Tante Eva Page 13

  Holiday sang that she was a good girl, but her love was all wrong. Eva started rubbing her legs furiously, and it felt good. It was about circulation. She just needed to improve her circulation. That’s why making love to Hans always helped. That’s why walking over to Maggie’s new home would be good. She’d do it, soon. Maybe even without calling first. But first, she’d write her sister.

  Chapter 25

  Dear Liezel,

  As you know, Maggie has a job and an apartment (which I haven’t visited yet but will very soon), and in many ways, she overwhelms me with her maturity and her responsible nature. I think she got a job teaching within two weeks of being here. The apartment hunting took a bit longer, which was fine with Elena. In fact, I think Elena will miss the company. She pretends to like her artistic solitude, but really she’s a boisterous, social person who liked having them around more than she’d admit. They also helped her with the rent. Did you know that? And Elena greatly appreciated that. She doesn’t make much selling her work or handling Hugo’s estate and occasionally picks up work at a friend’s tavern. Of course, she also gets some money from the government. Even in West Germany, they support their artists. And she’s gotten some grants. She is doing well.

  But enough about my daughter. I am writing, of course, to you about Maggie.

  I did not want to agree with you about her boyfriend, Tom. I wanted to like him, or at least think he wasn’t so bad as to worry about Maggie. And I cannot say, honestly, that I worry about Maggie. She is a tough one, a smart one. Tom seems to rely on that, and perhaps it isn’t the healthiest relationship, but I can only imagine Maggie coming out of it even stronger than she is. But I have given myself away here—saying that she will come out of it. Unfortunately, I don’t think either you or me will have much influence on when or how, but I do think she’ll get out just fine. And I will add that I do hope the sooner the better.

  But you should be proud of her. She is beautiful, smart, and a survivor. How many broken hearts have we suffered? Particularly in our youth? And with young people now, it is even more common.

  Their new apartment is very near mine here in the former GDR. I am a bit surprised they chose here, but it is cheaper, and I believe it is a very big space.

  I tell you all this not knowing if Maggie is in touch with you herself. I gather not, from what you and she tell me. I also tell you everything feeling that I haven’t broken her confidence. Nor do I want to be anything but a good sister to you. You may not believe that, but I do.

  I say this, and immediately what comes to mind is my leaving you, when Vati remarried. I know I had no choice, but you didn’t know that. You were a child. And even though I had no choice, I still felt horrible about it. But you must know that.

  I also want to be someone your daughter can trust. Sometimes I wonder if my love for your daughter is my desire to make it up to you, to repair what I fear I irreparably broke. On the other hand, I worry you think I am trying to come between you and Maggie. And hurt you more.

  My intentions are good, and I think I can be a help to you both.

  I hope all is well for you. Please write back when you can.

  In Liebe,

  Deine Eva

  Chapter 26

  It was a Saturday, early in the day for Eva; she had planned to wake up early enough to still have motivation. She had decided to stop by Maggie and Tom’s. It had been nearly three weeks since the night out at Café Einstein. She’d spoken to Maggie once on the hall phone. Maggie had said, “I’m off Saturdays. Stop by anytime.” Finally, Eva was going to do it. It was past time for a visit.

  The day was oddly gorgeous. The gray streets almost seemed bright with sun, the air was sharp, but not painfully so. It was as if spring had come two months earlier than usual. She carried a parcel of chocolates and pastries that she had picked up the night before. She had wanted everything taken care of beforehand. So often, something derailed her. Her weak nerves, her painful legs, her generalized fear, her melancholy. How many days had passed when the only thing she could do was listen to her records and pray? It took all of her energy to prepare for this outing.

  And then, parked in front of her building was Hansi in the Cadillac, talking on a phone in his car. It was the most absurd thing she’d ever seen. A phone in a car? She’d seen such things, sometimes, walking down the Ku’damm. Her heart began pounding. Her Hansi was so full of surprises.

  She walked up to the car and by pressing a button, Hans rolled down the window on the passenger’s side. This startled Eva, and she tripped slightly, falling onto the car. Her face reddened.

  “Hans, was machst du hier so früh?”

  “Eh? Steig ein.”

  “Ich muss zu meiner Nichte. Ich kann das nicht schon wieder verschieben.”

  Eva didn’t flinch, even though she wanted to. If she didn’t go see Maggie today, she had no idea when she’d get it together to see her.

  “Dann bring ich dich hin,” Hansi said, opening the door for her.

  “Okay! Wunderbar.”

  It was only a twenty minute walk; Eva didn’t need a ride. She feared she’d feel rushed with Hans there. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have even mentioned Maggie or any obligation. She would have just gone wherever he wanted to take her, gladly. Imposing her life on him was not her norm. She comforted herself with the fact that at least she was going to Maggie’s. And maybe they could set up a date to have lunch or to see each other again soon. It was not a waste, no. Even if it was going to be a brief visit.

  Hans drove without asking directions. When Eva gave him the address, he said he knew.

  “Wie kommt das? Dass du die Adresse von meiner Nichte kennst?”

  He smiled broadly. “I met them both, the day they were visiting you. While you were getting ready, I was downstairs, they came down.”

  “Yes, but you know where they live?”

  “Warum nichts? Tom is an enterprising young man. He won’t be fixing the apartment forever.”

  Eva was shocked. How could they be in contact without her knowing it? It seemed a horrible secret for Maggie to keep from her. She was angry at her niece, and at Hans. But she said nothing. The way he kept stealing glances at her with that smile on his face, she didn’t want to give him any more satisfaction. His love of secrets she put up with, but this time it was too much.

  Hansi parked the car.

  “Kommst du mit?” she asked, as she opened the door to let herself out.

  “Warum nicht?”

  They walked toward a modern four-story, Soviet-style apartment building—built in the 1960s like Eva’s, only smaller—on a corner of a quiet block. On the sidewalk in front of the building next to Maggie and Tom’s, dark-skinned children played with a ball. As they neared, Eva saw how unwashed they were, how young they were to be alone on the street. No doubt both of their parents, not to mention uncles and aunts and grandparents, were slaving away at some low-level job for a pittance. The buildings on the other end of the block were boarded up, except for the one at the very end; it was a shell, having been burned down. Arson. So common no one even thought twice to investigate. Another crappy building gone? Good.

  There were no buzzers, no names near the front of the door. Eva felt nervous and clutched the bag of pastries tightly. The front door was ajar and, before she could do anything, Hans pushed it open and began walking up the stairs.

  It was dark; there was a light in the hallway, but not a bright one. This comforted Eva. Sometimes her building didn’t feel well lit, though it was a fine building, fine enough. Sometimes a light in the hallway would be out for weeks before it got changed. So here was a light. That was good sign.

  Each floor had two doors. On the second floor, one of the doors lay wide open, revealing an abandoned apartment. On the third floor, Hans stopped and started banging on a closed door that looked newly painted. In fact, Eva could smell the strong, ch
emical odor of fresh paint. This warmed her more. They cared. They’d been painting.

  “Sie werden noch schlafen, vermute ich,” Hans said, and Eva looked at him harshly. Then he pounded on the door even more.

  “Es reicht!” Eva said. The noise embarrassed her, angered her. Although she wasn’t sure anyone else lived in the building.

  Hans turned to her. She’d angered him, but just then Maggie opened the door, in loose pajamas, her hair tousled, her face without makeup and badly scarred. With makeup her skin had always been rough looking, but without it, Eva now saw, her complexion was even worse.

  “Eva! Hans. What are you doing here?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “I came to visit. I brought pastries,” Eva began, nervously. “I wanted to see you. Perhaps I should have called, but you know how I rarely use the hall phone. And you are so close! I knew you didn’t work on Saturdays and when we spoke last you said I could just stop by anytime.”

  “Come in, come in.” Maggie ushered her guests in. “I think it’s about time we bought you your own phone, Tante Eva. Come. I’ll make some coffee.”

  The apartment was enormous—they had the whole floor. They must have had a wall knocked down. It was clearly two apartments put together. The smell of paint was strong and the walls were fresh white, blue, and lavender. The far wall, facing the back of the apartment, appeared to be an unfinished mural of some kind. A big mattress lay on the floor near the mural. The sun shone brightly on the white sheets that lay about. They had woken her, that was for sure. She herself often slept this late. She couldn’t judge.

  “Tom is sleeping in the back room,” Maggie said, nodding toward a closed door at the far end of the apartment. “He got in very late last night. So he didn’t want to bother me.” She said this delicately, as if she were appreciative and yet embarrassed as well.

  “Your apartment is lovely, Maggie. And you painted it. It’s beautiful, really,” Eva said. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, but that didn’t surprise her. They hadn’t been here long. Maggie started making coffee on a portable electric burner.

  “We don’t have a proper kitchen set up yet. So as you can see, this is how I make coffee. But Tom is very good at that sort of thing. He’s working on it.”

  “Ja, and I am helping him get a good price on a stove and a refrigerator,” Hans said.

  Eva stared at him in wonder. Then she turned to Maggie, who began walking back into the darker part of the flat, carrying a tray with coffees.

  “Here, sit down back here. I just need to turn a light on.”

  There was a small table surrounded by chairs, and Maggie turned on a light hanging from the ceiling. A bare bulb, like the one in the hallway, although this one was bright. Too bright, in fact. Eva felt her face flush. She hated too-strong light. It wasn’t flattering.

  Maggie sat across from her. She smiled weakly at her aunt, and Eva could see that her eyes were clear. Hans did not sit with them. He walked around the room impatiently, his arms folded behind his back, examining the mural.

  “Tom made that,” Maggie said. “He’s painting again, which is just wonderful. He’s always happier and more at ease when he’s working on his art.”

  “How’s teaching?”

  “It’s going well. They’ve given me some more classes.” Maggie looked down at her coffee. “I’m very busy now. Which is good.”

  “Are you the only ones in the building?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Well, I’m not sure. There were some people living on the ground floor. But now I’m not sure.”

  “Are you squatting? Do you have a lease?”

  Hans was heading back to where Tom was supposedly sleeping. He opened the door to the room without knocking and shut it behind him.

  Maggie smiled awkwardly. Eva asked, “Is it safe here?”

  “I feel safe, Tante. Don’t worry.”

  “I wrote your mother a letter. I don’t know how in touch you are with her. I told her you had a good job.”

  Maggie tilted her head. She looked so innocent, her bleached hair wild about her head like a child who’d been outdoor playing. “My mother asked you about me?”

  “Of course. She’s worried about you. About Tom and you. I told her not to worry. That you were doing well. But I wanted to see for myself. To see you. To see where you live.” Eva sighed. “My loyalty is to you, Maggie. But I am not sure all of your mother’s concerns are without merit.”

  “She doesn’t like Tom. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Tom. I could never have done something like this, move to Berlin, get a job . . .”

  “But you were here before without him.”

  Maggie paused. “Yes, that’s true. But then, I lived off of my parents.”

  “And now he lives off of you?” Eva asked quietly. She knew she was treading sensitive ground. She had always appreciated Maggie’s forthrightness, her honesty, so perhaps Maggie would appreciate it back. It was something they liked about each other—they could be vulnerable to each other.

  “I never think of it that way.” Maggie paused and sipped her coffee. “True, I have the job. But he brings in money. He does.”

  “Do you pay any rent?”

  “Two hundred dollars a month. Mostly Tom works on the building—fixes things. It’s a great deal.”

  That was a lot of money to Eva, but she knew it wasn’t a lot in general. Not for this space. “And Hans? He got you the apartment?” Eva asked, gulping with emotion. Why was she in this position? How could no one have told her?

  “Yeah! So kind of him. He owns the building,” Maggie said, yawning. “He didn’t tell you?”

  Later, Hans and Eva were silent in the car. Eva knew from the direction they were going in that they were heading to Wandlitz. But then he exited, sharply.

  “Wohin fahren wir?”

  “Was sollen all die Fragen? Eh?” He hit the steering wheel for emphasis.

  “Ich habe noch mehr! I have more questions. I do!” Eva choked on her words. He was the only one! The only one she had. She would never have a lover again.

  “Frau! Du treibst mich in den Wahnsinn! Wirklich! Es reicht! Es reicht, dage ich! Hast du gehört? Du!?”

  Eva looked out the window. The day was ending. The sun’s warmth was giving way. They were going to the cabin. She knew it. But she had asked anyway. Tears rolled down her face, and she wiped them quickly. She didn’t want them to smear her makeup. She reached in her purse for her pills and managed to shake out a nighttime pill. It would help.

  The next morning, waking up in the cool cabin, a blanket of snow leading to the lake, Eva was moved by the quiet beauty. It was deathly, perfectly silent. Of course, her part of the city was quite desolate, but this was a different desolation, the country. It was very early, and yet she was wide awake. Hans lay next to her under the heavy wool blankets, his head propped up on a hard pillow. He was snoring delicately. There had been no more arguing the night before. No more talking really, except for him ordering her to get him a beer, or boil water. No, they had had a quiet evening, a good evening, really. No more had been said, and that was good.

  Just now, right before she woke, Eva had dreamed of home, of Leoben. In the dream, her mother looked as she had on her deathbed, except she was not thin; she had the robust, womanly body she had before she got sick. She wore one of her dresses, a smart blue flowered dirndl with a yellow apron that she had made herself. She had made dirndls for Liezel and Eva, too. She had been an excellent seamstress, like most Austrian women from her time. In the dream, Eva stared longingly at her mother’s warm, big body; how she had buried herself in it so often, as a young girl. But her mother’s face was covered with purple sores, and her skin was greenish and sickly. It was her deathbed face, but it was also Maggie’s face, as Eva realized on waking. In the dream they were in the kitchen together, Eva sitting down at the table watching her mother.


  “I’m making potato dumplings, Evalein, your favorite!” she said and smiled at Eva. She was kneading the dough on a wooden board, then slapping it and shaping it into balls.

  “Oh, Mutti, wie wunderbar!” Eva could see herself sitting at the table, clasping her hands like a young girl. But she was the woman she was now—dark red hair, the face of middle age, strong makeup. “But you are dead, Mutti! How can you cook for me?”

  Her mother laughed. “Dead? What does dead mean? I am here now, cooking, no?”

  “Yes,” Eva said. “But this is a dream.”

  “So it is.” Her mother said. “And I am dead, and I am cooking for you. You need me. You need someone to take care of you, Evalein. So I will take care of you. Even though I am dead, and even though this is just a dream.”

  It was meant to be a comforting dream. In the dream, Eva had been comforted. But on waking, it disturbed her to think of her mother’s face like that again. Whenever Eva did think of her mother, she thought of her as she was before she was sick, before her face became so disfigured. Now there it was: her death face, her lovely mother’s death face, smiling at her in her dreams.

  Eva stood quietly, trying not to wake Hans. This was not easy, as the floorboards in the cabin squeaked. He turned on his side and snorted as she moved, but his breathing stayed shallow. Quietly she wrapped herself in a thick wool coat that he’d left in the cabin and shoved her feet into a pair of rubber boots he kept there as well. She stepped outside and walked toward the lake. Halfway there, she squatted, lifting her skirt with her already cold hands, and relieved herself in the snow. Her urine hissed and the warmth of her fluids melted the snow, mist rising toward her. Using her left hand, as she was taught as a girl, but without the help of a leaf, she wiped herself, her vagina still sore, almost hot, from last night, from Hans’s rough, quick time with her. It was okay he was quick. It was cold; quick was good in the cold. She wiped her hand in the snow, then on her coat; then she smelled it. Mossy. Slaty. Then awkwardly standing, grunting to do so, she continued down to the lake. It was a small lake, or a big pond, frozen smooth. On the other side of it was another cabin or an outbuilding of some sort. There was a path through the woods that circled around most of the pond, and Eva took it. She walked quickly, her breath coming out in a wet fog.