Parallel Stories: A Novel (132 page)

Surely he must have learned from someone what he was teaching her.

Or perhaps he too feared what the two of them would do together eventually.

Could he have learned things from dissolute women; but then he can’t possibly teach them to her.

Yet she was young enough—or, thanks to her flawless education, lacked enough practical experience and knowledge—to believe that she could tell her thoughts and doubts to someone, that these things could be talked about.

Like telling a story.

She came to have a secret hope that there might be a person with whom she could talk about such delicate matters—or anything else. She would talk it over with Karla. Slowly this notion evaporated. First she hadn’t formulated her questions. She did not get anywhere with that. The male nudes she had seen the day before, all of them ten feet tall or more, which Breker was making for the inner courtyard of the Reich Chancellery, depressed her so much she couldn’t have asked him anything. So this, then, is what a man is or would be like, she thought to herself as she looked at the sculptor, this man who occupied himself with these men who resembled one another and whom the sculptor resembled too. Her situation was complicated by the fact that she’d spent her entire childhood around stables and greenhouses; she was well versed in questions of animal breeding and plant cultivation, and knew almost everything about the reproduction of plants and animals and about their reproductive organs. She was truly interested in genetics, and it hurt her that Schuer considered her a silly woman. She hoped for a chance at lunch to show him that she knew about Mendelism. In the studio she had moved away from the group of women so that she wouldn’t have to stare at the monumental male nudes, which, by the way, did not differ from one another in the least. The experienced women she’d been with—Margret Speer, Maria von Below, and Magda Goebbels—were all married. She felt abandoned among them, and for a while she chose to look at the statues of horses decorating the fountain, but their rearing, too smoothly sculpted muscles failed to comfort her because they too seemed to be copies.

Guided by her physical desires and repugnance, she could well imagine the act of mating. It was clear that the world of plants and animals must have a structural connection with the human world, so there could be no great difference in the essence of the reproductive practices. But she persistently overimagined what propriety demanded that she underimagine. She could not correlate her wild adolescent ideas about reproduction with her own objectivity-seeking personality and with her upbringing built on appearances and formalities, just as it would have been hard to imagine Mihály Horthy without his impeccably tailored suits and neighing with pleasure like a horse.

They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled amiably.

Each smiled to herself, the two smiles unavoidably touched, and although the smiles meant something different for each of them, they could not know that. They felt that with their smiles they were stepping into a long-desired mutual space.

The really big question is, said the unflappable Baroness Thum, what am I going to wear for that luncheon.

I too thought about what it should be, a
deux-pièces
or possibly
trois-pièces.

I’d been counting on a nice quiet meal for the two of us—comfortable and easy.

And I have the greatest need to have a long conversation with you.

My sweet little one, I understand, I too was looking forward to it so much.

I’d like to ask your advice about so many things, answers to questions that really go beyond accepted propriety.

If I may put it that way.

Believe me, there’s no question I wouldn’t love to answer for you, provided I have an answer.

Hearing this reply, Imola’s heart began to beat harder; yes, in that case she could ask Karla, and she would too.

She did not know what.

But the tone of her voice alarmed the baroness a little. Good Lord, what does this ignorant little creature want from me.

In the absence of mutual trust, they again laughed.

Ever since our engagement, no, I don’t want to lie to you, from the mere announcement of our engagement, our life has been nothing but fulfillment of duties. As if I were being given a taste of what is waiting for me in the future when it comes to public appearances.

And on top of that, I’m also burdening you with my own heavy obligations.

These people’s problem is not that they are monsters, believe me, but I’d never have thought that so many wonderful people walk around with bad breath.

Come, come, let’s not exaggerate.

I can’t help longing for the good old days.

What good old days, you’re still a child practically.

When on a beautiful summer morning she innocently got out of bed, walked out on the terrace, down the sunny steps, and kept walking barefoot in the dewy grass.

I am truly sorry to rob you of your free hours.

Oh, don’t make it into a reproach, this is only a bit of complaining, who else may I complain to if not to you. I am full of complaints, and you may have an explanation for my constant state of irritation, but I feel I shall be happy, I can feel it, very happy and satisfied. Mihály is a wonderful man, believe me.

I do have one saving idea, if you don’t mind my mentioning it, said Baroness Thum, somewhat dampening the other woman’s enthusiasm, and at this moment they stopped by a low ivy-covered fence. You can have a migraine at any time for any reason, and you need not feel an obligation or duty about anything on my account. Erika is a simple soul, you should know she was born a Vierort and because of dear Otmar she has accustomed herself to all sorts of bad habits.

If I am a burden to you at this lunch, I’d just as soon stay away, of course.

How could you be a burden to me, on the contrary.

What kind of family are these Vierorts, tell me, asked the countess evasively—she was somewhat irritated—it seems I’ve not been well informed.

Nothing special, bourgeois, said the baroness in a tone indicating that while she understood someone might marry below his rank, to do so far from a natural act.

With her, I can make any excuse for you, no problem at all, she added.

A long moment passed during which no discernable feeling showed on Countess Auenberg’s symmetrical face. Perhaps the surprise made her indifferent, but what surprised her was not that Schuer had married below his rank, but that her friend was willing to play devious games to keep her away from this fetching man. Imola could have continued her earlier thought by saying that she kept walking in the dewy grass until she reached the tiny lake hidden among old willows where, blinded by morning light, she had caught sight of Karla in the water up to her thighs. She had arrived only the day before, in the afternoon, but her dubious reputation had preceded her by years.

The Auenberg girls were dying to see this fallen woman at last, related to the Wolkensteins on the Tyrolean branch of the family, whose illegitimate child, only a few weeks after its birth and with the mediation of the girls’ stepmother, was placed with a wet nurse in a village on their estate in Fánt. They wanted to see the innocent baby as soon as possible. At supper the evening before, however, the fallen female relative had disappointed and surprised them. She was everything but a jolly debauched female. A serious, severely beautiful, not too well dressed student, pale from the difficulties in seeing her baby again, on whom nothing could be seen of a fast life. Still, for long minutes, standing in the lake, she seemed quite unlike her well-behaved self of the previous evening; and she did not notice the young girl spying on her. With her arms held out tautly, she was slapping the surface of the water around her like a child. Yet she was stark naked under the open sky where any of the servants or the gardener could have surprised her; she was so deeply immersed in herself that she seemed unaware of her brilliant nakedness.

Which, at the castle of Fánt, was not an imaginable thing.

To strip naked.

The Auenberg girls were given baths separately; the strict morals with which they were being raised forbade them to see not only other people without their clothes but also one another and, if possible, even themselves.

They begged their stepmother in vain to take their carriage and ride over to see the unfortunate little boy.

We are receiving Karla with sisterly love, their stepmother instructed them, she may come to us anytime she wishes to visit her little boy. To judge her way of life or to forgive her sins is not our business, but we are not bound socially to her illegitimate child.

This severity pained Imola no less than did thinking about her own mother, whom she could not, despite all her efforts, cast out of her heart. Sometimes she thought of the accursed little boy so she could tell herself it was his suffering that hurt her so much and not the yawning absence of her own mother. And Karla’s severely beautiful nakedness enthralled her for a lifetime; her sun-illuminated hair pinned up high on her head, the rich, dark pubic hair on the mound of her modesty so bright in the light reflected from the lake’s surface.

To this day, it was enough to gaze at her blondness, winding and twisting in myriad strands on her magically cambered high, strong forehead to remember her mound of Venus.

Actually, what on earth do you want of me, she suddenly cried, stifling her temper so forcefully that the demand sounded more like a plea. They could both hear the quiet street filling up with her voice, and they both disapproved of it. What reached her consciousness with a slight delay and surprised her was the kind of impossibility Karla was suggesting or, rather, demanding of her.

But the shouting did not ruffle the baroness.

I do, I do understand that you can’t give up even this invitation to lunch.

What do you mean, even this invitation.

Nothing, the way I see it, you cannot give up anything, and at your age that’s as it should be. At your age I couldn’t give up anything either. Even today, I can barely give up anything. A little feeling, a little love, today I hardly ask more than that from anyone, she said with a tense, constrained smile as she took out her key.

She could have said that she nevertheless needed the emotions denied her.

They had to take a few more steps to reach the garden gate.

Their footsteps made the only sound; the street was deserted.

But I’ve admitted it. How else can I put it—I’m terribly confused. I’m confused because of you, and I’m confused about my engagement. What else may I confess to you. That’s just what I’m asking, Karla, what should I do, what should I do against my passion, said Imola, suddenly plaintive and conciliatory, her voice stimulating her emotions to the point where self-pity almost made her burst into tears.

Claiming to have a migraine, I’d only make myself ridiculous.

In their language, this meant that during this short time she had managed to fall head over heels in love with Baron von der Schuer, a ridiculous and disheartening development.

More precisely, this is how she was defending herself against Karla’s senseless attack. Karla was looking at her with genuine annoyance and a certain aversion—though her performance, in the psychological meaning of the word, was not senseless. She hadn’t really fallen head over heels in love with the man, yet she could not bear anyone keeping her from getting to know him more intimately. She wanted to see the peculiar similarity that linked him to Mihály, to the sculptor, or to all other men. At the sight of these grown men she almost fainted in little-girl astonishment. She did not understand a word of the situation. Which is why she so readily revealed her emotional vulnerability. This required great mental strength but it helped to jolt her temper to a new place. Her urge to weep was prompted by genuine, devastating fury. She was ready to hate Karla, and she did hate her for trying to keep her from doing something.

She simply had to see whether this man would be good for her.

Not that she needed anyone besides Mihály.

Whether he would fit her.

It was the same as when her domineering older sisters or enchanting stepmother discovered secret wishes of hers. Except that Mihály included all the others within him. Quickly, she had to confess her interest in another man, confess anything, so that she might stealthily reach her original goal.

Of course, my dear, one cannot do anything against oneself, the baroness said airily and opened the garden gate.

There stood before them, in the depth of the shady garden, a spacious, well-cared-for house built in the old German style, its walls covered with red and yellow climbing roses, with two large ground-floor terraces giving onto a thick green lawn. The overall impression was somewhat somber and uninviting.

Silence reigned within its walls.

In the basement, their lunch was waiting for them on the large stove in the dim kitchen; this Sunday, Baroness Thum’s housekeeper had gone on a full-day excursion with the League of German Girls, which she would not have wanted to miss for anything. Not only was she an enthusiastic and active member of the league but, as part of her secret commission, she was charged with keeping an eye on the baroness’s affairs. She had a secret key to the Chinese writing cabinet in which the baroness kept her antique
godemiché
. She had to report not only to Kaltenbrunner’s office but also to the office of Admiral Canaris, which monitored persons involved in militarily important scientific research.
*
For some time, the girl hadn’t understood what was in that serious-looking box; she kept returning to it, almost daily, to stare at it, scrutinize it, take it out and hold it in her palm. It couldn’t be that this pretty little something resembled that other thing, because she couldn’t imagine what use this mysterious something could be and for whom.

Maybe it was part of the baroness’s science.

Or a very valuable work of art, though it seemed useless.

Whenever the baroness was away for several days on some scientific mission, her housekeeper would take it down to her room in the basement and in the dark, carefully listening for any suspicious noise, very cautiously introduce the object, guiding it inside. Afterward, she would wipe it clean on the sheet and each time solemnly promise herself never to do it again.