The Hussies
An old man on the street calls us hussies. What the fuck kind of word is that?
Die Luders
Wir laufen ihr hinterher und finden raus, wo sie wohnt. Ein Kinderspiel. Wir warten noch einen Tag. Immer abwechselnd steht einer von uns Wache, damit wir wissen, wann sie aus dem Haus ist. Einen Ehemann hat sie auch. Als beide das Haus verlassen, gehen wir durch das Gartentor rein. Wir treten die Gartenstühle um und nehmen den Tisch auseinander. Wir zertrampeln die Blumen und reißen am Efeu. Wir sprayen drei Kreuze auf die Tür. Das ist unser Zeichen. Das ist unsere Rache. Für ihren Act in der Schule. Für Seta. Wir finden ein Fenster auf Kippe und öffnen es, und nacheinander klettern wir durch das Fenster und landen in der Küche. Drinnen verputzen wir alles, was essbar ist und schmieren alles andere, was wir nicht essen wollen, auf die Möbel. Wir kippen alles um, was nicht niet- und nagelfest ist. Wir schmeißen alle Klamotten aus den Schränken und lassen im Bad das Wasser überlaufen. Sie nennt sich Lehrerin, aber das interessiert uns nicht. Dann fragt Uli nach einem Lippenstift und wir fragen: Was willst du mit einem Lippenstift? Erwartest du deinen Lover heute Nacht? Nee, Mann, zum Schnacken mit dem Alten, sagt sie, dabei so ein Grinsen im Gesicht. Dann kramt Seta einen aus ihrer Tasche, knallrot, und Uli geht ins Badezimmer und schmiert wie in einem Horrorfilm »Das ist unsere Rache, Bastardin« auf die ganze Wand. Der Lippenstift ist im Arsch, aber wen interessiert das schon.
Die Luders
Wir laufen ihr hinterher und finden raus, wo sie wohnt. Ein Kinderspiel. Wir warten noch einen Tag. Immer abwechselnd steht einer von uns Wache, damit wir wissen, wann sie aus dem Haus ist. Einen Ehemann hat sie auch. Als beide das Haus verlassen, gehen wir durch das Gartentor rein. Wir treten die Gartenstühle um und nehmen den Tisch auseinander. Wir zertrampeln die Blumen und reißen am Efeu. Wir sprayen drei Kreuze auf die Tür. Das ist unser Zeichen. Das ist unsere Rache. Für ihren Act in der Schule. Für Seta. Wir finden ein Fenster auf Kippe und öffnen es, und nacheinander klettern wir durch das Fenster und landen in der Küche. Drinnen verputzen wir alles, was essbar ist und schmieren alles andere, was wir nicht essen wollen, auf die Möbel. Wir kippen alles um, was nicht niet- und nagelfest ist. Wir schmeißen alle Klamotten aus den Schränken und lassen im Bad das Wasser überlaufen. Sie nennt sich Lehrerin, aber das interessiert uns nicht. Dann fragt Uli nach einem Lippenstift und wir fragen: Was willst du mit einem Lippenstift? Erwartest du deinen Lover heute Nacht? Nee, Mann, zum Schnacken mit dem Alten, sagt sie, dabei so ein Grinsen im Gesicht. Dann kramt Seta einen aus ihrer Tasche, knallrot, und Uli geht ins Badezimmer und schmiert wie in einem Horrorfilm »Das ist unsere Rache, Bastardin« auf die ganze Wand. Der Lippenstift ist im Arsch, aber wen interessiert das schon.
Danach gehen wir zu unserem Feind Nummer zwei. Wir schlagen alles klein bei ihm. Wir finden ihn lächerlich, die Kartoffelfresse. Pass auf, schon wieder mit Kartoffelfresse, sagt Alex, ich bin auch eine, aber Seta sagt, du bist doch meine allerliebste Kartoffelfresse und außerdem auch die schönste. Die ist sowieso immer so hyperkorrekt. Mann, wo bist du denn aufgewachsen, fragen wir, im Eliteinternat, oder was?
Alle nennen mich Flo, außer meine Eltern, die nennen mich Gonca, aber wer will schon so heißen. Zum Kotzen der Name. Meine Kumpels sind Alex und Seta und Uli, eigentlich Alexandra, Seftap und Ulrike, aber diese Namen will keiner von uns hören. Die erinnern uns an unsere Eltern und an die will keiner denken. Meine Kumpels schauen immer zu mir, wenn es ums Entscheiden geht, wenn etwas gemacht werden soll, du bist unser Alpha, sagen sie zu mir, aber eigentlich zählt jeder einzelne von uns gleich. Wir sind unzertrennliche siamesische Vierlinge, wenn man einen abtrennt, sterben alle.
Ein Alter auf der Straße nennt uns Luder.…
The Hussies
We follow her and find out where she lives. Child’s play. We wait one more day. We take turns keeping watch so we know when she’s not at home. She has a husband too. When they’ve both left the house, we go through the gate into the yard. We kick the patio chairs over and dismantle the table. We trample the flowers and pull down the ivy. We spray-paint three crosses on the door. That’s our sign. That’s our revenge. For what she did at school. For Seta. We find a window left slightly open and one after another we climb through, landing in the kitchen. We scarf down everything edible, and all the stuff we don’t want to eat we smear on the furniture. Everything that’s not nailed down, we tip over. We drag all the clothes out of the closets and let the water in the bathtub overflow. She calls herself a teacher, but we could care less. Then Uli asks for a lipstick and we ask her What do you want with a lipstick? You expecting your lover tonight? No, dude, for hanging out with the old guy, she says, a big grin on her face. So Seta rummages around in her bag, finds one, bright red, and Uli goes into the bathroom and scrawls like in a horror film This is our revenge, bitch right across the wall. The lipstick is fucked, but who cares.
After that we go to our enemy number two’s place. Smash all his stuff to smithereens. We think he’s pathetic, the pizza-face. Here we go again with the pizza-face, says Alex, I’m one too, but Seta says, You’re my favorite pizza-face in the whole world and you’re also the most beautiful pizza-face. She’s always like that, so PC. Dude, where the fuck did you grow up, we ask, in a boarding school or what?
Everyone calls me Flo, except for my parents, they call me Gonca, but who the hell wants to be called that. That name sucks. My besties are Alex and Seta and Uli, actually Alexandra, Seftap, and Ulrike, but none of us wants to hear those names. They remind us of our parents, and nobody wants to think about them. My crew always looks to me when a decision needs to be made, when something has to be done, You’re our alpha, that’s what they say to me, but really each one of us counts just the same. We’re inseparable Siamese quadruplets, if you detach one of them, they all die.
An old man on the street calls us hussies. What the fuck kind of word is that? What’s up with him? Are you from the Middle Ages, grandpa, or what? asks Seta. We aren’t hussies. We’re women, she says. At most you’re girls, says the old guy, and then he says other stuff like respect, responsibility, deference. Shit, man, he’s talking to us about deference, and Uli laughs so totally hard from her throat that she starts spitting up blood—her mama is always stuffing herself with bananas, as if she’s been in treatment for an addiction to them for years, and we all find it weird, and Uli says she has bananaritis. I guess some like it from below and some prefer it from above. Sometimes Uli’s imagination runs away with her, says Alex.
It’s getting late and we don’t feel like going home yet, and what would we do there anyway? We look for a victim. We find a girl. She’s the perfect victim. Same age as us, a year or two older, max. Bring it on, we think. Then we find another, better victim, a man, he’s wearing white sneakers, and we hate white sneakers, and white in general. What’s up with that? I ask. What do I know, man, says Alex, and we run after the victim, screaming at the top of our voices Hussies, we’re the hussies, the hussies, and all the people going by look at us, but who cares.
We go out to the edge of town and pass by a bar. We stare at the people drinking wine and wearing designer sneakers. We let our last victim know how we feel about those. There’s a line of bicycles next to the bar, and Alex says it’s about time she had a bike again. Then we pull Alex into the side street and laugh really loudly. She doesn’t know what we’ve got up our sleeves, but come on, she wasn’t born yesterday. We walk down the street that curves round the bar and sneak up behind the bikes belonging to the trendy people. Breaking locks is a no-brainer. Seta always carries her special cracker around with her. Just in case, she says. She pulls the crowbar out of her backpack. Uli starts to panic. She wants to take off, but I tell her No way Jose. She tries to leave, but Alex and I hold on to her as she struggles to get away. At least she doesn’t scream. Seta works out, so she can snap the chain locks, and we sneak away with the bikes, back into the street where we came from. Easy peasy, says Uli, and she’s totally with us again. We get on the bikes, pressing down wildly on the pedals. Our throats almost close up with fear. Seta’s face is spread wide with her typical winner’s grin. I can always count on my three buddies, I say, quickly patting each of them on the shoulder as we ride along. They understand that’s my way of praising them and it makes them all get bigger and louder. Don’t laugh so loud, says Uli grinning, just because you’re so proud of your new bikes. Stop shitting me, says Alex, didn’t you want to take off just now? You’re hallucinating dude, says Uli. Now she’s making that horrid face she thinks is a smile, says Alex.
I’m off to hang out, says Uli. Seta lends her lipstick. We watch as Uli slowly applies it. With those clothes and that haircut she looks like a scarecrow. Alex and Seta are thinking the same thing. It’s written on their faces, I know my crew. If nothing else is erotic, there’s always lipstick, says Alex. Why the hell are you talking about what’s erotic, I’m just joking around, says Uli, turning red. Isn’t he your uncle or something? asks Seta. None of your beeswax, says Uli. Off she goes, with a red face, the proud owner of a new bike. Her big ass balances on the tiny saddle. Now your imagination is running away with you, I tell Alex. This hanging out, says Alex, in Uli-language it means doing it.
The twins are playing with their blocks and Mother’s sitting in front of the TV. She looks over at me. I thought you were Frank, says Mother, and turns back to the TV. When’s Dad coming? I ask. No idea, says Mother. She wears the same clothes all day, which she also wears at night. Early stages of depression, says the doctor. He has a screw loose, says Mother. The twins whine and say they want her breast and Mother tells them to get lost. You have to feed them, you brought them into the world, I say. I didn’t want to bring them into the world, says Mother, going back to staring at the screen. The twins keep saying Mom, Mom and grab her breasts and Mother tells them to get lost for God’s sake, pushing the pests away. They cry their heads off, but who cares. I warm up something for myself in the microwave and hold it out to the twins who make faces. Mom, Mom, they keep saying, and I want to eat in peace. Then they come and try to reach my breasts, and I say Get lost, you pests. They don’t want to chew and would rather stay with the breast. They’re perverse, the little brats. I’m dozing off when Alex and Seta text me to say Come on, let’s hang out. We meet up at our special place. We’re all wearing miniskirts and low necklines. We put on red lipstick and go into a bar, where we sit around smiling at guys so they’ll come over and buy us drinks. We’ve hardly been there for five minutes and we’ve already got three guys hooked. We tell them our names are Denise, Charlotte, and Christine. We exaggerate the way we move our lips and let them buy us one drink after another. The dudes are totally sure of themselves and we play around with them a bit and they’re sure we want it. We let them think that, until we’ve had enough and get bored. Then we disappear into the restroom one after another and get the hell out of there through the bathroom window. Seta took off with her guy’s wallet. The night’s spoils come to ninety euros. You can always count on my crew. Uli writes to ask where we are. Says she’s fed up with her guy so we all totter off to meet up at our place. We’ve got enough money for the next week. We sing quietly to ourselves The hussies, the hussies, and keep grinning our heads off. We really took those guys for a ride. In the morning there’ll be school again, but who cares.
“Die Luders” from Flexen. Flâneusen* schreiben Städte. Berlin: Verbrecher Verlag, 2019.
Image by Yusuke Nagaoka.
Özlem Özgül Dündar, born in 1983, writes plays, poetry, prose, and essays, performs, and works as an editor and translator. Her play Jardin d’Istanbul was awarded the 2015 Retzhof Drama Prize, and she also won the 2018 Kelag Prize and the 2018 Rolf Dieter Brinkmann Scholarship. Her poetry collection gedanken zerren appeared in 2018. The WDR radio production of her play türken, feuer was named 2020 radio play of the year.
Neil Blackadder is a translator from German and French, whose play translations have been produced in London, New York, and other cities, widely published and presented in staged readings, and recognized with grants and residencies. His translations of prose and poetry have appeared in Two Lines, Chelsea, Tongue, and elsewhere. He is the translations editor for Another Chicago Magazine. In Spring 2023, Neil will be the translator-in-residence at Princeton University.
