Once the threat to herself had disappeared, Bertha began to feel the strangeness of rational thought. She wanted to talk about it. She wanted Franz to keep telling her it was over.
Franz pulled her away and led her quickly through the wood back towards the farm. There, Bertha got another shock when she saw the dead dog lying motionless in the yard. She realized then exactly how close to death she had come.
Franz picked up his haversack and pulled Bertha along by the hand. It was as though she was reluctant to leave. As though she wanted to let everything sink into her memory at a slow pace. This had all happened too fast for her. Too shocking to remember.
Everything was rushed from there on. Franz said it was getting late. They walked up the hill again. Bertha thought it must have been hours ago that they had started off from the lake. When they reached the top, they decided not to say anything to the old man in the house. They stopped only long enough for Franz to fix the puncture. Bertha was thirsty and wanted a drink of water from the well. Before she went in, she put on a new dress, discreetly, behind a tree. It was the navy blue pleated dress, not exactly the right thing for cycling or for the summer. It was really more of a winter dress, bought in Paris. But it was just the thing to put the ordeal behind her.
The old man gave her some tea. He also gave them some bread and jam, proudly telling them that the jam was from 1943. He had a hearty laugh and Bertha felt how strange it was to be back among ordinary people again. She began to feel at home and talked to the old man about various things. Irrelevant things, it seemed to her. She accepted a jar of jam which the old man offered her. It was for their journey, the old man insisted. She remarked on the extraordinary kindness as she gave it to Franz to put in his haversack.
They told the old man nothing of what happened. It would have been unfair to burden him with these details. The poor old man wouldnt be able to sleep at night, thinking about the bodies in the forest. They kept the nightmare to themselves.
It was late afternoon by the time they left to resume their journey. Once more, there was a sense of urgency. They had to get away from the area by nightfall. When they rejoined the road on their bikes, Bertha took one more look at the lake. It looked just the same as it did the day before. A deep blue unbroken surface. For a blind moment, they stopped the bikes and stared, wishing they could erase the day and start all over again from the beginning.
They freewheeled down the hill into the next valley. At the bottom, Bertha asked Franz to stop so that she could throw away the dress she had been wearing earlier. It was torn and stained with blood. It could have been washed and mended, but she was anxious to discard any association with that day.
I want to forget that anything happened, she said, looking into his eyes.
Yes, Bertha. We will say nothing about it. Ever.
Well put it all behind us. When we get to America, it will be only a tiny thing in the past.
She rolled up the dress with a hint of courageous ceremony. Before she went to the ditch along the road, she stopped and turned around again.
Do you want to put the gun in as well?
Franz looked at her. He was reluctant. He thought for a moment, as though the forests were full of enemies. But then he agreed. He placed it in the dress she held out with both hands. Bertha rolled it up and concealed it under a bush.
They cycled on through the evening, for almost seven hours without stopping. Without talking. Without remembering. By the time they got to Bayreuth, it was already dark. Bertha was exhausted. Hungry. Still frightened, but safe. They felt the comfort of reaching such a civilized and cultured town. Wagners town. Drowned in culture and peace.
39
Anke and I kept meeting. Almost every Wednesday, she either came down to Düsseldorf or else we met somewhere else along the way. Sometimes we had lunch and just talked for an hour or two before we parted at the train station again. She had less and less time because of Alex. She was always anxious to get back and pick him up early from the school. He was getting worse.
Once she brought Alex with her, though he was clearly unwell. She thought Alex might enjoy the train journey, it might make him glad. It wasnt a long trip, only as far as Gelsenkirchen. I was there to meet them. Nothing of what Anke had told me in the past weeks had prepared me for the shock of seeing him arriving in a wheelchair, so weak and thin. He was listless. All his energy had disappeared. I could see he was dying.
He didnt recognize me. He wouldnt respond to anything I said.
You shouldnt have brought him, I said, when we sat down in a café close to the station. Im sure its too much for him.
I thought the train would make him happy, she repeated, stroking Alex on the head. I thought he would like to see you.
Alex wouldnt eat anything. He had lost interest in cake, juice, everything. He just sat in his wheelchair, rocking his head from side to side, looking up at his mother. His tongue had gone slack and kept falling out of his mouth. His eyes were red. He didnt know who I was. He just sang, or moaned, or hummed, with his tongue dribbling saliva down his chin. He stared and ignored the clatter all around him in the restaurant.
Anke couldnt stay long, obviously. Id have liked to have taken them somewhere, maybe shown Alex some things, but he wasnt seeing anything. He didnt know where he was. And Anke talked urgently about Jürgen, how things had become unbearable at times in the house. They were having these arguments late at night.
Does he know you come down here to meet me? I asked.
I dont know. Maybe he does. Hes never said anything.
Maybe hes suspicious. Maybe he has followed you once.
Maybe, she said, dismissing it. I dont think that really is the problem
Its Alex, she whispered. She leaned across the table and explained that Jürgen had rejected any active treatment for Alexs illness. It was terminal. So now Jürgen is talking about euthanasia. He has nothing against it. Hes positive about it. But Im not.
But what does he suggest?
I dont know. He explained it to me, but I couldnt give you the details. My attitude is that Alex should be given a chance, no matter what it costs. No matter how hard it is on us.
But what does he suggest?
I dont know. He explained it to me, but I couldnt give you the details. My attitude is that Alex should be given a chance, no matter what it costs. No matter how hard it is on us.
Anke was clearly upset, whispering to me like this. It was breaking one of her closest principles to talk about Alex while he was present. I asked her more questions. I had dozens of things to ask, but Anke stopped talking.
Ill phone you and talk about it, she said.
Then she had to bring Alex to the wash-room. That took a long time, almost half an hour, while I sat in the café thinking. I wished there was something I could do for Alex. I wished there was something I could say that would make him smile, just once.
When they came back, I tried to speak to him, but he didnt respond. I could think of nothing that might draw him out.
I looked at Anke. I think it was the only time I met her on these visits that she refused to cry. She wouldnt allow herself to cry with Alex there. It was only alone with me that she could properly grieve about her life.
We talked for a while about Jürgens practice. She told me that Jürgen had finally employed another gynaecologist. She would have to be careful now, because Jürgen had more time on his hands. But he was still spending all of his day either in the practice or with Alexander. His energy was boundless.
Anke told me that she and Jürgen still slept together. She still loved Jürgen. Nothing had changed in that respect. And he still loved her. If he knew anything about our weekly meetings, he was accepting it. Maybe he had begun to accept, as I did, that Anke could never be tied down. She thrived on freedom.
She began to tell me about the afternoon when Jürgen came home early from the practice and forced her to make love. She had not rejected him or asked him to stop. But he had forced himself on her like a stranger.
I asked her if it was repulsive to her.
It wasnt that, she whispered, leaning over the table again, whispering. It was the way he did it.
She was reluctant to talk while Alex was there, sitting so passively beside her. Then she felt she had to say it.
You know what he did? He raped me. There is no other word for it, she said. I think he really wanted it to be like that. He didnt ask me. He could have asked me and there would have been no problem. But instead he came bursting in and dragged me into the living-room by my hair and then threw me on the floor.
Anke looked around the restaurant as though she was afraid somebody might be listening.
He didnt talk. He didnt kiss me or fondle me or anything, he just brutally raped me. He wanted it to be like that. He wanted to act like a complete stranger.
But how? I asked. Did you resist or something? Did you try and stop him?
No, no, she insisted. I would never do that. Maybe I would play hard to get. But he knows that. Nothis time he had obviously made up his mind to rape me. I dont know where he got the idea, maybe at the practice
He just threw me face down on the floor and said: Im going to fuck you.
She was fingering one of the silver milk jugs on the table, perhaps thinking about putting it in her pocket. But she was concentrating on Jürgen.
It was anal she whispered. He buggered me.
For a moment, we both paid more attention to our coffee than to anything else. Anke looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was watching her.
I still cant walk, she said, smiling. Then she seemed to change her attitude towards the whole episode.
Its not as though Im against it, or anything like that. Its just the manner in which he did it. He wanted to frighten me. Afterwards, he was very sorry. He kept saying how sorry he was. He kept hugging me and saying he would never do it again.
Alexander was staring at some people at the table next to us. They seemed irritated by it. Perhaps they were put off their food.
Hes been apologizing for it ever since, Anke said after a pause. I think he really was very sorry about it. He keeps saying he doesnt know what came over him. It was so unlike him. I tell him to forget about it, but he cant. He keeps telling me how much he regrets what happened.