Julia Franck - The Blind Side of the Heart

Lucinde, meet my nieces.

A gentleman leaned curiously over Aunt Fanny’s bare shoulders to look from Helene to Martha and back again. Obviously the guests filled every nook and cranny of the first floor of this building. The front door was still open behind them. Helene looked around, feeling she would like to escape. When she felt something touch her calf and looked down, she saw a coal-black poodle, newly clipped. The sight of the poodle helped her to breathe more easily.

A housemaid and a manservant took the sisters’ bags and helped them out of their coats. Helene’s newspaper was taken away — no one had noticed it — and two more menservants came up the steps with their trunk. Helene hurried a few steps after the girl carrying her coat and took the lemon out of its pocket.

A lemon, how delightful! screeched Lucinde the red-headed bull, but in as quiet a screech as possible.

Quick, go and freshen yourselves up and change for dinner, we dine in an hour’s time. Aunt Fanny was beaming at them. Her face, thin and regular, was like a painting with her cheeks so dark with rouge, while her eyelids shimmered green and gold. Long lashes rose and fell like black veils over her big black eyes. A young man passed Aunt Fanny and stopped beside her with his back to Martha and Helene. He kissed her bare shoulder, then laid his hand briefly against her cheek and went on to another lady who was obviously waiting for him. Fanny mimed clapping her hands. She looked so distinguished, elegant, graceful — words to describe her tumbled over themselves in Helene’s head — she looked so charming as her long hands touched but never actually made any clapping sound. Fantastic, she said. My treasure here will show you everything. Otta?

The housemaid Otta, white-haired and smooth-skinned, made her way through the throng of guests and led the sisters to a small room at the far end of the apartment. It smelled of violets. Two narrow beds had been made up, and in a niche in the wall stood a washstand with a big mirror. There was a lily pattern engraved on the rim of the glass. Candles in a five-branched silver candleholder gave a soft light, like the candlelight on an altar. The housemaid showed them towels, chamber pots, a wardrobe. And there was a bathroom and lavatory, a water closet, at the front of the apartment near the entrance door, the housemaid whispered. Then she excused herself, saying she had to open the door to other guests.

Is this a party? Martha looked in astonishment at the door that had closed behind the housemaid.

Change for dinner? Helene threw the lemon on the bed and put her hands on her hips. I’m already wearing my best dress.

She can’t know that, little angel. She won’t have looked closely.

Did you see her lips? Did you see all that make-up she’s wearing?

Vermilion. And her hair, cut to just above the earlobes — it’s the style in town, little angel. I’ll cut your blonde locks for you tomorrow, said Martha, laughing nervously as she opened the trunk. She rummaged around in it with both hands and sighed with relief when she found her little bag. Turning her back to Helene, she shook out its contents on the washstand. Helene sat down cautiously on one of the two beds. She stroked the throw arranged over it; it was so soft. The word cashmere came into her mind, although she had no idea what cashmere felt like. Ducking to look under Martha’s arms, Helene saw her open a small bottle and fill the syringe with liquid. Her hands were shaking. She rolled up the sleeve of her dress, tied her large handkerchief round her arm with an expert gesture and plunged the needle into the skin.

Helene was surprised to see how openly Martha let her watch all this. She had never used the syringe in front of her sister before. Helene rose and went over to the window. It looked out on a shady courtyard with maple trees, a carpet-beating frame and a small fountain. At this blue twilight hour, daffodils were in bloom.

Why are you doing that now?

Martha did not answer this question asked behind her back. Slowly, she pressed the contents of the syringe into her vein and sank back on to the bed.

Little angel, there could be no finer moment than this! We’ve arrived. We’re here. Martha stretched out on the bed and reached one arm towards Helene. Berlin, she said softly, as if her voice were dying of happiness, drowning in it. We’re in Berlin now.

Don’t say such things. Helene took a step towards the trunk, found her brushes in its side pocket and let down her hair.

The poison is sweet, little angel. Don’t look at me as if I were a damned soul. So I’m going to die some day — what about it? I suppose one’s allowed to live a little first? Martha chuckled in a way that, just for a moment, reminded Helene of their mother, left behind at home in her deranged state of mind.

Lying on her back, Martha kicked off her shoes — she had obviously undone their long laces already — undid the buttons of her dress and, as if it were perfectly natural, placed one hand on her bare breast. Her skin was white, thin and delicate, so delicate that Helene could see the veins shimmering underneath it.

Helene combed her hair. She sat down at the washstand and poured some water into the basin from the silver jug, she picked up the fragrant soap, smelling of southern lavender, and washed. Now and then Martha sighed.

Will you sing me a song, little angel?

What shall I sing? Helene’s voice had dried up. In spite of her long afternoon nap in the train, she felt tired, and could not find in herself the joy and happiness that she had expected to feel on arriving in Berlin, that she had in fact felt on the station.

Do you love me, dear heart, my golden girl?

Helene turned to Martha. Martha had difficulty concentrating her eyes on Helene; they kept sliding away from her and they looked as if the pupils filled them entirely.

Martha, do you need help? Helene looked at her sister, wondering if she was always like this just afterwards.

Martha hummed a tune that sounded very odd to Helene’s ears, winding its way between F sharp major and B flat minor. I wonder if Aunt Fanny has a piano?

You haven’t played for ages.

It’s not too late. Martha giggled in that strange way again and smacked her lips slightly, as if she were having difficulty in suppressing her giggles. She retched. Next moment Martha sat up, reached for one of the little red glasses standing on the glass-fronted cupboard and spat into it.

Very elegant, a little spittoon like this. Our fine aunt thinks of everything.

Martha, what is all this? Helene gathered up her hair, twisted it to the sides of her head and pinned it up. We have to be out there in half an hour’s time. Will you be able to manage that? Can you pull yourself together?

Why so worried, little angel? Haven’t I managed everything so far? Everything.

Perhaps I’d better open the window.

Everything, little angel, what choice did I have but to manage everything? But now we’re here, my golden girl.

Why do you call me your golden girl? That’s what Father used to call me. Helene wanted to wrinkle her brow in a frown, but the dip between her forehead and her strikingly small nose was so shallow that only a few fine lines formed above her nose.

I know, I know. And did the pet name die with him, little angel?

Helene handed Martha a glass of water. Drink this. I hope that’ll disperse the mists.

Tut, tut, tut, mists, dear heart. Martha shook her head. This is spring’s awakening, little angel.

Please get dressed. I’ll help you. And before Martha could turn down Helene’s offer she was buttoning up her sister’s dress.

And I thought you wanted to kiss me, dear heart. You didn’t answer my question. Do you remember what I asked?