The surgery was a little outside of the city in one of those lakeside communities that were named after the colour of the light that bathed the sprawling villas in the evenings. As Rosa cycled out of the city, the first mothers and fathers were already waiting at the pedestrian crossing in front of Tiefenbrunnen station on their way to the nearby public beach. The handles of the buggies were so heavily laden that they would probably have tipped backwards straightaway without the strapped-in children as a counterweight. Cool-bags, camping chairs, shell-shaped beach tents waiting to be put up. Rosa wondered if all of this was really necessary. But she didn’t know. How could she? The poplar trees swayed in the breeze on the traffic island. As did the masts of the sailing ships anchored in the harbour next to the concrete plant—they made Rosa think of chopsticks. A little further on, the plastic tables outside the clubhouse of her fishing club shone through the trees. But a glance at her watch made her pedal harder. Beyond the city limits, the surroundings began to change. The fences and hedges that provided privacy grew higher, interrupted only by heavy iron gates. Limousines and SUVs with personalized numberplates were parked on raked-gravel parking areas. The numberplates were regularly auctioned off, bringing in several million to the city treasury each time. Rosa locked her racing bike outside a building with marble pillars and untied the fabric of her dress where she had knotted it together above her knees for the ride. A life-sized Buddha was enthroned next to the reception desk.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ The shrill voice was a sharp contrast to the gentle bubbling of the decorative fountain on the reception desk. The surgery assistant slid her carefully manicured hand over the telephone mouthpiece.
Rosa tore her gaze from the Buddha, whose hands were resting loosely in its lap, folded into the shape of a bowl. ‘Sorry, I am a bit late.’ She cleared her throat. Then she glanced casually in the direction of the waiting room to make sure that no one was listening.
‘Your name?’ the shrill voice asked. The door was closed. Now Rosa replied in a firm voice: ‘My name is Zambrano.’
Fingernails flew like arrow tips across the full pages of the calendar. ‘Here it is: Zambrano. You are here for the cryopreservation?’
Rosa winced.
The assistant crossed out the entry. ‘Dr Jansen needs a moment, but the examination room is free now.’ She pointed to a door at the end of the corridor before picking up the phone again.
When Rosa sat down at the large desk, she touched her ears. They were glowing and probably dark red. She shook her curls over them. She still felt the need to j
