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.
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