Berlin Cantata

by Jeffrey Lewis

  GERTRUDE BAUM

  Sister

  I WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING. Why should I not? I have nothing to be ashamed of. People think we should be ashamed, but this is only because they think nothing of us. We are here. We have been here.

  Of course for a certain period there were certain things we didn’t say. I kept my peace as others did. You can call this hiding if you wish. I don’t know what you call it, nor do I care. We are old people. Our lives are done. It would be better if you just left us alone.

  But I’m not stupid. I see this is not possible. I can see that there is money involved. She comes to the Writers House and she denies this, of course. She denies this has to do with money and owning things. No, she says, this is about her parents, finding out this and that. We don’t believe in these stupid things you see on the television. The American discovering herself. Oh please. We are in enough pain already. This was our attitude.

  If you wish to explore, go discover America. Or better, go to the moon. Go do your exploring on the moon. Don’t come here and tell us you’re exploring. Explore what? Oh, please. Do you think we are Indians?

  This also was our attitude.

  She was not the only one, of course. If she was the only one, perhaps we could accept. There was also the woman who wanted Anspach’s house. In her S car and her ski parka with jewels that must have cost thousands, telling Anspach he must tidy up, sweep his walk, for it would all soon be hers. Why should it soon be hers? Because her father lost it, Anspach should lose it now? I had no love of Anspach, you understand. What a seedy man. But no wonder his mind went over the cliff. He set a fire, you know. He set a fire and then he goes and hangs himself. If the police had not come, I don’t know if he would have hung himself. The claims office. It was this he set fire to. You could read it in the news. If the deeds were lost, he thought, then claims couldn’t be made. But he was mistaken. There must be copies somewhere. The police came. He hung himself.

  He was a seedy man, but he had ideas. Do you know he turned his house into a museum? Museum of Colonization. Come see his photos! The woman in her parka, his tormentor! Even one or two of the American girl, who was ours! Do you know what he did to the American girl? I should not put it quite that way, did “to” her. He gave her a cake which he baked himself. He brought it to her. Then she sees that it is green and shaped like her American money. The sign for it. Everyone was very sober then. We didn’t laugh. To laugh out loud, it would be impolite.

  So Anspach hung himself from the rafter like a side of beef. But he was not a side of beef. Nor was he always this way. The changes did this to him.

  Have you a picture yet of our village? I am not a busybody. Any who say so are jealous liars. It soon became impossible even to have a job without the others being jealous. This too, you see, we laid at their feet. Before, we were poor but we had jobs and houses. Poor jobs, poor houses, who cared? We were all the same.

  Then comes Miss Anholt, the American girl. Miss Anholt this, Miss Anholt that. Who could not think of her? And with her terrible German. Yes, she could speak German, she would try, always, of course. But it was terrible, a child would not speak it. We should all speak English to her? Of course not, thank you very much. A thousand times better she should not understand us! And why was she “Miss,” why was she not married? She was pretty enough. I’m not saying to be still married, but not married ever? This was curious. She made no sense, in our eyes. Or it was too difficult to see. She had money as well. So why never a husband? She must have a terrible flaw.

  You see, when people wish to hold something against someone, they can find many things.

  She came, the very first thing, she took her tray to her room. Now there is a sign in the kitchen, big as you please, DO NOT REMOVE TRAYS FROM KITCHEN. So I say something. Of course she pretends to be apologetic. The next thing I know, the next morning, she has taken everything back down to the kitchen, her tray, her tea, all of it. So I said to her, again, “If you do that, what is there for me to do? It’s my job. I am housekeeper.” You can’t win with these people.

  I asked her very plain, very polite, if the Writers House becomes yours, are you going to let us all go? Not only myself, but for Mrs. Kirschner also, and Giessen, I asked. Of course. I wouldn’t ask only for myself. And she says to me, “I do not know.” She didn’t know! If she didn’t know, what was she doing here? I said this to her. She had no answer at all. Again she apologized. I spit on apologies. What do they get you? Can you buy bread with an apology? Her apologies were only an excuse.

  Now you will say, with all this hatred of her, how did I become the one who would help her? But I didn’t hate her. Yes, I did not like her. I did not like her coming here. But why should I hate such a silly girl?

  Of course she was silly. What else could we think? We can scarcely deal with today and she comes only thinking of yesterday. And because she is thinking of yesterday, our todays become harder. Did she notice this?

  Oh yes, she says, I’m so sorry for this, so sorry for that. Then go home, Miss, and thank you very much.

  But, oh, this wonderful past of hers. This is the joke, of course. This is where you see.

  How many times, she talks on the telephone, not to me of course, but on the telephone, to this person or that person, all this about how happy her parents were, how happy they were when they were here.

  But if they were happy, why did they hide in the woods? I’m not stupid. I understand. The fascists. All I am saying is that she viewed time one way when there were other ways too.

  And then of course she wasn’t content. If she could be content, that would be one thing. Alright, here is the house where they were happy, so sit and stare at the trees or the bookcases or whatever is so contentment-making and be content. But no sooner is she sitting here, then she wishes to find where they had to hide. She wishes to find their dis-content. So that she can be discontent herself? You see it makes no sense. She brings her discontent with her. It is our misfortune.

  Again, I am not stupid. I understand that she wants the whole story. But why? At whose expense?

  So, yes, no one helped her. No one said, “I’ll help you with this or that.” Until I did.

  Why should they? They could be kicked out. She could make who knew what more problems. Isn’t it always the messenger who is punished?

  But then why did I? Because I have a big heart, of course. I have always had a big heart. Even my mother said so. She said, “Your big heart and your big mouth, together they’ll get you in trouble, Trudi.” Of course they have.

  But how could I help myself? When Anspach hung himself, everyone gathered in his house. This was before the police came or the ambulance. Such a mad house, with all of poor Anspach’s displays, all his photos and all. No one dared touch him. No one cut him down. He hung there. It was very sorry. Until Miss Anholt came. You know you hear these things, Americans do this and do that, it’s all very unbelievable and silly, but in fact in this case Miss Anholt saw poor Anspach hanging, and who knew what she felt or why, but she took a stool and climbed on it. It was all very unbelievable. Everyone watched her as if she was as mad as Anspach, but in this case she wasn’t mad, I suppose she just couldn’t stand watching him hang there or some such thing. With a kitchen knife that Giessen passed her, she sawed on the rope, and even I, I admit, and Giessen, held her stool so she wouldn’t fall – I believe Giessen also finally sawed as well, which was surprising to say the least – and when Anspach’s poor body slumped, it slumped on us and on her, too, but we did get it to the floor and laid him out there.

  So you see. This is why. Only this. A simple reason. She acted once like a human being.

  You can’t imagine the impression this made. Though on the others, I’m less sure. Why did she do this? How did she do this, or even think to do this? Why didn’t she only stand in horror and wait for the police? I believe, actually, she didn’t know better.

  Or she could have been, in her own way, as desperate as we are.

 
Then of course all the rest took a part, tidying him and so on like that. Fear of the police was forgotten.

  So I gave her credit. I liked her better not at all. But you see I am a person with a proper mind, as well as having a big heart. It has cost me all my life, as now you know, but I could not avoid seeing that if she cuts Anspach down from the rafters, she becomes one of us, you see. Not that this is any too good a thing. Believe me, I liked her no better.

  Still, I determined that I must finally approach her with the information, which of course was known by others as well – not by the young but certainly by the old, by some, whose names I could list but why would you care – the information that she was foolish to be looking for this concrete place in the Velden woods, which were too small to hide in, but she should be looking in the Karlsheim woods instead. I told her this, about the Karlsheim woods. I even offered to take her and show her.

  So I am a proper person, as well as big-hearted. No one can deny this. I will not shed my tears, you will not see me shed my tears, but this is beside the point.

  I did not intend to tell her everything. I only intended to show her where the hiding place was. If that’s what she was looking for, then if she found it, maybe she would leave.

  On a Saturday we set off to Karlsheim, which for those unfamiliar with our territory I would say is quite close to Velden. It is an easy walk, but it is not on the lake. I brought my walking stick just in case. I like to be prepared for all occasions, so I brought also hats for Miss Anholt as well as myself, hard-boiled eggs and orange soda, and a shovel.

  The woods are thick in Karlsheim. Even I could become lost. They are thicker than the Velden woods because they are not on the lake and are less tended. I led the way. Miss Anholt looked very doubtful, as if possibly this was one more joke being played on her and suddenly Giessen and all the rest would jump out of the woods yelling “Surprise!” or something equally stupid. But no one jumped out. To the contrary, I got very lost and we saw no one at all. Again Miss Anholt felt doubtful. But I have always had a good directional sense, even when lost, I make a wild guess and somehow it is the direction to go in. This is another one of my good traits, my ability to get out of a corner. And so I did. After an hour in which I will say that I sweated like a dreadful pig and to some degree likewise Miss Anholt and we consumed all the orange soda, I found what she was looking for, even if I felt it entirely foolish for her to be looking for it. This was the bunker, which was from the other war, the first war, before I was even born, the other war we lost. It was a stupid-looking thing, so overgrown and ridiculous, even an animal would not wish to live in such a thing. But of course sometimes we have no choices left. As for another example of this, if Miss Anholt kicked me out, I myself would have nowhere to go, having lived at the Writers House twenty-four years. This I would not say to her, of course. It would be humiliating. But I will admit it could have colored my thinking, in terms of opening my heart to her and helping her.

  As it happened, certain flowers were growing in the clearing where I found it. These were buttercups, I believe. There were also many puddles. The thing itself was very overgrown, yet I recognized it, for there could be nothing else like it. It was not as if they built many such things. It perhaps had been for practice. Who knows?

  I said, “Yes. Here,” and pointed with my stick.

  Miss Anholt, I would say, stared at the spot as if it was a carcass, as if she was still staring at poor hanging Anspach. Of course she acted unsure, like she didn’t wish to believe me.

  “Yes. The bunker. Where they were. Yes,” I repeated.

  I was making myself entirely clear, even to one who could speak only a Turkish child’s German. So she did not wish to believe me – but what choice did she have?

  I was not going to dig out this thing myself. That wasn’t part of my plan. I sat on a rock, leaning forward on my stick, while Miss Anholt dug. For an hour it was as if I were the boss and she was the slave. This felt pleasant enough, I must say. Miss Anholt took off her jacket when the sun broke through. Finally I offered to substitute for her, but I had shown her enough of my weak leg and I was not mistaken that she would decline. Finally she threw the shovel down. She had achieved a pile of dirt and roots, nothing more.

  “I cannot find anything,” Miss Anholt said.

  “But I know this is where they hid,” I said.

  “How do you know?” she said.

  And now you see how my big heart got in the way again. She was so pathetic and my disgust for the entire situation was so intense that it became inevitable that I would feel a certain sympathy for her. How else could I escape? All these hidden facts were already on the tip of my tongue. How could they not be? When you have a secret, the first thing is you wish to tell it. It’s like a cat scratching at a door. All the time, let me out, let me out, let me play. So, yes, I told her more. I am not ashamed. It was only fair.

  I said to her, first, to prepare her, of course: “You must not blame me.”

  Of course she did not understand this. I had to make myself still clearer. “Not my fault,” I said, pointing to myself and waving a finger.

  “For what?” Miss Anholt finally asked.

  “I know a few things more.”

  This she understood. But now she was getting impatient and perhaps she even sensed how all along she had been despised by us all, so that now she was despising me back. “Please, no games, Mrs. Baum,” she said.

  “I knew they hid here…because Ute told me,” I said.

  “Ute?” She repeated the name. And actually, I thought, it was like she had heard this name somewhere before, as if she were trying to remember where.

  Now it may seem like I was teasing the girl, but I was not at all. No matter what you think, I am not like that. No, I was simply deciding, with each word, each answer, whether to put my neck further into a noose that I could not see. And then what the devil, I would think, maybe it was her neck, and not mine, that was going there. “She died many years ago,” I said, speaking extra clearly, as you speak to a child.

  “Who was Ute?” On her face there was still great confusion.

  So I repeated the following twice, and with gestures, so that she should understand: “I hardly knew her. She was older. She was better friends with my sister Marie.”

  Now she was so put out that all she could do was speak in English, a flood of words from which I could only pick out, like bodies in a rushing river, the fewest things to grab on to, “Marie,” “Ute,” “shit.” Of course “shit” was a word in English that I knew. I was driving her mad. Though for sure I knew this already, that she was mad. Finally I pitied her. What else could you do with a madwoman?

  I pushed myself up on my stick so that I could reach her with a hand out. “Ute…the mother…of your sister Karen,” I said.

  Now of course the madwoman accused me of madness, with her eyes. “What do you say? My sister was Helena.”

  “Your half-sister. Half-sister…” I chopped at my arm, ridiculously, to show what is “half ”. “Karen,” I repeated.

  I was beginning to think our dear Miss Anholt was not only mad but dense. But it must have dawned on her. “Karen?… My father?” she asked.

  I felt quite proud of myself for having gotten through to such a slow person. So I went on, in the spirit of generosity: “It’s true. I can take you to her. I can take you to Karen.” My fingers ticked along, to show I could take her.

  “Karen? My sister? Alive?” Miss Anholt’s voice rose to quite a high level.

  “Yes of course. In Karlsheim,” I said.

  This was all the digging we did for one day. Later I felt very definitely that she resented that we had not told her before, but it was impossible for me to explain to her how I had been influenced to have a change of heart. I did tell her, however, I explained, about Petra. Petra is Karen’s other sister, Ute’s other daughter, who cares for Karen. This, however, I did not immediately explain, that Karen needed caring for. I wished Miss Anholt to see and decide
for herself. I hoped she would learn something from this.

  “But does she know? Do they know?” This is Miss Anholt again being I shouldn’t say naïve exactly. I pretended not to understand her question, or how she said it. She had a grave look that told me how important she felt it was. Really, her brow all curled up. I don’t believe such looks.

  “Does who know what?” I asked back.

  “That Karen’s father is not Petra’s father. I can’t go over there, ‘oh, hello, Karen, my sister,’ if…”

  I stopped her right there. “Petra is not naïve,” I said. “This is one thing Petra has never been.” And only because I wished not to keep looking at that grim expression of hers any longer, I added, “Petra’s father was also a ghost.”

  And when even this seemed to puzzle her, I flapped my arms like wings, to show how quickly that one disappeared into the night. You see it was never a picture of one happy family at Ute’s.

  “But Karen?” Miss Anholt keeps asking.

  “You’ll see, you’ll see,” I said.

  I didn’t care to say more. I didn’t care to give away too much. As I previously mentioned, I wished Miss Anholt to decide for herself.

  I understood for sure this was all for show, anyway, this concern of hers about who knew what. She intended to meet her sister in any event.

  Now of course Petra was not exactly shocked that Karen’s miraculous “sister” wished to visit her, as Miss Anholt’s presence among us had been well-known to people for months. It was bound to be a matter of time, that sort of thing, Petra thought. When I called her on the telephone, she told me how she even made plans for this day, how much she already troubled herself to prepare Karen for such a “disturbance.”

  Nonetheless she says we must not come to see Karen for two days or three. And why is that? Because Karen has sneezed two or three times! But you see this is just like Petra, always to make a fuss of something, to place little difficulties. She is not at peace unless she is making something a little more difficult. “Oh no, don’t come now, come later, call first, we’ll have to see about this.” This is Petra. She has always been this way. Even her mother said this. Ute, what a pity, her life. First Petra, then Karen. Such a life. It makes you glad to have no children. And such a husband as Jürg Fenstermacher? God relieve me.