Julia Franck - Back to Back

Well, what does she say? Thomas came into the kitchen, went past Ella and over to the larder.

Nothing, she’s grunting.

What?

Ella followed Thomas into the larder. She’s grunting. Go and see for yourself. She’s crouching on all fours and grunting, along with a naked man. Ella laughed, and made a graphic gesture with her hands.

Thomas raised his eyebrows; he didn’t look at Ella’s hands, he looked into Ella’s eyes. He felt uncomfortable. Aren’t there any apples left?

All sold out. There may be some more in spring. But there’s dried apricots, sweet and juicy. Ella climbed on the narrow stool and reached purposefully for a tin on the shelf. Käthe keeps them hidden from us up here. Before she climbed off the stool she opened the tin and handed it down. Thomas took it. You don’t mind maggots, do you? There are a few little maggots in there, but they have to live on something too. She ought not to have said that, she knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth. After all, maggots were living creatures.

In revulsion, Thomas gave her the tin back.

Do you want to save the maggots? No? Ella took an apricot out and put it in her mouth. Delicious.

Thomas turned away. I’m hungry.

They had spread newspaper on the big table in the smoking room and peeled the wrinkled, softened potatoes as well as they could. Where they were sprouting, Ella broke the sprouts off.

Potato soup for the New Year.

Go over to Michael’s, I’m sure they’ll give you a cut off the joint there. Ella threw a piece of potato peel at Thomas’s head.

Thomas threw one back at her. Not today, the whole family is visiting.

Well, aren’t you part of the family? Ella pouted, making her mouth look like a beak, and pretended to be sympathetic.

Not entirely.

Ella picked up each peeled potato separately, examined it, and cut out the dark eyes with a knife. Nightshade, she said, and repeated the word, nightshade. Potatoes belong to the nightshade family. You know everything, why are they called that?

Good evening. Käthe’s fluting tones were accompanied by the barking and whining of Agotto as he stormed in. The way he licked their hands reminded Ella of the naked man down in the studio.

Ella craned her neck to see whether anyone was following Käthe. But there was no one else, the door latched, Käthe sat down.

Why are you two in such a dismal mood?

We’re not in a dismal mood, just wondering what there is to eat today. We found some potatoes and that was all. They cut the potatoes in pieces.

Oh well, then one of you must go shopping. And do some work, right? Käthe was rubbing her hands, but there’s time for that.

Ella rolled her eyes.

I have some good news. Listen to this.

What?

Roguishly, Käthe looked from Thomas to Ella and back again. Thomas can’t possibly go back to Gommern again. He’ll just fall ill, and that won’t do.

Ella and Thomas looked at Käthe in surprise. She took her time, the pause lasted too long.

Then what? Thomas uttered a nervous laugh.

I’m not really allowed to talk about it. You must promise me that this will stay between us. Promise?

They were to be Käthe’s accomplices. Promise, said Ella and Thomas in unison.

Well, Thomas, there are certain prospects of your getting a place to study medicine.

Medicine? Thomas forgot to blink, and suddenly his eyelids were fluttering. Had he understood Käthe correctly? Medicine was for those who toed the Party line, the children of officers, those who proved their worth in other ways than just getting brilliant results in their school-leaving exam. Thomas couldn’t believe his ears.

In Berlin. Käthe nodded proudly. What did I tell you? Your Käthe will find ways and means. She was singing the words out, carried away by her own joyful news.

And you think of something like this. . Ella hesitated, wondering if it was fair for her to doubt. . something like this in the middle of the holiday season? I mean, the phone hasn’t rung once today. This is New Year’s Day. So how do you know this now?

Hush, don’t ask silly questions. Käthe cut Ella short. You’re pleased, Thomas, aren’t you?

Thomas nodded, yes indeed, he managed to smile. He had learned to do that. The way he looked at her, his silky lashes cast down, his eyes hidden behind them. He felt there was something uncanny about her now, the woman he loved so much. The astonished Ella looked Käthe straight in the face. But how do you know?

Don’t be so inquisitive all the time. Käthe put her head on one side, looking mysterious. As with the naked man who had been kneeling behind Käthe in the studio, Ella felt laughter rising in her, but she suppressed it. She could be serious, pretend to be serious if necessary, she could pretend anything. She poured water into the pan of potatoes and put it on the stove. Ella wondered whether the naked man in the studio had been the lodger. But then wouldn’t she have recognised him? It had been only for a fraction of a second that she saw him, how familiar can a face seem to you in a fraction of a second? Had she recognised someone? Him? Her head was in turmoil. So Käthe’s golden boy was getting what his heart desired, had desired? But he wasn’t jumping for joy, his muscles had wasted during his illness, especially, so it seemed, the muscle of his heart. Ella felt uneasy. The dry air of winter sent her crazy, when she let her hair hang over the table dandruff fell out, like snow, she picked it up with a fingertip and put it on her tongue. The Host, wasn’t that what you called it? Give me this day thy holy bread? Why should she, Ella, be jealous? Jealous of the golden boy.

But you must do a period of practical training, of course. You must work in a hospital for a few months, you know that?

Thomas obediently nodded. His smile had long ago vanished.

You are pleased, aren’t you? A shadow of cautious doubt appeared in Käthe’s eyes. Had she misjudged her darling? Wasn’t she bringing him joy?

Yes, he said firmly, yes, I’m pleased. Just tell me, would you, who’s behind it?

It’s thanks to your grandfather, said Käthe, a mysterious gleam in her eyes. She pointed to the ceiling, probably meaning heaven.

Of course, why had no one thought of him before? The soul gone to heaven. What use was a professor as a grandfather, a great and illustrious mind? Maybe Käthe had spoken to someone of importance at the time of the funeral, made a contact, been able to fix something for her golden boy? Thomas’s strained face showed no joy. Ella felt sure that he had never thought of studying medicine before. The human body interested him less than any plant, any animal. Maybe he had once mentioned that he would be interested in studying botany, that was the name of the course of study he would have dreamed of if he had dreamed at all. But presumably Käthe hadn’t noticed. A place to study medicine must seem to her like a big win on the lottery, a win achieved with the help of the lodger’s friends.

Later, Ella lay on the bed in the room that the lodger hadn’t used for months. Thomas, like a hermit crab, had taken the room over, since he had no other room of his own in the house. Ella listened to the clacking of the typewriter. She had almost finished the wine in her glass, and put it down beside the bed. The clack of the typing sounded like heels going clickety-clack on paving stones, sending messages in Morse code, enticing you. Only the muted light of the desk lamp shining on his hair lit the room. Ella could think of no one she would sooner be close to than Thomas. Lying on the bed, listening to him writing, being with him in his light. How could he help it if Käthe loved him so unconditionally?

Read to me.

Thomas turned round. Holding the sheet of paper in his hands, he began: To Morning: I have lines on my face. His voice faltered, he crossed something out with a pencil and wrote in something new. The rest is great, immensely deep, / with lines on the outside. / Inside there are torn places, and a letter / to my dream of yesterday. // The dream was my word, my song and my life / Filled until then by a draught of hope; / Now I have woken — to a day with no scope / for dreams, that hope wasted on the eternal day. // The loud voices around me / are tinny, scornful in my ears. / No one asked me, I was born / guiltless, of night-time fears. / What’s the use of echoing / others’ loud and cheerful singing? / Inside, in the end, I am at . . How often had she lain like this, letting his words cradle her? The wine made her arms, her forehead and her lips tingle pleasantly.