“So tell me about your new apartment,” Eva said.
“It’s perfect,” Tom answered. “It’s actually not far from you, Eva. It’s in the former GDR. It’s big. It’s a bit derelict, but I’m handy around the house. I know how to fix things.” He grinned and lit another cigarette. “And, of course, it’s very affordable.” Eva noticed something about the way he talked. The understatement. The choice of words. It reminded her of the people for whom she worked in Vienna, all those years ago. People with money. Never is anything cheap; rather, it’s “affordable.” Never is a place a dump; it’s “a bit derelict.” Yes, he was from money. It made her trust him all the less.
“You already have a lit cigarette, Tom,” Eva said.
He glanced at the ashtray. “Well, I guess I do!”
Krista picked it up and knocked off a long, gray ash. “I’ll smoke it,” she said, and began to do so. Maggie was staring off into space, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes started to close. She was nodding off.
“Maggie?” Eva asked.
“Don’t worry about her,” said Tom, stretching his legs under the table. For a moment, Eva felt his shoe on hers. She immediately pulled back. It wasn’t meant for her, though. That was for sure. Krista, sitting next to her, began smiling shyly and stretching her neck. Eva had never noticed, but it was a beautiful neck—white and long, the opposite of her mother’s. Someday, thought Eva, her neck will be gone, like everything else. “Maggie’s very tired,” Tom went on. “We’ve been packing all day. And you know how meticulous your niece is. She worked very hard to put everything in the right box, and then labeled the boxes appropriately. She’s got those Austrian organizational genes.” He laughed, looking at Krista, who laughed as well, as if on command, to please him. Eva’s skin warmed even more.
“Poor thing,” Eva said. “She doesn’t look well. And I’m her aunt. I’m supposed to look after her.”
“She was packing all day,” Elena added, to comfort her mother. “Unlike this one,” she added, gesturing to Tom.
“Hey, that kind of work is for the ladies,” he said, smiling widely. He was always smiling, thought Eva. And it never seemed nice.
“Noch eine Runde!” Elena said, raising her arms boisterously. “Und die geht auf mich!”
The waiter, dressed formally in black and white, came somewhat hurriedly to the table. He didn’t like the noise, Elena’s outburst. It was a quiet cafe, bohemian yes, but not seedy. He must have disliked the whole table. Eva folded her hands in her lap, looking down at her bright, shiny dress. The waiter probably didn’t like her, either. Her heart sank.
“Noch eine Runde, bitte!” said Elena, raising her arms as if she were conducting the Beethoven that played on. Always mocking, always making fun. “Wir haben Durst! Wir haben Durst!”
After the waiter brought them drinks, Eva felt braver; just seeing the drink in front of her helped. “Tom, what are you doing for work?” Eva asked.
He raised an eyebrow at Eva and was about to speak when Maggie woke and interrupted. “He’s going to fix up our apartment. That will be worth a lot. We pay very little rent because he’s going to make it up to code for the landlord. And we can live off of my salary.”
“I’m not a huge fan of regular jobs,” said Tom, with that greasy smile on his face. “That’s why we were excited to leave the States, the land of hard work and no benefits, a country that doesn’t take care of its people.”
Krista said, “But at least there is opportunity there. There is so little opportunity here.”
Tom leaned toward her, saying, “The opportunities in the US just propagate materialism, just create the illusion of needing things no one actually needs.” He lit a cigarette off of his old one and then stubbed out the butt. “All we need is food and shelter. Everything else is a mirage.” At this he fluttered a hand toward the ceiling.
Maggie sat up now. “What about love?”
Tom squeezed Maggie’s shoulder, saying, “Love? Another capitalist invention.”
For some reason, everyone at the table thought that it was funny except for Eva. Eva felt a sharp irritation rise in her.
“Can I have a cigarette, Tom?” If he was so antimaterialistic, he could part with his cigarettes, she thought.
“Of course, Eva,” Tom said and then, in his mocking gallant way, offered her the pack.
“Marlboros. Western cigarettes,” she said.
“As much as I love Berlin,” Tom said, “your tobacco is terrible.” He lit Eva’s cigarette with a gold-toned lighter.
“What a beautiful lighter,” Eva remarked.
“Thank you,” Tom said. “It was my grandfather’s,” he said, carefully pocketing it.
Of course it was, thought Eva, but she just smiled at him.
Chapter 24
The next morning, Eva’s legs hurt her badly for the first time in what seemed like months. They throbbed and burned. And her head hurt, too. She had had too much brandy the night before and ended up smoking cigarettes, too. She lifted the shade. The sun was bright and she immediately squinted her eyes closed and sat back down. Next to her bed were her bottles of pills and a glass of water. At least she’d had the presence of mind to set things up for the morning. She reached over and swallowed her morning pills. The water felt good on her parched throat and she slowly drank the whole glass, her hand shaking a bit, before resting her head back on the pillow. In a little while, the pills would kick in. And then she would get up. She looked at the clock—it was nearly noon. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her heart was pounding and her mouth was very
