Tante Eva

by Paula Bomer

  On a wooden shelf, next to a can of paint, were two small glass jars with yellow pieces of cloth inside of them.

  “What? What is this?”

  Hans shone the light on the jars. “See,” he said, and Eva looked at him, smiling there at her. “Look! Look at the jars. Don’t look at me, you silly woman.”

  On the jars were white labels. One said hugo hermann; the other said eva stiller hermann.

  “They’re your smells. Your smells were bottled. So we could track you if we needed to. Hugo had many subversive friends, Wolf Biermann, Vera Lengsfeld. It was the way things were done.” Eva looked at Hans. He had a wistful expression, thoughtful. And then he turned to her with a look of pride. “I brought you yours, and Hugo’s. I took them for you.”

  She had always known he was Stasi. She just didn’t like to think about it. And what was he now? Maybe it was time she stopped wanting not to know. Eva picked up the jars carefully. Wolf Biermann. Vera Longsfeld. Her Hugo. Ghosts, all of them. She said, “They won’t fit in my purse.”

  “I’ll give you a bag, Schatzi,” he said. Eva’s eyes had adjusted to the dark. Hans stood there, his face regal with power and kindness.

  “Is that what was in those boxes at the lake house?” She hadn’t wanted to ask; it just came out. Eva winced, unnecessarily. He put a hand on her arm, somewhat gently. It was a relief.

  “Don’t you worry about those boxes, Schatzi. In fact, pretend you never saw them.”

  Chapter 22

  Hugo had been devastated when Wolf Biermann left. But no one was surprised. By that time, many artists were tired of how things were, of the constant surveillance, of how disappointing the government was, of how they’d become the opposite of what they had promised to be. The lack of goods didn’t help, nor did the fact that they had things better than the vast majority of the population and even then, they didn’t have the things they wanted. Desire for good things or a good life were seen as capitalist, as greedy. People were confused; they wanted, but they were ashamed of their desires. And was that such a bad thing? Eva thought shame had its purpose. When she occasionally looked at American magazines—People, Vanity Fair, Glamour—she was often disgusted. It was too much. To have some shame was not a bad thing.

  Of course East Germany had its problems, but airing frustration—for which Wolf was known in his work—was considered just plain heretical. Communism was the religion, the only real religion allowed. Wolf was lucky to get out safely. Others had tried to escape. People had disappeared. But Eva didn’t like to think about those things. Not then, not now for the most part, but now, now, she knew that it was cowardly of her.

  They had Wolf and Greta and their daughter Nina over before they left. At that point, Hugo knew that his house must be bugged. But what did it matter? He felt he had nothing to hide. He knew he would die a fairly loyal Communist, die there in East Germany. He knew it from the moment that Eva and he arrived. What did it matter that the Stasi, the government, wanted to hear him fuck Greta—or his own wife, for that matter—listening to scratchy, barely audible tapes? Sometimes, he did complain, mildly, to Eva. But never to Wolf or the other disgruntled intellectuals. Around them, he was often quiet and even sometimes defensive of the GDR. This was the country that had saved him from the Nazis! This was the country that educated all of its people, where no one was hungry. No one was without a home or without an education, and everyone got excellent health care. Yet he knew there were things wrong. As the years wore on, the problems became obvious, often painfully so.

  “What a waste of human effort, of the short time we have here on this planet. Just a useless folly,” he had sighed, looking older than usual in bed next to her. Eva stroked his coarse hair. His hair was dry, brittle even, now that his gray hair had turned white. “Forcing Wolf to leave. Spending all this time and energy eavesdropping, collecting useless information, and then filing it properly. As if having proper files matters when the information is utterly useless.”

  Eva remembered this as she contemplated the jars of smells in the bag. Hugo would say, “To think what this country could be like if the money and time and energy were used in other ways. It’s a tragedy.”

  Eva had said nothing. What country wasn’t a tragedy? They had made their bed here, and now they would lie in it. Eva didn’t believe that anywhere else was better. Just different. She stroked his hair until he fell asleep and then, content, she slept, too.

  Later she realized Hugo missed Greta more than Wolf when they both defected. She could tell when he missed a woman, when one of his affairs ended. He paced slowly around the house and stopped taking pictures. He drank too much coffee. He even became grumpy and short-tempered with Elena. And yet, he became very kind and needy toward Eva.

  “Bitte, Liebchen, würdest du mir einen Kaffee machen?””he’d ask, his eyes a bit droopy and guiltridden.

  “Sicher. Kommt gleich,” she’d answer, grateful for his neediness. It was a happy time for Eva. He would always turn to her. Until, of course, he started seeing Mausi. By then, he didn’t turn to anyone, really. It was just the two women, circling a dying man. He never had to ask for anything.

  Chapter 23

  Maggie and Tom were moving the next day. Elena had called her mother and suggested they all go to Café Einstein together that night, to celebrate the couple’s moving into their own apartment.

  Eva was carefully putting on makeup. Bright rouge, mascara. She sprayed herself with perfume, with her 4711. She was wearing the red dress Hansi gave her. On the record player was the Billie Holiday record. She was trying to give it a chance. It hadn’t moved her yet, not like the Nina Simone records. Her voice was too thin, and the songs seemed light in comparison. But she knew she needed to listen to her more, give the woman some time. A knock on the door startled her. Could it be Hans? She couldn’t disappoint Maggie again. She opened the door and saw Krista, a sheepish expression on her pale face, in her purple metallic sweater. She smelled strongly. It is the sweater, thought Eva. She can’t bear to take it off, to part with it long enough to wash it.

  “Hallo, Eva.”

  “Hallo, Krista. Was ist los?” Eva decided to get straight to the point. She didn’t want to be late. She liked Café Einstein. She hadn’t been there in so long, perhaps not since Maggie was in Berlin in 1986. It had a beautiful garden, but it would be too cold to enjoy it. Regardless, it was a lovely cafe; it reminded her of the cafés of Vienna.

  “My mother would like to talk with you, if you have a moment.” She didn’t look at Eva.

  “Well, I am about to go out.” Eva felt trapped. “What time is it?” She looked frantically at the wall clock. She had plenty of time. Over an hour before she had to be there. “I have time, I have time.”

  She followed Krista into her apartment. It had been many months since she’d seen Krista’s mother. And since she’d seen Krista with the skinheads, she’d been dreading seeing her. It was as if she were lying to the woman, not telling her what she knew about her daughter.

  The apartment was slightly bigger than Eva’s but it seemed even smaller, perhaps because two people lived there. Krista’s mother sat in an orange armchair, a radio on next to her. She didn’t seem to notice Eva come in, her eyes were so filmy. She was even heavier now than the last time Eva had seen her, her skin waxy and her neck all folds. She was mostly bald. The sight of her upset Eva, as had been the case for years, which was why she never visited. Shame came over her. This poor woman. And then she thought, and poor Krista, to have to live watching her mother deteriorate, to live looking at this woman. Life was cruel. She thought about something Hansi one said to her: “There are no winners, just survivors.”

  “Frau Hermann, kommen Sie herein! Danke, dass Sie sich die Zeit für mich nehmen.” She gestured for Eva to come in.

  “Ich warte in deiner Wohnung auf dich, Eva. Ist das okay?” said Krista as she backed out of the apartment. Eva looked aro
und. Things did not seem very clean and she was nervous about her dress. She didn’t want to get it dirty. She settled on a plastic-covered kitchen chair across from Gabi after brushing it off with her hand.

  “Sit down! Sit down!” Gabi said.

  “I am sitting, thank you!”

  “Ach, my eyes are not so good anymore. First the back and then the legs, now the eyes and ears. It is one thing after another. Thank God for my Krista. I would be dead without her.”

  “You’re very lucky to have such a devoted daughter,” Eva said. This was true. Whatever else Eva thought of Krista, or worried about her, really, she was devoted to her mother. Although she should keep their apartment cleaner.

  “How is your daughter? Your Elena?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “And I hear your niece Maggie from America is visiting Berlin again.”

  “Yes, she is. She is here to stay, in fact, indefinitely.” There was a pause. Eva felt her face color. “In fact, I am going to see her tonight. Perhaps Krista would like to come?”

  “I know she’d be delighted to. She remembers the visit with her so well. You know how young people are, obsessed with America, and everything American. But I don’t mean to sound disparaging. Your niece was so sweet to Krista. They are about the same age, and . . .” Frau Haufmann stopped, breathing heavily from the effort of talking.

  “She’s welcome to come. We are all meeting at a café. Maggie is here with her boyfriend, Tom, also an American. And my daughter will be there also. Maggie and Tom were staying with Elena and have just found their own apartment. So we are celebrating, you see.”

  “Are you sure it’s a convenient time for Krista to join you?”

  “Yes, yes. Kein Problem.”

  “But this is not why I asked to talk with you,” she said, lowering her voice. Frau Haufmann rubbed her hands together nervously; they made a rasping noise. Eva noticed that her neck was also lined with dirt. Why wasn’t she properly bathed? Her irritation at Krista grew. And then she wondered how much longer this would go on, the slow spiral downward. Her health, her everything. She thought of Hugo. No one can know how long. How long did it take Hugo? Even when she remembered more or less the number of months, there was nothing exact. The time of demise is a warped time, endless and nothing.

  “No? Über etwas anderes?”

  “No. Well, no. But I did want to talk about Krista. She thinks so much of you. She enjoys having you as a neighbor.”

  Eva thought of Krista, angry and mean, the things she’d said about her that night. And yet, now, seeing her contrite and sheepish while asking Eva to come over and speak to her mother. She was still a child really, and behaved like one. But she was in a woman’s body now, and when she’d been cruel, she’d shown something else, something like the black liquid that Eva knew existed not only in herself.

  “I enjoy having you both as my neighbors as well. Krista is often so helpful, getting my mail for me, for instance.”

  “She likes to get your mail for you. She does.” Again, Frau Haufmann rubbed her hands together. And then, in a very low voice, “I am worried that I am too much of a burden for her.”

  “I think she is proud that she takes such good care of you.” Eva looked at the old woman. She couldn’t be that much older than Eva herself, and yet she was so close to death. Her rheumy eyes betrayed little emotion, but her mouth was held tightly, her neck bent.

  “She will get my apartment when it is my time to go.”

  “Oh, Frau Haufmann! You are not going anywhere.”

  Frau Haufmann smiled. “But as you know, this neighborhood is not what it used to be. I worry for her.”

  “She’s young and bright and will make a good life for herself,” Eva said firmly. “You shouldn’t worry about her.”

  “I am worried about her. This is what I wanted to say. I don’t see well. I don’t hear well. And Krista doesn’t talk to me like she did a few years ago. But she is all right? You think she is all right?”

  “She is fine,” Eva said, and it came out easily. The lie. It was her job to protect Frau Haufmann, not worry her. “Don’t worry about your daughter. Take care of yourself.” It was true. The young, no matter how crazy and messed up, would almost always be fine. They had time on their side. Eva patted the old woman’s hand and stood up.

  In the taxi, on the way to Café Einstein, Krista sat huddled against the door, decidedly away from Eva. Eva didn’t call anyone to let them know she was bringing Krista. For some reason, she felt she was failing Maggie again. As she had failed her when she and Tom came to visit, and she left with Hansi. But she tried to reason with herself. She wasn’t disappearing this time. She was just bringing someone who was, essentially, uninvited.

  Krista faced out the window. She was trying not to smile. Well, it was making the girl happy, so God must be pleased. Eva closed her eyes for a minute and said a silent prayer: Thank you, God, for making this lost soul happy. Please show her the way to You.

  “Does Maggie know I’m coming?” Krista asked, still looking out the window. It was a splurge, taking a taxi. Eva felt pretty and special in her dress. But she was also hoping that Maggie would pay for the drinks. Or Elena. And now that Krista was coming along, she felt even more worried about this. She would have to pay for something, now that she brought an extra person along.

  “No. But she’ll be happy to see you.”

  “My mother made you bring me,” Krista said, and now looked at Eva. Her eyes were shining. She had a fine nose, and although her hair was dirty, it was thick and healthy. Her mouth seemed pinched today, like her mother’s, and it was this perhaps that made her not so attractive seeming. She had a gorgeous mouth, but she held it poorly, with so much tension, all screwed up. This, and not wearing any makeup. A little color would make her look nice. Eva thought she should maybe offer to make up Krista’s face.

  “Your mother did no such thing. I offered to bring you. I’m only sorry it took this long for you to see Maggie. I know how much it meant to you, to see her.”

  “My father was in America.”

  “Really? I never knew your father.”

  “He was there for the Olympics. A shot-putter.”

  “How wonderful!”

  “He died of heart failure when I was very young. He had been given so many steroids. They killed him.” Krista’s smile was gone and her eyes turned dark. The blackness.

  Eva looked away from Krista’s face. And truthfully, she was stunned. She’d been neighbors with these people for a decade and yet she never knew this? Frau Haufmann, Gabi, kept to herself, mostly, of course. Perhaps when they both moved in, they had shared that they were widows, but that’s it. Eva turned back to Krista and said, “Well, that was an unfortunate and a terrible thing the government did. But they didn’t know. They didn’t know that the steroids had any side effects. I’m very sorry to hear about your father. His passing must have been hard on your family.”

  Krista smiled. “It was so long ago. I barely remember him. But I do remember the pictures of America.”

  “I’m sure you saw pictures of America in school as well. Pictures of the dark side of America, of the South Side of Chicago, where all the Black people live in poverty.”

  “Yes, but my father had pictures of America that made it look so beautiful.”

  “I’m sure parts of it are.”

  “When my mother dies, I am going to go. I want to visit Utah. And Florida. And California.”

  Who could blame her for thinking ahead? For wanting to be free. The shame came over Eva again. Shame and blackness, pouring over her at their own will, as if Eva had no control, as if mystery were real. Which it was, she knew; she knew of forces beyond her.

  Krista, despite her troubles, had so often been kind and helpful. It was true that she’d lately grown sullen, even angry. That she was changing. That she was hanging out wi
th skinheads. But for years, she was only good. How long can goodness last? We are all humans, thought Eva, all troubled. “I should visit your mother more often. I enjoyed speaking with her today.”

  Krista made a sort of noise, a huumph. She looked away again.

  “You know,” said Eva, “Maggie is here because she doesn’t like America.”

  “Well, of course she doesn’t. No one knows what they have until they lose it. And I’m not saying there aren’t problems with America. I just want to see them for myself. I want to be able to know what it’s like with my own eyes. And whatever the problems are, they can’t be worse than things are here,” she said, grimly.

  Eva didn’t know what to say. She’d had plenty of chances to go, but Krista must know that. But why go to America, when America had already come here, to Western Europe, which had now come to her Eastern Europe, littering its sacred boulevards with McDonald’s and outlet clothing stores? Of course, Eva loved the outlet clothing stores, filled to bursting with lovely, cheaply made clothes from Asia. She loved going to them, running her fingers through the endless racks of soft and colorful clothing. She loved them, but she felt they were wrong, too. And if she were to be honest with herself, prior to the Wall coming down, the clothes available from the USSR and Romania were just as cheaply made. And not as beautiful. And more expensive.

  The taxi swerved down the boulevard that led to Café Einstein. It was a dark, long boulevard, wide and curving. Suddenly, a woman with short bleached hair and tall shiny boots opened a fur coat at them. The taxi’s headlights brightly illuminated her white, naked body. It glowed at them, abruptly, like a light being thrust on. Eva gasped. Krista, too, had her mouth open in surprise. And then there were many. A parade of patent leather boots and fur coats and exotic, barely existent lingerie. Black, white, and Asian women. Groups of them smoking and talking, and single loners, lurching toward the taxi, their breasts bared.