There was a small table surrounded by chairs, and Maggie turned on a light hanging from the ceiling. A bare bulb, like the one in the hallway, although this one was bright. Too bright, in fact. Eva felt her face flush. She hated too-strong light. It wasn’t flattering.
Maggie sat across from her. She smiled weakly at her aunt, and Eva could see that her eyes were clear. Hans did not sit with them. He walked around the room impatiently, his arms folded behind his back, examining the mural.
“Tom made that,” Maggie said. “He’s painting again, which is just wonderful. He’s always happier and more at ease when he’s working on his art.”
“How’s teaching?”
“It’s going well. They’ve given me some more classes.” Maggie looked down at her coffee. “I’m very busy now. Which is good.”
“Are you the only ones in the building?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Well, I’m not sure. There were some people living on the ground floor. But now I’m not sure.”
“Are you squatting? Do you have a lease?”
Hans was heading back to where Tom was supposedly sleeping. He opened the door to the room without knocking and shut it behind him.
Maggie smiled awkwardly. Eva asked, “Is it safe here?”
“I feel safe, Tante. Don’t worry.”
“I wrote your mother a letter. I don’t know how in touch you are with her. I told her you had a good job.”
Maggie tilted her head. She looked so innocent, her bleached hair wild about her head like a child who’d been outdoor playing. “My mother asked you about me?”
“Of course. She’s worried about you. About Tom and you. I told her not to worry. That you were doing well. But I wanted to see for myself. To see you. To see where you live.” Eva sighed. “My loyalty is to you, Maggie. But I am not sure all of your mother’s concerns are without merit.”
“She doesn’t like Tom. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Tom. I could never have done something like this, move to Berlin, get a job . . .”
“But you were here before without him.”
Maggie paused. “Yes, that’s true. But then, I lived off of my parents.”
“And now he lives off of you?” Eva asked quietly. She knew she was treading sensitive ground. She had always appreciated Maggie’s forthrightness, her honesty, so perhaps Maggie would appreciate it back. It was something they liked about each other—they could be vulnerable to each other.
“I never think of it that way.” Maggie paused and sipped her coffee. “True, I have the job. But he brings in money. He does.”
“Do you pay any rent?”
“Two hundred dollars a month. Mostly Tom works on the building—fixes things. It’s a great deal.”
That was a lot of money to Eva, but she knew it wasn’t a lot in general. Not for this space. “And Hans? He got you the apartment?” Eva asked, gulping with emotion. Why was she in this position? How could no one have told her?
“Yeah! So kind of him. He owns the building,” Maggie said, yawning. “He didn’t tell you?”
Later, Hans and Eva were silent in the car. Eva knew from the direction they were going in that they were heading to Wandlitz. But then he exited, sharply.
“Wohin fahren wir?”
“Was sollen all die Fragen? Eh?” He hit the steering wheel for emphasis.
“Ich habe noch mehr! I have more questions. I do!” Eva choked on her words. He was the only one! The only one she had. She would never have a lover again.
“Frau! Du treibst mich in den Wahnsinn! Wirklich! Es reicht! Es reicht, dage ich! Hast du gehört? Du!?”
Eva looked out the window. The day was ending. The sun’s warmth was giving way. They were going to the cabin. She knew it. But she had asked anyway. Tears rolled down her face, and she wiped them quickly. She didn’t want them to smear her makeup. She reached in her purse for her pills and managed to shake out a nighttime pill. It would help.
The next morning, waking up in the cool cabin, a blanket of snow leading to the lake, Eva was moved by the quiet beauty. It was deathly, perfectly silent. Of course, her part of the city was quite desolate, but this was a different desolation, the country. It was very early, and yet she was wide awake. Hans lay next to her under the heavy wool blankets, his head propped up on a hard pillow. He was snoring delicately. There had been no more arguing the night before. No more talking really, except for him ordering her to get him a beer, or boil water. No, they had had a quiet evening, a good evening, really. No more had been said, and that was good.
Just now, right before she woke, Eva had dreamed of home, of Leoben. In the dream, her mother looked as she had on her deathbed, except she was not thin; she had the robust, womanly body she had before she got sick. She wore one of her dresses, a smart blue flowered dirndl with a yellow apron that she had made herself. She had made dirndls for Liezel and Eva, too. She had been an excellent seamstress, like most Austrian women from her time. In the dream, Eva stared longingly at her mother’s warm, big body; how she had buried herself in it so often, as a young girl. But her mother’s face was covered with purple sores, and her skin was greenish and sickly. It was her deathbed face, but it was also Maggie’s face, as Eva realized on waking. In the dream they were in the kitchen together, Eva sitting down at the table watching her mother.
“I’m making potato dumplings, Evalein, your favorite!” she said and smiled at Eva. She was kneading the dough on a wooden board, then slapping it and shaping it into balls.
“Oh, Mutti, wie wunderbar!” Eva could see herself sitting at the table, clasping her hands like a young girl. But she was
