While other children in the home were scared of my grandmother, Nina’s daughter Vera regularly sat at our kitchen table. Grandmother had sweets and presents at the ready in order to lure Vera to our place after school, almost like the child molesters she warned me about in her bedtime stories. As far as I was concerned, the fact that she paid Vera to look out for me at school was enough, especially since Vera wasn’t exactly dutiful about that. As soon as she had dragged me across the schoolyard and shoved me into my seat she didn’t look out for me at all—aside from the occasional kick under the table. Though she had no difficulty giving detailed reports about my school days if Grandmother asked.
“He didn’t do much. Actually he didn’t even move.”
“That’s how he is, dear Vera. He’s got no strength. Did anyone mistreat him?”
“No. They all know I’m looking out for him.” Vera didn’t even blush saying that.
“But even you can’t always have your eyes on him.” Grandmother sighed.
While Vera unwrapped a new doll, Grandmother laid our homework notebooks side by side. She compared the work, complaining the whole time about my scrawled handwriting. “Look how neatly a girl writes. If I could I’d make you into a girl, Maxi, but it’s too late for that, unfortunately. Don’t listen to old Margo, Vera, she just admires your handwriting. Every single letter is perfect, no wonder you get good grades. You’ll finish school with honors, go to college, have a career, and marry rich. And you, shrunken-head? Nothing to say? Vera, dear, when’s your mother coming home? I need to talk to her.”
At some point Grandmother finally managed to catch Nina in the courtyard. She asked her straightaway about my musical education. Nina took a step back, Grandmother took one step forward. She held Nina’s sleeve, just to be safe.
“It’s well-known that it’s never too early to expose children to the wonders of music, dearest Nina.”
“But you say yourself that the boy is already overwhelmed with the material in first grade.”
“The teacher teaches pure nonsense, the child is dumber than when he started school. Music could be helpful for Maxi’s development.”
“To be honest, I don’t trust myself to teach such a special student.”
“There’s nothing special about him, he’s just falling apart.”
“Exactly, I’m just not attuned to that.” Nina made every effort not to look at me.
“Think it over, Nina. I ask no more than that. I know that even Jews have a heart, and you are such a delightful person. My husband will help you with your move. We have no ulterior motives behind that. Let your conscience decide.”
I hadn’t really believed that Nina would soon be moving out. I was used to things being promised without ever being fulfilled. In Russia, Grandmother had always talked about how we needed a larger apartment, but we’d never moved. I was still waiting for a promised trip to the seaside, as well as the annually promised Christmas tree. The promise to move to Germany was the only one that had ever come to fruition—and that one, out of all of them, Grandmother had kept a secret because she feared we’d be stopped at the border. So even as we packed we never mentioned the name of the country where we were going lest the nosy neighbors who were no doubt listening through the walls would cause problems.
Nina taught me that some promises came to pass more quickly than I could grasp their momentousness. The move that came so suddenly to me kept not only her but also Grandfather busy. He helped her pack her things into the two suitcases they’d come to Germany with and whatever was left into a few moving boxes. He carried everything down to the little panel van that he’d personally arranged to get. Afterwards he spent what felt like weeks at Nina’s new apartment. There were walls to paint, used furniture to assemble, a stove and washing machine to set up, grouting in the bathroom that needed to be redone. Grandfather came home late on those days and usually went straight to bed. Sometimes he’d get up in the middle of the night and slip out. When I went to the window I’d see him smoking next to the trash bins in the courtyard.
“Look at that, the old man’s become a tradesman,” said Grandmother when Grandfather, just home from Nina’s, disappeared into the shower. “That woman has him slaving away. And here at home nothing gets done anymore. Must I mop the floor myself so you don’t suffocate from dust?”
I nodded, because that seemed the safest option.
“Now you nod, too? Are you on his side? Have you two made a pact against me? Do you want to slip something into my food?” She brooded for a moment and suddenly changed her tone. “Wouldn’t it be nice to learn to play music, Maxi? Sit there so spiffy at the piano in a tuxedo? Show me your fingers. Might as well get rid of them, you won’t go far with those short sausage fingers. But at least you can’t hurt yourself doing it.”
It was my grandfather who took me to my first piano lesson at Nina’s new apartment. It seemed only fair to me—without him, Nina would probably never have agreed to teach me. I was worried that Grandmother would be jealous of this new arrangement, was sure of it, in fact, getting to sit behind me during the piano lesson like during the first weeks of school. But she brushed it aside: “I have enough to do. Opa can also take care of you—don’t lose the child along the way, you hangman.”
Grandfather took my hand. His hands were raw and dry like paper. His grip was strong and gentle at the same time, and I enjoyed not having anyone pull me along or complain that I was going too slowly or too fast or had sweaty palms, which could be evidence of a fever or lung nodules or even my impending demise.
From the first step outside our building I felt like I was on a world tour. Up to then my life in Germany had rarely extended beyond a small radius that included my home, my school, and the pediatrician’s office. Anything beyond that made Grandmother nervous. Her discomfort spread to me, so that I always felt relieved to have survived any longer trip—to a Russian-speaking dentist, for instance—without any long-term damage.
The silence emanating from my grandfather gave me the chance to observe the surroundings and discover amazing things: the fluttering leaves at the top of the trees changed colors with the direction of the wind, switching between light green and silver; ants ran busily along cracks in the asphalt; and nobody, and I mean nobody, paid any attention to me.
I hopped onto the streetcar with Grandfather and my brief happiness was replaced with sudden panic.
“Here!” I said and pulled him to the front seat, directly behind the driver. According to Grandmother it was the safest seat in a streetcar. She’d taught me since I was little to always sit behind the driver in buses and cars, as well. “If something happens, he’ll instinctively steer in a way that keeps him from harm. And you’re directly behind him—even better positioned!”
If the seat was taken, she shooed the unlucky occupant away: “Make room for a little invalid. Some people!” If there weren’t two seats then Grandmother remained standing, since she already had her life behind her. She shielded me from other passengers with her body and shot angry glances around.
Grandfather apparently wasn’t aware of this seating system, but gave in at my insistence. There was only one seat free behind the driver, and to my horror, Grandfather sat down in it. I wasn’t prepared for this eventuality, and I didn’t know what to do. Just standing there seemed an impossibility. Grandmother would never have allowed me to remain standing during a ride since I might be flung against people, windows, or doors. But making my way through the carriage to look for another seat, on the other hand, would mean losing contact with my minder, which was no less risky. I clutched the support pole.
Grandfather didn’t notice my distress. He patted me on the head lightly. It seemed as if he wanted to say something. But he remained silent. His glance alighted only briefly on me, then shifted out the window. Grandmother would never have let me out of her sight in a situation like this, she always locked her sky-blue eyes on me as if it
took all the power her soul could muster to hold onto me, to protect me, and to get me through life.
Slowly I calmed down because nothing happened and I had survived standing through two stops already. I watched my grandfather. Furrows ran across his broad forehead like plant rows through a freshly plowed field. His skin was much darker than my grandmother’s, darker even than my own. His eyes seemed to have no pupils. When she was in a good mood Grandmother called Grandfather Steppenwolf and Nomad Child, and in her extremely rare moments of happiness she talked about my grandfather’s family, who went around with yurts and sheep and put buffalo milk in their tea.
I’d tried many times to picture it, but never managed. My grandfather drank his tea with sugar. Grandmother’s stories came across like fairy tales.
When I was still little, I’d assumed Grandmother had kidnapped Grandfather so that he’d help her with everyday tasks and run little errands for her: go shopping (even though he brought home the wrong stuff every time), repair a table, stand on a chair to change a lightbulb or grab canning jars off the top shelf.
Grandmother had a fear of heights. Once she stood up on a low stool and broke out in tears because she was so panic-stricken that she couldn’t get back down. Grandfather hurried over to her and held out his hand, led her to a comfy chair, and held her hand until she calmed down. At that moment I realized he was with her voluntarily and that, unlike me, he could leave anytime.
THE WONDER OF MUSIC
Nina opened the door right after the first ring, as if she’d been waiting for us. She stood there in jeans and a men’s shirt that caressed her soft outline, looking past me to lock eyes with Grandfather. At first I thought she was upset with him because she didn’t say a word, not even hello. Grandfather also remained silent, but that was normal to me.
I stood between the two of them and stared at the shiny buttons on Nina’s shirt. Grandmother would never have dressed like that. She always changed clothes as soon as she got home because everything she’d worn on the street would spread germs inside the apartment, not to mention that they’d get additional unnecessary wear and tear. Unless she was hurrying to synagogue, when she went out she wore one of her two floral cotton dresses or her new tracksuit, within the walls of the apartment she wore an older tracksuit the color of which was difficult to identify anymore. If the tracksuit was in the wash, she put on her bathrobe. I preferred the bathrobe because I had the impression that it put Grandmother in a milder mood and pleasantly slowed down her motions.
Nina smiled at me. “Hallo,” I said, electrified and helpless like a hair that’s been rubbed against a balloon. “I’m not allowed to stand in the draft because of strep.”
Nina apologized and let us come inside. She called my grandfather by his first name and asked him to wait in the kitchen. From the depths of the apartment a sleepy Vera emerged.
“Put on the teakettle,” said Nina drowsily to her daughter.
I watched as she walked away and marveled at the courage she had to face the dangerous act of making tea. I was always shunted out of the kitchen as soon as anything was on the stove. When I’d once asked Grandmother about the point of this safety measure, she’d shown me pictures of children with burn wounds that gave me nightmares for months. I wondered if I shouldn’t fall in love with Vera. But for ages I’d only been able to get excited about women and girls who were taller and older than me.
“And you’re interested in music?” asked Nina as we sat side by side at her piano.
I shook my head. Her eyes were the color of German milk chocolate, and for this reason alone I never wanted to lie to her.
“Grandmother says music is nice,” I mumbled.
“Does she like music?”
“I think so.”
“Does she listen to a lot of music?”
“No. She listens to the radio sometimes, but only for short periods of time because she says she can’t concentrate on it anyway because of the voices in her head.” I paused, fascinated by the two creases that suddenly appeared on Nina’s otherwise smooth brow. “The voices know everything,” I quickly explained so she didn’t get the wrong idea. “They tell her what’s going to happen, they can predict the weather, and they know which people lie.”
Nina put her hand on the music rest and remained that way for a while, her face turned away from me. “Would you like a cookie?” she asked.
“I’m not allowed,” I said.
“Oh, o.k.” She stood up and left the room.
I pushed on one of the keys. They were astonishingly loud, I let my finger walk along them, skipping some, then playing only the white ones, and finally only the black ones. The piano was old, the yellowed keys reminded me of my grandmother’s teeth. She was proud of her well-preserved set of teeth, though most of all about her gold tooth, about which she said: “When I’m dead, don’t forget, it’s your inheritance. You can buy yourself a house with it if we don’t have one by then.”
In the next room Nina was talking to Grandfather. The walls were thicker than at home, and I couldn’t make out their words. Still, I was fascinated by the deep male voice coming from the kitchen, a voice that was foreign to me, as if it was somebody I didn’t know doing the talking. Nina’s voice, on the other hand, sounded high-pitched, she seemed overexcited and perhaps even upset, which didn’t fit with my image of her.
I wondered how my grandfather could have managed to exasperate her so much. His voice was still even keeled and reminded me of a jeep driving slowly but steadily along a bumpy back road. I tried to find the key that made the most similar tone and found it pretty far toward the left end of the keyboard. I played it over and over again. Then I found another key to play Nina’s role and let the two notes talk to each other. At some point my grandfather fell silent; more time passed, which didn’t bother me because I enjoyed every moment alone. Nina returned and there were red splotches on her face. She sat down next to me on the piano bench and shook her head.
“Awful,” she said. “What do you think of me now?”
I didn’t think anything of her other than that she looked good in her checkered men’s shirt.
“If you were a hummingbird—which key would you flutter on?”
I understood that she took me for an idiot, just like my grandmother did, but I still performed the exercise to her satisfaction along with the next one: where did I think an elephant would be?
“And here,” I said, “is Tschingis.”
I proudly showed her the key I had discovered. When she didn’t answer, I looked over at her and was startled: she had tears in her eyes. I thought frantically about what I could say to comfort her. Luckily I remembered that nothing makes women as happy as compliments about their children. So I leaned toward Nina and assured her that Vera looked very healthy today.
On the way home I was permitted to sit next to Grandfather and drum my fingers against the window. I imagined that I was playing on an invisible piano keyboard, until Grandfather covered my hand with his large palm and pulled it away from the window.
“Which notes did you learn?” asked Grandmother after Grandfather delivered me home and she’d patted me down to make sure I’d survived the outing intact. Grandfather retired immediately upon returning home to the cot in the adjoining room.
“The old man’s all tired out, eh?” said Grandmother. “Thought kids just raised themselves.” She combed my hair with her fingers and called me her future pianist. It was unusual to experience Grandmother being so satisfied with me, and I suspected that it wouldn’t last long.
I pointed out to her that nobody could learn an instrument without practicing regularly. This surprised Grandmother, but in the end she agreed. Since we didn’t have the space or the money for a piano, she had Grandfather look into getting a small and inexpensive alternative. Two days later he came home with a plastic keyboard.
The new toy had red and white keys and several
buttons that triggered tinny melodies. When I discovered how to do this, Grandmother, hearing multiple notes in succession, came running from the kitchen, where she’d been cleaning the meat off a beef bone that had been boiled for hours. She was disappointed that the keyboard was so far ahead of me, called me a talentless idiot, and went back into the kitchen.
I was afraid that Grandmother would accompany me to my weekly piano lesson from now on, in order to discuss my lack of progress with Nina. But surprisingly she seemed resigned to the idea that the task belonged to Grandfather, who, every Thursday, put on his shoes a few minutes early and waited for me to gather up the sheet music and disinfectant wipes. I enjoyed the silent rides on the tram, the three-quarters of an hour at Nina’s and a few quiet minutes sitting on the bench at the tram stop while Grandfather smoked a cigarette at a safe distance.
At home Grandmother tried to quiz me, pointing to individual notes in my book and asking me to name them. Just for fun I purposely mixed them up. She never noticed.
This made me bolder. When she asked me about my math homework I claimed that in Germany there was an entirely different multiplication table. I satisfied Grandmother’s interest in Nina’s moral conduct by suggesting she had a man—an idea I was proud of because I had the impression it got Grandfather out of the line of fire. I claimed never to have seen the supposed lover, but to have seen things in Nina’s apartment that hinted at his presence: giant slippers in the hall, an overflowing ashtray on the kitchen table, even a screwdriver on top of the dresser.
My fabrications were helped by using props I actually did notice at Nina’s apartment and about which none of the adults ever said a word. There really was a new pair of slippers at Nina’s, for my grandfather, though his feet weren’t as giant as the ones I dreamed up. Grandfather smoked, though unlike the lover in my version, he only smoked out on the balcony. There was a cup out there that served as an ashtray. And he tinkered around with something in Nina’s apartment during every piano lesson, as if he wanted to justify his presence, but he never left tools sitting around. He wasn’t as sloppy as the made-up man, who in my mind was so unlikeable that I didn’t think he deserved Nina. When I had the feeling that Grandfather with a facial expression or Nina with an indiscreet word was letting something slip, I would like to have covered my eyes and ears. Sometimes it was as if a delicate plant was growing in Nina’s apartment, one that was threatened by strange looks but that I could protect with words.
My Grandmother's Braid Page 3
