Eva’s mind was in a good place; she’d had a good week, uneventful, but good. Not too much brandy, not too many late nights, not too much leg pain. She felt almost stable, perhaps optimistic. Liezel’s confiding in her had done something for her, even more than Maggie’s arrival. Hans hadn’t visited; normally he was the cause of her well-being. But Liezel needed her because of her daughter. It wasn’t lost on Eva that Liezel’s suffering and pain about her daughter were bringing Eva a kind of strength. Or that consequently, Liezel’s need for Eva couldn’t be an altogether good feeling for Liezel. It stemmed from her fear for Maggie, her insecurity for her daughter, and Eva comforted herself in knowing that she gave Liezel some hope, some comfort just by being in the same city as Maggie.
Liezel was getting older, but just as before, when Liezel had visited her all those years ago, Eva’s image of her sister had not aged. In Eva’s mind, Liezel haunted her still as a ravishing young woman, awkward and powerful in her beauty. But to have a daughter Maggie’s age, she herself could not be so young anymore. Perhaps Maggie had a picture of her mother. Eva doubted it, but would ask. Maggie and Tom were coming today, for coffee and sandwiches.
Before setting out to buy good fresh bread and cheese for her visitors, Eva looked carefully in the mirror. It’s not only Liezel who never ages in my mind, she thought, while touching her carefully creamed and made-up face. She saw a woman deep in middle age looking back at her, but she saw the reflection as a mask. Behind it was her true self, a young, sexual woman, a silly young woman in need of care. Behind it, was the woman she was with Hans, even the woman she was with Elena and Maggie, the woman she felt she was everywhere, really, even while at the cheese store. Especially while listening to music, wrapped in her blue robe. The reflection was nothing much—nothing more than a misleading, physical appearance.
She had offered to meet them at the train station, but they refused. Eva worried about the skinheads, and almost told them to take a roundabout way to the building, but she didn’t want to make it any harder. Maggie would be with Tom. And for all the doubt that Tom inspired in people, he would most likely ward off the advances of the skinheads. Of course, it was even possible they wouldn’t be there today. They were not out every day in this cold weather. And today was quite cold.
For a brief moment, Eva was ashamed of her apartment, of her room. Maggie had been there before, but she had been younger. Eva had mopped the floor, laid out a lovely embroidered Austrian tablecloth with matching napkins. The sun was shining today despite the cold; she had nothing to be ashamed of. She put on the Nina Simone record and cut bread and cheese and made coffee. She’d bought a nice bottle of red wine, too. She looked around her room—it was simple, but it was hers. And it was well tended.
They arrived, knocking on the door, Maggie saying through the closed door, “Hallo, Tante Eva Ich bin’s, die Maggie.”
Eva had decided she could wear her robe. She opened the door somewhat grandly, swathed in the blue silk. Maggie’s eyes lit up. They kissed each other’s cheeks, and she shook Tom’s hand and let them both in.
“They still haven’t fixed the elevator, Tante Eva. Not even the new government has done that for you.”
“It keeps me strong. Americans pay money to go to gyms, but all I have to do is walk up the stairs to stay healthy.”
Tom was breathing heavily.
“Are you okay, Tom? Please sit down.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m just a smoker. So it takes me a minute,” he said with difficulty, “to catch my breath.”
Maggie looked at him with an expression that Eva couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t concern.
“Oh, Tante Eva, I remember this apartment so well. You look beautiful, too.”
“Setz dich, Maggie. Du bist reizend.” Eva was touched. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Eva poured the coffee and noticed her hand shaking. Surely they noticed too. But what could be done? She was nervous, excited.
“How are things? Elena tells me you’ve found an apartment. How wonderful.”
“Yes! It’s quite cheap and it gets nice light. The windows are big,” she said, looking at Tom. The look Maggie gave was one Eva knew, a look for confirmation, for approval. A wariness to it. Tom did not look back at his girlfriend, but was glancing around the room with a detached interest.
“Yeah. It’s great,” he said, meeting Eva’s eyes, his breathing much more controlled. “And I got work at a club, a great underground club. Great music. Live bands, a DJ on the other nights. In the States, I’m what they call a barback. I don’t know what they call it here.”
“I understand,” said Eva.
“I have two interviews for teaching English this week,” Maggie said. “I feel good about things. I’m sure Elena will be happy to have the place back to herself. We’ll be moving out at the end of the month.”
“It was her pleasure to help you out. And she appreciated the rent money. Really,” Eva said.
“You’re playing the record I sent you.”
“Oh, yes. I play it every day. I love it so much.”
“I brought you some more!” said Maggie, and picked up a bag she was carrying. “Billie Holiday’s Lady’s Decca Days. And a man named Johnnie Clyde Johnson, a blues singer. You like the blues, too, right, Tante Eva? Not just jazz?”
“Thank you! Yes, I’ll love it all. Thank you so much.”
Maggie gave Eva the records, and Eva turned them around, looking at the backs and then the front again. “I love Lead Belly. I love gospel, too. I love all Black American music.” Eva laughed, hearing herself put it like that. But it was true. “Maybe I should
