Hanno’s Doll (13 page)

“You know nothing about this, Ernest. We won't talk about it. About Puppchen. She just told me what her lawyer wants her to do, but he doesn't understand. She can't go, Ernest. She's my case. (I was trying to explain to the K.K.K., Mr. Starter. I was trying to tell him.) Puppchen is all the case I have, my defense, Ernest.”

“I don't get that, Hanno.”

“You will. Listen to me. Only if they see Puppchen, if they see what she is like, will they believe that it could have been an accident and that even so … even so … I hid the body in the funk hole. It makes no sense otherwise, Ernest. You know her by now, what she is like.” He pointed to her now sitting in the chair. “You know that if Puppchen were any other wife … if she were one of those all-American girls who could stand shoulder to shoulder with her husband … If Puppchen were one of those pioneer women who could pick up a rifle and fight alongside her husband, then what I did would be preposterous.” He blew the word out, “pre-post-er-ous.”

“She is my explanation, Ernest, the only possible explanation for what I did, so they have got to see her and hear her.” Now he looked at Puppchen. She had drawn closed the gates of her eyes. “Does that frighten you? All right, my darling, that frightens you too much. Then you will say nothing. Don't be so frightened, my darling.” He meant, “Open the gates to your eyes. Don't shut me out,” but that sounded crazy. Puppchen wouldn't understand what he meant at all since she did it, withdrew, turned to stone, huddled inside herself like a snail at the first touch of danger. She didn't understand the process.

“There will be nothing in this … business … which can touch you, Puppchen. Now look at me.” See me, he meant. Cut the mesh of fear. Come back out of your shell, little snail. “Listen, I will do some outfits for you. That's an idea. I will cook up some sketches immediately and we'll have Valentine do them. You will simply sit in court in these outfits and everyone will know you for the Puppchen you are.” He smiled encouragingly at Puppchen and she turned to him, but then turned to the Ernest.

The Ernest cleared his throat. “She can't stay, Hanno.”

“Why can't she stay?”

“Hanno, I know what you mean about Puppchen being your defense, believe me, I do. When Mr. Clinton told me that Puppchen had to go away, I said she mustn't. It seemed terrible … brutal … to walk out on you, Hanno. Then Mr. Clinton told me.” He swallowed. He gestured. “The fact is … the fact of the matter is … Well, she really isn't your wife, Hanno.”

“What are you saying?”

“Legally. Legally.”

He repeated, “She is not my wife legally? What are you saying?” He saw the Ernest's throat work over it. “We were married in Delaware, Ernest. What are you saying?” He made a gesture that he would be calm and quiet. “
Nu
, Ernest, explain.”

“Puppchen was already married.”

“Puppchen was married? To the bastard, you mean? The bastard married her? Puppchen?”

Ernest said, “If you call going through a ceremony marriage, he married her, Hanno, yes.”

“Puppchen! Why didn't you tell me this, Puppchen?” She did not speak.

She was looking at the Ernest in the way he knew, which meant, Speak for me.

“Puppchen!”

“Oh, I can't,” she whispered. “I can't.”

He could hardly hear her, her voice was so small and pale. She was telling the truth; she could not. Fear robbed her of speech. He knew that. “Don't be afraid I will be angry with you. Are you afraid I'll be angry with you?
Na
, I'm not angry. Just tell me.”

Her eyes were fixed on Ernest. She had had to turn to Ernest, to someone, could not stand against anyone, even if it was Hanno. If he seemed to be accusing her, he became
un
-Hanno. Yes, he told himself, he understood. His voice softened. His hand stretched out, no longer
j'accuse!

“She was afraid, Hanno. You assumed she wasn't married and you were kind to her.… You held out a helping hand when there wasn't anyone else and she was afraid you wouldn't help her if you knew he was—legally—her husband.

“Hell, Hanno, he wasn't really her husband, not as you and I mean the word. To you marriage meant what it would mean to me: to take care of Puppchen, to protect her; but this guy, he went through the ceremony, that much … that much and no more. I mean she was really telling the real truth, the heart of the truth, when she said she wasn't married to him.”

“The heart of the truth, Ernest?” The Ernest was the heart of the truth.

“It's what you were just saying yourself, Hanno.… For a different kind of girl, well, she could take it in her stride, Hanno. But Puppchen—”

He looked at Puppchen. She didn't even nod to agree with Ernest's explanation. It was as if she didn't, couldn't be expected to, know the truth about herself, as if someone had to interpret her.

“Then you asked her to marry you, Hanno. She wanted you, she needed you. By that time, her so-called husband had gone off on some wild Number-Four road-company world tour. His career, Hanno, his precious career; you know that type. You with your career … what you are … would you have left her in a lurch? But he did just that. She would fend for herself. She must fend for herself. Well, she couldn't. You know she couldn't.

“So she didn't tell you. She went straight to her lawyers. The poor kid thought she could get a divorce overnight, I guess. It could be—you know—arranged.”

“Yes.”

“Those lawyers haven't even been able to get to him.”

Puppchen said, “I was going to tell you. As soon as they got the divorce, we'd have been married again, Hanno.” She peeped out of herself, then hid again. “Oh, you're angry with me.” She turned to Ernest. “He's angry with me.”

The Ernest shook his head at her quietly, smiled reassuringly, coaxing her. The Ernest smiled at him.

“You're not angry, are you, Hanno? It was instinctive. She just acted instinctively to protect herself.” He rubbed his palms down his trouser legs and with his hands, which he had wiped before he would touch her, made her get up and led her to the bed.

She stood there, peeping out, ready to retreat. He reached for her hand. It was icy. He rubbed her hand gently. “I'm not angry. But it was very foolish, Puppchen.”

She flashed a real smile. “
Very
foolish!”

He was holding her left hand, with the wedding band. “So we've been living in sin, Puppchen.” He turned the band on her finger and remembered what was engraved inside. “It's all right, my darling.” It was so wonderful to see those gates in her eyes open, so that she could come out. He found himself explaining to the Ernest, as if the Ernest had not just explained to him. “One might as well be angry with a drowning person who grabs you to save herself. Instinctively one grabs to save oneself. How could Puppchen have helped grabbing at me? Who else was there to help her?”

“You see?” Ernest asked Puppchen. “Didn't I tell you?”

“Ernest told me, Hanno. He said once you knew you Would understand that I had to go away.”

He had forgotten about that. “Yes.”

Ernest said quickly, “She'll stay if you tell her to.”

Did Ernest need to interpret Puppchen for him? “Of course, she will if I tell her to, but I cannot tell her to. No. Go. Go,” he said, as if he wanted her to fly out the window.

“Then it's okay. All we needed was for you to say it was okay, Hanno. Her lawyer has arranged everything. He's really quite an operator. Mr. Clinton says that all you have to do is sign some kind of papers … I suppose that she isn't necessary to you as a witness … and then she can go.”

“What kind of witness would she be? She didn't even know what night it happened! No, I wanted her for a character witness. I mean, I wanted her character to be a witness for me. I wanted her to stand witness for her character, Ernest. A different thing entirely.”

“You'll have to waive something or other, Hanno.”

“Don't look at me like that, Puppchen, or I will be angry with you. Of course I will waive whatever is necessary. Don't look frightened again, Puppchen; of course I waive. I waive—I sign—I sign on all the dotted lines.” He said to Ernest, “Puppchen tells me Mr. Clinton is sending her to the South of France.”

Ernest said, “That's another thing, Hanno.”

“There can be more?”

“More. To me it seems the greatest piece of luck. We can go with her, Hanno, Mother and I.”

“Of course. You were going away. I'd forgotten that you didn't come to Bradley to be an angel in our distress, Ernest.”

“She can't go alone, Hanno. And a paid companion or something … I mean … really …”

Ernest had come to Bradley to say good-by before his trip. Ernest hadn't know why Anni came.

“I'll have just enough time to go with Puppchen and find her a good place and get somebody competent to look after her … competent and decent. Settle her in. See she's as okay as she can be under the circumstances, and then come back. I want to be here with you, Hanno. If it wasn't that I know your first thought is for Puppchen, I wouldn't move one step farther from you than they'll let me be.”

He said, “Thank you,
Kind
. And it is a fine idea to go with Anni and Puppchen.” He saw Ernest's face. “So what's stopping you?”

Ernest made a helpless gesture. “Mother won't see it.”

He said, “Oh. Anni.”

“Mother won't see it. I've talked my head off. My God, I've reminded her … sorry to bring this up, Puppchen … I've reminded her that less than six months ago, Puppchen tried to kill herself, that it would be—gee—criminal to let her go off alone when we can do this so easily, but she won't listen to me. I just don't get Mom in this.

“Hanno, I said to Mom, she'd done enough to you. It was what she thought right, but anyhow … It's like talking to a stone wall, Hanno.

“Hanno, will you talk to Mom? You tell her. When she hears from you that it would make you easier in your mind about Puppchen, anyhow … If you tell Mom you want Puppchen to go … Hanno, tell Puppchen. Isn't it true that usually just the hint that somebody needs help and Mom is raring to go?”

Puppchen turned her head away as if to hide her face. It was because he had told her that Ernest mustn't know about Anni. Ernest saw it also.

“Puppchen doesn't know Mother, but you do. You understand why she told them about … about it.”

“Let's not talk about this, Ernest.”

“But Hanno … In a crazy way, it was a gesture of faith. Hanno, Mom knew about that place. If she hadn't looked, it would have meant she believed you could kill. Yes, in a crazy way, I can see it. You can see it, too, can't you, Hanno? When the detective traced this fellow to Uncle Felix's house and then … no trace. No, if I'd been Mom, I would have investigated, too. I think so. I had this all out with myself last night. I couldn't look Mom in the face until I worked it out. If you blame Mom for that, you can blame me too, because she knew just as I'd have known that it couldn't be what it seemed.

“You think we were surprised when Mr. Starter telephoned and told us about how it happened? You think anyone in the world—anything … a hundred bodies—could make us think you were a murderer, Hanno? Mom did what she thought best. Mom did what she thought was right for you.”

He said, “Of course she did, Ernest.” He had no doubt that Anni had convinced herself that what she did was right. She had made herself believe each step she had taken was the right thing to do.

“You can line me up with Mom there, Hanno, but this is different, isn't it?”

“Yes,” he said, “different.” Anni different. Anni different since he married Puppchen. Changed from Anni into Cassandra. Cassandra-Anni had cried, “Woe! Woe!” and he had ignored her prophecy. Not the woman scorned, that had finished so long ago, had been over for years; a prophet scorned. There is no woman like a prophet scorned. He began to shake uncontrollably.

The bed shook. Puppchen moved away, frightened.

The Ernest had his wrist between his fingers.

He pulled his wrist away. “Nothing, Ernest.”

“This is some day for a post-pneumonia, Hanno!”

“Some day!” Someday, someday, oh, little Puppchen, when? His throat tightened and he was afraid he would begin to weep.

“Hanno, then you'll talk to Mom?”

His training eventually (it seemed so long) enabled him to relax his throat muscles, to speak like a man instead of a bawling fat boy. “I will talk to Anni.”

“She's back at the house. I made her go. She hasn't touched food since yesterday … and she was up at six to make you her chicken broth. Did she bring it, Hanno?”

He nodded.

“I sent her back to the house when I brought Puppchen. She promised to eat something.”

“Go bring Anni, Ernest.”

Puppchen's glance followed Ernest, then came back to Hanno.

“I will deal with Anni, Puppchen.”

“If she won't listen to you, Hanno, will you tell Ernest what you found out? Because he thinks she's so wonderful, Hanno … If he knew, he wouldn't listen to her the way he does.”

“Of course he listens. She is his mother, Puppchen.” He had to remind himself that “mother” meant nothing to Puppchen. How could she know what a mother did for a child so that he couldn't ignore her?

She said, “She's wicked! She's wicked!”

He did not want to see this strange face that went with “wicked.” “Forget, Puppchen. Forget Anni.” He made the furious face which was not Puppchen's for her, and then wiped it off with his hand. As usual, she obeyed his directions and cleared her face and he could feast his eyes on her shining eyes, the tranquil mouth with the tiny, almost complacent smile that came when she felt his love for her.