It's Ficlet Friday, so I thought it was time for another visit in Cologne, Germany.TOC Go With The Flow Luise hadn’t given Clark any explanation as to why she didn’t want him to leave. And he hadn’t asked, still reeling from the shock of her revelation. He wasn’t real, she’d said. A comic book character she’d drawn a picture of and who’d come to life because of it. The very same comic book character he’d tried so hard never to be associated with.
Superman.
Who for some reason shared both his name and his powers.
It didn’t make sense, did it?
When Luise jumped up from the edge of the fountain and walked past the cathedral, Clark once again had no choice but to follow. She rejoined the steady stream of people coming from the main station and followed them. The plaza narrowed to an alley, four storey buildings lining both sides as far as the eye could see.
“Hohe Straße,” Luise whispered as she became part of the river of people flowing past two endless rows of shops.
They drifted with the crowd, navigating through the rows as Luise slowly worked her way from the right side to the left and somehow managed to escape the flood into an empty passage with luxury shops on both sides. She walked past them and ended up on a smaller square. Red parasols on the right side covered tables on the outside area of a restaurant while the left side was taken up by another fountain. Luise walked around it until she stood right in front of a woman who stood on top of a flight of stairs, carrying a light in her hand as she seemed to search for something. To her feet dwarfs tumbled down the stairs.
Luise pointed toward the woman. “It’s a shame she’s the villain in this story.”
Clark floated toward the fountain, as far as Luise’s gravitational field would let him. On both sides of the staircase more pictures of dwarfs were carved into the stone, most of them showing the little men at work.
“What story?” he asked.
“Wie war zu Köln es doch vordem mit Heinzelmännchen so bequem,” Luise began to recite. “It’s a poem I heard as a kid. According to the legend, dwarfs appeared every night to do the work of the people of Cologne. When they woke up in the morning, all their work had already been done. But the tailor's wife,” she pointed at the woman on the stairs, “was too curious. She wanted to find out what was going on. One night, she scattered peas on the stairs and when the dwarfs came, they tumbled down the stairs and never returned.”
Luise rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Can you imagine? The whole city suffered because one woman wanted to know the truth. What’s so bad about wanting to know the truth?”
Clark floated back toward her and landed on her arm. He studied her for a moment, thinking there was more to her outrage than merely disliking a legend.
“Nothing, I guess.” Clark wasn’t quite sure what else to say.
He hardly knew this woman and even if he did, what kind of advice could a comic book hero even give? If that was truly who he was. If he’d really just imagined his whole life. Could a comic book character even imagine anything?
Luise looked down at him and a wistful smile crossed her face. “Did you know that I always wanted to be a reporter like you? Someone who uncovers all the sinister plans of politicians or villains and exposes them. Wouldn’t that be great - if we could work at the Daily Planet as a team? Luise Lahn and Clark Kent?”
“Uhm.” Again Clark didn’t know what to say.
She looked so happy in her daydream, her face positively glowing as she imagined their shared byline in a fictive paper. It seemed cruel to make that smile crumble by telling her that he wasn’t the reporter she imagined him to be. Oh, he’d wanted to make a living by doing exactly what she’d suggested, he’d wanted to make a difference, even though he’d promised his Dad to never reveal his powers to anyone. He’d even studied journalism.
And then, someday, his comic book alter-ego had appeared, doing exactly what he’d always wanted to do and using his powers in ways Clark had never dared to imagine. With all the strange things usually happening around him, he’d tried to stop being that Clark Kent and had become someone else.
Charly King. Not a reporter, and definitely not a hero. Maybe even not a real person.
“That would be nice,” he finally managed, his voice rough.
Clark couldn’t quite help the ache settling in his chest, a strange remorse as if he were missing a life he’d never really had. What was it about this woman who’d somehow dragged him into her world by drawing a picture of him? How could he miss someone he didn’t know and had never met until not even an hour ago? But as he looked into her sparkling brown eyes, he felt a connection he couldn’t explain.
Luise winked at him. “Come on, there’s one last thing I want to show you before I tear that picture to shreds.”
***
The
Heinzelmännchen are based on a
poem by August Kopisch. The Wikepedia article in the first link has an abbreviated English translation and a photo of the fountain. If you want the whole poem, I'm afraid you have to come to Cologne and visit the Heinzelmännchenbrunnen.
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