“How did they meet?”
“Mom did a semester abroad in Paris, and they fell in love.”
As I finished my coffee, I thought about the young, head-over-heels Aunt Helen marrying the handsome Frenchman and wondered if she’d been as aloof and withdrawn back then.
“Does David look like him? He doesn’t look much like Aunt Helen,” I asked.
“I think so,” Lukas said thoughtfully. “In recent years, she sometimes looks at him with an odd expression on her face, and you can tell she must be thinking about David’s dad.”
“But then, why is she so cold toward him?”
“I’m sure it’s because he reminds her so much of his father.” Lukas furrowed his brow; he didn’t seem to like talking about this. “Do you feel sorry for David? Believe me, he’ll do just fine on his own.”
“No worries,” I assured him, then childishly stuck my tongue out at him. “Do I detect a touch of jealousy in there?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know what I think?” I asked, keeping an eye on my cousin. Ever since David decided to go to work for the family law firm, he’s gotten all the attention at home and that’s no picnic.
Lukas tried to avoid agreeing that my conjectures had hit the mark, but I knew him too well. “What can I do about it, if I don’t give a fig about all those clauses?” The hint of anger in his voice revealed how much it affected him that David had stolen the limelight in recent years.
I smiled at him sympathetically. “But you must have known that would happen when you chose to pursue medicine. Uncle Matthias always assumed that you’d take over the firm someday. You can’t hold it against him that he spends a lot of time with David now.”
“But . . .” Lukas cleared his throat. “Sometimes I get the impression that everyone’s forgotten the way David terrorized us as children and spent all his time goofing off. The best years of my childhood were when he was at boarding school in England.”
I couldn’t deny he had a point.
It was Christmas Eve when the situation in the Westphal house had come to a head. At ten years old, I had already learned that Santa didn’t exist—David had revealed the secret, causing abundant tears from Kristina—but I still loved Christmas. My parents and I were spending the night at Uncle Matthias and Aunt Helen’s because we spent the holiday together every year.
I was the first awake on Christmas and went to wake up Lukas and Kristina. Thickly bundled up, we headed out together to try out our new sleds on the freshly fallen snow. We careened down the hill behind the woods for hours that morning; afterward, we had an epic snowball fight during which Kristina and I buried Lukas in snow. Completely exhausted and frozen to the bone, we finally trudged home in the afternoon. We were just thawing out with a cup of hot cocoa in the kitchen when David appeared in a sullen mood.
Because he was already thirteen, he naturally deemed it beneath his dignity to have anything to do with kindergarteners—one of his kinder terms for us—and ignored us completely. The tricks he’d played on us in past years—slashing stuffed animals and destroying toys almost daily—had lost their allure, and so he had started humiliating us with words. After some disgrace that I no longer remember, Lukas couldn’t stand it anymore and lunged at him. Laughing maliciously, David fended off his stepbrother’s blows. As they slapped each other into the foyer, they got closer to the steep cellar stairs. But our warning calls came too late: David pushed Lukas, who tumbled down the stairs.
Unable to reach them in time, Kristina and I could only look on in disbelief as Lukas pitched headfirst into the deep. We called for our parents and rushed over to David, who stood paralyzed on the first step. Even today, I can still remember those terrible seconds, when we flew down the steep stairs to kneel next to Lukas, who lay motionless on the cellar floor.
Our parents reached the cellar only moments later, and everyone erupted in a flurry of activity. Aunt Helen called an ambulance while Uncle Matthias and my father examined Lukas. My mother tried to calm Kristina and me, since we were convinced that Lukas was dead.
As Lukas regained consciousness, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. David, his face pale, stood on the upper steps, lacking the courage to come downstairs. Kristina and I reported to our parents how the accident had happened, because we didn’t want David to get away with it.
What happened then remains seared in my memory. Uncle Matthias stormed up the stairs in a rage, snatched the perplexed David, and pulled him into a corner. A series of loud crashes reached us downstairs, until my father ran up and put an end to it.
The next day, a visibly shocked Aunt Helen brought her eldest son to the airport. Even though Lukas hadn’t been injured badly, Matthias was of the opinion that David had crossed a line and had to live with the consequences. He should go to boarding school in England for a while.
For the following three years, we only saw David at Christmas.
When Lukas and I got home, Agathe had just waxed the parquet floor in the foyer. “Jesusmary, I just finished,” she said, straightening up and wiping the sweat from her brow. “Wait a bit so you don’t leave behind footprints.”
“And if we did?” asked Lukas, who tauntingly stretched his leg out flamboyantly.
Agathe put her hands indignantly on her hips. “Then I’ll take you over my knee the way I used to when you were a boy.”
He looked down at Agathe, who only came up to his shoulder. “I’m not afraid of that anymore.”
“You’re still just a boy,” she said, pointing at him with her outstretched finger.
“I picked up a few new swear words in Polish on the U-Bahn today, do you want to hear them?” asked Lukas. Laughing, he took shelter from the fifty-five-year-old maid, who was still surprisingly light on her feet.
I ran up the stairs. As always, Lukas had cheered me up with this sunny disposition. How had I gotten through the last few years without him?
As I entered my room, I automatically scanned it for an ominous message, but I saw nothing at first glance. I set my bag on the dresser, walked over to the window, and looked out at the garden.
Kristina lay on one of the deck chairs in the sun and was watching Miss Marple and Miss Moneypenny, who frolicked at her feet. I could hear the dogs yapping happily through the open window and I flashed a wistful smile.
I still remembered the day when Kristina and I traveled to a renowned breeder in Hamburg to look at puppies with Aunt Helen. We hadn’t been able to decide between the two dogs, so Aunt Helen had spontaneously bought both. On the entire trip home, we discussed possible names and laughed at the fluffy balls of fur as they romped through the train car.
Rarely had I experienced Aunt Helen so relaxed and happy. She told us all about her childhood in England and the countless dogs her family had had. Because a dog’s name should start with the letter M, we finally came up with Miss Marple and Miss Moneypenny—how could they not be English?
However, these happy memories only made me sad when I thought about Kristina’s cold greeting upon my return. I had to find a way to talk to her. But one thing at a time. My gaze fell on the night table next to the antique brass bed. Against a small vase filled with wonderful smelling forget-me-nots leaned a suspicious card.
Only seek the truth if you can handle it.
I held the slip of paper in my hand and tried to comprehend the mysterious author’s change of heart. Why suddenly so philosophical?
I lay back on my bed and looked at the stucco ceiling, following the abundant flourishes and rosettes with my eyes until I was dizzy.
In the mystery novels that I devoured obsessively, the murderer was usually the person you least expected. I didn’t dare continue thinking along these lines, however. Because in my case that would mean that Lukas was most likely to be the mysterious letter writer. Or David—and that would really break my heart.
I’d rather stick to the th
eory that the gardener is always the murderer. But I had to smile at the thought of old Johann, who would never hurt a fly. I could safely cross that possibility off the list.
Tuesday
My swirling thoughts would not give me a moment’s peace and eventually compelled me to get out of bed. They knocked on the prison that I myself had created, tormenting me to no end.
Like an endless loop, images from the distant past appeared in my mind’s eye, replacing the pain of the present.
I wandered around aimlessly, half-asleep. Faint moonlight shone through the window, casting muddled shadows on the wall. I tried in vain to understand her, to find answers to my questions. Questions that made me wake up drenched in sweat. Questions that were slowly driving me mad.
As if attracted by an unknown force, I approached the staircase. I began to descend, step by step.
The full moon shone through the window through a gap in the curtain, plunging my room into a cold, milky light.
Unable to sleep, I pushed back the down comforter and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I threw my bathrobe over my shoulders and walked to the window.
I was captivated by the mysterious atmosphere created by the moonlight illuminating the garden. The trees cast giant shadows on the dewy meadow, and the countless flowers had shut their blossoms. It seemed as if the entire natural world had turned to stone, only to return to life in the morning with the first rays of sunlight.
Suddenly, a strange noise ripped me from my melancholic observations. I pricked up my ears.
I was more and more drawn to her; I couldn’t fight it. As I crept along the corridor, I ran my fingers along the wallpaper, tracing every elevation as if it were braille.
My heartbeat accelerated, beating out a rhythm of madness. The answer to my impending question appeared before my eyes, holding me in its grip.
I dug my fingernails into the wall out of anger, ripping off little pieces as I did so.
I tried to determine where the noise was coming from. It had sounded as though a dog were scratching the wall. I went to the door and cautiously opened it.
I paused, terrified, as the door to the guest room opened. My confused thoughts evaporated as I was confronted with reality. I quickly concealed myself behind a large wardrobe. I pressed my back against the wall and held my breath.
I stuck my head out the door and peered out into the semidarkness. I made out the outlines of the different antiques that lined the hall. But I could see neither a cocker spaniel nor any of my relatives. “Is someone there?” I asked, though I wasn’t counting on an answer.
My pulse throbbed in my ears. My cramped hands balled up into fists and every muscle in my body tensed. I stood there as though turned to stone and waited for Elisa to discover me.
Unable to see anything, I went back to bed and tried to force myself to fall asleep. If I hadn’t received those strange messages, I wouldn’t have even bothered to check on that weird noise. But the notes had unnerved me so much that I’d started to flinch at every suspicious sound.
The next morning, I woke up exhausted. As I lay in bed, I tried to remember the confusing dream I’d had. Or had it been a dream?
A glance at the clock jolted me out of my thoughts. I jumped out of bed and took a quick shower. As I stood in front of the wardrobe deciding what to wear, I realized that I’d have to buy some new clothes if I stayed much longer.
An oversize gray sweatshirt that read “I Love NY” and a pair of black leggings perfectly fit my miserable mood. I examined my once-passable Chucks critically and realized they had seen better days. I definitely wanted to avoid a shopping expedition in downtown Düsseldorf. When I was about to leave my room, my gaze lingered on a small, white card that had been shoved under the door. Fingers trembling, I picked it up.
The longer you stay, the more painful it will be.
An icy chill ran down my back. This was no longer a game. I set the card next to the others in the bottom drawer of the dresser, then slammed the door behind me. I frantically tried to think about something beautiful as I ran down the stairs.
During breakfast, my thoughts revolved tirelessly around the malicious messages I had received. My presence here was obviously greatly upsetting to someone. But why? Who would go to such lengths to scare me away from here? No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t figure out the card’s author or their motive.
“Elisa, can you please pass me the marmalade?”
Startled, I looked at my cousin Kristina, who sat across from me at the breakfast table. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t alone. “Of course,” I said, taken a bit back, as I passed the jam to her. It was the first time in six years that Kristina had spoken to me directly.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Acting as though this wasn’t a watershed moment for us, she causally spread marmalade on her toast and then took a bite. I would have loved to set aside the misunderstandings between us, but there was no way to resolve anything here at breakfast, in the presence of others. I decided to wait for a better opportunity to talk to her.
And so I put another family meal behind me. I’d only been here four days, but the mood was so tense that it felt much longer—especially all those nerve-racking hours at the dinner table. If it kept up like this, I would undoubtedly develop some kind of eating disorder.
Caught up in these disillusioned thoughts, I grabbed my camera and left the house, which felt more like a prison than a home at the moment. “Elisa, wait a minute.”
I turned around on the last step and saw David standing at the front door.
“What?” I asked, impatiently adjusting my heavy camera bag. If I didn’t get a little time away from my relatives, I knew I’d snap. Too many unspoken things hung in the air, and behind every corner lurked a conflict.
“Your mother just called.”
“Finally,” I said. “It’s about time.”
David nodded.
“Should I call her back or did you already tell her about Uncle Matthias?”
“I told her already.” David hesitated for a moment, then ran down the stairs and stood close to me.
“And how did she react?”
“A little oddly,” he said, looking around. “She wanted me to tell you that you can’t stay here under any circumstances.”
Confused, I looked at David, whose own perplexed expression mirrored my own.
“Do you have any idea what she meant?” he asked.
I shook my head. “How did she take the news that Uncle Matthias is in the ICU?”
“Even though you apparently left a message on her voice mail, she still didn’t seem to be able to grasp it. She sounded exhausted on the phone.”
My heart was heavy as I thought about my mother, who was literally on the other side of the world and couldn’t do a thing to help.
Ever since my father’s death, she’d been very withdrawn. She seemed like a different person. With my encouragement, we’d moved to Berlin. I had been anxious to find her a job in a small gallery in Charlottenburg, but she had other ideas. After a year, she met Hubert—a somewhat cranky but sweet biology teacher—who could anticipate her every wish just by looking at her. This trip to New Zealand—a longtime dream for my mother—was the first vacation they had ever taken together.
It saddened me that her vacation was overshadowed by this bad news, because I knew that my mother and Uncle Matthias had always gotten along.
David came back to my mother’s strange command. “It was peculiar, because she seemed more concerned about you living with us than my dad’s heart attack.”
“That can’t be,” I objected. “You must have misunderstood.”
“No, I’m completely sure,” he persisted. “She said that you have to pack right away and move to a hotel. She says she’ll pay for everything.”
“That’s not really the issue,” I said.
“Why do you think she’d say such a thing?”
“I often don’t understand my mother’s thinking, which has been so irrational since my father died; she’s downright OCD these days.”
“I didn’t know.” David sighed deeply. “You’ve only just arrived, and we already seem to be letting you go.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t agree with him, because it seemed like one member of the Westphal family definitely wanted to see me disappear. But I didn’t want to tell anyone about the notes.
“I’m not going to leave here so fast,” I reassured David. “I’m not going anywhere until Uncle Matthias is better again.”
“Speaking of which, I’m headed over to the hospital now. Do you want to come?”
“No, I’d better not.” I dropped my gaze and studied the marbled pattern on the stairs. “I only seem to upset him. It can’t be good for his heart.”
Unfortunately, David couldn’t disagree. He squeezed me encouragingly on the shoulder. “Tomorrow is another day. We can try again then, okay?”
I looked at him and realized that he obviously wanted my company. Despite my concern for my uncle, and the threatening notes, I felt a flash of desire course through me. Would it ever stop? Would I always lose control of my heart every time David showed me the smallest kindness?
As I watched David walk away, I recalled the day that I fell in love with him once and for all.
It was the Christmas after my fourteenth birthday, when David came back to Düsseldorf. Kristina, Lukas, and I had become even closer during the three years that David was away at boarding school and could often understand each other without saying a word.
Fearful that David would go back to tyrannizing them again, the twins were understandably anxious about their stepbrother’s homecoming. The years without him had been harmonic and easygoing.
I, however, felt some sympathy for David, imagining how terrible it must be to live in another country, separated from my family. The pictures that Aunt Helen had brought back from her visit showed a gloomy old building in a barren landscape and lots of pale boys in formal-looking uniforms. I imagined that it never stopped raining and that the food was unbearable.
Shuttered Life Page 5