Hans

Most of his acquaintances would have described Hans as at least taciturn. Listening and everything that had to do with it, he found much more exciting.

That is why Hans preferred to ride with the ice, where one could have his own place. But the bus had just been cheaper. Even with forty-four, you could try something new.

The woman next to him, at the end of thirty, had barely caught the bus. The driver had already closed the door, but after her charming smile, only a blind polar bear would have left without her.

The woman sat next to Hans to the last free place, also gave him a smile and deepened in her book, obviously a cheap romance, presumably bought from boredom at the bus station. A quarter of an hour ago, she had noticed him there for the first time. She had not really worked like someone who was about to get on a bus. With the newspaper at the checkout, he had felt her gaze, without thinking about it. Sure, the first varnish was also with him, but from his youth swimmer career was enough left. While he had gone over to the bus, he had rushed them, hurried to the ticket counter, and sprinted from there to the bus. As she took off her jacket, he realized that the shapes under her tight sweater would not only delight the eyes of an average person. However, Hans interested her breasts not very much. They were equal – bulging or flat, hanging or firm, big warts, small warts, not very exciting. Hans was much more exciting … well, unfortunately, she had long black hair … you could not have it all. But why not look more closely at the visible rest? The woman noticed it, smiled quietly without lifting her eyes.

Even before they left Berlin, it began to drizzle.

Small drops covered the disk. At the top edge was just another, slightly thicker. He slid down, a smaller one slowly behind. However, when he had almost reached the thick, he pulled his course further. The driving twist number two from the direction. Number one stayed in her place and rested there until the tender number two gently passed by.

Hans shook his head slightly. The woman looked up, her eyes hung on him, then on the window, behind which the foggy Brandenburg landscape rolled. Number one, on the other hand, set off for number two. Was the woman really looking at the drops? She had bent over to Hans. If only he were not that damned long hair, otherwise he would have … Hans sucked in her scent. Light and unusually tart for a woman. He tried to focus on the show on the disc.

A voice, immediately behind them, drew him out of his thoughts: “Would you like something to drink?”

Hans had not expected a kind of steward to go through the ranks on a bus ride. “Orange juice,” the woman said at the same moment, as he said, “apple juice.” The woman leaned back. The man with the little carriage grinned, handed everyone a paper cup and cashed.

Hans and the woman stood up for nothing. The appropriate time to start a conversation was Hans, before he remembered that Small Talk was one of the strengths of other people. With him, it always ended in embarrassing silence, so he could skip the conversation and turn back to the disc. The woman smiled fiercely at her and reached for her book.

On the disc, the thick number one had moved quite a distance from number two. It did not look as if they had a chance. Pity, thought Hans, and began to draw a line slowly with the finger, to join the two at least on this side of the disk. The stranger stretched out his hand as if to stop him but pulled her back halfway. She shook her head. “Do not cheat.” He turned to her. If, at least once, he strokes his hair and does not think of it, no purpose anyway.

On the disc drop number two was clearly determined to continue his way. He wandered over and crossed the little trail that had left number one, as if to give him a last chance.

The stranger had retired to her side. She drank her juice and reached for the book. The woman raised her hand to her temple, as if she wanted to … Hans held his breath. Now. The bus made a sharp braking. The driver was heard cursing loudly, while a silver-colored BMW shot off a few hundred meters ahead of them.

Just out of the corner of his eye Hans was watching the movement of the strange woman. Again, her somewhat bony hand wandered up, brushed the black hair back, and released her right ear.

Perfect.

Hans would rather be fused with the chair to hold back. Could Nature really create something that he could never have imagined, in spite of all his efforts, in his most vivid dreams? The upper round of her auricle drew an overwhelmingly harmonious bow, which ended in a completed swing to the earlobe. The ear-cartilage was only a little visible, and fit into the overall work of art. And the best of all: no earrings, not even holes for it! But then the beautiful dream ended. The stranger shook her head briefly, and her hair hid all the essentials.

Hans turned to the window. When was he the last time … definitely too long ago. And as never before. Instead, he watched stupid dripping at her unfortunate romance on the slice of a tourist bus. With an Irish ride, number two had managed to reach number one almost. Only one millimeter separated the two from each other.

What did he really care about? Hans’s imagination ran on high-ways. He had to touch that ear, and when it took hours of small talk about the weather.

On the other side of the bus, an elderly couple argued about the rain. Hans looked briefly over. His gaze, without realizing it, remained on the profile of the woman, whose hair was still a stable, seemingly insurmountable wall. If chance could give him only a single glance.

Then the right words would come to him. As a reward, his fingers would wander along the inside of this incredibly stable, yet delicate auricle, from there their way down to the earlobe, then slowly back up again. This indescribable earlobe would turn red, so his lips could no longer be different from kissing. And to kiss. And just a few more times before his tongue …

Now he noticed the stare of the stranger, whose hair his eyes had hung all the time. Hans cleared his throat and forgot the matter. He took a sip of apple juice, put the empty cup off, and then reached for the last drop to roll into the mouth.

During all this time, the woman looked at him intently. Surprisingly, she did not even look surprised. In her eyes was reflected the splendor of his own longing.

The bus drove past a small field. A stork sailed over it.

“It’s raining outside,” the woman finally said.

“Very,” answered Hans.

They were silent for a while. The bus was humming through two or three curves. Hans’s head remained a dark empty cave, which no one had yet explored. The bus thundered over a bridge.

The stranger asked: “Ears?”

He nodded. The bus reached a long drawn curve.

The woman said, “Hands.”

Behind the curve, she simply reached for his right hand and held it with expert knowledge. An embarrassed smile hovered over her face. Her right forefinger wandered slowly along the thumb from the tip to the palm of the hand, successively middle and ring fingers. Hans closed his eyes. With her thumb she stroked his little finger, drove over the outer side and the hand root to Hans’s thumb, where the two tips touched. Then she silently laid her fingertips on his own and massaged them with small circular movements that Hans was almost dizzy from the touch. When had a woman ever done with him? Probably never, but his memory was very limited at the moment. Now the tip of the stinging finger of the stranger woman began to grope slowly to Hans’s palm, from there on, hesitated at the cuff button, and went up and down the palm of his hand with the other fingers. And again, up and down, and again, until her finger finally found the way to the small crease between Hans’s middle and pointing finger, and rest where Hans held him.

With his free hand he laid the hair of the strange woman on the other side. His fingers hardly dared to touch this gift before his eyes. The earlobe was warm, unbelievable. He circled it with his little finger. From the bottom he accompanied the slight swing upwards, then down again on the ear cartilage, and finally gently swayed the almost mathematically perfect turns of the inside, until he was at the deepest point, and slowly stroked his little finger there and there. He kissed the transition between the ear lobes and the upper arch, and now walked with lips and tongues at the outer edge, stopped briefly, and moved past the small ear cartilage.

He heard the strange woman sigh softly, who in the meantime was intensely occupied with his hand, which she probably felt as perfect as he had her incredible ear. While his mouth carefully followed the inner lines of her auricle, she took his hand and began to kiss one finger after another and finally suck on her little finger. Hans’s pulse rose, he felt more and more difficult to breathe calmly. A quick glance to the left told him that the older couple were discreetly looking out the window. As he stroked the innermost part of the stranger’s ear, he just realized that the two drops of his window-window were flowing in a small lake.

Outside, the first suburbs appeared.

When Hans and the strange woman came out of the bus a little later, they did not need much more.