by Steven Uhly
Gudrun broke off, for now came the Yeses and then the rings would be exchanged, Heinrich and Lena Scholz, For God’s sake, why do you want to take her name? Because our name is a lie, because really we’re called Ranzner. Really? Do you know what’s really going on? Really you’re only interested in painting over it with another lie, really you’re doing the same as Dad, you’re changing your name to make it clean. But it won’t be clean, it’ll stay as dirty as it was. Children of a murderer!
Gudrun broke off again, for now they were coming down the aisle, man and wife. For some time now there had been three of them, but you could not tell by looking at Lena, they were still able to deceive the outside world, such as the two in the front row, Herr and Frau Scholz, he a bank employee, she a housewife. They had no clue. Nice, harmless, naïve, random people. Gudrun shook her head indiscernibly.
Movement in the rows of pews, people standing to follow the newlyweds to the entrance. A wedding march from the noisy band. What do you think about us getting married? You’re asking me, your younger sister? Shouldn’t you ask Mum at least? I don’t want anything more to do with our parents. So now I’m supposed to give my blessing? I just want to know what you think about it, Gudrun. Not a lot. Are you trying to prove that family can be a nice thing after all? Don’t give me that embarrassed look, you wanted my opinion, now you’ve got it.
That’s enough, Gudrun thought. She stood up, she was wearing a dark-blue satin dress that she had borrowed from Lena, Yes, I’m going to take over the vacant post of head of the family, Yes, I’ll come to your wedding, Yes, I’ll celebrate with you and hope that you’ll be happy, even though that won’t help.
Rain was waiting for them outside the church, relentless, fine rain, as if God had said, Let’s see how tenacious you are. The unmarried women took their umbrellas and went down the steps, all of them students from Lena’s Romance Studies course, they turned and waited. When the bridal bouquet flew in their direction they forgot the rain and umbrellas and did their best to catch it, randomness, there it was again, Gudrun saw it in everything, this gesture, that look, Heinrich and Lena’s housemate, who now smiled at her, everything random, What was his name again? No idea, Gudrun had watched the other tenants from Heinrich and Lena’s apartment as if they were extras in a film, an inconspicuous lot, only this one here, he at least had not slipped her mind, he was approaching her, Hello, would you like a lift to the restaurant? Say yes, smile, down the steps, a 2C.V., what next? My dealer had a Citroën like this, Your dealer? The way you look that wasn’t even a joke. Gudrun laughed and was surprised to find herself laughing, then asked, What do I look like? Like someone who means exactly what they say. I see. Come on, get in.
And this wedding, what should she say about it? A celebration like any other, she sat next to . . . What’s your name again? Don’t tell me you can’t remember, Gudrun! I’m Ben, and if the two of them move out next week we’ll have neighboring rooms, so please remember my name. Aye-aye, Herr Ben Thingummybob, what’s in a surname? Look at my brother, he’s no longer called what was never his name in fact, but something different again. What do you mean? Exactly what I’ve just said. But your surname’s Kruse, isn’t it? I know you from way back, you lived two doors down and Heinrich was in my class. Oh, he never told me, what a small world! There’s really quite a lot your brother hasn’t talked about. That’s true, he prefers watching, my little big brother.
The wedding, what should she say about it? The couple were at the center of the festivities, they danced the first waltz, Gudrun shrugged, If it’s got to be Catholic, then there’s got to be a bouquet, if a bouquet then a waltz too, she was already quite drunk as the wine was delicious, Isn’t it, Benni Flatmate? What’s your prized surname, if I may ask, but please only tell me if it’s true. Schwimmer? What? Schwimmer? You’re not serious! You’ve got to change that.
115
Emma was proud of her achievement. She had managed to get by on her housekeeping money for four months. Obviously she no longer needed to go shopping for her husband and children, just herself. The electricity and gas bills had fallen too. But four months—that was a long time.
Emma sat in the kitchen, counting the last of her money.
“Thirty-two marks and seventy cents,” she muttered when she had finished. Not even enough for another tarot session with Madame Claire. She looked out of the window. All day a layer of fog had lain over the city, it was so gloomy the sun might have set at any minute. But now, in the evening, a cold wind swept through the sweets, tearing the last leaves from the trees and allowing the sun to flare up far in the west, just before it set. The sight was so beautiful that it brought tears to Emma’s eyes. It was so beautiful it looked like a tarot card and this tarot card looked like a metaphor for her entire life. And this life felt as if it were coming to an end. Emma got up and left the kitchen, she crossed the hallway and entered the living room, which had never seemed so big before, in fact she had even secretly hoped that Otto would sell the house one day. Now, however, she saw just how much space there had been for all these years. She left the living room, crossed the hallway and went into Otto’s study. Alien and abandoned, what on earth had he done here to make it impossible for him to stay, did it have something to do with the little book that Heinrich had given him? She had not dared ask him, he had been so furious and yet so silent that she thought, He’ll tell me when he’s ready. But the time had never come, he just grew ever more silent, scarcely ate at home, arrived increasingly late from work, ignored her, shut himself away in his study with his supper, she had sometimes felt like a maid.
One day he simply failed to come home, and that was four months ago now. What had happened in this room without her noticing?
She moved to the other side of the hallway and entered first Heinrich’s room, then Gudrun’s. Museums. Empty and full of questions. I never expected anything from you, Emma muttered. But just to go like that . . . She closed up the pain and closed the door and took a deep breath.
The bedroom was like a half-dead body, she inhabited the living half, the dead half was occupied by Otto’s absence, after Otto’s be-back-soon had vanished without saying goodbye, like Otto himself.
She felt that all these rooms and their stories were somehow connected, but she had no idea how. She sat on her half of the bed and turned off the light. After sitting there for a while she slipped under the duvet and went to sleep.
The following morning, after a small breakfast of rolls and filter coffee, Emma packed a suitcase with the essentials, a few changes of clothes, her washbag, a second pair of shoes. Then she put on her best winter coat, Otto had given it to her one Christmas when the children were small, Emma could not even remember the year. It was a lambskin coat that must have cost a lot of money. She took a matching fur hat, and got into her black winter boots and warm gloves. Picking up the case, she went to the front door, opened it, turned around once more, looked at the apartment, saw in her mind Heinrich and Gudrun as small children romping around the wide hallway, their father behind them, I am the monster, he cried, putting on a voice, the children laughed and hid. The vision faded, Emma left the apartment, pulling the door to behind her.
It was a cold morning, the coat provided welcome warmth as she waited for the tram. She went to Marienplatz, got out and continued on foot. Well-trodden, familiar paths. She wandered down Kaufingerstrasse, heading for Stachus. The shops were opening, frozen people rubbed their hands together, rolled up metal grilles, unlocked doors, folded back window shutters. Cars drove past.
With her case Emma walked to the spot where Otto had approached her many years ago, what was it he had said? She could not recall the words, only the feelings they had unleashed. She turned around and there, a few doors down, was Huber Optician’s, the shop was already open, Emma saw her mother appear in the back room and then vanish again, she knew what her mother was doing, she knew every hand movement, she had come to bid farewell, she had worked out what to say, Mother, she would say, I’m going a
way, not for long, I’m visiting a school friend, can you believe that Evi got in touch after all these years, and now I’m going to see her, she lives in Augsburg, that’s not far. The children are fine, Otto is terribly busy, you might not bump into him. She ran through her speech several times, on each occasion the script was different, what she said got longer and more detailed every time, an entire story that she would never be able to remember.
Emma Kruse switched her case to the other hand. She peered a while longer through the display window of her mother’s optician’s and watched Frau Huber appear, disappear, appear, disappear.
When the while had passed, Emma turned away and kept going toward Stachus. There she took the tram to Munich central station.
116
Who came to Maria Kramer’s funeral? A few prostitutes who saw their own bodies lying there; her pimp, Fritz Kleinert, who did not look up; a few punters who thought they had loved the dead woman; an old lady. And two plain-clothes police officers trying to solve a murder. They watched the mourners, they wondered, This one? That one? They had already interrogated Fritz Kleinert and would do so a number of times again. They intercepted the punters at the cemetery exit and summoned them to come to the police station. The old lady recognized the officers, she looked at them, she let her eyes wander amongst the group, she saw the faces, one of the prostitutes was old Rosi, Rosi had tears in her eyes, she shot a glance at the mother that said, It was our turn, yours and mine, not hers. But that was not right.
Now Frau Kramer realized why she had sat tight in Lübeck after Lisa had left. For this day beneath this cold winter sun, by this earth frozen solid. Now she realized that she had always loved her daughter, that love was not the reason for her daughter’s difficult path in life, but something else, over which she could wield no influence. She realized that her despair had sometimes made her harsh and unfair, no, not the despair but her attempt to evade the despair, her fear of being guilty for her daughter’s life because she was the one who had given it to her.
All this was now gone, lying buried at her feet, her last tie to this city in which there were two graves and one apartment, what now? Where can someone like me go? She turned and left the cemetery.
117
Josef Ranzner woke up. He turned on his side and opened his eyes. Next to him lay Anna, snoring with her mouth open. Her breath smelled sour. His gaze alighted on the alarm clock, which sat on the bedside table next to Anna. Time to get up. Time to go outside, get into the car, drive to the office, time to work, time to behave as if nothing in his life had changed.
Anna awoke. She looked at him. She did not smile, her eyes wandered to the clock then back to him. Her voice was hoarse, the voice of a smoker.
“You’ve got to go,” she said.
Ranzner nodded. “I’m on my way, Anna.”
“Enough of this Anna! You owe me for two nights, from now on it’s just Frieda, is that clear? And if you don’t pay, soon I’ll be Frau Schneider to you.”
Ranzner nodded again, stood up, got dressed.
“Don’t worry, Anna, I get paid today, then I’ll give you your housekeeping.”
“Enough of your craziness! You can forget showing up here again unless I get the dough, do you hear me? I’ll tell my pimp otherwise and he doesn’t waste too much time talking, if you know what I mean.”
Ranzner nodded, he smiled at Frieda Schneider, he put on his suit trousers, his jacket, coat, hat, leather gloves. He thought about giving Frieda a goodbye kiss, but decided against it. When he opened the door to the hall he said, “See you later, Anna.”
Before Frieda could reply he closed the door behind him and went down the old wooden staircase with its creaking boards, then out into the street. It had snowed so much that his feet were wet after just a few meters. His car was completely snowed in, he tried to maneuver it out of the parking space, but the tires just spun. Ranzner froze. The prospect of having to travel on the tram without a ticket did not appeal to him. The prospect of turning up to work late again and being challenged by his boss. The prospect of turning up to work in these clothes, unwashed, unshaven, soaked through, freezing. The prospect of the same prospect from his office window as the day before, the day before that and all the days before.
Ranzner got out of his car. He stood indecisively on the street. He could not take a taxi, he could not buy a coffee. He got moving. Across Goethestrasse toward Munich central station, a right turn into Schwanthalerstrasse. As he crossed Sonnenstrasse he could no longer feel his feet. But he kept going, he had experienced worse things than this pain. When, shortly after he crossed Kaufingerstrasse where it meets Augustinerstrasse, he stopped for a moment. He looked in the direction of his mother-in-law’s optician’s, he considered the possibility of asking her for money, but decided against it. The prospect of an encounter with the old bag was not an appealing one. He went on through Munich’s old town, paying no attention to the people tramping through the snow around him, his entire body was shivering.
When finally he reached his destination he was barely able to move. It took minutes for him to remove his leather gloves. His fingers could hardly hold the keys, he needed both hands and all his force to open the door. Stiff with cold he climbed the stairs to the apartment.
The apartment was unheated. Ranzner went into the bathroom and ran a bath. But the water did not warm up. He flicked the switch but the light did not go on. He looked around. Everything was covered with a fine layer of dust. He entered the bedroom. He went into the other rooms. When he was back in the hall he stopped.
“She’s gone back to her mother,” he shouted. “And that’s where she belongs.” He was annoyed all the same. Without thinking about it he had always assumed that Emma would wait for him. He took offense that she had not.
“It’s her duty!” he said. But perhaps the tarot cards had told her, Go back to your mother! Josef Ranzner laughed out loud. “Tarot cards! How ludicrously superstitious! I’ve no time for all that now!” he said sternly, before returning to the bathroom. He got undressed, stood in the bath and took a cold shower. Afterward he shaved. In the bedroom he put on clean underwear.
When he was dressed he went into the kitchen. He was hungry but there was nothing to eat, nothing at all. He was livid. He wanted to make some filter coffee, but remembered that the electricity was switched off. For how long had he not paid the rent, electricity or heating bills?
“Nothing but lather!” he cried, going to the rack and putting on a warm coat, scarf, thick gloves and a winter hat. He went to the front door, opened it, turned once more, glanced back at the apartment. He spat on the parquet floor then stepped out and slammed the door shut.
He walked through the city. He had time.
“I’ve taken the day off,” he said. “I’ll go in again tomorrow.” By evening he had still not eaten anything. He was so hungry that his stomach was hurting. Just one or two more days, then he would be able to withdraw money again. He went to the station, prowled amongst the crowds, watched the trains arrive, stared at the people, especially the women.
Late that evening he went to his car. Unlocking it, he got in, started the engine and turned the heating up high. He listened to German songs on the radio. Whenever there was one he particularly liked he sang along. At some point he fell asleep.
He woke in the middle of the night. The engine had died, the radio fallen silent. He was freezing. He opened his eyes but could see nothing. For an instant he thought he was still underground, still captive, but then he realized that it had snowed again. He got out of the car.
The night was crystal clear and so cold that everything looked as if it had set stiff, even the houses appeared stiller and more silent than usual. There was not a soul on the street. Josef Ranzner looked around. He could not go home, he could not go back to Frieda. He did not want to go to his office anymore. He did not know where Emma was, he had lost contact with his children.
He rearranged his clothes, he pulled the scarf more tightly around his ne
ck and his hat further over his ears, he closed the gap between his gloves and the sleeves of his coat.
Then he started walking.
118
Lübeck, 29th June, 1966
My dearest child
I’m very happy to hear you’re well in Jerusalem. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Anna has somehow heard about the radio broadcast. Here life goes on as normal. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Actually there’s nothing really to tell. Except perhaps for the fact that I’m considering going on a long trip. I’ve always wanted to see a little more of the world than just Lübeck. And there’s no real reason for staying here, is there? I’d love to cross the sea on a ship some time, or see the pyramids in Egypt, or maybe even fly in an airplane to some distant country. The world is so large and full of wonderful places that I don’t know! I’ll write to you as soon as I’ve made a decision.
Look after yourself, darling, you’re all I’ve got left in this world.
Love, Grandma
119
Michael Scholz was born on November 5, 1976, in Rechts der Isar Hospital. It was a complicated birth, the mother’s contractions were not strong enough, it took sixteen hours for the baby to come out. Michael was too weak to suckle from Lena’s breast, she was too exhausted to keep encouraging him. After three days the doctors advised regular bottle feeding. They also offered the mother an injection to dry up the milk flow straightaway, thereby preventing further complications. Lena agreed.
