by Annette Hess
Annegret shook the young mother’s hand. Then she stepped into the hallway, up to the stroller, and looked down at the little face that was nice and round again. “I wish you all the best, Christian.” Annegret placed her hand on his tiny chest in farewell. Christian pedaled his legs and sprayed drool out of happiness.
“I heard you stayed up with him for two nights. We will never forget that, my husband and I.”
Annegret gave a crooked but happy smile. “I was just doing my job.”
Annegret watched the young mother push the brand-new stroller down the hall and through the frosted glass doors. Doctor Küssner walked up, a tall, somber man with smooth features, early balding, and a prominent gold wedding band. He appeared deeply concerned: they had to get these E. coli cases under control! Annegret assured him that she exercised tremendous care with hygiene protocol at all times. Doctor Küssner dismissed this with a wave.
“I don’t mean you. The residents, though, they’ll use the bathroom and not wash their hands and then examine newborns. I’ll bring it up tomorrow, before the rounds.”
Annegret went into the first nursery, where fourteen infants lay in their bassinets. She checked the babies’ temperatures by placing her hand on their cheeks. Most were asleep. One little girl was awake and cooed adorably. Annegret picked her up and swayed gently from side to side, humming a song she had come up with herself. She had inherited her father’s tone deafness.
TWO HOURS LATER, Eva was on her way home. She didn’t even consider taking the streetcar, but set out on foot. She strode furiously through the slush, as though she never wanted to stand still again. Salt crystals and pebbles crunched under her heels or jumped and sprayed away. She was panting.
After the chief judge had adjourned the court until the coming Tuesday, Eva had watched incredulously as most of the defendants exited the auditorium through the main entrance, their passage unchallenged, as though it were a matter of course. Out in the foyer, her neighbor in the little hat linked arms with the main defendant, who turned his hawkish face toward her, and the two walked out onto the street like any other elegant couple. Eva then spied the light blond-haired man in one of the hallways and ran over somewhat rashly. She impolitely ignored the fact that he was in the middle of a conversation.
“Why are they free to go?!” she blurted out, as upset as a child over some injustice. But the blond man didn’t recognize her and turned away without answering. David Miller also passed by Eva without so much as a glance. The men rushed off to their important meetings. And she had been left there in the hallway, an entirely unimportant young lady alone with her questions, most of which she knew were naïve. Walking down the street now in the din of traffic, passed by countless clattering and speeding cars and trucks and mopeds, blasted and enveloped by the reek of exhaust fumes, she regretted having attended the opening at all. What did she have to do with this trial, this bygone world? She was out of place there. Miller and that other fellow had made that abundantly clear! Yet they were themselves incapable of keeping those criminals from walking the city streets!
“In our midst!” Eva exploded. She couldn’t remember ever having been so angry. Not even at Annegret, who had an unrivaled ability to infuriate Eva with her scornful obstinacy. Eva was nearly hit by a car as she unbuttoned her wool coat, and she bellowed “Idiot!” after the driver. She had never done anything like that before. Only prostitutes yelled in public. Had Jürgen heard that, he’d have had his worst fears confirmed: Berger Strasse. A barman’s daughter. Seedy home life. Something gurgled up in her like a spoiled meal that just had to be expelled and one would immediately feel much better. Eva coughed up bile but forced herself to swallow it. Unthinkable, to let herself go like this in public. She took a shortcut. Her route led through a charmingly snowy park. Upon closer inspection, however, she discovered that the snow was gray with soot. The trees stood there, bare and helpless. Eva slowed her pace and breath. A uniformed man stood on a plinth, wearing a crooked cap of snow. He gazed at Eva with what seemed like pity. A squirrel darted past and zigzagged over the path in front of her, as though playfully inviting her to follow. Lilly Toffler, Eva thought suddenly. Her name sounds so carefree. Like I’d have liked her. The squirrel scrambled up one of the tall tree trunks with astounding speed. The animal seemed to be laughing at her from up there, at how heavily and lethargically, how clumsily she walked that path, like all the others. Eva stopped. She thought back to the man whose eyes she’d felt on her as she stood all alone in the corridor outside the auditorium. It was the Hungarian man from the Sun Inn, Herr Cohn, who’d been among the spectators, after all. He had looked at her, out from under his black hat, and nodded almost imperceptibly. Or was she just hoping that? That he had recognized and greeted her? Yes. And then Eva knew what she had to do. She rushed out of the small park. But she didn’t go home. She boarded a No. 4 streetcar and took it to the office building she had entered for the first time in her life the past Sunday.
JÜRGEN LEFT THE SCHOORMANN OFFICE half an hour earlier than usual, to buy an engagement ring. He drove into the city, or rather, crept forward in an endless, fuming procession of metal. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung had recently dubbed this phenomenon “rush hour,” something that had previously been known to occur only in large American cities. Frankfurt had the most cars on the road of all West German cities, that much was undeniable. Jürgen liked his Lloyd just fine, but he still found it ridiculous, all the men in their hats, stuck behind the wheel, on their way home to “Mother.” Ready for the weekend. When did spouses begin addressing each other as “Mother” and “Father”? At the very moment their erotic relationship ended. When would his erotic relationship with Eva end? Jürgen shook his head at himself. What a question, when it hadn’t even yet begun. As he pulled up to a red light, his eyes fell on Santa Claus sitting in a big armchair in a shop window. It was a life-size figure with some sort of motorized system. Santa nodded kindly and tirelessly, surrounded by piles of gifts of various sizes. A few children were gathered at the window, the little ones spellbound, the older kids smirking: “It’s all just a fake!” Jürgen couldn’t remember ever having believed in Santa Claus. His mother had only ever mentioned the Christ Child. When the winter skies turned a rosy orange at sundown, she would say, “Look, Jürgen, the Christ Child is baking cookies!” His father dismissed Christmas as folklore, despite the fact that he always made a fortune on it. As they did for every holiday, he and Brigitte would be going to their house on the northernmost island in the North Sea. Jürgen would be alone on Christmas Eve, a thought that didn’t bother him. On the contrary: he enjoyed experiencing the miracle of Christmas on his own. He would attend midnight Mass and immerse himself in the festivities. Appearances to the contrary, he could be swept up in the joy everyone always sang about. Jürgen mused that it would also be the last Christmas he’d spend alone. He would be married next year. Eva would presumably be pregnant. Jürgen pictured her with a fat belly. Her breasts would grow too. She would be a good mother. The light turned green. But Jürgen didn’t move till the cars behind him began honking impatiently. He passed through the light, pulled over to the right, and double-parked in front of Krohmer Jewelry. The other drivers, who all had to pass him, tapped their temples at him in annoyance.
EVA FELT NERVOUS ENTERING the apartment above German House late that afternoon, because she saw Jürgen’s car parked outside. She hung up her coat in the hallway and listened. Animated voices were coming from the living room, then laughter, then swearing. Eva stepped into the doorway. There were Jürgen and her father, groaning and joking as they struggled to put up the Christmas tree. They hoisted the trunk into the cast-iron tree stand that had first belonged to Ludwig’s parents. Stefan had also grabbed hold. He was wearing brown leather gloves that were far too big for him. They belonged to Jürgen, who had lent them to him, because the tree’s needles were so “pricky.” Ludwig got on his knees and tightened the screws to secure the trunk. The tree slowly leaned toward the left. Edith
watched and made fun of her husband, who was so talented in the kitchen but not much use elsewhere.
“He’s all thumbs!” Stefan crowed.
“You have to unscrew it, Herr Bruhns. No, in the other direction . . .”
Ludwig turned the screw in the other direction and cursed.
“How do you expect the boy to turn out when he hears words like that coming from your mouth?” Edith scolded him.
“Oh, I’m a lost cause already,” Jürgen teased.
“Mummy means me. But I already know much badder words. Want to hear?”
“No!” Edith and Ludwig answered at the same time, and everyone laughed.
No one noticed Eva, who was standing in the door. Her gaze fell upon a tray with four champagne flutes and an unopened bottle of Rüdesheim sparkling wine on the table. She felt dizzy. She knew what that meant.
“Guten Tag,” she said. Everyone looked at her, and Jürgen even blushed a little. He held onto the tree and smiled.
“There you are, finally. We have something to celebrate,” her mother told her seriously. “Ludwig, the tree is fine!”
Ludwig stood up with a groan and grimaced as he straightened his back. He strode over to the table, seized the bottle of sparkling wine, and opened it swiftly, announcing, “Well, he did it. He’s asked for your hand.”
Eva had the impression he was fighting back tears. Jürgen took her hand and placed a small box in it. As Ludwig poured the wine, Stefan protested because he didn’t get a taste, then crawled huffily under the table and allied himself with Purzel, who was also excluded from celebrations. Ludwig raised his glass and seemed thoroughly exhausted.
“In which case, you can call me Ludwig.”
“Edith.”
“Jürgen.” The glasses clinked.
Under the table, Stefan griped, “Pff! That stuff is yucky, anyhow.”
Eva took a big sip, and the sparkling wine tingled sweetly in her mouth. Her mother looked over and gave her a gentle nod, as if to say, Forget that I was skeptical at first. It’ll all work out just fine! The small pendulum clock on the cupboard chimed once. Ping. Four thirty. Ludwig set down his glass.
“Unfortunately, we have to pause things here. But consider it a rain check for the engagement party.”
Edith set her glass on the tray as well, stroked Eva’s cheek, and smiled. “But by all means, you two should stay and make yourselves comfortable.”
Her parents got ready to go out, to go downstairs and open their restaurant. They were in good spirits, despite the strenuous hours that lay ahead. Eva swallowed and smiled nonsensically.
“By the way,” she said, “I went back to the prosecutor’s office.” Her parents froze in the doorway. Jürgen had been about to take another sip but paused. “I’m doing it. I mean, I told them that I’ll translate. At the trial.”
Jürgen took a big gulp of sparkling wine and swallowed, then pressed his lips together. The happiness vanished from Edith and Ludwig’s faces. Everyone was silent, waiting for Eva to say more. Waiting for an explanation. But she remained silent, herself, because she couldn’t explain it. She thought of that fellow David Miller, who had looked at her the same way: “And why now, all of a sudden, do you want to do it?” But he thought she was dim, regardless.
At that moment, Stefan squealed from under the table, “It’s falling over!!” The tree was, in fact, listing dangerously to the side. Jürgen quickly lunged. He was just able to catch the tree before it fell, but its needles stabbed his hands painfully.
A little later, Eva and Jürgen sat across from one another at the living room table. They were alone. Even Purzel had scuttled out with his tail between his legs. A storm was brewing. Jürgen’s expression was dark. He was silent. The little box from Krohmer Jewelry lay unopened between the betrothed on the Plauen lace tablecloth.
“We’d agreed to something different, Eva.”
“All you said was that you didn’t want me to do it.”
“And I expect you to respect my opinions.”
Jürgen’s voice was cold and detached.
Eva was starting to feel scared. “Jürgen, by the time we’re married, the trial will be long over.”
“That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the thing. I mean, if it’s already starting out this way—”
“Then what? What happens then?”
Jürgen stood up. “I’ve never made a secret of how I feel a marriage should work. I would like for you to quit on Monday.”
Jürgen left. He was agitated, furious, and disappointed. The decision to marry had been a sizable step for him. He had overcome his own reluctance and risked everything. And for her to stab him in the back like this! He had to be able to trust his future wife. She had to do as he said.
Eva stayed at the table. She picked up the tiny box containing her engagement ring and turned it over in her hands. Then she sprang up and ran after Jürgen, out onto the street. He was by his car, brushing freshly fallen snow from the windshield with his bare hands. Eva marched up to him and held out the box combatively.
“Didn’t you forget something?”
Jürgen took the box without hesitation and stuffed it in his coat pocket. Eva’s stomach churned. She was overcome with fear of losing Jürgen. Or had she already lost him? She took his hand and held it tightly.
“How can I explain it to you? I have to do this. And it isn’t forever!”
“Oh, yes, I think it is.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Eva tried to read Jürgen’s green eyes, but they appeared turned inward, and he avoided her gaze.
“You’ve got to ask yourself, Eva: How important to you is this job? And how important to you am I?”
Jürgen freed his hand from Eva’s grasp. Then he got into his car. He started the engine and drove off without a good-bye.
Inside the restaurant, Edith stood by the window, a tray of empty beer glasses in her hands, and looked out onto the street. From the way Eva was standing there under the streetlight, Edith could tell that her daughter was crying.
AFTER MIDNIGHT THAT EVENING, Ludwig Bruhns opened the bedroom window. He gazed into the quiet inner courtyard, at the shadow of the tall, motionless fir tree. He had taken three more painkillers that evening, one every two hours. His stomach was upset; he’d have to ask Doctor Gorf to adjust the prescription. Edith’s feet hurt more than normal too, and she massaged them with her special salve. The smell of camphor mixed with fresh night air helped cut through the kitchen odor that always clung to Ludwig, despite his lathering soap on his upper body every evening. Edith watched him look up at the stars through the window. He was wearing his tatty old pajamas—patterned with small dark blue diamonds on a light blue background—that he liked just a little too much. He simply couldn’t throw them away, even after Edith had hemmed them several times. As a result, the sleeves and pants were both too short, and his ankles were bared. There was nothing Edith could do about the threadbare spots at his elbows, knees, and bottom. The fabric would soon tear there. Ludwig had honestly suggested she sew on patches. Edith had burst into laughter. Pajamas with patches? That didn’t even exist during wartime. “At some point, they’re just going to fall off your body. Turn to dust. And you’ll be standing there like a fool,” she had said. Ludwig closed the window and climbed into bed. Edith stepped over to the vanity and wiped her hands on a small towel, then opened a jar of yellowish paste and spread a thick layer over her face. Around her mouth and eyes she already had several wrinkles, which she tried to make disappear by application of various creams. As she got into bed beside Ludwig, he commented, “If you went out on the street like that, you’d be arrested.”
“As would you, in those pajamas,” Edith responded, as usual. They turned out their lights at the same time. Then they both stared into the darkness until their eyes had adjusted and they could make out the blurred shadow thrown onto the ceiling by the cross window. They had always found it comforting, but tonight, the cross felt threatening. Edith g
ot up one more time. She closed the curtains.
“O HOW JOYFUL, O how blessed, O how cherished Christmastime.” The organ in the Johanneskirche droned over Eva’s head. The organist, Herr Belcher—“who had no say in his name,” her father was quick to remind them—was clearly sober and playing decently well. Pastor Schrader, always rather disheveled, was in rapture over his joyful message, as he was every year on this day. Every last seat in the church was taken, despite there being so few Protestants in this neighborhood. The Bruhns family had arrived a bit late. Stefan had to dress up for the Nativity play, and he’d put up a little fight. They hadn’t managed to find a pew together and now sat scattered throughout the chapel—Annegret way up front, Eva wedged between strangers a few rows behind her parents. Still, she could see her mother, whom she knew must be grimacing with exertion. Edith teared up whenever she heard organ music, yet she was ashamed to cry in public, and, like a little girl who wants to be big and strong, she fought the tears unsuccessfully. Eva was always moved by it. It was usually contagious as a yawn, but she felt she had shed enough tears over the past few days. She’d had to listen to her mother’s rebukes, although she herself had been against Jürgen at first. And to her sister’s, who couldn’t fathom how Eva could risk her “career as a businessman’s wife” like that. All for some translation job! And from her father, who seemed to be trying to communicate, through strange looks of concern, Eva, sweetheart, you’re making a mistake. Eva didn’t consider herself especially strong-willed and self-assured, but her family’s vehemence had sparked an unsuspected resistance within her. She hadn’t contacted Jürgen. She hadn’t quit on the prosecution. And now she sat there defiantly and watched the Nativity play being performed at the altar, which Pastor Schrader had rehearsed with the schoolchildren in the parish. As on every Christmas Eve, not a word either Joseph or Mary said could be heard. Only the innkeeper, who turned away the Holy Family, was audible. “No, there’s no room for you! Move along now!” Stefan played the innkeeper. Edith had shown him how to project his voice. Although she hadn’t been allowed to study acting, she knew these things intuitively. She had dressed him in a gray smock and dug out an old beige hat. Then Ludwig got involved, because he knew a little something about innkeeping, and put his chef’s hat on Stefan’s head. Edith argued against it: “A cook isn’t necessarily the innkeeper! It will just confuse the audience. And it doesn’t say anything in the Bible about a cook!” But Stefan had agreed with his father, and the hat now towered white over the other players’ earth-toned costumes. The other mothers had sewn their children cloaks out of faded curtains or cinched belts around the fathers’ old shirts. It looked like Mary was wearing her mother’s shrunken, yellowed wedding dress. Several children’s headdresses were too big, and kept slipping over their eyes. Some were presumably meant to be sheep, and had draped lambskins over their shoulders. But isn’t that what shepherds wear? Traditionally? Eva thought. In her opinion, the Christmas story was never as confusing, long, and uninspiring as it was during the Nativity play, yet all of the threads came together at the altar by the end. The costumed children gathered in a circle around the homemade manger, knelt down on the cold church floor, and bowed deeply. Because there in the straw lay the Christ Child. A miracle.