Waiting for Alfred(Dill McLain) WAITING FOR ALFRED
by Dill McLain


Gisbert Auwheyr stood in front of the mirror on the door of the wardrobe in his bedroom. He measured his vis à vis slowly and hedonistically from top to bottom. ‘In a few days the world will throw itself at my feet’. He turned around, stepped into the corridor and walked along to the stairs. With an emperor’s attitude he descended. ‘I do not want to be disturbed now’ he pronounced in direction of the butler who carried a tray with champagne glasses across the lobby. The butler scowled invisibly, turned around and disappeared. Gisbert Auwheyr reached the reception room of his house which was also his holy place, his sanctuary. For a moment he waited on the doorstep, took a deep breath and looked around from wall to wall to wall. Normally, there was a huge Louis XIII throne-chair in the center of this room, but it had been removed for the upcoming reception. The three walls were full, from top to bottom, of expensively framed documents, prize awards and medals from all over the world.

On the opposite wall - looking from the doorstep - right in the center of the wall there was empty space. It was the only space still available.

Gisbert Auwheyr stepped into the sanctuary and placed himself in front of this empty space on the middle wall. His eyes penetrated the empty space and his life swam before his eyes: he remembered all these endless years full of work, all this burden, all the renunciation, all the concentration, all these travels to places he was not really interested in, all these talks to people he actually did not like, all the struggles, all the planning, all the elbowing and flattering, and all the invitations and all these endless and expensive dinner parties he had to give. He called it to himself ‘necessary bribery’.

He stood upright, lifted his head so that he could almost look down to the empty space on the wall from above, from heaven. He twisted his body a bit to the side and posed in the way shown on huge old paintings of famous kings in ermine coats.

Twice a month for the last 25 years, he celebrated a dinner party for 12 distinguished guests in his house. And from time to time he also invited common guests who normally would never be selected for this special circle of wealth and importance. Like for instance on this evening, he invited a simple professor from a poor region in India. A man who could now work as guest in his group for two months. A man who came from a University with great financial problems and no international contacts. A man who has no future abroad and no chance to make career, but a man whose work shows remarkable results, in fact extremely outstanding results. Results from which one can profit. That is how it is in the world: One good turn deserves at least one other.

Gisbert Auwheyr had a wife, Gloria, a son and a daughter. Gloria, his wife, had educated his children and was the manageress in the house and in charge of all these numerous dinner parties that were held since 25 years. She performed this task with great skill and Gisbert was very satisfied. She never argued, always fulfilled his wishes, paid attention to his orders and instructed and supervised the staff acquired regularly for these events, which for Gisbert Auwheyr were the basic part of his climbing target of his career. The nucleus of his life.

Bernhard, the son, fell into disgrace a long time ago because of not following the will of his father to study law. He became a passionate ballet dancer instead and finally worked now as a choreographer and was very successful. But for Gisbert that was an abyss.

Katharina, the daughter, followed the will of the father and studied economics – he saw her already as head of a firm he intended to establish – but six weeks before her diploma she packed a suitcase and left the house. Later came a letter from Middle Africa where she settled down and joined a human health organization.

Gisbert never talked about these two family members anymore. His wife occasionally reported about their well-being or about their work, but he never showed any interest, not even a reaction.

There was a knock at the door. It was the butler who announced the arrival of the first guests.

Gisbert threw a last longing glance at the empty space in the wall. Next week, finally after all, he would receive compensation for all his efforts. He would win the great prize and then also the middle wall would be complete, his target reached. And he could then start to enjoy life and his well-deserved fame.

The guests arrived and the butler served the champagne. Gisbert felt like an emperor. His wife appeared on the doorstep and Gisbert, who was just in talk with an Ambassador, interrupted his conversation, something that he normally never did, and stared with wide open eyes: She wore a fir-green silk evening-dress, matching sling pumps and a new coiffure with coloured streaks. Breathtaking (and forbidden). He hardly recognized her, took a sip of champagne and could not believe it. Gisbert searched for words, but he could not find them. He choked. His wife mingled with the guests and did not seem to notice him.

The butler arrived with the last guest, Chatargarh Chatargarandram. Gisbert just wanted to continue his conversation with the Ambassador. But he felt a movement in the aura of the room, everyone seemed to be attracted by something. He turned his head and saw his Indian guest in the doorway. He wore a dark blue Indian suit with that special decorative collar. His white teeth appeared like a pearl-collier in contrast to the suit and the dense deep black hair and the warm and friendly looking velvety eyes. ‘A sinfully good looking man this Indian’ thought Gisbert.
Time for his welcome speech. Gisbert lifted his champagne glass and started to talk. His voice called back all attention to him, in the direction of the master of the house.

* * *

Some days later at work, Gisbert Auwheyr stood over an hour upright in front of his desk. Waiting for the phone call. Then he turned his head away from the phone to the right corner near the window and he noticed that the phone cable was not plugged in. With a dreadful outcry he threw himself into that corner, grasped the cable and plugged it in. Upon bursting into the corner in this important action his feet tangled with other cables and he pulled out the power cable of his computer.

He got up from the floor and sank into his leather seat. For a long while he was hypnotised by the phone. It was in the meantime 10.25 a.m. and the announcement of the prize was set for 09.45 a.m. Something must have happened. Of course, they are late, because his phone was not plugged in.

At 11.15 Gisbert Auwheyr decided to start his computer and consult the official webpage and from there get the confirmation about the delay in the announcement. He could not start his computer. There was only a black window yawning into his face. He was desperate.

He stood up, rushed to the door and into the corridor which was empty. No sign of life. No voices. He ran down the stairs to the next floor. And to the next one and finally to the ground floor. At the end of the corridor near the backdoor leading to the small pavilion in the courtyard he saw a man with a huge camera. The man gave him a sign ‘Hi, are you also working in this place, come on, there is a big celebration going on’ and disappeared into the courtyard.

‘They cannot celebrate my prize without me, this would be ridiculous. One cannot celebrate without the star’. Gisbert whispered biting his lip. He arrived at the entrance to the pavilion from the courtyard and before stepping into the place he lifted his body and took his rehearsed attitude of the emperor and marched in.

About 80 - 100 persons all with champagne glasses and all showing smiling faces were celebrating. All jubilation seemed to toast towards a place in the middle of the crowd. Camera teams were installed on tables and at this moment someone tapped on his shoulder ‘Could I pass, please’. It was the President with a huge flower bouquet. ‘What is going on here?’ Gisbert asked with shivering voice. The President gave no answer and rushed by to his important task.

‘Sir’, a short, young man with a pale face stood at his right and continued ‘they celebrate the Nobel Prize of this year which goes to our Indian guest professor together with a professor from Mali and a female professor from Jamaica’.

Coloured flashes, stars and stripes diagonally shot in front of his eyes. Thunder eroded his inner head. A murderous sharp noise shot apart his inner auditory canals. His throat choked his own horror.

Gisbert turned around and escaped to his office, where he locked the door.

‘They cannot give my prize to an unknown African, a poor Indian and a Caribbean woman ! No, no, no’ he sobbed the whole afternoon.

At 06.15 p.m. he left the building and took a taxi to his house. He stormed through the door and shouted ‘Gloria, come down here, at once!’ No answer. He called again her name, this time tyrannically. Again, no answer.

Then he realized a man was standing on the stairs. It was Bernhard, his son. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked with an angry voice. The hated son came down towards him, stopped on the second last step, sat down and said with the calmest voice in the world: ‘Berty, it is over. Gloria has left you and will not come back. She and Chatargarh Chatargarandram took the plane at five o’clock this afternoon to India. She informed us already two weeks ago and asked us – Kathy and myself – by letter to come today and help you, if necessary. Here we are, Kathy is over there’ and he pointed in direction to the sanctuary.

Gisbert Auwheyr carried himself with the last strength to his holy room, to his sanctuary. He stopped at the doorstep and looked absolutely dumbfoundedly into his holy shrine: On the giant Louis XIII throne sat two unknown kids – they looked like female twins - with great dark eyes, black skin and the heads full of hair pigtails with huge coloured ribbons. They were about 7 years old, wearing large football T-shirts and basketball shoes.

‘Hi grandfather, we are your granddaughters from Mali and we just won the Nobel Prize’ they babbled in chorus and wriggled their feet.

Gisbert Auwheyr fainted.

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