Seven Years (4 page)

Rüdiger came out of the house carrying an enormous platter of meat, followed by his mother carrying a basket full of rolls. Sonia ran over to them and asked if she could help, and the three went back into the house. I imagined what it would be like, being here with Ivona. She would sit around stolidly, and not open her mouth, or just say bland things, like in the English Garden. I would feel ashamed by her, that was for sure. Even the notion of being alone with her by the lakeside had nothing really tempting about it. Ivona bored me, we had nothing to say to each other. It was only in bed that I liked being with her, when she lay there heavy and soft in her ugly clothes, and I felt completely free and uninhibited.

The buffet was ready. Rüdiger’s mother stood in front of it. She had her hand up shielding her eyes, looking into the sun and in my direction. She waved to me, and I went to her, and she greeted me with a faint kiss on the cheek. How nice of you to come, she said. I’ve missed you.

I didn’t know her well, but even the last time I was here, I’d been struck by her warm and easygoing nature. Don’t worry, she said, I’ll leave you to yourselves soon enough. Stay and eat with us, Mom, said Rüdiger. She laughed and shook her head. I’ll go to bed early. I just wanted to say hello to this young man here.

She asked me a couple of questions regarding my blueprint, and listened attentively when I told her about the revised version I’d begun, and made a couple of remarks that I thought made a lot of sense. Why don’t you do mine for me, said Rüdiger. Rüdiger’s mother said she had studied art history. She had always had a soft spot for architecture. Back then after the war, so many heinous things had been perpetrated. Then she went back inside, and Rüdiger called the others and put steaks and sausages on the grill.

We were a small group, just over a dozen men and women. Half of us had studied with Rüdiger, Alice and one of her friends were attending the conservatory, one of Rüdiger’s friends was just embarking on a career in the diplomatic service. There was Birgit, a med student, who shared an apartment with Sonia and another woman. I had seen her once or twice when I’d visited Sonia, but never exchanged more than a few words with her. A few of the guests I didn’t know at all. One of them was a veterinarian, there was something agricultural about him, he didn’t speak much and put away astonishing quantities of meat.

Rüdiger had drawn up a seating chart, and pointed us to our chairs. Obviously he’d been sure I would come. I was between Sonia and a woman I didn’t know. Ferdy and Alice sat at the other end of the table. When I ran into Ferdy at the buffet, he seemed to think he owed me an explanation. You’re not mad at me, are you?, he said. I shook my head and looked astonished. Why should I be? I’m glad she’s in good hands. He grinned and raised his hands, and waggled his fingers. How’s your little Polska chick? I pretended not to know what he was talking about. Did you have your foul way with her? I said I didn’t know what he meant, and went back to my seat. Ferdy’s remark had spoiled my mood. Everything felt artificial to me, the conversations of the others bored me, their big ideas, Ferdy’s bullshit about Deconstructivism and the suppressed impurity of form. He had always been better at talking than drawing, and he changed his idols like other people changed their shirts. One day Gehry was the greatest, the next it was Libeskind or Koolhaas. His drafts changed accordingly, they had no individual idiom, they were tame, popularized versions of others’ great ideas. He was bound to be successful, and make a lot of money running up second-class buildings in medium-sized cities, which his employers would take for great architecture.

Sonia started to argue with him. She worshipped Le Corbusier and loathed Deconstructivism. She talked about machines for living, and social function zones. Her naive love of the lower class must have something to do with her bourgeois background, I said. I saw that I’d offended her, but I didn’t care. Rüdiger took little part in the discussion. He was probably the most gifted, certainly the most imaginative among us, only he could have failed so spectacularly. His ideas were striking and completely original, but he didn’t have the energy to think them through, or if he did, he was so sloppy that the teachers couldn’t be blamed for giving him bad grades. Even so, they all respected him. He had “potential.” Whenever there was talk of Rüdiger, you heard that. He listened to us and then made some comment that none of us understood. He tried to explain it, and made even less sense, and then finally gave up with an enchanting smile. Then, apropos of nothing, Alice launched into an account of a concert she had gone to. Her self-promotion was even more pitiful than that of the others, she talked with a kind of artificial gush and showed off like a little girl. All the people she met were geniuses, all the books she read were masterpieces, all the music she heard or played was fantastic.

After a while I couldn’t stand any more of her nonsense, and I went down to the lake. On either side of the swimming spot were old trees, which looked like living beings in the flickering light of the torches. I could make out the lights on the opposite side, glinting and multiplying on the surfaces of the water. I lit a cigarette, and heard footsteps behind me. It was the veterinary med student. He was holding a sausage in one hand; with his mouth full, he said, we haven’t met yet, and held out his other hand. His name was Jakob. He had a strong regional accent, and said he was from some place in the Bayerischer Wald, called Oberkashof. Had I come across it? It wouldn’t be anywhere near Unterkashof, I asked, and he laughed deafeningly and smacked me on the back. You’ll do, he said. Then he started raving about Sonia, whom he called an attractive hussy. I don’t know how he got onto the subject of folkloric costume, and how he thought the dirndl was the perfect garment for the female body. It supported the bosom and emphasized the waist, and covered the less pleasing aspect of the hips. Imagine Sonia in a dirndl, he said lasciviously. I had to laugh. Suddenly he was talking about eunuchs. Early and late castrates, family eunuchoidism, reeds and silver tubes and Chinese castration chairs with slanted armrests. A eunuch’s physique was distorted by the absence of male hormones and the disrupted assimilation of protein. I said I would get myself something to drink.

When I passed the table, I heard Alice talking about the death of Karajan. He had managed to conduct one rehearsal of
Un ballo in maschera
, she said, her voice growing shrill. She shook her head and rolled her eyes like a lunatic.

Lass uns ihn gerettet sehen, ew’ger Gott!
O lass uns ihn, lass uns ihn gerettet sehn!
Er stirbt!—Er stirbt!—
O grauenvolle Nacht!
*

I took the subway back into the city with Sonia. As I said good-bye to Rüdiger, he had asked me about Ivona too. I motioned dismissively with my hand, that business was embarrassing to me, not least with Sonia standing next to me. On the train she started asking me about her. Wow, she said, with an ironic smile, a Polish girl, eh. It’s nothing, I said, Ferdy talked to her, and then we couldn’t get rid of her all evening. Poles are spirited women, said Sonia, you should watch yourself. You should see her, I said, she’s not attractive, she’s boring, she doesn’t talk, and if she does say something it’s just a platitude. Sonia looked at me in surprise. Don’t be so defensive. And anyway, she’s a devout Catholic, I added. The woman doesn’t interest me, is that so hard to understand? But you walked her home. That was politeness. The way you talk about her isn’t especially polite. I rolled my eyes. When women get sisterly with each other, it’s best not to say anything. Sonia didn’t speak for a while either. She seemed to be thinking. Then she said she was going to Marseilles the following week, to see Le Corbusier’s Cité Radieuse, and would I like to go with her. She was going to drive there, and we could stay with a friend of hers, a German painter who lived in the city, on account of the light.

I thought a couple of days off would do me good after the stresses of the exam, and the trip wouldn’t cost much. Maybe I would finally be able to shake off Ivona if I went. I wouldn’t have to be thinking about her all the time if I was with Sonia. Sure, I said, I’d like that. Even though it’s not my scene. Sonia laughed. I know you don’t like any other architect except yourself, that’s the presumption of genius. I looked at her with mock condescension. I knew she was making fun of me, but even so I liked it when she called me a genius.

We were going to leave on Monday. If we set off early, Sonia said, then we could do the drive in a day. So I just had Sunday to make my preparations. I got up early and went to the laundromat, which was in the basement of one of the buildings. When I stepped outside my house, I looked around. I was probably scared Ivona would get wind of my plans. I felt I was betraying her in getting ready to go on a trip with another girl. There was no one to be seen. I didn’t think Ivona knew where I lived. She was probably in church, busy praying for me. That threw me into a rage, and for a moment I thought of sending her a note telling her to leave me alone, and that I never wanted to see her again. But what could I hold against her? It wasn’t her doing that I had to think about her all the time, that she had some power over me, a thought that simultaneously fascinated and infuriated me. I was almost certain her hold would only last as long as she kept me at a distance. If I really wanted to get free I would have to sleep with her.

I put the laundry in a washer and slid in the coins. Back in the bungalow, it was baking hot. I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was in the sort of feverish mood I often got into when there was a trip ahead, and I couldn’t face doing anything, and could only sit around and wait. Maybe that was why I got further and further into something till I couldn’t think straight anymore.

I walked rapidly through the almost empty streets, where the heat bounced off the pavement and walls. I broke into a sweat, and the few sounds I heard reached me as though through a filter. The thought churned around and around in my brain, I’ve got to have her, I kept thinking, she wants it too, she’s waiting for me. Outside the student residence, I stood under the projecting shade of the roof for a moment. My T-shirt was sweated through, and I was out of breath from walking so fast. I could still turn back, I thought, and nothing would have changed. For one disembodied moment, time seemed to stand still, but it wasn’t hesitation, it was more the moment at the start of a race, a moment of maximum stillness and absolute concentration. Then I saw my finger press Ivona’s bell, and I imagined I could hear the shrill of it tearing the silence. A minute later, I saw Ivona through the glass door as she came downstairs. She was wearing a dark blue skirt and a white blouse, her church clothes, I guessed, her Sunday best. When she saw me, she paused for a moment, then hurriedly took the remaining steps and unlocked the door. I took her hand, and she stood there, twisting a little, something that would have been appropriate in a little girl but looked ridiculous when she did it. I followed her upstairs and into her room. I was still very calm, but Ivona must have sensed there was something amiss. She backed up toward the window, and I followed her. This time she didn’t turn to the bed, but stayed where she was. I started to unbutton her blouse. She placed her hands over mine, and held them, but I freed myself with a sudden movement. I took off her blouse and her skirt, slip and tights, which she wore in spite of the heat. At first she resisted a bit, but I was the stronger, and eventually she gave up any resistance. When I pulled down her panties, she said, no, but she stepped out of them, first one foot then the other. She stood there awkwardly, both feet on the floor, and trying to cover herself up, but I held her hands and knelt down in front of her, kissing her. Her white untouched flesh had something vegetable about it, the pleats in her skin which was thickly sown with moles, her black, crisp pubic hair. I was almost beside myself with lust. Then she turned around and took another step forward to the window, so that she could have been seen from the street. I got up and, while I quickly stripped, looked outside with her. There was no one in sight, no witness, I thought. Come, I said, and made to pull her over to the bed. Then she started crying. Her crying got more and more violent, until her whole body was cramped up and shaking. She collapsed into herself, and sat hunkered on the floor, still crying softly. It was as though I woke up. I sat down on the bed and stared at her. I remember something Aldo Rossi had said, that every room contains an abyss. The abyss was between me and Ivona. I stretched out my hand to hold her, and hold her to me, but she shrank back. She looked deep into my eyes, her expression was full of fear and sadness. I quickly got dressed and left.

*
Let us see him safe, Almighty God! / Let us see him safe and well! / He dies!—He dies!— / O dreadful night!

T
hat’s not a nice story, said Antje. Her voice sounded low and serious. I know, I said, and you’re the first person I’ve told it to. Why me?

Instead of taking the road via Traubing as I usually did, I drove along the lakefront, even though it was night, and there wasn’t much to see. There was a time I was bored by this landscape, but the longer I lived here, the more I saw its beauty. Sometimes, when Sonia was in bed already, I would go for a walk down to the Academy, and sit by the shore and think about my life, and how it could have been different. Then I would have the feeling it had all happened automatically, without any input from me, as though it had to be this way. I admired people like Antje who seemed to have their lives in their hands, and set themselves goals, and made decisions.

I parked outside the house, but Antje made no move. I don’t really feel like going in there with you, she said quietly. It’s almost twenty years ago, I said. You’re sitting here in your house, with your beautiful wife and your sweet little girl. Don’t you feel any shame? I haven’t gotten to the end of the story yet, I said. Well, I’ve heard enough for today, said Antje, and she climbed out.

I showed her to the guest bedroom, which was right beside the front door, and facing the office on the lower ground floor. Sonia had everything ready. There were towels laid out on the freshly made bed and flowers on the table by the window. She had even written a welcome card and propped it against the vase. Antje read it and set it down with a smile. Mathilda, our cat, walked in. Sophie had been pestering us for ages, and finally for her tenth birthday she was allowed to have the kitten her grandparents had promised her long before. But now, half a year later, her interest had let up noticeably, and we continually needed to remind her to look after her pet. Mathilda strolled through my legs and looked up at Antje, who was taking her toiletries from her overnight bag. You have your own bathroom, I said, here on the right. Will you remove the cat, please?, said Antje. I asked her if she didn’t like animals. I like wild animals, not pets.

I said good night and turned to leave. Wait, said Antje, and dropped onto her bed. You didn’t answer my question. Why tell me all this? We hardly know each other. Maybe that’s the reason, I said. Do you remember when you showed me your paintings back then? Antje made a doubtful face. You didn’t like them. Actually, no one liked them, not even me. You said I was too young for them, I said, but that wasn’t true. I recognized myself in your copulating chimeras. I felt trapped, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to see your pictures. Aren’t you making things a teeny bit simple for yourself?, asked Antje. You behave like a swine, and then you blame your inner beast. I’m not buying that. Maybe I thought, because you’re an artist, you’d understand, I said. Antje stopped to think. She had some understanding for craziness, but she couldn’t understand what I’d done. You had to be able to tell the difference between fiction and reality. Imagine someone doing that to your daughter. I said that wasn’t fair, Sophie was still a child. That’s not the point, said Antje.

Finally we said good night, and I went upstairs to Sophie’s room. The only light was from a small blue night-light, in which Sophie’s face looked very calm. While I gazed at her, she quickly furrowed her brow, and I wondered what was going on in her head, what she could have been dreaming about. Sometimes she came into our room, I would wake up for some reason to find her standing by our bed and staring at me with a frightened expression. When I sent her back she would say she’d had a bad dream. Then she would tell exotic stories about wild animals and wicked men, and sometimes great big destructive machines, and I would tell her to try and think of something else, something pretty. I can’t, she would say.

I went into the bathroom and got changed. When I lay down, Sonia woke briefly, gave me a kiss, and went straight back to sleep. I thought of the pictures I’d taken of her asleep, and that she’d seen later. That was the first time we’d kissed, on that little island in front of the port at Marseilles. It all seemed terribly long ago.