“Come up! I was just going to the store. I can go later. Come up! You look so cold. It’s warm in my apartment.”
“Nein, nicht sofort. Erst möchte ich etwas mit dir anschauen.”
He took her around the corner, and there sat a shiny car, an American car.
“Was ist das? Was ist los, Hansi? Woher hast du dieses amerikanische Auto? Wo ist dein anderes Auto?”
He laughed, showing his big, healthy teeth. They were brown from cigarettes and coffee, but strong and thick. “Don’t you like it, Schatzi?” he asked, running his bare hand along the trunk. It was goldish yellow in color. Eva peered inside. The seats were also yellow, and made of leather.
Oh, to have her Hans call her Schatzi. Hugo never called her that—Hugo didn’t believe in terms of endearment. He thought they were belittling. They disagreed with his ideas of rightness. But Hansi wasn’t like that. He was her Hansi, and she was his Schatzi.
“Well, it is beautiful.” Eva said, timidly. Then she laughed. It was always something with her Hansi, always something new and strange. He was a mystery—she loved that about him. But she couldn’t help to ask how he was able to buy such a car. He had always had privileges, she knew, but this car was another level of decadence. “Sehr schön. Sehr sehr schön! How is it you can afford such a thing?”
Hans looked at her sharply. She had made a mistake. “That is none of your business, silly woman.” Although he smiled a fake smile, his eyes were mean, and he pinched her cheek too hard.
“Aua!” Eva said, and held her hand over her cheek. Without looking at him, she quietly apologized. “Entschuldigung, Hansi.”
“Geh,” he said. “Let’s go for a ride!”
They drove and drove, through the crowded streets of Berlin, Hans proudly showing off his car, classical music from the radio playing loudly. It was too loud for talking, the music, but that was okay with Eva. Hans wasn’t much of a talker. They often didn’t talk much. No, it was enough to be next to him. That was all she wanted, truly. To be next to him. In the car, in bed. But she didn’t much care for the music. She knew this made her seem uncultured. That, perhaps, it even made her a bad German, or a bad Austrian, that she didn’t care for Beethoven, or Mozart, or any of them, really. But with her Hansi next to her, even the music didn’t bother her.
“Shall we go out to the countryside? Drive on the Autobahn? Heh, Schatzi? Was würde dir gefallen?”
“I will nur bei dir sein,” she said. It was true. Tears were in her eyes. She didn’t care what they did. She just wanted to be by his side. And she wanted to ask him, where have you been for all these months? She wanted to ask him, how can you stand to be away from me for this long? She wanted to tell him that it robbed her of years of her life, when he didn’t show up for months and months like that.
“Okay, meine Schatzi. I’ll take you home.”
Eva’s heart began pounding. “Willst du mit mir hochkommen?”
“Ja, Liebchen. Ja.”
He made love to her fiercely. It had been so long since she’d had him, it felt like he broke her for the first time. She was bruised and sore, lying beside him. Her mouth was swollen and her teeth throbbed. She went to her sink and ran the water until it was hot and then wet a small towel so she could clean him off. She wiped his penis, his thighs. Then she rinsed it off again and wiped his neck and chest. He had grown fatter since she’d seen him, or so it seemed. It didn’t bother her—nothing about him could bother her—but she noticed it, noticed that he had been gone so long that he could change significantly. And yet all that mattered was that he still loved her. And to think she had doubted it! It was always like that, when her heart was filled with doubt, he showed up. She could never doubt him for long. No. He always came before she gave up all hope—she had never gotten totally hopeless. Despair, yes, that she had felt. Without any hope? No.
“Magst du einen Brandy?”
“Gerne.”
Eva went to her cupboard and took out the brandy. It was almost all gone. There was just enough for one small glass for Hans. She poured it out and then poured herself a Mineralwasser.
“Nimmst du selber keinen?”
“Nein, besser nicht,” she said.
He lay there, naked and ripe and warm. Eva had put on her bathrobe—she wished it were a nicer one, a newer one.
Hans stood abruptly. “Ach, was ist das. Sheisse!” He walked to her cupboard and took out the empty bottle. “Ach, Eva, I need to buy you some good brandy. This is Scheisse. Wirklich! Are you stupid? Trying to poison me?”
“Bitte, nicht! I’m sorry. It’s all I have. You’ve been gone for so long.” She hadn’t wanted to say it. To say anything whiny or needy. Hans didn’t like that.
“I’m getting dressed. We are going to get you some decent brandy,” he said, pouring the rest of his glass in the sink. “Get dressed,” he snapped and threw her dress at her.
Later that night, after he left, Eva opened the large bottle of brandy, carefully pulling off the paper, which she folded and saved in her drawer. It was fine brandy, from France. She poured some in a glass and watered it down with Mineralwasser. She looked in the small mirror in the bathroom. There was a small bruise on her cheek, and it was still tender. She touched it, fascinated. She had makeup that would cover it easily. She had just taken a shower and wore a new satin robe that he bought her at a department store. It had cost nearly forty
