by Ian Wedde
The pastor’s wife released Josephina’s hand and smiled with her mouth but not her eyes. ‘Perhaps we can expect to see the beautiful child baptised before too long?’ She didn’t wait for Josephina to reply. ‘And my respects to your husband when he returns from Flensburg, Frau Andersen, I’m sure his transactions will have been profitable.’
‘As if she didn’t know what she was doing,’ Greta whispered as the pastor’s wife walked away, nodding her greetings to others along the quay. Then they were very quickly back inside and laughing so hard that Catharina was startled and began to cry. Greta went to the big cupboard at the back of the room and took out a bottle of Danne’s brandy from Flensburg. ‘Time for a profitable transaction,’ she said.
Josephina had never drunk spirits before but after the searing sensation in her throat stopped she took another sip and felt a pleasant warmth in her stomach and behind her eyes. Greta was standing by the table with a glass in one hand and the other resting on the unfolded pile of freshly washed napkins. She was giving Josephina her best direkt in die Augen schauen!
‘Perhaps we can expect to see the beautiful child baptised before too long?’ Greta was mimicking fru Jepsen, but without mockery. She took a swallow of her brandy, and her laugh turned into the sweet smile Josephina loved. ‘What do you think, Josie? We could do that?’
Catharina had stopped mewing and was looking up at Josephina’s face with a silly baby grin – was it a real grin or did she have the tummy ache that so often started in the evening?
What did she think? ‘Not at home,’ Josephina said. ‘Not back there.’ It was another of those clear thoughts, like the road opening out into well-lit space beyond a clutter of houses – not a destination but a way ahead. She was gazing at Catharina’s grin, so she didn’t see her sister’s expression, only heard the sound of her glass being put down firmly on the table. ‘Because they sent Catharina away,’ said Josephina, looking up into Greta’s chest-heave sigh. ‘They were ashamed of her.’
Greta began to fold the freshly washed napkins. After the first one she said, ‘This one was stillborn.’ The next one: ‘This one is me.’ Then she did two more. ‘But these died, a girl and then a boy.’ Then another: ‘This one miscarried.’ Another: ‘Elke.’ Another: ‘The winter chest fever, it was a boy.’ Another napkin, carefully and quickly folded and added to the pile. ‘She miscarried.’ Another: ‘The special one, but not a boy, it was you, Josephina. And you were the last one. The special one.’
‘I know,’ said Josephina. ‘I was told, too.’
Greta poured herself a second glass of brandy. She was looking at Josephina with the smile that could mean this or could mean that. Then she folded another napkin on to the neat pile. ‘And this one miscarried late, it was a girl, she was almost complete, she was mine, you didn’t know that. She was mine and Danne’s – Mutti and Papa knew but they didn’t tell you and Elke because I asked them not to. But she was another one, for them she was another one.’ She folded another napkin very slowly. ‘Finn. Our Finn. The boy at last.’ She took a swallow of brandy but didn’t offer to pour another for Josephina. ‘In case you should wonder why Mutti is so sad sometimes and wants to go and live in a proper house. In case you should wonder why you are Papa’s special one.’
‘I can’t do it,’ said Josephina.
And what did that mean, special one? For weeks now she had lived in a kind of thought-fog – it was a fog of love. No one had ever told her it would be like this, that the sight and smell and warmth of her baby would utterly overcome her with bliss, even when she was tired and sore and wanted to sleep more than anything in the world, even when she would be falling asleep with Catharina on her breast. No one told her she would go about her tasks in a daze that was part tiredness but also the bliss-fog, that the sensation of Catharina suckling would occupy every part of her body and being, including her thoughts or the part of her that could think separately from the sensation of that determined little mouth. But now quite suddenly today it was as though she had emerged from the love-fog of special one – it began after she came down late this morning and saw that Greta and Danne were talking about what was going to happen next, what was she, Josephina, going to do next? And now her thoughts moved clearly along a way ahead.
Greta had pulled a chair close and was sitting directly in front of her. ‘What do you mean, can’t? You mean don’t want to, you don’t want to give them that, that’s what you mean, isn’t it, Josie? Don’t want to.’ She said don’t want to in a mocking, childish voice, the teasing voice she’d sometimes used when they were both children, but now she was looking at her little sister as though she’d never seen her before. She took another swallow of her brandy.
‘No, I don’t mean don’t want to, it’s not the same. Because of course I want to. Why wouldn’t I want to take Catharina home, why wouldn’t I want her to be a joy? But they’re ashamed of her and they sent us away, they sent her away before she was even born. So I can’t.’ Direkt in die Augen schauen! Josephina would not, she would not look away from Greta’s face and her eyes that were a bit glassy. Her own face was burning, but not from a blush and not from anger, it was as though her new clear thoughts had caught fire inside her and her whole body was glowing.
Greta leaned in and kissed her with brandy breath. She held Josephina’s cheeks between her hands that were warm and dry from the napkins. ‘Then we can do it with fru Jepsen’s Pastor-mann who very much likes Danne’s Bückling but especially with a good glass of profitable transaction from this house my darling.’
Greta’s sentence was very confused but of course doing what it said would keep the shame away from this house. ‘Yes, of course we could do that,’ said Josephina.
‘And perhaps they will come,’ said Greta.
No, they won’t come. Now Catharina had fallen asleep, so Josephina took two freshly folded napkins from the table, kissed her sister, and carried her sweetly sleeping special one upstairs.
Dearest Papa and Mutti
And naturally my beloved sister Elke whom I miss more than it is possible to speak about but she will understand won’t you Elke.
I am sorry if my writing is poor but I am practising every day and also reading and copying from a book that Greta has in the house here in Sønderborg. It is called The Swiss Family Robinson do you know it? Sometimes I feel as if I am lost on a desert island like that family but that is not why I am writing. I am writing to tell you some important news but first to say I am well and Catharina yes that is her name she is also well and the joy in my life every day. Also that Greta and Danne are kind to me and to Catharina and their boy Finn your grandson is Catharina’s friend at all times.
I am writing to tell you that the baby you do not want to have at home has been baptised and christened here in Sønderborg and so you are spared the trouble of doing it at home with Pastor Köhler. That would have been difficult for you I am sure because you are ashamed of the baby. Her God Mother and God Father are Greta and Danne your daughter and son-in-law they wished to spare you the trouble of coming here I hope you understand.
It is hard for me to have the baby away from home but better now she has been baptised and christened by Pastor Jepsen here in Sønderborg. He and Frau Jepsen speak German and so it is done and Catharina can be here without it being a trouble for her God Father and God Mother your daughter and son-in-law.
The baby’s name is Catharina Elke Lange Hansen you will understand what the parts of the name mean. Catharina was my Oma’s name she taught me everything about sewing and more besides and she gave me her sampler as you know when I was old enough to deserve it. I have more to write about that but not yet.
Elke you have to be there in the name I am sorry I could not ask you but you know why you are there. Please be happy for Catharina you will see her one day I know and you will love her.
Lange you will know was Oma’s name before she married Opa and I want to remember that name because I will never be married to the father of my child thank God
for that. There are names that need to be remembered and others that are best forgotten.
Hansen is my name and the name of the family into which I was born and so it is also the baby’s name even though you do not want to have her in the family. That should make me sad but it does not because it is her right. Now I see there is a path for us in life without the family that was ashamed of my baby Catharina Greta Lange Hansen and so what I also have to tell you is that she and I will not be coming home to where I was born and grew up. I will not be coming home without my baby and so I will not be coming home again ever. There will be another path for us in life.
I am sorry this is a long letter and full of mistakes. I had to write down everything you need to know and now I have almost finished but there is one more thing I need to write. That is I must have Oma’s sampler the one we call the Oma that you Mutti took away from me after the trouble with that house in Faulstrasse that I pray to God I will forget one day.
You must send the Oma sampler to me here in Sønderborg because I cannot come to get it without Catharina and you will not allow me to come with her. My oma gave the sampler to me because she began to teach me everything in the sampler when I was only old enough to make Strikkelise and she always said one day this will be yours Josephina Hansen. She could not say my middle name Christian because it was Opa’s but she said as much as she could. It was complete and it was clear what she meant.
Please send the sampler with Danne when he comes to Kiel or even to Flensburg. You know he has business there he says he can arrange it. Or you can send the sampler with Tante’s husband Herr Mayer or his man who comes to Denmark with their ship the one I came here to Sønderborg on with Mutti. You will not have forgotten that voyage Mutti. I wish I could. In any case it will not be difficult to do this and you must it is right.
I will finish by saying what you know already that what happened to me in Faulstrasse was the worst thing that will ever happen to me in my life please God. But now it is in the past and what matters is what will happen next in the life I will have with my baby who will one day be a woman as I am now and please God in a place where she can be Catharina Elke Lange Hansen and not a shame that had to be sent away as if to a desert island where no one could find her.
Your daughter Josephina
Elke I hug you and kiss you I know we will see each other again.
Daughter
You have turned this family against itself through your actions, and so even though we loved you once, that is no longer of consequence and is as if it never was so. We could not attend the christening of Greta’s child in February. We can no longer speak to your Tante Elizabeth. These are the results of your actions that have caused us much grief and trouble. Now you have turned your back on us as we grow old and need the help of our children that we cared for without stint, and so you can expect nothing from us. You had no right to take those names for your child, but that too is no longer of consequence as you will not bring that child here ever, as you write, but that is because we forbid it, not because you wish it. You have been a vain girl, and the airs you gave yourself have been your downfall. You have no right to claim your grandmother’s favour. The thing you call the Oma belongs to the family and will remain here with the family of which you are no longer a part. We are glad for the child’s sake that you have had it baptised and we commend your sister Greta and her husband Danne for that. No doubt it was their good sense that made this happen. You were once our special one and it has broken our hearts to lose you. For the sake of that special one we loved once we hope you will prosper and that the child will too.
Your Papa and Mutti
Beth and Frank
‘Authorised version,’ said Frank, wiping beer froth off his top lip. ‘My Grandma Cath was the eldest of my great-grandmother and your great-great-grandmother Josephina’s kids. Then came your Great-grandad Wolf. Then another boy that went awol.’
The ‘lodge’ units at the back of the hotel were pretty basic, with budget skiers in mind. They had thin walls, tatty candlewick bedspreads, and cheap plastic fittings in the bathroom. Beth longed for the candlewick and the pull-down blind with a faded pattern of leaves on it – once green, the leaves were now autumnal, which was how she felt after her day down the Kaitīeke with Frank. But he was bent on having a beer on the hotel patio that looked out over the highway towards Ngāuruhoe.
Of course he knew that stuff, what was he on about? She sipped her beer and said nothing. All day he’d pretended he wasn’t really interested in the family story, but now he just wanted her to stick around.
‘One born in Germany . . .’
‘Denmark,’ said Beth. She couldn’t help it.
‘I stand corrected,’ said her cousin, who was subjecting her to his piercing look. ‘One born in Denmark, and the question of why Denmark arises; one born on board the ship coming out here – why, again – and one born in Wellington, the father a sailor who jumped ship and married Josephina a year later here in our little corner of the Pacific, a very long way from Germany, or Denmark for that matter.’
There was a dog on a chain at the back of the hotel. It set up a mournful, half-hearted barking until someone yelled at it.
‘So unless our sailor boy . . .’
‘Heinrich Wenczel. Polish.’
‘Thank you. Heinrich Wenczel, of course. So unless sailor-boy Heinrich pole-vaulted around the Baltic region and across the sea to New Zealand, impregnating our great-grandmother at intervals along the way, we have an intriguing story on our hands.’
Pole-vaulting Wenczel struck Beth as intriguing enough. But she was tired – not of the story and its intrigue, nor of her cousin’s attempts at humour, but of his veering moods and of the way her day had gone on sliding between a then and a now, as if the modest distances they’d covered on their expedition down the Kaitīeke had been stretched out by time. She’d travelled a lot further than down the hill to Great-grandad Wolf’s patch and back.
‘Sorry, Frank,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty buggered, going to have a lie-down. You go ahead and get dinner when you feel like it, I’ll come and find you, don’t wait for me.’
Frank pretended to be staring across the road at the distant pyramid of Ngāuruhoe, and she knew his silence was a rebuke of sorts, but she gave him a kiss on the wrinkly back of his neck and walked through the bar to the yard behind the hotel, where the dog barked at her in a half-hearted way. It went on yelping intermittently after she pulled down the brown-leafed blind and lay on the candlewick bedspread. The shawl she pulled over herself was the old one she’d got from her mother Elke, who said it came from her Great-grandma Josephina back in the day. You weren’t meant to wash it more than once a year, if that, and only by hand, in tepid water. She’d only washed it once, after Elke’s cat threw up on it. That was about ten years ago, not long after Elke died, and the cat followed soon after – he never forgave her for not being her mother.
Dim light entered her room through the leafy blind. The dog’s doleful yelps kept her from sleep for a while but then followed her into a dream. The barks came from trees on the far side of a river. The surface of the river was placid and the trees were reflected there, waving about a little in the slow current. She couldn’t see the dog. Then her mother Elke emerged from the trees – it was she who was barking. Beth understood perfectly well what her mother was saying, and continued to understand for a while after she woke up. She lay thinking about what Elke had said. But then it was gone. That, too, was familiar.
The Sisters
They came along the quay with Danne’s man pushing the things in a barrow, and there was Elke, there she was. When she saw Josephina with Finn and Catharina further down by the fishing boats she made a shrill squawking noise like a seagull, and though Josephina already knew it was her, now she was certain. Then she smelled like Elke and her strong body felt like Elke and how she grabbed Josephina by the hair was Elke. Danne’s man stood there with a shy silly smile on his face – he was really just a boy with s
ome fluff on his cheeks, but then he asked in a best manly voice whether he should take the things to herre Andersen’s house now?
‘They’re old,’ said Elke into Josephina’s ear. She was panting a little after running along the quay. ‘They don’t know what anger is for.’
Danne’s man was looking at them with a helpless expression. Catharina had just learned to walk and had staggered to him; she was holding herself upright on his leg. Now Elke swooped on her and snatched her up, which made her cry. So then they were walking along the quay towards Greta’s house while Danne’s man followed behind with Finn and Catharina hanging on tight in the barrow. As well as Finn and Catharina there were some bundles in the barrow including a long rolled-up object wrapped in oilcloth, and an old Reisetasche – the battered bag Mutti had brought on the voyage last spring – but that wasn’t what Josephina was looking at over her shoulder, making Danne’s man blush. She knew what the rolled-up object wrapped in oilcloth was, she knew what it was but couldn’t believe it: how could it be the Oma after Papa’s letter only two months ago?
But then Elke noticed Josephina glancing over her shoulder. ‘Oh yes, such a good-looking boy,’ she said, teasing him. Of course she was pretending. So they stopped just by the door of the house and Elke held Josephina’s head against her chest. ‘Yes, naturally,’ she said. ‘What did you think? I would come without your precious sewing thing?’ Catharina began to shriek jealously in the barrow but Josephina could not lift her head from Elke’s chest or stop the sobs.
Yes, this was her little Josephina with the knobby shoulders and that long neck with fair goose-down peeping under her cap at the back, and weeping with hiccups the way she always did, only now she was the mother of that beautiful child in the barrow who was looking at Josephina’s shaking shoulders with a woeful expression and inventing different shrieks that she was quite enjoying (Finn was copying them, only louder, and laughing), which her mother used to do at that age and even older. But this was her little Josie, and the child would have to wait a while. Elke rested her chin on the top of Josephina’s head and made silly faces at Catharina, and then felt the hiccupping sobs stop and her sister’s voice say, ‘Shit,’ quite emphatically. Josephina had lifted her head and was looking over Elke’s shoulder.
