Julia Franck - The Blind Side of the Heart

The economic crisis was getting worse all the time. No one escaped its effects. People were buying and selling, speculating, grabbing what they could; they all said they were anxious not to make a loss now, but so far no one had found the knack of avoiding it. Fanny gave a party for Erich’s birthday, a big party, celebrating on a large scale. It was to be bigger than her own, a party in his honour grander than any she had ever given before. In the last few months Erich had left Fanny several times, but he had always come back and now he turned up for his own birthday party. Fanny had issued many invitations, to friends of her own and to friends of Erich, and to some people who didn’t even know that she was more than just his tennis partner.

Helene hadn’t wanted to go, but Leontine and Martha made her. Perhaps the two of them had Helene on their conscience because it was so long since they’d been able to do anything for her.

Fanny’s invitation seemed to Helene an attempt at resuscitation, a measure taken to inject and extend life, a pitiful repetition of earlier invitations. The guests were still splendidly dressed, imitation jewellery sparkled, they talked about betting on horses and the stock exchange rates — more than seventy thousand bankruptcies this year and the number of unemployed had just risen above six million. Someone lit an opium pipe. No wonder wages had to fall by up to twenty-five per cent. Views and opinions on the collapse of the Piscator Theatre were exchanged, but Helene didn’t want to listen. Should she feel uneasy because she herself had a job? Life was unthinkable without the metronome of her work at the hospital. Helene didn’t look at the Baron and his Pina either. They had married the year before last and had been at odds ever since, this time not about diamonds and feather boas but about a dress that Pina had bought, without the Baron’s permission and with money they didn’t have. The Baron accused her of borrowing from his friends and deceiving him over their joint property. She denied it all. Soon she was flinging her arms in the air and cried: I confess, I stole the dress! You insisted on knowing, so here’s the truth: I stole it. I’m a thief. From the Kaufhaus des Westens. Now what? Helene looked at the other guests, she looked at her shoes and examined her hands. One fingernail had a black rim. Helene rose from the chaise longue where she had been sitting until now, alone and without being pestered, she crooked her fingers as best she could, curled them up so no one could see the dirty nail, and went out into the corridor, where she had to wait a little while to use the bathroom. As soon as the door was open and the bathroom free, Helene hurried in. She bolted the door. The stove for the water was heated, and Helene turned on the tap. Steaming hot water came out, frothing and white. Helene scrubbed her nails with the nailbrush under running water. The soap lathered, Helene scrubbed, soaped, scrubbed and soaped. Her hands were reddened, her nails became whiter and whiter. She washed her face too, and feeling an itch down her backbone she had to wash her neck as well, as far as she could without undressing. Someone knocked at the door. Helene knew she ought to turn off the tap. Her hands were turning red and hot and clean, then redder and hotter and cleaner, it wasn’t easy for her to turn the tap. Underneath it, the bluish-green tinge of the residue left by the water showed on the sides of the tub. What salts had the water brought in and left there along with the lime in it?

Back among the guests, Helene had just decided to leave — after all, nurses were supposed to be back in the hostel by ten, and the night shift didn’t end until six in the morning — when she found a young man standing beside her, smiling. He kept smiling down at her so persistently that it looked as if he thought he knew her.

Our friend Wilhelm, said Erich, appearing behind the young man.

Now let me guess, said Wilhelm, let me guess her name.

He’s guessing everyone’s names tonight, explained Erich, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Erich laughed. He’s another Hanussen, oh yes, he’s a real clairvoyant.

Wilhelm removed Erich’s hand from his shoulder. Nonsense, I’m no Hanussen.

He’s only once really had it off with anyone, and not even with a lady. Erich’s eyes pierced Helene.

Wilhelm wasn’t letting Erich embarrass him. He looked searchingly at Helene. Don’t worry, it’s only a game. Wilhelm leaned sideways, as if Helene’s name were written on a note attached to her temple. Then he nodded. Alice. Her name is Alice.

Erich laughed. Fanny, who had joined them, mopped her inflamed eyes and asked Erich to get her an absinthe. Erich did not comply with Fanny’s request; his eyes were on Helene’s face, boring into her own eyes, her cheeks, her mouth.

Well, isn’t she a woman after your own heart? Willy here adores blondes. Erich clapped his friend hard on the shoulder as if he had to tenderize him, like a schnitzel. There may not be much else to say for her, but she’s blonde. Erich laughed, in the belief that he had cracked a joke. His glance showed how readily he would grab Helene if they were alone. Suspecting nothing of that, Wilhelm stood with his back to his friend and there was surprise, almost amazement in his eyes.

At least you’re captivatingly beautiful, dear young lady, stammered Wilhelm. Alice. I’m sure you’re going to tell me your real name.’

Helene tried to summon up a friendly smile. Over Wilhelm’s shoulder she saw the clock in the corridor. The white grandfather clock said nine-thirty. Helene said she was about to leave.

What, already? Wilhelm couldn’t believe it. The party’s only just begun. Surely you’re not going to leave now, on your own?

I must, said Helene with her friendly smile.

Because of the hostel. Erich ran his tongue over his teeth and clicked it suggestively. The effect was obscene. She lives in the sisters’ hostel.

A nun, the Virgin Mary. Wilhelm believed it at once.

Nonsense. Erich set him right. Not that kind of sister, you idiot. She’s a nursing sister.

A nursing sister. Wilhelm spoke respectfully as if there were no difference to speak of between a nun, the Virgin Mary and a nurse. I’ll walk you back.

Thank you, but please don’t bother. Helene stepped to one side and tried to get past this tall young man called Wilhelm. He went to the door with her, helped her into her coat and said goodnight.

Next day Wilhelm suddenly turned up at the hospital. Nurse, he said, you must help me.

Helene was in no mood for companionable laughter and meaningful glances; she wanted to get on with her work. The beds in Ward 20 still had to be made, and the patient in Ward 31 who couldn’t get to the lavatory without help had rung for her ten minutes ago.

Nurse Alice, I’m going to sit on this bench. You can call the watchman or the medical director if you like, but I’m going to wait here until you come off duty. I don’t suppose that will be so very long, will it?

Helene let him sit there and went about her work. She had to keep passing him for over two hours, and the girls in the nurses’ room kept on whispering. That charming gentleman in the corridor, he must be courting her. What a handsome man, how good-looking with his fair hair and blue eyes! One of the nurses stopped beside Wilhelm and struck up a conversation with him. Later, passing Helene, she said: Let me know if you don’t fancy him and I’ll take him.

Helene would have liked to say she could take whatever she liked, but she found it difficult to answer the nurses’ whispers. Her tongue was too heavy in her mouth. As she was washing an old man’s genitals and buttocks, going carefully with his bedsores and burst boils, all the little wounds oozing pus that she tended with ointment and powder, she couldn’t help thinking of Carl, and how he would never come and fetch her now. Never again. Helene’s throat hurt, it felt tight and she couldn’t swallow. With her fingers covered in powder and ointment, Helene couldn’t wipe her eyes.