She prayed the prayers she knew so well and then prayed for Hans, for Maggie, for Elena, for Liezel and Fred. And for Hugo’s spirit. This was always a bit difficult, as Hugo was a Jew and an atheist, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pray for his soul. Lastly, she prayed for herself. “Dear Lord, My Christ and Savior, please let me be with Hansi. Please let him come visit me regularly. Please don’t take my Hans away from me. I know he is married. I know this is a sin, but it is the only thing in my life that brings me joy. Please don’t make it end. Bitteschön. Bitte, bitte, bitteschön.”
It was dark by the time she left. She wanted to stop by Elena’s, even though she had forgotten to call beforehand. Well, it was her daughter; she could stop by her very own daughter’s without calling first, no? In the darkness, she felt much colder, and after all that time kneeling in the cold church, it would be nice to be in Elena’s warm apartment. Maybe Elena would even have a brandy for her.
The stores were still lit up and the young people busied themselves inside. Kreuzberg was so different from her neighborhood! It was a different world, a different land, really. The land of prosperity, of lovely canals, of bistros and pubs. Eva knocked, and Elena opened the door without so much as a question.
“Du bist zuhause! Ich war in deine Gegund, und da dachte ich, ich schau mal bei dir vorbei, ich hoffe, ich komme nicht ungelegen . . .”
“Nein, Mutti. Du kommst nicht ungelegen. Come in, Mutti. Come in. ”
“Elena, Liebchen, you must ask at the door who it is, and not just open the door to anyone who knocks. I worry about you.”
“Worry about yourself, Mutti. Kreuzberg is very safe these days. Unlike your neighborhood.”
“It’s so warm in here! You don’t mind if I sit a minute and warm up before heading back, do you?”
“Not at all. I have been working on a painting, and I could use a cigarette break. Come, sit down. Would you like a beer?”
“Do you have a brandy? It might warm me up better.”
“I’ll see what I have,” she said, removing herself into the kitchen.
Already Eva felt warmer. The apartment heated so nicely, unlike her own. The room was full of lamps and much brighter than Eva’s apartment. In this way, Elena was like her father—always aware of lighting. She was a true artist, like her father. She was like her father in many ways, although not as mild-mannered as he was.
“Hier, Mutti, dein Brandy.”
“Danke.”
“Bitte.”
The brandy burned as she poured it generously into her mouth. Immediately, she felt her cheeks flush.
“I had a dream about your father.”
“Ja?” Elena sat in front of her mother, on the floor. Her legs were crossed in a yogic position, and she had a tall pint of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
“Yes. I came to pray at a church near you today. You know the church, on Carl-Herz-Ufer? I dreamed he was at our old kitchen table, looking at contact sheets. His eyes were red, like the devil’s. It was a nightmare. It was awful. I fear he may be in purgatory, or worse. He was such a good man. Why wouldn’t his soul be at rest?” She didn’t mention that his eyes had turned into Hansi’s eyes.
“Oh, Mutti. Don’t worry about Vati’s soul. Worry about you. All dreams are about oneself, according to Freud. So, I worry why you are having nightmares.”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I recently had a wonderful day with Hans. He bought me a new robe.”
Elena stood up and walked to the record player. “So, der Schweinehund is back.”
“Don’t call him such names! You two were friendly once. How can you say such things?”
“Well, I think he brings you more unhappiness than happiness. Married men are no good. And he’s got something rotten about him. I’m afraid of him for you. Anyway, how can you go to church and sleep with a married man? I don’t understand, Mutti.”
“That is between God and myself, Elena.” Eva finished her drink. She shouldn’t have said anything. It had been pride. She tried to show off, to make herself feel good, look good. Pride was Lucifer’s sin, and look what it did to him.
“He has too many secrets, also,” Elena said and looked sharply across the room at her mother. She was holding a record in her hand, and Eva just wanted her to put it on. “But you know that already, don’t you, Mutti?”
What did she mean by that? Of course he had secrets. Everybody had secrets. It was a bad subject, Hans, to bring up with her daughter. “Play the record, Elena. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about Maggie coming. Have you heard from her?”
“Bis jetzt noch nicht.” She dropped the needle on the record. It was Lead Belly, the record she played for Eva last time. For a moment, Eva thought about her Nina Simone record. She saw in her mind the skinhead, the fall, her hurt hand. It was there still, in her little pile of records. She wouldn’t say anything to Elena about it. Eva worried Elena would blame her or, worse, start harping on her neighborhood.
My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me . . .
She wasn’t going to move, and she didn’t
