Grandma had a reputation for being very, very good. Lela wouldn't deny that either. She was good. Grandma gave each of her grandchildren a real piece of gold for their birthday and Christmas. Ten marks. She used to clean these gold pieces with an old toothbrush, warm water, and soap first and then wrap them in a white tissue paper. It was supposed to shine. And so it shone on every white-covered birthday table in the glow of the lights.
Grandma wore a white tulle bonnet that surrounded her face with a tightly pleated ruffle. Under her chin, two snow-white, well-starched, wide batiste ribbons joined together to form a large bow. Grandma always looked young. She had light skin, a small mouth, a plump face, and bright grey-blue eyes. Grandmother had moved into Mutti's bed and room. It no longer smelt lavender and Crème Simon. Mother's clothes had been taken out of the wardrobe, and the step Lela heard next door on the old parquet floor was not a clicking sound like the one Mum made with her slippers, but a rubbing shuffle. Slowly, it went from door to window, from window to bed. Continuously with sighs.
Granny always had money and was always willing to let Lela run to the confectionery to buy the most wonderful cupcakes. Granny ordered a big roast veal; because Dad liked to eat it. Granny was funny. Dad was also in a slightly better mood because he could tease Granny. Actually, she was always horrified at him. At the dirty boots he came into the salon in, at the smoked cigars lying around everywhere, at the fact that he put salt in the soup before he had tasted it.
In Pöchlin, Grandmother had been accustomed to a large economy, with huge supplies. So this small, frugal town economy seemed to her quite narrow-minded. She did what she could to please Dad and Lela. But Lela was not as happy as was expected of her. Lela was silent. In vain, grandmother gave Lela a large bar of chocolate; it remained untouched. On questioning, grandmother learned that Mum liked this Lindt chocolate so much and that Lela wanted to save it until Mum came back.
Lela started to come home late from school. Otherwise, she was always back ten minutes past twelve. She threw her schoolbag into a corner with a huge crash, according to the brothers' tradition, called out to the girl who had opened the door, "Is Mother here?" and rushed into the room for a hello kiss. If Mother was not there, it was the worst disappointment that could happen to the children. Not knowing what to do with themselves, they crept from room to room, always on the lookout for the one who has forgotten her duty. She accompanied Amélie home, who now allowed Lela to visit her mother after all.
When Lela saw this woman for the first time, she just couldn't believe that this was supposed to be a mother. She didn't hug Amélie when she came in, she didn't pay any attention to her at all, just glanced at Lela with interest and asked if she spoke French. She smoked cigarettes and was dressed very simply but very elegantly. Many photographs of herself stood around in the rooms. It was dark in the flat; a lot of furniture was there, and yet, it was uncomfortable. She gave money to both children and told them to go away and play outside. Lela had come to do her homework with Amélie. That was easier and faster. What Amélie was better at—namely Arithmetic and History—were Lela's weak subject, in exchange, Lela helped Amélie with Science and all German tasks. Amélie's Mama also didn't say, like Mum, Now wash your hands, comb your hair straight and come to dinner, but only, "Viens manger." (Come eat.) Amélie's Mama had a lot of of magazines with pictures. That was the reason that always tempted Lela to go up the unfriendly dark stairs there. Madame Bernin gave them a whole bunch in their arms and pushed them into the nursery. There the two nine-year-olds sat poring over La vie Parisienne, Le Rire, browsing through fashion magazines and art prints. Amélie translated the French jokes for Lela, but she didn't understand them in German either. She rejoiced at the elegant dresses and made up her mind to dress like Madame Bernin when she grew up.
Lela did not talk about these visits at home. Only once did she wonder about a lot of pictures that Dad had cut out of a catalogue by scissors and thrown in the wastepaper basket. "Not for the children," he said in response. As far as Lela had been able to see, they were pictures like the hundreds she had seen at Madame Bernin's, statues without clothes and pictures of living women with nothing on. She was allowed to look at the other pictures. Lela did not regret the loss, but could not understand the ban. One didn't understand so much of the adults' actions. Grandma, for example, immediately forbade her to go to the stables in gym shorts. Why just not the stable? Karl was always amused by her, picked her up and put her on the horses. She was too big for that now, Grandma said. One was always too small or too big for something. Lela longed to be an adult finally.
Lela didn't like that Grandma was sitting in Mum's place at the table. Couldn't that place remain empty?Lela didn't eat. Lela studied badly. Lela looked untidy. Lela threw Sofie out in a fit of rage; because she wanted to wash her feet, as she did every evening. She didn't need Sofie anymore; she wanted to be alone. Lela threw a glass of water at the marble fireplace with all intent. Lela wanted noise, quarrelling, fighting. That's right. Now they came running in. Grandma, "But child, but child!" — Dad, "Naughty?" And a slap in the face in mid-air. Then he slammed the door and ran out of the house.
"What would your Mother say, child, if she knew how naughty you are?"
Lela remained silent and did not move until Grandma had gone out muttering. There! There they had it. Why was she left alone? Why was her Mother taken away from her? Berti always had her, Berti—all to himself. That was unfair. She, she needed Mum to sleep next door. She couldn't go to bed alone. Yes, she got up too late. But why to get up if one can't say good morning to one's Mum? For what? For what? Oh, to step into the dark room when Mum is still asleep, to sneak quietly to the bed. Where she lies warm and— without opening her eyes—puts her arm around you, presses a kiss to your forehead and says, "Good morning, my leveret, come back soon!" Then you could just go to school and also come back. Oh, how she longed for Mum's kiss! Just one, one moment to be with her! No, unlike Lela, nobody knew what Mum was like. Grandma didn't know, and neither did Dad, who made Mum cry. Only she, Lela, knew. And she couldn't go on living now if Mum didn't come home. Come at once. She just had to come. She threw herself on bed with all her clothes on. No, she would not undress. Nor would she wash or eat until they gave back her mother.
Perhaps Father had an idea what was going on inside the defiant child. Anyway, he told Lela to get ready, they would visit Mum and Berti; Lela showed no change outwardly. It was only when she stepped into the low room with the two high beds and Mum stood up from a low cane chair in front of the fireplace, that something inside her—that had been almost like a stone in her chest—loosened. For days—for two weeks since Mother was gone.
Frau Käte calmed the sobbing child. Dad didn't say she had been naughty, and there was nothing about it in the letter Grandma had sent with them. After these two fears proved superfluous, it came over Lela like a great, great bliss. Dad stayed with Berti, and Lela— clasping Mum—was allowed to go out for a walk.
The trees were yellow and red. Pheasants ran across the road. There were plenty of berries, red and black. Through a veil, the sun shone on the wet leaves. Lela ran and came, like a little dog jumping around their master. She picked a beautiful bouquet and put it in Mother's arms. In the twilight darkness they returned—without speaking—to the little village with the little houses and tiny, bright windows that looked like peace itself.