Grandmother's voice, finely nasal, wenn sie mich zur Begrüssung in die Arme nahm und dann unter zärtlichem Plappern das dampfende Apfelmus schöpfte. The voice of the father, energetic and vital, when it got going with wine and spaghetti, saber-sharp in me: you have to do it this way and not the other way around! The voice of Reich, quiet and brittle like the modulated singsong of a Meislein pressed into a telephone shell, Which one day I happily snuggled into. The sister's voice making plans, so often a cold and hoarse on the last point, and then top it off with a boyish joke call. The voice of the three year old niece, she called like a gendarme, after puking through one night: Gotti come! And I had to climb into that tin caterpillar with her portholes full of cobwebs, down at the Altenberg playground. Hen's voice, strong and sonorous, more present, than any other, How many girls does he have with his You and Ey! picked up on the sidewalk and bewitched, while he was still wringing out the salad in the kitchen towel or taking the guitar out of the suitcase. Bee's voice, when he was manic and bragging about the success of our future together from his balcony, so that the whole quarter including the wife was noticed. One vote, moved the mountains. Christian's voice, boyish and bright, like one of those snow globes, that you shake, when he first explained the names of his guitars to me. The voice of my shop assistant, when she crossed the parking lot with the packed bags, practiced in the harsh greeting as well as in unbound farewell, ironic wink. The voice of Malta, who sent me away, after sleeping with me, hypnotizing and halting: Go away! The mother's voice, difficult to describe, deep inside. Grandfather's mysterious voice, when he aimed at my hat from the hospital bed: Of, what kind of military coat do you have on your head?? Became childish and schoul. The voice of my other grandmother (paternal side), always asking and nagging at the same time: Of, do you really put two sugars in your coffee?? It's not healthy? Her husband's voice, my grandfather's bushy brows, who only raised his voice once at Christmas, to bring out his famous joke about a fly on the wall. And that I forgot.
These voices. Among others.
And then no more.
(19.9.2020)