Tante Eva

by Paula Bomer

  Eva resented the tone. “Don’t worry about me. I am more than fine. I’ll see you soon. Tschüsschen!”

  No one was on the U-Bahn. That was the first thing that made her melancholy. And then, the weather had turned so dark and cold. A horrible wind blew. It wasn’t yet eleven in the morning and it felt like night.

  The skinheads were out on their corner. In this weather, on this important day. Hatless, their leather coats seeming brittle and useless in the cold, they passed a bottle. Clutching the bag that held her scarf and book, she thought briefly of crossing the street. It was Christmas Day, it was only eleven in the morning.

  Then, there hiding behind the men, was Krista.

  “Krista, bist du das?”

  The girl stumbled forward, her head uncovered, her face raw with the cold and alcohol. “Hallo, Eva. Hier, das sind der Kurt, der Peter und der Johann.”

  “Aber . . . komm mit mir, bitte. Komm—ich bring dich hoch in eure Wohnung. Your mother is worried about you, I’m sure.”

  Johann, the leader, passed Krista the bottle. She swigged it, and breathed out hotly afterward. “My mother thinks I’m at the soup kitchen today. That’s where I spend every Christmas. Every Sunday.” They all laughed. “That’s what my mother thinks.” They laughed so hard, Krista nearly falling over.

  “Krista, darling.”

  “Our little Krista is celebrating Christ’s birthday with us,” said Johann. He pulled her, and she stumbled toward him.

  “Yeah, Eva. Fröhliche Weihnachten,” Krista said and grabbed the bottle again.

  “Genug, you greedy girl,” Johann said and pushed her away.

  Eva, with regret, began to walk away, leaving Krista with those abominations. “Eva!” shouted Krista. Eva turned and looked at her. The poor girl. It broke her heart. “Don’t say anything to my mother, please? My friends here wouldn’t like that.”

  Eva turned around and resumed walking, as fast as she could, but not so fast that she couldn’t help but hear Krista say, drunkenly, “She’s an old cow, that woman. A nasty, dumb cow.”

  When she got upstairs, wheezing with the effort, a small brown package sat leaning against the door. It was a miracle no one had stolen it. Where had it come from? There was no mail on Christmas. Eva put her bag down and picked up the package. It was from Maggie. It had been opened. But it was here, for her, intact. Strange that it had been opened; those things didn’t happen anymore. It used to be that all of her mail was opened; that was just how things were. But now? It must have been someone in the building. Maybe she could find out by asking the postal worker for their building. Maybe he would know. Her heart sank. It probably had been Krista.

  She poured herself a brandy. Yes, it was early, but it was Christmas. She wasn’t going to make it to an early Mass, but she would make it to an evening one. Inside was a Nina Simone record: I Put a Spell on You: Nina Simone in Concert. And a letter from her niece. She read it alone, without Krista helping her. She never really needed Krista’s help, but she wanted to be kind to the girl. Krista calling her a dumb cow. She was drunk. She was trying to impress the skinheads. Eva contemplated telling her mother. Even though Krista was drunk, Eva still was hurt. Krista was good to her. But still, maybe Eva should make some distance from her.

  She read the letter.

  Dear Tante Eva,

  I know I am going to see you soon and you asked me to bring you a record, but I thought I’d try and send you one for Christmas. Fröhliche Weihnachten! Nina Simone records are not as easy to come by as I thought, although her CDs are very easy to buy. I think I may have to get you a CD player. Of course, you may be like my dad, who dislikes the CD very much. He claims they sound inferior to the vinyl record. He still only listens to records! Anyway, we can talk about that all very soon!

  Mit viel Liebe,

  Maggie

  Christmas Day. What a gift. The day itself, her daughter’s kindness the night before. She could put Krista out of her mind. She could pray for Krista. Say Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

  She put on the record. She listened to Nina Simone sing to her man that she loved, begging him not to let some other man take her, handle her, drive her mad.

  Oh, the suffering of others. Krista was suffering too. Suffering was the birthright of all of mankind, but perhaps more for some.

  Chapter 18

  The day came for Maggie to arrive. Elena had gone to the airport, to surprise Maggie and Tom. Eva sat in Elena’s apartment, nervously waiting. It had been so long. She’d been a young teenager, in the real sense of the word, when she was here last. And even though she’d taken herself all over Berlin, studied at the Goethe-Institut, done all of those things alone here, she was still being taken care of by her parents, by her parents’ money. Which wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe Eva was a bit jealous of her privilege. She knew Liezel herself envied her daughter’s privilege; this was ironic, as Liezel was the one providing the economic support, the coddling, the middle-class life, the trips abroad—everything. She wanted to give her children everything she hadn’t had as a child, but then she resented them for not appreciating it. Silly! Children don’t appreciate their parents, no matter what. And how could they know how fortunate they were, having known nothing but privilege? They had no reference, no framework, really.

  Maggie did try to understand. With her political activism, her work with the mentally ill—a college job she was very proud of—her aspirations to make the world a better place for the poor. Her profound criticism of the United States. Of course, here is where the irony ran deep. Not only did she loathe her mother for all things capitalist that she saw her as standing for—personal advancement, exploitation, materialism—but her ability to be so critical and harsh seemed to stem from the very education that Liezel was so proud of giving her daughter.

  The truth was, Eva didn’t really care much for politics. She cared for the human race, and she had moral ideas both vague and specific, but politics? She had trusted the chancellor. She had trusted Hugo. She hated to think of the poor and uneducated, the malnourished and homeless. But she would never vote, would never go to a rally. Indeed, she avoided all such things. Politics embarrassed her, but morality made sense. It seemed the minute people adopted a strong stance, they became hypocrites. It just seemed unavoidable. Better to be humble and trust in God, trust in what was good and right, on a daily basis.

  She could hear them on the stairs, the loud American voices, one distinctively Maggie’s and one from a man, speaking English, the laughing. Elena’s voice, too, seemed loud, in her accented but good English. Eva stood nervously and smoothed her skirt, touched her hair, put a finger to her lipstick. Her spoken English was not great, but they were here to improve their German, she reasoned, to practice their German.

  In they came, carrying heavy backpacks, and Elena, too, helping with a duffel bag. Maggie still looked young, but she was not exactly the same. How could she be? Is that what Eva wanted, for Maggie to still be a wide-eyed girl, in thrall of everything new to her in the world? In jeans still, as Eva imagined her, but with a tight-fitting black sweater, and larger breasts, a black coat draped on her arm. She carried herself differently; she stood more upright, more securely. Her hair had changed, too—it was bleached white-blonde and cut fairly short. She had grown up, as Eva supposed she would. But she still seemed like a girl. She still was, perhaps. What it takes to grow up, college, even a lover, can’t necessarily deliver. Her skin had dark spots on the chin, and as Eva came closer, she noticed they were acne. They hugged excitedly and kissed on the cheeks, and then Maggie broke away and said, “Tante Eva, this is Tom, Tom Bellen. My boyfriend.”

  “How do you do,” Eva said and shook his hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” Tom said.

  But something was not right with him. His hand was clammy, cold and moist. He looked very pale and thin. Perhaps it’s the jet lag, thought Eva.

  “The f
light must have been difficult. You both must be tired and hungry.” She and Elena had made some sandwiches beforehand.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” said Maggie. “I guess we are tired. But we ate on the plane. We even requested vegetarian meals, so that was nice.”

  “We made sandwiches, but they’re not vegetarian,” Eva said. “I didn’t know. Or I forgot.”

  “Well, I’m not really a vegetarian, but Tom is,” Maggie said, somewhat embarrassed.

  “Sit down! Sit down! Would you like a beer then?” Elena said. It was fairly early in the day, but Elena drank beer all day long.

  “That would be great!” Tom said, lowering himself to one of the pillows. He was very lanky, all legs and arms. He sported a ponytail, which Eva thought quite charming. One didn’t see them so often anymore. Certainly in Kreuzberg, but she never imagined them on American men, just aging German hippies.

  “I want to thank you, Maggie, for the Nina Simone record you sent me. It was such a treat.”

  “You’re very welcome, Tante Eva.”

  “Nina Simone record,” Elena said. “I gave you a Nina Simone record, Mutti.”

  “I know, I know, Elena. Maggie gave me a different one. A live recording.” She maybe shouldn’t have said anything. She still didn’t want to tell Elena about breaking it. She still had it, in the hopes of getting it fixed. Silly, she knew.

  Elena went into the kitchen and returned with beers. “Prost!” they all said, and clinked glasses.

  Tom looked straight at Eva with his watery, tired eyes. She adjusted her skirt, touched her hair. “Maggie has told me so much about you, Eva,” Tom said. “About your life in Berlin, in East Berlin. About your husband, Hugo.” He added, “And you, too, Elena.”

  “Von mir wohl eher nicht, eh?” Elena said dryly.

  “I’m sorry?” Tom said, confused, looking from one person to the next. His face was long and narrow, like the pictures Eva had seen of Frank, Maggie’s father. The veins in his forehead were green and visible. He seemed too thin, much too thin. But maybe that’s what vegetarians look like, she thought. She remembered during the end of the war, when meat was almost impossible to come by.

  “Tom doesn’t speak German very well,” Maggie said. “Aber ich möchte mein Deutsch verbessern. Hoffenlich klappt das.”

  “Aso, machts nichts,” said Eva. How would they all stand each other? Already, Elena was being cheeky. “Tom, where are you from in America?”

  “I’m from Connecticut. From Darien, Connecticut. But I haven’t lived there in years. I lived in New York for four years, then Boston. Now Chicago. And now Berlin, I guess.” He grinned and raised his glass before drinking some more.

  “Tom doesn’t really talk to his family anymore,” Maggie explained, somewhat proudly. “They are very conservative people. Republicans.”

  Tom nodded. Eva wasn’t surprised, but still found this information a bit disturbing. Regardless of how different our parents are from us, we should still remain in some contact. She thought of how much pain her own estrangement had caused her. Well, they were young, Tom and Maggie. In a few years, who knew how they would change. And it was natural for children to rebel. Elena hadn’t always loved her, Eva knew.

  “How was your Christmas, then?”

  “Tom and I don’t really celebrate Christmas,” Maggie said. “In America, it just seems a terrible excuse to shop. Well, I shouldn’t say we don’t celebrate it. I worked in a soup kitchen that day.”

  Eva had a flash of Krista with the skinheads.

  “And I was with my family for some of the day. I guess what I mean is, Tom and I didn’t buy lots of useless gifts for everyone. You know, partake in the materialist gluttony. That we didn’t do.”

  “Aber deine Eltern haben dir doch bestimmt etwas zu Weihnachten geschenkt, no?” Elena asked.

  “Yes,” Maggie answered in English. “They gave us money to give us a start here in Berlin.”

  “Wie erfreulich für dich!” Elena said and then finished her beer.

  “I know,” said Maggie. “I’m grateful. I’m grateful to be here.”

  She has changed, thought Eva. Five years ago, she would have been shy and reddened when Elena teased her. Now she stood firm.

  Elena and Eva ate the sandwiches quietly, from plates on their laps. They all drank another beer and then looked at Elena’s studio, at her long, funny sculptures, partly figurative, partly vegetal. Tom, in particular, was impressed. And then Elena showed them their room. They looked greedily at the bed. The four of them stood in the doorway.

  “You must be tired,” said Elena. “I will leave you to get settled and have a nap. Ja?”

  “Later this week, you must come to my apartment for some coffee,” added Eva, as she took her leave. “Or we could meet at a café.”

  “I want to see your neighborhood. We’d love to come for a coffee to your apartment. I have so many memories from visiting you five years ago. I want to see it. I’m sure it’s changed so much, the neighborhood, that is.”

  “It has changed.”

  “Berlin just feels different, just from coming to the airport to here. The Wall being down . . .”

  “Yes, it is a time of change. But I trust our leaders.”

  “Ah, Mutti, this talk of trusting politicians! Enough!” Elena said.

  Maggie and Tom looked at each other.

  “We’ve heard good things about Kohl,” said Maggie.

  “I’m with you, Elena. All politician are crooks,” said Tom.

  Eva reached for her daughter’s arm. “Let’s go, Elena. Schlaft gut! We’ll see you soon then.” She didn’t want to talk of politics now. She hugged her niece again and put on her coat. Elena walked out with her mother.

  “Let’s have one more beer, Mutti. To celebrate.”

  Eva could feel the beers already. But it was a special day, the day Maggie arrived. At this point, she was not going to do anything else with her day, not run errands, not clean her room. “Okay. Warum nichts? One more beer, at a nice tavern.”

  Elena teased her. “Okay, Mutti, lover of nice things. You pick the tavern.”

  They walked along the Ufer of the canal. The sun was not out, but the sky held some light. Often, this time of year, it could be so dark all day long. With her daughter next to her, Eva felt a certain lightness inside as well. Perhaps it was Elena’s step—a loping gait, her hands always stuffed deep in her pockets, her head bobbing with her long strides. Eva picked a tavern with very clean windows and crisp tablecloths and food announced on a chalkboard. Inside, it was all dark wood and warmth.

  Elena ordered a mug of beer with a brandy on the side, and Eva had some soup and a glass of wine.

  “I don’t know what I think of Tom, eh, Mutti?”

  “Elena, give him a chance. He just got here. He has jet lag.” Her daughter, who loved her father more than anything, now seemed to hate all men.

  “Yeah, but his skin is so pale. Like he’s sick.”

  “Sometimes, airplanes make people sick. Give it some time,” Eva said.

  “They’re only staying until they find their own place. My guess is, Maggie will find a place and a job quickly. She has that energy, the energy of someone who accomplishes a lot. Like Liezel had, I suppose,” Elena said.

  Eva sat quietly after that comment. The soup had warmed her. It was true, Maggie was like her mother. A determined person. But she loved Eva, Maggie did. Eva knew this, that her niece loved her in ways that her own daughter didn’t. Sometimes distance made things less complicated. A niece can love an aunt without the same baggage that a daughter loves her mother.

  Their table was next to a window onto the street, and she looked out at the people walking by. It was a beautiful day, truly. Perhaps this is God’s way of blessing Maggie’s arrival, thought Eva. Yes, it seemed to be a sign.

  The check came and was enormous. Eva
was hoping to pay for the whole thing, but she had to ask Elena for money. Elena would make extra money this month, she reasoned, with Tom and Maggie paying her for the room. Still, it embarrassed her.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mutti. It’s no problem,” Elena said, counting out the marks for the bill. “I know how small your pension is. I feel like taking the U-Bahn back with you, okay?”

  “Okay, Elena, but you don’t need to. I’m fine. It’s the middle of the day. It’s not dangerous, you know.”

  “I know. I just feel like riding with you back to your place. What else am I to do? I want to leave Maggie and Tom time to settle, to sleep in peace.”

  “You can go back and work in your studio. They won’t bother you.”

  “I don’t like to work with people around. It’s no problem. I’m not worried about it. Today is special. They just arrived. Soon, they’ll be running all over the city, getting jobs, getting an apartment. I’ll have time alone in the apartment, I’m sure. But I’m not in a hurry to get back there right now.”

  When they got to the station, Eva got out her U-Bahn card, but before she could finish swiping it, Elena had jumped the turnstile. Eva looked around; her face reddened. No one had noticed, but still . . . Elena had run ahead, and it took a minute for Eva to find her on the platform.

  “What was that? Is it because the tavern was so expensive? Really, Elena, you don’t want to get caught. It would be such an embarrassment. I don’t need you to ride me home anyway.”

  “Ah, Mutti, it’s just Spass. Calm down!” She had a look of mischief on her face. Eva could smell the brandy on her. She’s drunk, thought Eva.

  The train pulled in, large and silent. They sat next to each other. Then Elena started singing a Tyrolean song, an Austrian song. “Sei gesegnet ohne Ende, Heimaterde, wunderhold! Freundlich schmücken dein Gelände . . .”

  “Elena, Stopp. Setz dich! Bitte.” She hadn’t done this sort of thing in a while—make a scene.

  But it wasn’t the most unusual thing for Elena to do. She cultivated her eccentricity . But she didn’t embarrass Eva like this often anymore. The few people on the train looked up and then, annoyed, looked down at their papers and books again.