Tetiana Trofusha

COMING HOME

English edition

AndroSF 117

Reissue of the story »Coming Home« from

Marianne Labisch (Hrsg.): INSPIRATION

Die digitalen Welten des Andreas Schwietzke

Außer der Reihe 25

p.machinery, (formerly) Murnau, July 2018

ISBN 978 3 95765 137 2, 978 3 95765 138 9

Bibliographic Information of the German National Library

The German National Library lists this publication in the German National Bibliography; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

p.machinery Michael Haitel

Cover picture: Andreas Schwietzke

Layout & cover design: global:epropaganda

Editing: Marianne Labisch

Proofreading: Michael Haitel

Translation from German: Ilona Schmidt

Production: global:epropaganda

Publisher: p.machinery Michael Haitel

Norderweg 31, 25887 Winnert

www.pmachinery.de

for the Science Fiction Club Deutschland e. V., www.sfcd.eu

ISBN of the print issue: 978 3 95765 183 9

ISBN of this e-book: 978 3 95765 902 6

This book is available as print and as e-book also in German language and as German-English comparison.

1

Ji moved the spoon a tiny bit to the left. Only now did it lie exactly between the starter knife and the main course knife. She sighed with relief. Good thing she had checked it again. Nothing could go wrong today. Absolutely nothing.

In her mind, she went through the menu again: rucola-fig salad, chicken soup, lemon sorbet, duck breast glazed with maple syrup, and baked pears on vanilla ice cream. Nothing could be repeated, neither kind nor colour or method of preparation.

But. Her heart was racing. Both the duck breast and the pears were prepared in the oven. And that’s for two successive dishes! She clung to the backrest of Adan’s chair.

Stay calm, she told herself. She had chosen baked pears because it was his favourite dish. So, he wouldn’t mind.

Unless she had forgotten to add an ingredient. He would realize it. Cinnamon. Had she flavoured the pears with cinnamon? She searched in her memories, saw herself reaching for carnation and cardamom. But what about cinnamon?

Certainly, she must have used it. After how often she had prepared Adan’s baked pears, it was a matter of routine.

Or not?

Her eyes burned. Oh, no, he couldn’t find her dissolved in tears.

She rushed to the mirror at the wall in the entrance hall. The heels of her shoes pounded the marble floor, reminding her of the silence in the flat. Music! There was no music! She stopped, whirled around, took a step towards the living room, and paused. She could take care of it later. She had to save her makeup first.

She approached the mirror from the right in order to stay as far away as possible from the front door and bent forward. The golden-brown eyeliner still nestled flawlessly against her eyes. She exhaled. One thing less to worry about.

And finally, she remembered how she had sprinkled cinnamon over the dessert! She could not suppress a smile.

The music. She turned and activated the control element at the wall protrusion between the living room and the entrance area. The digital clock on the silver screen showed seven to eight. She had enough time to make final corrections.

She called up the music collection and opted for an ambient piano title and turned the volume down. No way Adan’s would need to raise his voice.

She switched off the ceiling light and tapped on the stylized image of a fire. The system ignited the gas logs behind the glass doors of the fireplace in the wall opposite the dining table. The flames bathed the room in warm colours.

Five minutes left.

She looked at the perfectly symmetrical set table. The light of burning candles broke in the silverware. And, positioned between two candelabra, a centrepiece of red roses caught the eye, decorated with gypsophila and palm leaves. They looked fantastic. It had been right to order them.

A queasy feeling spread to her stomach area. Something was amiss, a crucial detail. That couldn’t be, could it? She had thought of everything. Her gaze scurried across the room in search of the missing detail, stopped at the huge windows looking out at hundreds of skyscrapers with their shining windows that stood out from the black sky. Of course, the moon! It hadn’t risen tonight. Relieved she closed her eyes, fortunately that could be changed.

She pressed Window Simulation and selected Moon from the list. A fist-sized moon appeared in the middle of the glass front. She placed two fingers on the control element and pushed it apart until the virtual celestial body was ten times the size. Then she positioned it behind the skyscrapers on the left edge of the window. Thus, Adan would have both the fire and the moon in his field of vision.

She smiled. Now it was perfect. He’d love it. This time she had done everything right.

Three minutes.

She stood in her usual position in the entrance area: the tips of her court shoes touched the edge of the fifteenth marble slab from the front door. Each tile measured thirty centimetres. Four meters fifty separated her from the hallway.

Should she take the risk? So close to his coming home? Just a few centimetres. That was doable. After all, she had already made three tiles. And if it didn’t work out, she’d stop.

She went forward to the twelfth tile. She managed that without any problems. All right, then. She breathed deeply and ordered her right foot to advance. Slowly, very slowly it slipped over the edge. Three meters fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven. She began to tremble. Fifty-six. Fifty-five.

Pungent pain brought her out of concentration. She looked down. Her nails were drilling into her forearm. She jerkily pulled her hand away. Crescent-shaped notches remained on the skin. Adan was not supposed to see that at all. Otherwise, he’d think it had started again. And he already had enough worries about the delivery problems. Frantically, she rubbed her skin. It turned red; the injury didn’t go away. Oh, no! What was she supposed to do now?

From the hallway steps rang out. She hid her arm behind her back and jumped behind the fifteenth tile. Adan wasn’t allowed to hear about her experiments yet. She wanted to surprise him when the time came.

She puffed her chest out, raised her head, and forced a smile.

The door slid into the wall. And there he was. Adan. Good-looking and irresistible like the day they had first met. She immediately found it easier to play the happy one.

He looked at her from top to bottom. ”Turn around.“

She obeyed. The skirt of her cocktail dress fluttered up and revealed her bottom. With the front door still open, she was afraid one of the neighbours might see her, but nobody came by.

Adan smiled. ”Wow.“

She blushed and lowered her gaze. He liked it! She almost jumped for joy but controlled herself. He didn’t appreciate her acting like a child. And she was willing to learn.

He stepped inside. Behind him, the front door closed. He put his briefcase on the first tile and sniffed as he approached. ”Do I smell fried pears?“

”Yes.“

”Mmmh.“ He put a hand around her waist and gave her a kiss. She enjoyed his tender lips, his closeness, his warmth. Involuntarily, she snuggled up to him.

He broke away from her. Had she done something wrong? Was she too pushy? She suppressed her questions; she wouldn’t direct the conversation to herself.

”How was your day?“

”Long.“

Once again. If only she could help him more than conjure a perfect evening.

He did not wait for her answer, went into the bathroom between the bedroom and the next room. She watched him leave and sighed.

The water started to rustle. Her cue. She rushed into the kitchen to the stove, touched the soup pot. Still pleasantly warm, good.

From the sideboard, she took the two porcelain plates with the starter and positioned them on her hand and forearm. So far, she had dropped the dishes only once. It would stay that way.

She ran back into the living room. At the sight of Adan, she slowed her steps. Turning his back to her, he almost mechanically laid down the cloth napkin on his lap, studying his tablet. Again, he would work through the evening. She swallowed her disappointment and put down first his and then her plate. He looked up, inspected the rucola-fig salad. Sitting opposite to him, she didn’t dare to leave him out of sight, didn’t dare to breathe. She hoped he’d like his hors-d’oeuvre.

He put the knife in his right hand and the fork in his left. Skewered a fig sprinkled with parmesan. Led it to his mouth. Shoved it in. He tasted it, slowly and thoughtfully.

”Hm, that’s good.“

Her entire body relaxed. ”Thank you.“ A smile surrounded her lips.

He returned it and dedicated himself to the food. ”We had a crisis meeting today for four or five hours, can’t say exactly.“ He obviously tried hard not to lose his temper. She could understand. Four or five hours in a crisis meeting, that must have been terrible. She looked at him trying to express compassion and began to eat too.

”Copper, chrome, manganese. We’re almost out of it, and our damn…“ He stopped. ”And our suppliers want to cancel their contracts.“

That was a disaster. ”Why?“

”If only I could understand that.“ He shook his head. ”The day after tomorrow we’ll meet them, maybe something will come out of it. Otherwise, we’ll have to stop production.“

She wished she could give him some good advice, but she didn’t understand his business. ”You will find a solution, as always.“ She didn’t doubt that. Encouraged, she smiled at him and patted the back of his warm hand.

”Yeah, maybe.“ He clicked through documents full of statistics and tables, brooded over them, pricked up one fig half after the other.