But if Anna can't recollect the poem in its entirety, she remembers how Max read it, with exaggerated self-mockery, pausing to glance ironically at her between stanzas; his little half-smile; the glint of mischief flashing like light off his spectacles. Anna laughs and runs her tongue out to catch the snow as she descends the steps toward the gate. Of course she will come back.
3
ONE MORNING IN MARCH 1940, ANNA WAKES WHEN HER father pounds on her bedroom door. She lies blinking and disoriented: What time is it? Has she overslept? Gerhard is never up and about before her. She turns her head to the nightstand clock, and when she sees that it is but an hour after dawn, she leaps from the bed, snatches the robe from the door, and runs into the hall. Gerhard is now nowhere to be seen, but Anna hears him crashing about downstairs.
Vati? Anna calls, following the noise to the kitchen. What is it? Is something wrong?
Gerhard is snatching plates from the china cabinet, holding each up for inspection before dropping it to the table.
This, he says, waving a saucer at Anna, this is what's wrong. Why is so much of the china chipped?
Anna clutches her dressing gown closed at the throat.
I'm sorry, Vati, I don't know. I have been very careful, but it is so old and fragile-
Gerhard tosses the dish next to its companions.
Nothing to be done, nothing to be done, he mutters.
He yanks open the icebox and thrusts his head inside, strands of silver hair hanging over his forehead.
Leftovers, he says. Carrots and potatoes. Half a bottle of milk. Half a loaf of bread-Is this all there is?
Why, yes, Vati, I haven't yet gone to the market today, it's far too early, so-
Gerhard slams the door closed.
There is nothing in this house fit for a chambermaid to eat, let alone decent company, he says. You must go immediately. Get meat. Veal or venison if they have any. Vegetables. Dessert! You must spare no expense.
Yes, of course, Vati, but what-
Gerhard charges from the room, leaving Anna staring after him. She has been an unwilling student of her father's erratic behavior her whole life, alert as a fawn, calibrating her every response to his whims. But nothing in Gerhard's mercurial moods has prepared Anna for his invasion of her territory, the kitchen; if asked prior to this, Anna would have said that Gerhard might not know even where the icebox is.
Anna!
Coming, Vati.
Anna hurries into the house and finds Gerhard standing in the downstairs WC.
Why are there no fresh handtowels? he demands, shaking a fistful of linens at her.
I'm sorry, Vati. I laundered those just last Sunday-
This is appalling, Gerhard says. They must be done again. Starched. And ironed.
He throws the towels at Anna's feet.
Yes, Vati, she says, stooping to collect them. I'll do it as soon as I get back from the-
And where is my best suit?
In your closet, Vati.
Pressed? Brushed?
Yes-
My good shoes? Are they shined?
Yes, Vati, they're upstairs as well.
Humph, says Gerhard.
He comes out into the hallway and glowers about, hands on hips, at the entrances to the library, the drawing room, the dining room, at the chandelier overhead.
After you go to the market, you must ensure that everything in this house is spotless. Spotless, do you understand? No pushing dirt under the rugs, Miss.
Why, Vati, I would never-
Gerhard rakes a hand through his thinning hair. In his atypical dishabille-he is still in pajamas-he reminds Anna of a big bear disgruntled at being awakened too soon.
Where is my breakfast? he demands.
I'll get it right away, Vati.
Very good, says Gerhard.
He pinches Anna's cheek and strides off in the direction of his study. A moment later Anna hears him burst into song, a snatch of the Pilgrim's Chorus from Wagner's Tannhäuser, bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Anna sneaks back upstairs and dresses hastily, then returns to the kitchen and adds to the bread a boiled egg and some cheese that has escaped her father's notice. Putting this on a tray with a pot of tea, she brings it to Gerhard's office.
Ah, thank you, Anchen, he says, rubbing his hands. That looks lovely. Even as you do this morning, my dear.
Anna sets the food on her father's desk and retreats to the doorway. She has learned to be wariest of him when he is smiling.
Will there be anything else? she asks, eyes on her shoes.
Gerhard slices the top off the egg and eats it with a mouthful of bread.
We will be having guests for dinner, he says, spraying crumbs onto the blotter in his enthusiasm, very important fellows on whom I must make the best possible impression. Everything, down to the last detail, must be perfect. Do you understand?
Anna nods.
Gerhard flutters his fingers: dismissed. Anna walks from the room as quickly as she can without actually running, leaving Gerhard to hum and mumble as he chews.
Tulips, he calls after her. Tulips are in season, aren't they? If you get to the market fast enough, you might be able to get a few bunches…
Anna patters rapidly down the staircase, pausing only to grab her net shopping bag and coat from the rack near the door. Safely out on the drive, she looks back over her shoulder at the Elternhaus, her childhood home: such a respectable-looking place, with its heavy stone foundation and half-timbered upper stories. One would never suspect its owner to be so volatile. Anna glances at the window of Gerhard's study and hurries down the road before he can throw it open to shout further instruction.
Once the house is out of sight around the bend, Anna repins her hat, which she has crammed onto her head at a crazy angle in her haste, and slows her pace. This is her favorite part of the day, these hours devoted to her errands, the only time she has to herself. During the journey into Weimar and back, Gerhard and his requirements are conspicuously absent, and Anna dawdles along indulging in her own daydreams. Until recently, these have been of the vaguest sort, centering primarily on the day Anna might escape her father's house to live with whatever husband he has chosen for her. Gerhard has exposed her over the past few years to a variety of candidates, but in Anna's mind the face of her spouse remains indistinct. Not that she has cared much who he might be or what he will look like, as long as he is quiet and kind. Nor has Anna ever thought of other aspirations, attending University for instance; what for? None of her peers would ever consider such a thing. Kinder, Kirche, Küche: children, church, kitchen; this is what all German girls hope for; this is what Anna has been raised to be. Her future is not for her to decide.
But lately her reveries have assumed a different, more concrete form. Given the war-the girls being requisitioned for agricultural Landwerke, Anna's potential suitors commandeered by the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe-who knows what might happen? And there is Max. Perhaps, if things continue to worsen as he says, Max will leave after all-and take Anna with him. They could go to a warm place far away from this senseless strife, somewhere he could set up a small practice and they could live simply. Portugal, Greece, Morocco? Anna pictures them walking along a beach in the morning, talking while the fishermen set out their nets. They will linger in a café over lunch. They will eat strange fruit and fried fish.