We’re going to have a baby.
Helene had firmly determined to tell Wilhelm this evening. Something had gone wrong, although she was sure she hadn’t miscalculated. Helene could remember how it happened. It must have been on the night when Wilhelm came home late and had woken her up. She had known it was a risky day and had tried to change his mind, but she had not succeeded. Later she had washed for hours and douched herself with vinegar, but obviously it hadn’t worked. When her periods stopped, and a weekend came when Wilhelm was away on business in Berlin and didn’t want to take her with him, she had bought a bottle of red wine and drunk it all. Then she had taken her knitting needles and poked about. After a while she started bleeding and went to sleep, but it wasn’t a period. Her periods had stopped. She had known for weeks; she had been trying to think of some way out. She didn’t know anyone in Stettin; there hadn’t been a letter from Berlin for months. Once Helene tried telephoning Leontine. No one answered. When she asked the exchange to put her through to Fanny’s number, the switchboard operator said the number was no longer available. Presumably Fanny hadn’t been able to pay her bills. There was no way out of it now, there was just her certainty. Wilhelm looked down at his shoes.
We are?
She nodded. She had expected, first afraid and then hopeful, that Wilhelm would congratulate himself; she had thought there was nothing he wanted more.
Wilhelm stood up and took Helene by the shoulders. Are you sure? The corners of his mouth twitched, but yes, there was pride in his face, the first suggestion of delight, a smile.
Quite sure.
Wilhelm stroked Helene’s hair back from her forehead. As he did so he looked at his watch. Perhaps he had an engagement and someone was waiting for him. I’m glad, he said. I really am. Really very glad.
Really very glad? Helene looked doubtfully up at Wilhelm, trying to meet his eyes. When she stood in front of him she had to put her head right back to do so, and even then it was possible only if he noticed that she was looking at him and looked down at her. He did not look down at her.
Why the question? Is there something wrong?
It doesn’t sound as if you’re really pleased.
Wilhelm glanced at his watch again. How dreadful your doubts are, Alice. You’re always expecting something else. Now, I have an urgent meeting. We’ll discuss it later, right?
Later? she asked. Perhaps this was one of the secret professional meetings that took Wilhelm out in the evening more and more frequently.
My God, this isn’t the moment. If I’m too late back tonight, then tomorrow.
Helene nodded. Wilhelm took his hat and coat off the hook.
As soon as the door had closed, Helene sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands. For her, the past few months had consisted of waiting. She had waited for letters from Berlin, she had waited for Wilhelm to come back from work so that she could hear words spoken, perhaps she didn’t exactly want to talk to anyone, but just to hear a human voice. When she had asked him to let her look for a job in the hospital he had always refused. In his view the words you are my wife were explanation enough. His wife did not have to work, his wife was not to work, he didn’t want his wife to work. After all, she had plenty of housework to keep her occupied. Not bored, are you? he had sometimes asked, and told her that she could clean the windows again, he was sure they hadn’t been cleaned for months. Helene cleaned the windows, although she had done the job only four weeks ago. She rubbed them with crumpled-up newspaper until the panes shone and her hands were dry, cracked and grey with newsprint. The only people with whom she exchanged a word during the day were the woman in the greengrocer’s, the butcher and sometimes the fishwife down on the quay. The grocer didn’t speak to her, or at least only to say what the price of something was, and her greetings and goodbyes went unanswered. On most days she didn’t utter more than three or four sentences. Wilhelm was not particularly talkative in the evenings. If he was at home and didn’t go out again, which recently had been the case only one or two evenings a week, his replies to Helene were monosyllabic.
Helene sat at the table rubbing her eyes. She felt dreadfully tired. She still had to wash Wilhelm’s shirts and put the sheets through the mangle. There were bones for soup in the cool larder cupboard under the windowsill. A little air bubble inside Helene burst. Wind? She hadn’t eaten anything to give her flatulence. Perhaps it was the baby. Was this how it felt when a baby started moving? My child, whispered Helene. She put her hand on her belly. My child, she said, smiling. There was no way out of it now, she was going to have a baby. Perhaps it would be nice to have a child? Helene wondered what the baby would look like. She imagined a little girl with dark hair, hair as dark and eyes as bright as Martha’s, and an inscrutable smile like Leontine’s. Helene stood up, put Wilhelm’s shirts in the big boiler and placed the boiler on the stove. Then she washed carrots, scraped them, and put them in a pan of water with the bones. A bay leaf and a little pepper. Helene peeled the onions, stuck them with a clove and put them in the pan with the bones. She scrubbed the celery, cut it in half and stuffed it in between the carrots and bones. Finally she washed the leek and the parsley root. She mustn’t forget the leek later. She didn’t like a leek to soften in the soup overnight, and then disintegrate next morning as soon as she tried to fish it out.
Wilhelm didn’t come home until Helene was asleep. Next day was Sunday, and when he didn’t mention the baby of his own accord, Helene told him, unasked: It will come at the beginning of November.
What will? Wilhelm was cutting up his bread and jam with a knife and fork, an oddity that Helene had only recently noticed. Did he feel that her hands soiled the bread she cut for him?
Our baby.
Oh, that. Wilhelm chewed noisily; you could hear the sound of his saliva. He munched for a long time, swallowed, and put down the knife and fork.
Another cup of coffee? Helene picked up the coffee pot to pour him more.
Wilhelm did not reply, as he often forgot to do, and she refilled his cup.
Do you know what I think…?
Listen, Alice. You’re expecting a child, all right? If I said yesterday I was glad then I am glad, do you hear? I’m glad you’ll soon have some company.
But…
Don’t interrupt me, Alice. That really is a bad habit of yours. We don’t belong together, as you know for yourself. Wilhelm sipped some coffee, put down his cup and took another slice of bread from the basket.
He must mean the two of them as a couple, their marriage, he as husband and she as wife. Something about the coming child seemed to upset him. If Helene had assumed he was glad of it, obviously he was glad of it only for her sake, for the prospect of her having company and not bothering him any more. But he wasn’t pleased about the child for himself. There was neither pleasure nor pride in his face today. Was it the connection with her impure race that he didn’t like? Helene knew he would lose his temper if she suggested that out loud. He didn’t want to talk about it, particularly not to her.
Don’t look at me like that, Alice. You know what I mean. You think you have me in your power? You’re wrong. I could inform on you. But you’re expecting a child, so I won’t.
Helene felt her throat tighten. She knew it was unwise to say anything, but she had to. Because I am expecting a child? I am expecting your child, our child.
Don’t get so worked up, for God’s sake, shouted Wilhelm, and he slammed his fist down on the table, making the cups and saucers clink.