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Dominik & Benjamin Reding

Jeden Monat nähern sich unsere Kolumnisten, die Berliner Filmemacher Dominik und Benjamin Reding, dem jeweiligen Heftthema auf ihre ganz eigene Art und Weise. Geboren wurden
die Zwillinge am 3. Ja nuar 1969 in Dortmund. Während Dominik Architektur in Aachen und Film in Hamburg studierte, absolvierte Benjamin ein Schauspielstudium in Stuttgart. 1997
begann die Arbeit an ihrem ersten gemeinsamen Kinofilm „Oi! Warning“. Seitdem arbeiten sie für Fernseh- und Kinofilmprojekte zusammen.

T he following essay isn’t an essay; it’s a story, a real story, almost a fairy-tale. And orange juice sip by sip as if he were doing it for the first time. My parents no doubt
it is not about well-designed restaurants or fashionable bars or the latest hotels,
asked him something, where he came from, what his name was, but I do not remem-
not even about a snack bar, couch surfing or the design of a beer mat and yet the story ber his answers only his attentive, if one wants to be very precise, tense face. He didn’t
completely belongs here, in this AIT edition on the topic of bars, hotels, restaurants. say a lot, talking seemed to be awkward for him, he preferred to look at us, ate small
The story takes place in the past. No, not at the banquet table of High Renaissance morsels of cake and listened to us three children talking happily and excitedly. The
and neither in front of the mountains of cakes in the mirror hall of Versailles. It takes sky became overcast, light grey turned into dark grey. Mother cleared the table, father
place in 1972 in an estate of terraced houses on the periphery of an industrial city. It folded the newspaper, the tension vanished, the visitor who, as it seemed, had no
was a Sunday, in late summer, the sky at midday sunny, blue and without any clouds. time pressure and no place to be and just stayed, had lost his importance. Dad teles-
We, meaning the R. family, consisting of Dad, Mom and my two brothers, the big one, coped the antenna of the transistor radio and suggested to us to show the boy “to end
who was incredibly old, already seven, and my twin brother, four years old, and my- the visit” our “children’s vegetable patches” behind the wall of the house. The newly
self. We had not, as usually was the case each Sunday, gone to Schuckert. Not to this planted vegetable patches were small but a lot was growing on my big brother’s
simple restaurant which was actually a pub and where the old miners were coughing square: parsley, tomato plants and also a little birch tree he had put there in the
and drinking at the high, tables studded with nails but to the back room with flowery spring. We, the twins, showed our patches where, to tell the truth, nothing but weeds
wallpaper, silver cutlery and white tablecloths pretending to be a real restaurant. But were growing, and explained, not without some pride, what all we had planted there
we didn’t go there that day, we stayed at home. In our end-terrace house with grey and was soon going to grow. The boy listened in silence, a bit more serious than be-
glass plaster (if you touched it too hard, you cut yourself), large windows towards the fore, a bit more restless, as well. (But maybe memory fails me here and only wants to
garden, a terrace of concrete slabs and a wooden lattice fence. And because we had announce what in reality couldn’t be felt). Then my big brother pointed to the young
eaten at home, with folded napkins and a clay birch tree and explained, calmly and in a
pot and ice cream for us and Moselle wine for friendly way, how he had first dug up the soil,
the parents, my father was now sitting on the then fertilized it and that birches needed quite
terrace in the garden chair (with yellow rubber a large amount of water and that he was there-
bands), under the parasol (red, with white fore watering it twice every day, in the morning
dots), reading the newspaper (the thick Sun- and in the afternoon. And we listened, impres-
day newspaper), listening to the radio (a sil- sed by his knowledge. The boy of the same age
very transistor radio) and mother brought and the same size was also listening without
(using the good dishes) orange juice and rhu- interrupting him. Then the boy quietly raised
barb cake outside. And we children were sit- his hand, took a step towards my big brother
ting there as well, talking, eating, drinking, and pressed his hand against his throat. My
laughing and playing with the lemon-yellow brother stumbled backwards, across the vege-
inflatable ball. The details are important, they table patch and was now standing with his
are the thumbtacks between which memory is back against glass-plaster wall. The boy pres-
stretched. Then, the sun disappeared behind sed, hard, incessantly. He didn’t look even
thin clouds, the sky turned grey, there was this nasty while doing it or angry or full of hate but
boy standing behind the wooden lattice fence. serious, with a firm intention. He cut his air off
His hair correctly combed, his arms akimbo, until my big brother turned blue in the face and
he was looking at us. He saw how we were his arms went limp. My twin brother and I
nibbling at our cake, drinking orange juice, were just standing there, at first insecure, then
how mother brought more pieces of cake, fat- Grafik: Benjamin Reding frightened then rigid with panic because we
her explained articles in the newspaper to his started to understand, with the brutality of a
sons, especially his eldest one since he al- realization, like a kick, that the boy was surely
ready went to school, after all. He saw how we were laughing and joking and playing going to kill my big brother. “Let him go!” Not I, my twin brother took action. He raised
with the inflatable ball which ended up rolling close to the fence and we thus disco- his little fists and pummelled the back of boy who was choking my brother, full of
vered the boy. He was maybe seven or already eight but certainly not older because wild, childlike anger. Then the boy actually let go. For another brief moment, he was
he was not taller than my big brother. He was wearing a pair of short trousers, as did still standing there as if reflecting, as if coming up from the bottom of a deep black
almost all the seven-year-old boys at the time, a velour sweater and a little blue jacket lake, then he ran off. Now my father also came, saw my big brother marked by the
with a zipper as did almost all the children at the time. “Come on in!” My father called violence, the being choked, and furiously ran in pursuit of the boy. But, although the
to the boy with a generous, inviting gesture to join us and sit with us at the table, to estate of terraced houses was only small and we knew the people there, he didn’t find
share the cake and the orange juice. And for a short moment, no longer than it took the boy anymore. Never again, since he never showed up again. We kept his little blue
to say the words “Come on in!”, it seemed to me as if my father was hesitating, as if jacket for another two years – until we moved, then mother threw it out. And now it
it was an effort for him, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing. The boy kept quiet, happens to me sometimes when I am sitting in a restaurant, a bar, a hotel and the
stood there without moving. And as if to reinforce, to confirm the decision, my father wine is good and the food excellent and the room is warm and clean and I look out
now explained to the boy how he had to walk around the house to get into our gar- the windows into the street and watch the people walk by in their jackets and coats
den. The boy disappeared and we, even somewhat tense, were waiting for him to that I start to be afraid. Among the people out there, that boy could be, discover me
come around the corner and he also did so. A bit insecure but full of purpose all the behind the window and come inside, grab me and shake me and ask for his little jak-
same, he approached the table, sat down on the free garden chair, took off his little ket back and for cake and juice and the whole domestic happiness on a Sunday. But
jacket, hung it neatly over the backrest, took a glass in both his hands and drank the that is completely impossible, after all, that would be crazy, wouldn’t it?

AIT 6.2019 • 073