‘In a little while,’ says her mother. ‘As soon as you’ve gone to sleep.’
The child flings her arms round her mother’s neck and gives her a kiss. Then a second kiss. And a third. ‘Good night!’ she says.
The young woman hugs the little creature close. ‘I’m so glad to have you back home,’ she whispers. ‘You’re all I still have!’
The child’s head sinks on her pillow. She is drowsy with sleep. Luiselotte Palfy, née Körner, straightens the quilt on the bed and listens for a while to her daughter’s breathing. Then, carefully, she stands up and goes back into the living room on tiptoe.
Her briefcase is lying in the light of the standard lamp. She still has so much work to do.
For the first time, Lottie is put to bed by the grumpy housekeeper Resi. Then she secretly gets up again and writes the letter that she is going to take to the post office first thing in the morning. After that she slips quietly back into Luise’s bed, and before she switches off the light she looks round her room again at her leisure.
It is a spacious, pretty room, with friezes of pictures from fairy tales on the walls, a toy cupboard, a bookshelf, a desk for doing homework, a large toy shop, a delicate old-fashioned dressing-table, a doll’s pram, a doll’s bed – in fact nothing is missing except the most important thing of all!
Hasn’t she sometimes wished for such a lovely room of her own? Hasn’t she just thought that to herself, so that Mummy wouldn’t notice? And now that she has one, a sharp pain made up of longing and envy pierces her mind. She wants to be back in the modest little bedroom where her sister is lying now, she longs for Mummy’s goodnight kiss, for the reflected light from the next room where Mummy is still working, and later for the quiet sound of the door, she longs for Mummy to stand beside her daughter’s bed, then to go on tiptoe over to her own bed, slip into her nightie and snuggle up under her bedclothes.
If only Daddy’s bed were here, or at least in the room next door! Maybe he would snore! That would be nice, because then she’d know that he was very close! But he doesn’t sleep very close, he sleeps in another apartment on the Ringstrasse. Maybe he isn’t asleep at all, maybe he’s sitting with the elegant lady who brought the chocolates in a large, glittering salon, drinking wine, laughing, dancing with her, nodding affectionately to her as he did this evening at the Opera House, to her, not to the little girl waving to him surreptitiously and happily from the box.
Lottie falls asleep. She dreams. The fairy tale about the poor woodcutter and his wife who sent Hansel and Gretel into the forest because they had no bread to give them mingles with her own fears, her own grief.
In her dream, Lottie and Luise are sitting in a bed together, staring with frightened eyes at a door through which a great many bakers come, wearing white caps and carrying loaves of bread into the room. They stack the loaves up by the walls. More and more bakers come and go. The mountains of bread grow higher. The room gets more and more crowded.
Then the girls’ father is standing there in evening dress, conducting the parade of bakers with lively gestures. Mummy hurries in, asking anxiously, ‘Oh, husband, what does this mean?’
‘We must get rid of the children!’ he cries angrily. ‘There’s not enough space here! We have too much bread in the house!’
Mummy wrings her hands. The children sob pitifully.
‘Out!’ he cries, raising his conductor’s baton menacingly. The bed obediently moves towards the window. The two halves of the window fly open, and the bed sails out into the fresh air.
It flies over a great city, over a river, over hills, fields, mountains and woods. Then it comes down to earth again and lands in a huge tangle of trees like a jungle, echoing with eerie bird calls and the roar of wild beasts. The two little girls sit there in bed, paralysed by fear.
Then there is a cracking and rattling sound in the thickets of trees.
The children fling themselves back and pull the quilt over their heads. And now the witch comes out of the undergrowth. But she isn’t the witch on stage in the opera, she looks more like the lady with the chocolates who was sitting in the box. She looks through her opera glasses at the little bed, nods her head, gives a very arrogant smile and claps her hands three times.
As if at a signal, the dark forest turns into a sunny meadow. And a house made of chocolates stands in the meadow, with a fence of chocolate bars round it. There are birds twittering merrily, marzipan rabbits hop around in the grass, and golden nests full of Easter eggs shine all over the place. A little bird perches on the bed and sings runs and trills of music so prettily that Lottie and Luise venture to look out from under their quilt, although at first they turn it back only far enough for the tips of their noses to show. When they see the meadow with the marzipan bunnies, the Easter eggs and the house made of chocolates, they quickly climb out of bed and run over to the fence. There they stand in their long nighties, amazed by what they see. ‘Luxury Assortment!’ Luise reads out loud. ‘And pralines with nougat centres!’
‘And special plain chocolate, top quality!’ cries Lottie happily (because even in a dream she doesn’t like chocolates that are too sickly-sweet).
Luise breaks a large slab of chocolate off the fence. ‘There are nuts in it!’ she says greedily, and she is just about to take a big bite.
Then they hear the witch’s laughter coming from her house! The children are scared, and Luise throws the chocolate as far away from her as she can!
But here comes Mummy, panting for breath as she runs over the meadow with a big wheelbarrow full of loaves of bread. ‘Stop, children!’ she cries in alarm. ‘Those sweets are all poisoned!’
‘We were hungry, Mummy!’
‘Here, have some bread! I couldn’t get away from the office any earlier!’ She hugs her children and tries to lead them away. But then the door of the chocolate house opens, and their father appears, carrying a woodcutter’s big saw, and calls out, ‘Leave those children alone, Mrs Körner!’
‘They’re my children, Mr Palfy!’
‘Mine too!’ he shouts back. And as he comes closer he explains, in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘I’m going to cut the children in half. With this saw! I’ll have half of Lottie and half of Luise, and I’ll have you too, Mrs Körner!’
The twins have jumped into bed and sit there, trembling.
Mummy places herself protectively in front of the bed. ‘Never, Mr Palfy!’
But their father pushes her aside and begins sawing the bed in half, beginning at the head of it. The saw screeches so horribly that it freezes their blood, cutting the bed apart lengthwise inch by inch.
‘Let go of each other!’ commands their father.
The saw is coming closer to the sisters’ clasped hands, closer and closer! Next moment it will graze their skin. Mummy is crying heart-rendingly.
They can hear the witch giggling.
Then, at last, the children let go of each other’s hands.
The saw finally cuts the bed apart between them, and it turns into two beds, each with four feet.
‘Which twin do you want, Mrs Körner?’
‘Both of them, I want both of them!’
‘Sorry,’ says the man. ‘Justice must be seen to be done. Well, if you can’t make up your mind, then I’ll have this one! It makes no difference to me. I don’t know one from the other.’ He reaches for one of the beds. ‘Which one are you?’
‘Luise!’ cries Luise. ‘But you mustn’t do this!’
‘No!’ cries Lottie. ‘You can’t divide us in half!’
‘Hold your tongue!’ says the man sternly. ‘Parents can do anything they like!’
So saying, and pulling one of the children’s beds after him on a string, he goes towards the house made of sweets. The chocolate fence opens of its own accord.
Luise and Lottie wave desperately.
‘We’ll write to each other!’ shouts Luise.
‘To await collection!’ cries Lottie. ‘Forget-Me-Not, Munich 18!’
Their father an
d Luise disappear into the house. Then the house itself disappears as if it has been wiped away.
Mummy hugs Lottie and says sadly, ‘Now we’re all alone.’ Suddenly she stares at the child uncertainly. ‘Which of my children are you, then? You look like Lottie.’
‘I am Lottie!’
‘No, you look like Luise …’
‘And I am Luise.’
Her mother, frightened, looks the child in the face, and says in her father’s voice, which is odd, ‘One side ringlets! One side braids! The same noses! The same faces!’
Now Lottie has a braid on the left and ringlets like Luise’s on the right. Tears are pouring from her eyes. And she murmurs, miserably, ‘Now even I don’t know which of us I am! Oh, poor half-me!’
Chapter Seven
Weeks later · Peperl has decided to put up with things · There are no bones in pancakes · Everything has changed, particularly Resi · Music Director Palfy gives piano lessons · Mrs Körner blames herself · Anni Habersetzer gets her face slapped · The nicest weekend in the world!
Weeks have passed since that first day and first night in a strange world, among strange people. Weeks when every moment, every chance incident, every meeting could mean danger and discovery. Weeks when hearts beat very fast, and many letters were sent to be collected at the post office, letters urgently asking for more information.
But everything has worked out all right. Mind you, it called for some luck. Luise has ‘remembered’ how to cook. Her teachers in Munich have reconciled themselves reasonably well to the fact that little Lottie Körner came back from the holidays less hard-working, tidy and attentive in class than before – but as if to make up for it, she has also come home livelier and quicker to answer back with a neat remark.
And the Viennese colleagues of those teachers have no objection at all to seeing that Music Director Palfy’s daughter pays more attention in lessons these days, and is better at multiplication. Only yesterday, Miss Gstettner told Miss Bruckbaur in the staff room, sounding just a little pompous, ‘Watching Luise’s development, my dear colleague, is a most instructive experience for any teacher. To see how her high spirits have encouraged her strength of mind, now under control and quietly effective, to see how a constant will to learn has developed out of her cheerful disposition and her thirst for detailed knowledge – well, dear Miss Bruckbaur, it is truly unique! And we must not forget that this metamorphosis, this change for the better in a child’s character, enabling her to exercise more restraint than before, happened entirely of itself, without the exertion of any pedagogical pressure from the outside world!’
Miss Bruckbaur nodded vigorously, and replied, ‘And the same blossoming of her character, the same concentration on form, is also evident in the change of Luise’s handwriting. What I always say about the expression of character in handwriting is …’ Well, let’s skip what Miss Bruckbaur always says!
Instead, let’s notice with whole-hearted pleasure that some time ago Dr Strobl’s dog Peperl went back to his old habit of saying hello to the little girl who sits at the Music Director’s table. He has come to terms, although it is beyond his doggy understanding, with the fact that Luiserl no longer smells like Luiserl. Human beings can do so many things, why not this as well? Moreover, the dear little girl doesn’t eat pancakes nearly so often nowadays, but really enjoys meat dishes. When you stop to think that pancakes have no bones, while cutlets have a delightful abundance of them, it is even easier to understand that the dog has overcome his cool reserve.
If Luise’s teachers think that she has changed in a remarkable way – what would they say about Resi the housekeeper if they knew her better? For Resi, there’s no question about it, has genuinely become a totally different person. Perhaps she wasn’t naturally deceitful, slovenly and lazy, perhaps she was like that only when there wasn’t someone watching all that went on and keeping a sharp eye on her?
Since Lottie has been in the apartment, gently but firmly checking up on everything, discovering everything, knowing everything that goes on in the kitchen and the household in general, Resi has turned into a first-class housekeeper.
Lottie has persuaded her father to give her the housekeeping money instead of Resi. And it is almost funny to see Resi knocking on the door of the little girl’s bedroom, to be given money by a child of nine sitting at her desk and doing homework. Resi obediently tells her what she needs to buy, what she is planning to serve for supper, and what else is needed in the household.
Lottie quickly works out what it will cost, takes money out of her desk and gives it to Resi, writes down the amount in a notebook, and then, in the evening, they conscientiously go over everything at the kitchen table.
Even though he is handing over less housekeeping money, Lottie’s father has noticed that it goes further than it used to, that there are fresh flowers regularly on the table, even in his studio on the Ringstrasse, and that the apartment on Rotenturmstrasse is really cosy these days. (Just as if there were a woman in the house, he caught himself thinking the other day, and the thought quite startled him!)
Miss Irene Gerlach, the lady with the box of chocolates, has also noticed that he spends more time in Rotenturmstrasse, and he goes there more often. She asked the Music Director to explain himself, so to speak. Very cautiously, to be sure, because artists are such sensitive souls.
‘Well, you see,’ he said, ‘the other day I came home to find Luiserl happily playing a tune on the piano and singing a little song. It was simply delightful! She never used to practise the piano of her own accord, whatever anyone said to her!’
‘So?’ enquired Miss Gerlach, raising her eyebrows so high that they touched her hairline.
‘So,’ said Mr Palfy, with a slightly awkward smile, ‘so since then I’ve been giving her piano lessons! She really enjoys them. And so do I.’
Miss Gerlach looked very scornful, because she is a highly intellectual person. Then she said, sharply, ‘I thought you were a composer, not a little girls’ piano teacher!’
Once upon a time, no one could have said such a thing to that artistic musician Ludwig Palfy to his face! Today he just laughed like a schoolboy and cried, ‘But I’ve never in my life composed as much music as now! And I’ve never before composed anything so good, either!’
‘What is it going to be?’
‘A children’s opera,’ he replied.
So Luise has changed in the eyes of her teachers. Resi and Peperl have changed in Lottie’s eyes. And the apartment in Rotenturmstrasse has changed in her father’s eyes. All these changes!
In Munich, of course, there have also been a great many changes. When her mother noticed that Lottie wasn’t such a serious little housewife or such a hard worker at school as she used to be, but was much more amusing and high-spirited instead, she thought about it, and said to herself: Luiselotte, you’ve turned an obedient little thing into a housewife, but not a child! As soon as she spent a few weeks with children of her own age, in the mountains beside a lake, she turned into what she should have been all along: an amusing little girl who isn’t weighed down by all your anxieties! You should be ashamed of yourself for being so self-centred. Be glad that Lottie is cheerful and happy, never mind if she sometimes breaks a plate when we’re washing the dishes! Or even if she even brings home a letter from her teacher saying that Lottie’s attention to her work, love of order and industry have, unfortunately, left much to be desired recently, and she even slapped her fellow-student Anni Habersetzer’s face four times yesterday. However many worries a mother may have, said Luiselotte to herself, above all it is her duty to keep her child from being driven out of the paradise of childhood too early.
It was in such terms, or something like it, that Mrs Körner took herself to task, and in the end she went to see Miss Linnekogel, Lottie’s class teacher, about it. ‘My child,’ she said, ‘ought to be a child and not a little grown-up before her time. I’d rather she was a happy, merry little rascal than always be top of the class at all costs!’
‘But Lottie always managed to be both,’ said Miss Linnekogel, a little annoyed.
‘I don’t know why she can’t be like that now. I’m afraid that a career woman doesn’t always understand her child well enough. It must somehow be connected with the summer holidays. But one thing I do know, because I can see it: she herself can’t be both happy and top of the class any more, and that’s all I have to say.’
Miss Linnekogel adjusted her glasses energetically. ‘I am afraid that, as a teacher and with your daughter’s achievements in mind, I have other aims. I must and will try to restore the child’s inner harmony.’
‘Do you really think that a little inattention in arithmetic lessons, and a few inkblots in her exercise book …’
‘A good example, Mrs Körner! That exercise book! It is Lottie’s handwriting above all that shows how much the child has lost – how shall I put it? – has lost her intellectual equilibrium. But let us leave her handwriting aside for the moment! Do you approve of the way that Lottie has taken hitting other girls recently?’
‘Other girls?’ Mrs Körner intentionally emphasized the plural. ‘As far as I know, she only hit Anni Habersetzer.’
‘Only?’
‘And Anni Habersetzer richly deserved it! After all, someone had to give her a taste of her own medicine!’
‘But Mrs Körner …!’
‘A fat, greedy child who makes a habit of taking out her spitefulness on the smallest in the class doesn’t deserve her teacher’s protection.’
‘What? Did that really happen? But I know nothing at all about it!’
‘Then just ask poor little Ilse Merck! I should think she could tell you a thing or two!’
‘But why didn’t Lottie tell me about that when I punished her?’
The Parent Trap Page 5
