The Blind Side of the Heart

by Unknown

  Little angel. Martha drew Helene to her and stood close. She stroked Helene’s face. Helene wanted to tell her she didn’t have to do that, it was only pain, that was all. She just had to overcome it, stand up to it, wait. Ahead of them in the street, Leontine waved; at last a taxi had stopped. It was beginning to rain, and passers-by put up their umbrellas. Leontine was now vigorously beckoning to them to join her. The blood between Helene’s legs had cooled. Martha and Leontine took her to the little room in Achenbachstrasse. They had pushed the beds back into their old position, one against each wall, and assured Helene that the two of them wouldn’t mind sharing the same bed for this week. They brought her water and told her it was important for her to rest as much as possible. There was a fragrance of bergamot and lavender. Helene wanted to wash herself, but she was not supposed to stand up. Doors closed out in the corridor. The Baron, perhaps?

  No, Heinrich Baron had gone to Davos for the sake of his tuberculosis. He had been so ill recently that Leontine had examined him and prescribed something. The Karfunkels, husband and wife, had rented his room instead, said Martha. Fanny was glad to get a good rent, and had been able to redeem the gramophone and get it out of pawn.

  Helene lay down on the narrow bed and closed her eyes. It was too bright.

  It would be better if you lay on your front, little angel, then the uterus can drop more easily. Helene turned over. The pillows, the mattress, everything here smelled of Leontine. Helene closed her eyes again. The cramps weren’t too bad. And she wasn’t pregnant; that was good.

  She lay on her front all that week, breathing in the smell of Leontine and being patient.

  Martha had found out that the bus from Ahlbeck went to Heringsdorf and the express train from Heringsdorf station would reach Stettin Station in Berlin at two-thirty in the afternoon. So Leontine telephoned a friend in Ahlbeck and asked her to send a telegram to Carl Wertheimer. Arriving Sunday two-thirty, Stettin Station. Kisses, Helene.

  Leontine was on duty at the hospital on Sunday. Martha and Helene went out to Bernau by tram. They waited a good half-hour at the railway station. Several newspaper boys ran towards the train as it came in, shouting, offering their Special Editions to the passengers at the windows. The train steamed and hissed even when it stopped. Berlin, all aboard. It was so crowded that Martha and Helene had difficulty in climbing on. The whistle blew and they were off. The train was full of Berliners who had been spending the Easter break by the sea and at other holiday resorts in the north-east, and were now on their way home to the city. They devoured their newspapers, exchanging views on the latest incidents in Schleswig-Holstein. They had no business in Wöhrden, said one old man, what did they think they were doing there anyway? Vigorous argument broke out around the old man. Cowards, that’s what they are, he said.

  Cowards? Not on your life! Justice is at stake.

  It’s dangerous to play with fire.

  Helene held tight to the pole inside the carriage. They hadn’t managed to find a seat. The pain was quite slight now, it had moved from her lower body to her back at the base of her spine, where it throbbed only to an extent that Helene could endure quite well. The people around her couldn’t stop talking, everyone arguing with everyone else. Obviously these strong opinions were catching; every man, even every woman, wanted to speak at length about his or her views and arguments.

  Underhand, that’s what I call it. The woman who said that sounded offended.

  We’re not having an assembly banned, cried a man, and his neighbour agreed, we’re not letting them slaughter us. Martha and Helene had to stand by the door all the way to Stettin Station.

  Carl was waiting at the station, waving his arms about as if he had wings. The train groaned and finally drew to a halt. They got out, Carl hurried towards them, shook hands with Martha and took Helene in his arms.

  I’ve missed you.

  Helene pressed her face close to him, to his smooth fur collar. She didn’t want him to look at her. People streamed past them.

  A whole week by the seaside, and there am I sitting in my room and wondering whether Hegel absolutely had to alienate the German language from its original usage in order to express his ideas adequately. I mean, was it really necessary? Carl laughed. Where have you left Leontine?

  She had to come back ahead of us. Professor Friedrich phoned her; he needed her urgently.

  Let’s have a look at you. Yes, you do seem better. Carl inspected Helene like an apricot he was thinking of buying, and tenderly pinched her cheek. A hint of rings round the eyes, maybe. You two didn’t go dancing without me, did you?

  We certainly did! And Martha handed Carl the little suitcase to carry.

  That spring and summer flew by. Helene worked at the pharmacy, took the exams at the end of her course and waited for the results. Carl sat at his desk among his towers of books from morning to night; if he went out it was only for one of his written or oral examinations. At the end of the summer they both believed the world was at their feet. Two professors here were vying for Carl’s attention; he just had to decide whether he would rather go on reading Hegel, or follow the general trend of the time and look more deeply into Kant and Nietzsche. He wrote letters to Hamburg and Freiburg, where he knew of other scholars whose work filled him with enthusiasm. After his results were announced – he had passed summa cum laude – an invitation from Dresden arrived asking if he would like to study the question of universal validity in Kant’s aesthetics. But Carl was still waiting for answers from Hamburg and Freiburg.

  You do know that we must get married before I leave Berlin, don’t you?

  Carl squeezed Helene’s hand. They were crossing Passauer Strasse. There was a smell of foliage in the air; the autumn sunlight showed the light yellow of linden leaves against the dark branches of the trees. In Nürnburger Strasse the fallen leaves were being swept into heaps. Helene walked right through the middle of one heap, kicking it up with the toes of her shoes so that the dry leaves rustled. The maple leaves glowed green and red, their veins shining yellow and green, and edged with brown. The brown gold of chestnut leaves. Helene bent down and picked up a chestnut that had slipped out of its husk. Look, see how smooth it is, and such a lovely colour. She ran her thumb over the curve of the chestnut and held it out to Carl.

  Carl took the chestnut from her hand, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were bright and looked almost green in the yellow light of the setting sun. There was a smile in them. Must we?

  He nodded, he couldn’t wait any longer. Be my wife, he said.

  Helene hardly had to reach up at all to kiss him on the mouth. I’m yours, she whispered.

  Marry me in the spring? He wanted to make sure of it. He took her hand and walked on.

  In the spring, she agreed. She wasn’t going to follow behind him, she caught up, and they both walked faster and faster. They had been invited to a party. The lights were already on in Achenbachstrasse. Fanny was still busy with her preparations; she needed the help of her domestic staff at home, and asked Carl and Helene to take Cleo for a walk. When they came back later the apartment was full of guests. A hoarse voice issued from the horn of the gramophone, complaining in song of the times they lived in. Their cousin from Vienna, whom Helene knew only slightly, hurried over to her as soon as they came through the door. He was so glad to see Helene, he said, he had never forgotten their delightful conversation two years ago. Helene wondered what conversation he meant. She had only a vague recollection of it; something to do with bringing up children. Such a pity, said her cousin in his rather moist-sounding voice, that she didn’t speak French. Now he put his large, soft hand on Helene’s arm. He had thought of offering her the post of governess to his daughters. Helene looked at him in astonishment. You could have our maid’s room; after all, we’re family.

  Could she take their coats, asked Otta, obviously not for the first time. Relieved, Helene turned aside, took off her coat and exchanged glances with Carl, who was waiting patiently beside her. Helene took his hand
.

  I hear from Fanny, the cousin went on, that you’ve passed your exams with excellent marks. Well, no one would have expected anything else. I’m sure you would teach my daughters very well indeed. There are two of them.

  This is my fiancé, Carl Wertheimer, said Helene, interrupting what her cousin was saying. The cousin swallowed in surprise as his glance fell on Carl for the first time.

  Delighted. The cousin offered Carl his hand. So you’re the man who’s going to be lucky enough to . . . Here the cousin obviously had to stop and wonder why he assumed Carl was so lucky. He tried again. Who’s going to be lucky enough to lead this lovely young lady to the altar.

  Carl did not conceal his pride or his pleasure. It was the first time Helene had introduced him as her fiancé. We’ll invite you to the wedding, he said in friendly tones. Will you excuse us now? Gently pushing Helene ahead of him, Carl made his way through the guests waiting in the entrance hall and into the drawing room, where people were sitting and standing crowded close together. Martha was talking to Fanny’s new tenants, who looked large, pale and sober beside the other guests. The wife was holding a glass and Leontine had it topped up with more water. To Helene’s surprise, she saw the familiar receding hairline of the Baron standing next to Leontine. His back was turned to the door and he didn’t see Helene coming.

  How lovely to see you, said Helene, tapping him on the shoulder.

  Helene! The Baron spread out his arms, palms upwards, fingers slightly curving, a gesture that also suggested he was distancing himself. But he took Helene’s hand and kissed it.

  Are you better now? she asked. Have you been able to convalesce?

  No, no better. When I arrived the doctor diagnosed a chill of the heart, what do you think of that, Helene? For a moment it looked as if the Baron were going to reveal everything about himself in front of everyone. He looked keenly around, but then began laughing heartily next moment. Ah, Davos isn’t what it used to be. A few genuine invalids whom one doesn’t want to know, and a great many hysterics who love to exchange medical anecdotes all day and stroll around the grounds of the spa. They go on group pilgrimages to the Forest Sanatorium.

  Is that so? said a small, slim person whom Helene didn’t know. Obviously this delicate-looking creature admired the Baron and was listening with a finger to her ear.

  But no normal mortal so much as gains entry. The Baron was pleased to have an audience at last. I simply said, assuming an air of importance, that I was to see a certain Monsieur Richter. That seemed to me a good sort of name. The doorman nodded, satisfied, and let me sink into a big armchair for a while. I acted as if I were waiting. Unbearable, the company there, terrible.

  How very true, said the frail creature, pushing a strand of copper-coloured hair back from her face.

  Helene was glad to find the Baron in such high spirits. He was obviously better.

  Carl Wertheimer, said the Baron now, trying to look pleased. How nice that you could come too.

  We’re engaged. Helene looked challengingly at the Baron.

  Yes, er, yes, I’ve heard about that already. The Baron scratched his ear. Leontine told me about it. I must congratulate you. As if he found this difficult, the Baron put the flat of his hand to his receding hairline, and absent-mindedly tugged at his thin hair with his forefinger and middle finger. The delicate creature beside him shifted restlessly from foot to foot, looking around in a friendly manner.

  My God, yes, what was I about to say? Oh, I wanted to tell you about the philosophical symposium, the argument that we weren’t spared at Davos. But perhaps first I should introduce Fräulein Pina Giotto; we met in Arosa.

  Staying at the same boarding house, the delicate creature confirmed.

  It was like this: the prices in Davos, ah, here in Berlin you’ve no idea. And Arosa, well, it’s almost part of Davos. The Baron fiddled with his hair, his eyes on Helene, and forgot to blink.

  Situated even higher up, claimed the delicate creature.

  The Baron tore his eyes away and looked uncertainly at his companion. Cautiously, he ventured a gentle but defensive gesture in her direction and spoke again.

  As I’m sure you know, Carl, the argument between Cassirer and Heidegger had the whole place in uproar.

  Terrible, yes, said Fräulein Giotto. One of them simply left the resort.

  Heidegger announced that he was going to annihilate Cassirer’s philosophy.

  Yes, and then one of them simply went away. Did you ever hear of such a thing? As I said to Heini, what a coward. Ducking out simply isn’t done.

  Now the Baron went red and sweat broke out on his forehead. He seemed unhappy with Fräulein Giotto’s remark. Well, it wasn’t quite like that. Apologetically, the Baron looked from Carl to Helene and back to Carl again. I’ll explain. The Baron passed his handkerchief over his forehead and the gleaming bald patch on his head. It was about Kant. Heidegger’s altered theory of Being is fundamental, radical, he hardly let Cassirer get a word in, perhaps Cassirer felt he wasn’t being taken seriously. He was concerned with symbolic forms. He kept talking about the idea of the symbol. Perhaps that’s why his hasty departure seemed to most of us a sign and symbol of his defeat.

  Helene avoided exchanging glances with Carl. She didn’t want to give him away. Weren’t those the two gentlemen in Hamburg and Freiburg to whom Carl had written, and for whose answers he had been waiting several weeks?

  When the party was sitting round the big table later, and after many courses the last to be served was a soufflé on a bed of apples, Carl was talking to Erich about the latest developments in the economy.

  Buy, I tell you, buy, buy, buy. Erich was sitting opposite Carl and Helene. He had draped one arm round the back of Fanny’s chair and was waving a glass of cognac in the air. Erich’s neck, a sportsman’s neck, seemed to Helene even more massive than usual today. We can only profit by it, believe me. The bursting of the speculation bubble is an advantage to us in Europe.

  Don’t you see any danger?

  Oh, New York. You’re still young, Carl. Presumably you don’t have money. But if you did I’d give you good advice. The collapse in America will be useful to us. Erich leaned over the table and said, holding his hand in front of his mouth so that Fanny, sitting beside him and talking to the gentleman on her other side, wouldn’t hear him: She’ll soon be a rich woman again. I persuaded her to take out a mortgage on this apartment. She’ll be buying the whole building, I assure you.

  At this point Fanny stood up and raised her tall crystal glass. She asked her guests for their attention. She praised her friends, enumerating the anniversaries and honours enjoyed by some of them over the last few months, and every time the company clapped. Helene and Carl were glad she didn’t mention the results of their examinations, so they did not have to stand up, nod at the diners around the table in a dignified way and show themselves proud of their achievements.

  Carl leaned over to Helene and said quietly: Pride is for Philistines. Helene lowered her eyes; she agreed. To both of them the pride and self-satisfaction of the gentlemen whom Fanny mentioned were not justified by their distinctions, although it was to celebrate those distinctions that the show was staged.

  As the evening wore on, Helene found herself standing with the Baron and Pina Giotto. Although she felt she couldn’t bear any more of their chatter, she didn’t want to leave their side, because Erich’s greedy eyes had been following her all evening. Through the open doorway of the veranda, Helene saw that Carl was sitting there talking to Leontine, Martha and a couple whom she didn’t know. Pina Giotto was trying to persuade the Baron to go to one of the big department stores with her next day; she wanted a feather boa. The Baron was looking for excuses; he probably guessed how expensive such a boa was. Boa, boa . . . Pina Giotto gave him no peace. Feather, boa, boa, feather. Long feathers, light feathers, shiny or matt? Peacock feathers, foreign feathers, a dress made of feathers. All this talk of feathers reminded Helene of her mother. In her last letter Mariechen had
said she was a little better. Not confused any more, a walk was sometimes possible. It was nearly eleven when the first guests went into the front hall to call for their coats. Some were going on to a midnight revue, others wanted to go dancing at the ballroom. Come with us, said Fanny, with an all-embracing gesture over the heads of the Baron, his Fräulein Giotto and Helene. When, later, Fanny saw Helene among her late guests she babbled: You too, you little rascal.

  Helene was looking for Carl, but at present the veranda was occupied by two men practising arm-wrestling at the low table. Fräulein Giotto was explaining to the Baron that the diamond she had seen at the jeweller’s this morning was a beautiful size, just the thing to hang on a simple chain. Helene began to feel uneasy. Wherever she looked, she couldn’t see Carl or Martha and Leontine. In spite of the danger that Erich might follow her, she excused herself almost inaudibly and strolled as casually as possible through the other rooms. She couldn’t spot them anywhere. Just as she had crossed the Berlin Room and, looking around again, glanced back, she saw that Erich had her in his sights. He had followed her and was now making haste towards her. Helene opened the door to the back of the apartment. The light in the corridor wouldn’t come on; she hurried past the first two doors when she heard footsteps behind her. For a moment the cone of light falling on her in the corridor from the Berlin Room disappeared. Erich had closed the door. In sudden panic, Helene groped along the wallpaper until she found the frame and then the handle of the door. It must be her old one, the room now occupied by Leontine and Martha. Voices and laughter came through the door. At the far end of the corridor Erich had obviously lost his sense of direction. She heard him breathing heavily. But she couldn’t open the door. Helene shook the handle.