The blind side of the heart - By Julia Franck Page 0,96

whistled, either in anger or delight, and she stayed. People shouted, trampled their feet and one man in the stalls threw coins all around.

Helene put her hands over her ears. She had stayed in her seat, the only person to do so; she leaned forward, her chin on her chest, looking down at her lap, and wished she could just disappear. It was more than an hour before they could leave the theatre. People were jamming the exits, they kept stopping, clapping, turning to go back, pushing and shoving. The air was stuffy. Helene was sweating. The uproar frightened her. Someone punched her shoulder, she assumed it was a young man who quickly turned away. Helene did not let go of Carl’s hand. People pushed between them, and again and again it seemed as if they would be forced apart. Helene felt sick. Out of here, she thought, I must get out of here.

Carl wanted to walk along Friedrichstrasse and Unter den Linden. The water in the canal was black, an S-Bahn train ran by overhead. On the bridge, Helene leaned over the stone balustrade and threw up.

You didn’t like it. He was making a statement, not asking a question.

You’re mad about it.

I’m full of enthusiasm, yes.

Helene looked for her handkerchief and couldn’t find it. The sour taste in her mouth wouldn’t let her nausea go away. She felt a little dizzy, so she held on to the stone of the balustrade.

Isn’t this a new departure, true modernity? We’re all a part of the whole, the barriers between being and representation are breaking down. Being and appearance are coming closer. People are hungry, hungry and thirsty for a world that they’ll determine themselves, haven’t you noticed?

What are you talking about? What world will they determine? You talk about enthusiasm and the mob screams. It scares me, oh, that pitiless, overbearing attitude at all social levels scares me. Helene had to straighten up; she felt sick and dizzy, everything seemed to be going up and down. She turned her back to Carl and leaned over the balustrade again. How nice the sandstone felt, rough and firm.

Now Carl put his hand on her back. Darling, are you ill? Do you think the meatballs were off?

Helene’s face hung over the water. She imagined jumping into it. Strings of mucus streamed from her mouth, her nose was running too, she had no handkerchief.

He wasn’t to know that she didn’t have a handkerchief, all she needed was a handkerchief to be able to stand upright again. She had to ask him: Do you have a handkerchief?

Of course I do. Here you are. Come on, let me help you. Carl was solicitous, but Helene was losing her temper.

How can you be so simple, calling that enthusiasm? You read Schopenhauer and Spinoza, then on an evening like this you fling yourself into the crowd as if there were no tomorrow, no yesterday, nothing at all but wallowing in a bath along with the common man.

What do you have against the common man?

Nothing. Helene realized that she was pressing her lips together. I respect him. She wondered whether to tell him that she herself was a common woman. But what good would that do? So she said: The little man isn’t the little man, the great man isn’t the great man. Perhaps people have to be born in comfortable circumstances, like you, to glorify the little man as you do. Open your eyes, Carl.

Carl hugged her. Let’s not quarrel, he said.

Why not? Helene asked softly. She would have preferred to quarrel rather than admit that the play’s effect on Carl, so obvious to her, was genuine enthusiasm. Goodness, she thought, it was nothing but a lot of popular songs strung together.

Carl put his hand on Helene’s mouth to soothe her. Hush, hush, he said, as if she were crying and he wanted to comfort her. I couldn’t bear it if we fell out with each other.

We won’t. Helene smoothed the collar of his coat.

I love you. Carl tried to kiss Helene, but she was ashamed of her sour-tasting mouth and moved her head aside.

Don’t turn away, darling. You’re all I have.

Suddenly Helene had to laugh. I’m not turning away, she laughed. How can you think that? I’ve been sick, I don’t feel good and I’m tired. Let’s go home.

We’ll take a taxi. You’re not feeling well.

No, let’s walk. I need some air.

They walked deep into the night in silence. The narrow wooden bridge in the Tiergarten creaked and