A/N: Just a reminder, Hannah is Maria's aunt of sorts, married to her Uncle Josef. I believe she's only been mentioned thus far, rather than appearing as an actual character.


Chapter 23: Anger Stoked

Kagran, Vienna, the last Saturday in April

Hannah wasn't quite ready to leave—she never was—still sipping at her cup of tea instead while her mother puttered about through the front room, her dusting rag in her hand as it was most days. If Josef usually had coffee, whether at her mother's home or on the journey to his courtroom, Hannah couldn't drink it any longer. The brew left too much of a burn in her stomach, not enough milk and sugar in the world to cut through the edge.

It was easy enough to make a cup of tea in her own kitchen, only a short walk away; even here, she still had to put it all together herself, always wondering if she could remember where her mother had left the tea bags, never quite letting herself wonder how old they were. But...Hannah sank back into the gently worn sofa with her left hand under the bottom of the cup, a faint ring of heat seeping into her along the rim that would balance the cup on its saucer. I can't face him right now.

Josef had been unhappier than usual, this last week, though she didn't know why. Longer, really: his face a little tighter whenever he returned home from his day listening to Viennese petitioners, his hand a little harsher whenever he lost his patience, and his words a little coarser whenever he snapped at a simple question she asked just to keep him—

"You've been here all afternoon."

The half full cup of tea splattered across her hand as Hannah started, now sitting up straight again. "Yes," she whispered, shaking the hot brew away before it had time to settle and start to burn, bringing it up to her mouth as she did.

The next trinkets clinked together in her mother's hand as she wiped beneath where they had stood. "Don't you have things to look after at your house?"

"Yes, but—"

"Josef appreciates a tidy home, I'm sure."

"I know he does," Hannah muttered into her cup, trying not to look up. Her mother was always wiping away some invisible film of dirt from the porcelain figurines and wood dolls, even when the little toys she always prized must have been cleaned the day before— The next one clinked as it landed on shelf again. Sometimes, I think you like him more than I do. I know you do.

Another sip almost emptied her teacup. There isn't much more I can do or say, before you'll wonder...She drained it at last. But why haven't you wondered before? You know sometimes I'm not here for a week at a time. She shuddered. I know you always liked him when he was first here and wanted to marry me, and you weren't quite certain if you were ready to let me go. Even if you did have Maria to look after.

She set the cup on the table in front of her. "I don't mean to trouble you, Mother." She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to catch any drops of tea and then wiped it on the corner of her dress. She had to see to the washing this afternoon anyway. "Do you have any blue thread?" she asked suddenly.

"I'm sorry?" Her mother glanced back, knot of silver hair bouncing as she did, the next in line of the figurines already in her hand.

"I have some things to mend, that's all. And I don't know if I'll be past that shop today."

"You do seem to forget a spool of it often."

"I'm sorry." Her eyes darted down to her skirt, a little wrinkled against her knees. What will he think? I never know, especially now.

"I'll see if I can find any."

"Thank you."

Her mother was already rummaging through one of the baskets on the bookshelf across the room, her dusting cloth now tucked into the back strings of her apron. "Really, Hannah, some day, you'll need to just buy a dozen or so, if you're always running out. And...Oh, where did I put that. Oh, I suppose it isn't here, after all." It was an uncomfortable silence that fell between them, broken only by the scraping of another wooden basket and the dull knocking of this and that. I have a few spools tucked away in my own sewing basket, and I know one is almost just the right color, I always have it to mend the curtains. He'll notice that—and he'll be sure to notice if I use the wrong one. But I don't know if I can afford it with

"I'm afraid I don't, Hannah."

"Oh," she whispered as she sank into the cushion again.

"Did you need it today?"

"I was hoping to, but I suppose it can wait."

"Then buy it the next time you're out for the afternoon and you can find it yourself."

Do you think I don't want to? Hannah asked herself, eyes back on the rough carpet, calves scratching against one another with her nerves already rising. Oh, what I would give to have—have made a different choice years—

"Hannah?"

"I am sorry, Mother, but my—" Hannah caught her fingers in the folds of her skirt. I know you like Josef, you always have. But he has me on a tighter leash than you can imagine, my allowance isn't enough even for what I need to look after the house. He does like a tidy house, even if—nothing else is in order any longer. She knew there would be a damp mark on the fabric when she finally let go. And now she reached out for her teacup and last drops at the very bottom. She always lingered as long as she could, was always willing to waste a little time even if it meant drinking a frigid—

"Would you like another cup of tea?" The question was a little muffled, and when Hannah looked, her mother was now dusting the sideboard, shifting papers here and there, almost peering at them as she did. And then with a freshly rearranged stack of papers, she moved onto the next shelf.

"No, I don't think so," she murmured, her fingers already shaking as she drew them back. She would dawdle on the walk when she finally left: gazing through the shop windows as she enjoyed the afternoon sun, wondering if she could afford even the cheapest goods almost sparkling behind the glass. I can't really stay any longer, Hannah thought, her heart racing a little. She stood as she wiped the fresh sweat from palms onto her dress. I never take the shortest way home, all my shops are on another road, and Josef wouldn't know either way, I'm certain—

"Oh, Hannah?"

"Yes?" She tucked her hands behind her back, her fingers already knitted together to stop the tremors. "What is it?"

Her mother dropped her dusting cloth onto the shelf just as she wiped away the dust. She turned to the little table that ran under the window looking out onto the street. "I finally found it," she said as she shuffled through the neat pile of what must be letters and bills waiting to be paid. "I had a letter from Maria last week."

Hannah's face came up. "Another?" If she was honest as she listened to the rustling papers, she hadn't thought much about the girl since she left the house she shared with Josef— She bit her lip. Sometimes it was hard to even think of it as a home. "I thought she hadn't written for a time."

Her mother nodded. "Not before the last, but she's even more excited in this one, the silly little girl." She turned around, some paper caught in her lightly wrinkled hand as she walked across the room. "You'll have to tell Josef when you're home, she's going to be married."

"Married?" Hannah had to repeat the word as she reached out for the letter. "I can't quite believe it."

"Neither could I, at first. But I don't think this is one of her stories from when she was a girl."

"Perhaps," Hannah murmured as she took the letter and sank back into the sofa, her eyes already running along the first lines, trying not to jump ahead to the messier words scratched through with pen.

Mother,

Oh, I wish you were here. I really do. I told you about him before, Georg, but I just want

I need to tell you

I don't know any other way but to say it.

We're going to be married. It feels so fast, but—I can't think of anyone but him, most days. Can you even think that, Mother? Me, married? I know he's older than me, I told you he was in the Great War, in the navy, but I don't think I care. Even when he doesn't quite talk about things like I wish he did, or do much but think about the past. I told you that before, didn't I? I'm sorry, sometimes my mind is in a whirl, right now.

I'm going to a proper seamstress my next day off—or maybe the next, I'm not sure—to have my wedding dress made. Nothing like what I sometimes imagine my mother wore, or what all those princesses must have done, in Father's books. And as I'm waiting for all of it, I wonder if he saw something else in his travels. He must have known people who were happy enough to be married.

Really, I wish you could be here, but it won't be anything fancy, I think. Probably no more than us and the priest—but I just can't quite...I don't know how I've found myself here, but I don't think I'll want anything else. Am I too young to think that? I don't think so. I'm looking forward to the time with him—I'm blushing, if I'm honest—we'll be married just after this term ends. Perhaps

I'm sorry, I have to get back to my marking. We're spending tomorrow at the gardens, it feels forever since we've been there. I know it hasn't been, but just after going to Attersee for a day, or the market—he really does spoil me, sometimes—or...Well, that feels like it should just be for us. I'd never felt anything like this before. But I suppose the next time I can write you a letter, I won't really be Maria Kutschera any longer, I'll be Maria Trapp instead. I can't quite imagine it, not really.

I don't have any more time before I seal this and run it to the post office. The headmaster will be upset with me if I fall behind with my papers and plans. But I suppose—I'm just happy and I don't really have anyone else to tell.

Maria

Hannah handed the letter back, a little damp patch along the side where she hadn't managed to dry her palm. "Well, at least it won't be a mouthful like her father's surname."

Her mother shook her head. "You shouldn't say that, dear."

Hannah sighed as she sat again and reached for her teacup, draining the last of the cold, bitter brew. "I know—"

"He was a very kind man," her mother went on, back to her dusting, "he simply didn't know what to do after his second wife died."

You've told me this before, Hannah thought, the cup hitting the table a little harder than she meant it to. "I know."

"So be more careful with your words."

"He isn't here to complain—"

"Hannah!"

She tucked her hands back into her lap, her face swiftly turned away before she remembered where she was. Please don't shout at me like that. He raises his voice with me often enough at home. "I'm sorry," she murmured as she turned back to her mother. She was still running her dusting rag everywhere, now paying attention to the windowsill. "But it wasn't always the easiest having her in the house."

Her mother turned back, her clean hand brushing a few chunks of grey hair from her face. "Karl wasn't around to send you two money to take care—"

"It wasn't that. Josef might have complained about it, but…"

It had never been that for Hannah, or at least not entirely. Certainly another person to clothe and another mouth to feed had sometimes strained their budget, even though Josef had always insisted on serving Maria a smaller plate than Hannah remembered in her own childhood. Sometimes, he hadn't even had the patience to let her finish what he had allowed her to put before the girl, sending her off to her tiny bedroom when she was still devouring her meat and potatoes. "If she's not going to earn her keep, then she'll have to be docked," he had murmured once. Her question once that perhaps lessening the budget for his wine and cigarettes would leave more than enough for her, and even more as well to pay for repairs on the house, had seen his hand fly mercilessly. At least the bruises had been hidden beneath the bodice of her dress, and Hannah hadn't had the courage to ask just what he meant after that.

Did you think I didn't see how you looked at her sometimes? she wondered, already thinking about what she had to gather before finally walking out the door. Or that I didn't see how you tried to linger sometimes when you punished her? Hear when you left the bed at night and always came back frustrated, especially right before she left for college? "It wasn't really that," she said softly. There was that silence again, her mother still wandering slowly along the wall as she rubbed her cloth this way and that at imaginary patches of dust. "Mother?"

"Hmm?" She still didn't turn around.

"I don't think I have much more—"

"I feel like I know that name, her fiancé's."

Hannah nodded, standing again and shaking those wrinkles out of her skirt. "I think so, too." Really, she was certain she did. Or something like it. As though she had heard it in the news long ago, or more likely seen it in all the memories of the Austro-Hungarian empire that clung to this house. It would bother her the entire walk home, but whenever she finally set foot in her own house, everything that haunted those walls would banish the question from her mind. "But I just can't quite place it, I'm sure I must have heard it." Really, maybe even through the night, she would finally remember. "But could you look again for that thread?" she asked. It was just a few more minutes to delay the inevitable, to stop herself from crossing the threshold back into the city, onto the way...back.

Her mother sighed, her dust cloth now on the top of the same table where all those papers lay piled in front of her precious baubles. "I suppose. I'll just need a minute, it might be in our bedroom."

Her gaze followed her mother as she left the front room. "You never have stopped talking as though Father's still here," she whispered, her eyes darting back to that table. She shuffled across to the table, certain that letter was sitting on top of the fresh stack. She didn't recognize the handwriting, but it was clean and neat, letters looped together and leaning to the right. Her eyes flicked over the words again. The girl's excitement over her impending marriage—her eagerness to meet with a seamstress for a dress—even her anticipation of finally being alone with the man when he was her husband. You haven't said it, Maria, but you're eager to be in his bed, if you say you're blushing just writing it. Perhaps I'm jealous, I don't think I ever looked forward—

"I did find it, dear." Hannah started, the letter falling out of her hand. "What are you doing? You know I don't like you touching things after I've just tidied them."

"I...just…" She bit her lip as she turned around, her mother in the doorway, something clutched in her hand. "I don't know what he'll think about it."

Her mother shook her head as she finally pressed the spool of thread into her hand. "Hmm?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

"Yes, you did." Elisabeth's hand tightened around Hannah's, suddenly noticing her fingers shaking. "You're here less often than Josef these days, even if he only wants a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning. I don't know the last time you were here."

"I'm afraid I just don't have the time." Last night, it had been his hand across her backside, probably leaving a mark beneath her underclothes and shift long after the redness had faded. "Like you said, Josef likes a tidy house."


After the slipped the light coat she had for spring and summer over her shoulders, Hannah dawdled on her way home, thread shoved into the corner of her basket. She half wished her mother hadn't been able to find it tucked away in some corner of her bedroom. It would be another shop, she thought as smiled and accepted the joint of beef from the butcher. It was rather the same at the greengrocer's, though she handed over all of her choices to the shopkeeper, smiling as she accepted back her onions and carrots, her potatoes and apples. It was too early for strawberries, though she knew Josef would want them the moment they appeared on the shelves, no matter the cost to the money he gave her as he sneered.

The bakery to purchase a loaf of bread was always the last stop before she finally made for home—the house. Her steps were always slower, then, the bakery's door last shutting her off from its enticing aromas, her last taste of something nice for the day. Really, the journey was far shorter from the shops to her own home compared to the one from her mother's house, but it always took Hannah much longer. There was no place else to linger: no other shops with windows she could gaze through, no café to purchase a final cup of tea for the day. Though even if there was, Hannah knew the last of the schillings in her spring coat's pocket wouldn't be enough, not if she didn't know the next time he would grumpily hand her another few despite his anger whenever something wasn't quite right.

And now, at the head of the street, Hannah's paces were even shorter as her heart raced faster. What will it be this time? she wondered, the door and the front garden of their little house coming into view. It wasn't much, just a few patches of grass behind the fence that separated it from the street, a few flowers here and that had sprouted from the bulbs she buried the autumn before. The grey door was long ago in need of paint, scratched here and there by some of the dogs that occasionally wandered free from their own yards. I told Josef that years ago, she thought as she walked through the squealing gate. And about that as well.

A quick turn of the key in the lock released the cloud of cigarette smoke that invariably filled the air, almost another coat over her old spring one. Sometimes, Hannah wondered that the smell didn't follow her everywhere it went. "But may it does," she murmured as she closed the door, finally shutting her last breath of fresh air a time, perhaps even for the rest of the day! There wasn't too much to do in the house; like her mother had just been doing, she had already dusted the front room, swept as well. Her basket on the table just inside the front door, she peeled her coat away—

"That was a long time, woman," her husband muttered, just on the threshold to the front room from the kitchen.

Hannah nodded as she folded her coat over her arm, then reached for her basket again. She would hang in her wardrobe once everything was in its place in the kitchen, but for now, the back of one of the chairs around the table would do. "I know. There was just the weekly shopping to do as I was coming back—"

"Longer than usual!" he snapped, finally standing aside to allow her to pass through the smoke that always surrounded him, stepping into the kitchen. "You always take your time to do it, but this was far longer."

"I'm sorry, Josef." She shrank back from him as she often did, both of her arms pulled in against her abdomen as well as she could, though maybe it would be even worse if the basket scratched at him. "I just felt there was so much to talk about at Mother's." Her basket on the dining table—coat over that chair—she cringed as his footsteps followed, the haze of smoke as well.

"She hardly leaves her house, what does she have to say?"

"She had another letter from Maria—"

His hand suddenly tight around her forearm, Josef spun her around. His brown eyes narrowed, the wrinkles already starting to line his face were even sharper. "Another girl who has never had a proper thought in her head."

Though she tried to slide her shoes away on the tile, Hannah had learned not to struggle against him, not even trying to free her arm. "It's more exciting than the last one she sent, Mother said before she showed it to me. And I know you saw the last—"

"So get on with it." He flung her arm into the edge of the table, surely leaving another mark. "What was she bothering your mother with this time?"

"Just…" Oh, I know you won't be happy to hear it, Josef. "She's going to be married soon."

"Married?" His mouth tightened around his half-burnt cigarette as he leaned toward her.

Hannah nodded, now nearly stumbling back into the table. "Yes." She could already smell something else on his breath, trying not to shake her head to rid her nose of it.

"I didn't think I'd hear that."

Hannah slid along the table's edge, perhaps he wouldn't notice. "She's so young, I'm almost worried for her—"

"Not that, Hannah." He seized her arm again, even tighter this time. He'd nearly broken it once, his hold had been so strong; the ache had lasted for weeks. "For Christ's sake, you weren't that much older."

"Then what? You should at least be happy for—"

"I just didn't quite think that I'd hear the little whore might keep her legs closed until some man decided to put up with her."

"Please don't." She couldn't stop herself twisting her arm in his grasp, though his fingers just became even more of a vice. "I don't know if she's making the right decision, the way she wrote about him—"

"It doesn't matter." Now, one of his fingernails was cutting into her skin. "Your mother told me that she was happy to be with someone down in that little provincial town."

Hannah shook her head, finally unable to stop herself from trying to squirm away. "It's hardly provincial, Salzburg—"

"I don't care where, it's hardly a thing she should do without my permission."

"She's out of our house, she has been for almost five years!"

"It doesn't matter. She's just like you without a single thought going through her mind."

It was nothing new, Hannah had heard it all before: the insults, the verbal beatings to go with when his hand flew across her face or backside, the constant reminders of what he viewed as her unabashed stupidity. Couldn't we have just been happy, like I thought we would be, Josef? she wondered as he finally released her arm again. The way I thought when you were first coming to the house, sometimes even with flowers in your hands for me? It would have been so much nicer than what our life together has been. Can't you see—

"Well, out with it, then. What's the foolish man's name?"

She gasped for a second, the past evaporating with his question as her fading blond hair fluttered around her face. "Georg Trapp," she whispered, "that's what she said."

Hannah winced as a small smile broke through the scowl he usually wore. "What?" he asked, voice lower and softer than usual—almost silky. "That's quite interesting, I must admit. Maybe the last thing I would have expected to hear, Hannah."

Somehow, this was even worse than the ache in her arm whenever he twisted at it, or the burn on her cheek whenever his hand landed there. There was always a malevolence in that little grin, almost like a wolf circling a cat left outside at night. "What is it? I feel I know that name, but I can't—"

"And that's what I mean when you don't have a thought, ever. I certainly know it."

You know, Josef? Why won't you tell me? "Who is—"

"So you can write her a letter of your own? For Christ's sake, woman, no." Leaning around her, Josef flicked the last end of his cigarette to the tray on the table behind her, a patch falling on the tile. "Sweep that up. And you'll have to leave me alone—I need another cigarette while I think."

"Think. About what?"

"It doesn't concern you—it never has and it never will."

"Please don't say that. And who—"

"Peace and quiet!" Josef snapped again, now shoving her away from him, toward the other doorway in the kitchen that led to the hallway containing the washroom, the bedroom they shared, and the small room that had been Maria's a few years ago. "Sweep, then go off and do whatever it is you normally do."

"But—"

"I'll see to you later."

Hannah's stomach was already churning as Josef marched out of the kitchen back to the front room, and she sank back against the far wall for a moment. It was only a matter of time, she knew, it always was. Just please don't take too long today. Please, I don't think I can stand it for much longer, always dreading you.

In the front room, alone at last amongst the clutter and junk his wife had collected over the years just like her mother, Josef already had a fresh cigarette in his mouth, end smoldering as he dropped his matchbook onto the table. "God," he murmured as he clenched his lips, "of all the things to hear." All he had ever wanted in his life was some happiness, some joy, some title beyond Your Honor. The next drag on his cigarette was almost painful, the burn in his throat was so strong and sudden. Instead, all he had was a worn house always in need of more money to look after it, a stupid wife who always nattered on about nothing, not a single son to justify her presence in his house, and an office in a far corner of the city where nothing good came from. After all, it was where the girl had come from—

The next exhale of smoke burned through his nostrils. Christ, he couldn't even stand the thought of her. Nothing to her name—no name at all other than something that must have come from the lost half of the empire—or even worse, from the new fangled country of Poland. He shuddered to think of it, though it didn't matter. And...He had to laugh, pulling his cigarette from his mouth as he did. The gentlemen up north will hate you for it—both of you, I think—I hear enough of their news already. They'll be ready to pry you away from him if you're father's name sounds right, and I'll love them more for it.

To think the little whore found a naval hero, Josef thought as another puff of smoke burned through his nose again to settle in a cloud around his head. You graduated from high school when you hardly knew how to look after a house—I saw that every morning. He tapped away the first grey debris into the ashtray on the kitchen table. But I never thought you would ensnare such a man. Though maybe I was wrong, and perhaps you didn't keep your little legs closed, and you're already growing one for him. Though why he would want one who might be a mongrel, I don't quite know.

Josef still remembered the papers from the war as the country collapsed little by little. I'm surprised you didn't recall at least most of his name right away, Elisabeth, though perhaps at this point, your memory isn't what it wasn't back then. You were so taken by everything that brought the empire to an end , though maybe you were so upset, you can't stand to remember the nonsense about war heroes. I never quite understood it. At least I did my best to work to better the nation, unlike the idiots who had nothing better to do than go off to war. But I suppose your fiancé isn't quite that, Maria, decorated by the emperor. Another breath brought a fresh mouthful of smoke to his lungs. Except that he thinks there's something about you, Maria. Other than a girl who couldn't stop being so enticing.

Josef didn't think that much more as his cigarette burned away, only abandoned for a minute at the table beneath the window and its curtains that demanded mending to pour himself a glass of warm wine halfway through its journey to vinegar. He took half of it in a single gulp. Don't worry, you goddamn war hero with everything a man could want. Money, awards, a title, and soon a young wife. Her little body has tempted me long enough, I can't help but call her a whore, so maybe I don't envy you for the last. He flicked the end of the cigarette away and reached for his glass to drain the last of the dregs. She'll be here again, and I can take whatever I want from her now. She's stupid enough she won't think about it when I see her. And I will. I've been able to take whatever I want from anyone for years, so long as I've sat behind the bench in a courtroom. Turning around, he took a few stalking steps into the kitchen on his way to find Hannah. But you'll do for now.


It had never hurt this much. Hannah knew what was waiting for her immediately after Josef demanded her to come to their bed. The pain hadn't been so intense even just following their wedding so many years ago, his slightly drunken gaze nothing that she had ever seen in all their courtship. Not her hands against his shoulders—failing when he slapped her face away with one of his own—her pleadings that were lost in the ragged sounds rising from his chest, even her little shriek of surprise as the pain burned down between her legs when he roughly pushed himself into her the first time that night. At least she hadn't seen the smatterings of blood on her thighs since then, no matter how he tried to ravage her whenever his temper sharpened.

What is so different now? she wondered as he rolled away from her, leaving her clutching her belly as the ache settled deeper. Josef was already reaching for his clothes, a mutter under his breath that he needed to go find someone else. Why couldn't you have just done that? she went on to herself as she tightened the sheet and quilt closer, still staring alone into the mid-afternoon sun shining through the window. I know you find them all the time when you don't want to be with me. Why couldn't you just do this to one of them?

When Josef returned a few hours later—some stagnant alcohol on his breath—he reached for her again before she could say a single word, the resulting pain in her belly worse than ever. She hardly had the sheets wrapped around her before she heard his snores, already tired of her as he always was and his own body sated as her own continued to ache. You don't want me, I know that, she thought as she pressed her hands to her stomach. At least these moments never lasted that long, even if they were painful. But...I don't understand. I hate to think it, but I know you wanted her when she was here. Why couldn't you have...She bit at her lip as she rolled over in their bed, away from him. Why not her? I know she was only a child, but I wasn't all that much more, at least compared to you with your diploma and your position. She dug her arm into her pillow to drag herself farther from him. I'm sorry, Maria, but I would have rather have had him to see to you than me again.

Her husband's snores were louder now, always a sign he likely wouldn't wake for hours. She slid from their bed—pushed the sheets back against him so he wouldn't really know she was gone. It was only a few seconds before she found herself on her knees and hands clasped on the edge of their bed, not caring about the air stinging her backside and aching belly. "Forgive me," she whispered, forehead against her fist. "I know it's not right. But there's no escape for me. And I can't handle it sometimes, I couldn't even back then." Hannah shuddered. I don't know what he's brought back with him, I've been to the doctor before after he's been vicious...Even today, I don't know what...

Hannah gasped against a sudden sob, already pushing her face forward to bite at the sheets. Her cry contained, she scrubbed her face against her arm. "I'm sorry, Maria," she whispered. "I know it's not right—it wasn't right for me either—but if you…" Another gasp rose up through her throat. Who would have cared? You're just...I liked you, I really did, even when Josef didn't. And I supposed you're still as kind and nice as you were, if you've found a man happy to marry you, it sounds, rather than just going forward after a courtship. Who would have ever known if he'd had his way with you as a girl? Who would have cared? Not your husband, if he really fancies you.

Hannah dug her knees harder into the carpet, she had to finish it before he might wake as he did every now and then. "Forgive me. It's just been too long, too much, and...I don't know what to do." She hiccuped against her hands, now folded on the very edge of the bed where he couldn't possibly see them. "I never have. I wouldn't have known then, either."