The German Room

by Carla Maliandi

  Mrs Takahashi says I look pale and she touches my forehead. Her hands are cold as death, her icy fingers tipped with perfect nails. I pull my head away and smooth my hair. I say I’m fine, I just want to take off my sweater because this place is too hot. The Tucumano pours me some water but when I take a sip I’m afraid I won’t be able to swallow it.

  ‘She’s going to be sick again, poor thing!’ says Takahashi.

  ‘I’m not going to be sick. Let me out, I want to go to the bathroom.’

  The bathroom is clean, very clean. That’s the way things are in Germany, fortunately. Before going into the cubicle I look at myself in the mirror for a second: my face is swollen, I have bags under my eyes and my hair looks terrible. Did Joseph see me like this or did it just happen? I feel like I might faint. I have a bout of violent diarrhoea that seems like it will never end and I’m afraid of losing the baby. I tell myself that you can’t lose a baby because of diarrhoea.

  Afterwards I barely have the strength to clean myself. I hear Mrs Takahashi’s heels approaching. I wish I could pull up my trousers and be done with this. But I’m too dizzy. I lean over and see her shoes under the door. I tell her to get Miguel Javier, that it’s an emergency. Then I see a spot of blood in my underwear, everything goes dark and cold and I know I’m fainting because it’s like I’m dying.

  III

  Miguel Javier says they carried me out of the bathroom. That he doesn’t know how but my trousers were on and all buttoned up. And that Mrs Takahashi wanted to come with us but he politely convinced her to go back to her hotel. I’m in my bed at the residence and Miguel is holding my hand. Frau Wittmann is standing behind him and looking worried as she holds out a glass of water. I squeeze the Tucumano’s hand and I tell him about the blood. Miguel tells me not to worry, that it might be nothing. I start crying, unable to hold it in, and I collapse exhausted onto the pillow which gets wet with my tears. Frau Wittmann doesn’t say anything, she just sets the glass on the night table and leaves the room. I think she’s annoyed that we were speaking Spanish in front of her.

  ‘Go to the bathroom and have a wash: we’re going to the hospital.’

  ‘Thanks, Miguel.’

  We spend the whole night there. They give us a room, I’m lying fully dressed on a hospital bed and the Tucumano dozes on a couch. Every once in a while two young doctors come in to check on me, take my blood pressure, listen to my heart. They give me an ultrasound. They both insist that I’m fine and that the baby is fine too. One of them asks the Tucumano if we had sexual relations that night. Miguel is silent and I say yes, that two or three times. It seems that could have something to do with it. They tell me to take it easy for a few days, avoid sexual relations for a week and to remember to take my vitamins. But why did I get so sick? The Tucumano and Mrs Takahashi ate the same thing I did and nothing happened to them. It could be emotional, the doctors say, and they flash their professional smiles as they leave the room.

  IV

  ‘Why don’t you go back to Buenos Aires?’ The Tucumano is walking fast, without looking at me, and has been repeating the same question since we left the hospital: ‘Why don’t you go back to Buenos Aires? You tell the Japanese woman to go back home but the one who really has to go home is you because you’re pregnant and you’re not studying or doing anything here. At least the Japanese lady has money and she can do whatever she wants. The person who should be taking care of your problems is the father of the child. Find him. But find him yourself. And marry him or move in with him or whatever and stop messing up other people’s lives. It took me a lot of hard work to get here, why can’t you leave me in peace?’

  Miguel Javier starts walking faster and leaves me behind. I try to keep up with him, I say I understand his annoyance, that we’re both very tired and in a bad mood. But I can’t catch him, my legs feel as heavy as bags of potatoes. The Tucumano walks even faster and disappears from sight. It’s cold and I want to go home, but where is home? I feel nauseated. And sad.

  I wonder if Joseph is awake yet, if he’s alone, and I look for the way to his house.

  V

  I go into the café on the corner across from Joseph’s house. I order a cup of tea and toast. Coffee would be too much after last night. I sit at one of the tables by the window, from here I can see Joseph’s door and his uncle’s shop. If I pay attention I might see Mario leave; if I get up the nerve I might go and ring Joseph’s doorbell after that, once he’s alone. I can’t get distracted, just a glance at the breads and cakes on the counter would be enough to miss Mario’s exit. The tea is very hot and I drink it slowly as I track all the movements on the block. A few minutes ago an old man entered the café with a ridiculous dog. They’re sitting at the table across from mine. The old man smiles at me and the dog, an indefinable mix of breeds, pulls hard on his leash trying to get to me. I don’t look at them but I know they’re there. I feel pretty good considering the horrible night I had. The tea and toast replenish my strength. I’m annoyed that the old man is looking at me. Does he think it’s strange to see a woman having breakfast alone so early in the morning? Heidelberg is a small town after all and in small towns people find it odd for women to sit alone. I bet this wouldn’t happen in Frankfurt. From here I can keep an eye on everything: the street, the spice shop, his door, his window, but with the old man staring at me it’s hard to focus. Fine, enough, I look the old man in the eyes, he smiles at me and I realise it’s the same man from my first day, from the café in Marktplatz. Does he remember me? Can he tell I’m spying on someone? The mutt breaks free and comes over to do a little dance at my feet. He’s so ugly that he’s cute. The old man calls him, he does it sweetly, trying not to scold him. The dog dances like a trained monkey, it’s grotesque and extraordinary. It’s really funny. I give him a little piece of toast which he sniffs then ignores as he continues shaking his front feet in the air.

  The old man comes over to us.

  ‘Heel Rosie, heel!’ he says and I realise it’s a girl.

  ‘It’s fine, I don’t mind.’

  ‘You like animals?’

  I say yes, that sometimes I do. I notice that the spice shop has just opened. The roller shutter has been raised and if I squint I can make out a lady moving around inside, maybe it’s Joseph’s aunt.

  ‘You’re not from here, are you?’ the old man asks. Rosie, the monstrous little dog has lain down at my feet and she shows me her white belly.

  ‘No, I’m not from here.’

  ‘Are you Italian?’

  ‘No, I’m from Argentina.’

  ‘Oh, you look Italian.’

  The lady from the shop leans out the door. I try to pick out Joseph’s features in her face but I can hardly see her from here.

  ‘Come on Rosie, back to our table.’

  ‘It’s fine, she’s not bothering me.’

  Rosie rubs her back on my shoes. I’d like to tell the old man that I had a dog in Buenos Aires that did the same thing and now I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead, but I don’t say anything. A van parks in front of the spice shop and blocks Joseph’s door. His window above remains closed. I imagine Joseph sleeps late but I know that Mario doesn’t, and if they’re together they must’ve already woken up. The old man applauds his pet’s pirouettes.

  ‘Rosie is a good little dog. She’s my only company. We don’t need anyone else, do we, Rosie?’

  ‘Do you want to come sit with me?’

  A few minutes ago I’d never have imagined proposing such a thing, but he and Rosie seem like friends now and I want to spend a little while longer with them. Anyway the van is blocking my view and if they join me I can order another tea and ask the old man things about the dog: how long has he had her, what breed is she, what time do they get up in the morning, where do they like to walk?

  ‘Oh, no, thank you young lady, we better go back home, we have a lot to do. Come on, Rosie dear. Say goodby
e to the young lady.’

  Rosie stands up and shakes her front paws. She looks like a deformed bird. The old man leaves some coins next to his cup and puts on his coat. ‘Come on, my little doggie, let’s go home. Goodbye, and have a nice day.’ He smiles and nods as he passes me on their way out.

  I watch them walk slowly down the street. They make their way through a group of kids on their way to school. One of them bends down to pet Rosie, who wags her tail and runs around. Then they all continue on their way. Now there are more people on the street, coming and going. The van that blocked my view starts up and once again I have the door all to myself. What is Joseph doing in there? What if he suddenly comes out and crosses the street? What do I say if he sees me? I came to see you, Joseph, I came to see what you’re like in the morning. I was at the hospital all night, and I just met an old man with an amazing dog, Joseph, you should’ve seen her. You know, I had a dog in Buenos Aires, sometimes we took naps together on the couch. He had deep black eyes like yours and…

  No. No. Joseph is with Mario. Mario loves him and I should be in bed resting. I should be in Buenos Aires. In a house that’s mine. My house, my clothes, my language. Joseph’s door opens. My heartbeat reverberates through my whole body. I realise that I’m not prepared to see Mario walk out of that house with a sleepy face or his hair wet from the shower. But it’s Joseph who just stepped out onto the street. I recognise him immediately even though he’s wearing a long trench coat and half his face is covered by a scarf. He’s alone. He’s alone? Yes, he’s alone. He walks to the corner and turns toward the city centre. I pay for breakfast and leave the café. I cross the street trying to catch up with him but my feet are stiff and my body feels heavy and tired. I can only walk slowly, one step at a time, as I watch him move farther away.

  SEVEN

  I

  ‘Sorry for calling so early.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Here or there?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘I don’t know but it’s later there, five hours later I guess.’

  ‘I slept all day.’

  ‘What I wanted to tell you was that I think I’d better not go and see Feli anymore.’

  ‘What happened? Did you go back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? Why did you go back? I didn’t ask you to go and see Feli again.’

  ‘I went because a friend asked me to. Another girl. Not you.’

  ‘And what, she told you something about me?’

  ‘Yes, a lot of things.’

  ‘Your brother is going to kill us. What did she say?’

  ‘Strange things.’

  Frau Wittmann knocks on my door. I recognise the little tapping sound, like her knuckles were made of metal. I ask Marta Paula not to hang up and I open the door in my nightdress.

  ‘There’s a man downstairs looking for you,’ she says in a disapproving tone.

  A man? Miguel Javier? I lean out and see Joseph at the foot of the stairs. Joseph’s here! He’s flipping through some magazines in the lobby, I see his dark hands turning the pages and I feel weak at the knees.

  ‘Marta Paula, I have to hang up now but I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yeah, later.’

  ‘Okay, you’ll call me tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘All right. You have to hang up now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, okay. We’ll talk later then.’

  ‘Yes, bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  II

  Frau Wittmann looks me up and down. She knows I’m pregnant. She knows it even though I haven’t told her. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I tell her and I close the door. I turn the room upside down looking for something to wear. Nothing fits: Shanice’s clothes have got smaller and smaller and what I brought is no good in this cold. I mix one of my skirts with one of her sweaters. I grab a jacket just in case Joseph wants to take me out. It would be better to go out. I don’t want to kiss him here, with Frau Wittmann watching, with the Tucumano lurking around. I should brush my hair. I’m calmed by a memory of Santiago: it’s a Sunday morning, I just woke up, he looks at me from bed and says I look good with messy hair. It’s a nice memory. What is Santiago doing now? What time did Marta Paula say it was in Argentina? How many hours did I sleep? I leave my room and go downstairs. I think about what the doctors said: no sexual relations for a few days. I’ll have to be firm about that, though it won’t be easy. Joseph, standing there, smiles at me with his teeth, with his eyes, with his thick dark hair. He hugs me, he kisses me on the head.

  He tells me: ‘Mario left these for you, it’s the keys to his house. He went to Frankfurt for a month and you can use his house whenever you want. He left you a note with instructions for the water heater and the stove. Let me know if you need help moving your stuff over.’

  He gives me a kiss on the forehead and he turns to go.

  ‘You’re leaving already?’

  ‘Yes, I’d love to stay with you but I have a lot of work to finish.’

  I watch him go. I squeeze Mario’s keys in my hands. Frau Wittmann stares. I know she wants me to go, she wants me to leave the room for a real student to use. But she doesn’t say anything. It’s just her face, her accusing expression. I hold her gaze. ‘I’ll move out tomorrow,’ I tell her.

  ‘Very good,’ she says. It makes me sad. I’d thought there was more feeling between the two of us. If not, then why had she shown those gestures of affection towards me? Why had she told me about her childhood in Hungary, the war, and her life? Living with strangers for so long must’ve hardened her, I think. But I don’t want to leave it like this. I walk over to her, I thank her for the time we’ve shared and I tell her that I’m going to go stay with a friend.

  ‘That Turk?’

  ‘How do you know he’s Turkish?’ Frau Wittmann smiles. Joseph has a Turkish face and that’s enough.

  ‘Turks are very dirty. You understand me? Dirty. We don’t have any Turkish students here, there are none. They just want to make money here. And they’re liars. Whenever they can, they bite the hand that feeds them. Those Turks. And they’re violent. Very violent. I don’t want to have anything to do with Turkish people. What time did you say you were leaving the room?’

  ‘In the morning, after breakfast.’

  III

  Tonight I look at my residence room with more affection because it’s the last night I’ll spend there. As of tomorrow I’ll live in a house. And maybe Joseph will sleep beside me. I hug my pillow thinking about his shoulders.

  Frau Wittmann was so horrible about him, I’m sure that’s why he left so quickly. What should I do? Why do I keep thinking about him? It’s not too late to keep from making the situation worse. But it’s beyond my control. That night Joseph pops into my head again and again. I relive the afternoon at his house and I feel an infinite happiness. I’m crazy, how can I go and stay at Mario’s? How can I accept his hospitality when I’ll want Joseph to sleep there with me every night? How long will I be able to last without mentioning their relationship? I don’t care, all I want is to bury myself in his arms without saying a word. I’m afraid I’ll start asking questions that I’ll immediately regret. I’m afraid I’ll say words that don’t sound like my own. We could just embrace forever, in silence. Joseph. Joseph.

  Frau Wittmann knocks on the door. I open it, annoyed. Anything she has to say to me she could’ve said downstairs. She hands me thirty euros and says it’s left over from my rent this month.

  I thank her and say goodbye until tomorrow.

  ‘Do you believe in God?’ she asks me before she goes. Her question catches me off guard and I don’t know how to answer. I’m afraid she’ll say something else about Turkish people.

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘You have to believe i
n a god, don’t you think?’ she says as she walks away.

  I close the door and get into bed. I want to go back to thinking about Joseph but I can’t now. The thirty euros remind me that I don’t have much money left. I plan to sell Shanice’s computer or one of her cameras. I’m sure some student will be interested.

  EIGHT

  I

  Miguel Javier listens silently, every once in a while stirring his cup of coffee that must be cold by now. We’re sitting at the same table where we first had breakfast together the day we went to the castle, the day that he predicted my pregnancy. I tell him that I’m already packed and that in a little while I’ll hand my keys in to Frau Wittmann.

  ‘I thought you were going to stay longer,’ he says.

  I explain that I can’t stay here, that Mario’s house isn’t far and he can visit whenever he wants.

  ‘I thought you were going to stay longer,’ he repeats.

  We finish breakfast in silence.

  I suddenly remember that I never returned his sister’s call. I’ll do it later, after I move and I can talk for longer. I couldn’t do it last night. Seeing Joseph and that hostile conversation with Frau Wittmann left me exhausted, despite the fact that I’d slept all day.

  Miguel Javier offers to move my things for me. I set the keys on the counter without saying anything to Frau Wittmann.

  ‘Good luck with everything,’ she says without looking up from the newspaper she’s reading.

  When the taxi arrives almost all the students have left for the university.

  ‘What about you, Miguel? You don’t have class today?’

  ‘No, I’m not going today.’

  II

  Mario’s house is beautiful. Or as the Tucumano says, ‘sbeautiful. We set the bags down in the living room and explore every corner. I’m happy to be here with Miguel Javier and to be able to show him Mario’s things that now feel like mine. My bathroom, my towels, my kitchen, my pots, my living room, my sofa, my bookshelves, here’s my little garden, my plants, my watering can, my dead bird in the grass, repulsive, swarming with ants.