Wait, he didn't say that.
But he did say: Now is the moment for this, Now is the moment for that, Now is the moment for something else too.
I can't remember what, exactly.
19:15 and I was watching him live on the super-screen in the Tiergarten. His chin was cut off by the bicycle handlebars I was peering past, his cheek sliced by a tree to my right, his entire face blocked whenever the German teenager in front of me leaned toward his father and asked: Was ist "genocide"? Heisst "nuclear weapons" Atomkraft? Und "polar ice caps"?
An ambulance bellowed, silencing certain words altogether.
I would have had a better view at home. Still, it was cool. And unexpected.
At 14:00, I lay on the holistic practitioner's table. She massaged my feet, my hands. I confessed ambivalence to be back in Berlin. New York was vacation. Now, real life: Find an apartment; return to the book; march through heartbreak. "I feel as if I am standing on a diving board. Unwilling to jump." Then I laughed. "Oh, for God's sake, I just got back two days ago. I'm allowed to hesitate."
At 15:48, I hugged my Serbo-Croation literary hot-stuff friend hello. A table in the sun, a restaurant called Suedwind. We spoke of Denise Levertov, Sex and the City, Radovan Karadžic, bad e-mails from exes. I ordered the Nicoise. Two hours later and my mouth was sore, but my soul was soothed. She said, "I'm so honored that you'd meet me instead of hearing your countryman speak." "Oh?" I said. "Is that now? I thought it was yesterday." What I did not tell her was: You are one of my new favorite people in the world. How could I forgo this?
At 18:50, I boarded the U7. A fellow passenger said the name Obama. And: "I'm cutting it close." I started: "Oh, is he speaking now?" "Fifteen minutes." The passenger was tall. He had an accent. "Are you American?" I asked. "From San Francisco." I grinned big. "No way!" He'd lived 30 years in Hannover; his wife was German, a journalist, here to cover Barack. "I'm coming with you!" I declared. "I mean, if you don't mind..." Which he didn't. We hopped off the subway and strode his long-legged pace as close as we could to the Tiergarten's center.
It was crazy crowded, as much English in the air as German, snack stands serving Bier and Bratwurst to the erudite masses.
Obama showed twenty minutes late, just like us. "I look a little different than other American leaders who've appeared in Berlin." The crowd laughed. He talked lots about the Berlin Airlift. The alliance, back then, of the U.S. and Germany. The need for the same in the future. Also, Berlin's ability to understand, as few other cities do, the meaning of freedom. The crowd cheered.
"He's good," said my tall companion.
"He's amazing," said a man with a camera. His eyes were starry. "He is a vessel and we fill him."
What do the Germans think? I couldn't help but wonder. His style too preacherly? Too typically American in its grand and sweeping statements? And what lies behind his right and rhythmic words? Has he planned the specifics?
Because he was impressive. But I'm just no good at hero-worship.
The man with the camera, I learned later, managed Obama's air travel. "He's gonna win, there's no doubt."
A curly-haired guy stepped up. "But tell me, were you not this certain four year's back?"
"Oh no," said the camera man. "I managed Kerry's tour too. He was a good man. Good to me, always. But he was an elitest. He couldn't help it. It was the world he grew up in."
The conversation pulsed forward, carried by the camera man's convictions. "The young will vote for Obama!" And: "American's vote with their pocketbooks. Obama's making the money. Not McCain." Also: "McCain's just off. Something unbalanced about that guy."
"The Google," I offered. I was wedged between the bicycle frame and his zoom lens. No choice but to partake.
"This is the beginning of 25 years of progressive politics!" declared the camera man.
"I hope you are a prophet," I said. And meant it.
The curly-haired guy was not convinced. "What happens when Obama spends eight years butting up against corporate interests?"
At this, I decided, it was time to disentangle myself.
I gave my blog URL to the tall passenger. "You'll appear in it for sure."
Then I joined the current of departing fans. White and black and olive, pairs and trios, families, friends. It was energizing to be among so many strangers. And yet. I could feel my Epstein Barr chills kicking in. I could feel something else too. Thunderclouds gathering. Behind my ribs.
Five weeks ago I would
have called the Boy. I would have left nothing out. My own words, shared, would have meant I belonged. Somewhere. To someone.
Today? It's like I'm a newcomer all over again. Fresh to Berlin. And solo. Building up my life as if he'd never been.
I am assuming there is a reason for this.
Now is the moment, said Obama, now is the moment. To begin.
