Hausfrau: A Novel

by Jill Alexander Essbaum

  Doktor Messerli inched herself to the edge of her chair and urgently motioned her to keep talking. They were close to a breakthrough, she was sure.

  YES, ANNA HAD ASKED that nothing be done for her birthday, but Mary, sweet Mary, wouldn’t hear of it so she suggested an outing in lieu of a party. Both families. A day of minimal but undeniable celebration.

  “Besides,” Mary offered, “it’s something we might have done anyway.” So Anna conceded as Anna often did.

  The Benzes had arranged to meet the Gilberts at a quarter past eleven at Stadelhofen. From there, it would be a half-hour train ride to Rapperswil, where the families would walk around for a while, then board a boat that would carry them back to Zürich. The trip would last the afternoon, the boat stopping many times to let people on, to let others off. Mary had packed a basket of sandwiches, beer, sodas, and snacks to enjoy on the ride. A day would be made of this travel and when they returned to Zürich, the Gilberts would come back to the Benzes’ for drinks, a simple dinner, and cake. Ursula stayed home with Polly Jean.

  Rapperswil is a picturesque city on the eastern end of the lake about thirty kilometers from Zürich. Built on a Bronze Age settlement, its sinewy alleyways date to medieval times. There’s a castle there and Rapperswil is the home of Circus Knie, the largest circus in Switzerland. Anna had never visited.

  The families made easy conversation on the train. Mary talked of volunteering at Max and Alexis’s school, Bruno and Tim spoke of skiing. Anna split her attention between the competing conversations. Max and Charles amused their parents by telling silly jokes: Why did the train choke on its food? Because it didn’t choo-choo it! Anna smiled at her middle child. “What a clever boy you are,” she said, and Charles broke into a proud, pleased grin. Victor sat alone and played with a handheld video game. Alexis had brought a book. Anna tried to engage her in conversation with little success. She asked her about school, about Canada, whether she liked Switzerland or not, if she was enjoying her book. Alexis’s responses were polite but terse. Anna let her be. The child didn’t want to talk. A familiarity flashed before her once again and Anna’s heart reached out invisibly to Alexis’s. Anna said nothing more.

  ANNA SOMETIMES WONDERED IF Stephen ever thought of her. Has he forgotten me entirely? Do I ever invade his thoughts? Like a song he can’t shake from his head? This line of questioning never did her any good. She avoided it most of the time.

  But when she couldn’t, she settled on believing that months ago he realized he’d made a terrible mistake but was too timid, too embarrassed, or too frightened to come back to her. It’s possible, Anna reasoned. She understood that insurmountable feeling of being penned in, captured and unable to act. Anna had lived in the house of her own inevitability for years. Maybe Stephen had as well. Anna made a choice to believe that this was the reason he’d never called or written.

  She knew better, of course. But there were times when she forgot that she knew better and she forgot that she was pretending.

  “WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN a delusion and a hallucination?”

  Doktor Messerli made a noise that relayed her frustration. And that’s what it sounded like, the click of a relay switch closing a circuit. “Hallucinations are sensory. A person sees or hears or smells things that do not exist apart from his own experience. A delusion, per contra, is a false belief. A conviction that someone adamantly holds despite strong evidence to the contrary.” Anna gave herself the rundown. She’d never heard the voice of God or smelled a vase of ghost roses. “A hypochondriac will convince himself he’s dying though every test proves he’s perfectly healthy. Someone else will swear that the government pursues him. Another person might be steadfast in his belief that the object of his most zealous love returns his deep affection even though she does not.”

  “I see.” This hit a little nearer to the nail.

  “Are you having hallucinations, Anna?”

  “No.”

  This time, it was the Doktor who answered with I see.

  THE SUN SHONE LIKE a song. The boat skated over silver, glinting water. Anna wore layers but there was a wind and despite the sunshine, she was cold enough to shiver. Bruno saw this and drew her close into him. This was the Bruno she had fallen into a version of love with. Being with the Gilberts brought this out in him. A wonderful, comfortable ease that they could never seem to find when they were alone. Anna was glad in a way she had forgotten how to be. Happiness moved through her body from her head to her mouth to her throat to her chest, down through her belly to the deadbolt room of her pelvis, where she tended to file her grievances with the world.

  Anna took the day for what it was: a gift. A present. In the present. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so glad. On the boat, no one sulked. Alexis set her book to the side when Victor gave her a turn on his game. Both were being kind to their younger brothers. Charles and Max darted around the boat pretending they were pirates. The children drank sodas and the grown-ups had beer and everyone snacked on bags of paprika-flavored potato chips. Bruno stole one kiss, then another. Anna let him. She let him again. Everyone laughed and smiled. Everyone enjoyed the lake. It is unfair of me to feel so happy. I do not deserve this. This is a mercy I don’t merit. Anna had a flash of understanding. This is what they mean when they talk about grace. She thanked aloud the god she wasn’t sure she believed in. Anna caught Mary checking her watch four times in the span of thirty minutes. The boat ride lasts two hours, Anna said and Mary replied, Oh.

  At every Schiffstation, a few people boarded and a few others disembarked. The Benzes and the Gilberts made a game of guessing who they were. They decided the young, tall man with the shaved head and his female companion with the black-blue hair were on their fifth date and that an older couple on the ship’s port side were British tourists celebrating a fortieth anniversary, and that the thirtysomething woman smoking a cigarette near the prow nursed a broken heart with solitude and sea spray. Or at least that was the conclusion Anna came to.

  At the end of the boat trip, their faces sunburned and stung by lake wind, the families took the tram from Bürkliplatz to the Hauptbahnhof and rode the train back to the Dietlikon station, all eight of them. It was near six and growing dark. There was cake and champagne waiting at the house.

  Anna couldn’t believe how enjoyable, how perfectly pleasant the day had been. She hadn’t expected it to be. She had forgotten that was possible, if ever she had really known.

  She was still engaged in the experience of the day’s supple joy when they came up the hill on Hintergasse past the town square and rounded the corner to Rosenweg. On their right, the church parking lot was filled with cars. If Anna noticed this—which she didn’t—she would have assumed that the church was holding evening services. They passed the little playground, walked toward the house, mounted the steps, and opened the door.

  The house was dark. Bruno threw the light switch and, after a half-second pause, almost two dozen people yelled the word “Surprise!”

  Christ, Anna thought. They threw me a fucking party.

  The architect of this surprise was obvious. Before she could take stock of the guests, before Anna could rightly register the faces of the people who had come into the house without her personal invitation, Mary leapt into Anna’s line of vision. She jumped around and clapped in the manner of a jack springing from his box when the handle’s been cranked.

  “Are you surprised? Are you? Did you guess? Look how surprised you are!”

  Yes, yes, Anna mollified her friend. Big surprise. She gave Mary a mechanical hug of thanks and then talked herself silently through the situation. Okay, Anna, you can manage this. It’s been a good, good day. I can manage this. I can be thankful for this.

  Anna scanned the room. Ursula was there as well as Daniela and David, Margrith and Hans and their daughter Suzanne and her husband Guido, neither of whom Anna knew well but who until last year had lived in the cottage behind Hans’s barn with their three little girls, who had also
come to the party. Bruno and Anna’s neighbors Monika and Beat were there and Edith and Otto as well. Most of the people from Anna’s German class including Nancy and Ed and the Australian couple she rarely spoke to and the French lady who always smoked during break and the Asians who kept to themselves and who had, in fact, never once uttered a conversant word to Anna had come to the house. And Roland. And Archie. And Karl.

  A FACE SEEN OUT of context creates confusion. And most paranoiacs have reason to be.

  14

  IT’S TRUE: A FACE SEEN OUT OF CONTEXT CREATES CONFUSION. A momentary blip of disorientation. Transitory befuddlement. Personal perception is called into question. Like being in a bar when a priest and a rabbi actually walk in. Is this a joke? you ask yourself. The answer is yes. The answer is no. The answer is both.

  Is this a joke? Anna asked herself. Nearly every person in her house that night was divorced from his or her circumstance. Anna’s bearings faltered as the floor beneath her tried to shift and she fought the onslaught of a literal swoon. Mary beamed. She was pleased with herself and still under the impression that when Anna had said Do nothing for my birthday what she really meant was I want you to throw me a party. A blush rose from Anna’s chest to her face. “I know you said you didn’t want a fuss, but really it was no trouble at all!” Mary waited for a response. Anna offered a weak, tactful smile. “And I wanted to do this! You’re my best friend!”

  Mary drew Anna into the living room and put a paper crown on her head. It was pink and sparkly, made for a child. Anna immediately removed it. Bruno shook hands with the men he knew and before long, Bruno, Guido, Otto, Beat, David, and Karl had beers in their hands and were moving toward the door. When they passed Anna, each wished her happy birthday and gave her a quick hug and the customary three-cheek kiss. When Karl came in for his Anna hissed into his ear, Why are you here? To which Karl responded, “She invited Daniela and David and they invited me.” Bruno led the group outside, the children following along. Edith sidled up to Anna and handed her a glass of sparkling wine.

  She smirked. “This is rare, Anna.” Anna was inclined to agree. Anna downed the champagne in two quick swallows and handed the glass back to Edith with a face that read Now go and get me a real drink. Edith laughed her Edith laugh and slid away into the kitchen.

  A moment later she returned with a Scotch. Anna sipped it. The whiskey was peaty and smooth. “Where’d this come from?” She didn’t need to ask.

  “He brought it.” Edith gestured toward the other side of the room where Archie stood with Roland and Ed. Anna started to say something but thought better of it. Edith, too, opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the arrival of Mary. Anna introduced them. Mary and Edith were, respectively, effusive and detached. This was not unexpected, but at the moment, Anna didn’t have the heart to referee disputing personalities. She excused herself under the pretense of wanting to change out of the clothes she’d worn on the boat ride and slipped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaving Mary and Edith to discover how little they had in common all on their own.

  Anna found a nicer sweater and changed into it. She checked her face—it was still flushed. I’ll blame it on the Scotch, Anna thought, and then, reexamining herself, This will have to do. A knock on the door startled her, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Arch.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Anna huffed to the door, jerked it open, and yanked him inside.

  “Anna—,” Archie started, but Anna held up her hand.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Mary invited me.” Mary was every present problem’s lynchpin. “It would have seemed odd if I hadn’t shown up.”

  “Really, Archie?” Anna said. “Go tell that to my tall Swiss husband with his beefy Swiss friends getting drunk in my Swiss front yard.” Anna couldn’t stop saying the word “Swiss” but she didn’t know why. Anna was angry. She had worked very hard to keep her secret life—lives—separate. “I need to get back.” Anna opened the door and shoved past him into the hall. Am I the only one my secrets make sense to? Anna asked herself before remembering that she was the only one who knew the secrets in the first place.

  The party’s chatter had picked up. People drank and ate and while the party retained a strained, dull ambiance, conversation loosened and people began to relax. Anna lagged back for a second, exhaled deeply, and then steeled in herself a will to interact. She bumped into Edith as she rounded the corner into the den.

  “Everything all right, Anna?” She spoke disingenuously.

  “Everything’s swell,” Anna said simply.

  “You know”—Edith leaned in—“I’ve been surveying the livestock.” Anna made a face. “I’ll bet there’s at least one man we could hook you up with.”

  “Edith. Really.” Anna reminded her she had a husband.

  “Yes. I suppose you do.” Edith kept on. “What about that fellow Roland?” Anna threw her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “All right, then. What about the Scotsman? Didn’t I just see him coming out of your bedroom?” There was a dance of light in Edith’s eyes.

  “Enough, Edith.” Anna had flint in her voice.

  “God, Anna. Lighten up. That Mary’s done her prudish number on you.”

  “It’s not prudery,” Anna said. “It’s decorum.”

  “Ha, ha!” Edith’s laugh was scattershot. “Trust me, Anna. I know the score.” Anna looked at her and decided that she probably did.

  Edith returned Anna’s stare. “Mary, on the other hand …” She trailed off affectedly. Whatever she was going to say, she didn’t need to finish it.

  “Be nice to her, Edith.”

  “God, Anna. You bore me.”

  “Edith, I have guests.”

  Edith smirked. “Fine, whatever.” Edith brushed past Anna into the hall, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and began to text Niklas, Anna assumed.

  “WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN an obsession and a compulsion?”

  As a child Anna had been prone to counting things. Rocks in her path. Telephone trills. Words in sentences. Sentences in paragraphs. Every action had to be ordered. Every thought both metered and meted out. It was painstaking. She was always on call. It was a fair enough compromise. The counting, sorting, and classifying helped Anna manage her panics. The psychiatrist decided that it, like Anna’s depression, was a phase. It was. It didn’t persist. She moved past the habit by picking up other habits.

  “An obsession is a defense against feeling out of control. A compulsion is the failure of that defense.”

  AT THE END OF a recent class, Anna asked Roland to translate some graffiti she’d seen scratched onto the back of a train seat. Graffiti in Swiss trains is rare. Anna had copied it onto the back of her German notebook. “ ‘Was fuer ae huere Schweinerei …’ What does that mean?”

  Roland frowned, shuffled his papers, and started for the door. “It means something not very nice.” Anna stood there waiting for a response. Roland sighed and relented. “It means ‘what a fucking mess.’ ”

  EVERYONE HAS A TELL. In poker, the underpinning rule for assessing them is this: a weak hand means strong action and a strong hand means weak. Does he shake? Does he glance too furtively at his stack of chips? Does he stare too intently at his cards? Does he throw down his bet like a chef drops a hot potato? Does he or does he not look other players in the eye?

  Of course, there are other tells. Your son says Tell me a story, Mami, and you settle down next to him and begin: Es war einmal eine Prinzessin … There is show-and-tell, where for perhaps the first time in your life you publicize an inner aspect of yourself, not yet aware of exposure’s possible consequence. Once, in second grade, Anna brought her favorite doll to class. A bisque-head doll, her hands and feet were also made of porcelain and her hair was human, black and perfect. Anna named her Frieda and while she did not love her in the way that other girls loved their own baby dolls, rocking them and pretending to feed them and scolding them when they were naughty, Anna felt s
omething lovelike. She was fascinated with the curves of Frieda’s face, the softness of her hair, and the lacy pink dress she wore. It was a detached, scientific interest, but a deeply enthralling one nonetheless. And when on the playground that day she dropped her by accident and a boy named Walter—also by accident—stepped on Frieda’s right hand and crushed it to irreparable bits, Anna felt the sort of loss that little girls do when their dolls break and she spent the rest of the day in tears. At home, Anna returned Frieda to her shelf and never played with or examined her again. She’d loved her more than she’d realized.

  And then there is Wilhelm Tell, the Swiss national hero who, having refused to bow to the overlord, was forced to shoot an apple off his young son’s head. With a single bolt of his crossbow, he split the apple into perfect halves. If there was a moral to that story, Anna couldn’t say what it was.

  HE NEVER TOLD HER he did not love her.

  But he never told her he did.

  ARCHIE, MARY, NANCY, ROLAND, and Ed congregated near the snacks. Archie had turned his back to Anna, granting her the wish of extreme discretion. Outside, Bruno and his friends stood in the street looking at Guido’s new car. Bruno balanced Polly on his hip. Daniela leaned in and tickled her. Polly Jean was a dozen smiles and giggles.

  The party continued dully. As was the case with Edith’s party, Anna’s had split into halves—though here it was geography and not gender that divided the room: the native friends of Bruno’s stayed outside, and Anna and her foreign acquaintances remained indoors. How emblematic, Anna thought. They’re free to move in open air through their own world. We are locked in a box of otherness. There’s a line of demarcation. They tolerate our presence but will never welcome it.