Ordinary Whore

by Dieter Moitzi

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She shrugs. “Oh, I’ll call them, all right. Once you’ve left. I won’t have two stupid strangers tell me what to do or when. And whether I like it or not, we’re family.”

  She briskly turns around and walks to the door. “I’ll make us some coffee.” That sounds as if I had passed an exam I wasn’t even aware I was taking. “If you prefer tea, well, too bad, I don’t have any.”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  “Don’t just sit there. You can help me, you know.”

  I get up obediently and follow her.

  —22—

  It’s a bit warmer in the kitchen, but not much. At least there’s more light. Everything is old, wooden, spotless.

  Aunt Juliette puts the water to boil, I set the kitchen table, following her instructions. She points out where to take the cups and saucers, plates, cutlery, sugar, and milk.

  “Did you have breakfast this morning?” she asks without taking her eyes off the French press into which she is spooning coffee.

  “Sort of,” I reply.

  “One doesn’t have sort of a breakfast—one has or hasn’t.”

  “Coffee and a soggy pain au chocolat in the train,” I say. “I don’t know how that qualifies.”

  She turns around and nods approvingly. “My bad. That is sort of a breakfast. Well, pour the water into the French press, will you? I’ll see what I have.” She pushes me aside and opens the fridge. “Let’s make it—what do you youngsters call it? A brunch? I’m hungry, you know. Was just sitting down this morning when those clowns interrupted me. Spoiled my appetite, too.”

  I prepare the coffee while she puts several plastic boxes on the kitchen table. “There. Bread, butter, jam, ham, cold meats, cheese, black radish—you like black radish?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. If the coffee’s ready, bring it over, boy.”

  We sit down.

  I serve us coffee while she opens the boxes.

  “Dig in,” she says.

  We eat in silence.

  After a few minutes, Aunt Juliette glances at me. “I guess you have many questions. And I guess you’re expecting answers of me.”

  “I do have questions,” I reply. “As for the answers, I don’t know if you have them…”

  “Oh, you aren’t all looks and pretty clothes, after all,” she snorts. “Pour me some more coffee. Anyway, I don’t know if I have answers for you, either. But I can tell you some stories.”

  “That’s the best anyone can offer, isn’t it?” I ask.

  She looks at me appraisingly. Then she asks abruptly, “You didn’t know your grandfather, did you?”

  I’m munching so I only shake my head, no.

  “Of course not,” she mutters. “He died before your father married. Well, good for you. I’m sure your father never told you that, but your grandfather was a nasty, cruel, and stupid man. And I envy those who didn’t have the misfortune to meet him.”

  I stare at her with a stunned expression.

  “I know,” she snorts. “Of the dead you should say nothing but good. As it happens, some people don’t deserve such a treatment, though. Some people did only one good thing in their lives: they died at last.” She nods vehemently. “Your grandfather was one of those. He wasn’t only wicked, he was outright evil. Manipulative, abusive, cold-hearted, controlling. I can’t say how many times he beat up our mother.”

  I’m too shocked to react and simply continue to stare at her.

  She looks down on her plate. “I always knew something was wrong in our family. Couldn’t put my finger on it. Almost convinced myself everything was all right, everything was normal.”

  “Normal? When he beat your mother?” I croak.

  She nods. “You know, ‘normal’ is a flexible and subjective word. Violence at home, well, that was our normal. I didn’t know anything else. We weren’t allowed to go to other places, have sleepovers or see friends. Hell, we weren’t even allowed to have friends. Our father controlled our lives from dawn to dusk and even at night. But certain small things struck me as… uncommon. Our mother never smiled, for instance. She always wore long sleeves—to cover up the bruises and wounds, I gather. She’d always speak in a whisper, too. But apart from that? We were an ordinary, rather well-off and respected upper middle-class family. Father had money and a certain amount of prestige. In public, he could be the most charming man. Nobody ever asked questions when our mother was limping yet again. People thought she was simply a very clumsy woman.”

  “Nobody guessed what she was going through?”

  Unsmilingly, my aunt says, “Oh, people certainly did. But you know, people will always believe what they want to believe. There are so many clumsy women all over the world, aren’t there? Rather amazing when you think of it—that propensity of women to bump into walls or fall down stairs…”

  The clinical detachment of her voice and the dryness with which she delivers her verdict make me shudder.

  “Mother wouldn’t ever complain, anyway,” she continues. “She was brought up to endure and shut her mouth, like women often are. Our father had already beaten all life out of her when I was born. She was a ghost, a shell that went through the motions because that’s what she was taught to do.”

  I almost don’t dare ask the next question. Haltingly, I say, “But he… er, he never laid a finger on you or Father?”

  My aunt fixes her eyes on me. “Have an educated guess.”

  I simply stare at her.

  Aunt Juliette sighs. With careful neutrality, she states, “Imagine a man prone to violent behaviour who day after day faces three small, helpless children. Three young minds that still need to be broken so as not to escape his domination. I could give you a detailed list, could tell you how many times he broke my arm, how many teeth I lost, how many times I had a black eye or a swollen cheek.”

  She taps her temple. “Everything is still in here. You’d be sick if you knew…”

  I look away, feeling queasy. “You said ‘three children.’ I thought you were Father’s only sister…”

  She emits a dry laugh. “Why am I not surprised that he never talked about Raphaëlle?”

  “Raphaëlle?”

  “Our little sister. I think he named your sister after her. And your other sister after our mother. Angélique.”

  I nod, more and more stunned.

  “Well, Raphaëlle was the youngest. A cute little girl, very lively and charming whenever he wasn’t around. She hid her true feelings perfectly well. I never guessed how thoroughly Father had destroyed her. She killed herself at the age of eighteen. Jumped under a train.”

  An uncomfortable silence stretches out for a few minutes.

  I pour some more coffee.

  Aunt Juliette butters a slice of bread and lays it gently on my plate. “Eat some more. The things of the past, as sickening as they sound, cannot be changed. I’ll tell you more. If you eat.”

  Obediently, I place ham and black radish on the slice of bread, then take a bite.

  My aunt sips her coffee. “You know how I found out that what was going on in my family wasn’t normal? When I finally left home. I met Édouard, who was going to become my husband. To marry him was my personal revenge. My rebellion, you could say. Because our father had had other plans for me. Wanted me to be a meek little girl he could marry off to the son of one of his business acquaintances. A certain Jean-Philippe Sarly de Beauregard de Rochefont.”

  I gasp, my hands start to tremble. I haven’t forgotten the name, and I’ll never ever forget the man’s cold touch… “That old pervert? Grandfather knew the family?”

  She smirks humourlessly. “Oh yes. Old friends. I think ever since I was born, I was meant to marry Jean-Philippe. That would have happened, too, if
one of my teachers hadn’t convinced Father to let me study medicine. A doctor in the family—Father must have liked the idea. So, I was allowed to go to Paris. And I met Édouard there. We fell in love, and as soon as I was of age, we married. I didn’t even think about how angry Father would be. I simply thought I’d be free of his hold at last. I said yes, and we rushed into a Mairie and married without telling anyone.”

  She grins now. “Father almost choked when I told him on the phone. But he invited us to come home so that he could meet his new son-in-law. Édouard and I drove back home. We didn’t stay long, I can assure you. I remember, it was a Sunday. Neither your Father nor Raphaëlle were present. Don’t ask me what Father had done to them; maybe he had locked them in the basement. That was one of his less violent punishments. Anyway… We were supposed to have lunch, and Mother was limping and could barely speak, her face was so swollen. The main courses had just been served, and my husband had a good, long look at my mother. He was already a doctor, you see? I remember how he suddenly blanched. He must have realised what was what. He glared at my father. Then he told me to grab my things, go back outside, and wait for him in the car. He joined me two minutes later, and we drove off in silence. He had that look on his face… he really scared me. First and only time until his death, to be honest. When I finally found the courage to ask what was going on, he told me that he couldn’t bear to sit at the same table as a woman-beater. And of course, everything made sense all of a sudden. A new sense—the right sense, if you know what I mean.”

  I nod, noticing only now that my aunt’s eyes, hard and unweeping, are light blue.

  She looks at me, her face unreadable. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  I clear my throat. “I do,” I say coarsely. “Grandfather was a piece of shit. And you and Father had a hellish childhood.”

  She nods.

  “I know it’s not important, but what… what did your husband do while you were waiting for him? You know, in the car? Why did he make you go outside without him?”

  Aunt Juliette surprises me by chuckling. “Oh. Fancy—Édouard would never tell me until a few weeks before he died. We were talking about things we regretted and things we had kept secret from each other. One of those idle talks two old fools can have. We discovered that there were secrets. Little nothings, in fact, and it was quite fun remembering them all. They seemed so trite, so unimportant in hindsight, when they had felt so grave back in the day. That’s when Édouard confessed what had happened while I was waiting in the car. Apparently, once I was out the door, he said, ‘You, sir, are a swine!’ And he slapped my father. Back then, he didn’t want me to know because he didn’t want me to think he was as violent as my father.”

  “Oh.” I’m at a loss for words.

  “Happy family reunion, huh?” my aunt says drily. I don’t know if she is talking about that eventful Sunday lunch so many years ago or about her telling me all those sad and sickening stories.

  “I… I didn’t know any of this,” I stammer.

  “Well, now you do. It’s important to know where you come from. To know where your parents come from, too.” For the first time, she offers me a genuine smile. It’s not exactly warm but lights up her face. “Nowadays, children always blame their parents for anything that goes wrong in their lives. But sometimes, they ought to look a bit farther down the line.”

  I want to point out that she doesn’t exactly heed her own advice when she adds, “I know, this sounds like ‘Do what I say but not what I do.’ It’s just… I can’t ever forgive your grandfather. I’m aware that that isn’t charitable, but my hatred for that man is simply too strong.”

  “I can’t believe Father never said a word,” I mutter.

  “Of course not. Your father would never have had the guts to tell you, even though he must have loathed your grandfather even more than I. He tried to trick his way through childhood and adolescence so as to come out of this ordeal unharmed. But our father was simply too shrewd for him, and that is saying a lot. Your father must have been one of the most conniving, most accomplished liars. Still no match for his own father.”

  “I hardly even knew you existed,” I say slowly. “Why didn’t he mention you more often? My father, that is.”

  “Because somehow, even for him, I was the black sheep of the family. A perverted sort of Stockholm syndrome on your father’s behalf, maybe. I was banned, erased, confined to oblivion. Not that that saddened me. I never wanted to see any of them again.”

  “And you never did.” I wanted to phrase it as a question, but it comes out as a statement.

  She prepares herself another sandwich. “No. Mother died some years after my wedding, and I didn’t attend the funeral. I couldn’t even bring myself to weep. Same thing when Father died. If anything, I felt… liberated. Inherited a bunch of money, too, because legally he couldn’t disown me completely. Of course, I didn’t want his money. I donated all of it to a network of women’s shelters. That seemed appropriate.”

  I remain silent for a few seconds, lost in thought. “Why did you agree to see my father then? I know he came here in April.”

  “He did. Courageous for once. Of course, he needed something from me, which explains why he suddenly remembered that I exist.”

  “You didn’t stay in touch at all?”

  She shakes her head. “I had convinced myself my only family was Édouard. We were happy together, didn’t need anyone else. Never had kids either, because how could I be sure I wouldn’t become a monstruous parent like my father?”

  I stare at her.

  “You probably don’t understand,” she says. “People like you who’ve had an uneventful or even pampered childhood can’t imagine how I felt. And you’ve got a child yourself.”

  Not a question, but a simple statement. I thought nothing could astonish me anymore, and once again, I was wrong.

  “Who told you?” I whisper.

  She shrugs. “Who do you think? Your father, of course.”

  “He knew?”

  “He certainly did.”

  “But… who told him?”

  She puts down her cup. “Marc. Nobody needed to tell him. The scheme you, your sister, and her lover came up with was so hare-brained that even an idiot could have figured it out. And your father was certainly no idiot.”

  “I… I don’t get it…”

  She sighs. “According to what he told me, your sisters were always quite close to him and their mother.”

  “What?” I can’t believe my ears. And can’t even start to wonder who was deluded all these years: he or I?

  Impatiently, my aunt waves my question away. “I only repeat what your father told me, all right? Anyway. He was proud and happy when your sister announced that she was pregnant. But then she disappeared. Never visited her parents. Spent the rest of her supposed pregnancy holed up in a villa in Mallorca with her lady friend until the little girl was born. Nobody ever saw your sister pregnant. Except you. The only person they allowed to come and see them. He deduced immediately that something was amiss. So, he sent someone to Mallorca to investigate. And he found out that… Angélique, is it?”

  I nod.

  “That Angélique hadn’t been pregnant at all, but her lady friend had. And given that you were the only man to visit them, he figured you must have provided the, um… you know.”

  “The sperm,” I say.

  “Yes, that.” My aunt looks at me expectantly. “That’s how it went, right?”

  Again, I nod silently.

  “There you are. Anyway, your sister seems to be the girl’s legal mother, and her lady friend adopted her, if I’m not mistaken. And you’re just her uncle, officially. I wonder why you never claimed the kid for yourself.”

  “I don’t think I’d be a good dad,” I simply say. “My little sister asked me for help. She can’t have babies, in fact. That’s why she
and Carole came up with that idea. And I accepted.”

  “How sweet of you,” Aunt Juliette comments. I’m not entirely sure if she’s being serious or sarcastic.

  “We never thought Father knew about it,” I murmur, still too stunned to process it all.

  “You never thought. Angélique knew it because your father told her. Your other sister and your mother knew it, too.”

  I feel so angry all of a sudden that I almost yell at my aunt. Why did nobody ever think it necessary to keep me updated? Hell, even this person on the other side of the kitchen table whom I had never seen before was better informed than I.

  “Why did Father come here to see you?” I ask through gritted teeth. “After all these years…”

  Aunt Juliette seems lost in her thoughts. She says slowly, “You know, your father reached out to me from time to time, with a stick, so to say. I received birth announcements for the three of you, for instance—Raphaëlle, you, Angélique. Your father always did things by the book. But that’s it. And then suddenly he was standing on my doormat. I think you can guess how shocked I was to see him.”

  I nod.

  “I almost told him to sod off. But when you get old, you understand some fights are worthless. You understand you can’t run away from unpleasantness. So, I asked him to come in and have a cup of coffee. We sat here, just like you and I. First your father looked very sheepish. Didn’t know what to say. Then he wanted to drag up the past. Wanted to talk it all over. But I forbid him to mention our father’s name in my house. Told him I’d bodily throw him out if he dared talk about that nasty old man.” She shudders and pulls the cardigan closer over her chest. “Then I asked him what he wanted. And he told me. Said he’d left some hints so that you could find me.”

  She looks at me. “I’ve been waiting for you ever since.”

  —21—

  Half an hour later, I’m in my rented car again, driving back through the vast woodlands. On the passenger seat, there’s the little men’s bag Father left with my aunt. I asked her if she knew what was inside, but she only shook her head. “No. And I really don’t care.”