by Sylvia True
“If it is, would you give it to me?”
He nibbled his toast. She brushed a crumb from the side of his mouth. “You already have more of me than anyone,” he told her, which she knew to be true.
A good portion of his time was spent meeting clients to whom he could sell expensive luggage, purses, and briefcases. He also liked to meet politicians, more in England now than Germany. Yet still, he did not hide from the Nazis. He went to their clubs, talked diplomatically to them about their views, and tried to get a few of them to see how dangerous it might be to follow Hitler. He didn’t have much success, but he was determined.
His life was like an overflowing cupboard. There was not enough space for everything he was interested in. Painting and fishing were his central passions, trumping even his passion for women. Inga knew that she was not his only lover. He had made it clear early on that he loved women, every aspect of them, and the one thing he couldn’t tolerate was a jealous mistress. He already had a jealous wife to contend with, which was more than enough for him.
Fred picked up his coffee. “What do you imagine it would be like? To be married to me?”
She hadn’t really thought much about the marriage itself, it was more the idea that it would ground her somehow, give her more of a purpose—the wife of Fred. She imagined it would stop the unease she always carried. “I would see you more often,” she said, grinning.
“You would not worry that I would find another woman?” When he smiled, he had one small dimple under his right eye. She reached across the table and caressed his cheek.
“I know how to keep a man,” she told him.
He nodded, his eyes catching the light reflected by the crystal chandelier. “I believe you do. But the same cannot be said of me. I’m afraid I would not be able to keep you.”
“But you would have me,” she said.
“Not for long,” he replied. “You have a wandering spirit and excitement will always be right outside of your door. It will not, my dearest, be in your home.”
She pouted playfully. “I have never been unfaithful to you.” “Because you are free to do what you like. If we lived together, we would disagree about what bread to buy, about if I should have two or three cups of coffee for breakfast. You would want paintings of landscape, and I would want still-life. We would become a pair of squabbling ducks.”
She held her head high. “I prefer to be a swan.”
“Yes,” he said. “They have the more difficult disposition.”
After breakfast, they returned to her bedroom. He left that evening, and although she was sad to see him go, she knew the building anticipation at seeing him again would be her reward.
Inga stayed another week at Baden-Baden. She took long walks in the Black Forest and thought about the freedom that marriage to Klaus provided her. If she divorced, she would be viewed as a societal inferior—or worse, a woman soliciting a man. Fred had understood her, perhaps better than she understood herself. A marriage to him would not make her miss her sister any less, or settle the apprehension about leaving Rigmor in a place that had not inspired quite enough confidence in Inga.
Chapter Thirteen
Tablecloths
Belmont, Massachusetts 1984
Sabine’s knee bounced as she twisted off the cap of the saltshaker, while Helen painted her nails.
“I didn’t want Omama here. She would have made me crazy.” Sabine screwed the lid back on. “But I feel guilty for making her leave. I should have been nicer.”
On top of the guilt there was the fear that her panic was worsening. The previous night had been rough. Only a couple of hours of sleep, and a nightmare in which she was tied to a bed as a tarantula crawled on her chin, one of its legs dipping into her mouth.
Helen blew on her fingertips. She had rounds the next morning, and no one went to rounds looking more perfect, more put together, more unlike a patient, than Helen. And no one came out with fewer privileges.
“You probably weren’t as bad as you think,” Helen said.
“I wasn’t nice,” Sabine insisted. “She gets under my skin. Telling me how to keep a man. It’s ridiculous. What year does she think we’re living in?” Her leg bounced and she wondered if a Xanax would help.
“It sounds as if it’s better that she left.” Helen polished the nails on her other hand.
Frank charged in. “You have a visitor,” he said to Sabine. “They brought the artillery.”
Sabine glanced down the hall, her eyes widening. It couldn’t be. There were two people, her grandmother being one. The other woman wore a nursing uniform, pushed a stroller with one hand and carried something that looked like a folded playpen in the other. Omama pulled a large suitcase on wheels. What the fuck? “Omama.” Sabine walked toward them. “I thought…”
“I decided I still had a purpose here.” She stopped. “Come, help me pull this case.”
Sabine didn’t move. She looked into the stroller, saw Mia, who was clutching a yellow plastic key ring, and reached in. But a hand pulled her arm away.
“She just finished eating,” the nurse said. “She had a good burp. I think it’s best if you leave her where she is.” Her manner was firm.
“Please get the case for me,” Omama instructed. Also firm.
But Sabine couldn’t not hold her baby. She reached in again.
“You can pick her up as soon as we settle in the dining room,” Omama said. “It won’t be long.”
Feeling as if she was in the middle of some alternate reality, Sabine did what her grandmother asked.
In the dining area, Omama pointed to the left corner. “I think that is where we should set up,” she told the nurse, who kicked up the lock on the stroller and proceeded to open the playpen.
“Sabine,” Omama said. “Please put the case here.” With two fingers, she gave the desired table a few firm taps.
Sabine looked at Helen, who watched, amused and baffled. Omama unzipped the suitcase, taking out diapers and wipes. “I hired Cathy. She will fetch Mia in the morning from her child-minding center, bring her to my hotel, and then we will all come here.” She counted the diapers and stacked them on another table. “She is fully licensed and is excellent with babies.”
“But…”
“There are no buts,” Omama stated. “This is what must be done. Tanner is a busy man, and one day he will do well for you. But he must be given the time he needs.”
There was no way this was going to be allowed. Out of the suitcase came baby clothes, a can of formula and a few burp cloths.
Sabine leaned over the stroller. Whatever was happening, as surreal and Mary Poppins as it felt, the ache that was lodged in her throat all morning was gone.
“I think you should keep Mia’s clothing in your room,” Omama said, handing Sabine a few dresses, tights and onesies.
Sabine put the clothes on another table and reached for Mia.
Cathy rested a burp cloth on Sabine’s shoulder. “She’s a beautiful baby.”
“Thanks,” Sabine said, not sure how to act with this new nurse, or was she a nanny? Was she going to tell Sabine how to be a mother?
“She might need to be changed soon,” Cathy said.
Sabine backed away from the woman whose mouth slanted downward.
In an hour, or in ten minutes, this whole caravan would probably be asked to leave, and Sabine was going to make sure she made the most of the time she had.
“Cathy is a good nurse,” Omama said.
“I don’t need a nurse to help with Mia,” Sabine whispered, not wanting to hurt Cathy’s feelings.
“You wanted to see your child,” Omama said. She broke the stack of diapers into two piles.
“I did. But tomorrow is rounds, and I was going to ask them if I could have Mia stay with me alone now. John said I might get that privilege.”
“It should not be a privilege for you to have your baby here. It should be a right.”
Sabine moved back a few more steps and nodded to Omama, so
they could speak privately. “They probably won’t let Cathy stay,” she whispered.
Omama did not whisper. “I interviewed four people yesterday and she was the best.”
The weight of Mia on Sabine’s chest felt glorious. “I’m really grateful that you did this. But…”
“You needed the help,” Omama said. “And it is here. I have spoken to a doctor who is very high up. He has agreed to this, so you needn’t worry.”
“Who?” Sabine asked.
“A man with the name of Holgart.”
“But I don’t need a nurse.”
“Someone must fetch her in the mornings and bring her back in the evening. I cannot drive. And the nurse is paid for a month. You may use her as you see fit.”
“I won’t be here that long.” A month felt unfathomable. If she was locked up for that long, she would definitely go crazy.
“Then you can use her to help around the house, if you like. Most women have nurses after they have a baby.”
Sabine didn’t argue that that was actually not the case. At least not in this country, not in nineteen eighty-four.
Cathy finished setting up and Mia began to fuss. Sabine walked back and forth with the baby, cajoling her, jiggling her—whispering to her. Cathy handed Sabine a bottle of formula.
“She might need a top up on her lunch.”
“Thanks.” Sabine took the bottle that she would have preferred to get herself and went to sit with Helen, leaving Omama and Cathy in the corner by the playpen, stroller, diapers, and various other baby necessities.
Mia ate with gusto. “This setup is insane,” Sabine whispered to Helen.
Helen looked at the baby. “At least you have her.”
“You think they’re really going to allow this? To have a nurse and my grandmother on guard?”
“Technically they’re visitors,” Helen replied. “If they leave by eight, they aren’t breaking any rules.”
Sabine heard rustling in the background, but didn’t turn around. “What’s going on?” she asked Helen, who grinned.
“Your grandmother brought tablecloths. White ones. Linen I think.”
“She did not.”
Helen leaned to the right, her face open and happy. “She most certainly did. And honestly, they look good.”
A couple of minutes later, Omama gestured for them to move out of the way. She shook out the tablecloth like a picnic blanket and then covered the cheap veneer.
“They’re never going to allow these,” Sabine said to Omama.
“Why on earth not?” she asked.
Sabine couldn’t think of a good answer. “Because this is a mental hospital, not a hotel.”
“You might not believe I know much of anything,” Omama said. “But sometimes it’s the small things that help. When people have a nicer surrounding, they are more apt to feel better. You’ll see. And they will agree because Holgart has made sure to allow it.”
“How did you meet him?” Sabine asked.
“A friend of a friend.” She walked to the next table.
Mia finished eating, and Sabine asked Helen if she wanted to hold the baby. “Really?” Helen asked.
“Why not? We’ll just get Dr. Holgart to approve.”
Helen looked content as she rocked Mia, and Sabine felt happy she could give something to her friend, who was so generous, always willing to listen to whatever was on Sabine’s mind.
Sabine watched Omama put ivory lace overlays on top of the tablecloths.
“Thank you,” she called across the room.
The arrangement, which Sabine discovered when Omama had finished with the tables, consisted of Cathy bringing Omama and Mia to the hospital at about one in the afternoon every day, and staying until six, at which time, Cathy would bring Mia home, and get her ready for bed so that Tanner could be free to do whatever he wanted to do. Probably drink a few beers and watch a hockey game.
Among the nurses there were shrugs mixed with smiles and a few frowns of disapproval, but John liked it. He claimed people were more polite to one another, and the overall mood of the hall improved.
Omama continued to bring in more items—a kettle, a small vase with fresh flowers for each table. There were new teacups, still plastic, but white with a golden rim. She brought fresh cookies that she insisted were biscuits, a fancy word that most of the patients went along with, except Brenda, who kept saying the whole situation was fucked. People weren’t here to be served in a teahouse, she said, they were here because they were sick, and they didn’t need some old hag rushing around, serving them, or some weird woman with the face of a weasel standing there in a starched white uniform.
Sabine thought Brenda made some good points.
* * *
The florist’s assistant delivered daises, carnations and roses at two in the afternoon. The laundering service came for the linens at three. Inga checked daily on the supply of tea and biscuits, and considered adding cake and fresh fruit to the menu. Those were the simple tasks. More difficult, and much more important, was the question of what Sabine would do with herself when she got out.
She wouldn’t have Helen as a constant companion. She wouldn’t have Cece’s entertaining stories, or Keith, who leaned on Sabine as if she was a surrogate mother.
Inga sat at a small table, next to the swinging door of the kitchen. When Sabine returned from therapy, she asked her granddaughter to join her.
“What will you do when you leave here?” she asked.
Sabine pulled back, as if the question was some sort of affront. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take care of Mia. I’ll still go to therapy with Dr. Lincoln.”
“Yes—but what will you do for you, for Sabine. What is it that you want?”
“All I want is to be well enough to take care of Mia.”
“But that is not enough,” Inga said. “Having children is wonderful, but you must have something for you.”
“What did you have?” Sabine asked, a ripple of anger under the question.
Inga took a breath. She was here to help, not to antagonize. “Well, for one, I had Fred.”
Sabine gave a sideways glance.
“We travelled all over the world,” Inga continued. “It was interesting and exciting. I learned about different cultures and spoke different languages.”
Sabine half chuckled. “I’m not about to become a world traveler.”
Inga smiled. “Agreed.” She and Fred had climbed Machu Picchu, visited the pyramids in Egypt, and walked along the Great Wall of China. The more foreign the culture, the more at ease Inga felt. “But there are many other things that you can do that are fulfilling.”
“Aside from Fred, what else did you do?” Sabine asked.
“I painted. As you know.” Inga looked around at the blank walls. “I did watercolors. Then I began to paint porcelain. I was involved in classes. I play bridge now, which is good for the brain. I help my neighbor, Frau Chop. I do the floral arrangements for the nursing home in the village on occasion. I am still very active with my garden. I…”
“OK, I get it,” Sabine said. “I should find a hobby.”
Inga shook her head. “You should find a passion. Something you want to learn about. Something you are truly interested in. I never really got the idea, since you were just a child, that you had a lot of interests. I remember how Henri, even as a small boy, would go to the woods and sit for hours, waiting to see deer.” She smiled. “And now your brother is almost finished getting his doctorate degree from Cambridge University. At this very moment he is in Africa tiptoeing in the jungle, trying to find some new species of rat.”
Thinking of Henri always made Inga feel bubbly. Sadly, that feeling was often followed by one of dismay at how Gerald had treated Henri.
“That your father was so horrible to him. I cannot forgive that.”
“He wasn’t as bad as you think.”
The muscles in Inga’s face tightened. “I was visiting one summer. You might have only been four.” Even just thinking abo
ut that man made her blood feel hot. “He actually kicked Henri, the way some people kick a dog. And poor Henri, he was so utterly shocked and hurt. He had done nothing wrong.”
“My father was angry, but I always felt kind of bad for him. Like underneath everything he was just frightened.”
“That is probably the case, but it’s no excuse.”
“Mutti told me he was beaten by the Nazis before he fled, but he won’t talk about it.”
“Yes, Fred said something similar. I have to admit that when I met your father, I found him reasonable, although he did have a habit of staring at the ceiling as if he was always contemplating some obscure particle.” She chuckled. “I suppose that’s what particle physicists do.”
“He’s a theoretical nuclear physicist,” Sabine corrected.
Inga waved a dismissive hand. “He is what he is. But he is correct in not talking about Germany. There is no reason. And I will say this, your mother was very brave to put up with him.”
“Maybe,” Sabine replied. “But she kind of likes to be the winner at everything.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Inga asked.
“She was the bravest. She’s competitive. You have to be to win a national skating championship.”
“I had never thought of it that way.” Inga smiled. She liked this version of Lisbet, the competitor, not the weak woman who was so afraid to be alone, she put up with a brute. Inga’s mind worked quickly at revising. Yes, Lisbet allowed Gerald to yell, but in no way did that give him the power. In fact, now that Inga thought of it, Lisbet did exactly what she wanted. She wanted to have the children, and so she made that happen. She wanted to teach skating, and so she made that happen as well. She was able to get people on her side, including Sabine.
“You know,” Inga began. “I remember when you and your mother were at the chalet and she cried so about your father. You were such a comfort to her. The way you caressed her arm and told her she was wonderful. In that way you were very much like my sister.”
“You had a sister?” Sabine asked.
“I did.” Inga felt her heart skip a beat.
“I never knew that,” Sabine said.