Anna and Karla were on the way to Zurich to Karla’s drawing and painting lesson. It was a twenty-minute ride from their town to the center of the city. When the train arrived in the large modern train station, they got out and let themselves be transported to the main hall on the escalators. The station had been expanded over the past few years into a vast underground shopping mall. It was a tourist’s paradise and people from all over the world perused the great variety of stores.
Today, Anna and Karla decided to walk to Jonas’s place from the main station. It was a beautiful early fall day in late September. The leaves on the trees along the Bahnhofstrasse were beginning to turn. The shops at the well-known shopping street donned their usual displays of clothes, furs, and jewelry.
Anna noticed, though, that some of the former splendor and fame of the street was gone. Many of the old established luxury stores had given way to trendy outlets, to drugstores with colorful displays of makeup articles, chain bookstores, and discount clothing stores. There were still a few of the famous jewelry stores and high-end luxury shops left, but the trend was definitely toward outlets that appealed to the younger generation of shoppers.
Halfway down the Bahnhofstrasse, Anna and Karla turned left and walked across one of the bridges over the Limmat, the main river flowing through Zurich. They headed in the direction of the Bellevue and the Lake of Zurich. Anna saw the sign of the old Grand Café Odeon, which, too, harked back to older times. It had been the hangout of famous expatriate writers, musicians, artists, and politicians during the First and Second World Wars. Such diverse celebrities and thinkers as Einstein, James Joyce, Kafka, Brecht, Arturo Toscanini, Trotsky, and Lenin had gathered there, drinking coffee, discussing art and literature, writing music, and planning revolutions. Later it was taken over by an increasingly unsavory crowd of drug users. It was finally converted into a modern cafeteria. What remained were the photos on the wall, the memories, and the excellent coffee.
Anna and Karla walked up the steep road in the Niederdorf, the old part on the hillside above the river. Karla rang the bell to Jonas’s apartment and they both laughed at the horrible shrieking sound it made. According to Jonas, a couple of older people lived in the building who were hard of hearing. He suspected that they had removed the filter from the bell. A slightly more pleasant buzzing sound erupted and Anna pushed the door open. They walked the four floors to the top, since Anna hated the old, rickety elevator.
Jonas had left the door to his apartment open. As Anna and Karla entered, a whiff of paint and lacquer greeted them. Anna liked the simple elegance of the place, the light wooden furniture, and the subtle colors.
Usually, Anna dropped Karla off for her lesson and went bookstore hunting. She visited the owners of a few of the bookstores in the city, with whom she got together occasionally. They exchanged ideas about new authors, new books, and the struggle of maintaining small, independent bookstores. Sometimes, Anna visited a museum or gallery or went shopping.
Today, she had brought a book with her. It was a detective novel she hadn’t read yet. She had started it the evening before and couldn’t wait to get back to it. Settling into a comfortable chair in the alcove of the living room, she started to read. She took an occasional sip of the freshly brewed coffee Jonas had offered her. Before she knew it, an hour had passed and she heard a child laugh.
“Anna, look.” Karla stepped out of Jonas’s studio, holding up her newest picture. It was a landscape, very much like the one Anna and Karla could see from their home. It depicted the pond and a blooming canola field next to it. The yellow and gold of the field created a beautiful contrast to the shades of green and blue of the pond and the trees and bushes bordering it.
“These were difficult to paint.” Karla pointed at the patch of reeds in the pond. “The stems always came out too thick. Saint Nicholas had to help me.”
“That’s a very good painting. But Karla, you shouldn’t call Mr. Bergman ‘Saint Nicholas,’” Anna said. “It’s not polite.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I actually like my new name. It’s kind of mysterious.” Jonas lowered his voice to make it sound like Santa Claus.
“I think Karla is ready for her first exhibition,” he added.
“Already?” Anna asked.
Karla was almost eight. She had been taking lessons for close to two years. Her drawing and painting had improved considerably and so had her state of mind. The frequency of her nightmares had decreased and she seemed happier. She had become quite close to Jonas and looked forward to her lessons all week.
“Well, it’s a special exhibition for the children. We host it at the art store.” Jonas turned to Karla. “Why don’t you get the pictures we picked?”
Karla skipped next door. Anna looked after her. “She’s doing much better all around, thanks to your help.”
“She’s doing very well with her painting. I think she’ll like the exhibition. We started it a few years ago. It’s fun for the children and it boosts their self-esteem. Each child can display several paintings or drawings. They’re priced at five francs each. And we make sure that everybody sells at least one picture.”
“How do you do this?”
Jonas winked at her. “I have a purchase team. The owner of the art store and the staff take care of it. They buy the paintings.” Jonas laughed. “They have a whole collection of children’s art at home.”
Anna smiled. “You’re spoiling them, but I think it’s a great idea. It gives them a taste of the art world.”
“Most of the kids I teach are probably not going to be artists. You know, it’s like playing an instrument. Kids are all enthusiastic at first and after a while they get bored or tired of practicing. But at least for a few months or years, they do something meaningful. It beats sitting in front of the TV all day.
“There are always a few exceptions, of course,” Jonas continued. “And I think Karla might be one. She’s still very young and she might lose interest later on when puberty hits. You never know. But I feel she may pursue it in a serious way. She not only has the talent but the passion for it.”
Karla came into the room, carrying a few drawings and paintings. Jonas took them out of her hands and spread them on the table. He pointed to one of them, a picture of a bird—a hawk most likely—flying in the sky. It was a fascinating drawing.
“Other children, even talented ones, might have drawn this bird from the side, either flying or sitting on a branch. Karla picked this very unusual pose. She drew the bird as seen from underneath, as it is flying by. Look at the legs and claws and the beak from below. Quite amazing, and she drew it from imagination.” Jonas patted Karla’s back.
Anna hugged her. “This is great.” She was delighted to see the normally serious child so excited.
“We’ll be cleaning up soon,” Jonas said. “Would you like another cup of coffee? I could go for some more myself.”
“Thanks, that would be nice.”
“Let’s get some coffee and something for you,” Jonas said to Karla, and the two disappeared into the kitchen. Karla came back with a mug of hot chocolate and Jonas carried a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate with
pains de chocolat,
chocolate-filled croissants.
“From my neighbor,” he said. “She’s afraid I’ll starve to death. She obviously hasn’t seen me stand on the scale lately.” Jonas patted his small pooch.
“Is she still trying to fix you up with someone?” Jonas had made a remark once about Mrs. Schatz’s matchmaking attempts.
“Not lately. She must feel I’m hopeless.” He laughed and went back into the studio.
Anna put the book aside and took a sip of coffee. She looked around the living room. It struck her once again how many photos of Jonas’s wife there were. Eva was looking down from the walls, the bookshelves, and the buffet.
He never got over her.
She took a deep breath and gazed out the window. A thin layer of haze grazed the mountains in the distance. Sirens blared nearby. “The New York City waltz”
Anna used to call it back in New York, where the sirens seemed to have been a constant background sound. Her memories of her life in New York were tightly knit with memories of Nicolas.
Did I ever get over him?
Anna wondered, thinking of her former husband.
Chapter 17
It was during the seventies, over fifteen years before, when Nico and Anna got married in New York City. They had been dating for two years. Anna was working as an assistant librarian at a public library on Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street. Nico had finished his degree in architecture and received a job offer from a company in New York, which had subsidiaries in Mexico.
The wedding ceremony at New York City Hall was anything but romantic. Couples were standing in line in the gloomy hallway of an old government building, waiting their turn to tie the knot. Some of the young men and women were smiling nervously, others were joking around. One young African American couple was ahead of Anna and Nico. The skinny young man in his dark suit pretended to sneak away. The bride, a beautiful, tall woman, kept grabbing him and pulling him back.
Finally, it was Anna and Nico’s turn. Anna was wearing a simple green silk dress and Nico a suit and tie. Anna was proud of her fiancé. He looked stunning in his black suit and aqua-blue shirt, which matched his shiny black hair and emphasized the color of his eyes. His lips curled into his charming, slightly lopsided smile.
Their close friends, Susan and George, were the witnesses. Anna’s hand trembled as she signed her new name, “Anna Foster-Frei.” Nico signed with a flourish. Then the civil servant, an overweight, bored-looking man, read the vows in a monotone voice. One of the buttons on his jacket was missing and his gut was sticking out. Anna forgave him his shabby appearance, thinking that he had to read the same lines hundreds of times a day and probably made a lousy salary.
After the somewhat undignified ceremony, Nico and Anna kissed to the applause of George and Susan. Susan and her husband George were in their late twenties. George was a lawyer and Susan worked in a bookstore, which is where Anna had met her one day. They had been friends ever since.
They left the City Clerk’s Office in Manhattan and headed to a restaurant for lunch. Anna glanced up and down the street at the rows of cars, which snaked their way slowly through the thicket of traffic. She was so used to the stench of exhaust that she barely noticed it. Tall buildings lined the streets. In the narrower roads, the sun never made it to the ground. New York City was an assault on the senses, the mind, and the emotions, but Anna loved it. She was still young and adventurous.
At a traffic light, they crossed one of the wide avenues. “Well, this wasn’t the most romantic wedding ceremony,” George said.
“You can say that,” Nico agreed with a grin. He put his arm around Anna and hugged her. “But we’ll have the real celebration in church once my father and Anna’s mother get here.”
George and Susan invited them to a fancy restaurant nearby. An elderly hostess greeted them with cool and efficient New York politeness and led them to a reserved alcove. The dark wood paneling and the dim light gave the place an elegant but gloomy and almost ghostlike feeling. The booth, however, was nicely decorated and a bottle of champagne was waiting in the ice bucket. The waiter popped the cork and poured them a glass.
“Congratulations,” he said, smiling businesslike at Anna.
“To a long and happy life and lots of children,” Susan said and raised her glass.
“Let’s wait with the children for a while,” Nico said. He kissed Anna and she felt she was floating on a cloud of happiness.
Chapter 18
Jonas applied a few stripes of orange to a painting, which consisted of patches and squares of different shades of brown and white. The picture gave the feeling of a quilt and it was one of a series of abstract paintings for an upcoming exhibition. He stepped back and scrunched up his eyes, then dipped the brush into paint thinner and rubbed his hands.
The doorbell rang. The clock on the wall showed two o’clock in the afternoon. He wasn’t expecting anybody. He pushed the buzzer, opened the door, and peered over the railing. He saw the top of the head of a woman with brown shoulder-length hair who came up the stairs.
Anna?
But it wasn’t the day of Karla’s painting lessons and the woman was alone. When she turned her head and looked up, he recognized her.
“Anna? What a surprise; I didn’t expect you.”
“I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced,” Anna said as she climbed the last step.
She was out of breath, her normally pale cheeks showed a healthy glow. “I was in town to run errands and wanted to drop this off.” She was holding up a shopping bag.
“Well, come on in.” Jonas stepped back. “Want some coffee?”
“No, unfortunately I don’t have time,” Anna said as she walked into the living room. “I have an appointment in about twenty minutes. I just wanted to give you this. It came in yesterday and I know you like his work.” Anna pulled a large book out of the bag and handed it to him.
“Wow, this is absolutely gorgeous,” Jonas said. He paged through the book. It was the illuminated edition of William Blake’s
Songs of Innocence and Experience
. “This is great, but I want to pay you for this. This is expensive.”
Anna shook her head. “No, this is a present . . . for all the things you do for Karla.”
“Anna, you pay for Karla’s lessons.”
“So? What you do for her is worth a lot more than money. Besides, you don’t pay for a gift.” She sounded somewhat abrupt. Had he offended her?
“Thank you very much. I truly appreciate this,” he quickly assured her. “And Karla is doing great, by the way. Her painting has really progressed and she seems happier.”
“Yes, thank God.” Anna gave a weak smile.
“You do a lot for her too, Anna. It must not be easy.”