Julia Franck - Back to Back

Aren’t you eating anything? You’re nothing but skin and bones.

With some difficulty, Käthe got the dry nightdress over her head, turned and lifted her from the mattress, pulled it down over her torso. At last her head lay still again, no more dizziness, no cold, only the burning between her legs and the miserable dryness.

Mami, my dear, dear little Mami. Ella whispered it like a magic spell to make Käthe sit down again and stroke her hair, oh Mami-Mami-Mami dear. But Käthe didn’t sit down and wasn’t doing any more stroking. The first shock had given way to a sense of relief that probably struck Käthe as useless, and had been quick to go away again.

Stop calling me Mami. I’m Käthe. And you’re not a baby. Baby and Mami sounded just like each other as she spoke them now; apparently both were words of horror. Yuk, thought Ella, the word was on the tip of her tongue, yucky, but she wouldn’t say, couldn’t say a thing like that. Käthe dear, oh my dear, dear little Käthe. Ella closed her eyes. She wouldn’t be sleeping. She felt her heartbeat flutter in her eyelids. Ella heard Käthe switch off the bedside lamp and leave her room.

During the next few days Ella listened intently, she kept a keen eye on the bowls of water. She took up her position under the bed. Every hour she crawled out and inspected the bowls, reassuring herself, she went from container to container, topping them up with water from the big enamel jug where necessary, doing her rounds. Before going to the bathroom to fill the jug she listened intently, to make sure of not meeting anyone. Not the lodger, not anyone else either. She just wanted it all to be quiet.

At night she waited for morning twilight, which was late coming in February. In spite of all the containers of water she was drying up, her rough skin was scaly, the corners of her mouth burned, they were so brittle and sore, and so did her eyes. One morning Ella couldn’t stand the itching any longer, the nightdress felt scratchy and hurt her. She had to undress and lie down naked under her bed.

Small feet pattered past the bed, red and blue socks, two voices, or was it only one? The voices were just like each other. They were sliding over the floor on their knees, splashing the water in the bowls with their hands. Whee! They were kicking their feet and shouting with glee. Strange children, the twins whose names Ella had forgotten.

What are you doing there? One of the girls put her head under the bed and reached her finger out to Ella. Ella bit it. Ow!

The other girl looked under the bed. What are you doing there?

What are you two doing here?

We’re visiting.

Visiting. It’s carnival time, it’s the holidays.

I’m an Egyptian, said one of the girls She didn’t look like an Egyptian.

And I’m a duck, said the other, sitting down, fully clothed, in the biggest of the containers, an enamel washtub. She wiggled her arms and legs, water slopped out on the floor. One of the twins quacked, and the other, who was tired of being an Egyptian and wanted to be a swan, cackled. They were splashing in competition.

It would have been a relief to Ella if they had put the light out. Please switch the light off, said Ella, but no one heard her. Maybe she had just imagined saying it? Perhaps she was asleep and dreaming, talking, but no one would hear her because no sound came out of her throat? The twins’ screeching was loud, the water was splashing close to her ear.

What a performance! The indignant voice would have suited hard hooves. The door was flung open. What’s all this supposed to be? Someone pulled at one twin to get her out of the big tub. Who said you could play with water here?

It wasn’t us, said the twins in chorus.

Ella!

Ella didn’t answer. She heard whispering, the giggling twins gave her away, they got down on their knees and pointed under the bed. Even before Ella could bite, they shrieked: Ow! The woman with the hard hooves shooed them out of the room with the help of a broom. Get out, go on, out you go! At first the children thought it was a game, they sat on the broom, wanted to be swept away, squealing with delight. It took force and stern orders to stop them. Get out of here or you’ll be sorry! Scratching, biting, kicking. The girls were forcibly dragged to the door and pushed out. Their howls were like puppies yapping. Agotto barked outside, the door was finally closed. A gloomy silence; the hard hooves were coming soundlessly closer.

A woman’s hairy face appeared under the bed. Ella recognised it from the eyes.

Mami, whispered Ella through her brittle lips, my big strong Mami! She put out her arms to the face, but the face flinched back and disappeared, leaving only a pair of calves above Mongolian shoes in sight.

Come out from under there. Come on out, do you hear me?

Ella didn’t move; when no one could hear her she couldn’t hear anyone, and she didn’t think of anyone. The light went out, dark-ness settled, the light of the street lamps fell in from outside, Ella recognised the outlines of the windows on the floor, and the containers. She couldn’t sleep, she slept less and less, and for a shorter and shorter time. But she wasn’t awake now either. Her thinking didn’t obey her, she begged her memory please not to leave her. Time passed. She could watch herself from outside. Two faces appeared, four arms that took hold of her and put something on her. You’re not going out into the street naked, said Käthe, helping the girl into her coat. She was so weak that it took Käthe some time and trouble to get the sleeves of the coat over her clothes. Come on, help me, Käthe told the girl.

Ooooh — it sounded like a fluttering breath. Ella’s knees gave way, Käthe’s arm held her up more firmly. Mami dear, my little Mami, I’m so sorry. Ella laid her cheek against Käthe’s, but Käthe straightened her head, her face was firm and her eyes wide with worry. Mooo, groaned Ella, pushing her forehead against Käthe’s throat, mooo.

Stop that, please, Ella. Käthe showed the man the bag she had packed for the girl, and he heaved it into the car. Then Käthe was going to hand the girl over to him, but she was clinging tenaciously to Käthe herself.

Mooo, and she let her soft throat bend, her head sink down on Käthe’s large, soft bosom. Oh, look at your cow eyes, Mami dear, let me be your little calf.

We’re taking you to a good place, said Käthe, a place where you can rest.

I’d like to see you having to put in a travel application for every journey, having to ask permission — Käthe was kneading the wax in her hands, strong fingers pressing and working the yellow mass to make it soft and malleable. She was outlining the body, a long back, slender legs, the loins. The head was what mattered in the model she was making. The forehead was domed, the eyebrows should stand out better, the mouth struck her as too soft. He was handsome, her young man, as she called Thomas. Sometimes she talked about him as if he were a stranger, a Greek model without a name. Her star, her hope, her gift. No statue ever had silky eyelashes, but Thomas did, and there must be some way of showing them. This time she was concentrating only on the head, he hadn’t had to undress, they were sitting close to each other at a diagonal. The slate covering her workbench shimmered in the yellowish-grey light. Spring rain pattered down on the veranda roof. Käthe didn’t like him to prop his head on his hands, but it felt heavy.

Permission, applications, you sometimes talk like a functionary, Mother. It’s easy for you to talk. You can travel wherever you like.

Pull yourself together! In a bad temper, Käthe flattened the wax forehead, made the dome a prominent back to the model’s head instead. I have work to do here, we’re building a new society.