by Unknown
Who are these people? Helene’s heartbeat was steady; she had to smile because the names sounded so new to her, unfamiliar and promising. These names were to belong to her, they would be hers.
Don’t ask. Wilhelm put a hand over her mouth.
But suppose someone asks me about them?
The Schulzes were our neighbours in Dresden. Simple folk.
Wilhelm was going to leave his explanations at that, but Helene wouldn’t leave him in peace. She tickled his chin: Go on, she said and smiled, because she knew that Wilhelm didn’t like to refuse her anything.
There were nine of us in our family; they had only one child, a girl. Alice often played on her own in the street until it was dark. What she liked best was coming over to us and joining our family at our big table. She didn’t want to eat anything, just sit at our table with us. One day her parents spread the news that Alice had run away. We children helped to search for her, but Alice never turned up. You look a little like her.
I disappeared? Helene laughed out loud. The idea of being a missing person amused her.
She was about your age. Everyone in our street thought Alice’s parents had killed her. How else could they be so confident about claiming that she’d run away?
Killed by her own parents?
Wilhelm raised Helene’s chin with his forefinger, as he liked to do when he thought she was being too serious. We simply wondered about the way they went on living just as usual, no sign of grief. They didn’t even want to tell the police. All of us toyed with the idea of going to the police ourselves. Alice wasn’t to start school until the summer, so there was no teacher to notice her absence. My God, didn’t several of your own siblings die too? Plenty of children died without death certificates. Soon after that the wife, Alice’s mother, fell downstairs and died. Her husband lived on until a year ago; he survived to a great age, but he always seemed old.
And they’re supposed to be my parents?
You wanted to know. Wilhelm rubbed his hands; perhaps he felt cold. Nothing to be done about it, and now you do know.
What about their ancestors? Grandparents, great-grandparents – these are just names that no one knows.
They existed, said Wilhelm. He said no more; he had just taken the record of her descent from her hand, rolled it up and put it into the inside pocket of his coat. He had reached for her hand and suggested getting married in Stettin, where he had rented an apartment in Elisabethstrasse several months earlier, and where Dresden stamps and seals might be even less familiar than they were in Berlin.
Helene had nodded. She had always wanted to see a real big harbour. And they had set off for Stettin before Christmas. It hadn’t been easy to say goodbye to Martha and Leontine. They had met at Leontine’s apartment the evening before they left; the thick velour curtains were drawn, Leontine offered Irish whiskey and dark cigarettes, just the thing for this moment, she said.
So when I write to you, Martha had said, do I write to Alice now? Leontine had objected, laughing, that no one could break off a relationship in that one-sided way. I’ll write to you every week, Martha had promised, as Elsa from an address in Bautzen.
In Stettin, Wilhelm had gone to the registry office to give notice of their engagement and fix a date. He let Helene sleep in the room next to the kitchen in the apartment and she was glad of his thoughtfulness. The wedding was to be at the beginning of May. And Helene wasn’t to work; Wilhelm gave her housekeeping money, she did the shopping and put the bill on the table for him to see; she cooked, she washed and ironed clothes, she lit the stove. She was grateful. If Wilhelm wanted beef roulades for supper, Helene might have to spend half the morning going from butcher to butcher to find the right meat for them. Wilhelm didn’t want her going to Wolff, quite close to them in Bismarckstrasse, however friendly he might be, however good his prices. Such people must not be encouraged, said Wilhelm, and Helene knew what he meant and was afraid he might follow her to see if she was acting according to his instructions. They had once met by chance; Helene had been coming out of the library in the Rosengarten district with two books under her arm when Wilhelm called her over to the other side of the street. He had cast a fleeting glance at her books. Martin Buber, do you have to read that? At such a time, with his ideas . . . I don’t like it. What do you think you get out of it? he asked, laughing. He had put his arm round her shoulders and was speaking close to her ear. I see I’ll have to keep my eye on you. I don’t want you going to that library. The People’s Library is just round the corner. You can easily walk the few metres to the park.
If Wilhelm gave her a shirt with a missing button, Helene went from draper to draper until she had found not just one button the right size, but back in the first shop a whole dozen, so that she could change all the other buttons on the shirt to match. Helene felt a gratitude to him that kept her cheerful.
Once Wilhelm said it was only as you came into their apartment that you noticed how dirty the corridor outside it was. He meant it as a compliment because she kept their place so clean. You’re a wonderful woman, Alice. There’s just one thing I have to mention to you. And he looked at her sternly. Our neighbour on the ground floor told me she saw you last week in Schuhstrasse coming out of that draper’s shop, what’s his name, Bader? Helene felt herself going red in the face. Baden, Herbert Baden, I’ve been buying from him since Christmas, he has very high-quality goods; you don’t get buttons like that anywhere else. Wilhelm had not looked at Helene; he had taken a long draught from his beer glass and said: My God, then you’ll just have to buy different buttons, Alice. Do you realize that you’re putting us both in danger? Not just yourself, me too.
Next morning, as soon as Wilhelm had left the apartment, Helene set to work. She scrubbed and scoured the stairs from the top floor to the entrance of the building. Finally she polished them until they gleamed and everything smelled of wax. When Wilhelm failed to notice the clean stairway that evening, she did not mention it. She was glad she had something to do; she did not just obey Wilhelm’s orders readily, she did so gladly. What could be better than the definite prospect of things that must be done, tasks where her only worry was that there might not be enough time to do them all? And Helene knew what to think of as well: the brown shoe polish, the streaky bacon for supper. What she liked best was to do jobs waiting to be dealt with before Wilhelm missed anything or had to go without. When he came home from work he said he was happy to know she was here at home and to have her around him. My little housewife, he’d taken to calling her recently. There was just one small thing he didn’t have yet, he said, smiling. He was eagerly waiting for the month of May.
The wind on the Hakenterrasse turned, and now it was blowing right in their faces. Wilhelm didn’t want her to cut up the second apple, he wanted to eat it properly, round the core. She handed him the whole apple.
And the big ship there, isn’t that a fine sight? Wilhelm took out his binoculars. He watched the gigantic freighter and said nothing for an unusually long time. Helene wondered whether she might tell him she was freezing; it would spoil his good temper. But his mouth was twisting anyway. I don’t quite like that name, though, Arthur Kunstmann. Do you know about Kunstmann?
Helene shook her head. Wilhelm raised his binoculars again. The biggest shipping company in Prussia. Well, that’s about to change.
Why?
Fritzen & Son do better business. Suddenly Wilhelm shouted: Get a move on, lads! He slapped his thigh, as if anyone rowing down there could hear him up on the hill. Our boys are going too slowly. Wilhelm lowered the binoculars again. Aren’t you interested? He looked at Helene with surprise and a little pity; at this distance she could make out only that he was talking about an eight rowing past the opposite bank down below. Perhaps he would lend her the binoculars so that she could share his pleasure? But Wilhelm had come to the conclusion that Helene wasn’t interested in rowing. He jammed the binoculars to his eyes and rejoiced. Gummi Schäfer and Walter Volle, they’ll win for us. Get a move on, for
God’s sake! It’s a pity I have to be here to supervise the finishing touches to the work. I’d love to be in Berlin in August.
Our boys? Why would they win, what does it mean to you? Helene tried to pay no more attention to the crying baby and followed the direction of Wilhelm’s glance, looking down towards the water.
You don’t understand, child. We’re the best. The fair sex has no idea about competitive sport, but once Gummi’s won gold you’ll see what it’s all about!
What what’s all about?
Alice, darling! Wilhelm lowered the binoculars and looked sternly at Helene. He spoke menacingly, he liked to threaten Helene in fun when she asked too many questions. Helene couldn’t summon up a smile. Just thinking of the approaching night, their first night together as man and wife, kept her from even looking at him. Perhaps he took her questions as implying doubts of what he said, or as doubts of his own pleasure in it. Certainly his wife ought not to doubt him, she ought to respect him, and now and then be happy to keep quiet for him. A little jubilation wouldn’t be out of place either, just a very little quiet, cheerful, feminine jubilation, she felt sure Wilhelm would like that. Helene thought he seemed content when she nodded approvingly and simply accepted what he said. And could she really not just accept a statement sometimes? Yesterday evening he had complained a little, but maybe he had just been edgy because it was the eve of their wedding. He had said, looking at the paper, that he sometimes suspected Alice had a joyless nature. When Helene could think of nothing to say and went on sweeping the grate in silence, he added that he thought he noticed not just a lack of joy but a certain aloofness in her too.
Now Wilhelm was looking through his binoculars. Secretly, Helene felt ashamed of herself. Was she going to grudge him the sight of something he liked on his wedding day? She held her tongue and wondered to herself what he meant, and what would happen if the German oarsmen did win at the Olympic Games in a few weeks’ time. She also wondered why Martha wasn’t replying to her letters any more, and decided to write to Leontine. Leontine was a tower of strength; on Shrove Tuesday she had written to Helene to tell her she was glad to say she could probably get her mother discharged from Sonnenstein. Luckily old Mariechen had stayed on in the house, she said, and would be very glad to see her mistress back. Leontine signed her letter Leo, and Helene felt relieved and happy whenever she read the letter and the name at the bottom of it.
The steamer was casting off from the landing stage. Gulls circled around the ship, probably hoping the passengers on their excursion would throw some scraps overboard. Black smoke rose from the funnels. Helene felt a drop of something on her hand. Wilhelm was opening his bottle of beer. Didn’t she want to drink her lemonade? Helene shook her head. She knew she had to give herself to him tonight, give herself entirely, so that he possessed her as he never had before. That idea made him glad. Her mind worked slowly, her thoughts were disjointed. It occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to wear her beloved old vest this evening. If they had stayed in Berlin they could have given a wedding party, but whom could they have asked? Martha and Leontine and Fanny weren’t suitable company, it would soon have come out that there was something wrong with their papers, and perhaps Martha might have giggled at the registrar’s remarks. Erich might have turned up too, to disrupt the ceremony. Better to move right away from Berlin and avoid any party.
Helene took the paper bag out of the basket and put her fingers in it. She felt happy when she was eating raisins.
They were planning to go for a little trip round the harbour on the Hanni or the Hans, whichever of the two elderly passenger steamers with superstructures like houses they could take today. Every child in Stettin knew the striped funnels of the Maris Line, and Helene had thought for some time that a trip on one of the two vessels would be nice.
Well, here we go. Helene packed up the knife and the apple core, put the empty beer bottle back in the basket and spread the little cover over it. They set off down to the quay. Wilhelm took her hand and Helene let him guide her. Behind his back she closed her eyes so that he could lead her as if she were blind. What could happen? She felt very tired, overwhelmingly weak, she could have gone to sleep at once, but the wedding day wasn’t half over yet. Wilhelm bought two tickets for the Hanni of the Gotzkow Line. The vessel rocked on the water. From time to time Helene put her hand over her mouth so that no one would see her yawning.
On the round trip, with the wind getting up and the ship pitching and tossing, there was no conversation between her and Wilhelm. The link between them had not simply slackened but separated, disappeared. Two strangers sat side by side looking in different directions.
Only when Wilhelm ordered a plate of sausage and mustard from the waiter did he speak to her again. Are you hungry? Helene nodded. They were sitting below decks, a shower of rain was beating on the windows and droplets of water were streaming down; the skies seemed to have opened, but Helene felt sick from the rocking of the ship and her feet were cold. Everything on this ship was so dirty, the rail was sticky, even the plate on which Wilhelm’s sausage was served looked to Helene as if it had a dirty rim from the previous customer’s mustard. With difficulty, she prevented herself from pointing that out to Wilhelm. Why bother? He was enjoying the sausage. Helene excused herself, saying she wanted to wash her hands. The rocking down here would have made her feel sick even if she hadn’t been nauseated already. Helene made her way along the rail. How could she have forgotten her gloves? An excursion without gloves was a special sort of adventure. Perhaps Wilhelm might have made fun of her for wearing gloves in May, wearing gloves to her wedding when she had decided not to have a traditional wedding dress, opting for what to him was a simple white jacket and skirt, stubborn as she was. But the door to the little cabin, behind which Helene had hoped to find a container of water for hand-washing beside the WC, bore a notice saying Out of Order, so Helene had to go back without washing. On the ship, prep-arations for docking were already going on. Men were calling to other men, the steamer was hauled in to the pier by two strong ship’s boys. Helene’s throat felt rough.
Well, my wife, shall we go for a drive, have something to eat and then go home? Wilhelm took her hand as they climbed off the ship. His words sounded like the prelude to a play in a theatre, and he bowed to her. She knew why. He had waited patiently all day, from the registry office in the morning, through a little excursion in his new car, in which he had driven her to Braunsfelde and shown her a building site in Elsässer Strasse where the foundations of their new house were soon to be laid, on to their midday picnic, and now on the trip round the harbour. Helene sat down in the car, put on her new headscarf, although it was not an open car, and held the door handle tightly. Wilhelm started the engine.
You don’t have to clutch the handle all the time.
I’d rather.
The door might fly open, darling. Let go of it.
Helene obeyed. She suspected that further insistence would annoy him unnecessarily.
Wilhelm had booked a table in the café at the foot of the castle, but after only a few mouthfuls of pork knuckle he said that was enough. If she didn’t want any more he would ask for the bill. He did ask for the bill, then he drove his bride home.
She had made the bed that morning, the marital bed that he had had delivered a week ago.
Wilhelm said she could go and undress in her old room. She went into it, took off her clothes and changed into a white nightdress. Over the last few weeks she had been embroidering little roses and delicate leafy tendrils on it, in the stitch that Mariechen had once taught her. When she came back he had put out the bedroom light. There was a strong smell of eau de Cologne in the air. It was dark in the room, and Helene groped her way forward.
Here I am, he said, laughing. His hand reached out for her. Don’t be afraid, darling, he said, and pulled her down on the bed beside him. It won’t hurt. He unbuttoned her nightdress, wanted to feel her breasts, felt about blindly for a while, up, down, sideways, round to her spin
e and back again as if he couldn’t find what he wanted, then he moved his hands away from her breasts and took hold of her buttocks. Ah, what do we have here? he said, laughing at his own joke, and she felt his rough hand between her legs. Then she noticed a kind of regular shaking; her eyes got used to the darkness; he was taking shallow breaths, breathing almost soundlessly and the shaking grew more vigorous, obviously he was working on his penis. Perhaps it wasn’t hard enough, or perhaps he would rather find his own relief without Helene. Helene felt his hand push against her thigh again and again. She put her own hand out and touched him.
Nice, he said, nice. He spoke in the dark, still breathing very quietly, and Helene took fright. Did he mean himself or her? Her hand searched for his; she wanted to help him. His prick was hard and hot. Her nose was pressed against his chest, not a place to stay for long, the eau de Cologne irritated the mucous membrane of her nostrils; how could you close your nose, breathe through your mouth, through your mouth, her mouth against his stomach; a few hairs in your mouth ought not to matter. Helene bent her head, it could only be better further down, and her lips sought for him. He smelled of urine, and tasted salty and sour and a little bitter, and she retched slightly, but he kept saying nice, nice, and: You don’t have to do that, dear girl, but she was sucking his prick now with smacking sounds, she liked it, she used her tongue, he took her shoulders and pulled her up to him, perhaps her sucking was uncomfortable for him. Alice? There was a little doubt in the way he said her name, as if he wasn’t sure who she was. She sought his mouth, she knelt above him. Alice! He sounded indignant. He grabbed her shoulders, threw her underneath him and, with a shaking hand and gasping out loud now, as if he had lost control of himself, he pushed his prick between her legs.