by P. G. Glynn
“Mama?” He was suddenly alert. “But the baby can’t be … ”
“It can,” she interrupted him, “and is. So you’d best be quick.”
“Gott im Himmel!” He was out of bed in an instant. “I thought the doctor said first babies were invariably late.”
“He did. Mine, though, looks like being a week early.”
“Yours, Marie?”
“Yes,” she said, as he fumblingly switched on the bedside light before stepping into his slippers. “Who else’s would she be? She certainly isn’t this family’s.”
“Not theirs, no … but ours, I hope.”
“In a manner of speaking,” she agreed. “Now, unless you want to deliver the baby, off you go.”
Before going, he asked her: “How is it that you’re so calm?”
“I don’t know. You obviously aren’t. Perhaps, if you enlist Lenka’s help, she’ll find some way of calming you.”
Cursing the day he went skiing with his sister-in-law he ran through the castle corridors. It was not even as if Lenka had wanted him. She had simply used him for his fathering skills. That had been demoralisingly obvious by the end of their session in the Stein’s cabin and he had been haunted ever since by the thought of her having a baby by him. He didn’t think he could stand it if she did. Christ – the child would ostensibly be Ludwig’s! Imagine Otto’s baby being brought up by Lenka and Ludwig … imagine having to pretend to be its uncle for Marie’s and Mama’s benefit! The whole thing was beyond imagining. What chaos he was making of things.
He might have lusted after Lenka – might have succumbed to his lust – but it was Marie he loved. And she suspected something. She must, or she wouldn’t keep mentioning Lenka in the way she did, nor have reverted to referring to the baby as exclusively hers. All would eventually be well and the episode forgotten just as long as he had not made Lenka pregnant. But he so easily might have done. He had taken no precautions, his need for sex outweighing all else. Which was not entirely his fault. Marie was partly responsible for his little lapse since he wouldn’t have lapsed had she only shown more compassion for the state he was in. But what kind of man was he, to be self-pitying when she was on the verge of giving birth? Reaching Mama’s boudoir Otto burst in saying: “Come quickly! The baby’s on its way.”
+++++
Listening to Marie’s screams Lenka felt contemptuous. The silly creature had both Mama and the doctor with her so shouldn’t be making such a fuss. She should try going through what Lenka once went through, giving birth all alone. Then she would know real pain, real fear and have better grounds for her palaver. But it was typical of Marie to turn her labour into a great drama. She invariably succeeded in ensuring that the world revolved round her.
Such success was due to end, however, when events started favouring Lenka. Hugging her secret, Lenka rocked to and fro on her seat in the Rosenzimmer.
“What a hullabaloo!” said Onkel Emil, who was as restless as a cat on hot bricks. “I’m a bit worried about it.”
“Worried?” she asked him absently.
“Yes.” He nodded his head. “At this rate, Marie will waken Elsa.”
“Your sister won’t mind being awake.”
“Won’t she?”
“Not after such a long sleep.”
“She always needed her sleep, you see. But,” he brightened, “Elsa likes babies. She’s bound to like Otto’s. He’s her favourite nephew, don’t you know. Will it be here in a minute, do you think?”
Lenka clutched her abdomen, telling him: “They’ll virtually be twins.”
“Are there two of them?”
She frowned, her eyes oddly expressionless. “Sometimes. The rest of the time there’s just the one – mine.”
There was sudden silence, followed in the next instant by a baby’s lusty cry.
+++++
Where before it had seemed as if her body had been in the grip of a most violent storm, and as if the great waves of agony were integral to her existence, now – instantaneously – she was pain-free and hearing her baby. There could be no sweeter sound, no prouder, more sublime moment.
“Your baby’s perfect,” said a joyful Mama Berger, “and it’s a … girl. Have you and Otto settled on a name for her?”
They had not, although Otto had wanted Marta. As Marie accepted the dark haired infant into her arms and gazed at the sweet perfection of her brand new daughter she breathed wonderingly: “Carla.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Mama commented as the doctor bustled about in the background, “and we haven’t had a Carla in our family before. Do you have one in yours?”
“No,” Marie answered, wondering where a name Otto and she hadn’t even discussed had suddenly come from, “I don’t think so. It is pretty, though, isn’t it?”
“How blessed we are!” said Mama, tenderly stroking the baby’s soft cheek. “How blessed I am, at last to be an Omama! Carla has a good pair of lungs, I must say.” As she spoke the child stopped crying and opened her eyes. They were the colour of violets. “Oh, it’s easy to see that she’s your daughter, Marie! Hello, you little darling! What’s your view of the world, so far?”
“It must seem massive to her,” Marie said, smiling in awe at Carla. “Do you think it hurt her to be born, just as I hurt during her birth?”
“That’s an interesting thought – and one I’ve never considered before. On reflection, I expect that entering our world does hurt. And the whole process must traumatise babies, who until then have only known the warmth and security of the womb. Was that why you arrived crying, Carla?”
Feeling serene and filled with love for the precious babe in her arms, Marie said: “Otto had the idea of calling her Marta, after her Omama. How would you feel if her second name were to be Marta?”
“That would make me very happy,” Mama answered, beaming. “Speaking of Otto, I’d better telephone him to tell him he’s a father.”
“Telephone him?” Marie questioned incredulously. “Where is he?”
“Prague. He had to get away from your screams, you see.”
“As far away as Prague?”
“My son has never been one to do things by halves and, being squeamish, when Rudolf suggested a quick trip he jumped at it.”
“He did?”
“Men are just different from women,” Mama told her. “They can’t cope with pain and emotion, so off they go. It’s best so … and your shrieks, over sixteen hours in total, were rather loud, you know.”
“So I was supposed to quieten them for fear of upsetting Otto?”
“No! But don’t be angry with him because he’s different from you. Remember that he has feelings too.”
“Has he?”
“Of course he has! You must have seen that where you’re concerned he even wears his heart on his sleeve. While you were so ill he was terrified that you might die and … and leave him.”
“Yet he went off and left me while I was giving birth to my baby.”
Mama heard the ‘my’, and not for the first time. Storing it in her mind, she smiled, saying: “Men are a law unto themselves. So be extra glad to have a daughter. You’ll share an understanding with her that cannot be shared with a son nor, indeed, with a husband. While men tend to run from trauma of any sort, trusting that in their absence it will be resolved, women are supportive - talking things through or doing whatever needs doing to produce a solution. Our menfolk like to think of themselves as strong, and this is an illusion it’s our duty to foster, but now that you’ve experienced labour I need hardly mention that women are stronger. Just imagine a man handling that! If our roles were reversed and it was left to men to do the childbearing, humans would soon be extinct – nicht wahr, Theodor?”
“Doch!” agreed the doctor, who Marie had forgotten was there. “Men were never meant for such torture. Before we invite the family in to see the newcomer, you will try her at your breast, yes?”
+++++
Entering the bedroom he shared with Lenka,
Ludwig saw that she was sitting on the edge of their bed cuddling a big teddy bear. Seating himself beside her, he said: “Thank God Marie had a daughter! I doubt I could have stomached it had she given birth to an heir.”
“Daughters are best,” Lenka said, mechanically nodding her head.
“Yes,” he agreed, his heart heavy. She was lost to him again. He did not know how to reach her when she went like this and she had been going like it more and more frequently in recent weeks. “They are for my young brother, at least.” Putting his arm round her hunched shoulders, he told her: “It’s different for us. When our baby’s ready to be born we must hope for a son.”
“We must?”
“Natuerlich! It is my duty as Mama’s and Papa’s first-born to ensure the succession … and the perpetuation of the Berger name. And I shall fulfil my duty. In time Mama will have cause to be prouder of me than she has ever been of the idiotic Otto. What a stupid, senseless, selfish thing for him to do! Imagine me swanning off and leaving you while you’re producing our child. I want you to know, sweetheart, that I shan’t be far from your side.”
Lenka smiled. “We’ll soon have our baby, won’t we?”
Pleased to see her smiling, he nevertheless clarified: “Quite soon. These things have to happen in their own good time.”
“Tonight.”
He wished he could see into her mind, wished he knew why she needed a baby so desperately. He wanted a child, especially a son so that he could be one up on Otto, but his want was quite different from her need. “That would be nice.”
“Don’t humour me!”
“I didn’t mean … ”
“You’re a hateful, heartless creature!”
Lenka was clawing him. He had to hold her wrists. “I’m not,” he told her. “At least, I try not to be. All I want in the world is for you to be happy.”
She relaxed, her mood changing instantly. She said serenely: “I shall be, later … once I’m holding my baby, who’s the image of me.”
+++++
Otto had been shocked when Rudolf made the introduction. Without a word of warning, after introducing his mistress, Marinka, he had suddenly patted the head of a solemn small boy with unruly, long curls and said: “This is Ferdinand, my son.”
Imagine Rudolf having had a son for the past five years and never mentioning him! Musicians could certainly be a secretive bunch when they wanted to be. Otto had not thought of his brother as a dark horse before, but since meeting Ferdi had needed to amend his thinking rapidly.
There were more depths to Rudolf than he had ever suspected … and his love-nest on the left bank of the Vltava had much in its favour. First there was the charming terracotta house itself, which had been Marinka’s home ever since her marriage to Thomas Petrof. Built before the year 900, it was one of Prague’s original stone and lime houses, with an atmosphere of timelessness and of permanence. Marinka had filled it with antiques and with plants that had the effect of bringing the garden in. She also filled it with the delectable smell of her cooking!
Trust Rudolf to have found himself a mistress who could cook like Marinka did … and who made few demands on him. Widowed since Thomas was killed when his canon backfired while he was serving with the Austrian Artillery before the war, Marinka seemed quite self-sufficient as well as independently rich. So Rudolf came and went to his heart’s content, having spent the war years in her cellar playing, from the look of things, rather more than his violin. There was plenty of Marinka to play with! Like Anna, she was excessively fat but, unlike Anna, she was far from lazy. Her constant bustling along with the taste of her cooking demonstrated her industriousness … and her duck and dumplings were going down a treat. Yes, here in the city that Goethe once described as the most precious stone in the crown of the world, Rudolf had his own prize or, rather, prizes.
“You are about to be a father, Rudolf tells me.”
Startled from his reverie as he realised that Marinka was addressing him, Otto swallowed his forkful of tender duck, responding: “Yes, indeed. Marie should be delivering at any minute.”
“Yet you are here, not in Schloss Berger with her?”
Thinking it fairly obvious where he was, he agreed: “That is so. Giving birth is women’s work.”
“Too true that it’s the woman who has to endure the agony, but the man surely also has his part to play.”
“Otto played his part, back in the beginning,” Rudolf put in with a grin.
“How typical of you, to say such a thing!”
Rapidly revising his opinion of Marinka as she looked stonily across the table at his brother, Otto told her: “Had I stayed, I’d only have been in the way.”
“Schloss Berger being so restrictive?” she asked with heavy sarcasm. “A very convenient assumption, and an accurate one for the actual birth process, but once that’s over your wife will want you with her. Have you given any thought at all to how she will feel when she knows that you’ve deserted her and your baby?”
“His desertion isn’t permanent,” said Rudolf before Otto could answer.
“It might as well be, from Marie’s viewpoint, when she first becomes a mother. I know it isn’t my place to say these things, but they need saying. I’ve never met Marie, of course, but if she’s at all like me she’ll feel her man’s absence deeply.”
His lovely Marie was not a bit like the oversized Marinka, with her accusing eyes and multiple chins. Finding that he was losing his appetite for dumplings, Otto said to her: “My wife won’t mind. She knows my aversion to sickbeds and all that goes with them.”
“Being in labour is hardly the same as being sick. It … ”
The telephone rang then, shrilly interrupting Marinka who waddled off to answer it, returning almost at once with the words: “Your mother wishes to speak to you, Otto.”
His hostess had spoken with such tight lips that he experienced momentary panic. Marie was all right, wasn’t she? Nothing had gone wrong. She wasn’t …?
Then Mama’s voice was on the line, sounding far away, saying: “You are a father, Otto. Marie has been safely delivered of an enchanting daughter … and has called her Carla.”
+++++
Feeling her way as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Lenka crossed the Rosenzimmer and found Marie’s bedroom door ajar. It was lucky for her that Otto was in Prague. Had he been here, she might have had to wait a little longer before claiming her baby. But with him gone and with no nanny appointed to date there would be nobody to stop Lenka. How she ached to be a mother! How close she was, now, to being one!
Ludwig had been snoring too loudly to notice her departure and, with lights left on at night in the castle’s main corridors, reaching Otto’s suite without attracting attention had been easy. If anything was going to be difficult, it was the next bit. But she would achieve her aim for the baby’s sake. She had let her daughter down before and had no intention of letting her down again. So it was just a question of dealing with the incubator … and of being free to be the mother that only she could be.
Hearing her own breathing, Lenka tried to quieten it. She must do nothing to disturb Marie. If she continued to sleep peacefully, Lenka’s task would be simplicity itself.
A snuffle sounded from the lace-draped bassinet. But the baby must not wake – not yet. Standing very still between the crib and the bed, Lenka waited. And she sniffed the air, inhaling the baby-smell resonant of suckling, of innocence and of newness. Soon, soon, Carla would be suckling at Lenka’s breast.
Gently patting the Perina, she established Marie’s position and knew that in order to reach Otto’s pillow she would need to skirt the bed. She began so doing, thinking that with Marie still weak from the birth there should be very little resistance. It would all be quick and painless. Not that she was bothered whether Marie suffered or not. Lieber Gott …
“What’s going on?” Marta, who had been sleeping in a chair, awoke as someone stumbled against her outstretched legs. “Marie, if that’s you, you shouldn’
t be out of bed.”
A light was switched on and Lenka blinked in the sudden brightness. Marie, her finger still on the switch, said: “I’m not out of it. Giddy godfathers, Lenka, who gave you permission to come visiting at this unearthly hour?”
Dazed, she succeeded in masking her bewilderment, saying: “I don’t need permission to come and help with her. I didn’t know you were here, helping, Mama.”
Marta responded briskly: “Where else would I be? Marie and Carla needed me. No new mother should be left on her own at night to cope with her baby.”
“Is she asleep?” Lenka asked, looking wistfully across at Carla’s cot.
“If she is,” said Marie, “it’s a miracle, with you barging in and disturbing everyone.”
“Do you want to take a peep at her before you leave?” Mama was speaking, feeling a surge of pity for her barren daughter-in-law, who looked so forlorn. “Marie won’t object to a little peep, I’m sure.”
“Just as long as Lenka promises,” Marie stipulated, “that this is the last of such visits. On second thoughts, I’ll ensure it is by locking my door.”
+++++
With a daughter called Carla, how was Marie ever going to forget Charles, Otto wondered during the drive home to Herrlichbach. He was driving alone, Rudolf having opted to stay on in Prague with his mistress and son. What an irony it was that Ferdi, despite his Berger blood, was illegitimate whereas Carla was legitimately a Berger! No doubt about it, it was a strange old world.
Having met Ferdinand, Otto felt that sons were probably preferable to daughters. Why, the boy, with his pale, sculptured face, was Rudolf all over again! And there was such fun ahead for the two of them as they bantered with each other and played boyish games. Girls just weren’t the same.
Yes, sons were best, which was no problem since Otto could see to it that Marie had a son next! She would soon be back to her old self and, once strong again, would have no excuse for refusing him. Not that Marie necessarily needed excuses for doing anything. She just did as she wanted, even to the extent of giving the baby a name that had never so much as come up for discussion. It was hurtful – and insensitive – of her to name the child after Charles. Otto could not think why she would have done such a thing, when it had been more or less agreed to name a daughter Marta after Mama. No question but that women were complex individuals, given to inexplicable whims. And he had been wrong about Marinka. Rudolf had challenges with her. But she had produced Ferdinand and could doubtless be forgiven much for having done that.