Eugen Ruge - In Times of Fading Light

The mere thought of it made her breath come in fits and starts. She wondered whether to take another ten drops of aminophylline. However, she had taken aminophylline twice already today, and since Dr. Süss had told her that an overdose could lead to paralysis of the muscles of her respiratory passages she was always afraid her breath might just stop; suddenly, in the night, she might give up breathing. She might give up living without noticing it herself… no, she wasn’t about to do Wilhelm that favor. She was still alive, and alive she was determined to stay. She still had things to do—once Wilhelm was out of the house. All the things that Wilhelm kept her from doing: living, working, traveling! One more journey to Mexico… to see the Queen of the Night in flower, just once…

Now she thought there was something scratching at the door. Or was it the rattling of her breath? Charlotte didn’t move from the spot. She looked to see whether the handle of the kitchen door was moving, but instead… she shuddered: slowly, very slowly the door into the servants’ corridor that she had just closed was opened, and something appeared, faintly illuminated by the light on the cellar stairs… something terrible… bent crooked… with hair standing out in all directions…

“Nadyeshda Ivanovna,” cried Charlotte. “Goodness, what a fright you gave me!”

It turned out that Nadyeshda Ivanovna was looking for her coat, had lost her way, and found herself in the cellar. In fact, Charlotte had given instructions for the coats to be taken down to the cellar, because the cloakroom alcove was full of flower vases. However, Lisbeth had brought the coats up again when the guests were leaving. Only Nadyeshda Ivanovna didn’t get her coat back, so she supposed it must still be in the cellar, but it wasn’t in the cellar, or so said Nadyeshda Ivanovna, anyway, and all this was beginning to get on Charlotte’s nerves. She really had more important things to do than bother about Nadyeshda Ivanovna’s coat!

But then the coat was suddenly back hanging in the cloakroom. For a moment Charlotte wondered whether to call Lisbeth to account: How did this get into the cloakroom? Instead, she took the coat off the hook and held it out to Nadyeshda Ivanovna.

“Where’s Kurt?” she asked, as it suddenly occurred to her. “Why didn’t he take you home with him?”

“ Ne snayu,” said Nadyeshda Ivanovna. Don’t know.

Then she got her arms into the sleeves of her coat, first one, then the other, adjusted her scarf, and while Charlotte was shifting impatiently from foot to foot buttoned up her coat, button by button, checked twice to see that her door key was still around her neck, looked for her handbag, and finally said, once she had remembered that she hadn’t brought a handbag:

“ Nu vsyo, poyedu.” I’m going.

“Going how? ” inquired Charlotte. “ Peshkóm, on foot!”

“ Nyet, poyedu,” insisted Nadyeshda Ivanovna. “Domoi!” Going home!

Probably, thought Charlotte, she wouldn’t want to walk home alone in the dark. She hurried into the salon and phoned Kurt to come and fetch her—but no one answered the phone. Incredible! Simply abandoning the old lady here! She thought for a moment, and called a taxi.

“ Sadityes,” she told Nadyeshda Ivanovna. “Seytshas budyet taxí!” Sit down. The taxi will soon be here.

“ Nyet, nye nada taxí,” said Nadyeshda Ivanovna. No, I don’t need any taxi.

“Nadyeshda Ivanovna,” said Charlotte. “Ya otsheny sanyata —I have a lot to do! Please sit down and wait for the taxi.”

But the old lady didn’t want a taxi. Didn’t want to walk, either. Such indecision infuriated Charlotte.

“ Spasiba sa vsyo,” said Nadyeshda Ivanovna. Thank you for everything.

And before Charlotte knew it, the old lady had flung her scrawny monkey arms around her neck and was clutching her tightly. Charlotte tried in vain to keep her nose out of Nadyeshda Ivanovna’s scarf, with its odor of naphthalene and Russian perfume—a mixture reminiscent of an armaments laboratory.

Then Nadyeshda Ivanovna tripped out into the dark. Charlotte stood in the fresh air for a moment, watching the old lady, bent over, take tiny steps to the garden gate—and disappear. A leaf sailed silently through the beam of light from the streetlamp, and Charlotte hurried indoors again before she was overcome by the melancholy of fall.

She stood in the hall for a moment, undecided. There was any amount still to be done, she didn’t know where to begin. Everything seemed more or less straight in the hall, only the flowers had to be disposed of, but of course there was time for that. The annoying thing, however, was that yet again her plan to label the vases hadn’t worked, thought Charlotte at the sight of the labels that Irina—typical of her!—had found only at the very last place she tried, too late to write on them. Because once all the vases were here, it stood to reason that no one would know who was the owner of which vase—a fact that anyone could understand, except of course Lisbeth, who had stuck the labels on them regardless. There stood the vases, with labels innocent of any writing… although what was this?

One of the labels did have something written on it. Charlotte went closer. Red lettering, Wilhelm’s scrawl:

CHEV, it said. That was all, merely: CHEV.

Tangible evidence. Charlotte took the label off the vase so that she could put it in the metal box where, for a long time now, she had been keeping all important documents: Lisbeth was not to be trusted. She spied for Wilhelm. However, the metal box was forty-four stairs away. She couldn’t keep the sticky thing in her trouser pocket… so for now she parked it on her cardigan.

She went into the salon and phoned Weihe: did he have a camera?

“I do,” said Weihe.

“I’ll call again soon,” said Charlotte, hanging up.

At the same moment it occurred to her that she hadn’t asked about the flash. She called Weihe again and asked whether he had a flash.

“I do,” said Weihe.

“I’ll call again soon,” said Charlotte, hanging up.

He was a wonderful guy, Weihe. Both of them, Rosi too, although she was so sick. You could rely on them. Charlotte wondered whether she had thanked the Weihes for collecting the flower vases. To be on the safe side, she called again and thanked them for collecting the flower vases.

“But you thanked us already, Frau Powileit,” said Weihe.

“I’ll call again soon,” said Charlotte, hanging up.

Then she turned to her chores. There was still a lot to do, and now, as she gradually got into her stride, it made her nervous to see Lisbeth still under the extending table. Only her bottom was showing.

“What are you doing there?” asked Charlotte.

Without answering her question, Lisbeth said, “Listen, Lotti, don’t we have any more plastic containers in the kitchen?”

“Plastic containers? What for?” said Charlotte. “All this is going in the garbage.”

“On the garbage?”

“ In the garbage,” said Charlotte. “We still speak correctly in this house.”

“Oh, but what a shame, Lotti! I’ll take it home with me if you don’t want it.”

“Yes, sure, take it home,” said Charlotte, and at the same moment it occurred to her that it might be a better idea to photograph the ruins of the buffet before Lisbeth cleared the evidence away.

However, now the doorbell rang. Who would be ringing the bell at this time of night? Annoying, thought Charlotte, how can I get anything done? Furiously, she marched through the hall and flung the front door open.

“Taxi,” said the man outside.