Julia Franck - The Blind Side of the Heart

When he had finished Wilhelm slapped her bottom. That was good, he sighed, very good. He dropped on to the mattress and rolled over. We’ll be going to Braunsfelde later, he murmured.

Or we could go to the sea, Helene suggested.

Sea, sea, sea. You’re always wanting to go to the sea. There’s a cold wind bl-bl-blowing. Wilhelm laughed. A cold wind blowing.

It’s still almost summer. I’m sure it was twenty degrees yesterday.

Day, day, day, day. Wilhelm lay in the middle of the bed, turned to Helene’s back and smacked his lips. My good wife Dame Ilsebill always wants to have her will , like the story of the flounder and the fisherman. I ought to call you Ilsebill. You always know best, don’t you? Well, that makes no difference, we’re going to Braunsfelde.

Is the house ready?

The house is finished, yes, but we’re not going to live in it.

Helene said nothing. Perhaps this was one of those jokes of his that she didn’t always understand at first.

Surprised, are you? We’re going to Braunsfelde to meet the architect and the buyers. We’ll sign everything and then it’ll be nothing to do with me any more.

You’re joking.

Perhaps jokes are a question of race, child. Wilhelm turned to her now. We just don’t understand each other. Why would I buy a house here when the new contracts haven’t been negotiated yet?

Helene swallowed. He had never before so explicitly used the word race to indicate the difference between them.

There are plans for some important innovations in Pölitz. Getting that job would be quite a coup. Then Wilhelm was snoring, he had begun snoring again directly after this last remark. It was a mystery to Helene how someone could fall asleep in the middle of talking.

After the long winter Wilhelm’s skin was giving him trouble. They had finished supper one evening, Helene had cleared the table, Wilhelm had wiped it down with the dishcloth. Helene was wondering how she could begin the conversation — a conversation that was important to her.

These spots are disgusting, don’t you think? Wilhelm was standing in front of the mirror looking alternately over his right and left shoulders. It wasn’t easy for him to see his back, broad as it was. He ran the palm of his hand over his skin, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. Look, there’s a boil there.

Helene shook her head. It doesn’t bother me. She was standing at the sink, washing the dishes in a basin.

Not you, no. A wry smile escaped Wilhelm. It makes no difference to you what I look like. Wilhelm couldn’t stop examining his back. Will it heal over?

Heal over? You have a good strong back, why wouldn’t that place heal over? Helene was scrubbing the bottom of the pan; sauces had been sticking to it and burning for weeks now. People either have spots or they don’t, she said, rinsing out the pan under clear running water.

What a charming prospect. Wilhelm pulled on a vest, leaned close to the mirror and felt the skin of his face.

Zinc ointment might help. Helene wasn’t sure if he was listening to her advice. She had something else on her mind, the matter she wanted to speak to him about. But if she opened the subject quietly, as a piece of information, as news, as a simple sequence of words, she could feel how the blood would shoot to her face. The spots, on the other hand, really didn’t bother her and never had. Disgust was something different. When she had seen the maggots in her father’s wound she had been surprised by the way they curled and crawled in the flesh. Or perhaps she was imagining that recollection; she had a good memory, but it wasn’t infallible. Disgust, though? Helene thought of the amazement she had felt at the sight of the wound. The wreck of a body. Jews as worms. I am a parasite, thought Helene, but she did not say so. You couldn’t compare the human body with the body politic of the German people. Perhaps she could alleviate Wilhelm’s trouble.

Would you squeeze the pus out of them? Wilhelm smiled at her, a little diffidently but sure that she would. Whom else could he ask to do him this favour?

Of course, if you like. Helene raised her eyebrows as she scoured the pan. But it won’t be much help. The skin will be broken and then there’ll be more spots.

Wilhelm took his vest off again, stood close to her and showed her his back.

Helene hung the pan up on its hook, took off her apron, washed her hands and set to work. Wilhelm’s skin was thick, the pores large, it was firm and very fair skin.

Wilhelm let out the air through his teeth. He had to ask Helene to go more carefully. That’ll do, he said suddenly and turned to face her.

Helene watched as he put on garment after garment and finally fetched his shoes, checked to see that they were well polished and put them on. Obviously he was going out, although it was late already.

We’re going to have a baby.

Helene had firmly determined to tell Wilhelm this evening. Something had gone wrong, although she was sure she hadn’t miscalculated. Helene could remember how it happened. It must have been on the night when Wilhelm came home late and had woken her up. She had known it was a risky day and had tried to change his mind, but she had not succeeded. Later she had washed for hours and douched herself with vinegar, but obviously it hadn’t worked. When her periods stopped, and a weekend came when Wilhelm was away on business in Berlin and didn’t want to take her with him, she had bought a bottle of red wine and drunk it all. Then she had taken her knitting needles and poked about. After a while she started bleeding and went to sleep, but it wasn’t a period. Her periods had stopped. She had known for weeks; she had been trying to think of some way out. She didn’t know anyone in Stettin; there hadn’t been a letter from Berlin for months. Once Helene tried telephoning Leontine. No one answered. When she asked the exchange to put her through to Fanny’s number, the switchboard operator said the number was no longer available. Presumably Fanny hadn’t been able to pay her bills. There was no way out of it now, there was just her certainty. Wilhelm looked down at his shoes.

We are?

She nodded. She had expected, first afraid and then hopeful, that Wilhelm would congratulate himself; she had thought there was nothing he wanted more.

Wilhelm stood up and took Helene by the shoulders. Are you sure? The corners of his mouth twitched, but yes, there was pride in his face, the first suggestion of delight, a smile.

Quite sure.

Wilhelm stroked Helene’s hair back from her forehead. As he did so he looked at his watch. Perhaps he had an engagement and someone was waiting for him. I’m glad, he said. I really am. Really very glad.

Really very glad? Helene looked doubtfully up at Wilhelm, trying to meet his eyes. When she stood in front of him she had to put her head right back to do so, and even then it was possible only if he noticed that she was looking at him and looked down at her. He did not look down at her.

Why the question? Is there something wrong?

It doesn’t sound as if you’re really pleased.

Wilhelm glanced at his watch again. How dreadful your doubts are, Alice. You’re always expecting something else. Now, I have an urgent meeting. We’ll discuss it later, right?

Later? she asked. Perhaps this was one of the secret professional meetings that took Wilhelm out in the evening more and more frequently.

My God, this isn’t the moment. If I’m too late back tonight, then tomorrow.

Helene nodded. Wilhelm took his hat and coat off the hook.

As soon as the door had closed, Helene sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands. For her, the past few months had consisted of waiting. She had waited for letters from Berlin, she had waited for Wilhelm to come back from work so that she could hear words spoken, perhaps she didn’t exactly want to talk to anyone, but just to hear a human voice. When she had asked him to let her look for a job in the hospital he had always refused. In his view the words you are my wife were explanation enough. His wife did not have to work, his wife was not to work, he didn’t want his wife to work. After all, she had plenty of housework to keep her occupied. Not bored, are you? he had sometimes asked, and told her that she could clean the windows again, he was sure they hadn’t been cleaned for months. Helene cleaned the windows, although she had done the job only four weeks ago. She rubbed them with crumpled-up newspaper until the panes shone and her hands were dry, cracked and grey with newsprint. The only people with whom she exchanged a word during the day were the woman in the greengrocer’s, the butcher and sometimes the fishwife down on the quay. The grocer didn’t speak to her, or at least only to say what the price of something was, and her greetings and goodbyes went unanswered. On most days she didn’t utter more than three or four sentences. Wilhelm was not particularly talkative in the evenings. If he was at home and didn’t go out again, which recently had been the case only one or two evenings a week, his replies to Helene were monosyllabic.