by Ian Wedde
Otto was only just then asleep after a long period of coughing – it was the late-spring pollens, and especially the flowering elder tree at the back. She was exhausted, they had as yet no maid to replace Josephina, and even Danne was fed up with the supper she’d prepared, he was bone tired as well, and he looked at his plate of bread and boiled salt cod with an expression that was no expression, a blank unsmilingness that wasn’t even going to bother with a complaint.
Not even some carrots or potatoes. But he didn’t say it.
And what did they mean, ‘conspiracy’? Greta wished to know Danne’s opinion. And would Finn please stop making that noise with his nose, what did he think he was, a pig?
Yes, he did think he was, he was a pig! Oink oink! So Danne took him by the collar and dragged him oinking up to the top room where Josephina and Catharina had been only a month ago.
Of course Josie would have found a way to keep Finn quiet and get him to eat some of his supper. She’d have been a little fellow pig and Danne would have smiled secretly into his beard. She could picture that.
But now he was back at supper and looking at Greta across the table.
They’d better not try and start a German–Danish war with Farbror Aksel, was his opinion, as frugal in its way as his supper.
But behind his frugal opinion Greta could detect a dark cloud of circumstances: they had allowed themselves to be persuaded to take in Greta’s little sister because her parents were afraid of scandal and the loss of business opportunity, they had bowed to little sister Josephina’s refusal to leave without Catharina and also her refusal to go back to Kiel, which had resulted in Danne agreeing to petition Farbror Aksel on her behalf, which had now evidently resulted in a rift between him, Danne, and his majority-holding business partner Herr Mayer, and how did she think he, Danne, felt about that? Was he going to say anything about all that? Did he have an opinion?
Of course she herself didn’t feel good about any of it.
It was Greta who ticked these circumstances off on her fingers while Danne looked at her with his unsmiling expression.
And yes, she was very sorry that it had come to this.
But what else was there?
But did he remember the day that Josephina and Catharina left? The day he wept? And kissed Catharina on the crown of her head?
And walked with her, Greta, and with Finn running ahead in circles and Otto on his shoulders all the way along to the Slot and home again, and drank a generous brandy back at their house?
She herself remembered the blue sky and the shimmer of early-morning sun on the calm Alsund. There was a very light offshore breeze with a hint of woodsmoke in it. This was the kind of day that happened in late spring and early summer. Oh yes, they were lucky to live where they did, in the house that Farbror Aksel had made possible for them.
Yes, they were. She often thought so.
She remembered Josephina’s shoulder blades like brittle little wings under her hands, and the brisk way she then left her big sister’s embrace and was lifted by a sailor down into the packet-boat’s lighter, and Catharina after her with a squeal. Then the lighter’s stern oar dipping ripples in the surface of the water as it went out towards the packet.
Was Josephina looking back at them? Was that Catharina’s hand waving? It was hard to tell, there were several passengers crowded into the lighter.
Yes, that was Josephina’s pale face turned to look back, and yes, of course, that was Catharina’s hand waving, Josephina was holding her hand and they were waving together.
Finn didn’t really understand what was happening. But then they were walking along to the Slot because Danne had begun to cry and didn’t want to be there at the quay with people looking at him. So they walked all the way there and back, and then he had a brandy but she didn’t.
But what else was there?
Now she was looking at Danne across the supper table.
Did he remember that?
He was putting a spoonful of fish in his mouth – she saw the gleam of his teeth, but not of his eyes.
Then it was as though she didn’t ask the question, rather the question used her to ask itself.
Had he, Danne, been in love with her sister Josephina? Was that why he’d wept? Was that why he’d known Josephina had to go away? Was that why he’d agreed to organise something with the generous Farbror Aksel?
Had he been? Was it?
Then the gleam of Danne’s big eyes and the clatter of his spoon.
Yes, yes, he had. Of course he had. But as if Josephina was his daughter or his little sister. Like that. For God’s sake. And it was not as if she hadn’t made up her own mind to go, for God’s sake. Her own mind.
He emphasised Her own mind as if Greta had never thought of that.
So then Greta got up and went around to his side of the table and stood behind him and put her face in Danne’s thick hair with the nice smell of his old oilskin hat.
And yes, there was the tremor of a sob he held in and stopped with a spoonful of salt fish.
Yes, there it was, a sob, inside him.
And his head tipping back to press against her breasts, and his upside-down eyes looking up at her, and the thick flake of salt cod that had to be lifted from his beard by her forefinger and popped into his mouth.
Josephina
Josephina heard and then saw a long room with grey light coming in through tall, sooty windows. The light was the colour of the city, which was also the colour of the sky and of fog. In addition, there were gas lamps suspended from the ceiling so that their yellowish light fell on the bent heads of the ten or twelve women sitting on either side of four long work tables – about ninety in all. Dust was floating in the shafts of light. There was a continuous hum in the room, like a hive, but muffled, as though it was the sound of words trapped and beating themselves against the cool grey windows. It was the sound of the women murmuring, but they didn’t seem to be talking to each other, as their attention was on the work in front of them. Each of them had a small wicker basket with sewing materials in it, and many wore calico aprons with padded bibs for pins.
At one of the tables on the far side of the room some of the women were using sewing machines, and the swift chattering sounds of the needle foot and the whirr of the belt were like another language, so that it was hard to tell which sound was speech and which was machines. Mutti had always wanted a sewing machine – of course Tante Elizabeth had one in Gaarden with a richly decorated body and a large shining hand-wheel that Mathilde was allowed to turn to make the needle foot chatter up and down. Josephina had tried it to do a hem – it was fast but didn’t feel like sewing and she didn’t like it. There were some other sounds in the big grey-lit room as well, the tap of a thimble on the tabletop, the clatter of scissors being quickly put down, all multiplied many times by the number of women at work.
The effect of all the sounds and the light mixed up together was not of busyness but more like the thick fog of those dreams in which she was unable to move her arms and legs fast enough to go somewhere or escape something – dreams from which she used to wake up to find Elke’s strong arm across her face, but now it was Catharina’s little arm that would sometimes wake her in their narrow cot behind the kitchen of Herr Aksel Andersen’s house. In the morning, the cot folded away to clear access to the kitchen. The house was in a terrace with others; they were old houses that had survived a great fire, Herr Andersen had told her. There was a river or canal at the back, and supplies for the house often came from a little barge that stopped at the landing. It was one of the smallest houses, very narrow, the rooms stacked up one on top of the other. The walls at the back by the river were rather cool and Josephina worried that the atmosphere might be unhealthy for Catharina, but she didn’t want to complain.
But now Catharina was holding Josephina’s hand very tight and looking with big eyes at the humming sewing room. It was certainly the biggest room either of them had ever seen. There were two men standing at the end of one
of the long tables, looking at the work being done. One was a tall man with grey hair; he was wearing a good coat of dark worsted material and shiny black boots. The other was a short man with a pigeon chest and high, narrow shoulders, wearing a rather worn, low-crown wool top hat and a pale gabardine trenchcoat with a black velvet collar. His coat had damp patches on it and his brown boots were quite muddy, so it was clear he’d been walking outside in the rain. Both turned to look at Josephina and Catharina, and at Herr Andersen. One of the women at the table where the men were standing also looked at them – she smiled and gave Catharina a little wave – but all the other heads remained bent over the sewing work. Perhaps that was because the two men had been watching them. A woman in a green velvet street coat with its hood thrown back was walking slowly along between the rows. Perhaps she too was watching the sewers at work.
The tall man came over and shook Herr Andersen by the hand, but he didn’t look at Josephina or Catharina. The short man with the hunched shoulders and pigeon chest remained over by the work table but was looking hard at her – he had big black eyes and was really staring quite rudely, and then to her surprise lifted his hat and smiled. And then, disconcertingly, he tilted his head on one side and hunched up his shoulders, as if to say, why are you here?
Yes, this was the sewing room, the tall man was saying to Herr Andersen, and the young lady could try for a while, they would see how suitable she was for the work. He’d seen some of hers, it was certainly fine, but what was needed here was speed, it was all about getting the work done, the buttons and buttonholes, for example, and the braids, insignia and piping, you understand, the hems, the uniforms.
Then he was looking down at Catharina, who hid behind Josephina’s skirt. Ah yes, some of the women had children. There was a Kita nursery, but the cost of that came from their wages, did the young lady understand that? And then, finally, he was looking at Josephina. He was very sorry to hear about her misfortune, he said, keeping his hands clasped behind his back. The loss of her husband. A misfortune, indeed a tragedy.
Josephina was unsure about his sincerity. He spoke plainly and looked at her without condescension, but his tone was cool. ‘Yes, a misfortune,’ she agreed, because what else could she say – pausing because she didn’t know how to address him, and he hadn’t offered to shake her hand and introduce himself. He noticed her looking over his shoulder at the little man in the damp trenchcoat – now the man was standing with his head on one side and one fist on his hip, as if making a show of waiting. He’d been joined by the woman in the green coat. She was leaning close to him and talking in a confidential manner.
‘Wolf Bloch,’ said the owner of the sewing room, so Josephina held her hand out, glad to be able to thank him properly and introduce herself. But he ignored her and returned his attention to Herr Andersen. ‘The editor of the Bürger Zeitung.’
‘I know him,’ said Herr Andersen. ‘And what he writes.’ He was looking over at the little man. ‘And his sister also, I see.’
Then Josephina realised that she’d nearly made a mistake.
‘The young lady may come in tomorrow,’ said the anonymous owner of the sewing room. ‘She can bring the child.’
Then Herr Andersen was thanking him and they were preparing to leave. Over by the long table of women working, the little man called Wolf Bloch and the woman in the green coat were still talking with their heads close together.
Yes of course she was grateful for Herr Andersen’s support and the agreement of his wife Frau Andersen whose given name she, Josephina, was not allowed to use. But she could not make the hot blush that had risen up out of her blouse collar go back again out of sight as she and Herr Andersen went down the stairs from the sewing room, and it was still there when he lifted Catharina up to her in the waiting cab. He had business to attend to, he said, the cab would take her back to the house, they should enjoy the ride. Then he gave the driver some money and walked away quickly.
The young lady. The child.
No doubt the owner of the sewing room, the man with the good coat and the fine black boots, meant well, as did Herr Andersen, and meanwhile Catharina liked riding in the cab as it bumped along over the cobbles. She already knew the word for horse and kept repeating it – yes, it was a nice horsie, Josephina agreed, while the blush turned from embarrassment into anger and then sank back inside her collar.
She had a name, it was Josephina Hansen – the sewing-room owner didn’t even want to know that, nor the name of ‘the child’, which was Catharina Hansen, and clearly Herr Andersen didn’t want to ride back with them in the cab, he had his business to attend to and no time to ask Josephina what she thought about the sewing room, or to explain about the Kita nursery. And how would she and Catharina go to and from the sewing room once she started to work there? Not in a cab, certainly – she would have to find out about the horse-trams. And how was the nursery organised, and where was it, was it close to the sewing room, did they give the children food? Herr Andersen’s manner towards her and Catharina had changed since he first met them on the platform at the Altona railway station; now he seemed impatient to leave them, and she still didn’t know the name of the man in the good coat at the sewing room.
Though it was a warm day after the morning’s showers, and the cab’s windows were open, Josephina felt stifled because the air was grey and dull and her mind was like that, too. Leaving Sønderborg only one week ago the air had been so fresh, and the fear she felt about going to Hamburg was also a kind of joy, because here she and Catharina were, they were going away on their new life’s path, and this had been her decision, no one else owned it. When the packet-boat’s sails were hoisted with a clatter and the canvas flapped and they began to move down the Alsund, it was as though her future filled the sails and moved the boat forward with little nods. She looked back to see if Greta and Danne were still there on the quay, but they’d gone. There was a space of clear sunlight and water-dazzle between her and the row of quayside houses with glinting windows, the same windows she’d washed the salt off before winter. The light was a splash of fresh cold water across her thoughts, it made her breath tighten high up in her chest – she was blinking not tears but freshness. Behind one of the windows was where she and Catharina had slept and where Catharina had grown to be almost two years old, but now the houses were getting smaller and smaller, as if time not distance was shrinking them, because it was her and Catharina’s future that was urging them onward, and it was their future not anyone else’s.
She guessed that the man with the thin, tired face was Danne’s uncle Herr Aksel Andersen, whom Danne called Farbror Aksel, because, although he wasn’t a big man like Danne, he had the same kind of measuring look and a similar way of pushing his chin out as he peered around the station. It was a big space with light coming in through a sooty arched window over the way out, and everyone seemed to know where to go except her, so she stood in one place near the train that was still hissing steam across the platform from its boiler, while other passengers hurried towards the way out or to greet people they knew. Also, the man was searching for someone he didn’t know, that was clear – his search went past Josephina and Catharina a few times, but came back to them and then stayed. Should she go towards him? How could she be sure? The platform was so loud and busy, and the man whose gaze had fastened on her and Catharina might be one of those that Danne and Greta had warned her about, the ones who took advantage of young women arriving at the station. Don’t believe them if they say they can help you, or when they ask if you need help, or if you’re lost, or if you need a place to stay, Danne and Greta said several times in a kind of chorus, don’t trust them, or the women who ask you questions like that either, it’s a wicked and dangerous place, Hamburg, because of the port there are many sailors coming and going, and many brothels, just wait for Herr Andersen, you’ll know him, he’s a tall thin Andersen, and his head sometimes jerks around a bit. Danne did an impersonation of his uncle’s jerking head but became huffy when Greta laughe
d. It was an old war wound, he said, show some respect, don’t be so German.
And indeed, the man who was looking at them and starting to come towards them did have a nervous twitch to his head, but also a careful smile inside a thick beard like Danne’s. Josephina and Catharina were standing to one side of the shouting and busyness; Catharina was clinging to Josephina’s leg but wasn’t frightened, just overwhelmed, and she didn’t mind when, after he’d shaken Josephina’s hand and introduced himself – familiarly calling them both by their first names – Herr Andersen bent and gave Catharina a friendly kiss, and then picked her up. It was very nice to make her acquaintance, he said to her, and would she like to go for a ride in a tram, it had two horsies to pull it along, it could take them into the town and she could have some nice soup, what was her favourite, his was cauliflower with a little cream and some speck, did she know what speck was?
It was strange that he found it easier to talk to her through Catharina; perhaps it was because that way he didn’t have to ask serious questions? All Danne had written in his letter was that his sister-in-law was the widow of a soldier killed in an accident and that she hoped to find a way to support herself in the city and not be a burden on her family. So they talked about soup, and then about Catharina’s cousins Finn and Otto back in Sønderborg. Herr Andersen looked forward to meeting Otto soon, and every so often when his head twitched as they rode along in the horse-tram Catharina reached up from Josephina’s lap and put her hand against his beard. A beautiful child, he observed to Josephina several times, how lucky you are, how very lucky!
The streets beyond the station were dirty and badly paved, with houses crowded together, some were six or seven storeys high, with many broken windows boarded up or covered in oiled paper. Most open windows had people in them, as if they were getting fresh air, and the streets were also crowded with people and with little stalls and barrows of food and goods. The air was smoky and smelled of sewage and rotting rubbish. Josephina was used to the smell of the cow shit and piss, and of course that of old Gunnar back at the Bauernhaus, and she was used to cleaning it out, but the muck in the drains in these streets hadn’t been washed away, it stank, and it was from people.
