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24

R
enate’s appointment the next day was at 10
A.M.
Luisa had ordered a taxi. She was to accompany Renate, of course, and had already spoken to the girls in the workroom, told them of the delicate condition of Renate’s eye, and made sure they had their work laid out for the morning. At that time, a little after eight, Renate was resting.

The girls were rather surprised.

“Did she have a fall?” Vera asked.

“No, it just came on suddenly—Saturday night,” Luisa answered.

Renate had created a patch for her eye out of folded dark cloth and an elastic cord. Luisa sat in a corner of the examining room which had charts on the wall and various lamps as well as a chair like a dentist’s.

“Flashing lights,” Renate said, “white and some pinkish. Naturally, this causes some blurred vision.” Her tone was sharp, as if to order the doctor to see it her way.

In silence, Dr. Widmer examined the eye from all angles. Finally, he said, “I don’t see any sign of retinal damage. No damaged blood vessels. Do you see anything like a veil obstructing your—”

“Yes! It’s grayish. I had a shock, you see—a stranger standing in a room of my apartment. I felt that something burst behind my eye.”

“Somebody broke in?” asked the doctor, attentive.

“A friend of one of my apprentice girls. But it was after midnight—when I opened the door and—”

“But a friend,” said the doctor.

“Yes, but I’m talking about the shock.”

Dr. Widmer advised resting the eye, thought the covering a good idea, and gave her something easier to wear. Drops now, when Renate’s chair was reclined to horizontal. She was to take the little bottle with her. Two drops twice a day; he would see her in two days’ time, or if there was improvement, there might be no need for her to come again.

Luisa sensed that Renate was disappointed at this. She had murmured something at home about “hospital rest.”

At home, instead of resting, Renate at once went to check on the workroom, wearing her new black patch which looked like an item from a pirate’s costume. Renate made light of her trouble now, and cut an imposing figure as she inspected work-in-progress, and checked an autumn coat in Vera’s charge, which had to be finished by Wednesday morning: the client was coming. This was Frau Loser of Kuesnacht, for whom Renate always had to make out two bills, one the real bill, the second for Frau Loser to show her husband.

Renate even examined the kitchen floor—the girls had had their midmorning coffee and cake—and asked Luisa in a brusque way to give it another sweeping.

The worst was dinner that evening. They were to have lamb chops, two smallish ones each, baked potato, and salad. Often they cooked together, but now all was for Luisa to do, including the table-setting (the bridge table in the TV sitting room, more elegant than the kitchen), while Renate watched the TV, now back in the sitting room, or did some one-eyed reading of the newspapers.

Renate waited until they were seated, glasses of wine poured, the first silent bites consumed, then said, “Luisa, you may consider yourself no longer obliged to take your meals with me. I admit—I confess—I can’t bring myself to treat as normal what I saw Saturday night—or what that will lead to.” Despite the vagueness of her words, Renate spoke as if she had a hardened conviction of what she was saying, and would never be budged on it.

“I—” At a loss, Luisa shrugged. “Dorrie asked if she could see my room. What’s wrong with that?”

“You know the people she associates with—homos, lesbians—because she’s one herself.” Renate forked a lamb morsel into her mouth. “You think I want girls in my establishment friendly with such people? I do not!”

Luisa chose her words. “It seems to me people can have all kinds of
friends
. Rickie has become a friend. And you’re mistaken about Teddie, who’s not a homo.”

Renate twitched. “Worse—the two-faced kind. Bisexual—dangerous and dishonest.” Her uncovered eye bored into Luisa’s face.

Luisa gathered herself, making sure her knife and fork were secure on her plate, then rose with her plate and wine glass. “Since I am not obliged to share the same table—” Luisa carried these items to the kitchen. She drew up a chair, no longer hungry, but she was able to eat the rest and intended to.

Tonight she’d try to get out—for half an hour anyway.

Renate clumped up the hall, clump, scrape, clump, scrape, and appeared in the doorway, looking angry enough to give her other eye a rupture. “If you are thinking of going out tonight to see your sordid friends—go ahead. But you will not get back in.”

Luisa did not answer, only stared back at Renate.

“Good night. And wash the dishes before you go to bed.”

Luisa’s mind spun. The nearest telephone was L’Eclair. Was her post going to be safe? Well, yes, Luisa could get there first (downstairs), unless Renate went down earlier and waited for the postman at eight-thirty or nine.

She tidied the kitchen, while Renate watched a program that they usually looked at together. As she was pulling the rubbish bag up to tie it for removal, a thought struck her: if she tried to quit Renate’s employ, Renate could give her bad references.

But as yet the idea of leaving Renate was shocking. Nearly a year she’d been with Renate, who had befriended her, given her room and board (provided them for a modest sum, anyway), who had instructed her and encouraged her almost as if she were Renate’s own daughter. It was impossible to imagine that all that could be swept away, overnight. It simply didn’t make sense.

She took a second shower before she went to bed. She had found herself stinking from anxiety and fear, something she hadn’t known since running away from her family, when she had ended up in the Zurich railway station, full of strangers who looked at her directly, some hostilely, men and women too, and she had been scared, sensing odd and dangerous thoughts running through their heads.

She was in bed before eleven, reading a biography of Chopin, an old hardback from Renate’s bedroom shelves. Yesterday it had been interesting; tonight Chopin seemed unimportant. She got up and went to her table, and tore off a sheet of notepaper.

She wrote:

Dear Rickie,

Please tell Dorrie, also Teddie, that Renate is on the warpath and it is maybe impossible to phone and just as bad if they phone me. Maybe I said some of this, but things are worse. I’ll try to get this to you in Jakob’s tomorrow morning—else drop it in your postbox.

Love,
L.

R
ENATE HAGNAUER’S HOUSEHOLD
began to stir before seven, as usual. Renate and Luisa were on their feet, Luisa in the kitchen making coffee. Both had always liked to breakfast in their dressing gowns in the kitchen.

Now Renate came in with her eye patch in place, and said, “Would you bring my breakfast on a tray this morning, Luisa? I want to rest my eye as much as possible.”

Luisa prepared the usual, coffee with milk separate, sliced bread, butter, and strawberry jam this morning. After serving this, Luisa breakfasted alone in the kitchen.

It was almost a joy to ready the long worktable, definitely a joy to greet the smiling faces of Vera, dear Elsie, and Stefanie. Each asked Renate how she was faring, and had the doctor said what was the trouble?

Renate replied with an air of suffering. “I am sure I am better. No, no pain, thank you.”

Then came the nine-thirty break, always initiated by Renate and made definite by her departure from the house.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” said Renate coolly, when she and Luisa were in the apartment hall.

“Oh, but—well, I’d like to,” said Luisa. Up to now she had served as escort for Renate.

A first-floor tenant exclaimed at the sight of Renate. “Oh, Madame! What happened?”

“Nothing! Maybe a torn retina. Not—”

“Ach! Retina—”

Passersby on the street of course gave Renate a glance: here came the grim, one-eyed pirate Captain Kidd, and with a limp too, as if she had a wooden leg. Luisa repressed a smile.

Jakob’s, and Ursie at once spotted Renate from the bar. “Madame Renate! ’Morning! And what happened to your eye?”

“Nothing at all. A little strain,” replied Renate.

Luisa got a
Tages-Anzeiger
from the rack for Renate. They had just sat down, when Rickie and Lulu appeared in the doorway between the bar and the dining area.

Seeing them, Rickie bowed slightly, bowed again at the sight of Renate’s convex black patch. Renate wasn’t watching. There was no need for Renate and Luisa to order. Andy soon brought their espressos with cream. And Renate lit her cigarette.

“Something in the eye?” Andy asked with concern.

“No, just a little strain,” Renate replied with a tight smile.

Luisa’s right hand was in her pocket, her fingers on the folded note to Rickie. Couldn’t she just walk over and hand it to Rickie, maybe under pretense of a handshake? Or simply drop it on the table? Luisa nursed the last third of her cup. Renate was absorbed in the newspaper. Luisa eased herself along the bench.

“Back in a minute,” she said, though Renate had not lifted her eyes. She went slowly and directly toward Rickie, who at once looked at her.

“Sit down, sweetie,” he said.

“Brought you this.” Now with her back to Renate, she took her hand from her pocket and dropped the note by Rickie’s croissant plate.

“Ah, thank you. A love letter!” Rickie pocketed it. “Teddie phoned this morning. He would love to take you out Wednesday evening for dinner. He can pick you up at an exact time in a taxi.”

Luisa almost writhed. “I explained in my note—”

“Use my house as a meeting place!” he interrupted. “Think about it. I can arrange it.”

“Just tell him it’s tough. I don’t want to make a half-promise.” Luisa glanced over her shoulder, and found Renate’s eye fixed on her. Smoke curled from her mouth as if from the mouth of a dragon.

Renate was now busy counting out coins. She paid for Luisa as usual. They were silent, except for murmured good-byes to Andy and Ursie.

Slap, scrape, slap, scrape went Renate’s shoes. She did better with a cane, had an elegant black one at home, but detested carrying it, Luisa knew.

“I saw you passing a message to that Rickie this morning,” Renate said in a staccato monotone.

“Yes. I don’t think you like me phoning him from the house, otherwise I would.”

“You’ll make my eye worse if you keep up this nonsense!” She slowed and touched the eye patch delicately. “I can feel it throbbing.”

Luisa said with deliberate calmness, “I don’t know what you’re angry about.”

“The degenerates you seem to prefer lately! What do you think I’m angry about?”

A woman passing them in the opposite direction glanced at Renate with a surprised expression.

Luisa clenched her teeth, made herself stop. “Degenerate? Worse than that
Dorftrottel
Willi? You seem to like him all right and he lied about the French Foreign Legion. You must’ve heard it—that evening at the Wengers’. The police have his record.” Luisa had heard it from Rickie.

Since Renate couldn’t deny this, she chose to say nothing. By now they were climbing the front steps, Renate one at a time. She pulled from her handbag an impressive ring of keys, which she sometimes called a
trousseau
in the French manner.

Silence again.

Renate, after seeing that the work was going all right, took to her bed. This caused Luisa to have to rap on her door at noon, to ask if Renate wished her to bring a tray. Renate did: sardines on buttered toast with a piece of lemon, and a sliced tomato with oil and salt.

“And a small pot of tea, please.”

Luisa prepared this in the kitchen, where two girls were already at the table, eating the sandwiches they had brought from home. Stefanie’s school day was today, so she had not come to work.

“She’s really down, eh?” asked Vera.

“Something eating her?” Elsie whispered.

“I don’t know,” Luisa said, as if she were bored with Renate’s performance, which was true.

The next morning, Luisa jumped every time the telephone rang. The sitting room telephone had been moved into Renate’s bedroom, so she could handle business calls from her bed.

Elsie, just returning from the toilet, was close to the hall telephone when it rang around three that afternoon. “For you, Luisa. A fella,” she said with a wink.

Teddie, Luisa thought. “Hello?”

“Hi, Luisa! What about tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?” Teddie spoke in a rush. “I’ll be in a taxi and ring the bell, or you can be—”

“Just a minute,” Renate’s voice interrupted on the other phone. “Luisa is not . . .”

“Teddie, I’m sorry,” said Luisa, embarrassed. “You see it’s—”

“Or tomorrow night,” Renate’s voice continued. “She is under contract with me, and until . . .”

“Get off the line, Madame!” Teddie shouted. “Chris’sake, what an old bitch!”

“Enough!” That word came like a squawk, and Renate hung up with a clatter.

Luisa could hear the girls in the workroom whispering and tittering. “It’s sort of a crisis, Teddie—Rickie knows.”

“I talked with Rickie half an hour ago,” said Teddie. “Can you come to his apartment?”

“Got to sign off, Teddie. I’ll be here, you know.”

“Yeah, I
know
.”

Luisa hung up softly, hating to face the girls.

“Is he nice? He sounded nice,” Elsie whispered.

“
Luisa!
” That was from Renate.

Luisa went to Renate’s room.

Renate had a nosebleed, and Luisa had the feeling she had made the most of it by getting a stain on the top sheet. She wanted more paper tissues, though a goodly supply was within her reach.

“This absurd excitement!” said Renate with contempt.

Luisa was to make a pot of tea, bring a damp cloth—no, bring a clean top sheet for the bed, please. Meanwhile Renate muttered about rudeness. Luisa changed the top sheet while Renate lay with head back, though the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

It was another evening when Renate dined by herself, served by Luisa, and had the TV set for company, while Luisa tried to eat something in the kitchen. Luisa wanted to run out, to escape, and forever.