I can’t wait for you to meet Tom. He is a Communist, but not a Stalinist. Maybe you would think of him as a Socialist. He has spent time in Cuba and loves it there. He is the type of man who would have been fighting against Franco in Spain. I am so in love, Tante Eva. I think we will get married and have children.
I’ve saved up tons of money from my job. I was so good! There were days when I wanted to shop—buy clothes, makeup, go out to eat. But I really learned how to control those materialistic thoughts. Americans are such consumers. But Tom and I together should have enough to last us until we find work. I know we don’t have work visas or anything, but Elena thinks we could get some cash work in a bar, and Tom has some ideas, too. I also heard it’s not hard to find work teaching English and that you can get a visa issued once you have a job pretty easily. And that some institutes pay cash. We’ll see. It’ll be an adventure, but I also have faith that we can make it work out. With Tom by my side, I feel I can take on the world. I am bringing you some records, too. The Nina Simone you asked for and some others.
I will call you from Elena’s—there is no need to meet me at the airport. We will talk and talk, just like we did when I was there in, what was it, ’86? I can’t wait!
Viele Busserl,
Maggie
Chapter 12
Hugo appeared to her in her sleep again, over her, while she lay in her bed, somewhat cold in her slip, her hands wrapped around her fleshy arms to keep warm, to stay protected, and in a gesture of missing her blue robe. Her robe was safely in her wardrobe, but she no longer wore it to sleep. Picking it up from the cleaners and taking it back to her apartment had caused her such stress. She was so afraid the skinheads would take it from her. The cleaner was far away, and they gave it to her wrapped in plastic on a hanger. It shone through the plastic, glimmery and new. It was awful. She didn’t take it, because they didn’t have a bag for her to put it in. She returned the next day and put it carefully in a large brown bag. Even that had made her worried. Worried that someone would notice the large brown bag. So then she rolled the robe around the hanger, the plastic protecting it, then put it in the bag and rolled the bag up, too, so it wasn’t so large, so conspicuous.
All that trouble to hide it, and then all the fear. Then it was the one evening the skinheads weren’t there, lurking in the doors and at the corner. It was a bitter-cold evening. Perhaps they were drinking in a bar, keeping warm. They’d be back, cold or not. She knew that.
The whole ordeal had upset her greatly. Her heart was a pounding mess, and her hands shook so badly she could barely hang up the robe by the time she got up to her apartment. She took extra sleeping pills and let herself have one brandy that night. No more brandies, she thought. Not until he comes back. And no more wearing the robe to sleep. Only while awake. It killed her to take it off at night; she felt lonely without it. But she couldn’t put herself through that again. She could try washing it in cold water, in her sink. But that seemed risky, too.
And instead of Hans, Hugo appeared to her. Hugo, his eyes back to normal, sad, brown, mournful eyes. In the dream, Eva woke up in her bed and saw him over her. Then she noticed he was inside of her, too. Making love to her the way he used to, slowly, deliberately, his eyes on her face the whole time. With Hugo, it was almost as if she had no body, only a face.
She was shocked he was there, making love to her. She said, “Hugo, was ist los? Was tust du? Du bist tot!”
“Ja, Liebchen, ich bin tot. Aber wir sind in der Welt der Seelen. Du hattest recht. Ich war blöd, ich lag falsch. Es gibt ein Leben nach dem Exitus. Ich dachte, du wärst blöd, dämlich. Ich war doof, nicht du. Ich.”
“Aber warum bist du hier?”
“Du bist meine Frau, oder?”
“Ich habe einen Freund, Hugo. Es tut mir leid.”
“Ich weiss, Eva. Ich weiss alles. Eines Tages wirst du das auch.”
He got off of her and walked to her wardrobe and opened it. Inside shone her new robe. She turned her face in shame. When she looked back, Hugo had turned into her father. He was wearing her robe.
“Hure,” he said angrily, and began walking toward her.
It was then that she woke.
Chapter 13
Her father had been a harsh man. They all knew he loved them. But Franz Stiller was not a gentle person, and when he was angry with his children, which was frequently—they were too loud, they were not clean enough, they left a mess everywhere, they didn’t bring in any money—he hit them.
Her brother had it the worst early on, when their mother was still alive and their father was still around, unhappy with his work as a tailor in Leoben. No one paid him enough, he had to work too
