The blind side of the heart

The great day was 27 September. The day for which others as well as Wilhelm had been eagerly waiting, a day like no other. All Germany was waiting for that day.
In the morning, when Helene had just dressed, Wilhelm’s eye fell on her behind. He took hold of her hips and ran his tongue over her mouth. You’re the first woman I’ve liked to kiss, did you know that? Helene smiled diffidently and picked up her handbag. Day by day, Wilhelm’s taste for unsettling her, seeing her feel diffident was increasing. Now that she knew he had developed that liking, she made out from time to time that she really was diffident. Nothing could have been easier. Let’s see your suspender belt, are you wearing the one with the little anchors on it? Wilhelm felt her suspender belt through the firm woollen fabric.
We must leave, Wilhelm.
Don’t worry, I have my eye on the time. He said it quietly, he moved softly. Especially before going out, and especially on a great day like this, Wilhelm didn’t want to leave his home before taking her at least briefly. He grabbed her skirt, pushed it up, pulled her knickers down as far as possible – she wasn’t complying with his wish for her to wear them over the suspender belt. Helene felt him push himself inside her and as he went on thrusting, with short, quick jabs, she remembered how Carl used to undress her lingeringly to the last. He would caress her breasts, her arms, her fingers. After that first night, it was enough for Wilhelm to lift her skirt.
He hadn’t been inside Helene a minute before pushing her up against the table, with her handbag still over her wrist. He stopped, then patted her buttocks. Obviously he had finished. She didn’t know whether he had come or whether his desire had left him.
Right, we can go, said Wilhelm. He had pulled up his trousers, which had slipped to the floor, and fastened his belt. He looked at himself in the mirror, unbuttoned his shirt and splashed eau de Cologne lavishly on his chest.
Helene wanted to wash, but Wilhelm said he was afraid there wasn’t time for that. All that washing of hers infuriated him, he added. He took his coat and put it on, looked at the mirror again to check his appearance now that he was wearing the coat, took his small comb out of his inside pocket and ran it through his hair.
Do you think that’ll do?
Of course, said Helene, you look good. She had put on her own coat and was waiting.
What’s that behind me? Wilhelm craned his neck so that he could see his back view better.
What do you mean?
Well, that! See that funny kind of crease? And my coat’s all over bits of fuzz. Would you deal with it, please?
Of course, said Helene, and taking the clothes brush out of the console table she brushed Wilhelm’s coat.
The arms too. Not so hard, child, this is fine fabric.
At last they were able to set off. Helene’s knickers were wet. Wilhelm was flowing out of her even as he walked to the car about three metres ahead of her. Perhaps there was some blood too. Her periods had been back for the last three months and she was due again tomorrow, or maybe even today.
The opening of the Reich autobahn was an endless ceremony full of speeches and commendations, vows made in the name of the future, of Germany and its Führer. Heil. Helene thought everyone near her must be surprised by the reek of sperm clinging to her. Wilhelm’s sperm. There were days when she felt the smell of it was like a brand on her. Obviously Wilhelm didn’t notice anything. He stretched out his arm and stood motionless beside her for hours with his back very straight. On this day his greatest achievement so far was on show to the public. All the workers were thanked, including those who had risked or lost their lives. No one said exactly how they had lost them. One might have fallen off a bridge, another could have been run over by a steamroller. Helene imagined the different possible kinds of death. In any case, theirs had been heroic deaths, just as the building of the whole road was heroic. A reference to the drop in the unemployment figures was intended to emphasize the claim that, among other achievements, the building of this road and the other autobahns that were to follow was a triumphantly successful way of tackling unemployment in Germany. When Wilhelm stepped forward to be honoured, he did not glance back at Helene; presumably the many pats on the back he received from his colleagues prevented him. Wilhelm shook hands, stretched his arm towards the sky and looked around him with a certain pride. His excitement seemed so great that he forgot to smile. Or perhaps the place and the occasion seemed to him too sacred for anyone to venture a smile. He expressed his thanks in a firm voice, he thanked everyone, from the German Fatherland to the secretary of the first German Ladies’ Automobile Club. Heil, Heil, Heil. Everyone had earned a Heil. Unlike the six gentlemen who had been commended and honoured before him, he had not seen and then exploited the tiny loophole left available for him to thank his wife. Perhaps it was because they had no children. After all, the speakers before him could thank their whole families for providing special support in the recent past.
Before the guests invited to the lunch celebrating the occasion set off in a convoy, Helene left, like most of the other wives. After all, she had to prepare supper and do the laundry. As he said goodbye to her, Wilhelm said he hoped to be home by six, but if he didn’t get back in time for supper she wasn’t to wait for him. He might well be late on a day like this.
Helene waited all the same. She had made pearl barley soup with carrots and bacon, a favourite of Wilhelm’s, specially for today. The potatoes grew cold, fresh liver and onions lay beside the stove ready for frying. Helene herself hated pearl barley and liver, she simply could not get any of those dishes down, so there was no point, she thought, in eating any supper herself later in the evening. She wrote two letters to Berlin: one to Martha alias Elsa, one to Leontine asking why there was no word from Martha. Then she wrote a third letter, to Bautzen. It would bear the Stettin postmark, but as sender’s name she gave only her first name, Helene, written in a childish scrawl so that the postman might think it was just love and kisses from a little girl and suspect nothing. She had not yet told her mother and Mariechen that she was married and now had a new surname. Martha and Leontine had agreed with her that such news might agitate her mother unnecessarily. So Helene wrote to say she was well and had moved to Stettin for professional reasons, to look for a job here since she couldn’t find one in Berlin at the moment. She asked how her mother was and said any reply should be sent to Fanny’s address. Helene opened Wilhelm’s desk and took out the cash box. She knew he didn’t like her to go to his cash box on her own, but once, three months ago, she had asked him for some money for her mother and Wilhelm had just looked at her blankly. After all, he didn’t know these people, he said, and he didn’t suppose that she still wanted to call them relations of hers. So then she knew that he wasn’t going to give her anything. It might be because of maladministration or possible sharp practice, Helene didn’t know the precise reasons, but the income from Breslau had dried up. Finally Martha had said she could send their mother money only every three months; there simply wasn’t enough to go round. Mariechen had written asking for something in kind; she needed hard soap and foodstuffs, dried food would be useful, peas, fruits, oats and coffee, not to mention material for clothes. Helene took a ten-mark note out of the box; she hesitated; another ten-mark note lay temptingly on top of a third. But Wilhelm counted his money. She would have to think of a credible story to account for the absence of this one banknote. The simplest lie was to say she had lost the housekeeping money that he had counted out and given her the evening before. But Helene had claimed to have lost money once before. She took the banknote, put it in the letter to Bautzen and stuck down the envelope. Whether and exactly where the money would arrive was another question. Helene didn’t even know where her last letter had ended up.
She did some sewing and ironing, and starched Wilhelm’s collars, before going to bed just before midnight. Wilhelm came home at four in the morning. Without turning on the light he dropped on the bed beside Helene, fully dressed, and snored peacefully. Helene could distinguish between his various snores; there was the hoarse, light snoring of the carefree Wilhelm, there was the defiant snoring of the hard-working Wilhelm who had not yet had his money’s worth, every snore was different and told Helene what mood Wilhelm was in. Helene let him snore; she thought of her sister and worried a little. After all, it could be that Martha wasn’t well. Perhaps something had happened to her and Leontine, and no one had told Helene about it because it wasn’t officially known that Martha had a sister, let alone what her name was.
After an hour Wilhelm’s snoring became disturbed. Then it suddenly stopped and he got up and went out on to the landing. When he came back, Helene lay with her back to him and listened for the snoring to begin again. But it didn’t. Instead she suddenly felt Wilhelm’s hand on her waist. Helene turned to him. A smell of beer and schnapps and sweet perfume wafted into her face. She had smelled it before, but not as strongly as this.
What a great day for you. You must be relieved. Helene placed her hand on the back of Wilhelm’s neck. The hair shaved very short there felt strange.
Oh, relieved, well, this is where it all begins, child. Wilhelm couldn’t articulate clearly. He pushed his hand between Helene’s legs and squeezed her labia with his fingers. Come on, he said as she tried to push his hand away, come on, little animal, you sweet little cunt, come on. He pressed Helene’s arms aside and turned her body over. She resisted, which aroused him, perhaps he thought she did it on purpose to entice him and send him crazy. What an arse, he said. Helene flinched.
Every goddam woman, he had once said, thinks she can see into people’s hearts, but he could see into her vulva, he could look deep into her vagina, the deepest orifice of her body, the juiciest, the orifice that was all his, one that she herself could never see, or not so directly. It was possible that Wilhelm and his colleagues had been with a tart just now. Helene had smelled that flowery perfume. Even a mirror allowed a woman only a glimpse of it. She could never be mistress of the sight of it. Let her look into hearts as much as she liked.
When he had finished Wilhelm slapped her bottom. That was good, he sighed, very good. He dropped on to the mattress and rolled over. We’ll be going to Braunsfelde later, he murmured.
Or we could go to the sea, Helene suggested.
Sea, sea, sea. You’re always wanting to go to the sea. There’s a cold wind bl-bl-blowing. Wilhelm laughed. A cold wind blowing.
It’s still almost summer. I’m sure it was twenty degrees yesterday.
Day, day, day, day. Wilhelm lay in the middle of the bed, turned to Helene’s back and smacked his lips. My good wife Dame Ilsebill always wants to have her will, like the story of the flounder and the fisherman. I ought to call you Ilsebill. You always know best, don’t you? Well, that makes no difference, we’re going to Braunsfelde.
Is the house ready?
The house is finished, yes, but we’re not going to live in it.
Helene said nothing. Perhaps this was one of those jokes of his that she didn’t always understand at first.
Surprised, are you? We’re going to Braunsfelde to meet the architect and the buyers. We’ll sign everything and then it’ll be nothing to do with me any more.
You’re joking.
Perhaps jokes are a question of race, child. Wilhelm turned to her now. We just don’t understand each other. Why would I buy a house here when the new contracts haven’t been negotiated yet?
Helene swallowed. He had never before so explicitly used the word race to indicate the difference between them.
There are plans for some important innovations in P?litz. Getting that job would be quite a coup. Then Wilhelm was snoring, he had begun snoring again directly after this last remark. It was a mystery to Helene how someone could fall asleep in the middle of talking.
After the long winter Wilhelm’s skin was giving him trouble. They had finished supper one evening, Helene had cleared the table, Wilhelm had wiped it down with the dishcloth. Helene was wondering how she could begin the conversation – a conversation that was important to her.
These spots are disgusting, don’t you think? Wilhelm was standing in front of the mirror looking alternately over his right and left shoulders. It wasn’t easy for him to see his back, broad as it was. He ran the palm of his hand over his skin, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. Look, there’s a boil there.
Helene shook her head. It doesn’t bother me. She was standing at the sink, washing the dishes in a basin.
Not you, no. A wry smile escaped Wilhelm. It makes no difference to you what I look like. Wilhelm couldn’t stop examining his back. Will it heal over?
Heal over? You have a good strong back, why wouldn’t that place heal over? Helene was scrubbing the bottom of the pan; sauces had been sticking to it and burning for weeks now. People either have spots or they don’t, she said, rinsing out the pan under clear running water.
What a charming prospect. Wilhelm pulled on a vest, leaned close to the mirror and felt the skin of his face.
Zinc ointment might help. Helene wasn’t sure if he was listening to her advice. She had something else on her mind, the matter she wanted to speak to him about. But if she opened the subject quietly, as a piece of information, as news, as a simple sequence of words, she could feel how the blood would shoot to her face. The spots, on the other hand, really didn’t bother her and never had. Disgust was something different. When she had seen the maggots in her father’s wound she had been surprised by the way they curled and crawled in the flesh. Or perhaps she was imagining that recollection; she had a good memory, but it wasn’t infallible. Disgust, though? Helene thought of the amazement she had felt at the sight of the wound. The wreck of a body. Jews as worms. I am a parasite, thought Helene, but she did not say so. You couldn’t compare the human body with the body politic of the German people. Perhaps she could alleviate Wilhelm’s trouble.
Would you squeeze the pus out of them? Wilhelm smiled at her, a little diffidently but sure that she would. Whom else could he ask to do him this favour?
Of course, if you like. Helene raised her eyebrows as she scoured the pan. But it won’t be much help. The skin will be broken and then there’ll be more spots.
Wilhelm took his vest off again, stood close to her and showed her his back.
Helene hung the pan up on its hook, took off her apron, washed her hands and set to work. Wilhelm’s skin was thick, the pores large, it was firm and very fair skin.
Wilhelm let out the air through his teeth. He had to ask Helene to go more carefully. That’ll do, he said suddenly and turned to face her.
Helene watched as he put on garment after garment and finally fetched his shoes, checked to see that they were well polished and put them on. Obviously he was going out, although it was late already.
We’re going to have a baby.
Helene had firmly determined to tell Wilhelm this evening. Something had gone wrong, although she was sure she hadn’t miscalculated. Helene could remember how it happened. It must have been on the night when Wilhelm came home late and had woken her up. She had known it was a risky day and had tried to change his mind, but she had not succeeded. Later she had washed for hours and douched herself with vinegar, but obviously it hadn’t worked. When her periods stopped, and a weekend came when Wilhelm was away on business in Berlin and didn’t want to take her with him, she had bought a bottle of red wine and drunk it all. Then she had taken her knitting needles and poked about. After a while she started bleeding and went to sleep, but it wasn’t a period. Her periods had stopped. She had known for weeks; she had been trying to think of some way out. She didn’t know anyone in Stettin; there hadn’t been a letter from Berlin for months. Once Helene tried telephoning Leontine. No one answered. When she asked the exchange to put her through to Fanny’s number, the switchboard operator said the number was no longer available. Presumably Fanny hadn’t been able to pay her bills. There was no way out of it now, there was just her certainty. Wilhelm looked down at his shoes.
We are?
She nodded. She had expected, first afraid and then hopeful, that Wilhelm would congratulate himself; she had thought there was nothing he wanted more.
Wilhelm stood up and took Helene by the shoulders. Are you sure? The corners of his mouth twitched, but yes, there was pride in his face, the first suggestion of delight, a smile.
Quite sure.
Wilhelm stroked Helene’s hair back from her forehead. As he did so he looked at his watch. Perhaps he had an engagement and someone was waiting for him. I’m glad, he said. I really am. Really very glad.
Really very glad? Helene looked doubtfully up at Wilhelm, trying to meet his eyes. When she stood in front of him she had to put her head right back to do so, and even then it was possible only if he noticed that she was looking at him and looked down at her. He did not look down at her.
Why the question? Is there something wrong?
It doesn’t sound as if you’re really pleased.
Wilhelm glanced at his watch again. How dreadful your doubts are, Alice. You’re always expecting something else. Now, I have an urgent meeting. We’ll discuss it later, right?
Later? she asked. Perhaps this was one of the secret professional meetings that took Wilhelm out in the evening more and more frequently.
My God, this isn’t the moment. If I’m too late back tonight, then tomorrow.
Helene nodded. Wilhelm took his hat and coat off the hook.
As soon as the door had closed, Helene sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands. For her, the past few months had consisted of waiting. She had waited for letters from Berlin, she had waited for Wilhelm to come back from work so that she could hear words spoken, perhaps she didn’t exactly want to talk to anyone, but just to hear a human voice. When she had asked him to let her look for a job in the hospital he had always refused. In his view the words you are my wife were explanation enough. His wife did not have to work, his wife was not to work, he didn’t want his wife to work. After all, she had plenty of housework to keep her occupied. Not bored, are you? he had sometimes asked, and told her that she could clean the windows again, he was sure they hadn’t been cleaned for months. Helene cleaned the windows, although she had done the job only four weeks ago. She rubbed them with crumpled-up newspaper until the panes shone and her hands were dry, cracked and grey with newsprint. The only people with whom she exchanged a word during the day were the woman in the greengrocer’s, the butcher and sometimes the fishwife down on the quay. The grocer didn’t speak to her, or at least only to say what the price of something was, and her greetings and goodbyes went unanswered. On most days she didn’t utter more than three or four sentences. Wilhelm was not particularly talkative in the evenings. If he was at home and didn’t go out again, which recently had been the case only one or two evenings a week, his replies to Helene were monosyllabic.
Helene sat at the table rubbing her eyes. She felt dreadfully tired. She still had to wash Wilhelm’s shirts and put the sheets through the mangle. There were bones for soup in the cool larder cupboard under the windowsill. A little air bubble inside Helene burst. Wind? She hadn’t eaten anything to give her flatulence. Perhaps it was the baby. Was this how it felt when a baby started moving? My child, whispered Helene. She put her hand on her belly. My child, she said, smiling. There was no way out of it now, she was going to have a baby. Perhaps it would be nice to have a child? Helene wondered what the baby would look like. She imagined a little girl with dark hair, hair as dark and eyes as bright as Martha’s, and an inscrutable smile like Leontine’s. Helene stood up, put Wilhelm’s shirts in the big boiler and placed the boiler on the stove. Then she washed carrots, scraped them, and put them in a pan of water with the bones. A bay leaf and a little pepper. Helene peeled the onions, stuck them with a clove and put them in the pan with the bones. She scrubbed the celery, cut it in half and stuffed it in between the carrots and bones. Finally she washed the leek and the parsley root. She mustn’t forget the leek later. She didn’t like a leek to soften in the soup overnight, and then disintegrate next morning as soon as she tried to fish it out.
Wilhelm didn’t come home until Helene was asleep. Next day was Sunday, and when he didn’t mention the baby of his own accord, Helene told him, unasked: It will come at the beginning of November.
What will? Wilhelm was cutting up his bread and jam with a knife and fork, an oddity that Helene had only recently noticed. Did he feel that her hands soiled the bread she cut for him?
Our baby.
Oh, that. Wilhelm chewed noisily; you could hear the sound of his saliva. He munched for a long time, swallowed, and put down the knife and fork.
Another cup of coffee? Helene picked up the coffee pot to pour him more.
Wilhelm did not reply, as he often forgot to do, and she refilled his cup.
Do you know what I think . . . ?
Listen, Alice. You’re expecting a child, all right? If I said yesterday I was glad then I am glad, do you hear? I’m glad you’ll soon have some company.
But . . .
Don’t interrupt me, Alice. That really is a bad habit of yours. We don’t belong together, as you know for yourself. Wilhelm sipped some coffee, put down his cup and took another slice of bread from the basket.
He must mean the two of them as a couple, their marriage, he as husband and she as wife. Something about the coming child seemed to upset him. If Helene had assumed he was glad of it, obviously he was glad of it only for her sake, for the prospect of her having company and not bothering him any more. But he wasn’t pleased about the child for himself. There was neither pleasure nor pride in his face today. Was it the connection with her impure race that he didn’t like? Helene knew he would lose his temper if she suggested that out loud. He didn’t want to talk about it, particularly not to her.
Don’t look at me like that, Alice. You know what I mean. You think you have me in your power? You’re wrong. I could inform on you. But you’re expecting a child, so I won’t.
Helene felt her throat tighten. She knew it was unwise to say anything, but she had to. Because I am expecting a child? I am expecting your child, our child.
Don’t get so worked up, for God’s sake, shouted Wilhelm, and he slammed his fist down on the table, making the cups and saucers clink.
You are the child’s father, Wilhelm.
So you say. Wilhelm pushed his plate and saucer aside; he didn’t look at her. There was more indignation and self-righteousness in his voice than dismay. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. A look of contempt came into his face. Although who’s to say you aren’t sleeping with other men again, you, you . . . ? Wilhelm was on his feet now and couldn’t find a suitable term of abuse to hurl at her. Bitch – could he really not think of that? His lips were firm and you could see his teeth in straight rows. He was angry, just angry. I’ll tell you something, Alice. It’s my right, do you hear, it’s my right to sleep with you. And you enjoyed it too, admit it. But no one told you to go and get pregnant.
No, said Helene quietly, shaking her head. No one told me to do that.
Well, there you are. Wilhelm clasped his hands behind his back and paced up and down. You’d better start thinking how you’re going to feed and keep your brat. I’m not prepared to provide for you and your baby on my own.
This was not unwelcome news to Helene. Over these last few months she had so often asked his permission to get a job – she would have loved to work in a hospital again. She missed her patients, the knowledge that what she did helped other human beings, that she was useful. But Helene had no time to go into that now. There was something else she must say, it would make trouble for her but she had to say it. Helene looked up at him. I know why you don’t inform on me. Because you forged those papers, because you can’t inform on me without giving yourself away too.
Wilhelm lunged at her. She raised her hands over her head to protect herself, but he seized her arms, held them tightly and forced her up from the chair. It crashed to the ground. Wilhelm pushed her through the kitchen and up against the wall. He held her there, let go with one hand just to press her head against the wall with the flat of that hand so hard that it hurt. Never say that again, never, do you hear? You serpent. I forged nothing, nothing. Your name was Alice when I met you. It’s no business of mine how you got those papers. No one will believe you, just get that into your head. I’ll say you lied to me, Helene Würsich.
Sehmisch, my name is Sehmisch, I’m your wife. Helene couldn’t move her head, writhe as she might in Wilhelm’s strong grip.
He put his hand over her mouth; his eyes were blazing. Hold your tongue. He waited, but she couldn’t say anything with his hand pressed to her mouth. You’ll keep quiet, is that clear? I won’t say it a second time.
One September evening, Wilhelm had invited two colleagues with whom he was working on the great construction projects in P?litz to supper. Helene was not supposed to know about their plans for rebuilding, she had only picked up a few things in passing and was careful not to ask Wilhelm any questions. He was probably planning the new design of the whole site with his colleagues. Workers had to be accommodated, the camp on the building site had to have space for whole columns of them. The hydrogenation works needed a building plan which, over and above the chemical processing plant, called for good logistics in the matter of traffic and supplies. Wilhelm introduced Helene to his two colleagues as his wife. At his request she had cooked fresh eel and was now serving the three men sitting at the table.
Beer, called Wilhelm, holding up his empty bottle without turning to Helene. The bottle almost hit Helene’s belly. She took it from him. And you gentlemen?
One of them still had some in his glass, the other nodded. Go on, can’t have too much beer.
My word, Wilhelm, your wife can certainly cook.
Fresh eel, that was my mother’s speciality, the other man said appreciatively.
Everyone’s good at something. Wilhelm laughed and took a good gulp from his bottle. His eyes passed fleetingly over Helene’s apron. Something growing in there, eh? He laughed, and in high spirits reached with one hand for her breast. Helene retreated. Had his colleagues seen and heard? She turned; she didn’t want anyone to see her blushing.
When is it due? His young colleague looked down at his plate as if asking the eel for an answer.
Alice, when is it due? Wilhelm was in a good mood. Well pleased with himself, he looked round for Helene, who was putting the last steaming potatoes in a dish and setting it down on the table.
In six weeks’ time. Helene wiped her hands on her apron and took the spoon to help the men to potatoes.
Six weeks, as soon as that? It wasn’t clear whether Wilhelm was really surprised or putting on an act. How time flies!
And you’re applying for posts in Berlin? His older colleague sounded startled. Helene knew nothing about Wilhelm’s making any such application.
These days people are needed everywhere, K?nigsberg, Berlin, Frankfurt. Wilhelm drank to his colleagues. We’ll soon be through with P?litz, then we’ll have to see what’s to be done next.
Right, said his younger colleague and drank some beer.
Helene served Wilhelm’s potatoes last. They were still steaming; perhaps it was too cold in the kitchen. She’d have to add coal to the stove. Since she had been expecting her baby Helene didn’t feel the cold as she used to, and was slow to notice when the apartment was getting chilly.
Never mind that, Alice, we can look after ourselves. You can leave us now. Wilhelm rubbed his hands above his steaming plate.
It was true, the men had their food and Wilhelm knew where the beer was. He could get up himself to find fresh supplies. As Helene was leaving the kitchen she heard him say to his friends: Do you two know the one about Renate-Rosalinde with the barbed-wire fence?
His colleagues were roaring with laughter before Wilhelm could go on.
She asks the holidaymaker: What do you think of my new dress? Fabulous, says the lance-corporal, reminds me of a barbed-wire fence.
The men roared again. Helene put up the ironing board in the bedroom next door.
Barbed-wire fence, says our beauty, how do you mean? Why, says the lance-corporal, grinning and rolling his eyes, it protects the front without keeping it out of sight.
More laughter. Helene heard bottles clinking, and knocking on the table. Very neat reply, said one of his colleagues, probably the older one.
Wilhelm’s laughter outdid the mirth of the others.
Helene took the shirt that Wilhelm would be wearing next day out of the basket and ironed it. A few weeks earlier Wilhelm had given her an electric iron for her birthday. The electric iron was amazingly light in weight. Helene could glide it over the fabric so quickly that she had to tell herself to iron more slowly. There was still loud laughter next door and Helene kept hearing the clink of bottles. The child inside her was kicking, it struck a rib on the right, her liver hurt, and Helene put a hand to her belly to feel how hard the bump inside it was. It was probably the coccyx there, turning with difficulty from left to right, with the bump pressing against her abdominal wall. The little head inside her sometimes rested on her bladder so painfully that she kept having to go out to the lavatory on the landing. Wilhelm didn’t like her to keep using the chamber pot in the night, so she had to go out to relieve herself. He must find the slow trickle into which her flow of urine had turned in the last few weeks intolerable; perhaps she disgusted him now. Since their altercation in the spring, Wilhelm hadn’t touched her again, not once. At first Helene thought he was just angry and his desire would revive. She knew him, she knew only too well how often that desire, that unassuageable lust overcame him. But as days and weeks passed by, she realized it was not directed at her any more. Helene seldom asked herself whether it was because she was pregnant and he didn’t want to sleep with a pregnant woman, not wishing to disturb the child in her and feeling increasing distaste for her body, or whether it was simply that the outcome of his lust, the awareness that a child had been conceived, filled him with alarm and dismay. Once, towards morning, she had woken to hear his shallow breathing on the other side of the bed in the dark. His blanket was moving rhythmically, until a point came when the hint of a high squeal could be heard as he let out his breath. Helene had pretended to be asleep, and it was not the only time she had heard him doing that during the night. She didn’t feel sorry for him, nor was she disappointed. A pleasant indifference towards her husband had taken hold of Helene. On other nights he stayed out very late, and she smelled sweet perfume so strongly when he staggered into the bedroom early in the morning, drunk, and collapsed on the bed, that she knew he had been with another woman. She pretended to be asleep on those nights too. It was as well for them to leave each other in peace. In the daytime, when Helene came back from shopping, had cleaned the apartment and put the washing to soak and then to boil, she liked to read for half an hour. Everyone needs a break now and then, she told herself. She was reading a book by a young man who had been to a training school for servants in Berlin. It was called Institute Benjamenta. Think well, mean well. The total eradication of your own will was the idea of the training, what a wonderful idea. Helene often had to laugh out loud to herself. She had hardly ever found a book so entertaining. When she laughed her belly went firm and hard, her uterus contracted, its huge muscle protected the baby from any violent movement. She had borrowed the book from the Rosengarten library, where she wasn’t supposed to go, because there were no books from this particular publisher now in the People’s Library. Helene thought of Leontine’s dark and magical smile, the sweet tenderness of Carl’s lips, his eyes, his body. It wasn’t so easy to reach past her big belly with her arm, nor could she, as she had once liked to do, put a pillow between her thighs, lie on her stomach, and try to make those movements; her belly was too big for her to lie on it, so now Helene just stroked herself and thought of nothing.