Elena lunged for the photo album, but Eva dropped the burning, ruined photo in the ashtray and grabbed the album and stood, holding it to her chest.
Elena sat, her head in her hands, and wept. “Mutti, Mutti. Das ist alles, was ich von Vati habe.” She looked up at her mother. “How can you?” she screamed and threw herself at her mother. They struggled over the book. Eva held it fast, even after Elena knocked her down. Then Elena grabbed the book, and it ripped in half. Elena sat again, weeping.
“Du,” Eva said to her daughter, “du hast so viel von deinem Vati. Diese Fotos brauchst du nicht.”
She left then, with half the photo album in her arms and her daughter weeping on the floor.
On the train back to her apartment, she clutched the album to her chest as one phrase from the burial prayer ran through her mind over and over again: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
When she got out, it was dark and the air was so dry, it was like it wasn’t even there. She walked toward her apartment without a thought in her head. At the corner were two of the skinheads. The little one wasn’t there—the baby skinhead, and she laughed for a quick beat at her thought. Then she remembered the number she carried in her wallet. The two looked so sick, sick like Maggie, sicker than that. One was coatless.
She walked up to them and said to the coatless one, “Wo ist deine Lederjacke?”
He looked up, his face blue. He probably had hypothermia. She should call an ambulance.
He said, “Die hab ich verkauft.” Then, “Bitte, Fräulein, haben Sie ein bisschen Geld für uns?” The other one looked up at her now, his face covered in snot.
“Ich habe kein Geld,” she said. “Aber hier, nimm das.” Then she opened the album. She flipped through the book, and with God’s help quickly found the photo she wanted, the one in which Liezel clearly was in ecstasy on top of Hugo. She took it, then handed the book over to the boy, his arms outstretched to receive it.
Chapter 31
Back in her apartment, Eva put on the Nina Simone. She poured herself a tall brandy; she hadn’t had any lunch. She’d been too embarrassed to eat in front of Liezel, and she didn’t eat anything after leaving, either. It burned her stomach, the brandy, but she was hoping it would calm her nerves. After another tall brandy, her stomach no longer burned, but her hands still shook, her teeth were gritted tightly, and her mind was wild with thoughts. Prayer? She took four sleeping pills and tried to pray.
She woke later in her chair. The apartment was dark; it was early morning now. There she sat where she’d been drinking, an open bottle of pills on the table in front of her. Her head throbbed so hard it scared her. And her legs. They felt on fire. After turning on the table lamp she took off her dress and stockings and her left leg in particular burned and went numb. She looked down at it; it was red and mottled, swollen at the joints.
A loud knock on her door startled her. She grabbed for her robe. “Moment! Moment!” She hobbled to the door, wiping at the dried drool glued to her cheek as she opened it. It was Krista’s mother. Eva nearly fell—she couldn’t feel her leg—but she managed to lean against the door, catching herself.
“Frau Haufmann, wie geht es Ihnen?” Eva asked.
“Ich habe Krista seit zwei Tagen nicht mehr gesehen.” She was shaking. She gave off a terrible odor. Her head was dirtier than ever; her clothes, soiled. It must have taken a huge effort to leave the apartment.
“Kommen Sie herein. Wir besprechen das jetzt und rufen dann vielleicht die Polizei.”
“Die Polizei? Die Polizei?”
Eva looked at the clock. It was almost 6:00 a.m. She wondered if they should wait an hour or so, in case Krista would return. But her mother said Krista had never spent the night away before. Only once or twice with a school friend, but it was all planned beforehand, and that had been years ago now, anyway. No, something was wrong. There was no need to wait longer. Calling the police was something that invoked fear in Eva as well, not just Mrs. Haufmann. Before the Wall was down, one would never call the police about anything. Ever. They were always there, lurking. Everyone was the police, the regular police or the Stasi. No one called them, too, because there had never been any crime to speak of. When people went missing, well, that was different. That was usually at the hands of the police. It was a different world now.
After calling from the hall phone, Eva waited in Mrs. Haufmann’s apartment with her; it took over two hours for the police to arrive. They had wanted them to come to the station, but Eva explained Gabi’s condition, and they reluctantly agreed to send officers to the apartment. Krista had been acting so strangely, Mrs. Haufmann explained. She was always sick, she was always throwing up, and she had behaved unkindly to her, to her very own mother. She had never prayed during socialism; she knew the futility of it, but she had taken to praying in the past few weeks, because everything seemed so wrong. She remembered prayers from her childhood. What could have happened? Where was her daughter? She asked Eva to call Maggie, to call her daughter, Elena.
“Frau Haufmann, es besteht nicht die geringste Wahrscheinlichkeit, dass Krista bei Maggie ist.”
“Warum sagen Sie das? Wie können Sie das wissen? Ich weiss, dass die beiden befreundet waren. Ich weiss es!”
Eva’s heart sank. She remembered the night at Cafe Einstein. She remembered Tom. She remembered his foot under the table, looking for Krista’s. So back to the hallway she went. She
