The great day was 27 September. The day for which others as well as Wilhelm had been eagerly waiting, a day like no other. All Germany was waiting for that day.
In the morning, when Helene had just dressed, Wilhelm’s eye fell on her behind. He took hold of her hips and ran his tongue over her mouth. You’re the first woman I’ve liked to kiss, did you know that? Helene smiled diffidently and picked up her handbag. Day by day, Wilhelm’s taste for unsettling her, seeing her feel diffident was increasing. Now that she knew he had developed that liking, she made out from time to time that she really was diffident. Nothing could have been easier. Let’s see your suspender belt, are you wearing the one with the little anchors on it? Wilhelm felt her suspender belt through the firm woollen fabric.
We must leave, Wilhelm.
Don’t worry, I have my eye on the time. He said it quietly, he moved softly. Especially before going out, and especially on a great day like this, Wilhelm didn’t want to leave his home before taking her at least briefly. He grabbed her skirt, pushed it up, pulled her knickers down as far as possible — she wasn’t complying with his wish for her to wear them over the suspender belt. Helene felt him push himself inside her and as he went on thrusting, with short, quick jabs, she remembered how Carl used to undress her lingeringly to the last. He would caress her breasts, her arms, her fingers. After that first night, it was enough for Wilhelm to lift her skirt.
He hadn’t been inside Helene a minute before pushing her up against the table, with her handbag still over her wrist. He stopped, then patted her buttocks. Obviously he had finished. She didn’t know whether he had come or whether his desire had left him.
Right, we can go, said Wilhelm. He had pulled up his trousers, which had slipped to the floor, and fastened his belt. He looked at himself in the mirror, unbuttoned his shirt and splashed eau de Cologne lavishly on his chest.
Helene wanted to wash, but Wilhelm said he was afraid there wasn’t time for that. All that washing of hers infuriated him, he added. He took his coat and put it on, looked at the mirror again to check his appearance now that he was wearing the coat, took his small comb out of his inside pocket and ran it through his hair.
Do you think that’ll do?
Of course, said Helene, you look good. She had put on her own coat and was waiting.
What’s that behind me? Wilhelm craned his neck so that he could see his back view better.
What do you mean?
Well, that! See that funny kind of crease? And my coat’s all over bits of fuzz. Would you deal with it, please?
Of course, said Helene, and taking the clothes brush out of the console table she brushed Wilhelm’s coat.
The arms too. Not so hard, child, this is fine fabric.
At last they were able to set off. Helene’s knickers were wet. Wilhelm was flowing out of her even as he walked to the car about three metres ahead of her. Perhaps there was some blood too. Her periods had been back for the last three months and she was due again tomorrow, or maybe even today.
The opening of the Reich autobahn was an endless ceremony full of speeches and commendations, vows made in the name of the future, of Germany and its Führer. Heil. Helene thought everyone near her must be surprised by the reek of sperm clinging to her. Wilhelm’s sperm. There were days when she felt the smell of it was like a brand on her. Obviously Wilhelm didn’t notice anything. He stretched out his arm and stood motionless beside her for hours with his back very straight. On this day his greatest achievement so far was on show to the public. All the workers were thanked, including those who had risked or lost their lives. No one said exactly how they had lost them. One might have fallen off a bridge, another could have been run over by a steamroller. Helene imagined the different possible kinds of death. In any case, theirs had been heroic deaths, just as the building of the whole road was heroic. A reference to the drop in the unemployment figures was intended to emphasize the claim that, among other achievements, the building of this road and the other autobahns that were to follow was a triumphantly successful way of tackling unemployment in Germany. When Wilhelm stepped forward to be honoured, he did not glance back at Helene; presumably the many pats on the back he received from his colleagues prevented him. Wilhelm shook hands, stretched his arm towards the sky and looked around him with a certain pride. His excitement seemed so great that he forgot to smile. Or perhaps the place and the occasion seemed to him too sacred for anyone to venture a smile. He expressed his thanks in a firm voice, he thanked everyone, from the German Fatherland to the secretary of the first German Ladies’ Automobile Club. Heil, Heil, Heil. Everyone had earned a Heil. Unlike the six gentlemen who had been commended and honoured before him, he had not seen and then exploited the tiny loophole left available for him to thank his wife. Perhaps it was because they had no children. After all, the speakers before him could thank their whole families for providing special support in the recent past.
Before the guests invited to the lunch celebrating the occasion set off in a convoy, Helene left, like most of the other wives. After all, she had to prepare supper and do the laundry. As he said goodbye to her, Wilhelm said he hoped to be home by six, but if he didn’t get back in time for supper she wasn’t to wait for him. He might well be late on a day like this.
Helene waited all the same. She had made pearl barley soup with carrots and bacon, a favourite of Wilhelm’s, specially for today. The potatoes grew cold, fresh liver and onions lay beside the stove ready for frying. Helene herself hated pearl barley and liver, she simply could not get any of those dishes down, so there was no point, she thought, in eating any supper herself later in the evening. She wrote two letters to Berlin: one to Martha alias Elsa, one to Leontine asking why there was no word from Martha. Then she wrote a third letter, to Bautzen. It would bear the Stettin postmark, but as sender’s name she gave only her first name, Helene, written in a childish scrawl so that the postman might think it was just love and kisses from a little girl and suspect nothing. She had not yet told her mother and Mariechen that she was married and now had a new surname. Martha and Leontine had agreed with her that such news might agitate her mother unnecessarily. So Helene wrote to say she was well and had moved to Stettin for professional reasons, to look for a job here since she couldn’t find one in Berlin at the moment. She asked how her mother was and said any reply should be sent to Fanny’s address. Helene opened Wilhelm’s desk and took out the cash box. She knew he didn’t like her to go to his cash box on her own, but once, three months ago, she had asked him for some money for her mother and Wilhelm had just looked at her blankly. After all, he didn’t know these people, he said, and he didn’t suppose that she still wanted to call them relations of hers. So then she knew that he wasn’t going to give her anything. It might be because of maladministration or possible sharp practice, Helene didn’t know the precise reasons, but the income from Breslau had dried up. Finally Martha had said she could send their mother money only every three months; there simply wasn’t enough to go round. Mariechen had written asking for something in kind; she needed hard soap and foodstuffs, dried food would be useful, peas, fruits, oats and coffee, not to mention material for clothes. Helene took a ten-mark note out of the box; she hesitated; another ten-mark note lay temptingly on top of a third. But Wilhelm counted his money. She would have to think of a credible story to account for the absence of this one banknote. The simplest lie was to say she had lost the housekeeping money that he had counted out and given her the evening before. But Helene had claimed to have lost money once before. She took the banknote, put it in the letter to Bautzen and stuck down the envelope. Whether and exactly where the money would arrive was another question. Helene didn’t even know where her last letter had ended up.