A Small Person Far Away

by Judith Kerr

  Instead, she ate scrambled eggs served on a not-very-clean tablecloth in the deserted breakfast room and thought about Mama.

  The bow-legged proprietress hovered nearby and talked – about the Nazis (she had never been one, she said), about the concentration camps of which she had known nothing, and about the bad times just after the War. No food, she said, and such dreadfully hard work. Even the women had to clear the rubble.

  Her Berliner voice, a bit like Heimpi’s, like all the voices of Anna’s childhood, went on and on, and, even though Anna believed little of what she said, she did not want it to stop. She answered her in German and was surprised to find that when she really tried, she could speak it almost perfectly.

  “Is’ doch schön, dass es der Frau Mutter ’n bischen besser geht,” said the woman.

  Anna, too, was glad that Mama was a little better.

  “Sehr schön,” she said.

  Tuesday

  Tuesday began with a telephone call from Konrad. Anna was still in bed, when she was wakened by the knocking at her door, and she had to run down to the telephone in the hall with her coat thrown over her nightdress, the crumbly lino chilling her bare feet as she said, “Hello? Hello, Konrad?”

  “My dear,” Konrad’s voice sounded much more positive, “I’m sorry I woke you. But I thought you’d like to know straightaway that I’ve just spoken to the doctor, and he says your mother is going to be all right.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” Even though she had been sure of it, she was surprised by the wave of relief which flooded over her. “I’m so glad!”

  “Yes – well – so am I.” He gave a little laugh. “As you can imagine.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I just thought I’d tell you. So you could have your breakfast in peace. I’ll meet you at the hospital at nine-thirty.”

  “All right.” It felt like an outing, a party, a celebration. “And thanks, Konrad. Thanks for letting me know.”

  She hurried back to her room to put on her clothes, and had hardly got them on before she was called to the telephone again. This time it was Max, from the airport.

  “Max,” she cried, “it’s all right. Mama is going to be all right.”

  “I know.” He sounded in control of the situation, as always. “I’ve just spoken to the hospital.”

  “Did they tell you—?”

  “The overdose. Yes.” There was a pause. “It’s funny,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in planes and at airports for two days with nothing to do but think about Mama, but that possibility never occurred to me. I just kept wondering whether she’d be alive when I got here.”

  “I know.” She could hear his breathing through the telephone – fast, shallow breaths. He must be dead tired.

  “Do you know why she did it?”

  “Konrad,” she said. “He had an affair.”

  “Konrad? Good God.” He was as amazed as she had been. “I thought it was something to do with us. I hadn’t written for a bit.”

  “I know. I hadn’t either.”

  “Good God,” he said again, and then became very practical. “Look, I don’t know what sort of transport I can get from here, but I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I can. You meet me there.”

  “All right.” The odd feeling of it being a celebration returned to her as she said, “See you then.”

  “See you then,” he said and rang off.

  She rushed through her breakfast with only the briefest replies to the proprietress who was determined to continue the conversation of the previous night. Even so, when she arrived at the hospital, Max was already there. He was talking to the nurse behind the desk and she recognized not only his back, but also the expression on the nurse’s face – that special smile, denoting pleasure and eagerness to help, which he had been able to induce in almost everyone he met since he had been about seventeen.

  “Max,” she said.

  He turned and came towards her, looking tired but unrumpled in his formal suit, and most of the visitors and patients looked up to watch him.

  “Hello, little man,” he said, and in answer to the old endearment, left from their joint childhood, she felt a glow spread through her, and smiled back at him much as the nurse had done. “What a lot of trouble,” he said as he kissed her, “Bringing up our poor Mama.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Have you spoken to Konrad?”

  “Just for a moment. He gave me your number. He said something about taking full responsibility. I couldn’t think what he meant.”

  “He feels very badly about it.”

  “Well, so he should. Though perhaps… Mama isn’t easy.” Max sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Has he said anything about what he’s going to do?”

  “Not exactly. But he said the affair meant nothing to him – that it’s all finished.”

  “I suppose that’s something.”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause. She was conscious of the other people and the nurse behind the desk watching them. “He’s coming here at nine-thirty,” he said. “Do you want to wait for him or go and see Mama first?”

  “Let’s go and see Mama,” he said, and she thought how much easier it would be to face going up to the landing now that Mama was better, and with Max beside her.

  As they started along the corridor which smelt of disinfectant and polish as usual, she did not feel the least bit sick. “I’m all right today,” she said. “Always when I’ve come here before I’ve felt sick.”

  He smiled. “You should have put a clean hankie on your stomach,” and she was surprised and touched because he did not usually remember much about the past.

  “I think it only worked if you got it out of the drawer,” she said.

  They had reached the stairs and she was about to go up, but he steered her past them, towards another passage.

  “Room 17,” he said. “The nurse told me.”

  “Room 17?” Then she realized. “They must have moved her now that she’s out of danger. They must really be sure.”

  He nodded. “The nurse said she’d be very sleepy. She said only to stay a minute.”

  “She’s been on a kind of landing till now.” For some reason it seemed important to explain. “Where everyone could see her. And of course she’d throw herself about and groan and I was shouting and trying to get through to her. It was rather horrible.”

  But they had come to the door of Mama’s room and he was not really listening. “All right?” he said with his fingers on the handle, and they went in.

  The first thing that struck her was how pretty the room was. It was full of light, with pastel-coloured walls and a big window which overlooked the park. There were flowered curtains, an armchair and a furry rug on the floor. Mama was lying in a neat white bed, untethered, without tubes, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other relaxed on the covers, as Anna had so often seen her in the Putney boarding house, and seemed to be peacefully asleep.

  Max was already by the bed.

  “Mama,” he said.

  Mama’s eyelids fluttered, sank down again, and finally opened quite normally. For a moment she stared in confusion and then she recognized him.

  “Max,” she whispered. “Oh, Max.” Her blue eyes, the same colour as his, smiled, half-closed, and then opened again full of tears. “I’m so sorry, Max,” she whispered. “Your holiday… I didn’t mean…” Her voice, too, was just as usual.

  “That’s all right, Mama,” said Max. “Everything is all right now.”

  Her hand moved across the bedclothes into his, and he held it.

  “Max,” she murmured. “Dear Max…” Her eyelids sank down and she went back to sleep.

  For a moment, Anna did not know what to do. Then she joined Max at the bed.

  “Hello, Mama,” she said softly, her lips close to the pillow.

  Mama, very sleepy now, hardly reacted. “Anna…” Her voice was barely audible. “Are you here too?”

  “I’ve been here since Saturday,” said Anna, b
ut Mama was too sleepy to hear her. Her eyes remained closed, and after a while Max disengaged his hand and they went out.

  “Is she all right?” he asked. “Is this very different from the way she’s been?”

  “She’s been in a coma for three days,” said Anna. “She only came out of it while I was with her last night.” She knew it was childish, but she felt put out by the fact that Mama seemed to remember nothing about it. “They told me to keep calling her, so I did, and finally she answered.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Max. “Was it awful?”

  “Yes, it was. Like one of those dreadful, corny films.”

  He laughed a little. “I didn’t know they still did that – making you call her. I thought these days it was all done with pills. You may have saved her life.”

  She was careful not to say so, but secretly she was sure that she had. “It was probably just the German instinct for drama,” she said. “I can’t imagine them doing it in England, can you? I mean, you wouldn’t be allowed into the ward for a start.”

  They were walking back along the corridor and near the stairs they met the sour-faced nurse of the first day, carrying a bedpan. At the sight of them – or more probably of Max, thought Anna – her mouth relaxed into a smile.

  “Na,” she said in satisfied tones, “die Frau Mutter ist von den Schatten zurückgekehrt.”

  In English this meant, “So your lady mother has returned from the shadows,” and Anna, who had had time to get used to German phraseology, managed to keep a straight face, but, combined with the bedpan, it was too much for Max. He spluttered some kind of agreement and dived round the next corner, Anna following and hoping that the nurse would think he had been overcome with emotion.

  “They all talk like that,” she giggled when she caught up with him. “Had you forgotten?”

  He could only shake his head. “Aus den Schatten zurückgekehrt… How does Mama stand it?”

  She looked at him and began to laugh as well. “Die Frau Mutter…” she gasped, and even though she knew it was not as funny as all that, it was difficult to stop. She leaned against the wall, clutching his arm for support, and when the nurse came back, without the bedpan this time, they were still laughing so much that they had to pretend to search for something in Anna’s bag until she had passed, only to explode again immediately afterwards.

  “Oh, Max,” cried Anna at last without knowing exactly what she meant, “oh, Max, you’re the only one.”

  It was something to do with their childhood, with having grown up speaking three different languages, with having had to worry so much about Mama and Papa and to cheer themselves up with trilingual jokes which nobody else could understand.

  “There, there, little man,” said Max, patting her arm. “So are you.”

  They were still laughing a little when they emerged into the entrance hall, even more crowded now. Konrad and the doctor were already talking together in a corner, and the nurse behind the desk smiled and pointed them out to Max, in case he had not seen them. But Konrad who must have been watching for them, came to meet them and clasped Max warmly by the hand.

  “It’s good to see you, Max,” he said. “I’m sorry we had to drag you away from Greece, but right until this morning it’s been touch and go with your mother.”

  “Of course,” said Max. “Thank you for coping with it all.”

  “Nu,” said Konrad in tones reminiscent of the Goldblatts, “at my age you learn to cope with everything.”

  There was an awkwardness between them, and he turned to Anna with evident relief. “That’s quite a change of expression you’ve got there.”

  “I told you Mama would be all right,” she said happily, and by this time they had reached the doctor, and Konrad introduced him to Max, and Max thanked him for all he had done for Mama.

  “I believe you’ve had a long journey,” said the doctor, and Max told him a little about it, but quickly brought the conversation back to Mama.

  “We were lucky,” said the doctor. “I told your sister—” he spread his fingers as he had done the previous day. “Fifty-fifty, didn’t I tell you?”

  Anna nodded. It seemed a long time ago.

  “Yes,” said the doctor. “Fifty-fifty. Of course in such a case one does not always know what a patient’s wishes would have been. But one has to assume… to hope…” He discovered his fingers, still in midair, and lowered them to his sides.

  Behind him, Anna could see a very old lady walking carefully with a stick, and a small boy with his arm in a sling. She was aware of a woolly smell from Konrad’s coat, the warmth of a nearby radiator and the babble of German voices all around her, and she felt suddenly tired and remote. Mama is going to be all right, she thought, nothing else matters. For some reason, she remembered again how Mama had looked that time when she had cried in her blue hat with the veil. The veil had been quite wet and had got more and more wrinkled as Mama rubbed her eyes with her hand. When on earth was that? she wondered.

  Konrad coughed and shifted his feet. “… can’t thank you enough…” said Max in his very good German, and Konrad nodded and said, “… deeply grateful…” “After a few days in the clinic to recover…” The doctor waved his hands and there seemed to be a question hanging in the air. Then Konrad said loudly and firmly, “Of course I shall be responsible for her.” She glanced at him quickly to see if he meant it. His face looked quite set.

  The doctor was clearly relieved. So was Max who, she noticed, now looked rather pale and suddenly said, “I’ve eaten nothing since yesterday lunch time. D’you think I could possibly get breakfast anywhere?”

  At this the group broke up.

  They all thanked the doctor again, and then she and Max were following Konrad down the steps to his car and Konrad was saying, “You must remember to shake hands with the Germans, otherwise they think you despise them for having lost the War,” which seemed so eccentric that she thought she must have misheard until she caught Max’s eye and quickly looked away for fear of getting the giggles again.

  She stared out of the window while Konrad drove and made various arrangements with Max – it was cold, but quite a nice day, she discovered – and did not really come to until she found herself sitting at a café table, with the smell of sausages and coffee all round her and Max saying, evidently for the second or third time, “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

  He himself was polishing off a large plateful of frankfurters and fried potatoes, and there was a cup of coffee in front of her, so she drank some of that and smiled and shook her head.

  “Konrad is going to ring the theatre from his office,” said Max, “so that they’ll be expecting us.”

  “The theatre?”

  “Where they’ve got the exhibition about Papa.”

  “Of course.” She had forgotten all about it.

  “It’s really over. Konrad thought they might even have begun to dismantle it. But the stuff should still be there, and Konrad it going to ring the caretaker to make sure he lets us in.”

  He looked his normal self again, and she asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

  He nodded, his mouth full of frankfurters. “Just reaction,” he said. “No food and not enough sleep.”

  She felt very glad that they were going to see the exhibition together. Suddenly it seemed exactly the right thing to do. “It’ll be good to see something to do with Papa,” she said.

  They had to travel on the U-Bahn to get there, but Konrad had explained the route to Max, and he had also given him a map. If you stayed on the train too long, it took you right out of the Western Sector into the Russian Zone and Anna, who considered this a very real danger, watched the stations anxiously and was standing by the doors, ready to get off, when they reached the one they wanted.

  “They warn you before you ever get near the Russian Zone,” said Max as they climbed up the stairs to the street. “They have big notices at the previous station and announcers and loudspeakers. You couldn’t possibly go ac
ross by mistake.”

  She nodded, but did not really believe him. Once, a few months after escaping from Germany, they had changed trains in Basle on their way to Paris with Papa, and they had discovered only at the very last minute that it was the wrong train.

  “Do you remember in Basle,” she said, “when we nearly got a train that was going to Germany? We didn’t even have time to get the luggage off, and you shouted until someone threw it out to us.”

  “Did I?” said Max, pleased with his past activity, but, as usual, he had forgotten it.

  The theatre was in a busy, unfamiliar street, but then all the streets except the few round her old home and school were unfamiliar to her, thought Anna. There was some heavy bomb damage nearby, but the building itself had either escaped or had been carefully repaired.

  They went up some stone steps to the entrance, knocked and waited. For a long time nothing happened. Then, through a glass panel in the door, they could see an old man coming slowly towards them across the gloom of the foyer. A key ground in the lock, the door opened, and he became clearly visible in the light from the street – very old, very bent, and with a long, grey face that did not look as though it ever went out.

  “Kommen Sie rein, kommen Sie rein,” he said impatiently, rather like the witch, thought Anna, beckoning Hansel and Gretel into the gingerbread house, and he led them slowly across the thick red carpet of the foyer towards a curving staircase.

  As he tottered ahead of them, he talked unceasingly. “Can’t put the lights on,” he said in his heavy Berlin accent. “Not in the morning. Regulations don’t allow it.” He stopped suddenly and pointed to a chandelier above their heads. “Well, look at it. Set you back a bit to have that shining away, wouldn’t it? Real gold, that is.”

  He tottered off again, muttering about the regulations which seemed to present a major problem, but resolved it to his satisfaction as, with infinite slowness, he climbed the stairs one step at a time. “Put the lights on upstairs,” he said. “Nothing in the regulations against that.”