Tante Eva

by Paula Bomer

  There was something so beautiful about these women to Eva. Their skin seemed perfectly taut and creamy smooth. The bright colors—the dyed white or red hair, the shiny black boots that looked like fresh wet paint up to their thighs, the red lace bra that revealed rouged nipples against white skin—they were the colors any little girl or little boy would salivate over at a candy store. They were all licorice and peppermints and chocolate bars to Eva. Her face colored and her breath quickened. How could she, a God-fearing woman, a woman who prayed every day, lust after these whores, or rather, desire to be like them? Lust is in all of our hearts, thought Eva. God knows it and helps us struggle with it.

  A pang of jealousy seared her chest. Did her Hansi go to whores? Why wouldn’t he? That was what it was all about. She just wanted to be his object of desire.

  “Das ist nicht richtig,” said the taxi driver, in his heavily accented German. He was from somewhere east, perhaps Poland or the Ukraine, judging by his accent. “Ein Auto könnte sie anfahren. Sie darf nicht so dicht rankommen.”

  It was true, they came out at the cars so quickly, so stealthily, and they came close. It was dangerous.

  “Das sind Huren,” said Krista, her face clouding over. “They get what’s coming to them.”

  “Vielleicht,” said the taxi driver, “but I don’t want my car damaged. I don’t want to get in an accident because of them.”

  They stopped at a light. A Black woman in red boots walked up to the cab and leaned down toward the window, to where Eva and Krista sat. Krista opened the window and screamed, “Hure! Geh weg! Dreckschwein!”

  “Krista, bitte nicht.” Eva leaned over the girl to roll up the window. The woman turned away, unfazed. How many times had people spoken to her this way? Many times, every day, for most of her life, thought Eva. “Krista, that’s no way to speak to anyone.”

  The cab driver laughed. Krista said, “They come here and ruin our country.”

  “They come here because they have very few choices. Or worse, they are forced to, against their will.”

  Krista looked at Eva. “I’m surprised you make excuses for them. But that is how you are. Always kind,” she said, but not with any kindness on her part.

  “I can feel for the unfortunate. So can you. So can anyone.”

  Krista laughed in Eva’s face, leaning in too close and Eva pushed away from the girl. It was too aggressive, too mean. Eva could smell her so strongly. Then she abruptly turned her head away from Eva. Eva felt herself harden and she didn’t fight it.

  “You should wash that sweater, Krista,” Eva said. “It smells terrible.”

  Krista turned back to Eva, her face changed. The girl was mercurial beyond belief. One moment all demon, then a startled innocent. “Wie bitte?”

  “Wirklich,” Eva said, and plugged her nose with her fingers. “Du riechst schlecht.”

  Inside the café, the atmosphere was quiet, even serene. Krista seemed a bit cowed and Eva was pleased. She’d been a child who needed a quick slap on the back of the head, and Eva felt fine in giving it to her. Beethoven played, not too loudly, not too softly, in the background. The lights were soft and yellow, and the long, elegant room was warm. Eva stroked her dress where it lay on her shoulders, silky and cool, and glanced around. They were the first to arrive, and she had been worried about being late. Luckily, there were still some tables big enough to accommodate the entire group. She ushered Krista over to one, not too far from the door but far enough so as not to catch a cold breeze when it opened. It was the perfect table, really.

  Krista ordered a beer and Eva just ordered a brandy and water—which she calculated she would need to make last most of the night; perhaps she could have one more drink, but just one—when the others came in.

  They were a bit loud to Eva’s ears. Loud Americans. She loved her niece, but hearing her come in laughing and talking to Tom made her wince. Her daughter loped behind them. As they came gliding toward the table, Eva thought, they are so young! They were full of themselves, and the future. They were moist with possibility and arrogance and foolishness. For a moment, Eva envied them, and was proud of them, too.

  As everyone settled around the small table, Eva noticed that Maggie and Tom seemed off balance, distracted, as if they were high on something. Eva remembered how Hugo’s friends sometimes smoked hashish, how strange they behaved, how spacey and blissful they’d become. Maggie looked fairly terrible. And she was such a beautiful girl! Maggie’s makeup caked unattractively on her cheeks, unsuccessfully hiding dark purple spots. Her fingers moved quickly and too expressively. Her whole face seemed to move in exaggerated ways. Eva tried to squash her worry and quickly drank down her brandy. She would just have to have one more. She was nervous, worried.

  “I’ve brought Krista with me,” Eva said, standing and embracing first Maggie, then Elena. “Maggie, you remember Krista? I wrote to you, too, how eager she was to see you again.”

  Krista gave Eva a quick glare. Eva had embarrassed her. She was just doing her best.

  “And my daughter Elena. And Tom,” Eva added. Everyone shook hands somewhat awkwardly.

  Maggie said, “It’s so nice to see you again. How are you?”

  Maggie’s eyes drooped, but her voice was lively. This comforted Eva some. How bad could things be, if her voice sounded so upbeat? Beers were ordered. Everyone was seated.

  “I’m doing well. Much has changed since you were last here, and for the most part, I think the changes will be good for everyone.” Her English was so good. Nearly flawless. “But it’s hard, too, this time of transition. My mother is hanging in there. But how are you? You are here indefinitely? That’s exciting, no?”

  “Yes. We couldn’t be more thrilled to be here. I’m teaching already, teaching English at a small language institute near the Ku’damm. I have mostly non-German students. And we have an apartment.” At this, they all clinked glasses. “I’m shocked at the rapid changes, too, so I can imagine how you must feel. I remember your mother had health problems. The East was so good at taking care of their people. Tom and I are a bit dismayed to see how quickly the GDR has become impotent politically, or socially, really. We worry about its former people. You. You, Eva.” Maggie looked at Eva. Eva caught her glance and tried to hold it. This was the first time the girl had looked at her, having evaded eye contact from the time she entered.

  “Don’t worry about me, Maggie, Liebchen,” Eva said, hearing the sternness in her voice and feeling the warmth of the brandy. “Worry about yourself.”

  At this, there was some silence. Tom lit a cigarette and seemed to examine Krista as he blew smoke off to the side.

  “I think everyone should worry about me, now that I have no one helping me with the rent,” Elena said, making everyone laugh. She was good at that. At distracting, at drawing away from an ugly issue. It was clearly a gift with many uses.

  “So tell me about your new apartment,” Eva said.

  “It’s perfect,” Tom answered. “It’s actually not far from you, Eva. It’s in the former GDR. It’s big. It’s a bit derelict, but I’m handy around the house. I know how to fix things.” He grinned and lit another cigarette. “And, of course, it’s very affordable.” Eva noticed something about the way he talked. The understatement. The choice of words. It reminded her of the people for whom she worked in Vienna, all those years ago. People with money. Never is anything cheap; rather, it’s “affordable.” Never is a place a dump; it’s “a bit derelict.” Yes, he was from money. It made her trust him all the less.

  “You already have a lit cigarette, Tom,” Eva said.

  He glanced at the ashtray. “Well, I guess I do!”

  Krista picked it up and knocked off a long, gray ash. “I’ll smoke it,” she said, and began to do so. Maggie was staring off into space, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes started to close. She was nodding off.

  “Maggie?” Eva asked.


  “Don’t worry about her,” said Tom, stretching his legs under the table. For a moment, Eva felt his shoe on hers. She immediately pulled back. It wasn’t meant for her, though. That was for sure. Krista, sitting next to her, began smiling shyly and stretching her neck. Eva had never noticed, but it was a beautiful neck—white and long, the opposite of her mother’s. Someday, thought Eva, her neck will be gone, like everything else. “Maggie’s very tired,” Tom went on. “We’ve been packing all day. And you know how meticulous your niece is. She worked very hard to put everything in the right box, and then labeled the boxes appropriately. She’s got those Austrian organizational genes.” He laughed, looking at Krista, who laughed as well, as if on command, to please him. Eva’s skin warmed even more.

  “Poor thing,” Eva said. “She doesn’t look well. And I’m her aunt. I’m supposed to look after her.”

  “She was packing all day,” Elena added, to comfort her mother. “Unlike this one,” she added, gesturing to Tom.

  “Hey, that kind of work is for the ladies,” he said, smiling widely. He was always smiling, thought Eva. And it never seemed nice.

  “Noch eine Runde!” Elena said, raising her arms boisterously. “Und die geht auf mich!”

  The waiter, dressed formally in black and white, came somewhat hurriedly to the table. He didn’t like the noise, Elena’s outburst. It was a quiet cafe, bohemian yes, but not seedy. He must have disliked the whole table. Eva folded her hands in her lap, looking down at her bright, shiny dress. The waiter probably didn’t like her, either. Her heart sank.

  “Noch eine Runde, bitte!” said Elena, raising her arms as if she were conducting the Beethoven that played on. Always mocking, always making fun. “Wir haben Durst! Wir haben Durst!”

  After the waiter brought them drinks, Eva felt braver; just seeing the drink in front of her helped. “Tom, what are you doing for work?” Eva asked.

  He raised an eyebrow at Eva and was about to speak when Maggie woke and interrupted. “He’s going to fix up our apartment. That will be worth a lot. We pay very little rent because he’s going to make it up to code for the landlord. And we can live off of my salary.”

  “I’m not a huge fan of regular jobs,” said Tom, with that greasy smile on his face. “That’s why we were excited to leave the States, the land of hard work and no benefits, a country that doesn’t take care of its people.”

  Krista said, “But at least there is opportunity there. There is so little opportunity here.”

  Tom leaned toward her, saying, “The opportunities in the US just propagate materialism, just create the illusion of needing things no one actually needs.” He lit a cigarette off of his old one and then stubbed out the butt. “All we need is food and shelter. Everything else is a mirage.” At this he fluttered a hand toward the ceiling.

  Maggie sat up now. “What about love?”

  Tom squeezed Maggie’s shoulder, saying, “Love? Another capitalist invention.”

  For some reason, everyone at the table thought that it was funny except for Eva. Eva felt a sharp irritation rise in her.

  “Can I have a cigarette, Tom?” If he was so antimaterialistic, he could part with his cigarettes, she thought.

  “Of course, Eva,” Tom said and then, in his mocking gallant way, offered her the pack.

  “Marlboros. Western cigarettes,” she said.

  “As much as I love Berlin,” Tom said, “your tobacco is terrible.” He lit Eva’s cigarette with a gold-toned lighter.

  “What a beautiful lighter,” Eva remarked.

  “Thank you,” Tom said. “It was my grandfather’s,” he said, carefully pocketing it.

  Of course it was, thought Eva, but she just smiled at him.

  Chapter 24

  The next morning, Eva’s legs hurt her badly for the first time in what seemed like months. They throbbed and burned. And her head hurt, too. She had had too much brandy the night before and ended up smoking cigarettes, too. She lifted the shade. The sun was bright and she immediately squinted her eyes closed and sat back down. Next to her bed were her bottles of pills and a glass of water. At least she’d had the presence of mind to set things up for the morning. She reached over and swallowed her morning pills. The water felt good on her parched throat and she slowly drank the whole glass, her hand shaking a bit, before resting her head back on the pillow. In a little while, the pills would kick in. And then she would get up. She looked at the clock—it was nearly noon. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her heart was pounding and her mouth was very dry. It was time to rise.

  She put on her robe, used the bathroom, and drank more water while she fixed the coffee. Half the day was over and she was glad. This was not a day she wanted to wake to. Her niece was on drugs, her niece’s boyfriend was playing footsie with Krista, and as of today, they were all neighbors. Ideally, Eva would be happy that Maggie was living nearby. But she was a mess, one Eva felt responsible for. This had never been one of Eva’s strengths—taking care of troubled people. She had a heart for them, but not the capacity for the work it took to get them out of trouble. She had to get rid of Tom, but Eva knew very well how little could be done about that. If a woman loves a man, the more desperate things are, the more desperately she’ll cling to him. It appeared that Maggie loved him, from her letters, from the way she behaved when Eva first saw them, right off the plane. One hope that Eva held was that Maggie was young enough and wise enough to change. Also, Eva didn’t think her neighborhood was very safe or pretty. She herself wasn’t ashamed to live here. She was an East German, whatever that meant now. But everyone new who moved into the neighborhood was either a poor immigrant or a troubled youth. The skinheads. The pale girls dressed in black, coughing loudly and hollowly as they walked the nearly desolate streets.

  Maggie was a woman now. One with troubles, like most people. What did Eva think she could do? She could talk to Maggie, but she feared making things worse. Confrontation almost never works, Eva felt certain. It had never worked for her or for anyone she knew. One had to come around to the truth oneself. She would call Elena. Elena should have called me, thought Eva, should have told me what was going on. And yet, Eva had known. Why should Elena call and tell her something they all knew but didn’t talk about? She was just trying to share some of the responsibility with Elena. Her own daughter, to help with the daughter of her sister.

  And so, then there was Liezel. What should she say to Liezel? Anything? Would that be betraying Maggie? Or taking care of her?

  She ran herself a very warm bath and, after pinning her hair back, slathered her face with cold cream.

  She felt responsible for the world, and she resented that. Who took care of her? Even Krista, with her getting the mail, and helping out here and there, had become a burden. Oh, how her legs hurt! Hopefully, the bath would help. And resting. Yes, today, she would just rest.

  She shut off the bath when it was full and walked over to her record player, her legs both weirdly numb and painful with each step. The little bit of brandy she put in her coffee was kicking in. She’d needed it this morning, to calm her nerves and to help with the pain. Later, maybe she’d find a bottle of codeine. That would really help. She tried not to take codeine often, though. If she took it too much, it stopped working well. There had been times when it stopped working, so she took more and more. It had scared her. She didn’t want to accidentally kill herself.

  The Billie Holiday album was still on the record player. The water was very warm, and even though her legs went hot when they gave her trouble, she knew the warm water would feel good on them. Relax them, even cool them off a bit, as if the warmth from the bath pulled out the heat from her legs. She looked down at her naked body—her large hips, her round stomach. Self-consciously, she put her hands on her still shapely breasts and looked farther down herself. Her legs had red blotches running along them, and her ankles looked swollen. Her legs had always
been nice—not too skinny, like Liezel’s, but not thick like trees. She hated to see them look like this. Perhaps it was time to see a doctor again. Even though she’d been a nurse, she hated seeing doctors. They so rarely had anything useful to say or do. Of course, her prescriptions were important to her, but she could hardly credit any doctor for that. She sank into the water and breathed deeply.

  Billie Holiday sang in the other room, and Eva could hear her well. The fourth song on the record was her favorite. There were many good songs, “Solitude,” “The Man I Love,” “God Bless the Child.” The upbeat “All of Me.” But “Long Gone Blues” was the best. It was, in many ways, the only real blues song on the record, Billie Holiday singing how she’d been her man’s slave since she’d been his babe, but before she’d be his dog, she’d see him in his grave.

  Yes, this was the blues. This was some sort of truth, perhaps the ugly truth. It wasn’t dressed up to be something else. And yet even on this song, Holiday sounded distant, even antiseptic. Eva thought maybe it was the recording, that the way it was recorded rendered the music too clean and distant. But Maggie was right, Holiday was good. Beneath the recording was a glimmer of heart, of pain.

  Maggie. What was Eva to do? She’d write Liezel. And then, just try to stay in her life. Maybe, Eva thought guiltily, try to make herself more available. She’d been so looking forward to Maggie arriving, but now that she was here and here indefinitely, there was no real hurry to see her. There was always the next day and the day after that, and so on. When she was here just for that summer, it had been different. The distinct parameters of the visit had lent an urgency to her time here. Eva closed her eyes and sank deeper into the tub. And Maggie had been so young then. Still so trusting and innocent. The difference between a teenager who still lived at home and a woman in her twenties who lived away was huge. Eva tried to feel the desire to protect her niece, but instead her heart filled with fear, with dread. She breathed deeply. She had poured an oil in the bath, scented with melissa. A short, sharp pain jabbed her forehead and she sat up.