Work Text:
Charles Xavier's Flat, December 2016
It was almost eleven in the evening, Charles took a long drag on the remainder of his fag with a even longer sigh and cracked his knuckles. He stubbed the smoke in a overflowing crystal ashtray and was about to drain a mug of tea before disappointingly realising that his mug was almost empty and that the litle tea left in it was cold.
His massive desk was littered with papers. A German dictionary was cracked open on a wobbly lectern. Countless pages were covered in a scrawny spidery handwriting, often scratched out and rewritten over.
Atop that desk, also covered in scrawny spidery handwriting, between two tea-stained mugs and highlighters so colourful they would not have been out of place at a Pride there was, sitting proudly and so battered a copy you could only guess it was a brand new manuscript being translated. It was Magnus Eisenhardt's last novel. After Storm of Steel and Haze from Crystal , it was now Quavers in Velvet (if Charles kept the working title) that he was getting busy on.
When he was offered the job by Perlman & Morgenstern he had been very puzzled. Not to say amused. Sturm aus Stahl . Who, in 2012, would go for alliterative titles? It might be good for Jane Austen, but let's be honest, it's no longer 1813...
All the same, Charles started reading the doorstop of a book, comforting himself in knowing that Perlman & Morgenstern were considered to be serious publishers. Well, that time he had to translate for them Marguerite de Navarre's Heptameron had him puzzled for weeks , but the two publishers seemed very keen on having that obscure book translated.
When the evening came, he got absorbed by Sturm aus Stahl . By the third chapter he was hooked on, by the fifth he had been consumed by the need to carry on and he had spend the full night reading it. After a brief nap, several strong cups of tea and some biscuits, he had kept reading. He spent the day reading and at 8:37 PM precisely, he was done with the book, bone-tired.
And he had collapsed and slept for twelve hours straight.
But that exhaustion had been pleasant, just like the one after you shared a night of passion with a new lover.
Yes that was the word, a night of passion.
There had been that surprise when you discover something new, hands caressing the dust-jacket he quickly discarded like each time he reads.
The ink and paper scent you inhale deeply, burying your nose between the pages like you bury your nose in the neck of a partner you get to know.
That desire to know more, burning his brains, and keeping him awake for hours. And that ending that was more of an opening.
The word choice, the imagery, the figures of speech, as if getting used to the idiosyncrasies of a new person in your life and you got to find so fast a complicity as if you were meeting again rather than meeting for the first time.
But now he was Eisenhardt's regular translator at Perlman & Morgenstern. He had spend countless hours on Sturm aus Stahl and at the very least as much on Nebel von Cristal .
In fact, the awards won en masse by Eisenhardt and Xavier as soon as Sturm aus Stahl had hit the shelves contributed greatly to put them and their publishers in the spotlights. Recognition had came in 2014, when in rapid succession he won the Man Booker International Prize and the PEN Translation Prize for his translation of Haze from Crystal.
They had abundantly praised Charles for his ability to slip in the writer's shoes, as if he was slipping in his very thoughts as he was awarded a £25,000 cheque with Eisenhardt by his sides.
To convey that anticipation, that air , that dormant desire under the words, that very elation, had been quite a job and the award was very well-deserved. In fact, Charles abundantly wrote to Magnus. Af first, it had been a bit awkward even if of the uttermost politeness and the epitome of professionalism. But after a few weeks, their emails became more and more friendly and the person was starting to show up under the translator and the writer.
Sometimes a recipe, there a reading advice from Charles (Yes, Magnus, I am sure you will enjoy Once and Future King) or Magnus saying that he had listened to that while he had been writing that one chapter. They got to know each other quite well through these increasingly lengthy emails.
At the Man Booker Prize award ceremony, they finally met. Because a 1.37 by 1.77 in. picture on a dust jacket does not allow you to know that a person is so tall, that his eyes are so piercing when they set on you, that his fingers are so long , that their torso under that black cashmere turtleneck jumper seems so well-defined. Blimey ... When Charles got back to his hotel that very evening, he splashed water on his face in order to get back some composure. Now he knew for sure. The idea had made its way through his mind for the last few weeks but it had just surfaced up : He was in love with Magnus Eisenhardt.
He could not tell him right now, especially not via email and when not knowing when they would see each other again. Maybe during the promotion tour for Stöhnt in Samt? Perfect, yes , perfect, it was scheduled for Easter holidays.
Charles would invite him for a drink, no hidden agenda, of course. And maybe tell him. Magnus never spoke of a person in his life and never spoke of his other job. What Charles knew was that he was having lunch at his Mum's every other Saturday. He wanted to know more, he wanted to make his way into Magnus' life.
November 2011, in another place
"Schiese!" Someone was having such massive troubles with a photocopier he almost kicked it. Once again he would be the one having to deal with paper jamming even before he had his third coffee before going to class. As always, he knew he would have to make the photocopies at his place the very evening and that he would have to make do without that morning.
He was becoming increasingly fed up with the situation and when he talked of it with the bursar, Mr Shaw, the man always played the oily tune. : "Come on, Mr Lehnsherr, you know very well we can't afford that." Shaw always kept going with some fallacious follow-up of his that was verging on guilt tripping Erik. "That would mean we would have to make do without Ms. Grey, that would be a shame to part with such a fine school psychologist, isn't it?" or "You cannot be so oblivious as forgetting that if we did change that machine, the school could no longer afford to pay the trip to France for the financially challenged pupils..."
Erik was very aware it was complete and utter manipulation, he did not like that guilt trip one bit. He did not know why he was still teaching here but after a while he realised that if he stayed, it was for the kids, for his colleagues, for his principal... The lady was often arguing ferociously with the bursary.
Speaking of her, Ms Hollow just entered the staff room and twisted stuff once the copier's flanks had been cracked open. She shut it and the copier spat three A3 ink covered sheets at once, coughing hard and wheezy till it worked again in the brief saccade of the drum falling back into place. The principal made her way out in a storm and muttered under her breath something along the lines of "I'm going to kill him this time!" Shaw was to have a hard time, but Erik could not spare a ounce of pity for him.
If Shaw was still the bursary it was thanks to the school board. They thought he was a very efficient manager : very quick to take money and very slow at giving it back, even when it meant delaying to the last possible minute some urgent stuff.
Erik sighed, drank the remainder of his coffee and made his way to the 9th form room. Incidents had been frequently increasing these last weeks : Ms Scoresby, the librarian, was closing down one of the blinds when it collapsed on her very head. Shaw had told her it entirely her fault. Between his teeth he added some snarky misogynist comments.
In the same vein, Mme Holmes, the French teacher had issues with a window : it stayed in her hand as she tried to open it at some point before the holidays. Summer holidays had came and went and the window was still replaced by some chipboard.
One day, Mrs Barnes, the physics teacher decided to the bull by the horns and came with her husbands and two voluminous tool kits. They spend the full day fixing things here and there, meeting the most pressing needs.
Ms Hollow was fed-up to have to rely on the teaching staff and their spouses to do what would have been the job of a maintenance person. She was so decided that she would argue the case against Shaw at the board, putting her job on the line. All the staff and most of the parents sided with her. Shaw would not go so easily and asked for early retirement in lieu of sacking. He got it.
xxxxx
Before the beginning of the term, the new bursary, one Henry McCoy, had been introduced to the teachers. Erik thought he looked like an old young person : was it the shape of his glasses or his plaid shirts with the pleated trousers ? Erik could not now for sure. However Hank got things done. During the Summer, several renovations companies had been at work and when Erik came back, it seemed to him he was teaching in another school. Everybody felt better since Shaw's departure.
Three days after the fall, by the kettle, the languages teachers and the principal were talking joyfully of their project of organising conversation workshops with natives, Mrs Barnes and Mr Surion were chatting amicably of an octopus of their friends. It was in fact the resident octopod at the town aquarium and they were both very fond of the cephalopod. Erik put his books in his locker and playing with his key set as he made his way to his class waiting for the 7thA.
He had been told they were very enthusiastic but he wished to see that by himself. He knew that German was much less considered than Spanish and that the idiom was much less popular since the decline and fall of Sapporo Motel which had been very popular in the Noughties. He fondly remembered these days when his class could barely contain all those eager bright young things.
True to their reputation, the 7th were very enthusiastic but equally... surprising . As soon as the introductions were done, the young Sacha, who sat at the back of the room raised his hand and spoke very seriously once Erik allowed him to speak : "Sir, there's a fly, we gonna die.". Erik suppressed a laugh but worried when Luna, Lena and Loana (he could not tell yet who was who) as well as Scott and Bobby stood up at once, waving their arms around, panicking those who had remained calm till then.
He has everyone sat back at their seat, got the fly out and thought he would have some minutes of respite when he turned his back to the board to write the date. He was just done with the G in Montag that he was solicited once again. The pupils finally calmed themselves when Erik started reading tongue-twisters and the very apt : " Wenn hinter Fliegen Fliegen fliegen, fliegen Fliegen Fliegen nach."
When the bell rang, he quickly exited the room and took shelter in the staff room to have a large cup of coffee while collapsing heavily in the armchair. Judith laughed without a hint of mockery : "It would seem you had the 7thA..."
Bedtime couldn't come soon enough, thought Erik. Still, if he had some time he might take some to write a bit. During most of the Summer he had wrote daily and it was getting steady. He could say he was writing a novel. He had more than 500 pages stored in a folder on his computer and he enjoyed it very much. The more he wrote the more he came with ideas and so he threw them in a little notebook so as to not forget them.
Erik worked as much as he was used to but sometimes he would dawdle for a bit and would allow himself to write as he should have marked papers or filled the report cards. At the back of Alex Summers' blank sheet so white it mirrored the snow slowly covering the school grounds, he scrawled vigorously for a solid hour : he had the plot for a novel that would follow the Summer one. His mind was set.
The biology teacher came to find him and asked : "I thought you had class with the 10thVee this afternoon, Erik?" On that, Erik swore copiously in German : he did had class with the 10thVee but totally forgot about it.Half-walking Half-running he made his way out, strapping himself in his trench on the way, taking his gaping brown leather messenger bag where he had crammed with the papers he marked and that almost fall in the snow. He would have only 45 minutes to teach them all about passive voice when he would have needed the full hour. He was the only one to blame. Once at the door, he managed to regain some composure and muttered some apology before climbing on the platform as usual.
xxxx
Old habits came back quickly and soon life in Brambleberry was back to its ordinary course. Every other Saturday, he went for lunch at his Mum's and every Wednesday morning he went for an hour jog in the park by his place. In the afternoon, he marked papers with liquid red ink which made the 8thVee that he marked them with human blood. When evening came, he would write on his novel. Erik blinked and the wet March mornings were turning into Summerish May days.
One special Saturday, after a scrumptious lunch, his mother handed him a second slice of strudel on which she poured a copious amount of custard, sat in front of her son and asked him very seriously : "And you are still writing that novel of yours, Bärchen ?". Erik took extra time to eat his piece of cake and have all the custard to the last drop and replied that he was indeed still writing his novel but why should she care.
"Well, Bärchen , I saw Mrs Perlman at the market last week..." Erik stopped her even before she could finish her sentence. "Who, Mutti ?". Edie carried on talking as if her son never interrupted her : "I am sure you know. Remember, you saw her son at the synagogue when you were a kid...To make it short, Mrs Perlman told me her son and his husband just launched a new publishing house and they are looking for people to be... published. And I told her you were writing a novel."
Erik ran his hands over his hair and all over his face, mortified. "But Mutti , I write that to relax after work, that's not made to be published. And then why did you tell her?" He kept on muttering unintelligibly for a good ten minutes and then gulped down his glass of water. He apologised copiously, he told himself it could be a good idea after all.
Edie kissed his forehead : "I was sure you would make up your mind and agree, Bärchen. I told her you would be very glad and that you could meet them next week, you are having some holidays, after all..."
On September 30th, 2018 a new book from Perlman & Morgenstern was hitting the shelves. It was the first in a new very promising trilogy.
The translator and the author were equally famous and depending on the version you read the dedication was slightly different.
In German you could read : Mein Leben, meine Liebe, mein Charles.
In the English one in small characters under that My Life, My Love, My Erik .