The blind side of the heart

Only when Helene took a slightly wrinkled apple out of the basket, polished it on her white skirt, found a knife, cut it up and cored it so that she could hand Wilhelm an apple quarter, did she see that she had a view over to the valley of the Oder and the hills around it, to the docks and the Dammscher See, then, rather closer, over the flower beds on the Hakenterrasse and down to the River Oder itself, where one of the white steamers was just putting in, inviting people with both sunshades and umbrellas aboard for an excursion. They had all made different decisions about the likely weather on this day early in May. And only then did it strike her that she had never imagined what her wedding might be like. That was herself all over, she supposed. Helene pulled the coat lying loosely over her bare shoulders together over her breast, because it was cool here. You could smell the sea in the air, you knew you were near the coast. When she licked her lips, she thought she could taste salt. This morning the registrar had referred to the wind in his speech of congratulations, saying marriage was a safe haven from storm winds and tempests, and a wife should make a safe and comfortable home for the man who protected her. Then he had laughed and advised them to have a schnapps on this early May day. A cool wind was blowing their way. Wilhelm munched the apple, he chewed it vigorously and Helene heard his teeth crushing it, juice coming through his teeth, his saliva, his lust, he leaned forward, scrutinized Helene, stroked the strands of hair wafting in the wind back from her face and kissed her forehead. He had a right to do that now, and more besides. A gull screeched. A young woman on the road just below was edging a pram forward with her hips, shove by shove; she held her baby close to her with both arms; it was crying; a shawl was fluttering round her; she was trying to wrap it round the baby, but the shawl kept flying out in the wind, and the baby cried as if it were hungry and in pain.
Incredible, don’t you think? Wilhelm was looking down too.
I expect the baby has colic.
I meant the traffic here. Apple quarter in hand, Wilhelm pointed to a long ship. Soon there’ll be tons of Mecklenburg carrots travelling this way along our autobahn; they’ll be loaded up and go off into the world. We’re going to break the 1913 record this year, our turnover of goods will reach its highest level ever, eight and a half million tons, that’s gigantic. It was only right when we rescinded the internationalization of our waterways. Versailles can’t dictate what we do with our own river. Wilhelm stood up and pointed north-east with his outstretched arm. Look at that big building over there. They’ll be completing the second part of it in the next few weeks, the biggest granary in Europe. Wilhelm sat down again. Helene contorted her face and pressed her lips together, stifling a yawn only with difficulty. When Wilhelm was in full flight, it was difficult to interrupt his rejoicings over new technological achievements and buildings. See the mast on that ship over to the right? That’s its antenna, it can receive radio waves from transmitters and then we can send messages from that mast over there.
What for?
For better communications, Alice. And there’s the Rügen, two funnels, oh my word, a freighter of the Gribel Line won’t make it under that. Wilhelm lowered his arm and propped it on the grass to support himself. Now he was looking at Helene. She felt his eyes roaming over her and resting on her face.
The prospect of the wedding night to come made Helene feel embarrassed. She had been aware of the happy way he looked at her all day and had avoided his eyes. Now she had to narrow hers, because it was bright and windy up here on the heights. She looked back.
Won’t you give me a smile? Wilhelm lifted her chin with one finger.
Today he had seemed to her even taller than usual when he was standing up a moment ago, and even sitting down he towered above her. Helene tried hard to smile.
Wilhelm had let nothing deter him. When the law for the protection of Aryan blood was passed in September, he had not mentioned it once. His efforts to get papers for Helene had dragged on; she had had to stop working at the Bethany Hospital and they had asked her to leave the nurses’ hostel. Back in Fanny’s apartment, Helene had been glad to find that Erich had obviously left her aunt at last. Wilhelm came to see Helene as often as he could. He apologized for the length of time it was taking, and sometimes he gave her some money which, relieved to be more independent of Fanny, she put away in her purse. Once Wilhelm mentioned that a colleague of his had sued for divorce; he didn’t want to be accused of racial disgrace. Helene wondered whether he told her that to emphasize the risk he was running for her sake, or whether it was simply meant to show that her origins were beginning to seem immaterial to him. After all, he had mentioned the other man’s divorce as if he certainly didn’t see himself incurring racial disgrace. A little later they had met at the Lietzensee, near the embankment by the lake over which the road led. Plane leaves lay smooth and yellow on the ground. Well, here we are, said Wilhelm and he gave Helene an envelope. She sat down on a bench near the dappled tree trunk. Wilhelm sat beside her, put one arm round her and kissed her ear. She opened the envelope. It contained a certificate of nursing qualifications and a leaflet with a bronze-coloured cover certifying Aryan descent, a little shabby but almost new. It still had a certain smell. She leafed through it. Her name was Alice Schulze, her father was one Bertram Otto Schulze from Dresden, her mother was Auguste Clementine Hedwig Schulze, née Schr?der.
Who are these people? Helene’s heartbeat was steady; she had to smile because the names sounded so new to her, unfamiliar and promising. These names were to belong to her, they would be hers.
Don’t ask. Wilhelm put a hand over her mouth.
But suppose someone asks me about them?
The Schulzes were our neighbours in Dresden. Simple folk.
Wilhelm was going to leave his explanations at that, but Helene wouldn’t leave him in peace. She tickled his chin: Go on, she said and smiled, because she knew that Wilhelm didn’t like to refuse her anything.
There were nine of us in our family; they had only one child, a girl. Alice often played on her own in the street until it was dark. What she liked best was coming over to us and joining our family at our big table. She didn’t want to eat anything, just sit at our table with us. One day her parents spread the news that Alice had run away. We children helped to search for her, but Alice never turned up. You look a little like her.
I disappeared? Helene laughed out loud. The idea of being a missing person amused her.
She was about your age. Everyone in our street thought Alice’s parents had killed her. How else could they be so confident about claiming that she’d run away?
Killed by her own parents?
Wilhelm raised Helene’s chin with his forefinger, as he liked to do when he thought she was being too serious. We simply wondered about the way they went on living just as usual, no sign of grief. They didn’t even want to tell the police. All of us toyed with the idea of going to the police ourselves. Alice wasn’t to start school until the summer, so there was no teacher to notice her absence. My God, didn’t several of your own siblings die too? Plenty of children died without death certificates. Soon after that the wife, Alice’s mother, fell downstairs and died. Her husband lived on until a year ago; he survived to a great age, but he always seemed old.
And they’re supposed to be my parents?
You wanted to know. Wilhelm rubbed his hands; perhaps he felt cold. Nothing to be done about it, and now you do know.
What about their ancestors? Grandparents, great-grandparents – these are just names that no one knows.
They existed, said Wilhelm. He said no more; he had just taken the record of her descent from her hand, rolled it up and put it into the inside pocket of his coat. He had reached for her hand and suggested getting married in Stettin, where he had rented an apartment in Elisabethstrasse several months earlier, and where Dresden stamps and seals might be even less familiar than they were in Berlin.
Helene had nodded. She had always wanted to see a real big harbour. And they had set off for Stettin before Christmas. It hadn’t been easy to say goodbye to Martha and Leontine. They had met at Leontine’s apartment the evening before they left; the thick velour curtains were drawn, Leontine offered Irish whiskey and dark cigarettes, just the thing for this moment, she said.
So when I write to you, Martha had said, do I write to Alice now? Leontine had objected, laughing, that no one could break off a relationship in that one-sided way. I’ll write to you every week, Martha had promised, as Elsa from an address in Bautzen.
In Stettin, Wilhelm had gone to the registry office to give notice of their engagement and fix a date. He let Helene sleep in the room next to the kitchen in the apartment and she was glad of his thoughtfulness. The wedding was to be at the beginning of May. And Helene wasn’t to work; Wilhelm gave her housekeeping money, she did the shopping and put the bill on the table for him to see; she cooked, she washed and ironed clothes, she lit the stove. She was grateful. If Wilhelm wanted beef roulades for supper, Helene might have to spend half the morning going from butcher to butcher to find the right meat for them. Wilhelm didn’t want her going to Wolff, quite close to them in Bismarckstrasse, however friendly he might be, however good his prices. Such people must not be encouraged, said Wilhelm, and Helene knew what he meant and was afraid he might follow her to see if she was acting according to his instructions. They had once met by chance; Helene had been coming out of the library in the Rosengarten district with two books under her arm when Wilhelm called her over to the other side of the street. He had cast a fleeting glance at her books. Martin Buber, do you have to read that? At such a time, with his ideas . . . I don’t like it. What do you think you get out of it? he asked, laughing. He had put his arm round her shoulders and was speaking close to her ear. I see I’ll have to keep my eye on you. I don’t want you going to that library. The People’s Library is just round the corner. You can easily walk the few metres to the park.
If Wilhelm gave her a shirt with a missing button, Helene went from draper to draper until she had found not just one button the right size, but back in the first shop a whole dozen, so that she could change all the other buttons on the shirt to match. Helene felt a gratitude to him that kept her cheerful.
Once Wilhelm said it was only as you came into their apartment that you noticed how dirty the corridor outside it was. He meant it as a compliment because she kept their place so clean. You’re a wonderful woman, Alice. There’s just one thing I have to mention to you. And he looked at her sternly. Our neighbour on the ground floor told me she saw you last week in Schuhstrasse coming out of that draper’s shop, what’s his name, Bader? Helene felt herself going red in the face. Baden, Herbert Baden, I’ve been buying from him since Christmas, he has very high-quality goods; you don’t get buttons like that anywhere else. Wilhelm had not looked at Helene; he had taken a long draught from his beer glass and said: My God, then you’ll just have to buy different buttons, Alice. Do you realize that you’re putting us both in danger? Not just yourself, me too.
Next morning, as soon as Wilhelm had left the apartment, Helene set to work. She scrubbed and scoured the stairs from the top floor to the entrance of the building. Finally she polished them until they gleamed and everything smelled of wax. When Wilhelm failed to notice the clean stairway that evening, she did not mention it. She was glad she had something to do; she did not just obey Wilhelm’s orders readily, she did so gladly. What could be better than the definite prospect of things that must be done, tasks where her only worry was that there might not be enough time to do them all? And Helene knew what to think of as well: the brown shoe polish, the streaky bacon for supper. What she liked best was to do jobs waiting to be dealt with before Wilhelm missed anything or had to go without. When he came home from work he said he was happy to know she was here at home and to have her around him. My little housewife, he’d taken to calling her recently. There was just one small thing he didn’t have yet, he said, smiling. He was eagerly waiting for the month of May.
The wind on the Hakenterrasse turned, and now it was blowing right in their faces. Wilhelm didn’t want her to cut up the second apple, he wanted to eat it properly, round the core. She handed him the whole apple.
And the big ship there, isn’t that a fine sight? Wilhelm took out his binoculars. He watched the gigantic freighter and said nothing for an unusually long time. Helene wondered whether she might tell him she was freezing; it would spoil his good temper. But his mouth was twisting anyway. I don’t quite like that name, though, Arthur Kunstmann. Do you know about Kunstmann?
Helene shook her head. Wilhelm raised his binoculars again. The biggest shipping company in Prussia. Well, that’s about to change.
Why?
Fritzen & Son do better business. Suddenly Wilhelm shouted: Get a move on, lads! He slapped his thigh, as if anyone rowing down there could hear him up on the hill. Our boys are going too slowly. Wilhelm lowered the binoculars again. Aren’t you interested? He looked at Helene with surprise and a little pity; at this distance she could make out only that he was talking about an eight rowing past the opposite bank down below. Perhaps he would lend her the binoculars so that she could share his pleasure? But Wilhelm had come to the conclusion that Helene wasn’t interested in rowing. He jammed the binoculars to his eyes and rejoiced. Gummi Sch?fer and Walter Volle, they’ll win for us. Get a move on, for God’s sake! It’s a pity I have to be here to supervise the finishing touches to the work. I’d love to be in Berlin in August.
Our boys? Why would they win, what does it mean to you? Helene tried to pay no more attention to the crying baby and followed the direction of Wilhelm’s glance, looking down towards the water.
You don’t understand, child. We’re the best. The fair sex has no idea about competitive sport, but once Gummi’s won gold you’ll see what it’s all about!
What what’s all about?
Alice, darling! Wilhelm lowered the binoculars and looked sternly at Helene. He spoke menacingly, he liked to threaten Helene in fun when she asked too many questions. Helene couldn’t summon up a smile. Just thinking of the approaching night, their first night together as man and wife, kept her from even looking at him. Perhaps he took her questions as implying doubts of what he said, or as doubts of his own pleasure in it. Certainly his wife ought not to doubt him, she ought to respect him, and now and then be happy to keep quiet for him. A little jubilation wouldn’t be out of place either, just a very little quiet, cheerful, feminine jubilation, she felt sure Wilhelm would like that. Helene thought he seemed content when she nodded approvingly and simply accepted what he said. And could she really not just accept a statement sometimes? Yesterday evening he had complained a little, but maybe he had just been edgy because it was the eve of their wedding. He had said, looking at the paper, that he sometimes suspected Alice had a joyless nature. When Helene could think of nothing to say and went on sweeping the grate in silence, he added that he thought he noticed not just a lack of joy but a certain aloofness in her too.
Now Wilhelm was looking through his binoculars. Secretly, Helene felt ashamed of herself. Was she going to grudge him the sight of something he liked on his wedding day? She held her tongue and wondered to herself what he meant, and what would happen if the German oarsmen did win at the Olympic Games in a few weeks’ time. She also wondered why Martha wasn’t replying to her letters any more, and decided to write to Leontine. Leontine was a tower of strength; on Shrove Tuesday she had written to Helene to tell her she was glad to say she could probably get her mother discharged from Sonnenstein. Luckily old Mariechen had stayed on in the house, she said, and would be very glad to see her mistress back. Leontine signed her letter Leo, and Helene felt relieved and happy whenever she read the letter and the name at the bottom of it.
The steamer was casting off from the landing stage. Gulls circled around the ship, probably hoping the passengers on their excursion would throw some scraps overboard. Black smoke rose from the funnels. Helene felt a drop of something on her hand. Wilhelm was opening his bottle of beer. Didn’t she want to drink her lemonade? Helene shook her head. She knew she had to give herself to him tonight, give herself entirely, so that he possessed her as he never had before. That idea made him glad. Her mind worked slowly, her thoughts were disjointed. It occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to wear her beloved old vest this evening. If they had stayed in Berlin they could have given a wedding party, but whom could they have asked? Martha and Leontine and Fanny weren’t suitable company, it would soon have come out that there was something wrong with their papers, and perhaps Martha might have giggled at the registrar’s remarks. Erich might have turned up too, to disrupt the ceremony. Better to move right away from Berlin and avoid any party.
Helene took the paper bag out of the basket and put her fingers in it. She felt happy when she was eating raisins.
They were planning to go for a little trip round the harbour on the Hanni or the Hans, whichever of the two elderly passenger steamers with superstructures like houses they could take today. Every child in Stettin knew the striped funnels of the Maris Line, and Helene had thought for some time that a trip on one of the two vessels would be nice.
Well, here we go. Helene packed up the knife and the apple core, put the empty beer bottle back in the basket and spread the little cover over it. They set off down to the quay. Wilhelm took her hand and Helene let him guide her. Behind his back she closed her eyes so that he could lead her as if she were blind. What could happen? She felt very tired, overwhelmingly weak, she could have gone to sleep at once, but the wedding day wasn’t half over yet. Wilhelm bought two tickets for the Hanni of the Gotzkow Line. The vessel rocked on the water. From time to time Helene put her hand over her mouth so that no one would see her yawning.
On the round trip, with the wind getting up and the ship pitching and tossing, there was no conversation between her and Wilhelm. The link between them had not simply slackened but separated, disappeared. Two strangers sat side by side looking in different directions.
Only when Wilhelm ordered a plate of sausage and mustard from the waiter did he speak to her again. Are you hungry? Helene nodded. They were sitting below decks, a shower of rain was beating on the windows and droplets of water were streaming down; the skies seemed to have opened, but Helene felt sick from the rocking of the ship and her feet were cold. Everything on this ship was so dirty, the rail was sticky, even the plate on which Wilhelm’s sausage was served looked to Helene as if it had a dirty rim from the previous customer’s mustard. With difficulty, she prevented herself from pointing that out to Wilhelm. Why bother? He was enjoying the sausage. Helene excused herself, saying she wanted to wash her hands. The rocking down here would have made her feel sick even if she hadn’t been nauseated already. Helene made her way along the rail. How could she have forgotten her gloves? An excursion without gloves was a special sort of adventure. Perhaps Wilhelm might have made fun of her for wearing gloves in May, wearing gloves to her wedding when she had decided not to have a traditional wedding dress, opting for what to him was a simple white jacket and skirt, stubborn as she was. But the door to the little cabin, behind which Helene had hoped to find a container of water for hand-washing beside the WC, bore a notice saying Out of Order, so Helene had to go back without washing. On the ship, prep-arations for docking were already going on. Men were calling to other men, the steamer was hauled in to the pier by two strong ship’s boys. Helene’s throat felt rough.
Well, my wife, shall we go for a drive, have something to eat and then go home? Wilhelm took her hand as they climbed off the ship. His words sounded like the prelude to a play in a theatre, and he bowed to her. She knew why. He had waited patiently all day, from the registry office in the morning, through a little excursion in his new car, in which he had driven her to Braunsfelde and shown her a building site in Els?sser Strasse where the foundations of their new house were soon to be laid, on to their midday picnic, and now on the trip round the harbour. Helene sat down in the car, put on her new headscarf, although it was not an open car, and held the door handle tightly. Wilhelm started the engine.
You don’t have to clutch the handle all the time.
I’d rather.
The door might fly open, darling. Let go of it.
Helene obeyed. She suspected that further insistence would annoy him unnecessarily.
Wilhelm had booked a table in the café at the foot of the castle, but after only a few mouthfuls of pork knuckle he said that was enough. If she didn’t want any more he would ask for the bill. He did ask for the bill, then he drove his bride home.
She had made the bed that morning, the marital bed that he had had delivered a week ago.
Wilhelm said she could go and undress in her old room. She went into it, took off her clothes and changed into a white nightdress. Over the last few weeks she had been embroidering little roses and delicate leafy tendrils on it, in the stitch that Mariechen had once taught her. When she came back he had put out the bedroom light. There was a strong smell of eau de Cologne in the air. It was dark in the room, and Helene groped her way forward.
Here I am, he said, laughing. His hand reached out for her. Don’t be afraid, darling, he said, and pulled her down on the bed beside him. It won’t hurt. He unbuttoned her nightdress, wanted to feel her breasts, felt about blindly for a while, up, down, sideways, round to her spine and back again as if he couldn’t find what he wanted, then he moved his hands away from her breasts and took hold of her buttocks. Ah, what do we have here? he said, laughing at his own joke, and she felt his rough hand between her legs. Then she noticed a kind of regular shaking; her eyes got used to the darkness; he was taking shallow breaths, breathing almost soundlessly and the shaking grew more vigorous, obviously he was working on his penis. Perhaps it wasn’t hard enough, or perhaps he would rather find his own relief without Helene. Helene felt his hand push against her thigh again and again. She put her own hand out and touched him.
Nice, he said, nice. He spoke in the dark, still breathing very quietly, and Helene took fright. Did he mean himself or her? Her hand searched for his; she wanted to help him. His prick was hard and hot. Her nose was pressed against his chest, not a place to stay for long, the eau de Cologne irritated the mucous membrane of her nostrils; how could you close your nose, breathe through your mouth, through your mouth, her mouth against his stomach; a few hairs in your mouth ought not to matter. Helene bent her head, it could only be better further down, and her lips sought for him. He smelled of urine, and tasted salty and sour and a little bitter, and she retched slightly, but he kept saying nice, nice, and: You don’t have to do that, dear girl, but she was sucking his prick now with smacking sounds, she liked it, she used her tongue, he took her shoulders and pulled her up to him, perhaps her sucking was uncomfortable for him. Alice? There was a little doubt in the way he said her name, as if he wasn’t sure who she was. She sought his mouth, she knelt above him. Alice! He sounded indignant. He grabbed her shoulders, threw her underneath him and, with a shaking hand and gasping out loud now, as if he had lost control of himself, he pushed his prick between her legs.
That’s how it goes, he said, thrusting into her. Nice, he said once more, and again, nice. Helene tried to raise herself, but he pushed her down on the mattress. He was kneeling, probably so as to watch himself going in and out of her, one hand firmly on her shoulder so that she couldn’t twist or turn, and suddenly he sighed heavily and sank down on her, exhausted. His body was heavy.
Helene felt her face glowing. Now she was glad that Wilhelm had put out the light. Wilhelm thought it was silly for people to weep. His breath was calm and regular. Helene found herself counting the breaths; she counted them and then, so as to stop herself doing that, counted his heartbeats as he lay on top of her.
You’re surprised. He stroked her hair back from her forehead. What do you say now?
His voice was proud and gentle; he asked as if he expected a definite and very special answer.
I like you, said Helene. She was surprised by the way those words had come to her. But they were true; she meant it in general and in spite of the last hour. She liked his invincible confidence in himself. All the same, she could not help thinking of Carl, of his hands joining with hers to make one body, sometimes with two heads, sometimes without a head, his gentle lips and his prick, rather smaller than Wilhelm’s and almost pointed. They were inscribed on her mind and into her movements.
And now I’ll show you what else we can do. Wilhelm spoke like a teacher. He turned on his back, took Helene by the hips and pulled her on top of him. He made her move. Faster, that’s it.
All this talking disturbed Helene. It was difficult to keep listening to him, to hear what he said and then forget it, forget herself, forget herself so that she stopped seeing and hearing.
There. Careful, now. Now, take your hand, here, hold me firmly.
Helene, exhausted, couldn’t help smiling. It was lucky he couldn’t see her. He thrust at her, talking at the same time, brief words, issuing instructions. She didn’t want to contradict or challenge him. He held her hips hard, he was getting a grip so as to make her move on top of him.
There, that’s nice.
Helene let him move her about for a while. The less she wanted to do for herself, the better he seemed to like it. A marionette, thought Helene, she didn’t like that, and she didn’t know how she could take the puppet strings from his hand. Suddenly she reared up and away from him.
Careful, he cried and he sighed: so close, he complained.
Helene took his hands to hold them, but he shook them free, moved her off him, threw her under him and set to work on top of her again. He thrust his prick into her, regular thrust after regular thrust, like a hammer driving a nail into the wall. No more sound, just his hammering, the ceiling and the mattress. A high squeal, then he rolled off her. Helene stared into the darkness.
He was lying on his back, smacking his lips with relish. That’s love, Alice, he said.
She didn’t know what to say. He suddenly turned to her, kissed her on the nose and turned his back to her. Excuse me, he said, pulling the covers over him, I can’t sleep with a woman breathing into my face.
It was a long time before Helene could get to sleep. She was not interested in what women had breathed into his face when, or where; his sperm was running out of her in a little stream, sticky between her legs, and then it was as if she had slept for only a couple of minutes when she felt his hands on her hips again.
That’s right, yes, he said, turning her over on her stomach. Kneeling behind her, he pulled her towards him and thrust in.
It burned. He braced his large hand against her back, hurting her, he pushed her ahead of him on the mattress. That’s it, keep moving, you won’t get away from me.
Helene kicked his knee with all her might. He cried out.
What’s the idea of that? He took her by the shoulders and they both lay still. Don’t you like it?
Shall I show you how I like it? She asked the question in self-defence; she could think of no answer, she hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings, but he agreed. She approached him, his large body, he knelt on the mattress, sat back on his heels, his prick dangled heavy and limp between his powerful thighs. Shall I lie down? There was a note of derision in his voice, or perhaps he was just unsure of himself.
Helene said yes, yes, lie down. She bent over him, she smelled his sweat through the eau de cologne on his chest, sweat that smelled a little strange. She took the sheet and dried his chest, his forehead, his thighs first outside, then on the inside. He lay on his back with his body rigid, as if afraid.
She licked his skin with her tongue until he laughed.
He asked her to stop, it tickled. That’s not the way, he said.
She took his hands, placed them on her flat breasts, where they lay as if at a loss, not knowing what to do. Helene lay on top of him and moved, she pressed her body to his, she felt his skin with her lips, her teeth touched him, her soft fingertips and nails, she rubbed his prick and, as it began to stiffen in arousal, used it to sit on him. She rode him, she bent over to be closer to him, she leaned back to feel the air, she listened to his breathing, listened to his desire, and felt some desire herself.
What are you doing to me? Wilhelm’s question sounded surprised, almost suspicious. He didn’t wait for her to answer. You’re an animal, a real little animal. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. My wife, he said. He was speaking to himself, confirming the fact, making sure of it. My wife.
Didn’t he like her mouth? Helene wondered why he didn’t kiss her on the lips, for he avoided them. He got up and went out. Helene heard water rushing; he was obviously washing.
When he came back and lay down on the mattress beside her, heavy and hesitant, he asked hoarsely: May I turn the light on?
Of course. Helene was shivering pleasantly; she had drawn the covers up to her chin. In the light he looked crumpled, the shadows showing lines that Helene had never seen on him before. Presumably he now saw her own little lines and dimples, hollows and dips, previously unknown to him.
I must ask you something. He had pulled the other blanket over himself. He looked seriously at her. Were his eyes exploring her? Was he afraid?
There are ways and means, she said, don’t worry.
Ways and means?
Of avoiding a pregnancy, she explained.
That’s not what I meant. Wilhelm was obviously confused. Why would I want to avoid a pregnancy? Or you either? No, I must ask you something else.
What?
I’ve just been out to wash myself.
Yes?
Well, how can I put it? Normally I’d have had . . . there’d have been . . . well, I’d thought there was sure to be . . . As if to encourage himself he raised her chin with one finger. You didn’t bleed at all.
Helene looked at his tense and baffled face. Had he expected her to be menstruating, or were there other reasons why she would be bleeding? Now it was her turn to raise a questioning eyebrow. So?
You know what that means yourself. Now he was looking annoyed. You’re a nurse, so please don’t act so na?ve.
I didn’t bleed, no. If I’d bled that would have meant I’d been injured.
I thought you were still a virgin. The sharp note in Wilhelm’s voice surprised Helene.
Why?
Why? Are you making fun of me? I keep my hands off you for three years, I procure a certificate of Aryan descent for you, I get engaged to you, damn it all, what do you mean, why did I think that? Listen, how was I to know that . . . ? Wilhelm was shouting. He was sitting up and pounding the mattress in front of Helene with his fist. Involuntarily, she flinched back. Now she saw that he had put on a pair of short white underpants. He sat there in his underpants hitting the mattress again. Between the hem of the leg and his thigh she saw his prick, lying on the thigh as if taking no part in this, just jerking slightly when he hit the mattress. You ask why I thought you were a virgin? I’m asking myself the same question. What a hypocritical act all this was! Idiotic! He beat his fist on the mattress again, making the limp prick inside his underpants jump. What is it, why are you shrinking away like that? Not afraid, are you? He shook his head; his voice became quieter and more scornful. Your tears are just a sham, my girl. Bitterly, Wilhelm shook his head, he snorted with derision, a dry snort, expressing nothing but contempt. He was looking at her with contempt. He shook his head again. What a fool I am, he said, striking his forehead, what a stupid idiot. He was hissing through his teeth. What a wonderful show! He shook his head, gave that dry snort, shook his head again.
Helene tried to understand what was making him so angry. She must be brave and ask. Why . . . ?
This is monstrous, don’t you know that? Wilhelm interrupted her. He wasn’t going to let her begin a sentence, raise her voice however hesitantly. What do you want of me, Helene? He was roaring at her, barking at her.
Was it the first time he had called her Helene? Her name sounded like a foreign word, coming from him. The displeasure with which he looked at her now made Helene feel very lonely. She lay in his marital bed, the blanket up to her chin, her fingers curved into cold claws under the bedclothes, claws that she couldn’t open out even if she tried, she had to keep the covers firmly in place, hiding them, hiding her body from him. The burning between her legs wasn’t too bad, she was in his marital bed, the bed he had bought for his marriage to a virgin, the bed in which he was planning to teach a virgin about love. What had he thought she was? What misunderstanding had brought them together in this bed?
Wilhelm got up. He took his blanket, draped it round his shoulders and left the room. He shut the door behind him; evidently she was to stay there. Helene tried to think sensibly. It wasn’t easy. Frau Alice Sehmisch, she said to herself in the darkness. Her feet were as cold as her claws, they were claws too, fingers and toes cold and claw-like in May.
When all was still Helene stole into the kitchen, washed her hands, put water on to heat and mixed hot and cold water with a dash of vinegar in the enamel basin. She squatted over the basin and washed herself. A little soap wouldn’t hurt, maybe a bit of iodine? With the hollow of her hand she scooped up water and felt for her labia, the opening, the tender, smooth folds, washed it all out thoroughly, washed his sperm out of her. Soft water, hard water. She washed for a long time until the water was cold, then she washed her hands at the sink.
Back in bed, her feet were still cold. She couldn’t sleep anyway, she felt like getting up and making breakfast. She had bought eggs – Wilhelm liked eggs so long as they weren’t too soft-boiled. Would he speak to her? What would he say?
For that first half-hour, in which Wilhelm had got up, washed, shaved and combed his hair, it looked as if he wasn’t going to speak to her, might never speak to her again. Helene thought about the notes she would write him in future, the notes he would write her. She could practise the language of gestures. He would write notes telling her what she was to do for him and what he wanted for supper. She would write to explain why she hadn’t bought eels and tell him the fishwife had plaice on special offer today. Helene was good at keeping silent, as he would soon find out.
Wilhelm had sat down at the table to try a sip of coffee. Is this real coffee? he suddenly asked. She knew there were few things he liked as much as coffee made from real coffee beans. Real coffee came directly after cars and before the wireless masts of ships, but she was a little uncertain where oarsmen and ski-jumpers ranked in his esteem.
In celebration of the day, I thought. The first morning of our marriage.
Good idea, he said, nodding with a fair show of appreciation; then he had to smile. He was smiling to himself, he didn’t look at her.
And is that toast I smell, or am I imagining it?
You’re not imagining it, said Helene, and she took a step aside, opened the toaster and gave him the dark-brown toast.
Perhaps you’ll sit down too.
Helene obeyed. She pulled out her chair and sat down opposite him.
Well, this is a fine situation I’ve got myself into, remarked Wilhelm. Talk about buying a pig in a poke. He shook his head. No idea of honour. And I’ve sullied my hands for that, forged those damn documents to give you a new identity. Wilhelm shook his head and took a bite of toast.
Helene began to guess at the humiliation he must be suffering.
We will try, all the same. Helene said it hoping that the question of her virginity might soon seem ridiculous to him.
Wilhelm nodded. I am not going to be cuckolded, let’s get that clear. He held out his cup for her to add milk.
Wilhelm had got the papers for her, he had committed a punishable offence. They could feel mutual fear, for either would be able to denounce the other. For the first time Helene understood what fundamentally divided the two of them. He was an established member of society, he was someone, he had built up a reputation for himself. Wilhelm had something to lose: his good name, his honour and his wife’s respectability were certainly a part of that; so were his beliefs, his support of a people, the German nation, to which he belonged by virtue of his blood and which he wanted to serve with his life’s blood.
We could go out to Swinemünde tomorrow. Helene embarked on the sentence out of sheer fear that otherwise Wilhelm might understand what thoughts were spreading through her mind, how terror and shame were taking hold of her.
Do me a favour, Alice, spare me that today. I know you love the sea and the harbour. Are you telling me the round trip yesterday wasn’t enough?
It was not an easy night, said Helene. She wanted to show understanding.
It’s forgotten. Last night is forgotten, do you hear? Wilhelm was fighting to speak in a firm voice and Helene saw tears in his eyes. She was sorry. I didn’t know that . . .
That what? What didn’t you know?
Helene couldn’t tell him. She was ashamed of her thoughtlessness. Not for a moment had it occurred to her that his love could depend on her virginity.
I’ve been with women. But marriage – Wilhelm shook his head, without looking at Helene – marriage is different. He bit his lip; he probably guessed that they would never be able to agree on this point, now or later. There were moments last night when you were like an animal, a wild cat.
A tear fell from his eye. The eye of a man whom Helene had never seen shedding tears before.
She would have liked to embrace him, but what comfort could she offer?
Have you been with many men? Now Wilhelm was looking at her scornfully; it was hard to bear his glance. Then it softened, she saw a plea in his eyes, he obviously wanted her to tell him he was unique, oh, what an amazing lover, not just an amazing lover but the lover, there was no one like him.
Helene stretched her fingers, curved them, stretched them. Her knuckles inaudibly cracked. She wanted to wash her hands. What difference did lying a little make? She looked at him over the table, she still had time. It was simple. He wouldn’t notice. She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she cautiously opened them again, she saw that he wanted to believe her.
Wilhelm stood up. He was wearing the shirt she had ironed so recently. He looked ready to go to work. He touched her shoulder, grateful and angry at the same time. He breathed deeply in and out, then patted her on the back. That’s my girl. He looked at the time. I have to go out to the building site, the construction workers all slack off at the weekend. There’s going to be a private discussion. If you wait in the car you can come with me.
Helene nodded. Wilhelm took her wrist. But first we’re going to bed. There was an expression of triumph on his face. Was what she saw in his eyes the consciousness of arbitrary power springing from his injured feelings? Defiance and lust? And didn’t a husband have rights over his wife? He pushed her into the bedroom ahead of him, drew the curtains, opened his trousers with one hand and reached for her skirt with the other. Lift your skirt, he said.
Helene lifted her skirt, which wasn’t easy. She’d made it herself from a pattern only a few weeks ago, and it narrowed towards the hem and had only a short open pleat at the back. She had found a lovely fabric, cream cotton printed with blue flowers. It was a daring skirt, tapering where it ended between calf and ankle. Wilhelm became impatient, he was breathing deeply. She’d soon have done it, she’d have pushed the skirt far enough up. She couldn’t help thinking that the laundry had been soaking for too long, that she still had to gut the fish for lunch and must soon put the casserole on if they wanted beans for supper, and she didn’t have any savoury to flavour the beans with. Wilhelm told her to kneel on the bed.