The Left-Handed Woman (2 page)
He understood her instantly, in his sleep.
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They
walked slowly down the path leading out of the park. Bruno had his arm around her. After a while he ran ahead and turned a somersault on the hard-frozen sod.
walked slowly down the path leading out of the park. Bruno had his arm around her. After a while he ran ahead and turned a somersault on the hard-frozen sod.
The woman stopped walking and shook her head. Bruno, who had gone on a little way, looked back questioningly. She said, “Nothing, nothing at all,” and again shook her head. She stood looking at Bruno, as though looking at him helped her to think. Then he came back to her. Turning away from him, she looked at the frost-covered trees and bushes, which were briefly shaken by the morning breeze.
The woman said, “I've had a strange idea. Well, not really an idea, more like anâillumination. But I don't want to talk about it. Let's go home now, Bruno. Quickly. I have to drive Stefan to school.”
Bruno stopped her. “Woe if you don't tell me.”
The woman: “Woe to you if I do tell you.”
Even as she spoke, she couldn't help laughing at the strange word they had used. The long look they exchanged was mocking at first, then nervous and frightened, and finally resigned.
Bruno: “All right. Out with it.”
The woman: “I suddenly had an illumination”âanother word she had to laugh atâ“that you were going away, that you were leaving me. Yes, that's it. Go away, Bruno. Leave me.”
After a while Bruno nodded slowly, raised his arms in a gesture of helplessness, and asked, “For good?”
The woman: “I don't know. All I know is that you'll go away and leave me.” They stood silent.
Bruno smiled and said, “Well, right now I'll go back
to the hotel and get myself a cup of hot coffee. And this afternoon I'll come and take my things.”
to the hotel and get myself a cup of hot coffee. And this afternoon I'll come and take my things.”
There was no malice in the woman's answerâonly thoughtful concern. “I'm sure you can move in with Franziska for the first few days. Her teacher friend has gone away.”
Bruno: “I'll think about it over my coffee.” He went back to the hotel.
In the long avenue leading out to the colony she took a hop step and suddenly started to run. At home she opened the curtains, switched on the record player, and started making dance movements even before the music began. The child appeared in his pajamas and asked, “What are you doing?”
The woman: “I think I'm depressed.” And then, “Dress yourself, Stefan. It's time for school. I'll be making your toast in the meantime.” She went to the hall mirror and said, “Christ ⦠Christ ⦠Christ.”
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It
was a bright winter morning; the mist, which was breaking up, shed an occasional slow snowflake. Outside the school the woman met her friend Franziska, who was also Stefan's teacher, a solidly built woman with short blond hair and a voice that made itself heard in the midst of any gathering, even when she wasn't raising it. She was always expressing opinions, less from conviction than for
fear that her conversation might otherwise be thought trivial.
was a bright winter morning; the mist, which was breaking up, shed an occasional slow snowflake. Outside the school the woman met her friend Franziska, who was also Stefan's teacher, a solidly built woman with short blond hair and a voice that made itself heard in the midst of any gathering, even when she wasn't raising it. She was always expressing opinions, less from conviction than for
fear that her conversation might otherwise be thought trivial.
The school bell had just begun to ring. Franziska greeted the child with a slap on the back and said to the woman as he vanished in the doorway, “I know all about it. Bruno phoned me right away. Do you know what I said to him? âAt last your Marianne has woken up.' Is that how you feel? Are you really serious?”
The woman: “I can't talk now, Franziska.”
The teacher started into the building and called back, “Meet me at the café after school. I'm so excited.”
The woman emerged from the dry cleaner's carrying bundles; stood in line at the butcher's; in the parking lot of the town supermarket stowed heavy plastic shopping bags in the back seat of her Volkswagen. Then, with still a bit of time to kill, she walked around the big, hilly park, past frozen ponds with a few ducks sliding about on them. She wanted to sit down somewhere, but the seats of all the benches had been removed for the winter. And so she stood looking at the cloudy sky. Some elderly people stopped near her, and they, too, looked at the sky.
She met Franziska at the café; the child sat beside her reading a comic book. Franziska pointed at the book and said, “That duck is the only comic-book character I tolerate in my class. I even encourage my pupils to read his sad adventures. They learn more about real life from this eternal victim than they could from anyone else in this homeowner's paradise, where all existence boils down to
imitating TV.” The woman and the child behind the comic book exchanged glances.
imitating TV.” The woman and the child behind the comic book exchanged glances.
Franziska: “And what will you do now that you're on your own?”
The woman: “Sit home biting my nails.”
Franziska: “No, seriously. Is there someone else?”
The woman only shook her head.
Franziska: “What will the two of you live on? Have you thought of that?”
The woman: “No. But I'd like to start translating again. At the publishing house where I used to work, they kept me busy with the foreign contracts. But when I left, the boss said I could do books. He's been making me offers ever since.”
Franziska: “Novels. Poems! Good God! I bet they'll pay you twenty marks a page. Maybe three marks an hour.”
The woman: “I believe it's fifteen marks a page.”
Franziska gazed at her. “I do wish you'd come to our group soon. You'll see. When we get together, every single one of us comes to life. And we don't exchange recipes! You have no idea how blissful women can be together.”
The woman: “I'll be glad to come sometime.”
Franziska: “Have you ever lived alone?”
When the woman shook her head again, Franziska said, “I have. And I despise it. I despise myself when I'm alone. Oh, by the way. Bruno will stay at my place for the
presentâunless you take him back this afternoon, which wouldn't surprise me. I still can't believe it all. But I'm delighted all the same, Marianne, and in some strange way I'm proud of you.”
presentâunless you take him back this afternoon, which wouldn't surprise me. I still can't believe it all. But I'm delighted all the same, Marianne, and in some strange way I'm proud of you.”
She drew the woman to her and embraced her. Then she gave the child, behind the comic book, a tap on the knee and asked, “How does moneybags fleece his poor relation this time?” Immersed in his reading, the child didn't react, and for a time no one spoke. Then the woman said, “Stefan always wants to be the rich oneâhe says he's the better man.”
Franziska raised her empty glass to her lips and went through the motions of drinking. She put the glass down and looked back and forth between woman and child. Little by little, her features softened. (That was Franziska's way. Sometimes, for no particular reason, she would suddenly melt into speechless tenderness and her face, relaxing, would take on a likeness to the faces of many other, very different womenâas though in this undirected tenderness she discovered herself.)
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At
home, in the hallway of the bungalow, the wall cupboards were open, and the woman was getting ready to pack Bruno's bags. The suitcases were on the floor in front of her, and when she opened one of them she found the child curled up inside; he jumped up and ran away.
From a second suitcase popped one of Stefan's friends, a rather fat little boy named Jürgen, who followed him out onto the terrace. There they pressed their faces against the window and stuck out their tongues, which instantly felt the sting of the ice-cold glass. On her knees in the hallway, the woman carefully folded Bruno's shirts. Then she dragged the suitcases into the living room, and left them there, all ready to be called for. When the bell rang, she hurried into the kitchen. Bruno walked in, and looked around like an intruder. He saw the suitcases, called his wife, and, pointing at them, said with a grin, “Have you taken my picture off the bedside table?”
home, in the hallway of the bungalow, the wall cupboards were open, and the woman was getting ready to pack Bruno's bags. The suitcases were on the floor in front of her, and when she opened one of them she found the child curled up inside; he jumped up and ran away.
From a second suitcase popped one of Stefan's friends, a rather fat little boy named Jürgen, who followed him out onto the terrace. There they pressed their faces against the window and stuck out their tongues, which instantly felt the sting of the ice-cold glass. On her knees in the hallway, the woman carefully folded Bruno's shirts. Then she dragged the suitcases into the living room, and left them there, all ready to be called for. When the bell rang, she hurried into the kitchen. Bruno walked in, and looked around like an intruder. He saw the suitcases, called his wife, and, pointing at them, said with a grin, “Have you taken my picture off the bedside table?”
They gave each other their hands.
He asked what Stefan was doing, and she motioned toward the big window, behind which the two children were silently making faces.
After a while Bruno said, “Isn't it strange what happened to us this morning? And neither of us was drunk. Now I feel rather silly. Don't you?”
The woman: “Yes, I suppose so. Well, no, not really.”
Bruno took the suitcases. “It's a good thing the office opens up again tomorrow ⦠. You've never lived alone.”
The woman: “So you've come from Franziska?” And then she said, “Don't you want to sit down?”
On his way out Bruno shook his head and said, “You take it so lightly ⦠. Do you even remember that there was once a closeness between us that may have been
based on the fact of our being man and wife but went far beyond it?”
based on the fact of our being man and wife but went far beyond it?”
The woman shut the door behind him and stood there. She heard the car driving off; she went to the coatrack beside the door and thrust her head in among the coats.
As the dusk deepened, the woman did not turn on the light but sat looking at the television screen. Their set had a special channel for watching the colony playground. The silent black-and-white image revealed her son balancing himself on a tree trunk, while his fat friend kept falling off; except for the two of them, the playground was forsaken. The woman's eyes glistened with tears.
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The
woman and the child took their supper alone in the living room. She had already finished and was watching the child, who guzzled and smacked his lips. Otherwise, it was very still, except now and then for the buzzing of the refrigerator in the kitchen, which was connected with the living room by a service hatch. There was a telephone at the woman's feet.
woman and the child took their supper alone in the living room. She had already finished and was watching the child, who guzzled and smacked his lips. Otherwise, it was very still, except now and then for the buzzing of the refrigerator in the kitchen, which was connected with the living room by a service hatch. There was a telephone at the woman's feet.
She asked Stefan if she should put him to bed. He answered, “I always put myself to bed.”
The woman: “Let me come with you at least.”
To the child's surprise she helped him into his pajamas. Then she tried to pick him up and put him into bed. He
resisted and climbed in by himself, whereupon she pulled up the blankets and tucked him in. He was holding a book, and pointed out a picture in it, showing high mountains in a bright light; jackdaws were flying about in the foreground. He read the legend under the picture aloud: “âMountain scene in the late fall: Even at this time of year the summits beckon if the weather cooperates.'” He asked her what it meant and she translated; it meant you could still go mountain-climbing in the late fall if the weather was good. She bent over him and he said, “You smell of onions.”
resisted and climbed in by himself, whereupon she pulled up the blankets and tucked him in. He was holding a book, and pointed out a picture in it, showing high mountains in a bright light; jackdaws were flying about in the foreground. He read the legend under the picture aloud: “âMountain scene in the late fall: Even at this time of year the summits beckon if the weather cooperates.'” He asked her what it meant and she translated; it meant you could still go mountain-climbing in the late fall if the weather was good. She bent over him and he said, “You smell of onions.”
Alone in the kitchen, the woman approached the garbage pail. She was holding the child's plate, which still had some food on it, and she had her foot on the pedal of the pail, so that the lid was already raised. Still bent over, she forked a few morsels into her mouth, chewed them, and tossed what was left into the pail. Then for a time she remained motionless in the same posture.
That night, lying on her back in bed, she opened her eyes wide. There was no sound to be heard but her breath against the bedclothes and a suspicion of her pounding heart. She went to the window and opened it, but the silence only gave way to a soft murmur. She carried her blanket into the child's room and lay down on the floor beside his bed.
One
morning some days later the woman sat typing in the living room. In an undertone she read what she had written: “âI am finally in a position to consider your repeated offers of translation from the French. Please let me know of your conditions. At the moment I should prefer nonfiction. I have a pleasant memory of my days in your office'”âto herself, she added “in spite of the sprained wrists I was always getting from typing all day” â“âand look forward to hearing from you.'”
morning some days later the woman sat typing in the living room. In an undertone she read what she had written: “âI am finally in a position to consider your repeated offers of translation from the French. Please let me know of your conditions. At the moment I should prefer nonfiction. I have a pleasant memory of my days in your office'”âto herself, she added “in spite of the sprained wrists I was always getting from typing all day” â“âand look forward to hearing from you.'”
She threw the letter in the mailbox beside the phone booth at the edge of the colony. When she turned away, Bruno was coming toward her. He seized her roughly by the arm, then looked around to see if anyone was watching. Up the road an elderly couple equipped for hikingâknickers, knapsacks, and walking sticksâhad turned around. Bruno pushed the woman into the phone booth. Then suddenly he apologized.
He gave her a long look. “Do we have to go on with this game, Marianne? I, for one, am sick of it.”
The woman replied, “Now, don't start talking about the child.”
He struck out, but the phone booth was too cramped, and he didn't really hit her. He raised his hands as though to bury his face in them, but let them drop. He said,
“Franziska thinks you don't know what you're doing. She says you have no inkling of the historical conditions that determine your conduct.” He laughed. “Do you know what she says you are? A private mystic. She's right. You are a mystic. Damn it, you're sick. I told Franziska a bit of electroshock would straighten you out.”
“Franziska thinks you don't know what you're doing. She says you have no inkling of the historical conditions that determine your conduct.” He laughed. “Do you know what she says you are? A private mystic. She's right. You are a mystic. Damn it, you're sick. I told Franziska a bit of electroshock would straighten you out.”
After a long silence the woman said, “Of course you can come and see us whenever you likeâon weekends, for instanceâand take Stefan to the zoo. Or the Historical Museum.”
Another silence. Suddenly Bruno produced a photograph of her, held it up, and then set fire to it with his lighter. She tried not to smile and looked at something else; then she smiled after all.
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