“You!” Lena’s mother accused, “Who are you? What have you done with my daughter! Why, I’ll have you before a magistrate if you put a hand on her…”
“Mother, it’s me. I’m your daughter!” Lena tried to sound reassuring as she moved closer, so that her mother could see her, “Can’t you see me? It’s Lena.”
“Who… who are you? Why…”
Hannah Schindler had always been as sickly as she was strange. She had been born during the Soviet sacking of Berlin. Although it was never discussed openly in the family, Lena had always known that Hannah Schindler was a product of that occupation. Lena’s grandmother, Gretchen, a prickly and brittle old coot who rarely talked in general, was even more silent about those times—times best forgotten, in the minds of most. On the few occasions Lena had visited her grandmother, she had been less than welcoming and was always cold to Hannah.
“You must be strong!” Hannah would always quote Grandma Gretchen, “Life is a terrible thing! Terrible things lay in wait around the corner, so you must be strong!” No doubt she was perpetually fearful of a band of Soviet soldiers waiting around the corner from the breadlines to put a baby in the belly of her daughter. “Then you will know…” she would continue, “then, you will know.”
Yes, Lena’s mother was always troubled, but the past few years had seen her become nearly impossible to handle. Her many illnesses seemed to appear out of thin air and then disappear on a whim—a million diseases, each with just as many causes—and her addled brain remained perpetually befuddled as if she were constantly sleepwalking. Even if Lena was able to convince her mother that she was in fact her daughter, she might be crying for help in a half hour. It was just how it was with Hannah.
“See my face, Mother?” Lena knelt down; not too far down, however.
“Get away from me, whore!” Hannah shouted, swinging a trembling fist as hard as her shaky limbs could manage. Lena dodged easily, as they had been through this many times before. Thankfully, she no longer swung as hard or as fast as she had in previous years.
Mother… Mother!” she raised her voice.
Oh my, sweet daughter…” Hannah’s countenance suddenly changed as if by light switch, “did you see who was just in here?”
“What did you see, Mother?” she responded, trying to sound caring.
“Oh, it was awful! First, I saw the tanks outside our building… and all of those nasty soldiers, with their guns and their knives!”
“Oh yes?” Lena responded. She knew that her mother hadn’t seen anything. She hadn’t even looked out of the window. Hannah Schindler was practically bed-ridden and could barely walk unaided. “Well, then what happened?”
“Oh my, well…” Hannah continued, gulping deeply as if to steel herself, “They came into the building, you see. And, well… and then they walked apartment to apartment, room to room. Why, I was just terrified that when they got here, they would take me. You know, and then of course they would take you… and…”
Hannah Schindler’s voice trailed off into oblivion as Lena pretended to listen. She had heard all of this before. The ‘soldiers’ would never arrive, as they would always be stalking room to room. That is, until Lena arrived. Then the ‘soldier’ would magically turn in to her daughter and all would be well. Carefully, Lena set about tucking her mother back into bed. In the morning a family friend would arrive to oversee Hannah’s care so that Lena could go to school. In the evenings, Hannah Schindler was her sole responsibility. It was like this almost every night. On occasion, it would be worse, but this was thankfully not one of those nights.
Besides, nothing was going to ruin tonight. Hans had kissed her! Hans, with his dimpled chin, soul-filled eyes, and those massive shoulders of his, had actually kissed her right on the lips. He hadn’t been forceful about it, or even urgent. He had simply put an arm around her and waited as if to see if she was truly desiring of his affections. She was of course, but she was far too awkward to say so. That’s when he asked if she would like him to kiss her. She took far too long to respond, of course, making all sorts of confusing facial gestures. This was all the confirmation Hans seemed to need so he leaned in slowly and took her into a sweet yet simple embrace. Even now she got goosebumps thinking about it.
“Young Lena…” her mother said, equal parts fretfully and sleepily.
“Yes Mother?” Lena replied, irritated at the interruption to her thoughts.
“When are they coming? When are they going to take us?”
“They aren’t coming to take us, Mother.” Lena replied, “You are perfectly safe, right here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, Mother.”
“Well, your father had told me before he left that they were going to…”
Once again, Hannah Schindler’s voice trailed off into oblivion. These labyrinthine tales were almost as convoluted as they were long, with not a singular factual account to be heard. Now it was the story that her father had told his wife about the Soviets marching in to kill all the men. Next it would be the account of how they would all take turns beating Lena and her mother. This would be followed by a protracted expose about Lena’s imminent motherhood, and then… and then…
As luck would have it, however, Hannah Schindler was finally falling asleep. “Thank God,” Lena muttered to herself. Between her band’s show and Hans, it was already going to be a rather late night for an already tired young lady. The promise of her mother falling asleep sooner than later was almost a boon of a semi-religious nature.
A quick kiss on her forehead and a quiet “Good night, sweet Mother.” and Lena was finally leaving the bedroom. That is, until the all-too-familiar scent of urine crept into Lena’s nostrils. “Damnit!” Lena screamed inside of herself.
Lena fell onto her own bed with a perturbed, “harumpf.” She was utterly exhausted after the night’s festivities, and her mother’s soiling herself had added dramatically to it. First, she had needed to wake her up (which was a trial in itself). Then she need set about the duty of cleaning her. After that, she had to change the bed-sheets while attempting to keep her doddering mother from wandering off into the living room. If that happened, she would no doubt see a Soviet soldier hiding in the broom closet. Lena knew this from experience and she wasn’t about to suffer such a debacle, especially after cleaning up what she knew was an intentional urination. Of course, she would have to sing her mother to sleep as if to a child. Hannah absolutely demanded it, lest she break into another walking-terror.
An hour later, and Lena was finally free to think about Hans, Oh, thinking about Hans made her feel lighter than air! Hans truly was perfect in every way—he was handsome, funny, a gentleman, and a very good kisser. Lena began to blush just thinking about it. Why, she couldn’t possibly wait even a few days to see him again. So, she set about fantasizing the many ways she could sneak off to see him; or perhaps magically run into him somewhere. Perhaps at school, or perhaps the shop, or perhaps…
While fantasizing, she looked about her bedroom. In a certain light it was rather ghastly. The dismal chamber was a small affair with only the necessities: a bed, a dresser, a laundry hamper, a window—the things you had to have. Of course, all of these were draped in the unfolded (and likely dirty) clothing that was strewn haphazardly about the room. To complement the overall mess, the walls were covered in all the punk paraphernalia Lena could get her hands on. On one wall displayed her sizeable collection of (very illegal) posters. Most of them were completely hand-made by the punk bands in Leipzig or others Lebensmüde had played with, like Ausschlag, Die Skeptiker, or Schleim Keim. They had a great scene down south, and Lena played with them every chance she had.