Manuela was a longed-for child, a child beloved in advance. Manuela ought to be born. Manuela ought to be a girl. Before she was born, a house was ready. A father who was already becoming impatient. A mother—deeply familiar with this child—even before she held her in her arms. Two brothers were certain comrades. A little patronising, but proud of her—now that she was really here.
Manuela had to be born on Sunday—it also had to be Christmas. When the two brothers returned home from the Children's Christmas Theatre, she was in the cradle. She had arrived like a Christmas present. The two brothers were not surprised. They had just seen the Christ Child lying in the cradle in the stable of Bethlehem. So that five-year-old Bertram said to ten-year-old Alfred in a confusion of thoughts, "Let's carry her into the stable; this will be fun for her." Only the objection that there were neither cows nor a donkey in the stable, but only horses—which did not exist in Bethlehem—made him abandon the plan.
Although everyone said the child was beautiful, this was not true. For the dark eyes—the whites of which were blue—lacked eyebrows. A bonnet was put on the infant to cover the baldness of the skull.
Anxiously, Frau Käte stroked the hairless little head, and when at last, separate silky dark hairs appeared, it was a family celebration, and Herr von Meinhardis thought it was time to open a bottle of Moselle wine.
The first years passed like a sleep. Lela could not see beyond the edge of her cradle. Only sometimes she opened wide her large dark eyes when father's horses pattered in the yard. Or when the brothers came noisily from school, threw their satchels in the corner and shouted "Mother!"
She was Mother who was always there. She who came when Lela screamed, she who soothed when Lela cried. Lela-that was the name the child formed after recognising herself as a being separate from them all. The formal name Manuela was too heavy for her tiny little mouth. She called herself Lela, and that's how it stayed.
Lela's silky soft hair is brushed back tightly and tied with a ribbon. It almost hurts. Outside people are walking back and forth. Unrest in the house. Shouting and answering and silence again. In the middle of her chest, clutched by two hands, sleeps her black bear. His snout has horrible whiskers, like Dad's moustaches when one kisses him. But Lela loves "Bear" nevertheless, and even more so when the others say he is hideous. Next to Bear on the right and left, with their little heads on Lela's shoulders, the two Sweeties are sleeping. Two white bunnies. That is, they were once white. Sweetie number one has no ears any more, and the leather snout is bald. Mum made a cross on it in red ink, so that one know what's in front. Sweetie two is still new and more for stroking. It has "real" fur. It's not easy to hug all three at once.
Now horses are pattering outside, and a carriage stops creaking in the sand. Lela's heart is pounding. She squeezes her eyes shut. She knows that now Mum and Dad will go down the stairs, and then they will both get into the carriage outside, and then a carriage door will slam, and then everything will be dead and the house will be empty.
Lela curled her little fingers into the black plush fur of her bear. "Mum should come, Mum must come and say goodnight to me." Secretly she prays; although she knows that one should not bother God with such trifles, she prays, "Dear God, make Mum come in again!" Then the door opens gently. Lela keeps her eyes closed. A soft voice says, "She's sleeping." Carefully, mother bends down. Lela is suddenly enveloped in heavy floral scent. The cool blossoms on mother's naked shoulder graze her face. Lela opens her eyes a little. A white atlas dress, a glittering diamond brooch. Mother's slender arm is in long white kid gloves that feel unnatural. The hand tenderly draws a cross on Lela's forehead, "God bless you, my darling."
Crackling and rustling of a train. The door creaks a little. No more light comes through the crack in the door. Lela opens her eyes wide in the darkness.
