Julia Franck - The Blind Side of the Heart

In celebration of the day, I thought. The first morning of our marriage.

Good idea, he said, nodding with a fair show of appreciation; then he had to smile. He was smiling to himself, he didn’t look at her.

And is that toast I smell, or am I imagining it?

You’re not imagining it, said Helene, and she took a step aside, opened the toaster and gave him the dark-brown toast.

Perhaps you’ll sit down too.

Helene obeyed. She pulled out her chair and sat down opposite him.

Well, this is a fine situation I’ve got myself into, remarked Wilhelm. Talk about buying a pig in a poke. He shook his head. No idea of honour. And I’ve sullied my hands for that, forged those damn documents to give you a new identity. Wilhelm shook his head and took a bite of toast.

Helene began to guess at the humiliation he must be suffering.

We will try, all the same. Helene said it hoping that the question of her virginity might soon seem ridiculous to him.

Wilhelm nodded. I am not going to be cuckolded, let’s get that clear. He held out his cup for her to add milk.

Wilhelm had got the papers for her, he had committed a punishable offence. They could feel mutual fear, for either would be able to denounce the other. For the first time Helene understood what fundamentally divided the two of them. He was an established member of society, he was someone, he had built up a reputation for himself. Wilhelm had something to lose: his good name, his honour and his wife’s respectability were certainly a part of that; so were his beliefs, his support of a people, the German nation, to which he belonged by virtue of his blood and which he wanted to serve with his life’s blood.

We could go out to Swinemünde tomorrow. Helene embarked on the sentence out of sheer fear that otherwise Wilhelm might understand what thoughts were spreading through her mind, how terror and shame were taking hold of her.

Do me a favour, Alice, spare me that today. I know you love the sea and the harbour. Are you telling me the round trip yesterday wasn’t enough?

It was not an easy night, said Helene. She wanted to show understanding.

It’s forgotten. Last night is forgotten, do you hear? Wilhelm was fighting to speak in a firm voice and Helene saw tears in his eyes. She was sorry. I didn’t know that…

That what? What didn’t you know?

Helene couldn’t tell him. She was ashamed of her thoughtlessness. Not for a moment had it occurred to her that his love could depend on her virginity.

I’ve been with women. But marriage — Wilhelm shook his head, without looking at Helene — marriage is different. He bit his lip; he probably guessed that they would never be able to agree on this point, now or later. There were moments last night when you were like an animal, a wild cat.

A tear fell from his eye. The eye of a man whom Helene had never seen shedding tears before.

She would have liked to embrace him, but what comfort could she offer?

Have you been with many men? Now Wilhelm was looking at her scornfully; it was hard to bear his glance. Then it softened, she saw a plea in his eyes, he obviously wanted her to tell him he was unique, oh, what an amazing lover, not just an amazing lover but the lover, there was no one like him.

Helene stretched her fingers, curved them, stretched them. Her knuckles inaudibly cracked. She wanted to wash her hands. What difference did lying a little make? She looked at him over the table, she still had time. It was simple. He wouldn’t notice. She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she cautiously opened them again, she saw that he wanted to believe her.

Wilhelm stood up. He was wearing the shirt she had ironed so recently. He looked ready to go to work. He touched her shoulder, grateful and angry at the same time. He breathed deeply in and out, then patted her on the back. That’s my girl. He looked at the time. I have to go out to the building site, the construction workers all slack off at the weekend. There’s going to be a private discussion. If you wait in the car you can come with me.

Helene nodded. Wilhelm took her wrist. But first we’re going to bed. There was an expression of triumph on his face. Was what she saw in his eyes the consciousness of arbitrary power springing from his injured feelings? Defiance and lust? And didn’t a husband have rights over his wife? He pushed her into the bedroom ahead of him, drew the curtains, opened his trousers with one hand and reached for her skirt with the other. Lift your skirt, he said.

Helene lifted her skirt, which wasn’t easy. She’d made it herself from a pattern only a few weeks ago, and it narrowed towards the hem and had only a short open pleat at the back. She had found a lovely fabric, cream cotton printed with blue flowers. It was a daring skirt, tapering where it ended between calf and ankle. Wilhelm became impatient, he was breathing deeply. She’d soon have done it, she’d have pushed the skirt far enough up. She couldn’t help thinking that the laundry had been soaking for too long, that she still had to gut the fish for lunch and must soon put the casserole on if they wanted beans for supper, and she didn’t have any savoury to flavour the beans with. Wilhelm told her to kneel on the bed.

The great day was 27 September. The day for which others as well as Wilhelm had been eagerly waiting, a day like no other. All Germany was waiting for that day.

In the morning, when Helene had just dressed, Wilhelm’s eye fell on her behind. He took hold of her hips and ran his tongue over her mouth. You’re the first woman I’ve liked to kiss, did you know that? Helene smiled diffidently and picked up her handbag. Day by day, Wilhelm’s taste for unsettling her, seeing her feel diffident was increasing. Now that she knew he had developed that liking, she made out from time to time that she really was diffident. Nothing could have been easier. Let’s see your suspender belt, are you wearing the one with the little anchors on it? Wilhelm felt her suspender belt through the firm woollen fabric.

We must leave, Wilhelm.

Don’t worry, I have my eye on the time. He said it quietly, he moved softly. Especially before going out, and especially on a great day like this, Wilhelm didn’t want to leave his home before taking her at least briefly. He grabbed her skirt, pushed it up, pulled her knickers down as far as possible — she wasn’t complying with his wish for her to wear them over the suspender belt. Helene felt him push himself inside her and as he went on thrusting, with short, quick jabs, she remembered how Carl used to undress her lingeringly to the last. He would caress her breasts, her arms, her fingers. After that first night, it was enough for Wilhelm to lift her skirt.

He hadn’t been inside Helene a minute before pushing her up against the table, with her handbag still over her wrist. He stopped, then patted her buttocks. Obviously he had finished. She didn’t know whether he had come or whether his desire had left him.

Right, we can go, said Wilhelm. He had pulled up his trousers, which had slipped to the floor, and fastened his belt. He looked at himself in the mirror, unbuttoned his shirt and splashed eau de Cologne lavishly on his chest.

Helene wanted to wash, but Wilhelm said he was afraid there wasn’t time for that. All that washing of hers infuriated him, he added. He took his coat and put it on, looked at the mirror again to check his appearance now that he was wearing the coat, took his small comb out of his inside pocket and ran it through his hair.

Do you think that’ll do?

Of course, said Helene, you look good. She had put on her own coat and was waiting.

What’s that behind me? Wilhelm craned his neck so that he could see his back view better.

What do you mean?