Dear Child

by Romy Hausmann

  I hesitantly placed a hand on Jonathan’s back, and stroked his head with the other, feeling his soft hair. Felt his warm, nervous breathing on my neck and the spasms his body made as he sobbed. I felt his fluttering heartbeat, I felt the same pain which had afflicted me after my father’s death and my break-up with Kirsten. He had the worst pain possible, the pain of love.

  I looked over to Hannah, who was standing beside the shelves, still holding the big book. I was expecting to see her staring at me with those defiant, ice-blue eyes. But she kept her eyes fixed downward, making her appear embarrassed. This was an emotion I hadn’t come across either. Hannah had never had a problem looking me in the eye when a fresh, unmissable bruise decorated my face following another assault by her father. Sometimes she would even smile and say, “It’s not so bad, Mama. It was just a silly accident.” With her words she wasn’t trying to excuse her father’s violent outburst, but my behavior. I had done or said something silly by mistake, for which her father had beaten me. A pure consequence of my own stupidity.

  “I know!” Jonathan exclaimed.

  He leaped off my lap and raced out of the room into the hallway. When he came back his face was still red from crying, but he was beaming. He was holding something hidden behind his back.

  “I’ve got a present for you,” he said solemnly and brought it out.

  The snow globe.

  Inside it I could see a tiny house with a brown door, red shutters and a pointed roof. On either side of the house stood two Christmas trees.

  “Look, Mama.” Jonathan shook the globe and thousands of tiny, artificial snowflakes flew up and swirled around, before landing on the roof, the trees, or the ground. “Look at the snowflakes dancing! And we’re in here.” Jonathan smiled, pointing at the tiny house.

  “Can I hold it?”

  Jonathan held it out to me.

  “But be careful. It’s made of real glass and it’s very heavy.”

  “Very heavy,” I repeated as if in a daze. He was right. The snow globe was really heavy. Fantastically heavy.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Papa gave it to me. He gave Hannah Fräulein Tinky and me the snow globe. It’s my most precious treasure.”

  “Where have you been hiding it?”

  “In our bedroom. One of the floorboards in our room is loose and there’s a hole beneath it.” He grinned. “Fräulein Tinky hides in there sometimes too when she’s eaten something.” He turns to Hannah, but she doesn’t grin back.

  “In your room,” I repeated, still weighing up the snow globe in my hand. The room I’d been into hundreds of times to make the beds or tell goodnight stories.

  “Yes,” Jonathan said, sitting beside me on the sofa. “But now I want to give it to you.”

  “You want—?”

  “Yes, because you’re so sad, Mama.” He took the globe and shook it again. The snowflakes scattered around the little house. Jonathan smiled dreamily. “That’s our cabin. We’re sitting inside, nice and warm.”

  He gave me the globe back.

  “Can you see now how nice it is here?”

  “Yes, my darling, it’s really nice here.”

  “Next time you’re sad you can just shake it.”

  “Yes, darling, I’ll do that.”

  Tears were in my eyes when I gave Jonathan a tight hug. The wonderful little boy who wanted to cheer me up and gave me his greatest possession, his only possession.

  “Can we maybe do some lessons now?” Hannah said grouchily in the background. She’d been astonishingly quiet.

  I kissed Jonathan on the head, said, “Thank you,” glanced at the kitchen clock—almost four in the afternoon—and got up from the sofa.

  “All right then, children. Get your books and crayons. Today we’re going to do dictation…”

  * * *

  It was late now, almost eight o’clock. I didn’t think he’d be coming back home today and I was going to send the children to the bathroom to get ready for bed. During our lesson the snow globe had stood on the dining table. My eyes kept wandering to it and I couldn’t resist smiling. Jonathan smiled too when he caught me doing it. Presumably he was a very happy, proud child who felt he’d done something very important. He’d cured his mama of pathological sadness. He had no idea.

  Finally I could hear footsteps outside, heavy footsteps on wood, steps that must lead up to the cabin. The children leaped into position in the middle of the room, clearly visible, holding out their hands. I put the snow globe on the seat of my chair, so he wouldn’t see it the moment he came in, then stood beside the children and held out my hands too. At that moment the key turned in the lock.

  I watched his back as he locked the front door again from the inside, and the movement of his hand as it took the key, which was on a bunch, from the lock and slipped them jangling into his pocket. Everything was as normal. Apart from the fact that my heart was beating all over my body; I was one big pulse as he inspected the cleanliness of my fingernails, coming so close that I could feel the cold that lingered on him from outside. He’d been shopping to cook something delicious for us in honor of the day. And he’d also got hold of a pregnancy test kit, which would provide the reason for our celebration. Even the children were allowed to stay up later this evening, all in honor of this day. He seemed very sure of what the result would be.

  “Everything okay with you, Lena?” he asked as he wandered past me to put the shopping bags down on the work surface.

  “Yes, yes,” I said hastily, placing myself between him and my chair to shield the snow globe with my body. Today was crunch time. Either I’d be free or I would die; I could feel it, I felt it in every heartbeat. And I was scared, terrifically scared. Fear enveloped my body like cling film, something impervious, constricting me and making me numb.

  From this point everything runs on automatic. I swear I cannot remember exactly when I grabbed the snow globe. Is he emptying the shopping bags? Or poking at the ashes in the stove? I see him before me, his back to me, bent forward. I step up to him from behind. The globe in my hand weighs a ton, I can barely hold it and yet I manage to take a big swing.

  Where are the children at this moment? Is it Hannah, less than a yard from me, who screams a warning, which I don’t hear because nothing can get through my cling film? Yes, I can see it’s her from the corner of my eye, but her mouth is closed. Hannah watches silently and idly as I execute the snow globe’s dangerous, wide arc through the air.

  What about Jonathan? Jonathan must be somewhere here, too. I’m sure he hasn’t left the room. Maybe he’s run around the sofa, babbling away with excitement. He’s happy that Papa’s back. Papa will heat the stove and make it nice and warm in the cabin. Papa will cook something delicious for us. What luck that Papa’s back.

  At that moment your husband makes to turn around, but he’s too late, there’s a crack, it goes bam! like when you drop a watermelon on the floor. Does he make a sound? Does he groan in pain or even scream? I don’t hear anything apart from the blood rushing in my ears and the muffled bam! that shakes everything. I’ve struck him, I’ve hit him once, hard, hard enough to make his body double up, as if a puppet’s strings had been cut. That strike was enough, now he’s lying on the floor, but it seems as if I just can’t stop. I hit him and I hit him and I keep hitting him until the glass of the snow globe shatters on his skull. I must be kneeling over him, hitting him again and again, the glass shards shredding his face. Blood, blood must be everywhere now.

  I stagger backward, the murder weapon in my hand. The children come into my field of view. They stand there as if rooted to the spot. Hannah, her expression unmoved, empty. Jonathan horrified. Tears are running down his cheeks, his mouth is wide open with shock. His arms hang limply either side of his little body. His eyes, his stare. The snow globe was his present to me, the greatest, most important act of his life, his proudest possession. His snow globe has killed his father. He has killed his father because he gave it to me. His lips form a sile
nt “Mama.”

  I drop the globe. In my head it crashes on the floor. In my head it only breaks now. The noise makes its way through my cling film, alarming me. I sink to my knees beside the inert body and fish the bunch of keys from his trouser pocket. Oh God, did he move just then? No, impossible, he’s dead, as the police will corroborate later on. I stagger backward again. The keys jangle in my hand. I run to the front door; my trembling fingers try key after key in the lock until one finally fits. It fits! The door, open!

  “Come on, children!” I shout. “Let’s go!”

  But the children don’t move. They stand frozen beside the motionless body of their father.

  “Come now! We’ve got to go!”

  I see Jonathan sink to his knees beside his father as if in slow motion. His torso leans forward, jerkily. He’s sobbing, quietly, with pain, with love.

  I shake my head in disbelief. Look at Hannah who’s still standing there, frozen, her face devoid of expression.

  I pant. There are no more thoughts in my head, apart from one, maybe: get away from here! My legs start moving. I stumble down wooden steps that lead to a narrow veranda. I’m hit by the darkness and ice-cold air. For a moment I forget to breathe; my lungs seem almost blocked by the strangeness of this air, real, fresh air.

  I run. Across the grassed plot of land that surrounds the house and into the neighboring woods. Branches scratch my skin, I can barely see anything in the darkness and I hear loud, dry cracking beneath my feet. I flail about, knocking branches to the side, sometimes flailing into thin air too. I stumble and fall, pain. I pick myself up again—go on, keep going, get away from here.

  There, suddenly, behind me. Was that a crack? Has he got up again, is he behind me? Faster, run!

  I run, falter, slip, crash into a tree.

  Keep going, don’t stop!

  That’s a crack behind me.

  Up ahead, some distance away between the trees, is that a light?

  Two lights, only tiny, but they’re there. They’re moving. Car headlights?

  I run toward them. Keep going, just don’t stop! A road, there’s a road! I hold out my arms and wave. A car, it really is a car coming! I run toward it, wave, the car is close now, closer—and then … a deafening crash. Bright colors explode before my eyes. My eyelids flutter. I’m lying on the cold, hard ground. It’s so dreadfully cold. I detect a movement above me. Someone’s there. He bends over me. The driver of the car. His voice doesn’t match his face when he calls out, “Frau Grass? Frau Grass! Nice and calm, now, Frau Grass!”

  MATTHIAS

  I’m desperate to fall asleep quickly so it’ll be morning sooner: a new, better day. But I have a very restive night. I can hear Karin beside me, breathing through her nose. She’s unsettled too as she tosses and turns repeatedly. But at least she’s sleeping, lucky woman.

  I’d been expecting a different reaction, of course I had. When Hannah said, “But this isn’t my home, Grandad,” it was as if an invisible axe had split my ribcage and someone was removing my heart while I was fully conscious. And how disappointed she looked. She’d obviously thought I was taking her back to the cabin. While words failed me to begin with, Karin managed to improvise.

  “You’re right, Hannah,” she said calmly. “This is our home, mine and your grandfather’s. Your mama lived here with us for a long time. That’s why we thought you’d like to visit us. Would you like to see her old room?”

  “Yes.” Hannah nodded and let Karin take her upstairs by the hand. I trudged behind, keeping my distance.

  To be precise, it’s just a shell of Lena’s old room. The pinewood bed, the wardrobe, the chunky stereo that was a Christmas present when Lena first discovered music for herself, the desk and its accompanying swivel chair are all in their usual places. And the star stickers that glow in the dark are still on the ceiling above the bed, a sentimental relic of Lena’s time at primary school. She’d made her own starry sky. “It’s silly that you can only see the stars when you’re outside at night, isn’t it, Papi? It’s much nicer to sleep beneath the stars, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Lenchen, it is,” I’d agreed, and stuck up the stars on her instructions because she couldn’t reach.

  All the posters that used to cover the walls were put in the recycling long ago. The photos and the pinboard with its colorful jumble of polaroids and concert tickets were taken down. The clothes that used to hang in the wardrobe have been discarded. The chest of drawers and bedside rug were new purchases, Karin’s attempt to set up a guest room, or at least a bedroom without ghosts. Just like the curtains and the white orchids in a pot on the windowsill, which Karin lovingly nurtures.

  Hannah stepped hesitantly into the middle of the room and allowed her gaze to roam.

  “It’s very big,” she said, then walked back to the door and started to measure the room by putting one foot in front of the other, heel to toe.

  “Twenty-eight steps,” she declared when she got to the wall opposite.

  “Do you like it?” I asked hopefully; she just shrugged.

  When I showed her the desk I must have looked as desperate as a furniture salesman who’s yet to make a sale that day.

  “Look! This is the perfect place for studying. And the chair is very comfortable. Do you want to try it out? Go on, sit down. And look at this! We specially got you a drawing pad and color pens, and if you like, we’ll buy you a few books too, tomorrow or the day after. Or Karin, I mean your grandmother, could have a look in the cellar to see if some of your mama’s old schoolbooks are in a crate somewhere, and then—”

  “Matthias,” Karin said from the door, waving me over. “Just leave her in peace for a little while.”

  With a sigh, I obeyed and stood beside her. “What were you thinking?” she hissed from the side.

  She was referring to me telling Hannah I was taking her home. But nobody was more disappointed by the misunderstanding than me.

  “The stars,” Hannah said out of the blue. Now she was standing beside Lena’s bed, her head back, smiling. Her smile gave me heart.

  “Yes, your mama was so desperate for her own starry sky that we stuck one up for her. Karin, turn off the light and close the door for a sec.” Because the roller blinds were down in Lena’s bedroom too, as protection from the reporters outside, the stars shone as soon as the switch clicked, a sea of neon-green above, large ones, small ones, stars with tails and others without.

  “Mama made a starry sky at home too, but the crayon doesn’t glow.”

  “Did she draw you stars?” A warm feeling flooded my chest, my broken ribcage seemed to heal for the time being. What a wonderful, loving mother my Lenchen must have been.

  “Yes, on the slatted frame under Jonathan’s bunk. When I lay in bed I just had to reach up and I could touch them, the stars. They’re even beautiful when they don’t shine. They’re blue and green and red. It’s only the yellow ones that are hard to see on the wood, but I still know they’re there.”

  “Listen, would you like to sleep in this room tonight? Beneath your mama’s shining stars?”

  Hannah said nothing, but in the residual light seeping into the room under the door from the hallway I saw her nod. I thought that this was the moment, the moment when we’d bond, when the loose strands would come together. The stars on the ceiling, which her mother had left behind like a sign. The stars, which in their own, silent way had to prove to Hannah that this was where she now belonged.

  But I was mistaken. It was during dinner that she asked, “How long do I have to stay here before I can go home?”

  I put my hope in Karin again, but even she seemed to be at a loss on this occasion.

  After a moment, therefore, I had a go myself. “Hannah,” I said, “the police have sealed off the cabin. They’ve stuck something on the door which means you’re not allowed in there anymore.”

  Hannah put down her bread, having taken a few bites.

  “Never again?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”
/>   “But why not?”

  “Hannah—” I began without knowing what I actually wanted to say, but was interrupted by Karin.

  “Because terrible things happened there.”

  I tensed up and gave Karin a reproachful look. Until Hannah’s able to understand for herself what really happened in the cabin, I believe we ought to leave it to the professionals to explain things carefully to her. The fact that they hadn’t yet been successful in this showed me even more clearly how sensitively we had to treat her. But I couldn’t have said this to Karin, of course, for she would have immediately reminded me of how often I’d recently described the specialists as incompetent idiots.

  To my surprise, however, Hannah nodded at once.

  “I don’t think Jonathan will have managed to get all those stains out of the carpet anyway.”

  An audible intake of breath from Karin.

  “We have to go there anyway, Grandad. Because of Fräulein Tinky. You see, she doesn’t know that the cabin can’t be our home anymore.”

  “We’ll do that, Hannah. No problem,” I say, earning a reproachful look myself from Karin.

  I don’t doubt that Hannah will feel happy with us. That everything will be fine in the end. And yet the night refuses to give me any peace. I refuse to dwell for a second on that tiny, nagging doubt. Ultimately Karin’s doubt that we’ll succeed in being a family must be proved wrong.

  I’ve got used to Karin not sleeping through the night. She hasn’t done it for years, not since Lena disappeared. At some point in the middle of the night she wakes up and gets out of bed. She’ll go to the bathroom or down to the kitchen to have a glass of water or a cup of tea, or she’ll go into the living room for a bit of a read until her eyelids feel heavy again. After all these years, the footsteps on the stairs and the sound of running water have just become background noise. I barely open an eye anymore; at most I’ll turn over.