I begin to stammer: "I don't know their address. I wasn't there very long. Because, because they were deported. Then I went into an orphanage. I had everything I needed and everyone was very kind to me."
The nurse says, "I'm off. I still have a lot to do. Would you see me out, Klaus?"
I walk out to the front of the house with her. She asks me, "Where were you these seven years, Klaus?"
I say to her, "You heard what I told my mother."
She says, "Yes, I heard. Only it wasn't the truth. You lie very badly, my little one. We checked the orphanages and you were at none of them. And how did you find the house again? How did you know your mother had moved back in?"
I am silent. She says, "You can keep your secret. You undoubtedly have a reason for it. But don't forget that I've been taking care of your mother for years. The more I know, the more I can help her. When you show up out of the blue with your suitcase, I have a right to ask where you've been."
I say, "No, you don't have the right. I'm here, that's all. Tell me what to do about my mother."
"Do what you think is best. If possible, be patient. If she has an attack, telephone me."
"What happens when she has an attack?"
"Don't worry. It'll be no worse than it was today. She cries out, she trembles, that's all. Here, here's my telephone number. If something goes wrong, call."
Mother is sleeping in one of the living room armchairs. I pick up my suitcase and go unpack in the children's bedroom at the end of the hallway. There are still two beds, two adult-sized beds that our parents bought just before the "thing." I still haven't found a word to describe what happened to us. I could say drama, tragedy, catastrophe, but in my head I simply call it the "thing" for which there is no name.
The children's bedroom is clean, as are the beds. Mother was obviously expecting us. But the one she is waiting for most eagerly is my brother Lucas.
We are eating silently in the kitchen when suddenly Mother says, "I don't in the least regret having killed your father. If I knew who the woman he wanted to leave us for was, I'd kill her too. If I hurt Lucas it was her fault, her fault entirely, not mine."
I say, "Mother, don't torture yourself. Lucas didn't die of his wound. He'll come back."
Mother asks, "How could he find this house again?"
I say, "The way I did. I found it and he'll find it too."
Mother says, "You're right. At all costs we must stay here. It's here that he'll look for us."
Mother takes medications in order to sleep and she goes to bed very early. During the night I go look at her in her room. She sleeps on her back in the big bed, her face turned to the window, leaving the place that had been her husband's empty.
I sleep very little. I look at the stars, and as at Antonia's I thought about our family and this house every night, so here I think about Sarah and her family, about her grandparents in the town of K.
When I awake I find the walnut-tree branches outside my window. I go into the kitchen and kiss Mother. She smiles at me. There's coffee and tea. The young girl brings fresh bread. I tell her that she doesn't need to come anymore, that I'll do the shopping myself.
Mother says, "No, Veronica. Keep coming. Klaus is still too small to do the shopping."
Veronica laughs. "He's not that small. But he won't find what you need in the shops. I work at the hospital kitchen and that's where I get the things I bring here, you see, Klaus? At the orphanage you were spoiled when it came to food. You couldn't imagine what you have to do to find something to eat in the city. You'll spend your whole time lining up outside shops."
Mother and Veronica have quite a bit of fun together. They laugh and kiss. Veronica tells stories about her love life. Stupid stories: "So he said to me, so I said to him, so he tried to kiss me."
Veronica helps Mother dye her hair. They use a product called henna that restores its old color to Mother's hair. Veronica also tends to Mother's face. She makes "masks" for her, she does her makeup with little brushes, tubes, and pencils.
Mother says, "I want to look nice when Lucas comes back. I don't want him to find me ratty, old, and ugly. Do you understand, Klaus?"
I say, "Yes, I understand. But you'd look as nice with your hair gray and no makeup on."
Mother slaps me. "Go to your room, Klaus, or go for a walk. You're getting on my nerves."
She adds to Veronica, "Why didn't I have a daughter like you?"
I go. I circle around the house where Antonia and Sarah live, or I wander through the cemetery looking for my father's grave. I only came here once and the cemetery is big.
I go home and try to help Mother out in the garden, but she says to me, "Go play. Get out your scooter or your tricycle."
I look at Mother.
"Don't you realize that those are toys for four-year-olds?"
She says, 'There are always the swings."
"I don't feel like swinging either."
I go into the kitchen, get a knife, and I cut the cords, the four cords of the swing.
Mother says, "You could at least have left one of them. Lucas would have liked it. You're a difficult child, Klaus. Nasty, even."
I go up to the children's room. Lying on my bed, I write poems.
Sometimes in the evening Mother calls us: "Lucas, Klaus, dinnertime!"
I go to the kitchen. Mother looks at me and puts back the third plate meant for Lucas, or she throws the plate into the sink, where of course it breaks, or again she serves Lucas as though he were there.
Sometimes too Mother comes into the children's room in the middle of the night. She fluffs Lucas's pillow and talks to him: "Sleep well. Sweet dreams. Till tomorrow."
After that she goes away, although she sometimes also stays longer, kneeling next to his bed, and she falls asleep with her head on Lucas's pillow.
I remain motionless in my bed, breathing as softly as possible, and when I wake up the next morning Mother is no longer there.
I touch the pillow on the other bed; it is still damp with Mother's tears.
Whatever I do is never good enough for Mother. When a pea falls from my plate, she says, "You'll never learn to eat properly. Look at Lucas, he never soils the tablecloth."
If I spend the day pulling weeds from the garden and come back inside all muddy, she says to me, "You're filthy as a pig. Lucas wouldn't have gotten dirty."
When Mother gets her money, her little bit of money from the state, she goes to town and comes back with expensive toys that she hides under Lucas's bed. She warns me, "Don't touch. These toys have to stay new for when Lucas comes back."
I am now familiar with the medications Mother must take.
The nurse explained everything to me.
So when she doesn't want to take her medications or forgets them, I administer them in her coffee, her tea, her soup.
In September I begin school, the same school where I went before the war. I should have found Sarah there. She isn't there.
After class I ring Antonia's doorbell. No one answers. I open the door with my key. No one's there. I go into Sarah's room. I open the drawers, the cupboards. No notebook, no piece of clothing.
I leave, throw the apartment key in front of a passing streetcar, and go home to my mother's.
At the end of September I run across Antonia at the cemetery. I've finally found the grave. I bring a bouquet of white carnations, my father's favorite flower. Another bouquet is already resting on the tomb. I put mine down next to the other one.
From out of who knows where, Antonia asks me, "Did you come to our place?"
"Yes. Sarah's room is empty. Where did she go?"
Antonia says, 'To my parents'. She has to forget you. She thought of nothing but you, she was always wanting to go see you. At your mother's, anywhere."