The Berlin Stories (31 page)

The afternoon Sally came to tea with me, Frl. Schroeder was beside herself with excitement. She put on her best dress for the occasion and waved her hair. When the doorbell rang, she threw open the door with a flourish: “Herr Issyvoo,” she announced, winking knowingly at me and speaking very loud, “there’s a lady to see you!”

I then formally introduced Sally and Frl. Schroeder to each other. Frl. Schroeder was overflowing with politeness: she addressed Sally repeatedly as “Gnädiges Fräulein.” Sally, with her page-boy cap stuck over one ear, laughed her silvery laugh and sat down elegantly on the sofa. Frl. Schroeder hovered about her in unfeigned admiration and amazement. She had evidently never seen anyone like Sally before. When she brought in the tea there were, in place of the usual little chunks of pale unappetising pastry, a plateful of jam tarts arranged in the shape of a star. I noticed also that Frl. Schroeder had provided us with two tiny paper serviettes, perforated at the edges to resemble lace. (When, later, I complimented her on these preparations, she told me that she had always used the serviettes when the Herr Rittmeister had had his fiancée to tea. “Oh, yes, Herr Issyvoo. You can depend on me! I know what pleases a young lady!”)

“Do you mind if I lie down on your sofa, darling?” Sally asked, as soon as we were alone.

“No, of course not.”

Sally pulled off her cap, swung her little velvet shoes up on to the sofa, opened her bag and began powdering: “I’m most terribly tired. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I’ve got a marvellous new lover.”

I began to put out the tea. Sally gave me a sidelong glance: “Do I shock you when I talk like that, Christopher darling?”

“Not in the least.”

“But you don’t like it?”

“It’s no business of mine.” I handed her the tea-glass.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” cried Sally, “don’t start being English! Of course it’s your business what you think!”

“Well then, if you want to know, it rather bores me.”

This annoyed her even more than I had intended. Her tone changed: she said coldly: “I thought you’d understand.” She sighed: “But I forgot—you’re a man.”

“I’m sorry, Sally. I can’t help being a man, of course… But please don’t be angry with me. I only meant that when you talk like that it’s really just nervousness. You’re naturally rather shy with strangers, I think: so you’ve got into this trick of trying to bounce them into approving or disapproving of you, violently. I know, because I try it myself, sometimes… Only I wish you wouldn’t try it on me, because it just doesn’t work and it only makes me feel embarrassed. If you go to bed with every single man in Berlin and come and tell me about it each time, you still won’t convince me that you’re La Dame aux Camélias—because, really and truly, you know, you aren’t.”

“No… I suppose I’m not—” Sally’s voice was carefully impersonal. She was beginning to enjoy this conversation. I had succeed in flattering her in some new way: “Then what am I, exactly, Christopher darling?”

“You’re the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Jackson-Bowles.”

Sally sipped her tea: “Yes… I think I see what you mean… Perhaps you’re right… Then you think I ought to give up having lovers altogether?”

“Certainly I don’t. As long as you’re sure you’re really enjoying yourself.”

“Of course,” said Sally gravely, after a pause, “I’d never let love interfere with my work. Work comes before everything.

… But I don’t believe that a woman can be a great actress who hasn’t had any love-affairs—” she broke off suddenly: “What are you laughing at, Chris?”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re always laughing at me. Do you think I’m the most ghastly idiot?”

“No, Sally. I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. It’s quite true, I was laughing. People I like often make me want to laugh at them. I don’t know why.”

“Then you do like me, Christopher darling?”

“Yes, of course 1 like you, Sally. What did you think?”

“But you’re not in love with me, are you?”

“No. I’m not in love with you.”

“I’m awfully glad, I’ve wanted you to like me ever since we first met. But I’m glad you’re not in love with me, because, somehow, I couldn’t possibly be in love with you—so, if you had been, everything would have been spoilt.”

“Well then, that’s very lucky, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very…” Sally hesitated. “There’s something I want to confess to you, Chris darling… I’m not sure if you’ll understand or not.”

“Remember, I’m only a man, Sally.”

Sally laughed: “It’s the most idiotic little thing. But somehow, I’d hate it if you found out without my telling you… You know, the other day, you said Fritz had told you my mother was French?”

‘Tes, I remember.”

“And I said he must have invented it? Well, he hadn’t… You see, I’d told him she was.”

“But why on earth did you do that?”

We both began to laugh. “Goodness knows,” said Sally. “I suppose I wanted to impress him.”

“But what is there impressive in having a French mother?”

“I’m a bit mad like that sometimes, Chris. You must be patient with me.”

“All right, Sally, I’ll be patient.”

“And you’ll swear on your honour not to tell Fritz?”

“I swear.”

“If you do, you swine,” exclaimed Sally, laughing and picking up the paper-knife dagger from my writing-table, “I’ll cut your throat!”

Afterwards, I asked Frl. Schroeder what she’d thought of Sally. She was in raptures: “Like a picture, Herr Issyvoo! And so elegant: such beautiful hands and feet! One can see that she belongs to the very best society… You know, Herr Issyvoo, I should never have expected you to have a lady friend like that! You always seem so quiet….”

“Ah, well, Frl. Schroeder, it’s often the quiet ones—”

She went off into her little scream of laughter, swaying backwards and forwards on her short legs: “Quite right, Herr Issyvoo! Quite right!”

On New Year’s Eve, Sally came to live at Frl. Schroeder’s.

It had all been arranged at the last moment. Sally, her suspicions sharpened by my repeated warnings, had caught out Frau Karpf in a particularly gross and clumsy piece of swindling. So she had hardened her heart and given notice. She was to have Frl. Kost’s old room. Frl. Schroeder was, of course, enchanted.

We all had our Sylvester Abend dinner at home: Frl. Schroeder, Frl. Mayr, Sally, Bobby, a mixer colleague from the Troika and myself. It was a great success. Bobby, already restored to favour, flirted daringly with Frl. Schroeder. Frl. Mayr and Sally, talking as one great artiste to another, discussed the possibilities of music-hall work in England. Sally told some really startling lies, which she obviously for the moment half-believed, about how she’d appeared at the Palladium and the London Coliseum. Frl. Mayr capped them with a story of how she’d been drawn through the streets of Munich in a carriage by excited students. From this point it did not take Sally long to persuade Frl. Mayr to sing Sennerin Abschied von der Alm, which, after claret cup and a bottle of very inexpensive cognac, so exactly suited my mood that I shed a few tears. We all joined in the repeats and the final, ear-splitting Juch-he! Then Sally sang “I’ve got those Little Boy Blues” with so much expression that Bobby’s mixer colleague, taking it personally, seized her round the waist and had to be restrained by Bobby, who reminded him firmly that it was time to be getting along to business.

Sally and I went with them to the Troika, where we met Fritz. With him was Klaus Linke, the young pianist who used to accompany Sally when she sang at the Lady Windermere. Later, Fritz and I went off alone. Fritz seemed rather depressed: he wouldn’t tell me why. Some girls did classical figure-tableaux behind gauze. And then there was a big dancing-hall with telephones on the tables. We had the usual kind of conversations: “Pardon me, Madame, I feel sure from your voice that you’re a fascinating little blonde with long black eyelashes—just my type. How did I know? Aha, that’s my secret! Yes—quite right: I’m tall, dark, broad-shouldered, military appearance, and the tiniest little moustache… You don’t believe me? Then come and see for yourself!” The couples were dancing with hands on each other’s hips, yelling in each other’s faces, streaming with sweat. An orchestra in Bavarian costume whooped and drank and perspired beer. The place stank like a zoo. After this, I think I strayed off alone and wandered for hours and hours through a jungle of paper streamers. Next morning, when I woke, the bed was full of them.

I had been up and dressed for some time when Sally returned home. She came straight into my room, looking tired but very pleased with herself.

“Hullo, darling! What time is it?”

“Nearly lunch-time.”

“I say, is it really? How marvellous! I’m practically starving. I’ve had nothing for breakfast but a cup of coffee….” She paused expectantly, waiting for my next question.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“But, darling,” Sally opened her eyes very wide in affected surprise: “I thought you knew!”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“Nonsense!”

“Really I haven’t, Sally.”

“Oh, Christopher darling, how can you be such a liar! Why, it was obvious that you’d planned the whole thing! The way you got rid of Fritz—he looked so cross! Klaus and I nearly died of laughing.”

All the same, she wasn’t quite at her ease. For the first time, I saw her blush.

“Have you got a cigarette, Chris?”

I gave her one and lit the match. She blew out a long cloud of smoke and walked slowly to the window: “I’m most terribly in love with him.”

She turned, frowning slightly; crossed to the sofa and curled herself up carefully, arranging her hands and feet: “At least, I think I am,” she added.

I allowed a respectful pause to elapse before asking: “And is Klaus in love with you?”

“He absolutely adores me.” Sally was very serious indeed. She smoked for several minutes: “He says he fell in love with me the first time we met, at the Lady Windermere. But as long as we were working together, he didn’t dare to say anything. He was afraid it might put me off my singing… He says that, before he met me, he’d no idea what a marvellously beautiful thing a woman’s body is. He’s only had about three women before, in his life…”

I lit a cigarette.

“Of course, Chris, I don’t suppose you really understand… It’s awfully hard to explain….”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I’m seeing him again at four o’clock.” Sally’s tone was slightly defiant.

“In that case, you’d better get some sleep. I’ll ask Frl.

Schroeder to scramble you some eggs; or I’ll do them myself if she’s still too drunk. You get into bed. You can eat them there.”

“Thanks, Chris darling. You are an angel.” Sally yawned. “What on earth I should do without you, I don’t know.”

After this, Sally and Klaus saw each other every day. They generally met at our house; and, once, Klaus stayed the whole night. Frl. Schroeder didn’t say much to me about it, but I could see that she was rather shocked. Not that she disapproved of Klaus: she thought him very attractive. But she regarded Sally as my property, and it shocked her to see me standing so tamely to one side. I am sure, however, that if I hadn’t known about the affair, and if Sally had really been deceiving me, Frl. Schroeder would have assisted at the conspiracy with the greatest relish.

Meanwhile, Klaus and I were a little shy of each other. When we happened to meet on the stairs, we bowed coldly, like enemies.

About the middle of January, Klaus left suddenly, for England. Quite unexpectedly he had got the offer of a very good job, synchronising music for the films. The afternoon he came to say goodbye there was a positively surgical atmosphere in the flat, as though Sally were undergoing a dangerous operation. Frl. Schroeder and Frl. Mayr sat in the living-room and laid cards. The results, Frl. Schroeder later assured me, couldn’t have been better. The eight of clubs had appeared three times in a favourable conjunction.

Sally spent the whole of the next day curled up on the sofa in her room, with pencil and paper on her lap. She was writing poems. She wouldn’t let me see them. She smoked cigarette after cigarette, and mixed Prairie Oysters, but refused to eat more than a few mouthfuls of Frl. Schroeder’s omelette.

“Can’t I bring you something in, Sally?”

“No thanks, Chris darling. I just don’t want to eat anything at all. I feel all marvellous and ethereal, as if I was a kind of most wonderful saint, or something. You’ve no idea how glorious it feels… Have a chocolate, darling? Klaus gave me three boxes. If I eat any more, I shall be sick.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t suppose I shall ever marry him. It would ruin our careers. You see, Christopher, he adores me so terribly that it wouldn’t be good for him to always have me hanging about.”

“You might marry after you’re both famous.”

Sally considered this: “No… That would spoil everything. We should be trying all the time to live up to our old selves, if you know what I mean. And we should both be different… He was so marvellously primitive: just like a faun. He made me feel like a most marvellous nymph, or something, miles away from anywhere, in the middle of the forest.”

The first letter from Klaus duly arrived. We had all been anxiously awaiting it; and Frl. Schroeder woke me up specially early to tell me that it had come. Perhaps she was afraid that she would never get a chance of reading it herself and relied on me to tell her the contents. If so, her fears were groundless. Sally not only showed the letter to Frl. Schroeder, Frl. Mayr, Bobby and myself, she even read selections from it aloud in the presence of the porter’s wife, who had come up to collect the rent.