How German Is It

by Walter Abish

  Later, when she said: I was waiting for you to come here. I was hoping that you would—he accepted her remark uncritically, despite his awareness that only a week ago she had been occupying his brother’s bed and walking naked to his brother’s kitchen to prepare a snack in the same way that she was now about to do.

  He had no reason to think about Helmuth. Still, who else could visualize her in this apartment—that is to say, who else was sufficiently familiar with its layout? The mayor? Jonke?

  But it was not jealousy. Far from it. No. It was an idle speculation as he, Ulrich, watched her crouching between his legs, crouching on the geometric patterns of the Swedish or Danish carpet, attempting to give him pleasure, while he sat there, content to look at her bent head, at her long hair, at her hands holding him … ingesting him, a familiar ritualistic act focused on his erection while he, not deliberately, restrained his pleasure, aware suddenly of an overwhelming distance, an unbridgable distance that was accentuated or heightened by the presence of her cat sitting on the doorsill, staring at him unblinkingly …

  So later, when she, perhaps quite innocuously, asked: Why did you really come here?—he felt that only now were they approaching a moment of truth. Namely, the truth of her inquiry, although he had no idea or wish to know what that truth might entail. I came to visit Helmuth. He felt no awkwardness mentioning the name of the man who was his brother and who until a short time ago happened to be her lover.

  I don’t really believe you, she said.

  What other reason could I have?

  She laughed. You are devious. Helmuth said you were devious.

  Really?

  You don’t think of yourself as being devious.

  Not intentionally. I have nothing to be devious about.

  But you do, she said.

  Then he remembered that Helmuth had told him that Anna Heller, the schoolteacher, had been the last person he knew who had seen Paula. It would have been so simple to ask her about it. But he did not. He did not because he was expected to. He did not because they, she and the others, were waiting to tell him everything he did not want to know about Paula. It was as simple as that. He was denying them a certain satisfaction.

  Helmuth mentioned that your father was shot in 1944.

  Did he say shot or executed? Yes. He was a true Hargenau. Not many left.

  Ah, being ironic about your family.

  No. About myself.

  I wonder why your brother would never speak about your mother. He froze when I mentioned her.

  I haven’t the vaguest idea.

  Is she still alive?

  Very much so.

  Where is she now?

  My mother? I haven’t seen her in ages. She moves about a lot. But, let’s speak about something far more interesting than my mother. Let’s talk about your secret.

  I have no secrets. Schoolteachers, as you should know, are an open book.

  To everyone?

  She leaned forward and kissed him again.

  Yes.

  How open?

  Well by now, everyone must know that after the mayor I lived with your brother. Now they’re wondering who will be next.

  Is it as simple as that?

  For people who follow these events, yes. One person follows another.

  I follow my brother?

  I think not.

  Why not?

  I just think not.

  .

  30

  Could everything be different?

  Ulrich received the coloring book in the mail from Daphne. The package was postmarked Hamburg. How did she know where to find him? No note. Just the coloring book entitled, Unser Deutschland. And on every single page, handwritten, the words: Wo bist du denn? Where are you?

  Was it in her hand? What did it mean?

  The oblong-shaped booklet was wrapped in brown packing paper and tied with twine. Printed beneath each drawing were the words: See color key inside front cover. Also, a tiny replica of the drawing, with each object in the drawing bearing a color key number. Numbers 1, 2, and 3 were shades of green from light to dark, 4 was yellow, 5, 6, and 7 were three shades of orange from light to dark, 8, 9, and 10 three shades of purple, 11, 12, and 13 three shades of blue, 14 was brown, 15 was red, 16 was white, and 17, the final color on the chart, was black.

  Page one showed a busy airport. A section of a large terminal with the square control tower to the left. Cars parked in the foreground. On the right, a large jumbo jet was taxiing for a takeoff, and against the cloudy sky two jets could be seen at different altitudes, one approaching, one departing.

  What could she mean by the question: Wo bist du denn?

  Page two depicted a German highway. In the approaching convertible a young woman next to the driver was wearing a long silk scarf that was fluttering in the wind. On the opposite side of the road, a sign informed drivers they were approaching the city limits of Gänzlich.

  Another page of the coloring book showed a schoolteacher, a young woman, in front of the blackboard, pointing with a ruler to the hand-lettered question: COULD EVERYTHING BE DIFFERENT? Framed in the classroom windows was a pleasant, tranquil-looking landscape. At least two of the students were inattentive, one furtively reading a note, while the other was dreamily gazing out of the window. How could he determine that she was dreamily gazing out of the window from such an unsophisticated drawing? Was it inferred? Was it implied? That page, like all the others carried the handwritten (Daphne’s?) question: Wo bist du denn?

  On the next page, a work crew was repairing a sewer pipe in a long freshly dug trench on a tree-lined street. A few passers-by stood watching the men in the trench. The owner of a nearby clothing store, arms folded, a look of disapproval on his face, contemplated the scene from the entrance to his store.

  On page fourteen, an ancient-looking railroad freight car stood on a siding parallel to a partially demolished railroad shed. There were weeds growing between the rails, and the signal box on the right was covered with ivy. The old crates stacked along the shed completed the desolate picture.

  Then a drawing of a young man wearing a visored military cap and a striped jersey astride a horse that was standing in the shallow part of a lake. The rider was barefoot and riding the horse bareback.

  On page eighteen, a group of small brick workers’ houses in the foreground with the tall chimneys of a factory visible above their roofs. On the brick wall of a garage to the left was the crudely hand-printed message: DAS WORT IST EIN MOLOTOV COCKTAIL!

  On page twenty-four, a group of German officers stood on the crest of a low hill in clusters of twos and threes observing a field maneuver with tanks, armored cars disgorging soldiers, and lines of crouching men advancing under covering fire against an entrenched unseen enemy on another hill. Several of the officers were following the mock battle with their fieldglasses, others were studying a map that one officer was holding, and to one side a number of officers were listening to a senior officer, who was pointing toward the distant hill. The pointing gesture reminded Ulrich of the schoolteacher pointing at the blackboard.

  Could one read anything into these drawings? Was it a message?

  On another page, a car accident. A pedestrian lying on the street, a rolled up coat or jacket tucked under his head, while a policeman kneeling at his side was administering first aid. The driver of the car that had mounted the sidewalk was still slumped over the wheel. Also in the picture, several bystanders, trees in bloom, a woman with a dog on a leash, people leaning out of their windows, and down the street an ambulance turning the corner on its way to the site of the accident.

  On the last page, a somewhat mystifying drawing of several young women carrying automatic weapons, their faces concealed behind gas masks, as they stood in a clearing of a thickly wooded area around the body of a man who was lying face down on the grass, arms outstretched.

  The only page which someone with a childlike abandon had crudely colored with wax crayons was a drawing of a young woman in a beach ch
air. To her left, more people in beach chairs or stretched out on the sand, sunning themselves. Near the water a massive-looking beachhouse. On the water, several sailboats.

  The one drawing which might have been included by mistake, was a drawing of the pyramids at Giza viewed from the southwest. It was also the only page that contained a caption describing, or rather naming, the pyramids. The question: Have you really given up the search?—followed by the initial D., was written in pencil on the tallest of the three pyramids. The writing was so faint that he had overlooked it the first time.

  .

  31

  Now or never

  At first, baffled—was this some kind of joke?—he stood in his polka-dot robe, staring at the three of them as they stood on the landing outside his door; he tried to recall if something he might have inadvertently said could somehow explain their presence at that hour of the morning. Rita with her omnipresent camera, Gisela clutching a butterfly net, and Egon with a white bag of what turned out to be crisp rolls from the bakery, which he held in front of him as one might an offering.

  Aren’t you going to ask us in? Egon reminded him.

  You might have called me first.

  Were you sleeping Uncle Ulrich? Gisela asked.

  Don’t ask him that question, said Egon.

  Yes, as a matter of fact …

  You see, said Rita. He’s not ashamed to admit it. All three with fixed smiles on their faces. All three sharing an evident desire, or so it seemed to Ulrich, to see how he lived.

  Here, said Egon. Fresh from the bakery.

  Crisp and tasty, said Rita. I’ve already had one.

  So have I, said Gisela.

  But we didn’t bring the butter or the jam.

  We’re simply dying for coffee, said Egon.

  I am out of milk, said Ulrich, still resenting their intrusion.

  This is really nice, said Rita, emphasizing the word “really,” as they entered his apartment.

  No wonder you don’t want to move in with us, said Gisela, stepping into the bedroom.

  Do we detect the presence of a lady somewhere? asked Egon.

  No, none in sight, said Rita …

  Unless she’s hiding, shouted Gisela.

  Gisela, you’re speaking to your uncle, said Egon.

  Messy bedroom, said Gisela, sitting down on the edge of the unmade bed.

  Since there is no milk, we’ll take it black, said Egon, standing at Ulrich’s desk, his head at a slant as he tried to read the sender’s name on an envelope.

  I don’t drink black coffee, Gisela announced.

  Parquet floors, nice furniture, a decent view as well. Do they come and clean up every day? asked Rita as she explored the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom.

  What on earth are you doing? Ulrich asked when he caught her photographing his unmade bed.

  I couldn’t resist, she said apologetically, while Egon burst into laughter. Observe Ulrich’s indignation, he said. As Rita was leaving the bedroom, she turned around with a quick practiced motion and, aiming her camera at the far wall to which Ulrich had attached a clipping from the newspaper with Paula’s picture, snapped another photograph.

  Gisela, peeking into the small refrigerator. But there is milk.

  It’s turned, Ulrich said.

  She removed the container, raised it to her nose. Sniffed. But Uncle Ulrich, it’s not. She looked at him with a half smile of doubt.

  I almost forgot, said Egon, as they drank their coffee. We’ve come to ask you to join us. Since Helmuth mentioned that someone had taken a pot shot at him, we thought we might in turn take a shot of the farm where it happened, perhaps even the man …

  And you’re taking Gisela along?

  We’re a family out for an outing. Papa, mama, and little Gisela.

  To avenge what happened?

  To unlock the riddle, of course, said Egon. Some of these writers are slow in the morning, he remarked to Rita.

  Are you sure you wish to unlock this particular riddle? Ulrich asked.

  Rita, restlessly on the prowl again, found the coloring book he had received. Just look at this, she announced, entering the kitchen, triumphantly waving the book in the air. A coloring book? Egon looked at him for an explanation.

  Let’s see, let’s see, Gisela cried.

  It’s a gift for someone.

  For me? asked Gisela.

  No.

  But sections of it are already colored in, Rita pointed out.

  So they are.

  She looked at it, mystified. What does this mean: Wo bist du denn?

  I can provide you with crisp rolls and butter, but no explanations, said Ulrich.

  Rita: Admit it, you admire strong and forceful women.

  I do?

  Yes, no equivocation for Ulrich, said Egon. I bet that the mayor’s wife has been here to see if there was anything Ulrich needed.

  Bullshit, said Ulrich.

  I’ve always meant to ask you. What is your mother like?

  Why not ask Helmuth, Ulrich said to Rita.

  Because the usually garrulous Helmuth is strangely reticent on that subject, said Egon. Mother? Why Helmuth pretends that you and he didn’t have a mother. But you do, don’t you? We all do, he said looking to Rita for confirmation.

  I have a mother, she said.

  You see, said Egon. And I too have a mother. I will gladly tell you anything you wish to know about my mother. She even, bless her heart, knits sweaters for my birthday. Does your mother knit?

  He is too reticent, said Rita.

  Gisela, here, seemed to indicate that there was a mother, in her case a grandmother, but that otherwise her lips were sealed.

  Ask Helmuth, said Ulrich. He is a font of knowledge.

  Ah, the sacred font.

  My, aren’t we getting literary, said Ulrich.

  I don’t think he’s going to talk, said Rita.

  Sure you won’t join us, said Egon. Pleasant ride, trees, lakes, sullen farmers.

  Not this time.

  No, agreed Egon. Not this time. But I have to point out that if we succeed in tracking down the man who took a shot at Helmuth, that is if Helmuth’s account is to be believed, there may not be another time.

  Would you like to stay? Ulrich asked Gisela.

  She said no. At the door, as they were leaving, Rita swiveled and, without raising her camera to her eye, aimed it at him from her waist. Click, click, click.

  An appreciative rumbling laugh from Egon. She’s good, isn’t she?

  Rita stuck out her tongue at Ulrich, which Gisela quickly emulated.

  I think they like you, said Egon.

  After they had left, Ulrich leafed through the pages of the coloring book, as if it were an atlas that would help him decide what to do next.

  Now or never.

  When he entered Anna’s apartment building he was challenged by the Hausmeister. Fourth floor, he said. Miss Anna Heller.

  Is she expecting you?

  Anna laughed when he mentioned this. Oscar is trying to protect my honor.

  An hour later, in bed, she said that she had decided to marry Jonke.

  The bookstore man?

  If you wish to put it that way.

  Why now.

  He asked me, and I said yes.

  When did he ask you?

  A few days ago.

  But I’ve been seeing you daily.

  Yes.

  Why did Jonke pick this particular time? You haven’t been going out with him.

  He might have decided that it was now or never.

  That’s the title of my last book, he pointed out.

  I intend to read it. Really.

  But, still, why Jonke?

  It’s quite simple. I don’t want to become the spinster in this place. He asked me, you didn’t.

  What if I ask you nicely?

  Ask me what?

  Ahh, that remains to be seen.

  I’m going to take a bath, she said, getting out of bed and slipping into a
robe.