Adultery

IT WAS a spring morning.

I was sitting in a corner of the playground that was usually deserted and studying the tiles on the school wall. I knew there was something wrong with me.

The other children all thought I acted “better than them,” and I never made any attempt to deny this. On the contrary. I made my mother keep buying me expensive clothes and taking me to school in her pricey foreign car.

But that day in the playground, I realized that I was alone, and might remain alone for the rest of my life. Even though I was only eight years old, it seemed like it was already too late to change and to prove to the other children that I was just like them.

Now, summer.

I was at secondary school, and the boys were always hitting on me, no matter how hard I tried to fend them off. The other girls were green with envy, but pretended not to be and were always hanging around and cozying up to me, hoping to pick up any rejects.

And I rejected almost everyone, because I knew that if anyone ever managed to enter my world, they would find nothing of interest. It was best to maintain an air of mystery with a hint of unattainable pleasures.

On my way home, I noticed a few mushrooms that had sprung up after the rain. They were perfect and intact because everyone knew they were poisonous. For a fraction of a second, I considered eating them. I wasn’t feeling particularly sad or particularly happy; I just wanted to get my parents’ attention.

I didn’t eat the mushrooms.

Now it’s the first day of autumn, the loveliest season of the year. Soon the leaves will change color and each tree will be different from all the others. On the way to the car park, I decide to take a slightly different route.

I stop in front of the school where I studied. The tile wall is still there. Nothing has changed, except for the fact that I’m no longer alone. In my mind are two men; one will never be mine, but I’ll have dinner tonight with the other one in some special, carefully chosen spot.

A bird flies across the sky, playing with the wind. It flies back and forth, rises and falls, its movements obeying some logic I cannot understand. Perhaps the only logic is that of having fun.

I am not a bird. I can’t spend my life playing like many of our friends, who have less money but who seem to spend their whole lives traveling or going to restaurants. I’ve tried to be like that, but I can’t. Thanks to my husband’s influence, I got the job I have now. I work, I fill my time, I feel useful and able to justify my existence. One day, my children will be proud of their mother, and my childhood friends will be more frustrated than ever, because I have managed to build something tangible while they have devoted themselves to looking after the house, the children, and their husband.

Perhaps they don’t have this need to impress other people. I do, and I can’t reject it, because it’s been a good influence on my life, driving me on. As long as I don’t take any unnecessary risks, of course. As long as I manage to preserve my world exactly as it is today.

As soon as I get to the office, I search through the government’s digital archives. It takes me less than a minute to find Jacob König’s address, as well as information about how much he earns, where he studied, the name of his wife, and where she works.