information on “new treatments,” so she doesn’t have to pay for a consultation. When one of the doctors sends her a physician’s sample she is blissfully happy.
I could tell from Anna’s back that she was putting off the moment when she would have to turn round and look me in the face and talk to me. We are fond of each other, although she can never suppress the embarrassing tendency to teach me manners. She has been with us for fifteen years, Mother took her over from a cousin, a Protestant clergyman. Anna is from Potsdam, and the mere fact that, although we are Protestants, we speak the local dialect of the Rhine country, seems somehow weird, almost unnatural, to her. I believe she would think a Protestant who spoke with a Bavarian accent was the devil incarnate. She is tall, slim, and proud of the fact that she “moves like a lady.” Her father had been paymaster in something of which all I know is that it was called I.R. 9. It is useless to tell Anna that we are not in this I.R. 9; as far as bringing up children is concerned she refuses to budge from the phrase: “You couldn’t have done that in I.R. 9.” I have never quite understood what this I.R. 9 is, but have since discovered that in this mysterious educational establishment I could probably never have had a chance as a latrine cleaner even. It was chiefly my washing habits that called forth Anna’s references to I.R. 9, and “this horrible habit of staying in bed as long as possible” disgusts her as if I had leprosy. When at last she turned round and came over to the table with the coffee pot, she kept hereyes lowered like a nun serving a slightly disreputable bishop. I was sorry for her, like the girls in Marie’s group. With her nun’s instinct Anna had undoubtedly realized where I had been, while my mother, even if I were secretly married to a woman for three years, would probably never notice a thing. I took the pot from Anna’s hand, poured myself some coffee, held Anna firmly by the arm, and forced her to look at me: she did so with her pale blue eyes and fluttering eyelids, and I saw that she was actually crying. “Damn it, Anna,” I said, “look at me. Surely even in your I.R. 9 people look each other manfully in the eye.”
“I’m not a man,” she whimpered, I let her go; she stood facing the stove, mumbling something about sin and shame, Sodom and Gomorrah, and I said: “My God, Anna, just think for a moment what they really did in Sodom and Gomorrah.” She shook my hand off her shoulder, I left the kitchen without telling her I was planning to leave home. She was the only person I sometimes talked to about Henrietta.
Leo was already standing outside the garage, and looked anxiously at his watch. “Did Mother notice I was out?” I asked. He said, “No,” gave me the keys, and held open the garage door. I got into Mother’s car, drove out and let Leo get in. He looked strenuously at his fingernails. “I have the savings book,” he said, “I’ll get the money during break. Where shall I send it?” “Send it to old man Derkum,” I said. “Please,” he said, “let’s go, it’s getting late.” I speeded up, along our driveway, through the gates and had to wait outside at the streetcar stop where Henrietta had got on the streetcar to go and join the Flak. A few girls of Henrietta’s age got on the streetcar. As we overtook the streetcar I saw more girls of Henrietta’s age, laughing the way she had laughed, wearing blue berets and coats with fur collars. If a war came, their parents would send them off just like my parents had sent off Henrietta, they would give them some pocket money, a few sandwiches, pat them on the back and say, “Be a good girl.” I would have liked to wave to the girls, but I didn’t. Things are always taken the wrong way.When you drive a ridiculous car like that you can’t even wave at a girl. I had once given a boy in the park half a bar of chocolate and pushed his fair hair back from
I could tell from Anna’s back that she was putting off the moment when she would have to turn round and look me in the face and talk to me. We are fond of each other, although she can never suppress the embarrassing tendency to teach me manners. She has been with us for fifteen years, Mother took her over from a cousin, a Protestant clergyman. Anna is from Potsdam, and the mere fact that, although we are Protestants, we speak the local dialect of the Rhine country, seems somehow weird, almost unnatural, to her. I believe she would think a Protestant who spoke with a Bavarian accent was the devil incarnate. She is tall, slim, and proud of the fact that she “moves like a lady.” Her father had been paymaster in something of which all I know is that it was called I.R. 9. It is useless to tell Anna that we are not in this I.R. 9; as far as bringing up children is concerned she refuses to budge from the phrase: “You couldn’t have done that in I.R. 9.” I have never quite understood what this I.R. 9 is, but have since discovered that in this mysterious educational establishment I could probably never have had a chance as a latrine cleaner even. It was chiefly my washing habits that called forth Anna’s references to I.R. 9, and “this horrible habit of staying in bed as long as possible” disgusts her as if I had leprosy. When at last she turned round and came over to the table with the coffee pot, she kept hereyes lowered like a nun serving a slightly disreputable bishop. I was sorry for her, like the girls in Marie’s group. With her nun’s instinct Anna had undoubtedly realized where I had been, while my mother, even if I were secretly married to a woman for three years, would probably never notice a thing. I took the pot from Anna’s hand, poured myself some coffee, held Anna firmly by the arm, and forced her to look at me: she did so with her pale blue eyes and fluttering eyelids, and I saw that she was actually crying. “Damn it, Anna,” I said, “look at me. Surely even in your I.R. 9 people look each other manfully in the eye.”
“I’m not a man,” she whimpered, I let her go; she stood facing the stove, mumbling something about sin and shame, Sodom and Gomorrah, and I said: “My God, Anna, just think for a moment what they really did in Sodom and Gomorrah.” She shook my hand off her shoulder, I left the kitchen without telling her I was planning to leave home. She was the only person I sometimes talked to about Henrietta.
Leo was already standing outside the garage, and looked anxiously at his watch. “Did Mother notice I was out?” I asked. He said, “No,” gave me the keys, and held open the garage door. I got into Mother’s car, drove out and let Leo get in. He looked strenuously at his fingernails. “I have the savings book,” he said, “I’ll get the money during break. Where shall I send it?” “Send it to old man Derkum,” I said. “Please,” he said, “let’s go, it’s getting late.” I speeded up, along our driveway, through the gates and had to wait outside at the streetcar stop where Henrietta had got on the streetcar to go and join the Flak. A few girls of Henrietta’s age got on the streetcar. As we overtook the streetcar I saw more girls of Henrietta’s age, laughing the way she had laughed, wearing blue berets and coats with fur collars. If a war came, their parents would send them off just like my parents had sent off Henrietta, they would give them some pocket money, a few sandwiches, pat them on the back and say, “Be a good girl.” I would have liked to wave to the girls, but I didn’t. Things are always taken the wrong way.When you drive a ridiculous car like that you can’t even wave at a girl. I had once given a boy in the park half a bar of chocolate and pushed his fair hair back from
Similar Books
