“No. But she’ll be happy to see you.”
“My mother made you bring me,” Krista said, and now looked at Eva. Her eyes were shining. She had a fine nose, and although her hair was dirty, it was thick and healthy. Her mouth seemed pinched today, like her mother’s, and it was this perhaps that made her not so attractive seeming. She had a gorgeous mouth, but she held it poorly, with so much tension, all screwed up. This, and not wearing any makeup. A little color would make her look nice. Eva thought she should maybe offer to make up Krista’s face.
“Your mother did no such thing. I offered to bring you. I’m only sorry it took this long for you to see Maggie. I know how much it meant to you, to see her.”
“My father was in America.”
“Really? I never knew your father.”
“He was there for the Olympics. A shot-putter.”
“How wonderful!”
“He died of heart failure when I was very young. He had been given so many steroids. They killed him.” Krista’s smile was gone and her eyes turned dark. The blackness.
Eva looked away from Krista’s face. And truthfully, she was stunned. She’d been neighbors with these people for a decade and yet she never knew this? Frau Haufmann, Gabi, kept to herself, mostly, of course. Perhaps when they both moved in, they had shared that they were widows, but that’s it. Eva turned back to Krista and said, “Well, that was an unfortunate and a terrible thing the government did. But they didn’t know. They didn’t know that the steroids had any side effects. I’m very sorry to hear about your father. His passing must have been hard on your family.”
Krista smiled. “It was so long ago. I barely remember him. But I do remember the pictures of America.”
“I’m sure you saw pictures of America in school as well. Pictures of the dark side of America, of the South Side of Chicago, where all the Black people live in poverty.”
“Yes, but my father had pictures of America that made it look so beautiful.”
“I’m sure parts of it are.”
“When my mother dies, I am going to go. I want to visit Utah. And Florida. And California.”
Who could blame her for thinking ahead? For wanting to be free. The shame came over Eva again. Shame and blackness, pouring over her at their own will, as if Eva had no control, as if mystery were real. Which it was, she knew; she knew of forces beyond her.
Krista, despite her troubles, had so often been kind and helpful. It was true that she’d lately grown sullen, even angry. That she was changing. That she was hanging out with skinheads. But for years, she was only good. How long can goodness last? We are all humans, thought Eva, all troubled. “I should visit your mother more often. I enjoyed speaking with her today.”
Krista made a sort of noise, a huumph. She looked away again.
“You know,” said Eva, “Maggie is here because she doesn’t like America.”
“Well, of course she doesn’t. No one knows what they have until they lose it. And I’m not saying there aren’t problems with America. I just want to see them for myself. I want to be able to know what it’s like with my own eyes. And whatever the problems are, they can’t be worse than things are here,” she said, grimly.
Eva didn’t know what to say. She’d had plenty of chances to go, but Krista must know that. But why go to America, when America had already come here, to Western Europe, which had now come to her Eastern Europe, littering its sacred boulevards with McDonald’s and outlet clothing stores? Of course, Eva loved the outlet clothing stores, filled to bursting with lovely, cheaply made clothes from Asia. She loved going to them, running her fingers through the endless racks of soft and colorful clothing. She loved them, but she felt they were wrong, too. And if she were to be honest with herself, prior to the Wall coming down, the clothes available from the USSR and Romania were just as cheaply made. And not as beautiful. And more expensive.
The taxi swerved down the boulevard that led to Café Einstein. It was a dark, long boulevard, wide and curving. Suddenly, a woman with short bleached hair and tall shiny boots opened a fur coat at them. The taxi’s headlights brightly illuminated her white, naked body. It glowed at them, abruptly, like a light being thrust on. Eva gasped. Krista, too, had her mouth open in surprise. And then there were many. A parade of patent leather boots and fur coats and exotic, barely existent lingerie. Black, white, and Asian women. Groups of them smoking and talking, and single loners, lurching toward the taxi, their breasts bared.
There was something so beautiful about these women to Eva. Their skin seemed perfectly taut and creamy smooth. The bright colors—the dyed white or red hair, the shiny black boots that looked like fresh wet paint up to their thighs, the red lace bra that revealed rouged nipples against white skin—they were the colors any little girl or little boy would salivate over at a candy store. They were all licorice and peppermints and chocolate bars to Eva. Her face colored and her breath quickened. How could she, a God-fearing woman, a woman who prayed every day, lust after these whores, or rather, desire to be like them? Lust is in all of our hearts, thought Eva. God knows it and helps us struggle with it.
A pang of jealousy seared her chest. Did her Hansi go to whores? Why wouldn’t he? That was what it was all about. She just wanted to be his object of desire.
“Das ist nicht richtig,” said the taxi driver, in his heavily accented German. He was from somewhere
