The Blind Side of the Heart (30 page)

I’m going to give you something to send you to sleep.

And I won’t feel anything?

No. Leontine turned; she had stirred some liquid in a glass container and poured it into a glass from which Helene could drink. I know how anaesthetists go about their work.

Yes, of course. Now Helene was frightened. She wasn’t afraid of the minor operation itself, she was afraid of unconsciousness. She sat down on the chair and drank the liquid in the glass at a single draught. She herself knew, from working at the pharmacy, what substances could be carefully administered in what amounts to induce unconsciousness for a limited period.

There was a knock, and Martha came in. She turned the key in the door and went to the window to pull down the shutters.

We don’t want anyone seeing this, she said, and came over to Helene. Now, breathe in. Just a little ether. Helene saw Martha’s steps moving in slow motion as she took her hand. She couldn’t feel Martha’s hand. Martha stood beside her and put an arm round her shoulders. I’m here with you.

There was no dream, no light at the end of the tunnel, no idea of what might have been, nor was there any image of a patriarchal God rising menacingly above Helene.

When she woke up she realized that she still felt numb all over. Only gradually did she feel the burning sensation. She was lying on her back with a strap firmly fastened over her breast. How had the other two women got her on to the stretcher? Helene dared not move. A light on the desk was switched on. Leontine was sitting at the desk, reading.

Is it gone? Helene’s voice shook.

Leontine turned to Helene, stayed where she was on her chair and said: Go to sleep, Helene. We’ll stay here tonight.

Is it gone?

Leontine buried herself in her book again. She didn’t seem to have heard Helene’s question.

A boy or a girl?

Now Leontine did turn to her abruptly. There was nothing there, she said, sounding annoyed. You ought to get some sleep. No embryo, no fertilized egg, you weren’t pregnant.

Footsteps could be heard in the corridor, then moved away again. Helene was coming round properly now. I don’t believe you, she whispered, feeling tears run down her temples and into her ears, lukewarm tears.

Leontine did not reply; she was bending over her book and turned a page. Seen lit from behind, with the light breaking like a prism in Helene’s tears, it looked as if there were a thousand Leontines. Was that a pair of glasses she was wearing? Helene wriggled her toes and the dragging sensation inside her became so sharp and violent that she felt slightly sick.

Is Martha on night duty? Helene tried to suppress the pain. She didn’t want to let it show in her voice.

All this week. She’ll be along later and we’ll take you home. You have seven hours until then, so you should get some sleep.

If Helene hadn’t been in such pain, she would have managed to tell Leontine that she didn’t want to sleep. But the pain would allow her only a few words and no defiance. Could I have a hot-water bottle?

No, warmth would only make it worse. Leontine gave the ghost of a smile. She stood up and came over to Helene, placing a hand on her forehead. You’re crying. I could give you some morphine, a little at least.

Helene shook her head vigorously. Certainly not; she never wanted to take morphine, she’d sooner bear the pain, any pain, although she didn’t say so aloud. She bit her lips, clenching her jaws.

Don’t forget to breathe. Leontine really was smiling now. She stroked Helene’s hair, which was damp from the perspiration on her forehead. Her tears kept on flowing; she couldn’t stop them.

When you need to pass water let me know. It hurts the first time, but the urine will help, it has a healing effect. You just ought to lie down a lot if possible. Does Carl know anything yet?

Helene shook her head again, despite the fact that she was crying. I told Carl we were going on holiday to the seaside. We’re on a trip to Ahlbeck, all right?

Leontine raised her eyebrows. Suppose he happens to meet me or Martha by chance?

He won’t, he’s studying for his exams. He’s stayed in his room for the last three weeks. Helene gasped, because she couldn’t laugh very well in such pain. He said it would still be chilly at the seaside and we mustn’t catch cold.

Leontine took her hand away from Helene’s forehead, went to her desk, pulled the lamp further down to her so that the rest of the room was more dimly lit and went on reading. In the lamplight it looked as if Leontine had a downy covering on her upper lip.

I didn’t know you wore glasses.

Well, don’t give me away to anyone, or I’ll give
you
away.

In the morning Martha and Leontine walked on either side of Helene. Martha carried the small red case with Helene’s underclothes in it. Helene had to keep stopping when her stomach cramped; she didn’t want to bend double in the middle of the street. Blood was flowing out of her, and it seemed thicker than usual. The wind was whistling, the girls held on to their hats. Helene felt wet all through, moisture crawling up to her kidneys, running down her legs, and she felt as if it had reached the backs of her knees.

You wait here with her, Leontine told Martha. And Martha waited with Helene, putting an arm round her sister’s waist. Martha’s arm seemed uncomfortably heavy to Helene, as if her touch were irritating the pain and bringing it back. Martha’s arm was a nuisance, but she couldn’t speak and she didn’t want to push Martha away. Suddenly she thought of her mother and felt bad. The sisters hadn’t heard from Bautzen for a long time. The last letter from Mariechen had come at Christmas, saying that everything was all right, their mother was better, she could sometimes take a walk with Mariechen now. A spasm seemed to tear Helene’s stomach apart and her knees almost gave way. Now Martha lifted her arm and put her hand on Helene’s shoulder; unasked, she assured her that they’d soon be there. There was a strange expression in Martha’s face, one that Helene had never seen before. Was it fear?

Little angel. Martha drew Helene to her and stood close. She stroked Helene’s face. Helene wanted to tell her she didn’t have to do that, it was only pain, that was all. She just had to overcome it, stand up to it, wait. Ahead of them in the street, Leontine waved; at last a taxi had stopped. It was beginning to rain, and passers-by put up their umbrellas. Leontine was now vigorously beckoning to them to join her. The blood between Helene’s legs had cooled. Martha and Leontine took her to the little room in Achenbachstrasse. They had pushed the beds back into their old position, one against each wall, and assured Helene that the two of them wouldn’t mind sharing the same bed for this week. They brought her water and told her it was important for her to rest as much as possible. There was a fragrance of bergamot and lavender. Helene wanted to wash herself, but she was not supposed to stand up. Doors closed out in the corridor. The Baron, perhaps?

No, Heinrich Baron had gone to Davos for the sake of his tuberculosis. He had been so ill recently that Leontine had examined him and prescribed something. The Karfunkels, husband and wife, had rented his room instead, said Martha. Fanny was glad to get a good rent, and had been able to redeem the gramophone and get it out of pawn.

Helene lay down on the narrow bed and closed her eyes. It was too bright.

It would be better if you lay on your front, little angel, then the uterus can drop more easily. Helene turned over. The pillows, the mattress, everything here smelled of Leontine. Helene closed her eyes again. The cramps weren’t too bad. And she wasn’t pregnant; that was good.

She lay on her front all that week, breathing in the smell of Leontine and being patient.

Martha had found out that the bus from Ahlbeck went to Heringsdorf and the express train from Heringsdorf station would reach Stettin Station in Berlin at two-thirty in the afternoon. So Leontine telephoned a friend in Ahlbeck and asked her to send a telegram to Carl Wertheimer. Arriving Sunday two-thirty, Stettin Station. Kisses, Helene.

Leontine was on duty at the hospital on Sunday. Martha and Helene went out to Bernau by tram. They waited a good half-hour at the railway station. Several newspaper boys ran towards the train as it came in, shouting, offering their Special Editions to the passengers at the windows. The train steamed and hissed even when it stopped. Berlin, all aboard. It was so crowded that Martha and Helene had difficulty in climbing on. The whistle blew and they were off. The train was full of Berliners who had been spending the Easter break by the sea and at other holiday resorts in the north-east, and were now on their way home to the city. They devoured their newspapers, exchanging views on the latest incidents in Schleswig-Holstein. They had no business in Wöhrden, said one old man, what did they think they were doing there anyway? Vigorous argument broke out around the old man. Cowards, that’s what they are, he said.

Cowards? Not on your life! Justice is at stake.

It’s dangerous to play with fire.

Helene held tight to the pole inside the carriage. They hadn’t managed to find a seat. The pain was quite slight now, it had moved from her lower body to her back at the base of her spine, where it throbbed only to an extent that Helene could endure quite well. The people around her couldn’t stop talking, everyone arguing with everyone else. Obviously these strong opinions were catching; every man, even every woman, wanted to speak at length about his or her views and arguments.

Underhand, that’s what I call it. The woman who said that sounded offended.

We’re not having an assembly banned, cried a man, and his neighbour agreed, we’re not letting them slaughter us. Martha and Helene had to stand by the door all the way to Stettin Station.

Carl was waiting at the station, waving his arms about as if he had wings. The train groaned and finally drew to a halt. They got out, Carl hurried towards them, shook hands with Martha and took Helene in his arms.

I’ve missed you.

Helene pressed her face close to him, to his smooth fur collar. She didn’t want him to look at her. People streamed past them.

A whole week by the seaside, and there am I sitting in my room and wondering whether Hegel absolutely had to alienate the German language from its original usage in order to express his ideas adequately. I mean, was it really necessary? Carl laughed. Where have you left Leontine?

She had to come back ahead of us. Professor Friedrich phoned her; he needed her urgently.

Let’s have a look at you. Yes, you do seem better. Carl inspected Helene like an apricot he was thinking of buying, and tenderly pinched her cheek. A hint of rings round the eyes, maybe. You two didn’t go dancing without me, did you?

We certainly did! And Martha handed Carl the little suitcase to carry.

That spring and summer flew by. Helene worked at the pharmacy, took the exams at the end of her course and waited for the results. Carl sat at his desk among his towers of books from morning to night; if he went out it was only for one of his written or oral examinations. At the end of the summer they both believed the world was at their feet. Two professors here were vying for Carl’s attention; he just had to decide whether he would rather go on reading Hegel, or follow the general trend of the time and look more deeply into Kant and Nietzsche. He wrote letters to Hamburg and Freiburg, where he knew of other scholars whose work filled him with enthusiasm. After his results were announced – he had passed
summa cum laude
– an invitation from Dresden arrived asking if he would like to study the question of universal validity in Kant’s aesthetics. But Carl was still waiting for answers from Hamburg and Freiburg.

You do know that we must get married before I leave Berlin, don’t you?

Carl squeezed Helene’s hand. They were crossing Passauer Strasse. There was a smell of foliage in the air; the autumn sunlight showed the light yellow of linden leaves against the dark branches of the trees. In Nürnburger Strasse the fallen leaves were being swept into heaps. Helene walked right through the middle of one heap, kicking it up with the toes of her shoes so that the dry leaves rustled. The maple leaves glowed green and red, their veins shining yellow and green, and edged with brown. The brown gold of chestnut leaves. Helene bent down and picked up a chestnut that had slipped out of its husk. Look, see how smooth it is, and such a lovely colour. She ran her thumb over the curve of the chestnut and held it out to Carl.

Carl took the chestnut from her hand, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were bright and looked almost green in the yellow light of the setting sun. There was a smile in them. Must we?

He nodded, he couldn’t wait any longer. Be my wife, he said.

Helene hardly had to reach up at all to kiss him on the mouth. I’m yours, she whispered.

Marry me in the spring? He wanted to make sure of it. He took her hand and walked on.

In the spring, she agreed. She wasn’t going to follow behind him, she caught up, and they both walked faster and faster. They had been invited to a party. The lights were already on in Achenbachstrasse. Fanny was still busy with her preparations; she needed the help of her domestic staff at home, and asked Carl and Helene to take Cleo for a walk. When they came back later the apartment was full of guests. A hoarse voice issued from the horn of the gramophone, complaining in song of the times they lived in. Their cousin from Vienna, whom Helene knew only slightly, hurried over to her as soon as they came through the door. He was so glad to see Helene, he said, he had never forgotten their delightful conversation two years ago. Helene wondered what conversation he meant. She had only a vague recollection of it; something to do with bringing up children. Such a pity, said her cousin in his rather moist-sounding voice, that she didn’t speak French. Now he put his large, soft hand on Helene’s arm. He had thought of offering her the post of governess to his daughters. Helene looked at him in astonishment. You could have our maid’s room; after all, we’re family.