Drugs, drink, dancing, debauchery, degeneracy, decadence, decline, disillusionment... My days in Berlin with Anastasia passed by in a haze, or rather the nights, since I spent most of the day sleeping, recovering from the previous night. And while I dozed uneasily, Anastasia would prowl naked around her vast apartment, reciting lines to herself from her previous movies, singing odd snatches of old cabaret songs, turning cartwheels one after another flawlessly down long dark corridors. Some days I would wake up and stumble to the bathroom and find her in the jacuzzi washing her beautiful red curls. And then, as I stood at the sink brushing my teeth, I would feel her teeth sunk in my shoulder and I would peer up blearily and see the glitter of her eyes, a green glimmer which even the grime on the mirror could not dull. And then the creamy feel of her skin rubbing insistently against mine would arouse a familiar fiend and I would turn and crush her fragile body into mine in a fierce embrace... A demon of perversity drove us on towards ever madder excesses into which she coldly threw herself, as though she were seeking to discover a delirium in which she could drown, an ecstacy into which she could let herself escape, a fresh fever which she had not already found...
One night we went slumming. We found a shabby little bar in a dark alley in Kreuzberg. Torn out cobblestones lay piled in untidy mounds and the cold night wind carried the foul rancid odors of a rotting world. Anastasia sat slumped in sullen silence, drinking shot after shot of a yellowish oily liquor which the surly barman spilled out of an unlabelled bottle into smudged glasses and onto the filthy counter which he sloppily wiped with a slovenly swipe of a soiled rag. Nothing could be worse than my flat beer, I decided, and I asked the barman to give me a taste of what the lady was drinking. "Is good," the barman said, smiling twistedly. "Very good. Is called palinka. Very special Hungarian drink."
"Are you Hungarian?" I asked.
"From Transylvania," the barman replied proudly. "Land of Dracula."
"That's part of Romania now, right?" The question seemed innocuous enough to me but the barman grimaced angrily and refused to answer. "Have a drink yourself," I offered, throwing some change onto the bar.
Still scowling suspiciously at me, the barman took a swig from the bottle. He wiped his mouth and hissed with satisfaction. "Like fire." He licked his thick cracked lips. "We make in our village in Transylvania. Like brandy, from plums. We make every year." He took another swig and chortled. "One year the police try to take palinka away from our village. Like tax, they say. You know what I say?" A shifty look came into the barman's eyes. "My brother," he corrected himself. "No me, my brother, he say, we kill you, then we don't have to pay tax."
"So what happened?" I threw some more money on the counter.
The barman shrugged. "So we kill police. Whole village take pitchforks and axes and spades and we kill them and then everyone drink and dance all night and sing songs and then we all go to sleep like little babies." He smiled at the memory. "Good to kill policemen," he said amiably.
"I know what you mean," I agreed. "I had some bad experiences with some Czech policemen recently…"
A look of disgust came over his face. "Pah. Czech police is… pussies. Romanian police, pthoo..." He hawked noisily and spat on the floor. "Palinka puts fire in the blood," he repeated.
"Fire in the blood," Anastasia also repeated, in a husky monotone. "That's what I need. But I have ice instead."
"Have another drink," I replied in cold blood.
"It would freeze in my veins." Anastasia put her arms around her slim shoulders and began rocking back and forth. "Nothing helps."
"Try sleeping." I threw the drink down my throat. It had no taste on my tongue but then a slow burn spread through my body and the smell of plums slowly rose into my nostrils.
"The devil bit me and now I cannot sleep." Anastasia stared into my eyes. I forced myself to meet her burning gaze. After a while she looked away and shook her head. "And you too."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded impatiently. The barman poured us more palinka. "I've never had any trouble sleeping and the only person who has bitten me recently is you. You think you're the devil?"
"You will find out soon."
Despite myself, a chill ran through me. "Anastasia," I said gently, putting my hand on her clenched fist. "Try to rest a little." A sharp fingernail struck out and drew blood. She smiled scornfully at me. "I don't mean you should lead a healthy life," I added hastily, licking the scratch on my hand. "But a little sleep every once in a while would do you good."
"Who are you when you sleep?" Anastasia demanded. I blinked. "Your body lies there snoring, a mass of flesh, like a deserted house. Your spirit is wandering. Most spirits don't go too far. But what happens to people like us?"
"What do you mean, people like us?" I asked defensively. I have been known to get lost even in my own apartment, and the thought that my spirit was wandering around all over the place was quite disturbing. I wondered if spirits were allowed to carry maps.
"You wander," Anastasia replied flatly. "I can tell."
"I like being a tourist, if that's what you mean."
"What happens after every dream?"
"I usually wake up and tell myself I've been dreaming."
"You lie. You know you have a choice."
"What choice? To get up or to sleep a little longer?"
"The choice not to return to your body."
"I thought you liked my body," I said, hurt.
"Stop fooling and listen to me carefully," Anastasia spat angrily. "What will you do when you find me gone?"
"Find someone else to sleep with, obviously." Anastasia nodded somberly. I sighed, reached over, and squeezed her icy hand. "Just joking. Where are you planning to go?"
"Another body, obviously," Anastasia replied impatiently. "Something is pulling me out of this body."
"What is pulling you?"
Anastasia looked away and sighed. "I can't say. But I know that Axel will never leave this body alone."
"Axel von Schadenfreude? Your husband?"
Anastasia nodded mutely. She bit her lip. "He owns this body. And he will never be satisfied until he gets it back."
"Does Axel have any proof of purchase?"
"Yes," Anastasia snapped. "A child, thirteen years old, named Ulrich."
"Why does Axel want you back so much?"
"He is a good Catholic," Anastasia snarled. "And a capitalist. He believes in the Pope and in private property."
"Sounds like a nightmare. No wonder you can't sleep."
"I'm not afraid of him," Anastasia replied pugnaciously. "I can defeat him in astral combat. But I need your help."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked warily. Did this pretty psychopath want me to marry her or something?
"I don't know yet." Anastasia smiled coldly. "We'll find out soon, won't we? The day of reckoning is close at hand."
"How do you know?" I challenged.
"I am a witch." My eyeballs rolled around in my head. "Oh, please," she said impatiently. "I don't throw babies and lizards into boiling cauldrons. But I can tell the future. I can pass into other bodies. That's why I don't sleep. I need my own body right now and I don't want anyone else to take it just yet."
"You're right. Lots of women would love to have your body." I laughed. "Come on, Nasty. Drink your drink and then let's go back to your apartment. I'll kiss you all over and warm you up and hold you in my arms and sing lullabies to you and I promise I won't let anyone take your body away from you while you sleep. Okay?"
Without warning Anastasia threw the contents of her glass into my face. The liquid burnt my delicate skin like acid. She stormed out of the bar without a word. I heard the banshee roar of her Ferrari as she gunned the engine and skidded away.
Through the tears in my eyes I dimly saw the barman lean over towards me. "Palinka do this!" He smiled proudly. "Make woman hot!"
As I stumbled out of the bar, I bumped into a drab shadow. Sure enough, it was my shadow, the nondescript man in the beige trench coat. His left leg was encased in a plaster cast. "Oh, excuse me," I apologized, tripping him. I reached over to steady him and my elbow sent his crutch flying into the darkness. "How clumsy of me!" I stepped on his unshod toes. "But you really should be more careful, sir," I exclaimed solicitously as my boot slammed into the side of his head. "This is such a bad neighborhood. There are so many crazy people around. It's all the drugs and drink and devil worship..."
