Peter Stamm - Seven Years

If we hadn’t slept together that night, I probably wouldn’t have asked Sonia to marry me, and she would have left just as uncertain and undecided as she’d been when she arrived. Perhaps then she would have stayed in Marseilles, or gone to England or America. I sometimes wondered afterward what would have happened to us if we hadn’t gotten married, but Sonia never seemed to quarrel with destiny, not even at the worst of times, when everything seemed about to go up in smoke. She had made her decision that night, or maybe even earlier, and she stuck to it and accepted the consequences.

I got up and walked along the lakefront. I asked myself if Antje was right when she said passion was an inferior form of love. It wasn’t for nothing that it didn’t last. What connected me and Sonia was more than a brief intoxication. We had after all stayed together for eighteen years. Maybe our relationship worked precisely because we’d never gotten really close. Even so, I wasn’t sure if I wouldn’t one day find myself in a situation where I’d be willing once more to risk everything for nothing.

I went home. Sonia and Antje were still sitting on the terrace, talking. Sonia said they were going to go to the movies, they wanted to see The Lives of Others . We’ve seen that already. Yes, but Antje hasn’t, said Sonia. You’ll have to stay here anyway and watch Sophie. I didn’t understand what Sonia thought was so great about the film. When we went to see it, she cried. The last time she’d done that was for Schindler’s List , and I couldn’t understand that either.

I sat down at the table with the two women, even though I could sense I was intruding. Are you still talking about old times? It’s an inexhaustible subject, said Antje. Sonia was just telling me how her family reacted when she brought you back to meet them for the very first time. That was on Christmas Eve of ’89, I said. I remember because we argued about the fall of the Berlin Wall. I expect you were against it, said Antje. I wasn’t against it, I said, what I was against was prompt reunification. I think most of us at the time hoped that something of the GDR would be preserved, and that the West would be changed in some respect as well. Then Sonia’s father trotted out his war experiences. That wasn’t it at all, said Sonia, he was just a kid in the war. And then her parents asked me all kinds of questions about my family, I said. I was surprised they didn’t ask how much my old man made. Rüdiger would have suited them better. Antje laughed. That’s what Sonia just said too. They thought you were a bit rude, said Sonia, and my father had the feeling you were a socialist. He still does, I said. In Bavaria, it doesn’t take much to be thought of as a socialist. I think I just wasn’t good enough for them, they would rather their daughter married someone from their own circle.

Alex had to sleep in my sister’s room, Sonia laughed. And you slipped in to be with him? Antje asked. Did I? asked Sonia. No, I said. To this day you behave like a little girl when you’re with your parents. Sonia protested. Probably she was just too tired. Antje said she could remember Sonia arriving back in Marseilles after Christmas, and telling her she was going to get married. I looked at Sonia. She creased her brow thoughtfully. It’s a long time ago, she said, and stood up with a sigh. I’m getting chilly out here.

Sonia and Antje left at six, they wanted to get something to eat before the film. I stuck a frozen pizza in the oven for Sophie. When we began to eat, Mathilda meowed plaintively next to my chair. She hopped onto my lap. I grabbed hold of her and dropped her on the floor again. Didn’t you feed her? I asked. Sophie made no reply. Did you hear me? Sophie looked at me furiously, and said Mathilda isn’t getting anything to eat today, she pooped on my bed, and that’s her punishment. I tried to explain to Sophie that you couldn’t treat a cat like a human being, but she acted deaf. I lost my temper, and said if she didn’t give Mathilda something to eat right away, she wouldn’t get anything either. I took her plate away from her, and she got up seething with rage and ran upstairs. I ate, still furious at Sophie’s behavior. Then I gave the cat some food and went up to see Sophie, but she didn’t respond to my knock, and I didn’t feel like giving in. When I looked in on her an hour later, she was lying on her bed, fully dressed and asleep.

I went up to the attic to look for the model that Sonia had given me back then, the house she had created for the two of us. I was pretty sure it was in one of the boxes of my student stuff, but it took me a long time to find it. It was in a shoebox, along with the plans for it. It was much smaller than I’d remembered it. The cardboard was yellowed, and the glue had come off in one or two places, the two figures that represented Sonia and me had fallen off. I found them at the bottom of the box. They were plastic figurines of the sort you can get in any model shop. I looked at the plans and sketches. Le Corbusier’s influence could clearly be seen. The house occupied a relatively small area, but it was three stories and had a roof terrace. The rooms were generously cut. Light came in through a wall of windows, and through skylights on the top floor. I imagined what it would be like to live in that house, asked myself how it would have changed our lives. The house we were in now was much cozier, but there was something small-scale about it, with its narrow staircase and saddle roof. It was conventional in every way, and emanated a modesty and unobtrusiveness that might have suited me but that certainly didn’t express Sonia’s nature. It’s absurd, she said to me once, we think about beautiful buildings all day long, but we’ll never be able to afford one for ourselves. And the people we build for have no appreciation of quality. I took the model downstairs to the living room and put it on the sideboard.

Sonia and Antje weren’t back until almost midnight. Antje wasn’t wild about the film, but Sonia had cried again. I made myself some tea, the two women drank wine. Presumably they had had something to drink in the city, at any rate they both talked fast and volubly, and I could hardly get a word in edgewise. They talked about the film, but I got the impression the real subject was something else. Antje was aggressive, while Sonia defended herself to the best of her ability. She seemed unhappy, something was bothering her. After a while she got up and said she was going to bed. On the way to the door she noticed the model. She picked it up and turned to face us, as if to speak. For a moment she stood there with half-open mouth, and then she clumsily set the model down and quickly left the room.

Antje had settled herself comfortably on the couch. She leaned back and looked at me expressionlessly. Why should I give a damn? she finally said. I asked her what she was talking about, and she gestured dismissively. If I hadn’t brought you together, you would have found some other way. What you made of it is your affair. You’re free individuals.

I wondered what Sonia had told her, what they had discussed. Strange as it may seem, I said, the only one of us not to have compromised at all is Ivona. She’s the only one who knew what she wanted from the get-go, and who followed her path to the end. Didn’t exactly make her happy, did it? said Antje. Who can tell? I said. You didn’t get to the end of the story, she said. I don’t know if I can tell you the end of the story, I said, but I can at least tell you how it goes on. Antje poured herself some more wine and looked expectantly at me.

I told her how I had started seeing Ivona again during Sonia’s internship. I know about that, Antje said, Sonia told me. I was lonely, I said, all my friends had left the city, the office I was working in was staffed by idiots, and I was living with these two crazy women. I think the worst thing for Sonia was that it had to be the Polish girl, Antje said, she didn’t understand that. She still doesn’t understand it. She loved me, I said, she loves me to this day. It was as though that absolved me of all questions. You told me in Marseilles that I mustn’t demand too much from Sonia. I could ask for everything from Ivona. The more I asked of her, the more she loved me. Then why did you ask Sonia to marry you? asked Antje. I don’t know, I said, maybe I couldn’t stand the responsibility. Antje groaned aloud. After I split up with Ivona, I didn’t hear from her for years, I said, and I couldn’t say I missed her. They were difficult years. We opened our firm and took every job we were offered, renovations, little things that brought in neither money nor fame. At the same time we entered loads of competitions, were up against two hundred other firms. We worked for eighty hours a week, basically we did nothing but work. But it wasn’t a bad time, for all that. We knew what we wanted. We were still living in the three-room apartment in Schwabing, we had one of the rooms equipped as an office. Sometimes we didn’t go outside for days on end. I slept badly, and often I was half dead with exhaustion. Sonia’s parents offered to support us, but we didn’t want that. Then we won a contest to build a school in Chemnitz. Our project got some attention, and soon we got more contracts. We were able to start employing people, and move into bigger premises. Sonia was the creative brains of the enterprise. She did most of the designs, while I took on the organizational and managerial tasks. I hardly gave Ivona a thought. I assumed she was back in Poland, when one day I got a letter from her.