Self's punishment by Bernhard Schlink Page B

tennis wunderkind, too, Frau Buchendorff?’
    ‘What do you mean, “too”? Like yourself, or like millions of other German women?’
    ‘I do find him fascinating.’
    ‘Do you play?’
    ‘You’ll laugh, but I have difficulty finding opponents with whom I don’t wipe the floor. In singles, younger players can sometimes beat me just because they’re fitter, but in doubles I’m almost invincible with a reasonable partner. Do you play?’
    ‘To brag like you, Herr Self, I play so well that it gives men complexes.’ She stood up. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. South-west German Junior Champion nineteen sixty-eight.’
    ‘A bottle of champagne against an inferiority complex,’ I offered.
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘It means that I’ll beat you, but, as a consolation, I’ll bring a bottle of champagne. However, as mentioned, preferably in mixed doubles. Do you have a partner?’
    ‘Yes, I have someone,’ she said pugnaciously. ‘When should we do it?’
    ‘I’d opt for this afternoon at five, after work. Then it won’t be hanging over us. But won’t it be difficult to get a court?’
    ‘My boyfriend will manage it. He seems to know someone at the court reservation office.’
    ‘Where will we play?’
    ‘At the RCW sports field. It’s over in Oggersheim, I can give you a map.’
    I hurried to get into the computer centre and had Herr Tausendmilch, ‘but this remains between the two of us,’ print me out the current status of the tennis court reservations. ‘Are you still here at five o’clock?’ I asked him. He finished at four-thirty but was young and declared himself willing to make me another printout at five on the dot. ‘I’ll be glad to tell Firner how efficient you are.’ He beamed.
    When I got to the main gate I bumped into Schmalz. ‘The cake proved palatable?’ he enquired. I hoped the taxi driver had eaten it.
    ‘Please pass on my warm thanks to your wife. It tasted quite excellent. How is little Richard?’
    ‘Thank you. Well enough.’
    Don’t worry, poor Richard. Your father wants you to be extremely well. He just can’t risk the sibilant.
    In the car I took a look at the printout of the tennis court reservations, although it was already clear to me that I wouldn’t find a reservation for Mischkey or Buchendorff. Then I sat in the car for a while, smoking. We actually didn’t have to play tennis; if Mischkey turned up at five and a court was reserved for us, I had him. Nonetheless I drove to Herzogenried School to inform Babs, who owed me a favour, that she was duty-bound to play doubles. It was the morning break and Babs was right: kids were carrying on with one another in every corner. Lots of students had their Walkmans on, whether standing alone or in groups, playing, or smooching. Wasn’t the outside world enough, or was it so unbearable for them?
    I found Babs in the staffroom talking to two student teachers.
    ‘Anyone for tennis?’ I interrupted, and took Babs to one side. ‘Really, you must play tennis with me this afternoon. I need you urgently.’
    She kissed me, reservedly, as is appropriate for a staffroom. ‘What an opportunity! Didn’t you promise me a springtime excursion to Dilsberg? You only let me clap eyes on you when you want something. It’s nice to see you, but frankly I’m annoyed.’
    That’s how she was looking at me, both delighted and pouting. Babs is a lively and generous woman, small and compact, and agile. I don’t know many women of fifty who can dress and act so lightly without trying to play young. She has a flat-ish face, a deep furrow above the bridge of her nose, a full, determined, and at times severe mouth, brown eyes beneath hooded lids, and closely cropped grey hair. She lives with her two grown-up children, Röschen and Georg, who are far too comfortable at home to make the leap to independence.
    ‘And you really forgot we went to Edenkoben for Father’s Day? If you did, then I’m the one to be