In
the morning the woman, among others, walked about the pedestrian zone of the small town; she was carrying a rumpled, tired-looking plastic bag. One of the people up ahead of her was Bruno. She followed him. After a while he turned around as though by chance, and instantly she said, “The other day I saw a sweater that would be just right for you in that shop.” She took his arm and they went in. A salesgirl was sitting, resting, with a
mannequin behind her. Her eyes were closed and her hands, which were somewhat red and rough, lay in her lap; her brows were drawn together as though relaxation were painful, and the corners of her mouth drooped. She jumped up as they came in, upsetting her chair and stumbling over a clothes hanger that was lying on the floor.
She sneezed, put on her glasses, sneezed again.
The woman said slowly, as though to soothe her, “Last week, I saw a man's sweater in the window. Gray cashmere.”
The salesgirl fingered through a pile on one of the shelves. The woman, who was looking over the salesgirl's shoulder, picked out the sweater and handed it to Bruno to try on. A baby's scream could be heard from one corner of the shop, where there was a basket on the floor. The salesgirl said, “I don't dare go near it with my cold.” The woman went over and pacified the child just by bending over the basket. Bruno had the sweater on; he looked at the salesgirl, who merely shrugged and gave her nose a prolonged blowing. The woman told Bruno in an undertone to keep it on. He was going to pay, but she shook her head, pointed at herself, and gave the salesgirl a banknote. The salesgirl pointed at the empty till, and the woman said in the same undertone that she would come by for the change next day. “Or come and see me. Yes, come and see me.” She quickly wrote down the address. “You're all alone with the baby, aren't you? It's nice to see someone in a shop who isn't a ghost with makeup on.
Forgive me for talking about you as if I had a right to.”
As they were leaving, the salesgirl took out a pocket mirror and looked at herself; she held a chapstick under her nose and passed it over her lips.
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Outside
the woman said to Bruno, “So you're still in the land of the living.”
Bruno answered almost gaily, “I myself am surprised some afternoons to see that I'm still in existence. Yesterday, incidentally, I noticed that I've stopped counting the days since I've been without you.” He laughed. “I had a dream in which people all went crazy, one after another. Every time it hit somebody, you could see that he began to enjoy his life, so there was no need for the rest of us to feel guilty. Does Stefan still ask for me?”
While removing the price tag from the back of the sweater, the woman said, “Come soon.” She walked away, and he took another direction.
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In
the evening the woman was sitting in the café, reading a newspaper and muttering to herself. The actor came along and stopped at her table. “I recognized your car in the parking lot,” he said.
She looked at him without surprise and said, “I've been
reading the paper again for the first time in ages. I'd lost track of what was going on in the world. What month is it anyway?”
The actor sat down across the table from her. “February.”
“And what continent are we living on?”
“On one among several.”
The woman: “Have you a name?”
The actor said it; he looked to one side, laughed, and moved the glasses around on the table. Finally he looked at her again and said, “I've never followed a woman before. I've been looking for you for days. Your face is so gentleâas though you never forgot that we're all going to die. Forgive me if I've said something stupid.” He shook his head. “Damn it, the second I say something I want to take it back! I've longed for you so these last few days that I couldn't keep still. Please don't be angry. You seem so free, you have a kind of”âhe laughedâ“of lifeline in your face! I burn for you, everything in me is aflame with desire for you. Perhaps you think I'm overwrought from being out of work so long? But don't speak. You must come with me. Don't leave me alone. I want you. Don't you feel that we've been lost up to now? At a streetcar stop I saw these words on a wall: âHE loves you. HE will save you.' Instantly I thought of you. HE won't save us; no, WE will save each other. I want to be all around you, sense your presence everywhere; I want my hand to feel the warmth rising from you even before I
touch you. Don't laugh. Oh, how I desire you. I want to be with you right this minute, entirely and forever!”
They sat motionless, face to face. He looked almost angry; then he ran out of the café. The woman sat among the other people, without moving.
A brightly lighted bus came driving through the night, empty except for a few old women, passed slowly around a traffic circle, then vanished into the darkness, its strap handles swaying.
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Another
evening the woman and child sat in the living room, throwing dice. It was stormy outside and the doors rattled. Now and then the two of them stopped playing and listened to the roaring of the storm.
The phone rang. They let it ring for quite some time. Finally the child answered and said, “I don't want to talk now.” Then to the woman, “Bruno wants to come over with the teacher.” The woman made a gesture of assent, and the child said into the phone, “Yes, I'll still be awake.”
As they went on playing, another bell rang. This time it was the door.
The publisher was outside. The instant the child opened the door, the publisher said, “What is little, has tired eyes, and isn't in bed, though it's long after the children's programs are over?”
He entered in long strides and embraced the woman.
She asked, “Have you been to see your lost author again?”
The publisher: “There is no lost author. Never has been.”
He pulled a bottle of champagne out of his coat pocket and said there was more in the car.
The woman: “But do ask the chauffeur in.”
After a brief pause the publisher opened the door and beckoned to the chauffeur, who entered hesitantly, after wiping his shoes at great length.
The publisher: “You are invited to share a glass with us.”
The woman: “Or two.”
The doorbell rang again. When the chauffeur answered it, the salesgirl from the shop stood there smiling. She was beautiful now.
They all sat or stood drinking in the living room. The child went on throwing dice. Music. The publisher had his eyes on the floor; then he looked from one person to another. Suddenly he seemed pleased and refilled the chauffeur's glass.
Then it was the telephone ringing again. The woman answered and said at once, “Yes, of course I know. Your voice sounds so close. You're in the phone booth at the corner, I can tell.”
The doorbell rang, the short ring of a familiar.
The woman nodded to the others to get the door, while
she stayed on the phone. “No, I'm not alone. Can't you hear? But come ahead. Do come!”
Bruno and Franziska appeared.
Franziska said to the woman, “And we were expecting to find the loneliest woman on earth.”
“I apologize for not being alone this evening. It's quite accidental.”
Franziska to the child: “I have a name. So stop referring to me as âthe teacher,' the way you did on the telephone just now.”
The publisher: “In that case, I don't want to be called âthe publisher' any more, either; my name is Ernst.”
The woman embraced Bruno.
The publisher stepped up to Franziska and said, “Let's you and me embrace, too,” and his arms were already around her. The woman opened the door and went outside; the actor was coming slowly down the street. She let him in without a word.
Bruno looked him over. Then he said, “Are you the boyfriend?” And then, “I suppose you're sleeping with my wife. Or aiming to, at least?”
He stared as he had at the office. “I bet you're the type that drives an ancient small car with a lot of political pornography magazines lying around on the back seat?”
He went on staring. “Your shoes aren't shined either. But at least you're blond. Could it be that you have blue eyes?” After staring a little more he suddenly relaxed; the woman just stood there.
He said, “I'm only talking, you know. It doesn't mean a thing.”
They were all in the living room. The publisher danced with the salesgirl. The chauffeur went out to the car and brought back some more bottles of champagne. Then he passed from one guest to another, clinking glasses.
The child was playing on the floor among them. Bruno squatted down and watched him.
The child: “Will you play with me?”
Bruno: “I can't play this evening.” He tossed the dice two or three times and said, “Really, I can't play this evening.”
The salesgirl detached herself from the publisher, bent down, and threw the dice. Then she went on dancing, breaking away now and then to play dice with the child.
Filled glasses in hand, the publisher and Franziska walked around each other in circles.
Bruno cut the child's toenails in the bathroom.
The publisher and Franziska smiled as they slowly passed each other in the hallway.
The child lay in bed and Bruno stood beside him. The child said, “You're all so strangely quiet.” Bruno only tilted his head to one side. Then he switched off the light.
He passed down the hallway with the woman to join the others. The actor came toward them; Bruno put his arm around his wife's shoulders, then took it away.
The actor said to her, “I've been looking for you.”
They all sat in the living room, not talking very much.
But without being asked they moved closer and closer together and stayed that way for a time.
The salesgirl leaned her head back and said, “What a long day it's been! My eyes weren't eyes any more; they felt like burning holes. They don't hurt as much now and I'm gradually beginning to see again.”
The chauffeur, beside her, made a move as though to take hold of her hair, then let his hand drop.
The publisher knelt down in front of the salesgirl and kissed her fingertips, each separately.
The chauffeur took some photographs out of his wallet and showed them to each of the others in turn.
Franziska said to the salesgirl, “Why don't you join a political party?”
The salesgirl made no reply but suddenly threw her arms around Franziska; Franziska disengaged herself, looked toward the woman, and said, “Loneliness is a source of loathsome ice-cold suffering, the suffering of unreality. At such times we need people to teach us that we're not really so far gone.”
The chauffeur nodded energetically and looked at the publisher, who raised his arms and said, “I haven't expressed any disagreement.”
The salesgirl hummed along with the music; then she lay down on the floor and stretched her legs.
The chauffeur took out a memo pad and started sketching them all.
Franziska began to open her mouth, but the chauffeur
said, “Kindly don't move.” Franziska closed her mouth again.
They were all silent; they drank; then more silence.
Suddenly they all laughed at once.
Bruno said to the actor, “Do you realize that you're sitting in my place?”
The actor stood up and was going to take another chair. The sketching chauffeur said severely, “Stay where you are!”
As the actor was sitting down again, Bruno pulled the chair out from under him and he fell on his back.
He got up slowly and took a kick at Bruno.
The two of them rolled on the floor; the chauffeur tried to separate them.
The salesgirl put her glasses on.
Franziska exchanged glances with the publisher, who launched into the story of how he had been shipwrecked during the war.
The woman looked out of the window; the crowns of the trees in the garden were being buffeted to and fro.
The chauffeur came back from the car with a first-aid kit.
He joined the hands of Bruno and the actor, stepped back, told them to stay in that exact position, and sketched. They made faces, and he cried out, “Don't laugh!”
Bruno and the actor went to the bathroom and washed their faces together.
The salesgirl and Franziska came in and dabbed at them with towels.
The chauffeur showed his finished sketch around.