TS3 Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Guntram de Lisle's diary

March 17^th, 2014

Today was the “let's pressure Guntram” day. Starting by Konrad in the morning up to Michel in the afternoon, with star appearances of Meister Ostermann, Fedérico, school teachers and Friederich in the minor roles. Did  today some kind of crazy stars alignment take place that everybody had the sudden urge to push Guntram's buttons? 

In the morning, Konrad wanted to know what we are going to do in the summer. 

We are not even past Easter and he wants to make plans for July or August?

“Where do you want to go?” I asked. Maybe he's tired of the house in Sweden or wants to return to Sylt. 

“No, I have no plans.” 

Oh, he sounded so innocent. He has plans, no doubt. 

“Maybe we could go to the house in Sylt.” I resigned myself to my fate. 

“Nah, it's boring. Cannes is too hot for me.” 

Have aliens kidnapped and brainwashed my Konrad? 

“Do you want to go to Sweden again?” 

“Maybe, but I think we should do something different.” 

Yes, aliens kidnapped Konrad. This man is not my husband. 

“Do you want to go somewhere else? People say the Maldives are wonderful.” 

“Nah, full of foreigners.” 

Yes, this is my Konrad. He hates tourism. I'm sure Friederich had to point a gun to his head to make him visit the Cheops Pyramid.

“How about fishing in Scotland?” he told me casually.

“You know nothing about fishing. And for me it's as bad as hunting. It's not as if you're going to eat the fish.” 

“It can't be that hard. I only want to sit in a peaceful place and read a book. The boys could improve their English.” 

“In Scotland? They will cry that they're in holidays, not in school. Forget about it.” 

“We will tell them that the castle has a ghost and they will be delighted to go,” he “reasoned” with me. “Ghosts abound in the U. K., unlike here.” 

“What's in Scotland that you want to go there so much?” I asked. “You won't find a Nessie in the garden fountain.” 

“A terrier.” 

“A terrier?” 

“A Scottie, as they call them. I like black ones, but I think Kurt should choose what he likes best.” 

“Do you want to go all the way to Scotland to buy another dog?” I blinked several times. All right, at 56 years old, Konrad is suffering from a Paris Hilton moment. How long till he sends the plane to Milano for ice creams?

“A Mops is not what he needs. Mopsi was good for you or the boys but I think he needs a more energetic kind of dog. One that can keep up with him. It will be fun for the boys to travel and choose an animal.” 

“I hope you think the same when the terrier tries its claws on the new chairs, the ones with that French fabric that took like four years to be weaved.” 

“I'm confident that you will keep the dog away from my new chairs.” 

“Konrad, Kurt has never asked for a dog.” I said tiredly because he positively wants to add another source of problems to our life. 

“Because he has not seen one at short range.” 

“He wants a Lego robot. I already said no.” I stopped him. “We don't need a dog and I will not walk another dog.” 

“There's always someone who can walk the dog. Look at Friederich and Mopsi. He didn't want her inside the house and then, he was taking her everywhere.” 

“Buy an aquarium for Kurt. He likes jellyfishes.” 

“That's boring and takes lots of work. A dog is what he needs.” 

“He had a cat,” I growled. “And Sasha was always jumping to the highest place he could,” I said. “He didn't like his tail to be pulled.” 

“A cat is for girls or people who can't be trusted.” 

“Which category do I fall in? Girl or traitor?” I snapped and he looked at me like a deer in front of the car lights. “Constantin gave me Sasha and he was a wonderful companion. He really helped me to get my stress under control.” 

“If you prefer a cat, then we can have one,” he said sheepishly. “I'm sorry, Maus. I didn't mean to bring this up.” 

“But it is there, lingering as always.” 

“Guntram, I meant nothing. It was a stupid remark; the kind of remarks you do in school. Cats are for girls and we boys get the biggest dog you can afford. I never had a cat. Only rotweillers and Mopsi.”

“Constantin had cats as child. He bought me one exactly like the one he had. Sasha behaved like a dog, following you or meowing all the time. And he was big like a small dog. Seven or eight kilos.”  

“That's more than a chihuahua,” he said to me softly. 

“I really liked him. The cat, I mean.” 

“It wasn't his fault. You had every right to like him.” 

“Not everything was so bad, you know?” I finally confessed. 

“I know, you had Kurt.” 

“I could create.” There I said it. “Unlike now.” 

“You're only stressed. It's logical. I love the portrait of the boys It's just incredible.” 

“I have done nothing good after that.” 

“You will.” 

“I only paint rubbish nowadays.” 

“You don't paint rubbish.” 

“Yes, I do.” I shot back angrily. “I know it's shit what I paint nowadays. I spent three weeks with a crystal flower vase. A flower vase! I will auction it on Ebay and perhaps someone makes me the favor of getting rid of that thing for me!” 

“Bansky only got sixty dollars for the drawings he sold in the streets. The populace is not the best judge for arts. You only need time to get used to be here again. Paint a flower vase or whatever you want.” 

Easy for him to say that. He's not the one with a creativity crisis. A financial crisis is easier to surf than the complete absence of ideas for a longer than a six-month period. I used to have folders full of sketches of the things I wanted to paint and lose them before I had the time to work on those ideas. 

“Don't you get that I paint these shits because I know Constantin hates them?” First yelling of the day. Hooray. 

“You are becoming obsessed with this man. Again. It's not healthy for you, my love. He is away.” 

“Oh, yes. Like when he was dead. He stayed put in his grave less than a year! He has Kurt to come back for!” 

“Repin will not touch our child. He's ours till he decides to marry and we will see if he gets permission.” 

“Now you make fun?” 

“I only wanted to ease the tension,” he told me and I felt bad because here I was, shouting him like a madman at 7:30 a.m. “If Repin wants war, it will have nothing to do with what you paint or exhibit. You need to go back to work. That friend of yours, Volcker wants to have you at his gallery.” 

“An exhibition? That's the last thing I'll ever do. That's what Constantin is expecting me to do.” 

“Do you plan to pile up all what you paint from now onwards? Perhaps you should consider buying the vacated flat at your building.” 

I fumed. 

“Well, maybe starting to work on your cousin's book would be fine. It can't be that bad if you keep him away from me. You have to do something. Only one portrait in one year is a very poor outcome.” 

“Oh, Arts go by productivity standards now.” I said sarcastically. 

“No, you have them.” He shrugged. “Do something, Guntram.” He rose from the table and left for work. 

I felt horrible because Konrad is right; I have to paint something but I can't. I was a hundred times a better artist under Constantin's boot than nowadays. He pushed me off the cliff and the fall didn't kill me, as he used to say; the bastard could push me to the limits and then help me to channel all that dark energy into a canvass. 

My best things were done in Russia. Now my work only shows a good use of technique. Everything looks like Stephania's meringue cake official portrait. Perhaps I should offer myself as illustrator for the Barbie House Series or Monster High School if I'm having a bad day.

That bloody psychiatrist I've been seeing for almost a year, ruled me out as nothing more than a mere case of PTSD. A sleeping pill and go home, Guntram. You'll fix it by yourself. He should fix it considering all what he charges for a 45-minute talk! 

I drove the boys to school and endured Kurt's mega-tantrum when he realized that today was Arts Day. My own son hates painting and a few days ago I got a letter from the Arts teacher asking me to visit her. Maybe I can save his hide if I promise to come one day and draw something for the children and save her some work. Kurt told me “why drawing if you can take a picture? Papa's iPhone is good.” I pray he didn't tell that to her. 

“Dachs, they all do the same,” Ratko told me with the experience four children at home can give you. I only have three, therefore, he (his wife) knows best. “Don't pay attention and let him fight his own battles.” 

I have no doubts that my youngest is more than able to fight his own war. I'm concerned about the teacher's mental stability when he has a “Warhol day” and tells something like “why painting the sky blue when in Mars is red?”. Damned be Michael Dähler and the book he gave him. 

Ratko drove me to my flat and left me there. Big surprise. I have new neighbors. Someone bought the flat on top of mine; the attic. The former owners, the Fitzburgs died out during my absence. I think Goran was after it, but it seems there was someone else too (and with better relations to the Fitzburgs' heirs too; they still resent the fact that Goran boycotted some terrace they wanted to build) In short: I don't know who is (are) the new one(s) but I already heard the working team upstairs. 

Are they turning the whole flat into a loft? By the noise they make, it seems. According to the doorman they will be here for another five or six weeks. Oh, joy!

I began to make some order in my new artistic trash pile, hoping that (at least) Ostermann would not call me messy besides useless. With all the banging upstairs, it was impossible to think about anything. I hope Goran wakes up early and goes to the bank or moves in with Antonieta for the time being. 

Ostermann arrived on time at 11:00 and looked at my things for a long time. 

“Do you want to hear the official or the friends' critics?” he told me. 

“So bad?” 

“Awful.” 

“You're right.” It is the truth. 

He took the flowers vase and held it high. “You should write “Seasons Greetings” all over this and we could sell it well.” 

That hurt but he was right. 

“Should I give you the blue elephant back? I still have it.” 

“I need a whole zoo,” I mumbled embarrassed. 

“This is lifeless.” He said as if I didn't know it already. I butchered those lilies or whatever they were. “Have a little more respect for the trees who gave their life for this canvas,” he added and I kept myself silent. What else could I say? He was right. 

“What do you want to do with this?” he asked me and I didn't know what to say. “What did you want to express with it?” 

“Season Greetings?” I answered as the bloody thing said nothing to me. “Get well soon?” Are there any open positions at Hallmark?

“Sorry for your loss?” he supplied and darn he was right. The lilies looked like a flowers shop ad. Since when do I (ab)use so much of the titanium white to create light over the petals? 

I wasn't thinking straight because I took a brush and with black oils I wrote the first “I” shakily and only heard when he said “Bigger, make it at least therapeutic” 

'In Loving Memory' I painted with big letters and the mix was a bit too liquid because the resulting lettering looked like bleeding and more appropriate for a horror movie. 

“Now it looks much better.” Ostermann said with a big smile as I watched what I had done and truly considered not skipping today's visit to the shrink. Those wretched flowers took me almost a month of work. 

“Don't look so gloomy. It's called Conceptual Art,” he told me. 

“No, it's called trash.” I said. 

“Salvaged trash.” I was corrected again. “Never mind,” Ostermann shrugged and I still wonder how the hell did he survive for the past 75 years without being strangled by an artist. Was it not Karel Appel the one who hit him with a porcelain teapot or a mug? I don't know, but the Dutchman never-ever let Ostermann enter in his studio again. 

As I was really considering to ban him also from my studio, I saw the guy carefully taking down the fresh painting from the lantern. 

“What are you doing?” I said -well, yelled-. 

“Trash to trash.” 

“No, no, no. You won't pull that one again.” I blocked the exit. “I will get rid of it by myself or store it somewhere.” 

“No, I don't trust you.” He said. “I won't sell it cheap.” 

“That's not for selling. It's hideous like that other thing.” 

“The flowers will not feel it if their careers are ruined. Besides they're already dead and in the compost,” he mocked me and walked away. 

“Give it back.” For an old man, he's fast because he was already at my front door. “Meister Ostermann, this is nonsense.” That phrase works very well with my boys but it fell in deaf ears in this case. 

“Go back to your work and think a little before you start anything.” He said and opened the door with one hand while holding-balancing the paint with the other. Did he not suffer from arthritis? He's always telling me he's about to die.

“I will not let you sell it.” I said firmly and tried to block him, but he was already inside the elevator. 

“I will not sell it,” he replied. 

“No, you will auction it, lease it for a hundred years, donate it or who knows what. You should have been a lawyer!” I lost my patience with him and he looked offended. 

“I'm your manager and a well-known curator. Besides, this one belongs fifty percent to me.” 

“What?” The elevator door hit me on the left shoulder. 

“I suggested the concept. I'm taking what's mine. Move aside, please.” He pushed me out of the elevator but I didn't move (much). 

“Do I have to call security?” I was furious with him. 

“No, call your chef and ask him to bake some pastries for next Wednesday. The daughter of the President of Trans-Gaz comes to Zurich and you will have to see her on Wednesday at five here. My own atelier is full of people at that time.” 

“What?” I think I took two steps backwards (maybe I staggered like a drunk). 

“We'll be here at five.” He announced and the metal door shut in my face. 

I think I was standing there like an idiot for five minutes. Does the President-Daughter of Trans-Gaz-that Russian gas conglomerate tycoon Constantin was so good friends with- come for tea in two days time? Looks like. 

My mobile rang and I pressed the “Ignore” button when I read “Michel Lacroix” on the screen. God bless the one who invented that thing. I wasn't in the mood to deal with my father. 

I went back to my studio, phoned Jean Jacques (He knows who is the President Daughter and seems she's quite a socialité or “it girl” (Don't women get upset if they're called “it”? I was really long out) and he will take care of everything. 

I had lunch in relative peace until, good-old Fefo paid me a visit. “Fuck, you only have chicken,” he told me when he saw what I was having. By the way, he had a dish in the hand I didn't remember handing to him. “I thought you were doing better nowadays.” 

“Sorry, I finished the Beluga glass at breakfast.” He can still irk me in the same way as he did when we were room-mates back in school. 

“Perhaps you have some red meat in the refrigerator. Could grill me a sirloin,” he told me. 

“No, I couldn't. Go to a restaurant.” 

“I can't,” he told me and I gaped. “It's Lent, you know.” I was still looking clueless. “This year the Orthodox and the Catholic Easter overlap and I have no excuses to commit a little heresy now and then.” 

“What?” 

“Mirko keeps better track of the calendar. Last year, with this mess of the Gregorian and our calendar mixing, my Lent took only twenty or less days. This is the last time I date an Orthodox,” he told me.

“Of course it will be the last time you date anyone if you go out looking for someone else. I don't think Mirko will take lightly to be dumped for an atheist or a chateaubriand.”  

“If you would have a steak, I could eat it and say “Guntram had nothing else. Maybe he's anaemic or something. I couldn't refuse.” If I go to a restaurant and order meat, I'm toasted. Somehow, he knows if you were cheating.” 

“So your solution is trying to get an invitation for lunch?” 

“I can try it, but all the Serbs already know about it. Even Alexei, the Russian, orders seafood if we are together.” 

“Alexei is only being nice to you,” I said. “If he knows about it, he will never order a steak.” 

“On top, the sex is really lousy these days. Non-existent.”

“I really don't want to hear it.” 

“Before he was more funny. Creative even and now... It's only “good night” and a kiss. He does not even let me touch him.”

“It will be over soon.” 

“What if it doesn't? What if he wants to go to Mount Athos?” 

“Talk to Mirko after Easter.” 

“All right. I can always use this flat if he throws me out.” 

I was shocked. “No, you can rent something on your own. You have enough money.” 

“I'm practically here the whole day. Looking after you or the children.” 

“Yes, for a few hours. I don't want to find your laundry in my flat. I thought that was clear since December 2000.” 

“Guntram, we are friends. It won't take longer than a few weeks. I risked my neck for you.” 

“Because you got me into that mess with Repin!” I shouted and he looked at me in panic and I felt bad, but I was too furious to stop. “Fine, you helped me a lot. I thanked you but I won't be your father.” 

“I'm not asking you to do that!” He yelled back. “I'm sorry for the mess and yes, maybe I should have told you to fuck with Repin in Buenos Aires. Fuck! You wouldn't be such a prude!” 

“Am I a prude? What about you? Dying of love for me but saying nothing. Only making my life harder.” 

“I see now that the best would have been to let you fuck with Repin, be done and then I should have fucked with you!” 

“Keep dreaming, asshole!” I shouted and opened the back door. “Get out.” 

“Are you firing me?” 

“Tell Mihailovic I'd rather have him or Bregovic as bodyguards.” 

He slammed the door and twenty minutes later, I got a call from Ratko telling me that he was busy but Marko was free for the rest of the week. 

There I realized in how much shit I got Fefo. After all, I'm the husband of the man who pays his salary, among other things. “It's only for today,” I said. 

“He got to your nerves? The gaucho is like that,” Ratko chuckled relieved. “Both pups are on the brink of war. Don't get in the middle.” He advised me wisely. 

I began to paint and suddenly I felt much better, full of energy, like before. Who said the Dark Side was bad for you? Anger leads to Creation and Yoda can kiss my ass. 

Then I remembered Heindrik and felt horrible. He was so full of life and plans. I can't get used to the idea that there are no four or five more padawans running around because of me. He would have been a wonderful father. 

People (my shrink) tell it's not entirely my fault (he uses the word “responsibility”) but I know it is. Constantin was after me and Heindrik did his best to protect me. I know it was his job or as the Serbs say, died with a weapon in his hand and that's a “good way” to go. His family hold no grudge against me and his former fiancée married a year ago.

Nevertheless, his absence is painful for me. Some mornings I wake up dreaming of Heindrik bantering with me all the way to the university. Some days I even can see him standing next to the car. 

It is my fault because I didn't stop Constantin when I could do it. I was playing both sides so to speak. I was furious with Konrad but didn't leave him and left one door open “just in case”. Constantin, in his own megalomaniac way, loved me. Starting by Kurt, he did a lot of good things for me but he destroyed everything around me at the same time. 

That's something I can't forgive him or myself. 

I returned to work. There is nothing else I can do. 

Around two, I got a phone call from the school principal. Karl, our wisest child, fell in the school yard and needed to be taken to the hospital. The doctor said he was fine, only a sprained elbow but just to be on the safe side, we should make an X-ray. 

I drove to the school. A tearful Karl and a serious Klaus were sitting at the Headmistress office. It seems that Karl climbed up a tree and a roof to get the ball down. The woman was very nervous and I let it go because we all were children and we all did the same stupid things. 

“Mrs. Lanz, it's all a matter of increasing the surveillance during the breaks. Fortunately, it was only an elbow and not his head,” I said and she paled. “Perhaps next time we are not so lucky.” 

I phon ed in the meantime Birgitte to tell her to pick up Kurt and Klaus at four because I had to take Karl to the hospital.  

There, in the middle of the parking lot, I found my smallest child, waiting next to my car. 

“What are you doing here?” I shouted him. 

“Going home. Karl does,” he told me. 

“Did you escape from your classroom?” 

“I’m done.” 

I felt my blood boil because of: 1. the stupid teacher who lost a three-year-old; 2. Kurt for pulling such a stunt; 3. the security guards of this school who leave a child roam free in the middle of a parking lot and...

“Wait for me here,” I said to Karl, who was gaping at his brother with big eyes as he cradled his broken arm. 

I picked up Kurt while he protested loudly because he knew he was going to be returned to the classroom, and began to walk back to the kindergarten ward. Are there no security cameras in this place? What kind of security measures do they have here that one baby escapes, nearly gets to the street and a man picks him up and walks around the place? 

I'm getting the boys out of here. 

I had not even set foot inside the ward when a woman ran madly towards me. “Oh, Mr. de Lisle, he's with you. We've been looking for him for an hour.” 

“I found him in the parking lot. Next to my car.” Kurt kicked me in the kidneys for that and began to cry. 

“He heard that his brother had an accident and wanted to see him. We took him to the primary section, he saw him and then, he disappeared. I'm terribly sorry.” 

“I would have been more sorry to go to the police station to look for my son or to the morgue to identify him.” I barked. “What kind of school is this?” I shouted there and two or three schoolteachers poked their heads out. 

“Sometimes, Kurt can be difficult to deal with,” the she-fox told me.

“You are the responsible person here. Not him. Do your work,” I said and placed the child in her arms. “His nanny will pick him up but don't expect him tomorrow. There are other private schools.” 

“We are terribly sorry, sir.” She said but I was too furious to care about her explanations. Tomorrow I have to start looking for another school for him. 

Three hours (and a plaster) later Marko drove us home. Karl has a fissure and should wear a plaster for the next month. I have already promised to draw a big dragon over it once the thing dries. He was very brave and didn't cry once. I know now Klaus dared him to climb to that roof.  

I have two naughty children at home. The moment the car stopped at the entrance I felt like a hundred years old. 

My mobile beeped and as Birgitte took Karl under her wing, I saw I had an e-mail from John. 

Dear Prince:

I know you hate to be called like this but I need your help. You're the right man for the job because that silly husband of yours is totally incompetent. 

The thing is: I want a boyfriend that can turn into a husband in the future. As I told you once, you would be perfect for the job, but you don't want it. Konrad told me to go to Rome to get one like you. I only got snotty princes of a thousand euros per hour if you get my meaning. What is the problem with you all? Did your mothers retire after creating one or two of your kind? I got my divorce (the bitch kept the house in Aspen) and after you, I really wanted to start something serious with someone. 

As your husband is old nobility, I asked him what to do. He told me; go to Rome and I did. I met the people he told me but all of them were superficial gold-diggers and I already broke my back for a wife and Brendan. Never again. Then, he told me to try my luck in Paris, Frankfurt and Geneva. I only got some language lessons out of the tour. 

In a nutshell: Do you know someone from your university that I could date? You know the type; elegant, no more than thirty-five, educated, funny (but not vulgar or outgoing). I want a good companion that wants to spend an afternoon with me (and not in a disco or a shopping centre, etc.). 

I'm really getting desperate right now. If you get me another you, I will be eternally grateful to you. 

Hoping to hearing from you soon, 

John. 

Poor John. Konrad playing matchmaker with him. He should be glad he didn't get sued by the date. I sighed loudly. 

“Is everything all right, Guntram?” Friederich asked me and I nearly jumped to the roof. I didn't hear him coming. 

“More or less,” I replied. “Do you know any available for marriage prince who would like to move to the States?” 

Friederich frowned. 

“I'm sorry, it was a bad joke,” I said and showed the e-mail to him. 

“A hand-written letter would have been more appropriate in this case.” Friederich said as he returned the phone to me. 

“I'm afraid I can't do a thing for my friend.” 

“Is this man the American who helped you?” 

“Yes, John Althorpe.” 

“In that case, we should do something for him,” he answered and got his own mobile phone out of his pocket. “Do you think he could visit us in Zurich soon?” 

“I think he's traveling around Europe.” I answered and it was my time to frown as Friederich's finger moved across the screen. “What do you have there? A dating service webpage?” 

“It's the Gotha,” he told me with great dignity and I felt like a dunce. 

“Does the Almanach de Gotha come with a gay section?” I couldn't help to blurt. 

“Of course not. Sexual preferences are something very private.” 

“Are you really looking for a prince in there?” 

“Maybe we will have to settle for a minor member of a good house. Titles are not so important any longer. What we need is a good breeding, such as what can only come from a good family.” 

Right, we are buying a dog.  

“Here it is, Christoph zu Sonderburg-Habsburg. He's currently living in Bern. What a happy coincidence.”

“His grandfather went to school with me and we are third degree cousins. We spoke a few years ago and he complained that the boy didn't settle down at all. He refused to marry and was working as a restorer, living like a nomad. He's still single and must be around your age.” 

I nearly shouted my disbelief to the winds. The man doesn't marry and he's gay? 

“The duke also evaded marriage quite successfully until you came here. I should have seen it before and saved him the unpleasant moment of telling me of his preferences.” I gaped at him and realized Friederich is a mind-reader.

“We will invite him for lunch in two weeks time. I've been looking for a restorer for the chapel for quite some time. I'm concerned about St. Anne's fresco. Tell your friend to be here in a week so we can speak.” 

“Are you planning to hook John with a Habsburg?” 

“To hook would not be my choice of words. Let's allow the two gentlemen to meet in a non stressful environment.” 

“It will not work at all.” 

“Would you prefer that this man, Althorpe turns his affections towards you? It's clearly stated here.” 

“It's not. John is a good man! He would never do something like this. It's just his way of speaking.” 

“If so, he should visit us a week earlier so we can help him with his manners. Perhaps they had been behind his failure of finding the proper candidate for his household.” 

Is Friederich planning the first gay state-marriage? 

“Manners and protocol have saved more marriages and alliances than love and friendship.” 

At that moment, I decided that the best way to end the day was to go and shout with my youngest. If he's so wild as to hate school with so much passion, he will get Friederich for a few weeks until I find a place for him.