Suitcase of Dreams

by Tania Blanchard

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ I wanted to capture this scene in my mind so I could remember how to paint it.

  ‘Just like you,’ said Erich, staring at me as though he wanted to remember me like this forever. His eyes gleamed in the faint light and he took my face in his hands and kissed me.

  As he spread the blanket we’d forgotten to take back to the house the day before on the sandy surface below the rocks, memories of the first time he’d placed his coat down for me to lie on came to me. The same fire erupted within me at the touch of his hands.

  We ended up in a jumble of clothes, the breeze caressing our skin, cooling the heat of our bodies. I told myself that it was the magical night that surrounded us, but whatever the reason, it was the best night we’d ever had together. We were uninhibited and free, as if we had really become one, as our boundaries gave way and we fell into oblivion. The perfect conclusion to a perfect evening.

  ‘You’re the love of my life,’ I said as I lay in his arms.

  ‘It’s only ever been you,’ he replied, ‘from that first moment you came into my office, unsure and nervous.’

  I smiled at the memory. He’d reminded me of a Greek god and I’d been almost dumbstruck by him. ‘It was love at first sight.’

  Erich kissed me again. ‘And there was nothing either of us could do about it. Here we are, nearly thirty years later, and you still have that effect on me.’

  ‘I’ve never been so happy. Do you know how lucky we are to have this? It’s something everybody wants but very few people ever experience.’

  ‘I know.’ He held me closer. ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I thank God for you every day.’

  ‘So do I.’ I closed my eyes, knowing I was loved – safe and warm in his arms.

  *

  I kept my promise to Greta. We were leaving for Germany soon but there was still so much to do before we went, so I’d begun arriving at the studio early.

  ‘Lotte,’ called Otto from the office one Friday morning. ‘Phone call.’

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked impatiently, preparing for an important shoot that I’d moved forward.

  ‘It’s your mother.’

  I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to nine already. ‘Tell her I’ll call her back when I’m finished with this sitting.’

  ‘She says it’s urgent.’

  ‘Oh, really!’ I said, exasperated. I had a million things to do and didn’t need any interruptions. ‘All right, I’m coming.’

  I took the call in Reinhardt’s office. ‘What’s wrong, Mutti? I’m busy,’ I snapped.

  ‘Schatz, you have to come home.’ There was something not right in her voice.

  ‘What is it, Mutti?’ Fear began to stir in my belly, making my neck prickle.

  ‘There’s been a car accident. It’s Erich.’

  A loud roaring began in my ears and for a minute I was confused and couldn’t respond. ‘What? What are you talking about?’ I said eventually.

  ‘You have to come home.’

  ‘Why – is he all right? Do I have to go to the hospital?’

  ‘Lotte, I’m so sorry.’ Her voice trembled. ‘He’s been declared dead at the scene.’

  The room was spinning and the telephone receiver crashed to the floor. I heard a scream somewhere in the distance. Suddenly Otto was there. Otto was there before, too, I thought vaguely, before everything went black.

  23

  ‘There was no other vehicle involved. It looks like he drifted off the road and hit the tree. The impact likely killed him.’

  ‘How’s that possible? He’s driven that stretch of road more times than I can count. He was only one hundred metres from home.’ It was Mutti, sitting beside me, holding my hand, firing the questions at the police officer, who watched us with compassion.

  Through my haze, I remembered that Erich had worked through the night on his latest commission. He had a number of furniture pieces he wanted to have delivered to the clients before we left for Europe. He’d still been in the workshop when I left for work at dawn. We were going with Greta to Yass later in the day, to see Johanna for the weekend. But he’d gone out for some reason. All I could think was that he’d needed something to complete the piece.

  ‘I’m nearly finished,’ he’d told me when I scolded him for being up all night. ‘It’s my best piece yet.’ He’d looked grey with exhaustion but was exuberant and happy.

  I’d kissed him goodbye and told him to get some rest before Greta arrived at lunchtime.

  ‘I will,’ he’d promised. ‘See you when you get home.’

  I hadn’t lingered, desperate to get to work. I hadn’t known it would be the last time we’d speak. The last time I’d see him and touch him. Maybe if I’d stayed a little longer I could have stopped him from going.

  It was only in the clinical viewing room, standing in front of Erich’s body, that reality hit like the pain of our first child being ripped from my body, already dead. I doubled over as if I’d been punched in the stomach, and gasped for air. I clung to the edge of the cold metal table, not sure if I wanted oxygen to fill my lungs or to die alongside him, but breath came anyway and with it the pain of the truth.

  Otto and Suzanne supported me on either side. Erich looked so peaceful, as if he was sleeping and any moment would wake up and smile at me. Everything in me screamed out that he couldn’t be dead . . . But then I realised that there was no rise and fall of his chest. I reached out to touch his cheek, to reassure myself that it was a dream, but his skin was stiff under my hand and I recoiled in horror.

  I broke down then, great sobs racking my body. Otto and Suzanne tried to draw me away but I couldn’t leave him. I kissed his lips, cold on mine, and I knew. He was gone. The man I loved wasn’t there any more. His broken body was an empty vessel.

  I didn’t know if I could survive the pain of his loss. What made it worse was knowing that he’d realised what was happening in his last seconds. The police report surmised that he’d fallen asleep at the wheel for a second. There was evidence in the tyre markings that he’d attempted to swing the car back onto the bitumen but it was too late and he’d slammed into a tree. I couldn’t begin to think what his last thoughts had been.

  *

  By the day of the funeral, I was numb. I couldn’t allow myself to feel anything as Erich’s coffin was lowered into the ground beside his mother’s. It was too soon. He was too young, cut down just as the rewards for the years of hard work were finally coming. Part of me wanted nothing more than to hurl myself onto the smooth wooden lid of his coffin – to bury myself with him. How could I live without him? How could I go on? And yet I knew I had to, for the sake of our daughters.

  I moved like a zombie, each step excruciating, answering questions automatically. It was cool and calm in my bubble, like the sterile, steel-covered environment of an operating theatre. Like the morgue.

  It was the only way I could survive. Without my protection, I knew I’d die. My heart would be wrenched from my body and the shock and pain would be unendurable.

  Johanna and Greta were by my side, and Mutti too, but I could barely acknowledge their presence. Nothing could intrude into my space, nothing could burst my bubble. I went through the motions, did what I had to do until the funeral was over. Then I was home, surrounded by familiarity, Mutti and the girls hovering, but I was utterly alone and it nearly drove me mad.

  Everywhere I turned, memories haunted me. Sleep eluded me. When finally I succumbed to exhaustion or took one of the sleeping pills Greta had asked Jonathan to prescribe me, I’d wake full of hope of a normal day, only to have my illusions shattered when I realised that Erich was not lying beside me.

  I did anything I could think of to remain close to him. I had to do something to keep the panic at bay. I spent hours in the shed, sliding my hands over the polished surfaces of the furniture pieces that still sat there, surfaces that he’d work so hard to perfect, surfaces he’d touched. I couldn’t even keep his business going – I knew nothing about
furniture making. In the end, I called in one of Erich’s colleagues, who’d offered to finish off the items that remained and deliver them to the customers. It broke my heart to see the final cabinet loaded into the truck, but each of the customers was aware of what had happened – some had even come to his funeral – and I hoped that they’d treasure those pieces the way I would have.

  With the help of Reinhardt and Julius, I sold Erich’s equipment and disassembled his business. The money would come in handy to help pay off the house. But I couldn’t bring myself to sell his display models. There was so much of his soul in them, a piece of him I couldn’t bear to part with. Maybe one day the girls would want them for their homes. I kept his leather tool belt and his hand tools, too. How could I part with them, remembering the belt at his waist, his stance as he used the saw, the total focus as he chiselled the fine details . . .

  I still felt close to Erich in the workshop, among the small piles of timber that remained. The resinous smell of the western red cedar would always remind me of him. I kept a few pieces in my workroom to conjure his spirit whenever I entered.

  All I wanted was to stay home, close to where Erich had been. I didn’t care if I turned into a hermit.

  ‘Mutti, the bills are piling up,’ said Greta one afternoon about six weeks after Erich’s death. She’d taken a few days off to spend with me. We sat on the boulder overlooking the river, listening to the cicadas and kookaburras, as burnished gold tinted the river below. It was my favourite place to watch the sunset and think of him.

  I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think of bills.

  ‘Vati’s money won’t last forever,’ she said, ‘and I think it’ll do you good to go back to work.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said, my voice cracking.

  ‘Reinhardt needs you at the studio. He looked terrible yesterday. He’s not coping without you. Neither is Grossmama.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be any good to anyone.’

  She put her arm around me. ‘You need to go back. You need a purpose, a reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other until it feels natural again. I understand what you’re going through – it’s hard for me too, and for Johanna.’

  Tears filled my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. What have I been thinking? Of course it’s hard on you too.’

  ‘It’s all my fault, Mutti,’ she whispered, suddenly trembling.

  I wiped my cheeks and looked into her face. It was filled with despair. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I was the one who pushed you into going to Germany so soon and it was my idea to leave on that Friday to visit Johanna. We could have waited until Saturday and maybe Vati would still be with us. Jo blames herself too. She could have come up to Sydney that weekend.’ She was crying now, her arms around me.

  ‘No, no, no.’ I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. ‘It wasn’t your fault at all, either of you. It was what Vati and I wanted to do. Neither of you forced us to do anything. He was so stubborn, he wouldn’t listen. He thought he had superhuman powers, that he was invincible.’

  Greta laughed, a strangled sound, but the idea brought a smile to her face all the same. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’ Then tears were running down her face unchecked. ‘I think about all the times I disappointed him but most of all how upset he was that I went to Vietnam.’

  ‘You’re so very like him, you know. Your father only had to admit that to himself to understand why you went. When he did, he was so terribly proud of you. We both were.’ I smoothed the dark hair from her face and wiped her tears with my thumbs.

  She sighed, leaning against me like she had as a little girl. I put my arm around her, remembering that it was me who was supposed to protect her from pain and hurt. ‘I told him how it had been for me in Vietnam. I think he understood.’

  ‘I know he did.’

  ‘It was the closest I’d felt to him for a long time.’

  ‘Well, hold on to that and know how proud he was of you.’

  She nodded. ‘You have to talk to Johanna. She’s hurting too, and she can’t get the accident she had with Vati out of her head . . .’

  ‘I will.’ I blinked my tears away and held her tight. My beautiful, wonderful daughter was still here with me and I’d neglected her when she needed me most. I vowed to return to the land of the living and count each precious moment with the ones still here, the ones I loved most.

  *

  I returned to work and was surprised to find that it helped me to gradually return to my life again. The ice surrounding my heart began to thaw as I realised what I’d been putting the girls and Mutti through. I had to find the inner strength to ensure I was there for each of them. I had to help the girls understand that their father’s death wasn’t their fault, only a terrible accident. It had been his time. As I came out of the haze of my mourning, I was relieved to find that they could turn to their friends, especially Jonathan and James; at times I didn’t feel like I had enough of what they needed to help them heal.

  I resumed a normal life, yet nothing was ever going to be the same again. I ran the studio in my usual efficient style, I worked long hours, spent time with Mutti and the girls, cooked and cleaned and visited friends and continued my regular coffee meetings with Claudia.

  At night, when there were no distractions, my demons sought to escape. I remembered the poetry I used to write to my father and revisited writing to ease my pain. It helped a little, but I couldn’t show my words to a single person, they were the ravings of a tormented soul. Inevitably, I would find myself in my workroom next to Erich’s workshop, spending the hours until dawn drawing and painting, covering canvas after canvas. Some of my work was awful but some was inspired: raw and bold, sad and dark, light and graceful; but all drawn from the depths of my suffering and despair. Sometimes I felt like Karoline was standing behind me, whispering encouragement over my shoulder, telling me that everything would be all right. At other times, I was sure I could feel Erich’s caress on my cheek.

  Then it was Christmas. Our first without Erich and over three months since his death. Johanna was home and her boyfriend James was joining us for Christmas Eve before heading back to the farm on Christmas Day. Greta was home too and Mutti had insisted that she bring Jonathan. I decided that we’d have a quiet evening this year. I didn’t think I was ready to have friends around me.

  The candles were burning and all the food Erich would have enjoyed lay steaming in the centre of the table. Despite their loss, the girls’ faces glowed with happiness to have brought their boys to this special family event.

  ‘Vati would be proud of you,’ I said, holding my daughters’ hands as we sat around the dinner table. The tightness in my chest began to ease. The girls were my rock, the reason I got up every day, my joy, the only part of Erich I had left.

  ‘As he would be of you,’ said Johanna, her voice only faltering a little as she squeezed my hand gently.

  ‘It’s the next chapter for each of us now,’ I said, trying to smile. ‘And it’s wonderful to welcome you boys to our home.’ I raised my glass to each of them in turn, wondering if these young men were my future sons-in-law. Especially since Erich had met them both and given his preliminary approval.

  ‘Has Greta mentioned what the next chapter is for her?’ Jonathon enquired casually, nervously pushing the wavy brown hair from his forehead.

  ‘No.’ I looked at my daughter sitting by his side, her dark eyes meeting mine.

  ‘I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, Mutti,’ she said. ‘It’s something I’m excited about.’

  ‘I look forward to hearing about it then.’ I didn’t miss the look of apology from Jonathan and gathered that it involved them both. All I prayed was that she wasn’t pregnant. I didn’t think she’d be able to cope with that just yet, after everything she’d been through.

  After a lazy start to Christmas morning and an indulgent breakfast of biscuits, fruit cake, stollen and lots of coffee, I found out. James had left early and Johanna had
gone with Mutti to feed Wolfie the leftovers from dinner, so Jonathan and Greta sat with me at the kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the sliding door.

  ‘Mutti, I’ve decided to do some further studies,’ Greta said, the tight line of her jaw betraying her nervousness. Jonathan was holding her hand, I noticed, lending his support even as his face betrayed his worry.

  ‘That sounds good,’ I said, pleased she was moving forward but waiting for what was coming. I sipped my coffee, trying to play it cool and relaxed. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Postgraduate studies in cardiac medicine and nursing.’ Her eyes were sparkling. This was something she was passionate about.

  ‘Will you stay at RPA?’ Wolfie barked in the background.

  Greta shifted in her seat, avoiding looking at Jonathan, who sat quietly by her side, gazing at Greta with admiration and love. ‘No, I’m going to London to train at the National Heart Hospital. Jon’s going there to begin his specialist training and I’m going with him.’

  ‘What?’ I had not expected this. Perhaps a move interstate, I’d thought, maybe Melbourne, but not to the other side of the world. I put down my cup, my pretence over.

  ‘Cardiac medicine’s the field we both want a career in. We’ve each been offered a position at the heart hospital,’ said Jonathan, attempting to explain. Greta had told me how they had met while working on the cardiac ward, so it was no real surprise.

  ‘So you’re going to London?’ I repeated, still stunned. I shivered and instinctively looked out the door, expecting to see the sun behind a cloud, but it was still shining as brightly as ever.

  ‘Yes, Mutti. It’s a prestigious placement at a specialist hospital at the cutting edge of coronary care and research. I’ll learn so much more there than I can here. I’ll come home with experience and knowledge I wouldn’t get in Australia.’ She reached for her glass of orange juice and drank, trying to affect nonchalance.

  My self-control was slowly slipping and I blinked away tears. I didn’t know if I could let her go. ‘How long will you be gone?’