Rain Girl (17 page)

Again, brief hesitation on the other end. “Well, as far as I can tell she was too busy falling down and throwing up to really get a good look. Sorry.”

“OK,” Felix said. “I kind of expected that. Can’t help it, but thanks anyway. We’ll be there in a few minutes. I owe you one; I’ll let you win next time.”

The ambulance driver laughed, but Felix didn’t feel like laughing.

A man who didn’t want to be recognized? At this rest area of all places? He’d have Arthur look around for cigarette butts.

39

He left. She would be in good hands. He had done everything he could, but he had to take off.

40

She didn’t look as bad as he’d expected. She smiled bravely. “I’m sorry Felix,” she said. “I can’t explain right now. Maybe tomorrow.”

He took her home.

Max was in the garden tending the grill. Felix immediately felt hungry and checked the time. It was late, past his dinnertime, and he hadn’t even had lunch.

The men exchanged a jovial greeting. “Hungry?” Max asked. “There’s plenty. Here you go, catch!”

He tossed him a bottle of beer, which Felix caught skillfully and opened on the edge of a side table.

“I’m going to bed,” Franza said, surprised in some distant part of her brain that Max didn’t seem at all jealous of Felix, but she soon forgot about it again. “I have to sleep.”

She walked toward the house, feeling how exhaustion was turning her limbs to Play-Doh, like a doll without joints, and feeling Max’s and Felix’s eyes following her.

“This case,” she heard Max whispering, “it’s taking it out of you two, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Felix replied. “You could say that.”

She rested for a while on the bench by the door to the terrace. The food on the grill smelled divine. She felt how empty her stomach was, but she knew she still wouldn’t be able to eat a thing.

“Have you heard from Ben?”

Max shook his head. “She’s worried about her grown son,” he said, looking at Felix. “Because he’s on vacation, enjoying life and forgetting to call her.”

He laughed. “Just look out when your kids are grown-up!”

Oh, Max,
Franza thought, looking up,
you don’t know anything.
The sky above was still blue, but the sunlight was not so strong.

“Until tomorrow,” she said quietly to herself, stroking Winnie the Pooh in her bag.
How far,
she thought,
how far am I from going over the edge
?

In the shower, she tried to fill the gap in her memory. She didn’t know exactly how large it was, but she felt the echo of an enormous fright, like icy breath on the back of her neck. Then there was the voice she thought she’d heard before, a smell, the shadow of a man, his face close to hers yet unrecognizable through the fog she had fallen into.

In the end, she hadn’t died. In the end, she was back home, among all the familiar things that made up her life. They did not seem strange to her, even now when nothing else felt certain. It gave her a bit of hope that she could rely on some kind of permanence—there were symbols and rituals that stayed with her even when everything else was falling apart.

Out in the yard the men were talking soccer, predicting Sunday’s game would be a disaster. Felix talked about his toothache and how Angelika wouldn’t let him into bed if he ate too much garlic, and Max scolded him for not calling him sooner about the pain. Of course he’d fit him in the next day, whatever time suited him—and Angelika shouldn’t make such a fuss.

Through the skylight Franza could see the light changing as night approached. A plane was leaving a vapor trail in the sky, smooth and straight at first, then fanning out and disappearing in the deep blue of dusk as Franza slipped into a restless sleep.

Three hours later, when Felix tiptoed into his own bedroom, Angelika was fast asleep. He carefully sat down on the edge of their bed and looked at her for a long time. She woke up, grumbled unintelligibly, and then turned over and asked, “Where have you been all this time?” Then she went back to sleep.

Soon there’d be seven of them. He began to feel just a tiny bit excited about these little ones who’d inexplicably decided to come as twins. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “I’m here now.”

As he listened to Angelika’s regular breathing, he suddenly realized the pregnancy might have another positive.

Maybe, he hoped fervently, just maybe Angelika would finally agree to hire someone to help in the kitchen.

Just enough so that once or twice a week he’d get something edible, he thought, his excitement growing, maybe something scrumptious, something he could look forward to with every single taste bud.

Then I wouldn’t mind even another child, a sixth one if she wanted,
he thought.
I wouldn’t care
.

He knew it was disloyal, but he couldn’t help it. He loved her dearly, but her cooking was just awful.

The fancy, upscale meals she prepared every day spoiled his appetite before he even tried them. The meals were indefinable, but healthy, very healthy, she always assured him.

Thank God for Franza and the cookies she brought in every day. They gave him a satiated feeling, like Christmas all year round. It made his longing for his mother’s solid farm-cooked meals easier to bear.

He thought of her wistfully, of her roasts and dumplings, stews and puddings, and her cakes and pies. Even after he’d left for the university in Frankfurt she spoiled him. Her care packages were legendary, and he’d celebrated huge feasts with his fellow students.

He gently tapped Angelika’s belly, which was still as flat as a board, and asked for her forgiveness. He thought about how the world used to be big and he small, and how this had started to turn around sometime in the middle of his life.

Finally he stood up, undressed, and stepped into the cold shower. When he came back, Angelika had kicked off the sheets, and he covered her up again. “No!” she mumbled. “Don’t! It’s too hot.” When he tried to snuggle up to her romantically, she said it again.

He knew it was a punishment, and accepted it humbly. Then he dreamed of roast duck, haunches of venison, and delicious smells wafting through the air. Of paradise.

41

It had cooled down overnight, Franza noted with relief. She relaxed by the open terrace door— drinking coffee, enjoying the smell of rain and the fresh breeze coming through the door, and watching the rain form little streams on the tilted windowpanes.

The sound of the water reminded her of the brook from her childhood, which had sometimes overflowed its banks and flooded the house. She felt now as she had then, when they’d had to climb up onto tables. The grown-ups had carried them on their shoulders out of the familiar room, the familiar house. She felt like she was being carried away again, this time out of the familiarity of her life.

Her parents’ biggest worry used to be that she’d drown in the brook. They were fanatic about teaching her to swim. Was it happening now anyway? Would they all drown in the whirlpool of events that had swept over them so unexpectedly? Had all those swimming lessons been for naught?

Ben,
she thought,
where are you? What have you done?

Finally she went into his room to look for clues, for evidence. She didn’t look for long before she found the scribbled notes on the desk and in the wastepaper basket. With some effort, she managed to decipher them.

Marie in the streetcar,

Marie, the lovely.

Marie, the tiny.

Marie in the streetcar.

Only Marie has the key to my heart. Mouse rhymes with louse rhymes with Klaus.

The bit of apple peel stuck between her teeth would always be his way—

That’s all she was able to decipher, but she remembered that Ben’s language teachers had always thought he had talent.

42

Half past six. It was still early and time seemed to stand still. Max came in for breakfast, and she was surprised. “You’re up already?”

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a baffled look. “It’s Friday. I open the office at eight on Fridays, remember?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything—nothing about Ben, nothing about what happened the day before. She felt as though Max didn’t belong to her anymore; it was none of his business.

“I’m moving out,” she said. “I’ll look for an apartment in town.”

He was surprised, but he nodded and sat down next to her. They looked out to the garden, at the dripping bushes, listened to the wind and the rain.

“Why now?” he asked.

She didn’t know how to answer him. Everything was too complicated and mixed up: the dead girl, Ben, Max’s child in Sweden, the twins.

“Felix is becoming a father again,” she said. “Twins, believe it or not!”

He nodded. “Yes, I know, he told me last night. Why now?”

She wiped her forehead and her eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t answer that.”

“Then the best thing to do is to sell the house,” he said softly. “No point staying here on my own.”

“No,” she said, and turned around briskly. “When Ben comes back . . .”

“Nonsense!” he said. “Ben’s not coming back. Ben’s living his own life, haven’t you noticed? There’s a girl, and he wants to go to Berlin with her. Love of his life. He wants us to meet her.”

She froze. He’d known this all along?

“Yes,” he said. “Didn’t expect that, did you? Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I’m oblivious. We go to the sauna together from time to time, and sometimes he tells me things. Your son’s a grown-up.”

She nodded with the painful realization he was right.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” he said. She nodded again, stood up, and put her cup in the sink.

“There’s enough room for both of us here,” Max said. “You don’t have to go.”

She turned to look at him.

“Is it because of him?” he asked. “Do you even think he’ll stay in town? He can get engagements anywhere in Germany, and he’s not old enough not to want that.”

“How do you . . . ?” she began.

He shrugged. “As I said, just because I’m a man . . .”

He got up and hugged her. For a fleeting moment the feeling of their early days returned.