Ahead of her they went out of sight as they turned into Zweite Fährgasse. Elke missed their doing so and tried to go even faster, unsure what had happened. She got to the junction in time to see Reimann and the woman go into the minor street and stop at a dirty grey Audi car. Elke halted too, still on the river road and protected, although she still didn’t consider the advantage, by the passing people and a clump of ornamental trees. She saw the woman take something from the windscreen and wave it. laughing still, at Reimann. A parking ticket, Elke guessed. The woman made as if to throw it away, but Reimann called out something and instead she put it carefully into her handbag. She appeared to have difficulty unlocking the car door and Reimann went around, doing it for her. As he did so, the woman offered her face again and Reimann kissed her once more. Inside the car he sat with his arm around the back of her seat. Absurdly the Bonn registration of the Audi – BN-278 – seemed like a taunt to her: without knowing why she was doing it, Elke scribbled the number on the back of her chequebook, looking up in time to see the vehicle take a far corner and disappear.
So what were the answers to her earlier questions? An old romance, she decided: settled, comfortable, each sure of the other. Close then. Loving. Everything she hadn’t wanted to see: hadn’t wanted to infer. Won’t lose, she determined once more: couldn’t lose. She could be hard, if she had to be: harder than anyone would ever guess.
Elke never really bothered to calculate how long it took her to work things out (or hopefully begin to work things out), because periods of time didn’t seem important. The ideas came disjointedly, hardly ideas at all: just bits, floating driftwood she snatched at to try to keep afloat. It was a fitting analogy, because several times that first night her chest became tight and she had a panicked, suffocating sensation that she imagined to be just like drowning. Once, succumbing to the self-pity she was trying constantly to avoid, she decided that if she had been drowning she would have let herself go, to drown.
Discovering who the other woman was became important to her, although the desire wasn’t accompanied by any reason or intention beyond finding an identity. Briefly – too briefly – she became excited at the thought that the name might show the woman to be a relation, a sister perhaps, until she remembered Reimann didn’t have any surviving family and the driftwood sank beneath her. Elke couldn’t think of a way to find the name and then believed she could: it would mean meetings she’d wanted to avoid, but the importance of one outweighed the disadvantage of the other and she was sure she could carry it off, just for one encounter. She’d already decided to tell Ida soon about the missed period, after all.
Ida sounded vaguely surprised on the telephone but agreed at once to her calling in to Bad Godesberg the following day, on her way back from Marienfels.
‘You and Otto?’ queried Ida.
‘No!’ said Elke, regretting both the quickness and the tone of the rejection.
‘Oh?’ said Ida, at once. ‘Something wrong?’
Damn! She’d have to do better than that: far better, because it wasn’t just Ida who had to believe she was still idyllically content. Elke said: ‘No, nothing’s wrong! Otto’s away: working.’
‘Just you then,’ accepted Ida, reassured. ‘The kids will look forward to it.’
For most of that night, except perhaps for a couple of hours when she fell into a half-sleep, Elke lay open-eyed in the darkness, her hand frequently straying to that side of the bed where he normally lay, the reflections jumbled and confused. Why didn’t she tell Ida tomorrow: there didn’t really seem any purpose in waiting for a doctor’s confirmation. Quite simple. You’re not going to believe this, but it’s happened again! Too glib, as if it didn’t matter. Get it sorted out this time. Quickly, no nonsense. Have to fix leave from the Chancellery this week. Not definite dates: necessary to make the clinic reservation first. But warn Günther she wanted time off. Say she was sorry if it was inconvenient but she had to have it. All over in a month. Sooner, if it were possible. Where had they gone, the woman and Reimann? Not Andernach, certainly. But did he know another hidden valley, at another stop, where he’d served quails’ eggs and champagne? Bastard! Elke blinked in the darkness, shocked at the word, which had been a long time coming. Was that how she really felt about him? Yes, she decided. He’d cheated and lied so he was a bastard: whether there was an understanding or commitment between them didn’t come into it. Bastard. He shouldn’t have done it.
Elke had bathed but not dressed when the telephone rang, startling her. Elke stare at it, not answering. It could be Ida, of course, but she doubted it. She could always check, from Marienfels. She didn’t want to speak to the only other person it could be, not yet. She remained huddled in her robe, arms tight across herself, gazing at the receiver until finally the ringing stopped. She ignored it a second time, when she was almost ready to leave. Before setting out, she copied the car registration from her chequebook note.
At Marienfels she went impatiently through the greeting formalities with Dr Schiller, standing today before an overflowing vase of white and yellow lilies, which Elke didn’t like because she always associated such flowers with mourning.
She didn’t hurry or show any impatience with Ursula. The child was as Dr Schiller had warned, deeply enclosed, although she allowed Elke to take and hold her hand. Elke guessed that she would have been amenable to going out into the grounds, too, but Elke didn’t try, not wanting to go out herself.
‘Mummy’s upset, darling,’ Elke told the unhearing girl, the monologue beginning. ‘We thought he was nice, didn’t we? But he isn’t, you know: not as nice as we believed. But don’t worry. I’m going to think of something. I’m not going to let him abandon me, not like Daddy. Not again. Can’t lose again: can’t lose twice. That wouldn’t be fair, would it? Not right. Mummy’s going to work it out: think of something. You see.’
Elke left Marienfels slightly earlier than usual, and got to Ida’s house by mid-afternoon. Ida had already arranged the chairs in the garden and Georg and Doris clustered around and kissed her, though she guessed they were disappointed Reimann wasn’t with her. Georg openly said he’d got a book on American baseball rules, and Elke promised to tell Otto and suggest they try to play a game the next weekend.
‘Where’s Horst?’ asked Elke.
‘The dutiful writer is at his desk,’ said Ida, disdainful as usual. ‘He was disappointed Otto hadn’t come. He wants to see you.’
And I want to see him, thought Elke. She said: ‘Let’s not disturb him yet.’ The children were at the far side of the overgrown garden, well beyond hearing. ‘What’s the big news about Kurt?’
‘We’ve decided not to see each other.’
The announcement was obviously contrived. Elke said: ‘That doesn’t sound right.’
‘For a trial period,’ Ida admitted.
‘Then?’
‘He’s talking of leaving his wife. Wants me to leave Horst. To go away together permanently.’
Elke sighed. At the beginning of the year a declaration like that would have frightened her. She sought a response now; all she felt was irritation. ‘Are you going to?’ she asked. ‘It’s been a pretty long-running saga: you must have made your mind up by now.’
Ida frowned across the narrow gap between their lounging chairs. ‘That wasn’t quite what I expected you to say.’
It was a long-running saga and Elke was bored by it: bored and uninterested, although she was concerned about the children. But that was all: only the children. She said: ‘All right, what do you want me to say?’
‘You don’t sound … well, not very sympathetic’
‘Sympathetic! What the hell are you talking about? You let a man grope your crotch, you fuck for most of the year, agonize around and around in circles about what to do, yet you still don’t know what to do and I’m supposed to be sympathetic!’
‘I’m sorry!’ said Ida, tightly but loud-voiced.
‘So am I, if I’m not saying what you want me to. I don’t know what t
o say.’
‘What’s wrong? You’re really angry!’
And not about you or Horst or Kurt or the children, conceded Elke. ‘We’ve talked it all through before. You know how I feel.’ She hadn’t telephoned from Marienfels, Elke remembered. She said: ‘Did you call me this morning, around nine?’ There was an abrupt stab of pain, a definite jab, deep down in her stomach, and Elke winced.
Ida wasn’t looking directly across the space between them and she missed the grimace. She frowned to herself, further confused. ‘No. Why?’
‘There was a call. I was in the bath.’
‘Wasn’t it Otto?’
‘It might have been,’ she said. Honestly she added: ‘I don’t know where he is: I couldn’t call, to find out.’ Had he been at Rochusplatz, with the other woman? Playing? Inventing?
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I’m all right! Why shouldn’t I be?’ Too defensive, too sharp, for a second time.
‘You just don’t seem … oh, forget it … it’s not important.’
If only you knew, thought Elke. She’d apologize later: when she told Ida and asked for her help. Elke felt a quick sweep of shame, at her hypocrisy. The pain came again, as sharp as before: she’d been lucky with the physical discomfort, apart from that one morning’s sickness. She’d felt sick but hadn’t been sick, not since. Elke said: ‘It isn’t such a difficult choice, is it? If Kurt means more to you than Horst – which he probably does – and the children, about which I don’t know, then go away with him. Chuck it all up and go away and live on a desert island or a single room or wherever it is you think you are going to be happy.’ She’d started out intending to be kind, but knew she had ended wrongly.
‘You missed someone out of the equation,’ said Ida.
‘Who?’
‘You.’
Elke shook her head, refusing the involvement. ‘I don’t feature in this; never have. Of course I’d be upset: miss you. But I’m not part of any consideration or doubt. Don’t try to impose any responsibility upon me!’ Wouldn’t she miss Ida: wouldn’t she miss the reassurance of her sister always being readily to hand? Those familiar demands: except that this time her reaction wasn’t familiar. It was quite different, quite new. Always before she had been frightened: frightened of not having Ida, not being able to depend upon her. Elke didn’t have that apprehension any more. She felt she could survive quite successfully on her own. And really on her own: not even with Otto, if she didn’t have to. Not that she wanted to try: didn’t intend to try. Just if she recognized. No self-pity! She was strong enough now to resist any self-pity: strong enough now to be independent of anyone.
‘Is that what you think I’m trying to do? Build up so much responsibility that I shan’t be able to go?’ demanded Ida.
‘I haven’t thought about it so analytically,’ said Elke. ‘Maybe that’s what you’re trying to do. And if you are then it means you don’t want to go, not truly: that you’re just trying to ease your own conscience when you make the final decision and tell Kurt it’s all over.’ Elke was utterly indifferent to the conversation: for the first time ever she realized she couldn’t give a damn about Ida or any of Ida’s problems. All she wanted to do was to persuade Horst to help her and get back to Kaufmannstrasse. Would the telephone ring tonight? The stomach pain came again, several short snatches. And then the nausea, rising like a belch. Elke realized that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Not yesterday – that awful yesterday – apart from the morning apple cake at the Bonner. Nor today, either. She wasn’t hungry; didn’t think she could have eaten anything.
‘You despise me, don’t you?’ challenged Ida, suddenly.
Don’t! thought Elke: please don’t! She said: ‘I despise the agonized prevarication.’
‘Didn’t you prevaricate, once?’ said Ida, with rare venom, wanting to wound.
Elke didn’t feel wounded. ‘Once,’ she admitted. ‘Not again. Never again.’
‘I hope you don’t have to go back on that,’ said Ida, bitterly.
‘Yes,’ conceded Elke, in complete and firm control of herself. ‘I hope I don’t, either.’
A chilling silence, like a block, descended between them. Like so much else it would have upset Elke a few months ago: that afternoon there wasn’t the slightest discomfort. The children called and waved: neither Ida nor Elke heard the words. They waved back. Ida said: ‘They know, about Horst and me. That we don’t get on.’
‘Good,’ said Elke. ‘It won’t be so much of a shock for them if you decide to run off with Kurt, will it?’
‘You have something to tell me?’ demanded Ida, presciently.
‘No.’ The denial came out at once, quite definitely. ‘Why?’
‘You don’t seem yourself.’
‘I’m fine.’ That was a lie that was going to be exposed in a very few days. Elke became anxious to get away. ‘You said Horst wants to see me?’
‘I’ll call him.’
‘Don’t bother. I’ll go up. And then I think I’ll go.’
‘Yes,’ Ida accepted, making no effort to detain her.
Elke shouted her goodbyes to the children as she went into the house, shouting again to warn Kissel that she was on her way as she climbed the tattered, frayed stairway. He was at the bedroom door to meet her, gesturing her inside. The table at which he obviously worked looked as if it had just settled after an explosion.
‘I was hoping Otto would come today,’ announced Kissel.
‘He’s away, working.’
‘I’ve finished another story I wanted to give him. Could you let him have it?’
A favour for a favour, thought Elke. She said: ‘Of course.’
Kissel handed her an unsealed envelope and said: ‘I think it’s one of my best. They’ve accepted every one, you know?’
Elke did, from the regularity of the loan repayments. ‘So I understand.’
‘You’ll see he gets it soon, won’t you?’
‘As quickly as possible.’ Then she said: ‘And I’d like you to do something for me.’ She offered Kissel the paper on which she’d copied the Audi registration, from the scribbled note on the back of her chequebook. ‘Could you find out the owner of that car? It’s an Audi. Grey. I don’t know the year of manufacture.’
The man frowned. ‘I don’t have any connection with vehicle registration,’ he protested.
‘But you must know people who have at the national traffic registration office in Flensburg,’ persisted Elke, determinedly. ‘You could find out, as a favour, couldn’t you? It wouldn’t take more than a telephone call to a friend you could ask.’
‘Why do you want it?’
‘A very minor traffic thing,’ she evaded easily. ‘Not a drama, like before.’ She spoke looking down at the envelope containing Kissel’s latest story, an obvious reminder of his indebtedness.
‘It would be strictly against regulations,’ said Kissel.
‘I haven’t told Ida I’m asking you. Or Otto. It would just be between the two of us.’ She didn’t want to remind him of the money.
‘Couldn’t you get it through the Chancellery?’
I don’t want to be personally connected with the inquiry, you stupid bastard! She said: ‘I thought you would know better than me how to go about it.’
‘I’ll try,’ undertook Kissel, grudgingly.
‘It’s really quite important to me.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Elke indicated the telephone number also on the paper she had given him. ‘That’s my Chancellery number: call me there during the day.’
She drove slowly back to Bonn, the stomach pain and sickness more persistent. At Kaufmannstrasse she swallowd some analgesics, wondering if she could keep them down, relieved when it appeared she could. She should eat something, she told herself. Elke actually opened the refrigerator, frowning in, attracted towards nothing. She was closing it again when she saw the opened bottle, in the door recess. She poured herself a glass, ca
rrying it back into the main room. The envelope she had collected from Horst lay on the coffee table where she’d tossed it as she entered. She picked it up, put it down and picked it up again. It wasn’t a private communication, something that was none of her business. If it hadn’t been for her, Horst would not have met Otto and developed the extra source of income in the first place. The envelope was unsealed, even. And didn’t he intend it to be read by thousands of people when it was published? Elke read intently, not hurrying, carefully replacing the pages one on top of the other as she completed them, her wine forgotten.
She was so absorbed, in her impressions as much as in the story, that at first, incredibly, she did not realize what was happening. It was the worst pain of all, pulling her forward in the chair, that was her first awareness, and then she felt the wetness, a lot of wetness. Elke groped upright, still bent forward by the pain, and staggered tight-legged towards the bathroom, suspecting the mess she was making. She was haemorrhaging badly by the time she got there, her skirt and underclothing deeply stained. For a long time she crouched over the toilet bowl, whimpering at the pain but most of all at the fear, not sure if she should try to get back to the telephone to call a doctor. Slowly she stripped her clothing off where she sat, seeing it was all ruined, dampening a small hand towel from the wash-basin alongside to try to clean herself. She wasn’t very successful but it was better.
Little Grey Mice Page 39