Seven Years, page 19
It’s not that one’s a bad person, the Frenchman was saying, but you lose the light. He was still talking about his guilt, but he could have been talking about mine. He had treated me to a schnapps, and as soon as we’d emptied our glasses, the bartender stepped up to our table, I don’t know if he’d been given a sign or what, and refilled them, anyway I drank far too quickly, and even more than usual. When I stood to take a leak, my chair fell over behind me, and the room started to spin before my eyes. The Frenchman stopped in midsentence, and when I came back continued at exactly the same place. He was talking about the most difficult things with a wild merriment like a madman, or someone with nothing left to lose. The more I drank, the easier I found him to follow. His thoughts seemed to have a compelling logic and beauty. It’s too late, he said at last, and sighed deeply. It will always be too late. Just as well. Then he got up and left me at my table, in my darkness. I called the bartender and ordered a beer, but he refused to give me any more. You’d better go home now, he said, I’ll call you a cab. If I hadn’t been so drunk, I’d probably have gotten into an argument with him, but I just pulled out my wallet and asked what I owed. Nothing, said the bartender, the gentleman’s already paid. So I am home free, I thought, and had to laugh. The bartender grabbed my arm to support me, but I shook him off and tottered out the door. I’m free.
I sat in the taxi, and was surprised that it didn’t drive off. Only then did I appreciate that the driver was talking to me, he needed to know where to take me. I was tired and felt sick. I looked in my wallet, and saw I was almost out of money. Without thinking about it, I told him Ivona’s address.
It wasn’t a long drive, or maybe I passed out. Anyway, the driver tapped me on the shoulder, saying we’ve arrived. He waited for me to go to the door and pretend to fumble for a key. I turned around and saw he’d gotten out and had come after me. He asked if he could help. I said someone was just coming, he’d better go. I asked him where he was from. Poland, he said. I thought that was funny, and took a step back and would have fallen over if he hadn’t caught me. He asked me what bell to ring, and I said ground floor, left-hand side.
It was a while before Eva came to the door. She was in her robe, just like the afternoon I’d first gone round there. For a moment she looked at me in bafflement through the glass door, then she appeared to recognize me. She unlocked the door and asked the taxi driver if I’d paid him. He nodded, and said something in Polish. Eva chuckled and replied, and took me under the arm. I can still remember the bang of the lock falling shut, and then the silence and cool in the stairwell. I felt sick and had to vomit. Eva kept hold of my arm, and stroked my back with her other hand. She spoke to me as to a child. She walked me to the apartment, led me to the bathroom, and sat me down on the toilet. Then she brought in a plastic bucket and rag and disappeared. I was still dizzy, but felt clearer in my head, and finally a little better. I heard doors and murmured conversation, then Eva returned to the bathroom and said I could sleep in Ivona’s room. I stood and rinsed my mouth out with cold water. Eva had stepped up to me from behind and held me in a nurse’s secure grip. I can manage, I said.
The room was dark except for a feeble night-light. Ivona stood beside the door with lowered head. Eva handed me over to her, and she took me to the bed and helped me get undressed and lie down. The whole situation was oddly ceremonial, almost ritual.
I lay in bed and shut my eyes, but I had terrible pillow-spin, and I opened them again and stared at the ceiling to try to keep myself still. I heard noises and, turning my head, saw Ivona padding around, tidying her room. She pushed things here and there, looked at the results, and moved something else. It was hopeless, the room was so jam-packed with stuff, it was impossible to neaten. Ivona’s movements became more desultory. She picked something up, stood still for a moment, then put it back in the same place. What are you doing?, I asked. My voice sounded hoarse. Ivona said nothing. She waited there, with her back to me. Come to bed, I said. She took off her robe, turned out the night-light, and settled down beside me.
I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time, and I was sure Ivona wasn’t asleep either, even though she lay there very still. I was drifting between dreaming and waking. From above I could see Ivona and me in bed, like on those old medieval tombstones I’d sometimes seen in churches, a man and a woman lying there side by side for hundreds of years, with their hands folded across their chests, eyes open, and smiling serenely. Ivona looked very beautiful. I wanted to put my arm around her, but I couldn’t move.
When I woke, I felt right away that Ivona was awake too. She lay there as though she hadn’t stirred all night. I was ashamed of what I’d done, but for the first time I didn’t feel the impulse to run away. I pressed myself against her heavy body, and buried my face in her breast, like a child in its mother’s bosom. She stroked my hair, and so we rested for a long time in bed, neither of us saying anything.
Eventually Ivona got up. She slid gently away from under me, picked her clothes off a chair, and left the room. I drifted off again, and didn’t wake till she softly touched me on the shoulder. I went into the bathroom, and she to the kitchen. I looked at my watch. It was seven o’clock.
It was quiet in the apartment. I showered and went into the kitchen, where Ivona had already started the coffee. She put out bread, margarine, sausage, and sliced cheese. There was something shy about her movements, it was as though she didn’t finish any of them. I sat down at the table. Ivona sat facing me and got up when the coffee was ready. Milk?, she asked. I think it was her first word since I arrived the night before.
I didn’t feel like eating, but Ivona had an astonishing appetite, and prepared herself a few sandwiches as well, which she wrapped in clingwrap and stowed in a plastic bag. I thought we looked like an old couple who know each other so well, no one has to say anything. Ivona said she had to go to work, and I followed her out of the apartment and out of the building. The sky was clear, but it wasn’t cold. The bus stop wasn’t far. Ivona joined the line. You can go, she said, but I stayed standing next to her. After some minutes I saw the bus turn the corner at the end of the street, and it pulled up in front us. Ivona seemed to be waiting for me to say something, and for a moment I was tempted to hold her back. I said I had to get my car, I’d parked it somewhere yesterday. Before Ivona got on the bus, she kissed me on the lips and hurriedly turned away. She found a window seat, and we looked at each other through the glass. All at once I was pretty sure that Eva was right, and that Ivona’s life—poor and arduous and unspectacular as it was—had been happier than mine.
The bus had to stop a moment before it was able to enter the traffic. When it finally drove off, Ivona quickly raised her hand, waved and smiled, and then she was gone.
That afternoon was the meeting with the creditors. Sonia couldn’t be there, she had too much to do in Marseilles, and anyway she said it wouldn’t make any difference to the outcome. The administrator had worked out a plan. She promised to pay the creditors fifteen percent of what they were owed. If I close down the company, you’ll get less than five. There was something infectious about her optimism. Even so, the whole business was pretty humiliating. Whether I was to blame or not, I had cost these people an awful lot of money, and they let me feel their anger. One paper dealer was especially vociferous in his opposition to the plan. It was a relatively small sum in his case, but he got on his high horse and lit into me. I flew into a rage, and was about to reply when the administrator put her hand on my arm and whispered, don’t say anything, he just needs to let off steam. Finally there was the vote, and the plan was unanimously adopted.
I called Marseilles from in front of the court building. Sonia had been waiting. Well, she said, how did it go? We can carry on, I said. There was silence for a moment, then Sonia said she had spoken to Albert, she was coming home in December. Are you pleased? Yes, I said, I couldn’t have stuck it out much longer. I’m terribly tired.
Sonia came back a week before Christmas. I met her at the airport with a bunch of flowers. We sat down in a café in Arrivals. Do you remember meeting me here the first time?, asked Sonia. I was astonished by how beautiful you were. Sonia looked down. When she raised her eyes again, I saw that they were shining. Are you crying?, I asked. She said she had lit a candle for us in the cathedral in Marseilles. In that hideous cathedral down by the water? Sonia smiled and nodded. She had gone there many times in the last few months, just to sit and think. Are you going to find God in your old age? Come on, said Sonia, we’ll collect Sophie.
She laughed when she saw the car. I suppose the years of plenty are over. It’s not so bad, I said, it even has air-conditioning. Sonia said she had never liked the color of the Mercedes anyway. We didn’t talk much on the drive. I just looked across at Sonia from time to time, and then she would look at me, and smile.
Sonia’s parents were waiting for us. In the hallway was the little suitcase with Sophie’s things, and beside it a new kid’s bike, and two or three bags full of cuddly toys and other stuff that Sonia’s parents had bought Sophie in the last few weeks. Sophie was sitting in the living room watching a cartoon. When we went in, she looked up briefly, and then, without a word of greeting to either of us, said she wanted to watch the end of her film. Come on then, said Sonia’s father, and took us into his office. He adopted a formal expression, and announced he was going to buy back our house from the receivers. He had spoken to the bank and settled on a price. Carla and Sonia’s mother were in agreement. What does that mean?, asked Sonia. That the mortgage is redeemed and the house won’t form part of any auction. You can continue to live there. Sooner or later you’ll come into my money anyway. He got up and said he was doing it for Sophie. And had we noticed how musical she was, we should definitely let her learn an instrument.
On the way home, Sophie told us that Grandma had promised her a kitten. If it was all right with us. Sonia said that wasn’t so easily decided, an animal wasn’t a toy, if you had one, you had to be sure to look after it every day. Could Sophie see herself doing that? I know all that, said Sophie with an irritated voice, Felicitas has a cat. And you’ll have to clean its litterbox, said Sonia. She looked over to me. I said I didn’t think it was such a good idea. No one was home during the day, and the kitten would be alone. She can always go outside, said Sophie. Let’s wait a bit, said Sonia. We’ll just go home, and then we’ll see. Sophie was offended, and wouldn’t speak till we had arrived in Tutzing.
I had cleaned the house and carted the bottles off to be recycled. When we got home, it was as though we were in a strange house. Sonia seemed to feel similarly alien. She walked through all the rooms, opening a blind here and a closet there. I was reminded of cleanser commercials, where the woman comes home unexpectedly from a trip and the man has to clean the house in a jiffy with some miracle product. Then they both walk through the rooms together, and the woman looks around in admiration and kisses the man with a knowing smile—because all that cleanliness is just due to her Mr. Clean. Looks good, said Sonia, and kissed me.
It took Sophie a few days to adjust to us. To begin with she retreated to her room and didn’t come when we called her down for mealtimes, and complained about all sorts of things. She kept whining about her cat, and when we put it off, she would burst into tears. We explained the situation to her as well as we could, but she didn’t listen, and ran back to her room where she did nothing but brood and sulk. Slowly things got better, we went on little trips, she started to talk about school, where she was very happy. Thus far, we’d always gone to our parents’ for the holidays, but this time we canceled all arrangements and stayed at home.
When Sophie was in bed, we talked about the future of the company. We were still doing sums continually, wondering where we could save more, looking at competition guidelines. It’s not going to be easy, I said. We’ll get there, said Sonia, we’ve got no choice.
The first year was a struggle. We had to bid for every little order, and work for terms we’d have scoffed at a couple of years back, but we managed to stick to the insolvency plan and make the installments. We entered contests, and by and by a few orders came in, little projects to begin with, a restoration job, a vacation home for friends of Sonia’s parents. We were working with a much smaller team, and with part-timers. I felt reminded a little of the early years after our wedding, when we were young and inexperienced, and were doing everything for the very first time. Sonia and I worked more closely together than in the years before the crisis, and our relationship acquired an intimacy it hadn’t had in a long while. We would often talk about architecture, questions of principle, and what we hoped to achieve in our own work. Everything seemed to be going well, only sometimes I had the feeling I wasn’t good enough for Sonia. She had such lofty ideals and goals that I was bound to disappoint her. She treated me with kid gloves, but at odd moments I caught her looking critically in my direction. When I asked her what she was thinking about, she laughed and shook her head.
We set aside more time for Sophie too. We joined the Parent-Teacher Association of the Waldorf school, Sonia worked for the festival committee and helped organize the twice-yearly festivities, and I drew up a plan for a new central heating system.
I stopped drinking, and for the first time in years I designed buildings again. I was much bolder than before, it was as though I had nothing left to lose. When I looked through a volume of Aldo Rossi’s designs again, I saw a sentence of his that seemed appropriate. Seek to change the world, even if only in little pieces, in order to forget what we may not have.
None of my designs was executed, but that didn’t matter, on the contrary, it kept me from having to make compromises, and allowed me to work freely and follow my own tune. I actually felt like an architect again, and that affected my work on building sites.
Sonia’s style changed, she had finally broken free of her mentors and found her own language. It sounds cynical, perhaps, but it seemed that the crisis had opened our eyes to new ways of doing things, whereas in the years of success we had barely evolved at all, and just imitated ourselves.
Sonia wrote articles for architectural journals, and was invited to conferences and finally was given a teaching job at Dessau. Then we won a contest for a social housing project in Linz. We’re back in business, said Sonia, when she broke the good news to me.
That evening we celebrated. We left Sophie with her grandparents and went to a good restaurant. Do you think we can expense this?, asked Sonia. In six months our probationary period is over, I said, then we’ll be clear of debt and we can do whatever we want. I’m amazed we’ve managed this fresh start. You know the feeling of not being able to turn around, but having to go on and on in the same direction? And the awful thing about that is it has something tempting about it.
If you give in, you don’t have to struggle, said Sonia. Maybe, I said. I just couldn’t see any way out. Sonia shook her head. Giving up was always cowardly. Even if you lose in the end, it’s still better not to lose without a fight. That’s what I love you for, I said, your eternal optimism. Sonia seemed not to detect the irony in my voice. That’s not optimism, she said, as though offended by my remark, that’s attitude.
And they lived happily ever after, said Antje. Come on, I said, we’d better get back. Sonia will wonder what’s kept us. On the way home, Antje asked me what plans I had. No plans, I said. And the affair with Ivona is finished, for good? It’s over, I said. Antje looked at me skeptically. Well, let’s hope it’s over for her too, she said.
We’re back, I called out, and shut the door behind me. It was a little after twelve. Antje said she would go and pack. I went into the living room and noticed right away that there was something wrong. Sonia was standing by the window. When she turned toward me, I saw her eyes were reddened. I asked her if she was hungry, did she want me to make her something to eat? No reply. What’s the matter?, I asked. Sonia’s expression had something desperate about it. She went to the sofa, and then back to the window again. With her back to me, she started speaking so softly that I could hardly make out what she said. I pretended I didn’t understand, I wanted not to understand.
What do you mean, you’re going to Marseilles? I sat down on the sofa, and Sonia came beside me, with her head in her hands. I’m not happy here, she said.
We sat side by side in silence. Once I tried to put my arm around her, but she was so stiff that I aborted my embrace and pulled my arm back. I thought about ridiculous things, that we’d have to divide up our property, that the house belonged to Sonia’s parents, what our employees would say. I thought about it all, but I felt nothing beyond confusion and a kind of terror that was neither positive nor negative. Was it Antje’s idea? Sonia seemed relieved to be able to speak at last. She said Antje knew nothing about this. It was her decision, made long ago. When she was in Marseilles, she’d realized how many possibilities she still had in her. Is it to do with Albert? Sonia shook her head. She had never felt at ease here, it wasn’t her world. But you wanted the house by the lake, I said, you wanted to live near your parents, I’d much rather have stayed in the city. Sonia laughed, but it sounded more like crying. We could have talked about all that sometime. I had the feeling we were getting along particularly well recently. That’s not what it’s about, said Sonia. You don’t need me anymore.
Antje came upstairs and said she was packed and ready. Was anyone else hungry besides her? Sonia jumped up and ran to her, and led her out of the room by the arm. After about ten minutes, she came back and sat down beside me again.
We talked, though there was no point. Sonia had given up on our relationship long ago, it was just a matter of getting me to understand her reasons and limiting the damage. The discussion went around and around in circles. I contradicted her, maybe out of cowardice, even though I knew she was right. I was reconciled to the situation, I wasn’t discontented. But contentment wasn’t what Sonia was after. Maybe things will go wrong, she said, but at least I’ll have given it a go.
