Paul und Paula

Do I actually have to clean the windows of my cell myself?
The officer rolled his eyes. Does it matter?
No, sorry, I'm just asking...
Paul lowered his eyes to the investigation files.
Paula M. * on March 23, 1964.
She was barely 19 when they met in the early 80's. A "real whirlwind" as she liked to describe herself.
Spring brought his first hot days, and Paul took Paula to his student digs for the first time. Man, that's how dirty it is with you intellectuals, I thought so right away! She laughed. That's all right, he was coy - but she couldn't be stopped.
Every one of his books, at least 7-8 meters of shelves, everything from the Reclam yellows he picked off to good technical literature, was dusted cleanly.
Every piece of junk in every picture frame was picked up, the shelves and desk were wiped clean. Then it was time to sort out and rearrange. That's what she called it. A few rubbish bags were filled, and afterwards nothing stood where Paul had dropped it before.
When she finally spun the vacuum cleaner around the room, Paula said she felt like she had just driven winter away herself.
Finally the glass, Paul! - and while Paula was balancing on the windowsill and polishing the windows, he imagined people from the street looking up at her on the fifth floor and shaking their heads. She laughed. And he laughed, too.
Carefully he wrapped his arms around her knees to lift her gently and only let her down again on his student bed. But it is spring and the shoots are sprouting, he whispered in her ear.
Such was her first season. Paul blinked. They were Paul and Paula. Like in that GDR film. How often he had tried to introduce her to that special romanticism he felt, for example, in this story.
Their lack of understanding for "all that funny literature stuff" appealed to him a little bit, but this, he called it "electric attraction", their simplicity, was also part of a very special charisma and attraction. At that time... It was a bit stocky, almost a bit clumsy, but also somehow delicate and not unattractive, Paul thought.
Spring was followed by summer. And romance was perhaps not quite so electric even then, mused Paul. It had been so long ago now.
And Paula kept on cleaning. Every spring, every autumn, every summer, every winter.
The student Paul became a counsellor, a Doctor Paul.
Paula stayed Paula and she kept on cleaning.
The student dormitory became a centrally located city flat. Good substance, too big for without children, but a lot of space for his books, 5th floor again, badly financed and house money too expensive.
And Paula cleaned.
Every spring.
Every autumn.
Every summer.
Every winter.
Every month.
And Paula the whirlwind became Paula the cleaning drone. Or Berta the humming top. But her name was Paula.
And Paula cleaned.
Every spring.
Every autumn.
Every summer.
Every winter.
Every month.
Actually, every month.
She was balancing on the windowsill.
Gently, he wrapped his arms around her knees...

Jörg Tietz (2018)