‘Don’t you understand?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Night is starting to fall. The snow is still light. It’s like with summer storms: when it goes on like this for too long, you end up waiting anxiously for a good solid snowfall that will cleanse the sky and make it possible to see the sun, if only for a few moments.
‘Come.’
They link arms. Girls always like that.
‘Did your father say anything to you?’
‘Why?’
‘Does he suspect?’
‘If he did, it’d be awful.’
‘Do you think so?’
Frank’s scepticism appals her. ‘Frank!’
‘He’s a man like any other, isn’t he? He’s made love before, hasn’t he?’
‘Be quiet.’
‘Is your mother dead?’
She hesitates, flustered.
‘No.’
‘Are they divorced?’
‘She left.’
‘Who with?’
‘A dentist. Let’s not talk about that, Frank.’
They have passed the tannery. They come to the old basin, which used to be a harbour before they built the barrage. There is almost no water there any more, and the old boats that were left there, God knows why, are rotting away, some upside down.
In summer, the area where they are walking is a grassy embankment, where the neighbourhood children come to play.
‘Was he handsome, this dentist?’
‘I don’t know. I was too little.’
‘Did your father try to get her back?’
‘I don’t know, Frank. Let’s not talk about Daddy.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because!’
‘What did he do before?’
‘He wrote books and magazine articles.’
‘What kind of books?’
‘He was an art critic.’
‘Did he visit museums?’
‘He’s been to every museum in the world.’
‘What about you?’
‘Some of them.’
‘Paris?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rome?’
‘Yes. London, Berlin, Amsterdam, Berne . . .’
‘Did you stay in good hotels?’
‘Yes. Why do you ask me that?’
‘What do the two of you do together?’
‘Where?’
‘At home, when your father has finished driving his tram.’
‘He reads.’
‘What about you?’
‘He reads out loud. He explains things to me.’
‘What does he read?’
‘All kinds of books. He often reads poetry.’
‘Do you like it?’
She really wishes he would talk about something else! She feels him stiffen, senses that he hates her. However hard she tries to lean her weight on his arm and put her bare fingers through his, he pretends not to understand.
‘Come!’ he finally decides.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Somewhere near here. Timo’s. You’ll see.’
It is still early. There is no music. The people there are regulars doing deals with Timo or with each other. There are no women. And the colours of the walls and the lampshades seem harsher. It is like entering a theatre in the middle of the day, during a reception.
‘Frank . . .’
‘Sit down.’
‘I’d have preferred it if you’d taken me to the cinema.’
Because of the dark, of course! But it’s the dark that he doesn’t want right now. Or the acidic taste of her saliva. Or running his hand over her suspender.
‘Does it bother him, not seeing anyone?’
It takes her a moment to realize that he is still talking about her father.
‘No. Why should it bother him?’
‘I don’t know. Were you rich?’
‘I think so. I used to have a governess.’
‘Does driving a tram bring in much money?’
She looks for his hand under the table. ‘Frank!’ she begs
Taking no notice of her, he calls out, ‘Timo! Come here. We’d like to eat something good. Some nice starters. Then cutlets with French fries. But first, send us over a bottle of Hungarian wine, you know the one I mean.’
He leans towards her. He is going to talk to her about her father again. The telephone rings. Timo, wiping his hands on his white apron, answers, looking at Frank.
‘Yes . . . yes . . . I can get you that . . . Not too expensive, no, but it’ll cost you all the same . . . Who? . . . No, I haven’t seen him today . . . But your friend Frank is here . . .’ He puts his hand over the receiver and says to Frank, ‘It’s Kromer. Do you want to talk to him?’
Frank stands up and grabs the phone.
‘Is that you? . . . Did you get it? . . . Good . . . Yes . . . You can have them tonight . . . Where are you right now? . . . At home? . . . Are you dressed? . . . All alone? . . . I think you might like to drop by our friend Timo’s . . . I can’t tell you right now . . . What? . . . Something like that . . . No, not today! Today’s just for looking . . . From a distance . . . No, if you play the fool, it’s all off . . .’
When he returns to his place, Sissy asks, ‘Who was that?’
‘A friend.’
‘Is he coming here?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I thought you were asking him to come.’
‘Not now, tonight.’
‘Listen, Frank . . .’
‘What now?’
‘I want to go.’
‘Why?’
They are brought thick cutlets and French fries on a silver platter. It must be months, probably years, since she last ate fries, let alone breaded cutlets with papillotes on the ends.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Too bad.’
She doesn’t dare say that she is scared, but he senses that she is.
‘What is this place?’
‘A restaurant. A bar. A nightclub. It’s whatever you want it to be. The door’s always open. That’s Timo’s for you.’
‘Do you come here often?’
‘Every day.’
She makes an effort to chew her meat, then puts down her fork, discouraged, and sighs with what sounds like weariness:
‘I love you, Frank.’
‘Is it such a disaster?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you say it so tragically, as if it was a disaster.’
‘I love you,’ she repeats, looking straight ahead of her.
And he really feels like replying:
‘I don’t.’
Then he stops thinking about it, because Kromer comes in, with his fur-lined coat, his big cigar, his air of being, here as elsewhere, the main character. Without appearing to recognize Frank, he heads for the bar and hoists himself up on to one of the high stools, sighing contentedly.
‘Who’s that?’ Sissy asks.
‘What business is that of yours?’
Why is she instinctively scared of Kromer? He is looking at them, above all at her, through the smoke from his cigar, and when she lowers her head over her plate he takes advantage of it to wink at Frank.
Mechanically, she has started eating again, perhaps to put on a bold front, or in order not to meet Kromer’s gaze, and she eats so determinedly that she leaves nothing except the bones. She even eats the fat. She wipes her plate with her bread.
‘How old’s your father?’
‘Forty-five. Why?’
‘I’d have said sixty.’
He senses tears welling in her eyes, although she makes an effort to hold them back. He senses that her anger is struggling with another feeling, her desire to leave him here and walk out by herself, head held high. Would she even find the way out?
Very excited by now, Kromer is throwing Frank ever more meaningful looks.
Frank nods.
It’s a deal.
Too bad!
�
��There’s cream cake.’
‘I’m not hungry any more.’
‘Bring us two cream cakes, Timo.’
Right now, Holst is driving his tram. The big lantern, which looks as if it’s right up against his stomach, is pointing straight ahead, making yellow pools of light on the snow as the two black shiny lines of the rails cut across it. His little tin box must be lying near the handles. From time to time, perhaps, he bites into his slice of bread and butter and chews slowly, his feet in his felt boots held around his legs by pieces of string.
‘Eat.’
‘Do you really think you love me?’
‘How can you ask that?’
‘If I asked you to come away with me, would you do it?’
She looks him straight in the eyes. He has walked her home, and now they are back in her apartment. She has kept her hat and coat on. The old man must be starting to listen out behind his fanlight. He is bound to come in. They don’t have much time.
‘Would you like to go away, Frank?’
He shakes his head. ‘What if I asked you to sleep with me?’
He has deliberately used an expression that shocks her.
She is still looking him full in the face. It is as if she wishes ardently that he would see deep into her clear eyes.
‘Is that what you want?’ she says.
‘Not today.’
‘Whenever you like.’
‘Why do you love me?’
‘I don’t know.’
She says this with a slight hesitation, and her eyes are less clear. What was she about to say? There were other words on the tip of her tongue.
He would like to know but doesn’t dare insist. He is slightly afraid of what she might say. Maybe he is wrong. He would swear – it’s stupid, because there is nothing to make him think that – he would swear she was on the point of saying, ‘Because you’re unhappy.’
It isn’t true. He won’t allow it, he won’t allow anyone to think something like that. Why is she even interested in him?
The neighbour is making his move. His breathing can be heard behind the door. He hesitates to knock. He knocks.
‘Sorry, Miss Sissy. It’s me again . . .’
She can’t stop herself from smiling. Frank leaves, grunting a vague goodnight. He doesn’t go to his apartment. He runs downstairs and heads back to Timo’s.
‘Tonight?’ Kromer asks, his mouth watering.
Frank looks at him harshly. ‘No,’ he says curtly.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Changed your mind?’
‘No.’
He orders a drink, even though he is not thirsty.
‘When?’
‘Sunday night at the latest, because from Monday her father’s back on the morning shift and is home from late afternoon onwards.’
‘Have you told her?’
‘She doesn’t need to know.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Kromer panics a little. ‘You want to . . .?’
‘No, no. I’ve got an idea. I’ll explain when the time comes.’
His eyes are quite small. He has a headache. His skin is damp, and he sometimes shivers nervously, like someone who is starting to come down with flu.
‘Have you got the green card?’
‘You have to come with me to the offices tomorrow morning and pick it up.’
For now, there are the watches to deal with.
Why does he feel the need, just before midnight, to prowl the street, waiting for Holst to return home?
But he doesn’t sleep at Lotte’s – he doesn’t even let her know – and makes do with Kromer’s divan.
PART TWO
* * *
Sissy’s Father
1.
Minna is sick. They have put her on the camp bed usually reserved for Frank, and they carry her from one room to another, depending on the hour, because there is really no space in the apartment for someone who is sick. Nor can she be allowed back to her parents’ in the state she is in, and it is impossible to call a doctor.
‘It was Otto again!’ Lotte told her son.
His real name is Schonberg. His first name is not Otto. Almost all the clients have their own special name here, especially those who are very well known, like Schonberg. He is quite old. Thousands of families depend on him, and people greet him fearfully in the street.
‘Every time he promises he’ll be careful, and the next time he starts again.’
There is Minna, with her red rubber hot-water bottle, Minna, who is pushed from room to room and spends much of her time in the kitchen, looking ashamed, as if it is all her fault.
Then there is the business of the green card, which entailed lots of comings and goings, because, at the last moment, all sorts of papers were required, five photographs instead of the three that Frank had brought.
‘How come you’re called Friedmaier like your mother? You should have your father’s name.’
The redheaded clerk with thick orange-coloured skin found that suspicious. He, too, was afraid to take responsibility. From the office, while the clerk looked on in consternation, Kromer had to telephone the general.
Frank got his card in the end, but it took hours. He still looks as if he has flu, although he does not have a temperature. Lotte often gives him surreptitious glances. She wonders why he is so agitated all of a sudden.
‘You’d do better to rest, to stay in bed a day or two.’
For Saturday, though, which is the most important day at Lotte’s, he again takes it upon himself to find a replacement for Minna. He knows where to look. He has lots of contacts.
All of that takes time. He is constantly busy, and yet it is as if those two days do not want to end.
And always the dirty snow, the heaps of snow that look rotten, with black patches and embedded garbage. The white powder that occasionally peels off from the crust of the sky in little clumps, like plaster from a ceiling, is unable to cover the filth.
He took Sissy to the cinema again. By then, everything was already decided, finalized between Kromer and him, but of course Sissy knew nothing.
That was also the day he asked his mother:
‘Are you going out on Sunday?’
‘Probably. Why?’
She goes out every Sunday. She, too, goes to the cinema, then to eat cakes and listen to music.
‘Do you think Bertha will go to her parents?’
They don’t work on Sundays. Bertha is sure to see her parents, who live in the country and think she is in domestic service.
There will only be Minna in the apartment. There is nothing he can do about that.
In the cinema – it was the Friday – immediately after they sat down, Sissy asked, like a little girl begging:
‘Do you really want me to do it? I know I do.’
She shifted her chair a little, removed Frank’s arm, took off her own hat, then snuggled her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
Her first sigh expressed such innocent satisfaction, anyone would have thought she was going to purr.
‘Are you OK? You’re not bored, are you?’
He said nothing. Maybe she had her eyes closed throughout, and he was the one who saw the film this time.
He didn’t touch her that afternoon. He was embarrassed to kiss her. It was she who glued her lips to his, abruptly, just once, as they were nearing home, and just as she left him, she said very quickly, her mind made up:
‘Thank you, Frank.’
It’s too late. It’s all started, in a way. On the Saturday, the military police suddenly decide to search the apartment of the violinist and his mother. Frank had just gone out when they arrived. By the time he gets back, it is clear, from the outside, that there is something abnormal in the appearance of the building, though it is hard to say exactly what. In the entrance, a man in plain clothes is standing next to the caretaker, who is trying to appear natural.
When Frank gets to the first-floor landing – he went ou
t to phone Kromer – he finds three or four uniformed men stopping housewives from getting back to their apartments, while at the same time preventing other tenants from going out.
Everyone is silent. There is a sense of gloom. More uniforms can be glimpsed in the corridor, and the violinist’s door – have they brought him with them to be present at the search? – the violinist’s door is open, there are noises as if the furniture is being smashed, and from time to time the imploring voice of an old woman weeping her eyes out.
Frank calmly takes out his green card, which he hasn’t yet used; and everyone sees it, everyone knows what it means; the soldiers stand aside to let him pass; behind him, the silence has become even heavier.
He did it deliberately. As a matter of fact, the day before, he had brought Minna a dressing gown. He didn’t buy it in a shop: it has been a long time since the shops have had quilted satin dressing gowns. Not that he would have bothered to go into a shop to buy it anyway.
He already had in his pockets all the money that is still there now and he doesn’t know where to put it. It is his share from the watches, enough large notes to feed an ordinary family, even two or three families, for years. In a corner of Timo’s, someone was displaying some merchandise, as often happens, and Frank bought the dressing gown.
He felt rather as if he was buying it for Sissy. Not exactly, since everything was already decided, down to the practical details. He can’t explain it. He would give it to Minna, of course, but that wouldn’t stop him from thinking about Sissy. Lotte will be furious. She will say they will look as if they are trying to apologize to Minna for the accident that befell her with that brute Otto.
It is the first time he has bought anything for a woman, a personal item, and, crazy as it may be, Sissy is at the back of his mind.
There was all that. There was the replacement for Saturday – she has already arrived and she is a prickly character. What else happened?
Nothing . . . Still that flu that won’t end but doesn’t declare itself, that persistent headache, that discomfort throughout his body, too vague to deserve the name of illness. The sky as white as a sheet, whiter and purer than the snow. It seems to have hardened, and only a little icy powder falls from it now.
On Sunday morning, he tried to read, then stuck his face up against the frosty windowpanes and looked out at the empty street for so long, staying so still, that Lotte, who was more and more worried about him, muttered, ‘You’d do better to have your bath while there’s hot water. Bertha’s waiting her turn. If she goes before you, the water will be lukewarm by the time you get in.’
The Snow Was Dirty Page 8
