by Unknown
That’s how it goes, he said, thrusting into her. Nice, he said once more, and again, nice. Helene tried to raise herself, but he pushed her down on the mattress. He was kneeling, probably so as to watch himself going in and out of her, one hand firmly on her shoulder so that she couldn’t twist or turn, and suddenly he sighed heavily and sank down on her, exhausted. His body was heavy.
Helene felt her face glowing. Now she was glad that Wilhelm had put out the light. Wilhelm thought it was silly for people to weep. His breath was calm and regular. Helene found herself counting the breaths; she counted them and then, so as to stop herself doing that, counted his heartbeats as he lay on top of her.
You’re surprised. He stroked her hair back from her forehead. What do you say now?
His voice was proud and gentle; he asked as if he expected a definite and very special answer.
I like you, said Helene. She was surprised by the way those words had come to her. But they were true; she meant it in general and in spite of the last hour. She liked his invincible confidence in himself. All the same, she could not help thinking of Carl, of his hands joining with hers to make one body, sometimes with two heads, sometimes without a head, his gentle lips and his prick, rather smaller than Wilhelm’s and almost pointed. They were inscribed on her mind and into her movements.
And now I’ll show you what else we can do. Wilhelm spoke like a teacher. He turned on his back, took Helene by the hips and pulled her on top of him. He made her move. Faster, that’s it.
All this talking disturbed Helene. It was difficult to keep listening to him, to hear what he said and then forget it, forget herself, forget herself so that she stopped seeing and hearing.
There. Careful, now. Now, take your hand, here, hold me firmly.
Helene, exhausted, couldn’t help smiling. It was lucky he couldn’t see her. He thrust at her, talking at the same time, brief words, issuing instructions. She didn’t want to contradict or challenge him. He held her hips hard, he was getting a grip so as to make her move on top of him.
There, that’s nice.
Helene let him move her about for a while. The less she wanted to do for herself, the better he seemed to like it. A marionette, thought Helene, she didn’t like that, and she didn’t know how she could take the puppet strings from his hand. Suddenly she reared up and away from him.
Careful, he cried and he sighed: so close, he complained.
Helene took his hands to hold them, but he shook them free, moved her off him, threw her under him and set to work on top of her again. He thrust his prick into her, regular thrust after regular thrust, like a hammer driving a nail into the wall. No more sound, just his hammering, the ceiling and the mattress. A high squeal, then he rolled off her. Helene stared into the darkness.
He was lying on his back, smacking his lips with relish. That’s love, Alice, he said.
She didn’t know what to say. He suddenly turned to her, kissed her on the nose and turned his back to her. Excuse me, he said, pulling the covers over him, I can’t sleep with a woman breathing into my face.
It was a long time before Helene could get to sleep. She was not interested in what women had breathed into his face when, or where; his sperm was running out of her in a little stream, sticky between her legs, and then it was as if she had slept for only a couple of minutes when she felt his hands on her hips again.
That’s right, yes, he said, turning her over on her stomach. Kneeling behind her, he pulled her towards him and thrust in.
It burned. He braced his large hand against her back, hurting her, he pushed her ahead of him on the mattress. That’s it, keep moving, you won’t get away from me.
Helene kicked his knee with all her might. He cried out.
What’s the idea of that? He took her by the shoulders and they both lay still. Don’t you like it?
Shall I show you how I like it? She asked the question in self-defence; she could think of no answer, she hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings, but he agreed. She approached him, his large body, he knelt on the mattress, sat back on his heels, his prick dangled heavy and limp between his powerful thighs. Shall I lie down? There was a note of derision in his voice, or perhaps he was just unsure of himself.
Helene said yes, yes, lie down. She bent over him, she smelled his sweat through the eau de cologne on his chest, sweat that smelled a little strange. She took the sheet and dried his chest, his forehead, his thighs first outside, then on the inside. He lay on his back with his body rigid, as if afraid.
She licked his skin with her tongue until he laughed.
He asked her to stop, it tickled. That’s not the way, he said.
She took his hands, placed them on her flat breasts, where they lay as if at a loss, not knowing what to do. Helene lay on top of him and moved, she pressed her body to his, she felt his skin with her lips, her teeth touched him, her soft fingertips and nails, she rubbed his prick and, as it began to stiffen in arousal, used it to sit on him. She rode him, she bent over to be closer to him, she leaned back to feel the air, she listened to his breathing, listened to his desire, and felt some desire herself.
What are you doing to me? Wilhelm’s question sounded surprised, almost suspicious. He didn’t wait for her to answer. You’re an animal, a real little animal. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. My wife, he said. He was speaking to himself, confirming the fact, making sure of it. My wife.
Didn’t he like her mouth? Helene wondered why he didn’t kiss her on the lips, for he avoided them. He got up and went out. Helene heard water rushing; he was obviously washing.
When he came back and lay down on the mattress beside her, heavy and hesitant, he asked hoarsely: May I turn the light on?
Of course. Helene was shivering pleasantly; she had drawn the covers up to her chin. In the light he looked crumpled, the shadows showing lines that Helene had never seen on him before. Presumably he now saw her own little lines and dimples, hollows and dips, previously unknown to him.
I must ask you something. He had pulled the other blanket over himself. He looked seriously at her. Were his eyes exploring her? Was he afraid?
There are ways and means, she said, don’t worry.
Ways and means?
Of avoiding a pregnancy, she explained.
That’s not what I meant. Wilhelm was obviously confused. Why would I want to avoid a pregnancy? Or you either? No, I must ask you something else.
What?
I’ve just been out to wash myself.
Yes?
Well, how can I put it? Normally I’d have had . . . there’d have been . . . well, I’d thought there was sure to be . . . As if to encourage himself he raised her chin with one finger. You didn’t bleed at all.
Helene looked at his tense and baffled face. Had he expected her to be menstruating, or were there other reasons why she would be bleeding? Now it was her turn to raise a questioning eyebrow. So?
You know what that means yourself. Now he was looking annoyed. You’re a nurse, so please don’t act so naïve.
I didn’t bleed, no. If I’d bled that would have meant I’d been injured.
I thought you were still a virgin. The sharp note in Wilhelm’s voice surprised Helene.
Why?
Why? Are you making fun of me? I keep my hands off you for three years, I procure a certificate of Aryan descent for you, I get engaged to you, damn it all, what do you mean, why did I think that? Listen, how was I to know that . . . ? Wilhelm was shouting. He was sitting up and pounding the mattress in front of Helene with his fist. Involuntarily, she flinched back. Now she saw that he had put on a pair of short white underpants. He sat there in his underpants hitting the mattress again. Between the hem of the leg and his thigh she saw his prick, lying on the thigh as if taking no part in this, just jerking slightly when he hit the mattress. You ask why I thought you were a virgin? I’m asking myself the same question. What a hypocritical act all this was! Idiotic! He beat his fist on the mattress again, making t
he limp prick inside his underpants jump. What is it, why are you shrinking away like that? Not afraid, are you? He shook his head; his voice became quieter and more scornful. Your tears are just a sham, my girl. Bitterly, Wilhelm shook his head, he snorted with derision, a dry snort, expressing nothing but contempt. He was looking at her with contempt. He shook his head again. What a fool I am, he said, striking his forehead, what a stupid idiot. He was hissing through his teeth. What a wonderful show! He shook his head, gave that dry snort, shook his head again.
Helene tried to understand what was making him so angry. She must be brave and ask. Why . . . ?
This is monstrous, don’t you know that? Wilhelm interrupted her. He wasn’t going to let her begin a sentence, raise her voice however hesitantly. What do you want of me, Helene? He was roaring at her, barking at her.
Was it the first time he had called her Helene? Her name sounded like a foreign word, coming from him. The displeasure with which he looked at her now made Helene feel very lonely. She lay in his marital bed, the blanket up to her chin, her fingers curved into cold claws under the bedclothes, claws that she couldn’t open out even if she tried, she had to keep the covers firmly in place, hiding them, hiding her body from him. The burning between her legs wasn’t too bad, she was in his marital bed, the bed he had bought for his marriage to a virgin, the bed in which he was planning to teach a virgin about love. What had he thought she was? What misunderstanding had brought them together in this bed?
Wilhelm got up. He took his blanket, draped it round his shoulders and left the room. He shut the door behind him; evidently she was to stay there. Helene tried to think sensibly. It wasn’t easy. Frau Alice Sehmisch, she said to herself in the darkness. Her feet were as cold as her claws, they were claws too, fingers and toes cold and claw-like in May.
When all was still Helene stole into the kitchen, washed her hands, put water on to heat and mixed hot and cold water with a dash of vinegar in the enamel basin. She squatted over the basin and washed herself. A little soap wouldn’t hurt, maybe a bit of iodine? With the hollow of her hand she scooped up water and felt for her labia, the opening, the tender, smooth folds, washed it all out thoroughly, washed his sperm out of her. Soft water, hard water. She washed for a long time until the water was cold, then she washed her hands at the sink.
Back in bed, her feet were still cold. She couldn’t sleep anyway, she felt like getting up and making breakfast. She had bought eggs – Wilhelm liked eggs so long as they weren’t too soft-boiled. Would he speak to her? What would he say?
For that first half-hour, in which Wilhelm had got up, washed, shaved and combed his hair, it looked as if he wasn’t going to speak to her, might never speak to her again. Helene thought about the notes she would write him in future, the notes he would write her. She could practise the language of gestures. He would write notes telling her what she was to do for him and what he wanted for supper. She would write to explain why she hadn’t bought eels and tell him the fishwife had plaice on special offer today. Helene was good at keeping silent, as he would soon find out.
Wilhelm had sat down at the table to try a sip of coffee. Is this real coffee? he suddenly asked. She knew there were few things he liked as much as coffee made from real coffee beans. Real coffee came directly after cars and before the wireless masts of ships, but she was a little uncertain where oarsmen and ski-jumpers ranked in his esteem.
In celebration of the day, I thought. The first morning of our marriage.
Good idea, he said, nodding with a fair show of appreciation; then he had to smile. He was smiling to himself, he didn’t look at her.
And is that toast I smell, or am I imagining it?
You’re not imagining it, said Helene, and she took a step aside, opened the toaster and gave him the dark-brown toast.
Perhaps you’ll sit down too.
Helene obeyed. She pulled out her chair and sat down opposite him.
Well, this is a fine situation I’ve got myself into, remarked Wilhelm. Talk about buying a pig in a poke. He shook his head. No idea of honour. And I’ve sullied my hands for that, forged those damn documents to give you a new identity. Wilhelm shook his head and took a bite of toast.
Helene began to guess at the humiliation he must be suffering.
We will try, all the same. Helene said it hoping that the question of her virginity might soon seem ridiculous to him.
Wilhelm nodded. I am not going to be cuckolded, let’s get that clear. He held out his cup for her to add milk.
Wilhelm had got the papers for her, he had committed a punishable offence. They could feel mutual fear, for either would be able to denounce the other. For the first time Helene understood what fundamentally divided the two of them. He was an established member of society, he was someone, he had built up a reputation for himself. Wilhelm had something to lose: his good name, his honour and his wife’s respectability were certainly a part of that; so were his beliefs, his support of a people, the German nation, to which he belonged by virtue of his blood and which he wanted to serve with his life’s blood.
We could go out to Swinemünde tomorrow. Helene embarked on the sentence out of sheer fear that otherwise Wilhelm might understand what thoughts were spreading through her mind, how terror and shame were taking hold of her.
Do me a favour, Alice, spare me that today. I know you love the sea and the harbour. Are you telling me the round trip yesterday wasn’t enough?
It was not an easy night, said Helene. She wanted to show understanding.
It’s forgotten. Last night is forgotten, do you hear? Wilhelm was fighting to speak in a firm voice and Helene saw tears in his eyes. She was sorry. I didn’t know that . . .
That what? What didn’t you know?
Helene couldn’t tell him. She was ashamed of her thoughtlessness. Not for a moment had it occurred to her that his love could depend on her virginity.
I’ve been with women. But marriage – Wilhelm shook his head, without looking at Helene – marriage is different. He bit his lip; he probably guessed that they would never be able to agree on this point, now or later. There were moments last night when you were like an animal, a wild cat.
A tear fell from his eye. The eye of a man whom Helene had never seen shedding tears before.
She would have liked to embrace him, but what comfort could she offer?
Have you been with many men? Now Wilhelm was looking at her scornfully; it was hard to bear his glance. Then it softened, she saw a plea in his eyes, he obviously wanted her to tell him he was unique, oh, what an amazing lover, not just an amazing lover but the lover, there was no one like him.
Helene stretched her fingers, curved them, stretched them. Her knuckles inaudibly cracked. She wanted to wash her hands. What difference did lying a little make? She looked at him over the table, she still had time. It was simple. He wouldn’t notice. She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she cautiously opened them again, she saw that he wanted to believe her.
Wilhelm stood up. He was wearing the shirt she had ironed so recently. He looked ready to go to work. He touched her shoulder, grateful and angry at the same time. He breathed deeply in and out, then patted her on the back. That’s my girl. He looked at the time. I have to go out to the building site, the construction workers all slack off at the weekend. There’s going to be a private discussion. If you wait in the car you can come with me.
Helene nodded. Wilhelm took her wrist. But first we’re going to bed. There was an expression of triumph on his face. Was what she saw in his eyes the consciousness of arbitrary power springing from his injured feelings? Defiance and lust? And didn’t a husband have rights over his wife? He pushed her into the bedroom ahead of him, drew the curtains, opened his trousers with one hand and reached for her skirt with the other. Lift your skirt, he said.
Helene lifted her skirt, which wasn’t easy. She’d made it herself from a pattern only a few weeks ago, and it narrowed towards the hem and had only a short open pleat at the back
. She had found a lovely fabric, cream cotton printed with blue flowers. It was a daring skirt, tapering where it ended between calf and ankle. Wilhelm became impatient, he was breathing deeply. She’d soon have done it, she’d have pushed the skirt far enough up. She couldn’t help thinking that the laundry had been soaking for too long, that she still had to gut the fish for lunch and must soon put the casserole on if they wanted beans for supper, and she didn’t have any savoury to flavour the beans with. Wilhelm told her to kneel on the bed.
The great day was 27 September. The day for which others as well as Wilhelm had been eagerly waiting, a day like no other. All Germany was waiting for that day.
In the morning, when Helene had just dressed, Wilhelm’s eye fell on her behind. He took hold of her hips and ran his tongue over her mouth. You’re the first woman I’ve liked to kiss, did you know that? Helene smiled diffidently and picked up her handbag. Day by day, Wilhelm’s taste for unsettling her, seeing her feel diffident was increasing. Now that she knew he had developed that liking, she made out from time to time that she really was diffident. Nothing could have been easier. Let’s see your suspender belt, are you wearing the one with the little anchors on it? Wilhelm felt her suspender belt through the firm woollen fabric.
