by Linda Stift
*
At Carnival time she once went dressed as a yellow domino to the masquerade ball in Vienna – incognito, of course – and I had to accompany her. I found a young man for her, with whom she spoke and joked; indeed, my normally aloof mistress even dared to flirt. Their conversation lasted for hours. The young man soon guessed who he had before him, but he did not dare to ask her directly. In the end I had to insist that we leave the ball and take our carriage home – who knows what might have happened otherwise? As we left he tried to remove her mask and give her a kiss, which fortunately I was able to prevent. He followed us for a while and she instructed the carriage driver to take a different route; only after an hour was he allowed to go the right way. She remained preoccupied by this adventure for a long while; she even wrote the unlucky fellow a few letters, to which he responded in rather bold language. Later, in spite of her express wishes, he did not want to return the letters.
*
I had to stand still in the drawing room while Frau Hohenembs walked around me, inspecting the dress. The dog followed her in a circle. She opened up the folds in the material, felt the stars and lifted up the skirt part. Luckily she didn’t find any stains or marks. Then Ida had to undress me. I stood before Frau Hohenembs in my knickers and stockings, and she examined me from head to toe. The dog pressed his damp, hairy muzzle between my legs. It was only with difficulty that I was able to keep his enormous head at a distance. Frau Hohenembs did nothing. I think we’ll leave the weigh-in today; we’ve already had that, haven’t we? You can throw the stockings away; I don’t imagine they can be worn again. The stockings were hers too; only the knickers were mine. I went to my room, slamming the door in the dog’s face, and lay down on the bed. A few minutes later he was scratching at the door. I took off the stockings, which were black and torn at the toes and calves. I scrunched them up and tossed them into a corner. I was hungry, but decided not to eat anything. You lose weight most quickly by refraining from eating for a good while after being sick, especially before going to bed. I stroked my belly, which was reassuringly flat My hipbones were sticking out, just as they ought to, and I felt an inner peace. Everything was all right if I was thin. I caressed my stomach again, stroking around the belly button, which was no more than a narrow slit, and took off my knickers. I smoothed down my pubic hair, pulled it apart, stroked it flat, wrapped it around my finger, making little ringlets. I pondered shaving it all off. But for whom? It was too late for Charlotte. I felt my body a while longer until I fell asleep. When I came into the kitchen the following morning Ida was already sitting at the table in her housecoat, with a cup of coffee and a glass of water that was bubbling and fizzing – Alka-Seltzer or Aspirin C. She’d piled up the boxes of pralines beside her. It smelled of violets and chocolate and faintly of paper, too. She looked at me. Isn’t that a magnificent sight? Have you already opened a box? I asked. I’d love to try one. She took a box and gave it to me. This is for you; we can only open the rest with her express permission. I poured myself a glass of water and sat at the table with Ida to gaze at the mountain of boxes. It instilled fear in me – I didn’t want to live in the same household as fifty kilograms of chocolate. Especially not if they were lying around in the kitchen like this. What’s going to happen to these now? The pralines will be locked in a cupboard; she’ll count them every day, Ida replied. There are now 100 boxes. I’ve got one too, she added. As she didn’t offer me anything from her box, I assumed that she’d already eaten her share. I’ve got to make breakfast now, she said as moodily as ever, standing up. I went to my room with the box of pralines and put them with the rest of my supplies. As a child, before going to sleep I’d often imagine living life as a hermit. I’d dwell alone in the forest, in a small hut in a glade, with a huge supply of food, like a mountain of nuts that would slowly get smaller. Every day I’d crack and eat a precise amount. The important thing about my fantasy was my stock of supplies and the fact that I’d foraged, cooked or hunted everything myself. I was always alone, too. Nobody visited me in the forest, I wasn’t waiting for anyone. There was no conceivable end to my retreat. After a year was over I had to replenish my supplies. When I was older I got hold of a book in the city library describing how a forty-year-old woman found herself all alone in a hunting lodge, surrounded, at a distance of several kilometres, by an impenetrable, transparent, smooth wall – or was it a dome? At any rate, she had to spend the rest of her life in this hunting lodge. All she possessed was a dog, a cow and a cat; she lived according to the seasons, leading the cow to pasture, gathering berries, even planting potatoes, chopping, drying and stacking wood. The very first day she realized she would never escape this confinement she pushed her bed into the kitchen and sealed off all the other rooms. The kitchen was the centre of her life. As I read the book I recalled my childhood pre-sleep fantasies and felt a comforting connection with the author. She had expressed my feelings precisely. The protagonist, however, shared her existence with animals who guaranteed her survival. I’d never allowed myself such a luxury. It was irresistible to be so utterly dependent on yourself, to undertake physical work to guarantee your day-to-day survival, to get along with simple things. The idea of stockpiling something to be able to live off it later I found appealing. To have no past and no future, living in a permanently constant present, thinking only of the future in terms of wondering how and when you’d begin to stock up your supplies, and scouring the past for possible errors so as to avoid making them in the future. I didn’t envisage what would later happen in real life – me devouring all the supplies in one go. I felt uneasy about the stock of pralines in the kitchen. My supplies had to remain reasonable. There was silence at breakfast. Frau Hohenembs drank her meat juice, Ida ate pastries, I was undecided. Should I stick to my diet like before the ball? I drank coffee with lots of milk and cream and decided that I’d stick to liquids for today. Frau Hohenembs instructed Ida to bake a Gugelhupf because the baron was coming to tea that afternoon. She should make something light for lunch, maybe a soup. Ida’s face lit up and she cleared the table. It’s time for you to give me my injection now, Frau Hohenembs said to me. I administered the cocaine to her, which by now I could do without any difficulty. No more was said about the ball; I’d fulfilled my task, but lost the shoes, there was no more to say about it. Then the Greek teacher came and I withdrew to my room as usual. When I heard the door shut later I knew the lesson was over and lunch would be on the table in half an hour.
*
On Corfu she was always very reclusive; I hardly saw my édes lelkem apart from when she was having her hair dressed, during which time she would issue her instructions. I felt lonely, abandoned; I longed for Gödöllő, where she was never so distant from me. Hungary always brought us closer together. Here in Greece I was like a stranger to her. The Achilleion, as she called her house, had been built as a mixture of antique-like elements and modern technology. The entire house was electrified and a small powerhouse was set up to provide the electricity. Electric flames shone from the hands of stucco Cupids in the form of fruits or bubbles. There were many rooms whose walls and ceilings were decorated with replicas of Pompeiian frescoes. The furniture and fittings were inlaid with mosaics. Although they were magnificently padded, the chairs were uncomfortable to sit on, because 2,000 years ago people had different habits, she told me. I never really understood this; to me sitting seems such a timeless activity that there cannot be so many options. For her that was irrelevant; she did not like sitting down. All that counted was the aesthetic impression.
*
The baron stuck a finger through the bars of the parrot cage. Careful, Frau Hohenembs called out. Their beaks are sharp! The birds pecked at his finger, but the baron pulled it out in time. They squawked, cackled and ruffled their feathers. The baron turned away and admired the Gugelhupf that Ida was just carrying in. Frau Ida, did you make that yourself? It looks delicious! Ida turned red. She had already taken off her housecoat before the baron arrived, which meant that her d�
�colletage was flaunting a circle of icing sugar, almost like a piece of jewellery. Frau Hohenembs had failed to remark on it. Ida had never taken her coat off for the Greek teacher, nor had she ever paraded her décolletage; her dresses were always buttoned up to the neck. She looked really good. There was just one thing that marred her appearance: the bitten fingernails with traces of dried blood. Licking his lips, the baron sat down at Frau Hohenembs’s table. Only then did Ida and I sit too. Frau Hohenembs poured the tea and handed round the cake that Ida had already sliced. The baron rocked in his chair, ate several pieces of cake and praised Ida’s baking skills. He looked longingly at her patch of icing sugar, which stood out against her reddened skin. Ida was so excited that she couldn’t eat a thing and had only two cups of tea, which she drank in tiny sips rather than gulping as usual. Her hands were trembling and the cup clattered against the saucer when she put it down. Frau Hohenembs gnawed away at her piece of cake, while I helped myself to a second slice. I hadn’t eaten much yet – a bowl of potato soup at lunch – so I could allow myself this. The dog lay at Frau Hohenembs’s feet, occasionally lifting his head to growl at the baron. It was obvious that Frau Hohenembs and I were superfluous in this room – the parrots were no longer bothering anyone – but how were they going to get rid of us? The baron and Frau Hohenembs engaged in meaningless conversation; Frau Hohenembs appeared to find the baron’s lack of attention amusing. Ida became increasingly nervous and finally she took a piece of cake after all. Now there was icing sugar at the corners of her mouth too and the baron leaped up, as if about to rush and lick it off, but then he fell back down into his chair with a sigh. I’m sorry, he said to Frau Hohenembs. My illness, you know. I do know. Calm yourself, my dear Baron, you don’t have to apologize. Ida stood up to brew a new pot of tea, as she said. This was the code word. Now the baron just needed to find an excuse to go into the kitchen too. I’ll help you, Frau Ida, he called out, and followed her. Frau Hohenembs giggled behind her hand. Go into the kitchen, she said a few minutes later, having composed herself. Cast an eye over them! Reluctantly, I stood up. What these turtle doves got up to was no business of mine. I moved slowly towards the kitchen and peered through the crack in the door. It was too late. Ida lay on her stomach across the kitchen table, her huge snow-white bottom shining brightly out of the black material pushed up her back. He kneaded it like dough, shook icing sugar onto it, took a lick, then a bite, and poked around the bum crack with his thumb. Finally he pulled down his trousers, spread Ida’s bum cheeks, penetrated her, grabbed onto her waist and fucked her with rapid movements. They made no noise save for a suppressed moan; I could just hear the table wobbling. I watched the two bodies in fascination. Two walruses. A shudder went through the baron’s body and he stopped before marshalling all his strength for one last thrust. Ida cried out softly. Stephan, she sighed. He lay on top of her, grunting. I withdrew. What’s going on in there? asked Frau Hohenembs, who was coming towards me in the hallway, the dog behind. She pushed me to one side; I couldn’t stop her from barging into the kitchen. The baron was still inside Ida, who was whimpering quietly. Well, I never, Frau Hohenembs exclaimed. Baron, go downstairs at once, how could you! The baron rolled off Ida, but had the presence of mind to pull down Ida’s dress and so cover her bottom. He pulled up his trousers. Please excuse me, Countess, Frau Ida and I, we’re terribly fond of each other. He was tottering. Ida hid behind the baron’s back. My most revered Countess von Hohenembs he said, taking a deep breath and standing up straight, I should like to ask for the hand of your Frau Ida in marriage. My intentions are wholly honourable. I should like to marry and look after her; you know I have sufficient financial means at my disposal. I will protect her like the apple of my eye, of that you can be absolutely certain. For a few seconds Frau Hohenembs was speechless. You must be out of your mind, dear Baron; there can be absolutely no talk of marriage, heaven forbid! One doesn’t get married at Ida’s age, it’s disgusting! She practically spat out these last words and Ida started crying. I must ask you to leave my apartment, Baron! The baron looked undecided as to whether he should obey the command or take Ida with him. Turning around, he whispered something into Ida’s ear, making her sob even more. I’m going! he said theatrically. But I’ll be back, Countess! He kissed the forehead of the weeping Ida and staggered out of the kitchen. His arms flapped all over the place uncontrollably; by accident the back of his hand hit the dog’s head. The dog howled and fled under the table Ida was sitting on. The door closed; it sounded exactly as if the Greek teacher had just left the apartment. Get down from that table, Ida, and stop your sobbing. And as for you, clear up the drawing room, she snapped at me. She pulled the dog out from under the table by his collar and took him into her bedroom. I brought the crockery and the rest of the cake into the kitchen. Ida hadn’t budged; she was still sitting at the table, whining away to herself. I put the dirty crockery in the dishwasher and wrapped the cake in cellophane. I picked up Ida’s scrunched-up panty girdle from the floor and draped it over a chair, then poured a glass of water and handed it to her. Thanks, she muttered. She gulped it down in one go and gave me the glass back. Do you really want to marry the baron? I asked. She nodded. Why don’t you just go away with him, then? I can’t. She’d report me to the police straight away. But she’s the mastermind behind it all! I cried. That’s true, but she’s got friends everywhere; she could wriggle her way out of anything. When I was young I let myself become involved in something dreadful for her, a misdemeanour for which there is no statute of limitations. It’s hopeless, she sighed. And then there’s the baron. You see, the baron talks a good game. But he’s married, so he’d have to get a divorce first, and his wife would never allow that. His fortune comes from her; if they got divorced he’d lose everything. He can’t look after me like he says; that just came out in the heat of the moment. And she knows it. She’ll never give me Corfu and you’ll never get Wachtel’s apartment! Does it even exist? I asked. Even if Wachtel does die soon, she won’t give you the flat; she’ll put it off as she’s done with me. Ida started weeping again, then Frau Hohenembs was right beside us. What are you two whispering about? Get on with your work, Ida. And you, go to your room. You’ve caused enough trouble today! It’s all your fault, she said, pointing to the door with her arm outstretched. I had no idea why it should be all my fault, but Ida’s destiny was my destiny, which suddenly flashed before my eyes menacingly. I saw myself, old and wrinkled, sitting by Frau Hohenembs’s bed, condemned to care for her and Ida, and when the two of them were dead it would be too late for me, my life long since over. Even if he couldn’t marry her, perhaps the baron would be able to help Ida escape, and me too. All he’d have to do would be to get us fake passports. He must be a Hungarian, going by his name at least. The destiny of a fellow countrywoman must lie close to his heart. Ida and I could flee to Hungary. Surely there must be people in Budapest who needed someone to declutter their houses. Perhaps Hungary was too close. Perhaps Frau Hohenembs’s contacts stretched as far as Budapest. I’d have to discuss it with Ida.
*
Hungary was her fairy-tale country. My szeretett angyalom never espoused a cause like she did the Hungarian one. The Dual Monarchy was her work. She was irresistibly attracted to the passion and informality of the Hungarians, in contrast to the ceremony-heavy Viennese court life with its impenetrable intrigues and sensibilities, where each archduke built up his own little court whose task was to oppose the others. She always hated that. In Hungary she could breathe, there she was venerated and admired, she was left in peace; in her beloved Gödöllő she could recover from the vulgarities of everyday life in Vienna. She could go riding whenever she wanted, without being gawped at or having to worry about public criticism.
