The blind side of the heart - By Julia Franck Page 0,73
a large brass-coloured funnel, a voice croaked in song: In fifty years we’ll all be gone. When the party moved from the table to sit on chaises longues, Martha gratefully took the arm of the man who had been sitting beside her at dinner listening to her chatter. Once Helene thought that Martha was crying. But as soon as she had made her way across the salon to her sister Martha was laughing, dabbing tears of delight from her face with the handkerchief that she had tied round her arm earlier. In the course of the evening Martha accepted cigarettes and smoked them through a holder that Helene had never seen in her sister’s hands before. Later Fanny’s lover, whose name was Bernard pronounced in the French way, had a pipe lit. Nothing less than opium could be offered in tribute to her, he opined. Her friends clapped.
Martha once called out, raising her voice: Oh, aunt, what a wonderful party – and Helene could hardly believe her ears, because she had never before heard Martha raise her voice like that, laughing, in such company. Aunt Fanny replied, also with laughter, from the other end of the big room: Aunt? Darling, is that what you’re going to call me? I feel a hundred years older right away. An old lady – aren’t aunts all old ladies? Fanny, darling, just Fanny!
No one offered Helene a pipe or cigarettes; she supposed word had gone round quickly that she was still under sixteen and came from Lusatia. Two gentlemen looked after the flapper, as they called her, pouring champagne for Helene and later on water, and obviously enjoying reminding each other that Helene was still a child. What a pretty flapper! It was charming to see her drink water from her glass. Was she always so thirsty? The two gentlemen were amusing themselves, while Helene took care never to lose sight of Martha. Martha was laughing with everyone, pouting prettily as if to kiss a young gentleman who hadn’t taken his cap off. But next moment she put her arm round a half-naked woman who wore a sleeveless dress like Aunt Fanny’s, and whose cries of ooh-la-la reached Helene’s ears over all those heads, so shrill a sound that it hurt. Ooh-la-la, the woman kept crying, putting her own arm round Martha, and Helene clearly saw her hand fall on Martha’s shoulder and later move to her waist, until it seemed as if the woman would never let go of her again. Was that a pipe Martha was smoking? Perhaps Helene was mistaken.
A little more water? One of the two gentlemen leaned forward to pour Helene water from the crystal carafe.
Late in the evening the party broke up. But not to go home, as Helene thought at first; they were all going on to a club together.
Help my niece into her coat, Fanny told one of her admirers, a tall blond man, her glance indicating Martha. She told Helene in kindly tones that she must make herself entirely at home and wished her sweet dreams.
But the sweet dreams were elusive and Helene couldn’t sleep. Left alone with the servants, she had gone straight back to her room, but she couldn’t help waiting up until the first light of dawn. Only when morning light came falling through the stone-grey curtains did she hear sounds in the apartment. A door closed. There were voices, laughter, steps approaching down the long corridor. Their bedroom door opened and Martha, half stumbling, half staggering, was helped into the room, where she immediately dropped on to Helene’s bed. The door closed again. Out in the corridor, Helene heard Fanny laughing with her French lover and a woman friend, perhaps Lucinde. Helene got up, pushed the second bed up to hers and undressed Martha, who couldn’t move anything but her lips now.
Little angel, we’re here. The forfeit is a kiss. You only have to open the gates of heaven and you can go through. But Martha couldn’t giggle any more; she snuffled and fell asleep, her head sinking to one side.
Helene got Martha into her nightdress, unpinned her hair and laid her big sister down beside her. Martha smelled of wine and smoke, and a heavy scent that Helene couldn’t place, both flowery and resinous. Helene put her arms firmly round Martha, and she was still staring into the dim light by the time Martha was snoring softly.
The approaching winter brought heavy snow. Martha and Helene had pushed the trunk far