and cheese from her hands, turned the packages over, and arranged them neatly in one corner of the cart beside the cheap spinach.
This silent gesture was, in that moment, almost harder to bear than his dirty remarks. It gave Nadja the revolting feeling that he was inserting himself into her life far too naturally.
She looked down at the crumpled list in her hand. There was nothing left on it. “Checkout,” she said curtly.
Karl obediently pushed the cart behind her. The metal wheels rattled through the cold, glaring aisles, past shelves of bread and canned goods, toward the brightly lit checkout area.
Register three. The middle-aged cashier glanced at them only briefly, then looked back down. With practiced motions, she passed the groceries over the scanner.
Beep. Beep.
The purchases piled up on the counter. Behind Nadja, three more customers were already packed close together. The nose of the next shopping cart bumped lightly against her calf. Not painful. But impatient enough to remind her that people were waiting.
Nadja inserted her Visa card into the reader. A shrill beep sounded. The LED flashed red.
The small screen displayed the unforgiving message: TRANSACTION DECLINED.
She yanked the card out. Inserted it again.
Beep. Red light.
Nadja’s stomach cramped painfully. For a fraction of a second, she remembered the envelope from the bank that had been lying on Markus’s desk a few days ago. A white letter with the unmistakable logo, which he had quickly shoved facedown beneath a stack of electric bills.
Then the notification that had lit up on his screen during dinner: Credit card over limit. Please make payment.
She had asked him about it. Markus had only waved her off irritably. He would take care of it right away.
That was what he always said. It had never occurred to her that her supplementary card would be blocked too. And certainly not now. Here. In front of Karl Seifert. At an overcrowded grocery-store register while a line of irritated strangers breathed down her neck.
Nadja tried a third time. Her fingertips were damp with cold sweat.
Beep. CARD NOT AUTHORIZED.
The man directly behind her exhaled loudly and irritably through his nose. His shopping cart jerked forward and bumped her calf again.
The cashier pressed her lips together impatiently. “Do you have another way to pay? There are people waiting behind you.”
Her voice was sharp and loud enough that several heads in the line craned forward with curiosity. Heat flooded Nadja’s face.
With trembling fingers, she tore open her leather wallet.
There were only three copper cents in the coin compartment and a single small bill lost among the leather folds.
Her hands frantically searched her jacket pockets, scraping across the empty lining even though she knew perfectly well there was nothing there.
Hot shame crept up her throat. She knew they were broke, but her hands kept searching desperately anyway.
Markus again. Something else he had supposedly taken care of. Once again, he had left her hanging without warning—in public, right in front of this filthy old man who was watching everything.
Karl stepped half a pace forward. He pulled a worn, greasy-shined leather wallet from his back pocket. His rough fingers drew out a thick wad of bills and slapped it down on the plastic counter with a dull thud.
“I’ll pay.”
Nadja spun toward him. She wanted to say, No need. But the money was already there.
Karl didn’t even look at her. His gaze bored straight into the cashier.
The woman blinked in irritation. She stared at the bills. Then up at Karl’s grim face. Finally, her gaze slid mockingly sideways toward Nadja’s dark red cheeks.
A muscle twitched in her jaw, and one corner of her mouth curled upward in contempt. “Oh.” She drew the word out with obvious pleasure. “How practical these days. When you’re young and pretty, there’s always some man willing to keep you.”
The air around the register seemed to freeze instantly.
Karl snapped his head up. His small eyes narrowed into dull slits. His right hand came down heavily on the edge of the counter. His knuckles showed white beneath the parchment-thin skin.
“What did you just say?”
His voice was loud, raw, and deep—as though he were one second away from dragging the woman across the conveyor belt. The naked aggression in his posture made the cashier immediately go rigid.
Nadja instinctively grabbed Karl’s wrist. “We’re leaving.”
Karl didn’t move. His gaze remained deadly on the cashier.
Nadja squeezed harder. Her fingernails dug painfully into his rough skin. She barely shook her head, but her tone allowed no argument. “Go.”
An endless second passed. Then Karl tore his hand away from the edge of the register. He grabbed the change and shoved it carelessly into his pocket.
No one said another word.
Nadja lowered her head and mechanically packed the groceries into the cloth bags. Her neck was stiff. The back of it burned like fire, as though every stare in the store had eaten its way into her skin.
Rain hammered heavily against the windshield.
The full grocery bags took up the entire back seat. Inside the old car hung a suffocating mixture of cold cigarette smoke, damp upholstery, and rainwater from their jackets.
“I’ll pay you back.” Nadja’s voice came quietly from her throat.
“Yes.” The syllable fell like a stone.
Karl put the car in gear. The Opel Corsa jerked and pulled out of the parking space. The tires cut through a deep puddle, splashing dirty water high against the passenger door.
Nadja turned her head stubbornly to the right. Her gaze remained fixed on the rain-streaked window.
“You almost started a scene in there.”
“That stupid cow deserved a slap.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Obviously.” Karl steered casually with his left hand. “You’d rather let people humiliate you in public.”
Nadja gave a dry, sharp laugh. “You’re the one making my life miserable.”
Karl glanced sideways at her. One corner of his mouth pulled upward into an expression so brazen and shameless that her accusation seemed to arouse him. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“I’m not tearing you down, Mrs. Keller. I’m just helping things along — so all that dripping under your sink wasn’t for nothing.”
Nadja closed her eyes for one second. “Just drive.”
A dark chuckle came from Karl’s throat. “I’m driving.”
“And shut up.”
“Fine.”
Karl’s right hand left the gearshift. It dropped heavily onto Nadja’s thigh.
This time, Nadja didn’t flinch. Her knees didn’t clamp defensively together. She simply let it happen.
Karl’s rough palm rubbed agonizingly slowly over the wet denim. Then, in one long, possessive stroke, it moved from her knee to the middle of her thigh.
His fingers slid shamelessly higher, moving purposefully toward her crotch. There they paused for several seconds at the crease of her groin, and when Nadja didn’t stop him, his thumb pressed through the stiff denim directly against her pussy.
Nadja clenched her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. Her knees softened and involuntarily drifted the tiniest bit apart.
Karl maintained the pressure. The tip of his thumb began rubbing slow, obscene circles over the rough fabric directly against her sex.
Nadja turned her face completely toward the window. Rainwater streamed down the glass in crooked rivers.
She barely shook her head at herself.
Then she simply left the filthy old man’s hand where it was, shamelessly massaging her through the denim.
Downstairs in the apartment building, the yellowish fluorescent light flickered in the stairwell.
The weight of the meat packages and laundry detergent pulled the cloth bag handles taut. Karl had taken the two heaviest bags without comment and was trudging up the first step.
Nadja carried the lighter bags and followed him, the click of her heels echoing off the walls. The old wooden stairs groaned and creaked beneath their shoes.
Karl’s hunched back beneath the soaked waxed jacket rose and fell heavily with each step. Air wheezed through his lungs and bounced off the narrow walls of the silent stairwell.
The Kellers’ kitchen. Dampness hung in the air. Markus’s shoes were not in the hallway.
The two heavy bags landed on the tiles with a dull thud. Nadja lifted her own bag onto the counter. Her hands mechanically pulled out the spinach, bread, and cold cuts.
“Thank you. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Whenever it suits you.”
Karl’s shoes scraped against the tiles as he turned slightly. He tilted his head, his gaze deliberately falling toward the dark space beneath the sink. Then it slid shamelessly down to her crotch. He grinned filthily.
“Is the sink still dripping? I can take another look right now.”
“No.”
Karl nodded slowly. But his feet remained rooted to the spot.
His eyes moved over the cheap plastic bags. Over Nadja’s tense shoulders. Rain beat monotonously against the kitchen window.
“Then I’ll go.”
Nadja didn’t react.
Karl’s chest rose and fell deeply. His voice grew darker, more insistent. “I’m leaving now, Mrs. Keller.”
Nadja’s hands blindly shifted groceries back and forth across the counter.
Karl turned provocatively slowly toward the door and stepped onto the small doormat in his dirty shoes. His hand closed heavily around the cold brass handle.
Nadja’s arm stopped in mid-motion. Her gaze remained fixed on the blood-damp plastic around the raw meat.
“Karl.”
The old body froze instantly. His neck turned back toward her, and in the pale kitchen light, the wrinkled half of his face emerged from the shadows.
Nadja’s throat moved once. Her voice was perfectly calm. No tremor at all.
“Stay for lunch.”
The feigned indifference on Karl’s face crumbled immediately. The corner of his mouth twitched. Then his face spread into a broad grin.
The parchment-like skin folded deeply around his eyes. Yellow teeth flashed in a smile that was triumphant and repulsive at once.
His grip on the door handle loosened. With a sharp click, the metal latch snapped back into place. The wooden door was closed again.
Nadja gave the faintest shake of her head, only a few millimeters, as though she herself couldn’t bear to understand the invitation that had just left her lips.
Then she finally turned her back to him and silently pulled the wet spinach leaves from the plastic bag.
Behind her, the damp waxed fabric rustled. Karl slowly slipped the soaked jacket from his shoulders.