Helene could tell from her sister’s voice that Martha was pleased with her ability to read blind. Go on reading, Martha told her for the second time. And Helene felt Martha taking her hand and guiding it over her belly, circling, running Helene’s hand over her hips, stroking them. Read.
A Selection of Lyrical Poetry.
Helene had noticed the gold letters and had been wondering for some time what exactly lyrical poetry was. But then Martha took her hand again and placed it on her bottom rib.
Can you see under my skin too, little angel? Do you know what’s underneath the ribs here? The liver lies here.
Sisterly knowledge. Remember that, you’ll have to learn it all later. And this is where the gall bladder is, right beside it, yes, there. The word spleen was on Helene’s lips, but she didn’t want to say it, she just wanted to open her eyes, but Martha noticed and told her: Keep your eyes closed.
Helene felt Martha take her hand and guide it up to the next rib, and finally still higher, up to her breast.
Although she kept her eyes tightly closed and couldn’t see, Helene noticed her own feelings and how hot her face was all of a sudden. Martha was still guiding her hand, and Helene clearly felt her nipple and the firm, soft, perfect curve of the breast. Then down into the valley below, where she felt a bone.
A little rib.
Martha didn’t answer, and now her hand was climbing the other hill. Helene peered through her lashes, but Martha’s eyes weren’t on her any more, they were wandering aimlessly, blissfully, under her own half-closed lids, and Helene saw Martha’s lips opening slightly and moving.
Come here.
Martha’s voice was husky; with her other hand she drew Helene’s head towards her and pressed her own mouth on Helene’s. Helene was startled; she felt Martha’s tongue on her lips, demanding, she could never have imagined how rough and smooth at the same time Martha’s tongue on her lips would feel. It tickled, it almost made Helene laugh, but Martha’s tongue grew firm and pressed on Helene’s lips as if searching for something. That tongue opened Helene’s lips and pushed against her teeth. Helene had to breathe, she wanted air, she opened her lips, and now Martha’s tongue was filling her whole mouth. Helene felt her sister’s tongue moving about in it, back and forth, pushing at the insides of her cheeks, pressing against her own tongue. Helene thought of their last walk beside the Spree, and how Martha had told her to stay a few steps behind her and Arthur. Suddenly she noticed that her hand was lying on Martha’s breast all by itself, while for some time Martha’s hands had been moving in her hair and on her back.
They had walked to the causeway lying concealed beyond the vineyard; you could reach it only by passing the willows that grew there. The ground was black and slippery. Come on, called Martha, several metres away, and she ran ahead with Arthur. They jumped from tree stump to tree stump, the soft ground yielded, their bare feet sank into it. Little puddles of gurgling water stood everywhere. Swarms of tiny midges were swirling in the air. Here, at this bend of the river, the Spree had made itself a small bay where the ground underfoot was not firm, land on which few people out for a stroll would ever tread. Marsh marigolds were flowering wherever you looked. The daisy chain that Martha had made Helene on the meadow by the river bank threatened to slip off her head; she held it on with one hand, using the other to carry her shoes and hold up her dress to keep it from getting muddy. It was difficult to see where the ground was at all firm, it kept giving way and, fast as they ran, putting their toes down first, their feet were soon black up to the ankle. The sword-shaped leaves of water lilies had a silvery sheen in the sunlight.
Arthur had put on his bathing costume behind a willow tree and was first into the water; he had flung himself into the current and was flailing about frantically with his arms to keep from being carried downstream. He looked as if he were treading water. The wind blew through the reeds, they swayed and bent down to the surface. Next moment the wind blew everything the other way, the yellowish-green twigs, the curving blades of grass as they bowed down. The rushing sound broke against Helene’s ears. Although Arthur kept calling to them, Martha couldn’t make up her mind to follow him. She didn’t have a bathing costume, she had grown so fast last year that her old one didn’t fit any more.
Let’s leave our petticoats on and just paddle in the water.
Martha and Helene took off their dresses and hung them over the branch of a low-growing willow. The water was icy cold, the chill went right through their calves. When Arthur came close to the bank and made as if to splash them with water, the girls fled. Martha squealed and laughed, and kept calling Helene’s name. Arthur wanted to lie on the grass with Martha at the foot of the slope further downstream, but Martha took Helene’s hand and said she couldn’t go anywhere without her little sister. And there might be grass stains if they lay down in their petticoats. Arthur said she could sit on his jacket, but Martha declined. She pointed to her mouth and showed Arthur how her teeth were chattering.
I’ll warm you up. Arthur put his hands on Martha’s arms, he wanted to stroke them and rub them, but now Martha made her teeth chatter as loudly as she could.
Arthur brought Martha her dress, told her to put it on again and Martha thanked him.
Later the two sisters sat snuggling together on the slope, side by side. A little way further up, Arthur had found some small wild strawberries, and now he was crawling around the meadow on all fours. From time to time he came back to the girls, knelt down in front of Martha and offered her a handful of berries on a vine leaf.
No sooner had he left again than Martha took the berries and put them alternately in Helene’s mouth and her own. They fell on the grass and looked up at the clouds. The wind had died down around them and now carried only a faint scent of wood from the sawmill. Helene breathed in the aroma, mingled with the sweet perfume of some kind of flowers. Martha saw the shape of a hussar in the sky; his horse had only forelegs and even those disappeared if you watched for any length of time. While there seemed to be almost no wind down here, the clouds up above were driving eastwards faster and faster. Helene said she could see a dragon, but Martha said dragons have wings.
No wonder everyone’s talking about mobilization, Arthur called down to them. Seeing you two lying there like that, I don’t feel as if picking berries were difficult!
The sisters exchanged meaningful glances. Arthur’s main interest was in being close to them, they were sure, not in mobilization. Neither of them had any idea, in fact, what he meant by that word. They suspected that his notion of the term was as vague as their own. They heard the wind whistling fitfully up above, whistling a cheerful march. Who was going to war, and what for? Was there a more beautiful place anywhere than the banks of the Spree? And for months the warmth of the sun had inspired such confidence! The holidays would never end; no one would follow the call to mobilization.
That’s all there are, said Arthur when he came back some time later with two handfuls of wild strawberries and sat down in front of the sisters. Would you like them? He reached out his hands to Martha; the berries were rolling about and threatened to fall into the grass.
No, I don’t want any more.
Would you like some?
Helene shook her head. For a moment Arthur looked at his hands, undecided.
Darling, he begged Martha, laughing. They’re for you.
Never mind that, let’s feed the little angel.
Martha held up her hands and took the strawberries from Arthur. Some of them fell on the grass.
Grab her. Martha indicated Helene with a nod of her head. Arthur did as she said, flung himself on Helene, forced her down under him and knelt on her small body, his strong hands pressing her arms to the ground. While Arthur and Martha laughed, Helene struggled, clenched her fists, shouted to Arthur to let her go. She tried arching her spine to throw him off, but he was heavy, he laughed, he was so heavy that her back gave way under the strain. Now Martha forced berry after berry between Helene’s lips as she pressed them together as firmly as possible. Juice was running out of the corners of her mouth and down her chin and throat. Jaws clenched, Helene tried begging them to leave her alone. Now Martha stuffed the little berries up Helene’s nose so that she could hardly breathe and the juice stung the inside of her nostrils. Martha squashed the berries on Helene’s mouth, on her teeth, squeezed them so that the skin around Helene’s mouth was itching from the sweet juice of the berries, until she opened her mouth and not only did she lick the strawberries off her teeth, she licked Martha’s fingers too when her sister pushed them into her mouth.