“I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” she yelled. She stopped suddenly in front of me. “Did you ever wonder what the last few years have been like for me?”
“Kristina . . .” I stood up and took a step toward her.
“You just disappeared. Dropped off the face of the earth completely.”
I watched a few fat tears trickle down her well-proportioned face; she wiped them away angrily.
“I called you all the time that first year, but you just hung up as soon as you heard it was me.”
“I don’t know how I can make it up to you.” I patted her arm and felt her tremble. “But can’t you understand even a bit? Everything here reminded me of my father. I couldn’t handle anything connected to that period.”
She looked at the floor and nodded slowly. Her long hair covered her face.
“Yes,” mumbled Kristina, “but I missed you so much.”
Tears formed in my eyes as I took her in my arms and squeezed her tight to me.
As I did so, I recalled the last time we had seen each other.
From the moment when David and I reached the hospital until my father’s funeral, I observed the world around me very selectively, as though through a veil. I can hardly remember certain episodes from that period, while others are seared into my memory. One of these painful memories was the trip back from the small cemetery where my father was interred in the family crypt.
David—who hadn’t left my side for days—was keeping me company in the living room after my father’s funeral and tried to persuade me to eat something. I refused since I felt like I might throw up even at the thought of food.
I sat mutely on the chaise lounge next to the fireplace and watched as my relatives gathered for the memorial service. I hadn’t seen many of them for years, and if one more old bag stroked my hair and expressed her pity for me or told me how much I’d grown, I would scream.
My gaze fell to my hands, which were clutching a mug of hot chocolate so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I had begun biting my nails again, which was not a pretty sight. Another not so pretty sight was my black stockings, which had multiple runs, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.
We had just buried my father, and now everything was supposed to be well and good again. It all felt surreal. I kept waiting for him, as though he might come through the door and ask what everyone was so sad about. The police report revealed that my mother had lost control of the car on a curve. The car went off the road and crashed into a tree; the passenger seat where my father sat had taken the brunt of the blow. My mother, who had only gotten a few bruises, was able to use her cell phone to call the ambulance. Though it had arrived at the scene in a timely manner, my father had succumbed to his injuries at the hospital.
My uncle sat kitty-corner from me in his favorite chair and stroked one of the cocker spaniels that sat at his feet. It seemed like he would completely blend into his surroundings, concentrating only on both of the dogs. Unable to accept that his younger brother wouldn’t wake up from his coma, he looked as though he had aged several years in the last few days. His face was deeply creased and he’d never looked so pale.
My aunt bustled around him like a clucking hen, trying in vain to tear him out of his lethargy. She looked elegant and beautiful in her black slip dress, but my uncle didn’t even notice her.
“Do you want something to eat?” David asked, holding a slice of marble cake under my nose.
“No.”
“Elisa, you haven’t eaten anything for days.”
“I’m just not hungry.”
“But you really need to eat something.”
Sighing, I took the plate and tried to swallow a small bite of cake so that David would give it a rest.
“Should we stay here or do you want to go upstairs?” he asked, gently brushing a lock of hair out of my face.
“Why are you being so nice to me? That’s unusual for you.”
“Agreed,” he replied and coughed. “Do you remember when I came home after those three years away at boarding school?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You were the only one who stuck by me and didn’t treat me like a leper.”
“I felt awfully sorry for you when I saw you sitting on the front steps in the icy cold. It looked like you didn’t even trust yourself to come in to your own house.”
David grinned. “Did you know that those vanilla cookies have been my favorite cookie ever since?”
“Really?”
He nodded. “And now it’s my chance to make amends.”
Before I could respond, Agathe walked in to the room. When she saw my aunt, she went over and whispered something in her ear.
David and I watched as Aunt Helen hurried out of the room with Agathe, throwing me a look that I couldn’t interpret.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I asked David.
“No, but it doesn’t look good.” He set the plate down and held his hand out to me, which I grabbed. His strong yet warm grasp made me feel more secure.
As we followed my aunt and Agathe up to the second floor, I had a bad feeling. My mother had gone straight up to the guest room right after the funeral.
As we climbed the last step, we heard a clipped scream that seemed to come from my uncle’s office. My aunt ran into the room. David and I approached the wide open door and stopped, aghast.
My mother was spinning around the room like a whirling dervish, ripping papers and books off the shelves. She was screamed incessantly, something about this being her punishment and that the past always catches up with you.
The look on my mother’s face sent a chill down my spine. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t calm her down. She scattered the scraps of paper around the room as if they were confetti and seemed more and more delusional. In a daze, I watched as Uncle Matthias stormed through the door and tried to calm my screaming mother. As the last shreds of paper sailed to the floor, my mother collapsed on the floor sobbing.
Paralyzed with shock, I focused all my attention on trying to breathe evenly. Through the open balcony door, my eyes fell on the small bergamot trees that my uncle had brought back many years ago from a vacation to the Amalfi Coast. The white flowers swayed gently in the wind, which carried the fresh but pungent scent into the room.
Though my uncle eventually managed to calm my mother down somewhat, he looked wrecked. His face had grown even more pale and gleamed with sweat. David led him to his desk chair and asked Agathe to get a glass of water. I looked at my aunt and was horrified. Her face contorted by a venomous expression I had never seen before, she stared at my mother, whom she apparently held responsible for her husband’s condition. Aunt Helen stormed up to my mother in a rage and gave her a violent shove. My aunt screamed that my mother was to blame, that she had brought misfortune upon the family, and she cursed the day that my mother first set foot in this house.
My mother stood completely apathetic in the middle of the room and let the allegations rain down on her. She stared into space, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. This must have only made Aunt Helen even angrier, because she seized my mother by the shoulders and shook her.
I watched it all as though in a trance. I no longer understood anything. Only when Aunt Helen accused my mother of having deliberately caused the accident did I snap back to myself. I pulled Aunt Helen away from my mother and stood between them, shielding her.
As I stood there trembling with anger, I wondered how I had gotten myself into this nightmare. It just couldn’t be true.
But my aunt seemed to be just getting started. “Don’t you dare,” she screamed, her voice almost cracking, “don’t you dare ever set foot in this house again!”
“Aunt Helen, stop it right now!”
“You’re to blame for all of this. You were in the driver’s seat.” Aunt Helen narrowed her eyes at
my mother, who was still in a fog of apathy.
“It was an accident! She couldn’t do anything about it!” I said. But I gradually realized that I couldn’t go on like this. Seeking help, I looked at David, who was caring for his stepfather. He only shrugged—evidently, he’d never seen his mother like this either.
“You should have been the one to die, not Arndt!” screamed Aunt Helen.
My stomach lurched at her horrible words.
Agathe appeared in the doorway with a glass of water and took in the scene with a look of horror on her face. Kristina appeared behind her and tried to peek inside.
“Kristina,” I said, waving to my cousin to enter in hopes that she could bring Aunt Helen to her senses. Aunt Helen was still hurling insults at my mother like a madwoman. But Kristina was completely overcome by the situation and stopped dead in her tracks.
My aunt yanked me toward her by my arm. “I never want to see either of you in this house again. Do you understand me?”
“What?”
“Did you not understand?” she screamed, her face crimson. “You are both dead to all of us!” And with that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
David escorted his stepfather onto the balcony, presumably to get some fresh air, and Kristina started to collect the scraps of paper off the floor. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Agathe and I brought my mother to the guest room, where I immediately began to pack our things. We wouldn’t stay here a minute longer.
David appeared as I snapped the suitcase shut. He looked at the packed suitcase, and its meaning was immediately clear to him.
“Please don’t go,” he said, blocking my way.
“Do you seriously believe that we’re staying after this . . . ?” I asked, faltering, because I was at a loss for words.
David shook his head sadly.
“I know she’s always blamed my mother for the accident. But to accuse her of that to her face is too much.”
“I know,” said David. He put a hand on my shoulder, which I roughly brushed off. “My mom is completely overwhelmed by the situation.”
“Overwhelmed?” I said snidely.
“Yes, she’s panic-stricken about my stepdad. She’s scared that he won’t be able to bear the death of his brother.”
I too had this fear. To some extent, I could understand my relatives. It was simply a fact that my mother had been in the driver’s seat and was not necessarily known to be the safest driver. Nevertheless, my mother and I had to get out of there as soon as possible.
“Won’t you even think it over?” David asked with a pleading tone in his voice that I had never heard before.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He took a step toward me, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed my forehead.
I watched him as he quickly left the room.
Even though Aunt Helen formally apologized for her behavior the next day, I didn’t change our plan, which was to leave Düsseldorf. My mother and I would be haunted by memories of my father everywhere we turned if we stayed here.
Because my mother had grown up in Berlin, that was the obvious place to start anew.
Shortly after we got there, I received a called from a worried Kristina. Aunt Helen was heartbroken over our sudden departure and didn’t want to fight anymore. But I hadn’t forgiven her yet for the way she had treated my mother, and I stood by my decision. Kristina, who was worried about her own mother, admittedly couldn’t understand my decision, but I knew that every encounter with my relatives would inevitably remind me of my father. It just seemed easiest to break off contact altogether. Lukas, who understood my reasoning but didn’t approve, called me countless times to try to convince me to come back to Düsseldorf.
I left David’s occasional messages unanswered too—something that took more strength than I wanted to admit.
Relieved that Kristina and I had finally spoken, I grabbed my bright-blue raincoat and my camera, swung onto my bike, and pedaled down to the lake.
Feeling liberated, I breathed in the clear air that smelled marvelous and fresh after the rain. I swerved around the puddles that were left behind by the rain shower this morning.
My thoughts swirled, refusing to be still. It occurred to me that if just one more piece of the puzzle fell into place, then I’d be able to tell what had happened in the Westphal house. But that piece of the puzzle seemed to be undiscoverable.
When I reached the lake, I leaned the bike against the jetty and looked around for a suitable subject to photograph. I walked over the wooden planks of the small jetty—still slippery from the rain—and pointed the lens at the dark lake.
The rain had ceased, but the wind powerfully drove the clouds along the sky. Every time the sun broke through the white clouds, the light reflected dramatically on the surface of the water.
The more I fired the shutter, the calmer I became. Slowly, my heartbeat adjusted to every hum and click of the old camera. With each shot, I found my way back to myself.
I crept into Elisa’s room unnoticed and looked around. I absolutely had to find out how much she knew. Too much was riding on this.
I quietly opened the wardrobe and examined her hodgepodge of clothes. Uninteresting. Had she ever kept a journal?
I went over to the small bureau and pulled out one drawer after another. But I didn’t find any answers to my question there either.
Steps in the hall caused me to pause. Damn! Was Elisa already back?
What should I do? Leave the room? But then she would definitely discover me. When the steps stopped in front of the door to the room, I realized I had no choice. I slipped into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door.
Pleased with my work, I walked down the hall to my room. I took a close look around when I entered, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. Relieved, I set my camera on the bureau and hung my raincoat in the wardrobe.
My heart stopped as Elisa entered the room. How would I explain my presence in her bathroom? My pulse accelerated and I felt myself being dragged further down into the spiral of insanity. My thoughts spun faster and faster, tormenting me.
I wondered what to do next. I didn’t trust myself to visit my uncle again because I was afraid of his reaction. What if he still though I was my mother? In the end, he’d just get upset, which would slow his recovery.
My stomach growled, and I had to grin. Earlier I’d seen a tempting lemon cake in the kitchen. Perhaps I could mooch a small piece off Agathe.
As I left the room, I had that funny feeling I was being watched again.
I listened to my beating heart as Elisa left the room. I waited for a moment in the bathroom, then slipped out, taking one last glance around her room as I left without a sound.
The atmosphere at dinner could almost have been described as exuberant. Aunt Helen had received more good news from the hospital. Even Uncle Justus was joking around—a circumstance as frightening as it was rare.
When I opened my napkin, a small card fell out. I picked it up inconspicuously and read the familiar typewritten lettering:
Only justice brings peace.
A wave of fear surged through me. My fingers trembling, I stuck the message in my pants pocket and focused on trying to hide my feelings.
A flicker of malicious joy shot through me as I watched Elisa read my message.
She looked around uncertainly but seemed unable to determine anything suspicious. How could she? Anyone could have hidden the card there. My plan seemed to be working; a few messages and a bit of a destructive frenzy, and I would be rid of her.
Lukas was in much better spirits now that his father was on the road to recovery, even going so far as to invite Kristina and me to a Franz Ferdinand concert to which he’d gotten last-minute tickets.
Eager for a distraction from my myste
rious pen pal, I accepted the invitation.
While I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and applied my makeup, I tried to make sense of the messages. Who wanted justice? Even more importantly, why?
Noticing that I’d smeared eyeliner on my hand, I took the soap that my uncle always ordered from Italy and began to wash it off. The scent that reached my nose seemed familiar. I closed my eyes and smelled the soap. Of course. Bergamot.
I went back to my room and opened the wardrobe. Unfortunately, I’d left my best clothes in Berlin, so my options were limited.
The sound of my cell phone ringing interrupted my fashion dilemma. But one look at the display—my ex-boyfriend—and I rejected the call. When would my mother call? I could have used her advice right about now.
I hastily left the guest room and knocked on Kristina’s door. As I waited to be invited in, I saw Valerie hurrying along the hall with tears pouring down her cheeks.
When she saw me, she stopped and turned on her heel, but not before giving me a venomous look.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel sorry for her. David had probably just told her once more, in no uncertain terms, that their relationship was over. A fact that left me as cold as everything else.
When I opened the door, I saw that Kristina was also scouring her wardrobe.
“Can I borrow something from you? All of my clothes are in Berlin.”
“Of course,” she stepped back and pointed to the contents of her wardrobe. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” While I looked through her clothes, I asked as innocuously as possible, “What’s up with David and Valerie? Trouble in paradise?”
Kristina, who had made herself comfortable on the sofa, looked like she had no idea. “How come?”
“Because Valerie just walked by me in tears.”
“For real?”
I brandished a hanger threateningly. “Now would I lie about that?”
My cousin crossed her arms over her chest. “So,” she began, then paused dramatically. “Lukas and I are hoping that David will finally get kicked out.”
Shuttered Life Page 7