"One of my favourite artists is coming to Berlin in about two weeks," said Elisabeth one night.
"Who's that?" Frederick replied.
"Escapade - he's this absolute sensation in the music world, he mixes all kinds of tones and genres into one huge visual and auditory experience. It's mostly things you can lift your arms to and dramatically sway from side to side. Or slow dance."
"Is that a hint?"
"I never hint. Will you come with me?"
"Of course I will. But you should know that us Berliners take our dancing very seriously."
"Can you teach me?"
"It can't be taught. It's just letting yourself be transported, as if you were floating in water and the strong currents moved you. Just like that."
"Sounds like pretentious bullshit to me."
They spent the concert never leaving each other's side. Frederick enjoyed himself immensely, and to Elisabeth's delight, he lifted her onto his shoulders when Escapade played her favourite song. They left themselves to be immersed in the mood and the sweat of the wild crowd and eventually, they shut out the world, remaining the only two people that mattered on earth that night.
Elisabeth often saw their relationship as an out-of-body experience. Sometimes, when they lay intertwined at night, or when she would watch him stack his books alphabetically in a shelf she had helped him put up, she saw them in their undeniable love bubble. It scared her, as she had been in another love bubble not long before she had chosen Berlin, and all the passion then had turned sour very quickly.
When Frederick had asked her to move in with him, Elisabeth said no. It was a choice divided between fear and the desire to maintain some independence. She had calmly explained this to Frederick, who had shrugged in a rather un-German fashion: they spent so much of their time together, why not make it official?
"Because then there would be no more mystery between us. We'll know the smallest, most insignificant details about one another, like how often you do your laundry or how long it takes me to brush my hair in the morning."
Her long hair was her pride and joy.
"I already know that," he replied without sulking. Instead, he reached over to her nightstand, grabbed her wooden comb and proceeded to brush through the reddish brown mane on the head of the woman he loved.
