A FEW DAYS LATER, IN LATE AFTERNOON, I stood on the shaded sidewalk in front of our building, chewing on a hunk of dry salami. The aroma of hot rolls was drifting from the bakery shop to my receptive nose, tempting me to run into the shop and buy half a dozen. I only stayed put because I'd promised Mutti to be at the curb precisely at five. She was un-characteristically late.
A pensioner approached, wearing a gray cardigan to match his sparse hair and hugging a loaf of Schwartzwälder rye. He was staring at me from behind thick-lensed glasses, running his eyes up and down the whole length of my body. I pretended not to notice but as soon he passed me I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back.
A staccato of heels announced the approach of a stodgy housewife, her skirt midway to her calves. She was lugging two overstuffed leather shopping bags and glowered at me so fiercely that I yielded the entire sidewalk to her and pressed my back against the building, nervously nibbling on my sausage. She shifted her load, sneered at my bare-toed flat sandals, and inspected the rest of me with frosty eyes.
When I offered her a polite "Grüss Gott (God's greeting)," she sniffed as if the air had gone bad, raised her long nose, and crossed the street to the opposite sidewalk as if she were afraid I might contaminate her in some way.
Furtively, I inspected myself to see if there was anything objectionable about my figure or my clothes. My toes were clean enough. So were my jeans. If they were a bit tight at the buttocks it was only because Lucius liked them that way. And I'd just ironed all the wrinkles out of the cotton shirt I was wearing. I ran my fingers through the unruly hair I'd brushed out of my face only a few minutes before and found it more or less where I had put it. Could it be the salami? Mutti never tired of reminding me it was uncouth to eat in public.
I stuffed the sausage into the trench coat I carried draped over my arm just as a faint clickety-click became audible from the direction of the Kurfürstenplatz. And then a roundish shape darted out of traffic and squealed to a stop at the curb, the sidewall of the right front tire scraping cement.
The old blue VW's passenger door no longer opened from the outside, so Mutti leaned across, released the inside latch, and said, "Climb in. Traffic's heavy. We're bound to be late. I hope they started without us."
Before we had finished our memorable dinner on Monday Lucius had volunteered the two of us to help my mother and sister move. Mutti accepted at once. Now I lowered myself on to a spongy seat, slammed the passenger door, and clutched the dashboard handle as the click-click-click increased in both volume and speed and the car pulled away from the curb. I marveled at the abrupt right turn Mutti coolly negotiated onto the next side street, and the sharp left turn a block later, this one followed by the sound of screeching brakes and the warning clang of a streetcar. Mutti didn't even blink.
"You've developed nerves of steel," I said.
She laughed. "If I'm polite the other drivers won't let me merge. Did you tell Lucius we would be at the house by five-thirty? Well, now unfortunately it will be closer to six. Herr Neumeyer is going to be upset. He's in a great hurry this afternoon because he foolishly scheduled another move after mine and is afraid he won't be able to finish that job before dark. I only hope he can hold up his side of the couch. He's such a puny man."
"But tough." I remembered how valiantly the skinny mover had struggled up our five flights with my wooden trunks on the eve of my wedding. "Are you sure he'll let Lucius help him? He refused to let me." I pictured him slinging Mutti's green couch over his shoulder, wobbling as he pushed Lucius aside so he wouldn't have to worry about splitting the hauling fee.
Mutti chuckled. "I already told him Lucius will do it for free." She slammed her foot on the brake at the Scheidplatz, narrowly avoiding a small boy darting across the busy street. "Over there," she pointed. "The second high-rise behind the new supermarket. Anna's place is on the sixth floor."
"You mean Horst's place," I corrected, a bit envious of my sister's good luck.
Mutti shrugged. "She's the one moving in, isn't she? Horst helped her bring over most of her clothes yesterday. I'm not exaggerating when I say they filled his BMW to the roof. She had to leave her shoes behind so she locked them in her wardrobe. I'm sure Lucius and Herr Neumeyer won't even notice the additional weight when they carry it out. Anna had to go to Grünwald with Horst this afternoon. She gave me her front door key." Mutti fished it out of the ashtray and held it up for me to admire. It was brassy and as new as the high-rise.
I had something for her to admire. As we passed the Schuttberg on our left I pulled out an envelope, removed the check it contained, and held it in front of her nose, obscuring her view of the street. She pushed it away. "What is it?"
"It's called an allotment check. It came in the mail. Made out to Maria Duncan. Two hundred dollars! That's eight hundred Mark. Every month, Lucius said. Just for being married."
She said drily, "Where are you planning to cash it? Or have you finally gone to the police-station to have your passport updated?"
"I'm going tomorrow."
She gave an exasperated sigh.
"Besides," I went on. "Lucius says I can cash my check at the American bank inside Warner Kaserne. With my new dependent ID card."
"You'll open a savings account, of course," she said, passing the Harthof bus unloading a slew of passengers at the next corner.
"Of course," I repeated, though my first impulse was to buy two celebratory steaks to mark the occasion. I peered up at the bus windows, wondering if I knew any of the passengers, but the sun reflected from the glass, glaring into my eyes and threatening to blind me. I used to come home on that bus. Most of my old neighbors rode it to and from the city, since cars were still scarce in the Harthof. This time of day the bus was always overloaded, the passengers wedged between armpits and bad breath.
"Your car's nice," I said, grateful for the elbow room. "But somehow I can't quite picture Herr Adler sitting in it. Are you sure it was his?"
"His hobby-car. He claims rebuilding the engine helped him unwind from office politics."
"Did he actually drive it?"
"As little as possible, I'm sure. It's been standing in his garage for years. There isn't a single rust spot anywhere on the chassis. I believe he's as fond of the old wreck as other men are of their wives."
"Maybe more," I said, thinking of Vati and O.F., neither one capable of honest affection.
And then, when we were within a few blocks of the bakery shack that stood in front of the disreputable Alabama Bar, Mutti's new car coughed a few times, jerked, stopped clicking, and rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. A chorus of horns bleated their protests behind us.
She hit the steering wheel, groaning "Verdammt nochmal (dammit)!" Impatient drivers passed left and right, thumping their foreheads, while she pumped the gas pedal with increasing desperation, twisting the key as if it were part of some kind of magic act. The car coughed one final time and continued to block traffic. Mutti sputtered a litany of swear words I had never heard before, concluding with a mild combination I recognized. "Himmeldonnerwetter (dammit to hell)," she cried. "Now the stupid key won't come out!" She pulled at it until I stayed her hand, afraid something would break.
"Ach Gott (oh God)," she said, cautiously opening the door. "Will you help me push?"
I got out and applied all the force I had in me to the VW's well-rounded behind. Mutti pushed at the door, one hand inside on the steering wheel. When it was safely parked at the curb she closed the windows, snatched up her purse and Anna's key, and walked around the whole car as if she might discover a secret button that would make it go. Finding none, she kicked a tire with the pointy toe of her shoe. The car, used to a more logical driver, gave a discreet shudder. Mutti gasped and hopped on one leg. Her paisley skirt swung in a great arc, exposing the flesh-colored lace on the bottom of her slip and two well-shaped knees. For one instant I saw how pretty she was but then I blinked and she changed back to the dull, everyday mother I expected to see.
"We'll walk," she decided. "It's faster than waiting for the bus." It caught up with us ten minutes later when we were almost across the street from the bakery. We started to run and she cried, "We won!" as we passed the bus stop seconds before the bus squealed to a halt.
After we crossed to the opposite sidewalk I automatically veered toward the bakery. "Not now," she said sharply. "We're quite late." I kept on going anyway. She called after me, "I'm not waiting for you. You'll have to catch up," and walked away, hips and skirt swinging, her heels striking sparks.
I bought the half-dozen rolls I'd missed out on earlier, along with two almond crescents, and had to run a block at top speed before I could fall into step beside her again. I held out one of the crescents as a peace offering but she shook her head and said pointedly, "I don't eat on the street!"
In answer I bit off the pastry's crunchy, chocolaty tip. Clouds were gathering overhead. I put on the trench coat, buttoning it up to the chin. I had already pinned a cushion on the inside before leaving home.
"It's not going to rain," she said, looking skyward.
"I know. It's just that I don't want to confuse the neighbors." Thanks to Mutti they still thought I had to get married.
We rounded the final corner and saw an old truck parked at the far end of the apartments. "Good thing you gave Lucius your house-key," I said. "Looks like they just about got everything loaded."
As we drew nearer I noticed that Herr Neumeyer was leaning against a fender, smoking one of his expertly rolled cigarettes. "Es tut mir leid (I'm sorry)," Mutti apologized. "My car broke down. Are you ready to go?"
He pursed his lips to blow out some smoke. "As soon as the Ami (Yank) comes out with the coffee table." Watching the smoke dissipate, he suggested delicately, "Maybe you ran out of gas."
"That's exactly what I would expect a man to say," Mutti scowled. "For your information, I tanked up a couple of days ago. I'm going to make a quick phone call. If you can wait an extra five minutes."
His face fell. "Now, Frau Hohner, I told you—"
But she was in no mood to listen and walked off, glancing up at the truck-bed in passing. Then she stopped, stricken. "You do know we're unloading the furniture first?"
He nodded. "At the Scheidplatz."
"Then why is the wardrobe at the front end and the couch on the bottom of all my boxes? We'll have to take everything off to get at both pieces."
"Balance," he said sagely. "About the couch—did you want me to put it on top of your boxes?"
She huffed and continued toward to the corner, reaching it just as Lucius came around the other side carrying her stately mahogany coffee table. She looked up at him, her frown instantly transforming itself into a smile.
"Hallo, Mother," he said. "We're finished, I think."
"Thank you, Lucius. You please sit in the back and make sure nothing fall off. We go in one minute."
"What's up?" he asked me as she hurried passed him. "Something bothering her?"
"The car is kaputt (busted)."
He whistled. "Bad timing. I'd be upset too."
He stashed the coffee table on the truck-bed and helped the mover spread a canvas tarp over the load. They tied down the front corners but left the back end loose. Lucius sat on it, knees against chest. I couldn't help thinking that his fatigues were more appropriate to the occasion than Mutti's fancy skirt and heels. When she came back I started to climb up the tail-gate to sit next to my husband.
She put a motherly hand on my arm. "The wind will make you look like Struwelpeter. You better get in the cab with me."
I hesitated, wishing she'd begin to understand that I no longer had to act the part of obedient daughter. Then, out of habit, I acquiesced anyway and slid to the middle of the bench seat. She sat by the window, rolling it down to lean out an elbow. Herr Neumeyer started the engine, rumbled into the street, and begged my pardon each time his stick shift jammed my leg.
"Frau Forster insisted that I tell her why we're taking away the couch and the wardrobe," Mutti murmured into my ear. "But I didn't." We passed the blue VW, looking cruelly abandoned. She sighed. "I called Herr Adler. He promised to come look at it. If it's not fixed by tomorrow morning I don't know how I'll get to work. The farmhouse isn't near any public transportation."
"Why are you moving so far out? You could have rented a room in our building instead."
She gave a shudder and said quickly, "No, I could not!" Then she blushed and added, "After all, you'll be gone in a few weeks!" as if defending her position in an argument I didn't know we were having.
"Your furniture wouldn't fit, anyway," I told her. "How will you get everything out of the apartment? The oaken hutch in the kitchen must weigh a ton." I indulged in my newest daydream. It was about O.F. returning from his sales route late Friday afternoon, unlocking the door, and finding the place completely and totally empty, his footsteps reverberating from bare walls.
"Exactly," Mutti said. "That's why I decided to leave everything behind—except for the pieces Anna wanted."
I thought she'd switched to a foreign language. "Excuse me?"
"I'm letting him keep everything else," she elaborated. "That furniture was hand-built to last several lifetimes. Most of it's too heavy for two men to budge. In truth, the whole set has become a millstone around my neck. Besides, the farmhouse is sort of semi-furnished. And as soon as I get my half of the Bausparvertrag (savings account) money I'll buy something more modern. Light stuff I can carry on my own. Danish style."
"Too bad," I said. "I've been looking forward to helping you break into O.F.'s locked half of the wardrobe tonight. Why don't you buy a used pickup truck and give the VW back to Herr Adler? Then you can move your new Danish furniture around whenever you like."
For some reason Herr Neumeyer thought that was funny, for he slapped the dashboard and bleated like an elderly goat.
Mutti leaned around me. "Keep both hands on the wheel, if you please."
He complied at once, but turned to face her. "My wife doesn't drive. Never will as long as I have anything to say about it. Leads a woman down the wrong road."
Her eyes became angry slits. "You better look straight ahead so you won't go down that wrong road. If you don't mind."
He drew another hand-rolled cigarette out of his shirt pocket, stuck one end between tight lips, and found a lighter among dashboard debris. After he'd taken the first couple of drags, he asked lazily, "May I?"
Cheeks mottled, Mutti rummaged in her purse for her own pack and lighter, releasing a whiff of cloying perfume. It took my breath away. The smoke swirling at me from left and right did little to restore it. I longed for a glimpse of Lucius but the wardrobe blocked my view of the truck-bed so that I could only imagine my fortunate husband relaxing among the load, fresh air licking at his short cap of curls. With all my heart I wished I had ignored Mutti's admonition and finished climbing up the tailgate to sit beside him.
While the truck rumbled toward the Scheidplatz Mutti and Herr Neumeyer puffed on their cigarettes in fuming silence. I tried to return to my daydream about mean-spirited O.F. finding the apartment cleaned out but try as I might I could not imagine him accepting her desertion with any semblance of grace.
I asked, "Will you have a phone?"
She snorted. "There's a two-year wait for installation."
"How close are your nearest neighbors?"
"There are none."
I had suspected as much. "Then you better explain to Herr Neumeyer that he mustn't tell where you've moved to. In case anyone asks."
She looked stricken. "O.F. wouldn't."
"He would." No doubt he'd call every moving business in Munich in order to track his fugitive wife. Worse—most likely nosy Frau Forster had committed both mover and truck to her memory, including the license number. She'd be glad to impart the details to O.F. the minute he asked.
A pensioner approached, wearing a gray cardigan to match his sparse hair and hugging a loaf of Schwartzwälder rye. He was staring at me from behind thick-lensed glasses, running his eyes up and down the whole length of my body. I pretended not to notice but as soon he passed me I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back.
A staccato of heels announced the approach of a stodgy housewife, her skirt midway to her calves. She was lugging two overstuffed leather shopping bags and glowered at me so fiercely that I yielded the entire sidewalk to her and pressed my back against the building, nervously nibbling on my sausage. She shifted her load, sneered at my bare-toed flat sandals, and inspected the rest of me with frosty eyes.
When I offered her a polite "Grüss Gott (God's greeting)," she sniffed as if the air had gone bad, raised her long nose, and crossed the street to the opposite sidewalk as if she were afraid I might contaminate her in some way.
Furtively, I inspected myself to see if there was anything objectionable about my figure or my clothes. My toes were clean enough. So were my jeans. If they were a bit tight at the buttocks it was only because Lucius liked them that way. And I'd just ironed all the wrinkles out of the cotton shirt I was wearing. I ran my fingers through the unruly hair I'd brushed out of my face only a few minutes before and found it more or less where I had put it. Could it be the salami? Mutti never tired of reminding me it was uncouth to eat in public.
I stuffed the sausage into the trench coat I carried draped over my arm just as a faint clickety-click became audible from the direction of the Kurfürstenplatz. And then a roundish shape darted out of traffic and squealed to a stop at the curb, the sidewall of the right front tire scraping cement.
The old blue VW's passenger door no longer opened from the outside, so Mutti leaned across, released the inside latch, and said, "Climb in. Traffic's heavy. We're bound to be late. I hope they started without us."
Before we had finished our memorable dinner on Monday Lucius had volunteered the two of us to help my mother and sister move. Mutti accepted at once. Now I lowered myself on to a spongy seat, slammed the passenger door, and clutched the dashboard handle as the click-click-click increased in both volume and speed and the car pulled away from the curb. I marveled at the abrupt right turn Mutti coolly negotiated onto the next side street, and the sharp left turn a block later, this one followed by the sound of screeching brakes and the warning clang of a streetcar. Mutti didn't even blink.
"You've developed nerves of steel," I said.
She laughed. "If I'm polite the other drivers won't let me merge. Did you tell Lucius we would be at the house by five-thirty? Well, now unfortunately it will be closer to six. Herr Neumeyer is going to be upset. He's in a great hurry this afternoon because he foolishly scheduled another move after mine and is afraid he won't be able to finish that job before dark. I only hope he can hold up his side of the couch. He's such a puny man."
"But tough." I remembered how valiantly the skinny mover had struggled up our five flights with my wooden trunks on the eve of my wedding. "Are you sure he'll let Lucius help him? He refused to let me." I pictured him slinging Mutti's green couch over his shoulder, wobbling as he pushed Lucius aside so he wouldn't have to worry about splitting the hauling fee.
Mutti chuckled. "I already told him Lucius will do it for free." She slammed her foot on the brake at the Scheidplatz, narrowly avoiding a small boy darting across the busy street. "Over there," she pointed. "The second high-rise behind the new supermarket. Anna's place is on the sixth floor."
"You mean Horst's place," I corrected, a bit envious of my sister's good luck.
Mutti shrugged. "She's the one moving in, isn't she? Horst helped her bring over most of her clothes yesterday. I'm not exaggerating when I say they filled his BMW to the roof. She had to leave her shoes behind so she locked them in her wardrobe. I'm sure Lucius and Herr Neumeyer won't even notice the additional weight when they carry it out. Anna had to go to Grünwald with Horst this afternoon. She gave me her front door key." Mutti fished it out of the ashtray and held it up for me to admire. It was brassy and as new as the high-rise.
I had something for her to admire. As we passed the Schuttberg on our left I pulled out an envelope, removed the check it contained, and held it in front of her nose, obscuring her view of the street. She pushed it away. "What is it?"
"It's called an allotment check. It came in the mail. Made out to Maria Duncan. Two hundred dollars! That's eight hundred Mark. Every month, Lucius said. Just for being married."
She said drily, "Where are you planning to cash it? Or have you finally gone to the police-station to have your passport updated?"
"I'm going tomorrow."
She gave an exasperated sigh.
"Besides," I went on. "Lucius says I can cash my check at the American bank inside Warner Kaserne. With my new dependent ID card."
"You'll open a savings account, of course," she said, passing the Harthof bus unloading a slew of passengers at the next corner.
"Of course," I repeated, though my first impulse was to buy two celebratory steaks to mark the occasion. I peered up at the bus windows, wondering if I knew any of the passengers, but the sun reflected from the glass, glaring into my eyes and threatening to blind me. I used to come home on that bus. Most of my old neighbors rode it to and from the city, since cars were still scarce in the Harthof. This time of day the bus was always overloaded, the passengers wedged between armpits and bad breath.
"Your car's nice," I said, grateful for the elbow room. "But somehow I can't quite picture Herr Adler sitting in it. Are you sure it was his?"
"His hobby-car. He claims rebuilding the engine helped him unwind from office politics."
"Did he actually drive it?"
"As little as possible, I'm sure. It's been standing in his garage for years. There isn't a single rust spot anywhere on the chassis. I believe he's as fond of the old wreck as other men are of their wives."
"Maybe more," I said, thinking of Vati and O.F., neither one capable of honest affection.
And then, when we were within a few blocks of the bakery shack that stood in front of the disreputable Alabama Bar, Mutti's new car coughed a few times, jerked, stopped clicking, and rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. A chorus of horns bleated their protests behind us.
She hit the steering wheel, groaning "Verdammt nochmal (dammit)!" Impatient drivers passed left and right, thumping their foreheads, while she pumped the gas pedal with increasing desperation, twisting the key as if it were part of some kind of magic act. The car coughed one final time and continued to block traffic. Mutti sputtered a litany of swear words I had never heard before, concluding with a mild combination I recognized. "Himmeldonnerwetter (dammit to hell)," she cried. "Now the stupid key won't come out!" She pulled at it until I stayed her hand, afraid something would break.
"Ach Gott (oh God)," she said, cautiously opening the door. "Will you help me push?"
I got out and applied all the force I had in me to the VW's well-rounded behind. Mutti pushed at the door, one hand inside on the steering wheel. When it was safely parked at the curb she closed the windows, snatched up her purse and Anna's key, and walked around the whole car as if she might discover a secret button that would make it go. Finding none, she kicked a tire with the pointy toe of her shoe. The car, used to a more logical driver, gave a discreet shudder. Mutti gasped and hopped on one leg. Her paisley skirt swung in a great arc, exposing the flesh-colored lace on the bottom of her slip and two well-shaped knees. For one instant I saw how pretty she was but then I blinked and she changed back to the dull, everyday mother I expected to see.
"We'll walk," she decided. "It's faster than waiting for the bus." It caught up with us ten minutes later when we were almost across the street from the bakery. We started to run and she cried, "We won!" as we passed the bus stop seconds before the bus squealed to a halt.
After we crossed to the opposite sidewalk I automatically veered toward the bakery. "Not now," she said sharply. "We're quite late." I kept on going anyway. She called after me, "I'm not waiting for you. You'll have to catch up," and walked away, hips and skirt swinging, her heels striking sparks.
I bought the half-dozen rolls I'd missed out on earlier, along with two almond crescents, and had to run a block at top speed before I could fall into step beside her again. I held out one of the crescents as a peace offering but she shook her head and said pointedly, "I don't eat on the street!"
In answer I bit off the pastry's crunchy, chocolaty tip. Clouds were gathering overhead. I put on the trench coat, buttoning it up to the chin. I had already pinned a cushion on the inside before leaving home.
"It's not going to rain," she said, looking skyward.
"I know. It's just that I don't want to confuse the neighbors." Thanks to Mutti they still thought I had to get married.
We rounded the final corner and saw an old truck parked at the far end of the apartments. "Good thing you gave Lucius your house-key," I said. "Looks like they just about got everything loaded."
As we drew nearer I noticed that Herr Neumeyer was leaning against a fender, smoking one of his expertly rolled cigarettes. "Es tut mir leid (I'm sorry)," Mutti apologized. "My car broke down. Are you ready to go?"
He pursed his lips to blow out some smoke. "As soon as the Ami (Yank) comes out with the coffee table." Watching the smoke dissipate, he suggested delicately, "Maybe you ran out of gas."
"That's exactly what I would expect a man to say," Mutti scowled. "For your information, I tanked up a couple of days ago. I'm going to make a quick phone call. If you can wait an extra five minutes."
His face fell. "Now, Frau Hohner, I told you—"
But she was in no mood to listen and walked off, glancing up at the truck-bed in passing. Then she stopped, stricken. "You do know we're unloading the furniture first?"
He nodded. "At the Scheidplatz."
"Then why is the wardrobe at the front end and the couch on the bottom of all my boxes? We'll have to take everything off to get at both pieces."
"Balance," he said sagely. "About the couch—did you want me to put it on top of your boxes?"
She huffed and continued toward to the corner, reaching it just as Lucius came around the other side carrying her stately mahogany coffee table. She looked up at him, her frown instantly transforming itself into a smile.
"Hallo, Mother," he said. "We're finished, I think."
"Thank you, Lucius. You please sit in the back and make sure nothing fall off. We go in one minute."
"What's up?" he asked me as she hurried passed him. "Something bothering her?"
"The car is kaputt (busted)."
He whistled. "Bad timing. I'd be upset too."
He stashed the coffee table on the truck-bed and helped the mover spread a canvas tarp over the load. They tied down the front corners but left the back end loose. Lucius sat on it, knees against chest. I couldn't help thinking that his fatigues were more appropriate to the occasion than Mutti's fancy skirt and heels. When she came back I started to climb up the tail-gate to sit next to my husband.
She put a motherly hand on my arm. "The wind will make you look like Struwelpeter. You better get in the cab with me."
I hesitated, wishing she'd begin to understand that I no longer had to act the part of obedient daughter. Then, out of habit, I acquiesced anyway and slid to the middle of the bench seat. She sat by the window, rolling it down to lean out an elbow. Herr Neumeyer started the engine, rumbled into the street, and begged my pardon each time his stick shift jammed my leg.
"Frau Forster insisted that I tell her why we're taking away the couch and the wardrobe," Mutti murmured into my ear. "But I didn't." We passed the blue VW, looking cruelly abandoned. She sighed. "I called Herr Adler. He promised to come look at it. If it's not fixed by tomorrow morning I don't know how I'll get to work. The farmhouse isn't near any public transportation."
"Why are you moving so far out? You could have rented a room in our building instead."
She gave a shudder and said quickly, "No, I could not!" Then she blushed and added, "After all, you'll be gone in a few weeks!" as if defending her position in an argument I didn't know we were having.
"Your furniture wouldn't fit, anyway," I told her. "How will you get everything out of the apartment? The oaken hutch in the kitchen must weigh a ton." I indulged in my newest daydream. It was about O.F. returning from his sales route late Friday afternoon, unlocking the door, and finding the place completely and totally empty, his footsteps reverberating from bare walls.
"Exactly," Mutti said. "That's why I decided to leave everything behind—except for the pieces Anna wanted."
I thought she'd switched to a foreign language. "Excuse me?"
"I'm letting him keep everything else," she elaborated. "That furniture was hand-built to last several lifetimes. Most of it's too heavy for two men to budge. In truth, the whole set has become a millstone around my neck. Besides, the farmhouse is sort of semi-furnished. And as soon as I get my half of the Bausparvertrag (savings account) money I'll buy something more modern. Light stuff I can carry on my own. Danish style."
"Too bad," I said. "I've been looking forward to helping you break into O.F.'s locked half of the wardrobe tonight. Why don't you buy a used pickup truck and give the VW back to Herr Adler? Then you can move your new Danish furniture around whenever you like."
For some reason Herr Neumeyer thought that was funny, for he slapped the dashboard and bleated like an elderly goat.
Mutti leaned around me. "Keep both hands on the wheel, if you please."
He complied at once, but turned to face her. "My wife doesn't drive. Never will as long as I have anything to say about it. Leads a woman down the wrong road."
Her eyes became angry slits. "You better look straight ahead so you won't go down that wrong road. If you don't mind."
He drew another hand-rolled cigarette out of his shirt pocket, stuck one end between tight lips, and found a lighter among dashboard debris. After he'd taken the first couple of drags, he asked lazily, "May I?"
Cheeks mottled, Mutti rummaged in her purse for her own pack and lighter, releasing a whiff of cloying perfume. It took my breath away. The smoke swirling at me from left and right did little to restore it. I longed for a glimpse of Lucius but the wardrobe blocked my view of the truck-bed so that I could only imagine my fortunate husband relaxing among the load, fresh air licking at his short cap of curls. With all my heart I wished I had ignored Mutti's admonition and finished climbing up the tailgate to sit beside him.
While the truck rumbled toward the Scheidplatz Mutti and Herr Neumeyer puffed on their cigarettes in fuming silence. I tried to return to my daydream about mean-spirited O.F. finding the apartment cleaned out but try as I might I could not imagine him accepting her desertion with any semblance of grace.
I asked, "Will you have a phone?"
She snorted. "There's a two-year wait for installation."
"How close are your nearest neighbors?"
"There are none."
I had suspected as much. "Then you better explain to Herr Neumeyer that he mustn't tell where you've moved to. In case anyone asks."
She looked stricken. "O.F. wouldn't."
"He would." No doubt he'd call every moving business in Munich in order to track his fugitive wife. Worse—most likely nosy Frau Forster had committed both mover and truck to her memory, including the license number. She'd be glad to impart the details to O.F. the minute he asked.
