Hausfrau

by Jill Alexander Essbaum

  Ahh, yes, Anna responded, though she didn’t know Margrith had a sister. How is she?

  “Oh, she is getting along, thank you for asking. Do you have a friend in Kloten?” “No,” said Anna. And then, “I’m afraid, Margrith, that you are mistaken. That wasn’t me.” Anna said it firmly, calmly. Das war nicht ich. She left her face blank and tried to remember if Karl had walked her out of the hotel. He hadn’t.

  “Oh, well,” Margrith said, laughing away the mistake she surely must have made. “It must have been your doppelgänger!” Anna bagged her groceries and smiled briefly at Margrith before the two of them bade adieu and Anna left the Coop and made the five-minute walk to Rosenweg in three.

  10

  THE HISTORY OF DOPPELGÄNGERS IS PHENOMENOLOGICAL. Doppelgängers rarely appear in the same place as their genuine halves. Most commonly, the doppelgänger will appear when someone is gravely ill, or when she is in tremendous danger. It is said that a person’s spirit can will its own bilocation in times of great distress. The sighting of a doppelgänger by one’s family or friends bears ill fortune.

  It is an omen of death to see one’s own self.

  ANNA WOULD TURN THIRTY-EIGHT in less than two weeks.

  Anna hated birthdays. They dejected her. Not once had she celebrated a birthday, the joy of which was not also accompanied by a tremendous crash of disappointment, like a sledgehammer heaved onto a glass sculpture.

  It wasn’t the thought of getting older that consumed her with dread. Age is the natural consequence of being alive, Anna knew, and the alternative was grim.

  But consider: Every year you have a death day as well, only you don’t know which one it is.

  Anna made Bruno promise that he wouldn’t make a fuss. This was not a difficult pledge for him to swear: he hadn’t intended to. As for Anna herself, she decided she’d deal with the day when it came and not a minute before.

  “GRIEF THAT FINDS NO relief in tears makes other organs weep,” Doktor Messerli said.

  Anna wrote it in her journal. How very many ways this is true.

  IT WAS SATURDAY AND Anna and Bruno had been invited to Edith and Otto Hammer’s home in Erlenbach for a cocktail party. Bruno walked the children to Ursula’s house while Anna dressed. Her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t want to go, but the Hammers expected them and Bruno promised they wouldn’t be late coming home.

  Anna made a habit of dressing well. She owned nice clothes and her fashion sense was irreproachable. She felt safest in her prettiest outfits, and if she couldn’t be glad all the time, at least she could feel—relatively, occasionally—impervious. She’d take it. She chose a slim-fitting black dress with cap sleeves and gold accents on the hemline. She wrapped a black wool shawl around her shoulders, piled her hair loosely atop her head, and fastened it with a rhinestone-studded claw clip. She considered herself first in the bathroom mirror, and then in the bedroom’s. Every looking glass treated her differently. In the bedroom she was thin but wan. In the bathroom she was healthy-hued but her arms seemed thicker and her face swollen. Neither face was hers and yet they both were. You are not my doppelgänger, she said to each reflection. She took the sum of both and divided by two. She was presentable.

  Bruno and Anna took the car. The radio was tuned to a hip-hop station. It amused Anna how much the Swiss loved black music. After school and on weekends when the weather was nice, a group of Dietlikon’s teenagers met in the church playground across the street from their house. They dressed in urban youth wear, their pants baggy, their sneakers white and wide-laced, and their baseball caps cocked hard to an idle side. They turned their radios as loud as the knobs would allow and thumped their heads against walls of air as they drank Red Bull and vodka, smoked cigarettes, and sang along to rap songs whose words they might not really understand the meaning of. Anna never talked to them. They scared her. Bruno left the radio tuned to its station and Anna tried to lose herself in the music’s pulse and throb.

  WHEN ANNA THOUGHT OF Stephen anymore it was most always in passing, a transitory notion that traveled her mind from one side to its other, like a pedestrian crossing the street. Sometimes she thought of him while making love (it did not matter with whom). Sometimes it happened during her walks in the woods. Other times, it was when the train stopped at Wipkingen station or when the news reported on a forest fire or when she took the number 33 to Neumarkt or when she was combing Polly Jean’s hair. It happened on downtown trams when she smelled his soap or his cologne or heard a man speaking in the same register as he. Anna would whip around and scan every face but Stephen’s was never among them. This didn’t happen often. But it happened enough.

  “WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE between love and lust?”

  “You tell me,” Doktor Messerli said to Anna.

  “Lust’s incurable. Love isn’t.”

  “Desire isn’t a disease, Anna.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  EDITH HAMMER RARELY THREW understated parties. This party, while not inconspicuous, was at the very least relatively small. Fewer than twenty guests moved through the rooms of the Hammers’ Gold Coast home. It was a party of no occasion. It was no one’s birthday, no couple’s anniversary, no celebration of any sort. The party came to pass simply because Edith wanted one. Otto always indulged her: Wife, your heart’s desire is my wish. But despite the sheen of contentment, the Hammers weren’t entirely happy. Otto’s temper flared hotter and more often than Bruno’s. Edith was frivolous with money and often cruel in her speech. Their daughters were delinquents and lived most of the year at a boarding school in Lausanne. And the Hammers drank too much.

  But together they made a handsome, finespun couple, and Edith was one of Anna’s only two friends. Snippy and pitiless though Edith usually was, Anna had little recourse but to keep her.

  When Anna and Bruno walked through the door, each was swept from the other’s company into the large living room, Anna by Edith and Bruno by Otto. It was a segregated room. The men crowded near the bar and the women by the kitchen. Switzerland is undeniably a modern country, but gender roles make occasional appearances. In some cantons women didn’t get the right to vote until the 1970s. Anna knew she’d been in Switzerland too long when this stopped appalling her.

  Doktor Messerli had harped on it to the point that the conversation was formulaic: Did not Anna worry that she perpetuated the stereotype of the fragile, subjugated woman? That excepting her manner of dress and the language she used and the Handy in her purse there was little to distinguish her from a woman who lived fifty, seventy, one hundred years earlier? They didn’t drive cars or have bank accounts either. Didn’t she understand she could be anything she wanted to be? Didn’t she think she had a responsibility to be something?

  Anna’s response never varied. I can see your point. You may be right.

  Edith was in friendliest form that night. She moved about the room with a cheer Anna had never seen her flaunt as she handed out glasses of wine and passed around bowls of olives and peanuts and wasabi-coated peas, snacks that Anna would have sworn were too common for Edith’s tastes. Anna stood among a crowd of women she knew only by sight. These were the bankers’ wives. They nodded and smiled and widened their circle to include her, but they carried on their conversation in Schwiizerdütsch.

  Anna understood maybe five percent of what she heard. It was well and good her German had vastly improved, but that was little use inside a coterie of Schweizerin. Anna reverted to smiles and nods as well. It was easiest that way.

  Across the room she caught sight of Bruno. He was making exaggerated gestures with his arms and the men around him were laughing as he told a story, just like the men at Daniela’s party had done. A cigarette teetered on the edge of his lips. It annoyed Anna when he smoked. But Bruno only smoked at parties and so when he did it tended to be a sign that he was having a good time. I’ll take it, cigarette and all, Anna conceded.

  ANNA LONGED TO CONTACT Stephen, but she never did. What would I say beyond hello? Would I tell him about
Polly Jean? Would I admit that I miss him? Would I beg him to return? She imagined differing scripts. What would happen? What harm would it do? Anna knew the answers.

  The desire to reach out to him pulled at her. Anna was an expert at pushing the yearning away. Still, she stored the number to his MIT office in her Handy. She filed it under Cindy, the name of a cousin Anna had long ago lost touch with. She’d pried the number from him just before he left. With a few pathetic punches of the keypad she could reconnect herself with his intrusive, ubiquitous voice.

  She never called.

  TWICE THAT WEEK THEY’D made love, Anna and Archie. They had fallen into the pattern noncommittal lovers can’t avoid. Their attraction for each other was undeniable. But affection wasn’t something to discuss. They were not in love. That was off the table. Their meetings were no less intense, but they were a little less frequent.

  How many times have we done it? Anna hadn’t counted. How many indiscretions make an affair? It was an irrelevant question. Fondness but not love. Not for Archie, not for Karl. Some women collected spoons. Anna collected lovers.

  ROLAND EXPLAINED THAT IN German, the conditional is used to show the dependency of one action or set of events upon another. It’s an if-then scenario. “Zum Beispiel,” Roland lectured. “If I am sick tomorrow, then I will not go to school. Or, if the weather is nice, then we will go to the park.”

  Anna found little relief in this. If I am caught … then I am fucked.

  ANNA RETURNED HER GAZE to the bankers’ wives, who huddled into the company of one another. The women were young. Their husbands wore the jewelry of their beauty like elegant wristwatches.

  Edith had set down the tray of food and returned to the group. “Anna,” she said as she motioned to a more private corner of the room. Anna dipped her chin and stepped away, literally bowing out of a conversation she wasn’t even part of.

  Edith hurried her over with her hands. She was agitated. “Come here!” Anna moved more closely into her space. Anna was already as close to her as she felt like she wanted to be.

  Edith, always unmistakable, was that night flushed with an immoderate sense of urgency and giddiness. “Don’t be obvious, but turn around and look—no, not yet!—to the left.” Anna shook her head at Edith’s schoolgirl antics but played along. She paused a beat then turned to look over her shoulder.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “Really, Anna. Look again!”

  Anna looked again. She saw Bruno and Otto on the couch. Standing next to the couch was Andreas, a bank employee under both of them. And next to Andreas stood a man she did not know. He was blonder and shorter and younger than the other men. He wore a trim sports coat and dark jeans and trendy designer eyeglasses. He threw his head back to laugh and Anna noticed a gap in his teeth and a chin cleft. He was handsome, yes. And twenty-five years old, if that.

  “Who is he? Does he work at the branch? What does he do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know what he does.” Edith waved the question away as if it were a housefly. “Some bank thing.” Anna scowled. “His name is Niklas Flimm.”

  “Flynn?”

  Edith shook her head. “No, dammit. Pay attention. Flimmmm.” Edith drew out the m. “He’s Austrian,” she said with italic emphasis as if somehow whatever she said next would carry more weight, more meaning. “We’ve been sleeping together for a month!”

  ANNA COULDN’T DESIGNATE A single romantic relationship she’d ever entered into that did not begin in sexual earnestness on the very day she’d met the man, whichever man he was. Bruno. Archie. Stephen. Her college boyfriend, Vince. They’d hooked up at orientation. Later that night he’d kicked his dorm mate out and Anna’s hand was in his pants. It’s true, she’d met Karl before that day in Mumpf. But they’d never actually had a proper conversation until Daniela’s party. A mistake made once is an oversight. But three times, four, a dozen? Dog, you are begging for the bone.

  “A WHOLE MONTH!” EDITH repeated.

  “Huh.” Anna said it with a matter-of-fact thud. Affairs no longer surprised her. Edith smiled harshly. She’s expecting more of a response, Anna thought, then fished for something relevant to say. “How did this, um, happen?” Anna stumbled on the word “happen.” She didn’t know what else to offer. “Are you and Otto having problems?”

  Edith laughed and smiled glibly. “Oh, no. We’re fine. What Otto doesn’t know can’t hurt him. And look at my skin! It’s the best it’s been in years!” Anna didn’t deny this, though she hardly knew what that had to do with anything.

  “Er, how is he?”

  Edith gave her a you-must-be-kidding look. “Anna, look at him! He’s gorgeous. And young! Isn’t he amazing?” Niklas turned momentarily from his conversation and saw Edith and Anna looking at him. He raised both an eyebrow and his wineglass to the women. “It’s thrilling, isn’t it?”

  Yes, Anna thought. Adultery’s a blast.

  “Let’s get you one, Anna.”

  “A lover?”

  Edith rolled her eyes. “No. A fucking houseplant. Yes, a lover.” Edith smirked. “It’ll cheer you up!”

  That’s exactly what it won’t do, Anna thought. Even weak, Anna was occasionally wise. “Are you in love?” Anna asked, in all provincial sincerity.

  Edith laughed a tipsy laugh. “Heavens, no!” It sounded quaint and arcane, like something Mary would say. “It is most certainly not about love!”

  ANNA’S GERMAN HOMEWORK REGULARLY consisted of vocabulary drills, verb conjugation exercises, declension practice, and the writing of many, many, many sentences.

  Love’s a sentence, Anna thought. A death sentence.

  11

  EDITH FUSSED WITH THE COLLAR OF HER BLOUSE THEN LOOKED around and dismissed herself from Anna with a pat on Anna’s shoulder. “Other guests!” she said as she flitted away and left Anna alone to hug an empty corner of the room. The Hammers had arranged two heaters on their patio but no one was outside. Anna crossed the room as inconspicuously as she could and slipped out the back door.

  Christ, I’m good at being alone. This was the truth. As a child, Anna preferred to spend most of her time by herself. Eventually her parents took her to a psychologist. It didn’t seem healthy, such remoteness in what seemed like an otherwise normal girl. Is she depressed, Doctor? Will she be all right? Their concern was legitimate. At home Anna set herself apart. Daily she retreated to her bedroom and locked herself behind the door, where she’d read or listen to the radio or write in her journal or sit in the windowsill and do nothing but stare into the street. What are you doing in there, all shut away and alone? they’d ask. “I’m studying,” Anna always replied. And dreaming, she’d think but not say. And wondering who I’ll be in twenty years. The psychologist asked three dozen questions and in the end told Anna’s parents she was fine. “It’s puberty,” he said. “It’ll pass.” Then he handed them a bill for two hundred dollars. But Anna’s aloneness didn’t blow over. After her parents died and until she met Bruno four years later, Anna lived alone.

  Anna wandered into the Hammers’ yard, nursing the same glass of wine she’d been drinking inside. A mid-October chill defined the night air. Clouds hid the stars. The darkness was tense and fragmented. Anna was staring into the indeterminate sky when she heard a man’s cough. It startled her. “Oh!” She whipped around.

  “Hallo, Anna.” It was Niklas Flimm.

  “Hello.” It bothered Anna to hear someone she hadn’t been introduced to use her given name. It was an unfair advantage. In some indigenous tribes, a person’s name contains more than their identity, it’s the vessel of her spirit. Niklas hadn’t been given the right. Anna’s ire was already up.

  “My name is Niklas.”

  “I know.” His English was high-pitched and nasal and he was better looking up close than he was from a distance, and even then it was possible to mistake him for a male model. Well done, Edith, Anna thought.

  “Edith say you are Bruno’s wife?”

  Anna smirked. “Sure.” Ni
klas’s English was clunky. His “Edith” sounded like “eat it,” and he dropped articles in his speech as frequently as Karl confused vocabulary. Anna stared, not knowing what else to offer. The Austrian accent was difficult for her to get past. Anna listened but avoided his direct gaze by focusing her eyes on his forehead.

  The talk they made was tedious. Niklas spoke of Vienna, skiing, and how sometimes he did not understand the Swiss. Anna kept her face blank as she remembered the punch line of a joke that she’d heard Bruno tell about the Austrians. She’d forgotten the joke’s lead-in. Anna traced the rim of her wineglass with her thumb and wondered what time it was and how much longer Bruno planned on staying.

  THE WEEKEND BEFORE EDITH’S party, Anna and Mary took their children to the Greifensee, Kanton Zürich’s second largest lake, the bank of which lay no more than half a kilometer away from the Gilberts’ front door. The three boys brought along their bikes. Mary and Anna walked the path behind them. Anna pushed Polly in a stroller. Alexis stayed home.

  “How did you meet Tim?”

  Mary blushed. “We met in high school.”

  This didn’t surprise Anna. “You’ve never been with anyone else?”

  Mary shook her head. “Nope. No one else. Just Tim.” This admission seemed to shame her. Just Tim. Anna focused her gaze on the path ahead of her. Of course she’d had lovers before Bruno. College boyfriends, men she saw for a few months then dumped or, alternately, was dumped by. Male friends who, under differing circumstances, she might have seen less circumstantially. But then there was Bruno. Mary redirected the conversation. “How did you meet Bruno? How did you fall in looove?” Mary drew out the word “love” like a sixth-grade girl.