The Hottest August

This August was the hottest on record. The polar ice caps melted, and polar bears wandered confusedly through the dirty-gray landscape. Meteorologists couldn’t warn humanity often enough: “The climate is getting warmer — much too fast. And we have only ourselves to blame; we’re sawing off the branch we’re sitting on.”

And we fools just stand there looking completely dumbfounded and confused: What? Who? Why!?

Julia looked down at herself in surprise. Her breasts were getting bigger — no doubt about it. The doctor had smiled, “…that’s because of the pill, Mrs. Herrnthaler. Stop taking the pill if that guy isn’t worth it!” Julia smiled back and said nothing. Alfie — Alfie was her husband, and he was worth everything, absolutely everything. She would keep taking the pill, she told the doctor. The now-routine bone density test showed a steep upward trend. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, Mrs. Herrnthaler. Those little pills you’re taking are having a surprising effect. Keep it up, and you’ll be the first person to defeat brittle bone disease. I’d be overjoyed!” said the doctor.

Julia continued to drive the Ferrari outside the house. At home, she now dared to stand or walk freely more often without stopping herself. It was an exhilarating feeling. She let a little more hope creep in. Maybe — just maybe — she would overcome the illness. She had read a lot about mRNA technology. It was like a vaccination at the genetic level. The genes were essentially reprogrammed and passed the information on to their neighboring genes on either side. This was the discovery that had been used to successfully vaccinate people against the coronavirus since 2020. A medical breakthrough — a step whose full significance could not yet be fully grasped. People cautiously compared it to the discovery of penicillin.

Alfie looked up at her as they were getting ready to leave. Julia was wearing a semi-sheer blouse that beautifully outlined her breasts, a black leather miniskirt, and Roman sandals — and nothing else. No bra, no panties, no thong. Alfie clicked his tongue. “From her toes to her navel, from her neck to her navel — all natural, my hat’s off to her!” Two snakes wound their way up from her ankles along the insides of her thighs and met above her sacred spot. “That dim-witted Parsifal should be scared to death and never dare to cross this threshold, right!?” Alfie joked. Julia’s expression was a mystery. “I just want to let the snakes get some fresh air after the long, gloomy winter,” Julia said. Alfie grinned cheekily. “Let them get some fresh air, huh!” She pulled her miniskirt down a little lower. “I’m proud to have something to show off,” she said defiantly. “Oh, come on, you’re an exhibitionist — a damn hot one at that!” said Alfie, and that was that.

Julia smiled when she sat by the pond with Alfie and passersby stared at her T-shirt — the girl in the red wheelchair had quite the cleavage! Oh yes, she was still as proud of her breasts as a peacock — she admitted that to herself. Alfie, too, now bought half-loaves of bread for the birds; they went to the pet store together and bought birdseed so the birds would have everything they needed. Julia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye when a pair of mallards appeared, with eight little ducklings in tow. She felt a sense of pride, as if she herself had become a mom. Alfie smiled, too; after all, he had often stroked the drake’s little green-feathered head to encourage him to mate with his mate — and voilà, there were the ducklings, all without a fertility clinic.

Alfie was standing next to her in the kitchen; he had bought an Italian coffee maker — the kind where you pour the coffee beans in from the top, which finely grinds the beans before brewing and can make two cups of coffee at once. He had been looking for a machine like that — 900 years later — but it simply didn’t exist, any more than unground Arabia coffee beans did. His eyes sparkled; coffee like this was far superior to anything sold as “coffee” in Chicago in the 2930s. His nostrils quivered as he let the first caffè made from real Arabica beans run through the machine. Julia had always been more of a tea drinker, but she didn’t turn down a delicately scented, fragrant espresso. Alfie’s hand rested on her asscheeks, his eyes gleaming. “This is something that won’t exist in 900 years, my love. Coffee made from beans freshly ground right before your eyes, flowing straight into the cup. Just one of millions of sins, just one of the wonderful ‘old’ things we’ve lost along the way to the new future.” For her, neither coffee beans nor a coffee maker were anything special, but she could sense Alfie’s excitement and joy — and somehow understand it, too. In the future, people will know only the standardized food products manufactured in factories. The senses of smell and taste had become insignificant; the profits of the food monopolists were far more important.

Alfie drank his first cup of coffee with his eyes closed, without taking his hand off Julia’s back. “Stay a while, you are so beautiful,” he quoted from Goethe’s 'Faust'. Julia looked at his face; it seemed to glow from within. Alfie was neither pretentious nor self-important. He could enjoy a cup of coffee as if it were a Texas steak from a charcoal grill or a luxury yacht from Ferretti. She smiled; “We should stay like children more often,” she said softly, “children whose eyes can grow wide and round at the sight of a waffle cone with five scoops of ice cream. We forget how to love the little things and appreciate their value — that’s just the way it is.”

Alfie opened his eyes and set down the empty cup. “Do you know what the first thing I did was when I came to your time? I drove straight to downtown Chicago and tracked down my great-great-grandparents. Yeah, almost like a stalker, but they were easy to find in the phone book. I just watched my ancestors’ family for 10 days. I couldn’t talk to them without jeopardizing my mission. But they mean something very special to me. And watching the girls and young moms on their morning runs — those beautiful bodies in skin-tight leggings — it really warmed my heart.” Julia nudged him in the ribs. “You were just staring at their ass butts, you little pig!” Alfie laughed. “You bet! I’m not speaking as a biased family member, but they all have really shapely parts in those leggings, no question about it.” They both laughed, and that was just fine.

Julia looked up from her screen and took off her glasses. “I’m always delighted by how French writers deal with the behavior of the gods — with a smile and without hesitation. In German sources, Zeus’s union with Leda in the form of a swan is “mentioned” in a sober and dry manner, like a weather report. The French, on the other hand, describe the incredulous gazes of those who witnessed the unusual event. Of course, for only the Spartan queen Leda could recognize the father of the gods and surrender herself to him. Yet the French descriptions do not shy away from the impropriety of the situation and depict the indecency directly and with many lighthearted flourishes, without making it read like filth. That would never even occur to a German. I’m dedicating an entire chapter to Leda, Zeus, and the swan because it best illustrates the differences. I’m curious to see how this will go over with my advisor. I have a feeling she’s already sharpening her red pen.” Alfie raised his head; he’d been dozing a bit, catching up on some sleep. “Don’t lose sight of your goal, Julia. Your task is to earn your degree, not to be a champion of truth-seeking. You can always write a detailed book later, once you’ve got your academic degree in your pocket and framed on the wall.” It was good that Alfie had this clear perspective, that he didn’t mix one thing with the other. He was encouraging her to stay focused on her goal — that was all.

Julia sat with her knees drawn up next to the sleeping Alfie; she had wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. She was crying silently but bitterly. Alfie woke up. “Oh, darling, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Julia let herself sink forward onto his chest; her tears were now streaming down his hairless chest. It took several minutes before she — listening to his heartbeat — calmed down, still sobbing softly. “I’m crying because I’m heartbroken. One day you’ll have finished your work, and then you’ll return to your own time. The thought of it is killing me. Knowing that we only have the blink of an eye together. That this day is drawing nearer, inevitable, and that one day you’ll have to leave. No, I won’t try to hold you back. When I became your wife, I knew full well that this was only a temporary marriage. That every day is a gift, that I have no claims on you whatsoever. But it makes me unspeakably sad, Alfie, my husband!” Alfie embraced her and tried to comfort her; his hand brushed over her skin, caressing her, and he murmured disjointed words of comfort. He’d rather bite his tongue off than make empty promises to her.

No, Julia didn’t cry very often. She had both feet firmly on the ground; there wasn’t much that brought tears to her eyes. Alfie had said he wouldn’t finish within the sabbatical year — it would take a few more months — and the director had agreed. She was glad that Alfie was such a dedicated curator — like hardly anyone else. What other curator would sacrifice a year of his life to personally oversee the collection for the National Library? Who wouldn’t just shrug and settle for the fact that it was a fire accident through no fault of his own? No, the director wished there were more curators with his character on her 200-person team. Alfie wasn’t artificially prolonging his stay. He kept the scanners running day and night; he emailed people all over the world to obtain documents, letters, photos, and even seemingly insignificant newspaper articles — he was like a predator that had tasted blood and couldn’t be led off its trail, even though there were quite a few setbacks. But that was part of the job; you couldn’t always win.

Julia had dressed up; she put on her nicest outfit, her new sturdy flats, and applied some subtle makeup. Alfie wondered what this was all about. Julia smiled and linked her arm through his. “Today we’re celebrating the 90th day since I started taking your remedy. From now on, my body is taking over — the powder has done its job. I’ve placed the empty glass container on top of the sideboard. Then I wrote a label that says, ‘Inside here is what’s left of the brittle bone disease.’ I’d like to walk to the pond on your arm today — without the Ferrari. I want my birds to see that I can walk on my own two feet, that I’m no longer disabled. Not today, anyway.” Alfie smiled. How happy she was! He took his dark blue velvet cap, embroidered with gold and silver thread, out of his backpack. “That’s a curator’s cap — that’s how they recognize us in the library. It’s the only elegant thing I have to wear.” They walked to the pond; Julia generously brought a large paper bag of stale bread and birdseed. Then they went to the Marriott Hotel on the Ring, one of the city’s more upscale hotels. They sat high up in the lunchroom, drank wine, and ate steaks made from Scottish Angus beef. It was Julia’s special day.

Julia drove her Ferrari to the university. She presented the draft of her thesis to her advisor, and they discussed all the details. The professor was not dissatisfied. Julia had struck the fine line between pornography and reporting on sex so precisely that no problem would arise here. “Of course,” Julia smiled, “when I quote sources verbatim, I don’t cut a single word. After all, one should read the original, not a castrated forgery.” The professor pushed her chair back and pondered. “Julia, submit the final draft in September, and you’ll get your Master of Science degree — guaranteed. What I keep thinking about is whether you could — and would — pursue a Ph.D. All you need to do is expand, supplement, and polish up your thesis. I think this would be just the right thing for you. You’ve become a true expert in your field, and you can be proud of that. And I’m retiring in less than 10 years, my dear.” Julia swallowed but said nothing. She thought she’d really enjoy a career as an assistant professor under Johanna — very much so, in fact.

Julia began revising her manuscript from scratch and preparing a fair copy. After all, she had to submit four copies of her thesis, and one copy would be archived at the National Library. Neat work and precision were now essential. Still, she stuck to her daily routine. She handled the correspondence for IKEA every morning, drove to the pond at noon, and fed the birds with Alfie. The afternoon was reserved for her thesis, and she was as busy as a bee. The fair copy grew and grew. She took great care to include a footnote with the source for every citation; that was considered important. Alfie read her manuscript over and over again; he had no objections, just the occasional suggestion on how she could improve the readability flow of a particular passage.

Yvonne was going through a rough patch. She had dumped her Argentine macho. He had revealed macho, patriarchal tendencies that she couldn’t handle. She was, for God’s sake, a grown woman of the twenty-first century, not some wallflower from the Middle Ages whom the guy could enslave. She’d kicked him out with a symbolic kick in the ass; the relationship had absolutely no future.

The three of them were lying on Julia’s bed. It was Tuesday afternoon, and they were smoking peacefully after having sex. Alfie held back from commenting, because the relationship issues of that time were very complex. Emotional intimacy, sex lived out freely and unrestrainedly, and the clash of different personalities were far more complex than he remembered. Julia, on the other hand, was engaged in a lively discussion with Yvonne, since she had witnessed the beginnings of this relationship and the time that followed firsthand. She had warned Yvonne right from the start that the boy wasn’t quite right. But Yvonne’s hormones were running wild, dancing the Cha-Cha-Cha during what was, admittedly, great sex with Alessandro. Julia’s Cassandra-like warnings were powerless against that. And now, now the feverish excitement had cooled off. The hot iron sizzled in the ice water and slowly cooled down.

Julia shook her head vigorously; girlfriends could even share a toothbrush, but not their husbands. No way! Yes, it was clear that Yvonne was in desperate need of sex, but Julia wasn’t going to lend out her Alfie. Not in a million years! — No, it wasn’t about jealousy or even resentment for Julia. It was about the fact that Alfie was her husband and not Yvonne’s — not even as an exception. Yvonne should find someone who was available; Alfie certainly wasn’t.

She talked to Alfie about it later, of course. Alfie shifted around on his butt. “Julia, there can’t be any lies between us — they’d ruin everything. I’ll admit that Yvonne is a really tempting girl sexually — maybe even a sex bomb or a sex goddess, as they say these days; I do have eyes in my head, after all. When I see the two of you having sex, it’s obvious. I’d be a goddamn liar if I didn’t tell you how much I love looking at Yvonne’s body and watching her in action. And she doesn’t hold back about wanting me — desperately wanting me. You have sex with me because we don’t have to fear a deadly virus. Women in your time take the pill and control their own pregnancies. Nothing — absolutely nothing — would stand in the way of Yvonne taking me between her thighs — I’ve thought about it a thousand times, honestly. But despite all that, I took you as my wife, not her. I promised you that you’d be my only wife, with no exceptions. And you’re the only one I love the way I haven’t loved a woman in a long time.” Julia snuggled up against him. “And you’re my husband, my only husband, even if you’re one with an expiration date.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t even want to think about the day you’ll leave and never come back. I’m afraid I’ll die right then and there, because without you I’m lost in this life.” Alfie said nothing — what could he have said? There was no “Yvonne option”; they both knew that, and they stuck to it like glue.

Friday was Julia’s graduation. The University of Vienna, the Alma Mater Rudolphina Vindobonensis, had been holding the graduation ceremony according to a festive ritual for centuries. The dean and the other professors wore medieval ceremonial robes and headdresses. Before them, arranged in a semicircle, stood the newly minted doctors and masters, all in their finest attire. The audience — mostly family members of the doctoral candidates and master’s graduates — had also dressed up for the occasion. Alfie had bought an exquisite suit and a ruffled shirt complete with a glittering tie, and had put on the librarian’s cap embroidered with gold and silver thread. He did it for Julia’s sake; as part of her family, he simply had to look his best. Julia wore a pink one-piece dress that accentuated her beautiful figure and had her hair styled very elegantly by a hairdresser; she wore only subtle makeup. She sat in her spotless Ferrari, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers on her lap — a gift from Alfie.

The ceremony lasted as long as it always did. The toddlers were already getting restless, but everyone hung in there. Alfie burst into frenetic applause as Magister Julia Herrnthaler rolled up in front of the dignitaries and accepted her diploma in the dark red scroll. Even the professors sitting on the panel came out from behind the podium and shook Julia’s hand. She rolled back to her seat, and only then did tears of joy roll down her cheeks.

Professor Johanna Newerkla, Julia’s doctoral advisor, had invited everyone to a celebratory dinner at the Kupferdachl restaurant in the city center. She was very proud; she had guided one doctoral student and five master’s students to the finish line — that was quite an achievement. A lovely banquet for 12 people had been set up in the back hall of the Kupferdachl, and Professor Newerkla spared no expense — after all, this was her celebration, her Christmas and Easter rolled into one, so she wasn’t about to skimp. As luck would have it, Julia’s Ferrari was seated to her left and Alfie to her right. Visibly moved and close to tears of joy, the professor gave a short speech, recounting the ups and downs of each individual thesis and the courage, diligence, and efforts of her “children.”

They dined, drank, and chatted. The doctoral student and the master’s student knew each other very well, of course, and jokes and anecdotes flew back and forth across the room. Julia had a long conversation with the professor. “Hanna,” Julia said — since everyone in this circle was on a first-name basis — “Hanna, I don’t want to promise anything I can’t deliver. But I can promise you right now that I’ll enroll in a doctoral program. I want to make you proud, Hanna, because you’ve looked after us young ones, cared for us, and even given us a kick in the rear sometimes when things weren’t going well. Yes, I want to do the Ph.D., and right now I don’t see any insurmountable obstacles. Time and money aren’t an issue at all — my grandpa made sure I’d be well provided for during my studies, God rest his soul! And I know you’ll drag this stubborn donkey back into the stable, tooth and nail.” The professor beamed. “Oh, then I already have a doctoral candidate for next semester. A doctoral candidate in Hellenistic studies. We haven’t had one of those since the war. It’s going to be a blast, my dear. And I know I won’t have to cut you any slack or go easy on you. You yourself strive for perfection and academic precision, and I can count on that.” She turned to Alfie.

"And you, Mr. Alfred, are you Julia's boyfriend?" Alfie nodded. "We've been together for just under a year now; I'm her partner, so to speak. It was only through Julia that I learned more about Olympus — much more than I did in high school." The professor continued to question him. Alfie stuck to his story, which was mostly true and only omitted the part about time travel. “No, I live in Chicago and work as a curator at the National Library. I’ve been a widower for a year and took a sabbatical to think about my why, how, and where. I actually studied history and sex education over there in the States before I was hired as a curator. A curator is a cross between a librarian, a museum administrator, and a jack-of-all-trades.”

The professor was delighted that Alfie had known the late Professor Hans Strotzka, who was a world-renowned psychiatrist and a student of Sigmund Freud’s school of thought. Alfie lied, saying he had studied under Strotzka here in Vienna for two semesters, because of course he knew all about Strotzka. And the professor was even more delighted. “That must have been quite a while ago,” the professor mused, since Strotzka had been dead for years. “I think it was 1989 or 1990,” Alfie added, already regretting his lie. A quick mental calculation — the date was complete nonsense. But he’d already gotten himself into this, and there was no turning back.

He carefully steered the conversation back to Julia. “Julia and I have discussed her doctoral studies at length. Her main concerns revolved around her energy levels. She gave it her all to produce a perfect thesis. Now, standing at the summit, she gazes proudly at the panoramic view. She sees the next highest peak and isn’t sure if she still has the energy for that climb. But as long as I’m still here, I’ll actively support her. You may have to get up on your own in the morning, but sometimes the other person helps you make progress on your writing. “Without my mother’s help, I would never have finished my thesis or my doctoral dissertations.” Alfie fell silent and thought of his late mother, who had kept him on track with a firm hand, routine, and tenacity.

The professor turned back to Julia. “So, Julia, where are the two of you going on vacation now?” Julia’s breath caught for a moment. “Alfie and I haven’t even talked about it yet. I don’t think I’m the best vacation companion with this wheelchair. We’ve never gone on a trip before.” Julia sought Alfie’s eyes. He gave her a reassuring nod and replied, “We’ll discuss it at home over a cup of fine Arabic coffee. I don’t really feel like going on a trip right now, to be honest.” The professor smiled. “I’m flying to the island of Santorini next week for six weeks; I have excellent accommodations there and a very dear friend, Challos. He’s so different from the people here in Vienna, and I love immersing myself deeply in Greek culture and the wonderful sea.” Julia grinned. “Is Challos your lover, Hanna?” The professor grinned back. “Well, if you don’t tell anyone, yes, he’s my summer fling — my Greek lover — and has been for years. And don’t let my ex husband find out — he’d go berserk, even though we’ve been divorced for years. He’s always been as jealous as a yellow pus-filled pimple, my Karl.”

Julia’s grin grew even wider. “Hanna, as long as our legs carry us, our hips sway, and our fingertips can still touch our toes, we should follow the example of the ancient gods, bend down to the people of Earth, and seduce them thoroughly — with all due respect, of course.” The professor glanced at Julia’s wheelchair. “You can’t be serious about the hip-swaying, my dear?” But Julia kept grinning. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Hanna. Alfie and I — we’ll do it like porcupines: carefully, veeeery, veeeery carefully.” Alfie, Julia, and the professor laughed heartily.

The doctoral student leaned forward. “What are you laughing at?” Julia wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes and said, “We’re laughing about how porcupines probably have sex.” The doctoral student looked at her, puzzled. Julia blurted out, “Very, veeeery carefully!” Now the doctoral student laughed too, though it was probably unusual for Hanna to laugh at such jokes. He had never thought of Hanna as a woman. She had supported him in his research on Greece’s path out of the financial disaster from 2009 through 2022, and it became a highly acclaimed study.

Julia was glad she'd taken the Ferrari. She hardly would have made it through the long ceremony and the banquet on her own two feet. And the Ferrari didn't care that she was a little tipsy now. She drove through downtown hand in hand with Alfie and felt absolutely wonderful. When they got home, she admitted to Alfie that she was tipsy — just a little — but she needed his help to get out of the Ferrari. “I guess our birds will have to go hungry today,” she said regretfully. But Alfie disagreed. “When I went for my run this morning, I fed the birds because I figured we wouldn’t have time to do it later.” Julia breathed a sigh of relief.

How attentive he was, how carefully he thought through his next steps and acted on them. She didn’t know anyone else who was so clear-headed and forward-thinking. Yvonne was the exact opposite — a textbook example of chaos. Except she didn’t live with Yvonne; she lived with Alfie. Alfie, her lifesaver. The one who’d gotten her the medicine. Alfie, who’d proofread her thesis over and over again. Alfie, who’d come to her doctoral graduation as if he were family, who’d dressed up so as not to cause a stir. Alfie, who conversed brilliantly with her professor. Alfie, who was always there when she needed him. Alfie, who was the kind of attentive person she had always imagined her husband to be. Yes, she was grateful to fate, to heaven — yes, to the Greek gods — that she had met Alfie. Or rather, that Alfie had noticed her and had immediately fallen madly in love with her. And had pursued her like a ghost, persistently and purposefully. — Julia let him undress her and immediately dozed off on the bed.