Sorry

“No, no, no, I mean that carte blanche …”

Wolf leans forward and taps his brother twice on the forehead.

“… what kind of an idea is that?”

“I thought it would be appropriate.”

“And what did Hessmann say?”

“What do you think he said?”

“You did what?”

Hessmann’s voice was shrill, then there was a faint crackle on the line and Kris knew that someone was listening in. Ten minutes before, Kris had said goodbye to Julia Lambert and promised to call the next day. Then he had phoned Hessmann from his car.

“How do you think that’s going to work?”

Kris heard the panic in Hessmann’s voice. Panic isn’t good. Panic can lead to short-circuited reactions. Kris was relieved that he wasn’t talking to Hessmann alone. Whoever else was listening at the other end, it meant that Hessmann had to restrain himself. Kris cleared his throat and said how he imagined the solution to the problem:

“You get Miss Lambert a job at one of the two companies she named. You know you can do that. Then you and Miss Lambert will be quits. Peace.”

Again there was that faint crackle on the line; Kris listened into the silence that followed. For a few seconds he was sure that the connection had been broken, then he heard a loud intake of breath and Hessmann said his thank-you, and that it had been a pleasure working with the agency.

“How could you be so sure it would work?” Wolf wants to know. “Guys like Hessmann eat you for breakfast, what were you thinking of?”

Kris is surprised by Wolf’s reaction.

“I had nothing to lose,” he replies. “And I think it’s a good thing for him to bleed a bit.”

Wolf lets that idea run through his head for a moment.

“I have the feeling that all this apologizing is turning into something personal for you.”

“A bit personal can’t hurt,” Kris admits. “Be honest, it isn’t just a question of apologizing. It’s about understanding. What’s the point of apologizing if the other person doesn’t sense that you’re serious about it?”

“You say understanding, Kris, but you mean empathy.”

“No, with empathy you’re private, while we stay detached. We can’t afford empathy, which is why Tamara’s unsuited for the job. You fit in much better. You have a superficiality about you that’s emotionally cool, relatively speaking.”

“Hey, how convenient.”

“You know what I mean.”

Wolf nods. Kris can get away with saying things like that.

“So you’re sticking with understanding?”

“Understanding with a hint of sympathy.”

Wolf rubs his neck.

“It’s still a hard job for me. I’m pursued by ghosts. Before and after each commission. Often for hours.”

Kris thinks about how it is for him. He doesn’t see ghosts, and if he’s perfectly honest, the commission ends there and then. But he doesn’t want to rub it in.

“No one said it would be easy to apologize on other people’s behalf. If it was easy, someone would have thought of it ages ago. I reckon we’ll soon be condemned by the church. We deliver absolution and bring light to dark souls.”

“And we’re more expensive.”

“Yes, we’re more expensive, but that doesn’t mean anyone has to fall on their knees and thank us in the evening. And think about how many people we’ve brought happiness to already. On both sides. Perpetrators and victims. We’re the good guys. Look at our commissions. If we weren’t the good guys, we wouldn’t be booked up for months in advance. Guilt seeps from people’s pores. Wolf, we’re the new forgiveness. Forget religion. We mediate between guilt and remorse. You can bet your ass that we’re the good guys.”

Four days after the Hessmann commission, Julia Lambert gets the job and sends Kris a thank-you card. A week later there’s a check from Hessmann in the mailbox. He’s added a bonus to the fee. Wolf kisses the check over and over again, until Frauke tells him to stop or the bank won’t accept it.

And at this point we leave Wolf and Frauke briefly. We leave Tamara, reading on the sofa, and Kris, in the shower a floor above. It’s time for you to enter this story. Through a back door. Like a ghost rising out of the floor and taking the stage.

Welcome.

YOU

YOU FIRST LEARN ABOUT the agency over lunch. You’re sitting with your boss and three other colleagues in a restaurant on Potsdamer Platz. The restaurant isn’t to your taste. Too loud and too chic. Once a week your boss plans a lunch for you, it’s a quirk he has. He thinks a bit of foodie culture can’t hurt.

You’ve just ordered when your boss mentions the agency. For a few seconds a high-pitched noise rings in your ears and you have the feeling that reality is trembling; it lurches for a moment before coming to a standstill again with a scraping sound. You study the frozen faces around you and wonder what would happen if your heart stopped at a moment like that and you died. Would you really be dead? Would you have disappeared from reality? Then someone laughs, then someone says it’s all nonsense, and time is time again, and you’re sitting with your colleagues at the table and you raise your water glass to your lips even though it’s empty. Your colleagues don’t notice a thing. You quickly set your glass back down again, a waiter leans toward you and pours you some water. You ignore him and laugh with the others. It sounds like a joke. An agency that apologizes. You say something now too, you say:

“Oh, come off it.”

“No, no, it isn’t a joke,” your boss assures you, passing you the bread. “It’s the latest thing. A lot of big companies are working with them already. I’ve heard it firsthand. I wouldn’t even be surprised if we used them one day.”

You all shake your heads in disbelief; the idea is ridiculous, unimaginable; all the things people come up with. You spread butter on your bread, sit still and look like someone spreading butter on some bread. Inside you’re in turmoil. What if it’s true? you wonder. What then? Your boss surprises you by reading your thoughts and says:

“Look on the internet. They must even have a homepage.”

A search on Google brings up 1,288 entries. The agency’s name is Sorry. Their homepage is only one page long. A short text, e-mail address, and phone number. You run your eyes over the comments on the agency but don’t click on them, because you don’t need the opinion of outsiders.

An agency that apologizes …

All those months, days, hours, minutes. Every second is a weight around your neck. Resistance is difficult. How many times have you wanted to fall on your knees? Always resisting, always bracing yourself. It’s understandable that you’re tired. Anyone else would be tired too, many would have given up, but you’re stubborn, and well on the way to freeing yourself of your guilt. You’ve found a way. You’ve only just figured out what needs to be done, and that same day in the restaurant you hear about an agency that apologizes in return for payment. Isn’t that ironic? Would we talk about coincidence or synchronicity? Do you want to enter into a discussion about the elements of fate?

No.

Your fingers tremble as you dial the number. It took you four days to accept the agency’s existence. Four days of stomach pains. Four days when you wanted to pummel the walls with your fists. You’re so nervous that you hang up after a single ring. You laugh. You’re aware that you’re overreacting. You’re not sixteen years old and calling the love of your life. You calm down and press redial.

“This is Sorry, Tamara Berger speaking. How can I help?”

“My name is Lars Meybach, I wanted to ask exactly how you operate,” you say, pressing your hand to your mouth to suppress a nervous giggle.

“The procedure’s very simple,” Tamara tells you. “We listen to what you want to apologize for, who it’s to, and what’s to be said. After this detailed discussion, we send one of our colleagues to see you. He fulfills the commission and—”

“How do I know that your colleague will fulfill the commission to my satisfaction?” you interrupt.