Every Seventh Wave Read Free Page A

which is what I’d presumed all along. Do you want me to tell you why?
    One minute later
    Re:
    Damn right I do! I love it when the amateur psychologist in you gets all excited, Leo! It means I can resuscitate you when your heart stops beating and even force you to write emails when you’re completely bottled up.
    Fifteen minutes later
    Re:
    Dear Emmi One, it soooooo happens that I’ve also got our emails from back then, when we were practicing telediagnosis on each other. For “Emmi Two,” you glossed over my sister’s observations about her being “self-confident, cool,” the way she “looked at men very casually,” and how she had “long, slim legs” and a “beautiful face.” All that mattered to you was that she had slow movements and large breasts (something you’ve been shooting off about ever since we’ve known each other). It’s obvious that you don’t particularly like her. So you’re not her. Same with “Emmi Three.” She doesn’t interest you. You dismiss her shyness immediately, this being in any case a trait that I suspect is alien to you. And you say nothing about her “exotic complexion,” her “almond eyes,” the way she avoided eye contact, all those things that might make her sound interesting. It’s only with “Emmi One” that you’re generous in your observations. You like to point out that her short, dark hair may have grown, you mention her “dignified arrogance masking a slight insecurity,” and that she’s a bit “lofty.” You do say “buzzing,” but you leave out “hectic” and “nervous.” These are traits that you’re not so happy about. So, my dear Emmi One, I’m looking forward to meeting you in the café on Saturday afternoon—dark hair, lofty, and buzzing. See you soon, Leo.
    Ten minutes later
    Re:
    If I’d known how euphoric you can be (can write) when you think you’ve seen through something, I’d have tried a little harder to be transparent, my love. I warn you, though, you should expect any one of those Emmis. Who knows what goes on in the outside world, and how strongly—or feebly—this is reflected here, where words make sense of themselves. Besides, of the two of us, you’re the one who’s been shooting off about large breasts. The very mention of them evidently triggers some kind of stressful oedipal situation. I don’t know how else to describe it, but you always seem to be up on your “large breasts” high horse, if you’ll forgive the metaphor.
    Until soon,
    Emmi
    Five minutes later
    Re:
    That’s something we can chat about in the café, if you like. It’s looking as if we might not get beyond the subject of “breasts, yes, no, large, small,” my dearest, my love, my dearest love.
    Ten minutes later
    Re:
    Let’s avoid the following discussion topics when we meet:
    1) Breasts and all other body parts. (I’d rather not talk about outward appearances—they’ll be obvious enough.)
    2) “Pam” (and how she imagines her future in “Old Europe” with Leo Leike and his closets full of feelings).
    3) Plus all Leo Leike’s other private matters that have nothing to do with Emmi.
    4) And all Emmi Rothner’s private matters that have nothing to do with Leo Leike.
    This hour should please, please, be about nothing other and no one other than the two of us. Do you think we can manage that?
    Eight minutes later
    Re:
    What are we going to talk about then? You haven’t really left us with much.
    Fifteen minutes later
    Re:
    You appear to be taking fright again, Leo—your chronic, dormant, contact-with-Emmi fear. You’d probably prefer to stick to “large breasts,” am I right? I really don’t mind what we talk about. Let’s tell each other tales from our childhood. I won’t pay any attention to the