8

Sometimes she wakes in the night full of doubts: will he come? Why has she been so confident all these days, even now – when everything suddenly seems questionable – as if he might not change his mind? For instance if he falls seriously ill, or if he no longer believes in their love, or if he begins to forget her.

In the first few days she thought she had enough confidence to last forever, but now, unexpectedly, her stock of it is running out. Her hair, seen in the mirror, is losing its lustre; so are her eyes, and anxiety leaves traces on her skin, which feels wretched and sensitive. She didn’t know that her body would remember – eyes, nose, mouth, her lips that don’t meet his, the place just under her navel where she always used to feel that pulling sensation. She misses his voice, the way he looks at her – the way he looked at her that day on the beach when, at a glance, he acknowledged who she was: a silly little girl from the east, but at the same time something else as well, at least to him, for he sees something else in her that no one has ever seen before. She doesn’t think herself particularly pretty, but there before his eyes on the beach she wanted to be pretty, and so she did later on the landing-stage when she felt how he longed for her, and how he accepted his longing for her and wanted no one else.

At the police department dealing with aliens staying in the country, she has been told that her residence permit will not be extended; she has no new job in view, so she must go back to Berlin. She talks to Paul about it, although only hinting at her reasons for not wanting to leave Müritz. She has promised someone she will wait for him here, she says, maybe she can find temporary work in a hotel. They have not held out much hope to her at the employment agency; many of the visitors leave when the summer holidays are over, so there is almost no demand for more workers.

Paul immediately suspects who it is she is waiting for. She doesn’t say no and doesn’t say yes, which ultimately amounts to an answer in itself, and at last confesses that yes, it is the doctor. In retrospect, Paul thinks he noticed something between them from the first, a kind of flickering in her eyes at meals, when the doctor was talking to her, the way he looked at her, not in the ordinary way one person looks at another. Isn’t he a little old for you? Paul himself is in his early twenties, and considers a man in his thirties old. Now, however, he speaks of him in glowing terms; the doctor, he says, is a remarkable man, with delicate and courteous manners, and a writer – well, yes, half the colony was in love with him, after all.

He said he would go to Berlin with her, she tells Paul.

The doctor? And that’s why you are waiting for him? But you’d do much better to wait for him in Berlin. When will he be here?

She is afraid she doesn’t know, but if she has to leave Müritz she definitely doesn’t want to go to Berlin on her own, she will go to Berlin only with him.

He went to visit his sister during the summer holiday. Yesterday, after her conversation with Paul, there was a postcard for her, and for now she doesn’t know any more. The sister was not particularly pleased with the state he was in, so he had gone out into the country to see her for a few days. The place is called Schelesen; the name means nothing to her. Ottla had been very energetic and in practice left him no choice. She said I looked like a ghost, he writes to Dora, do you want to live with a ghost in Berlin? Yesterday in the kitchen all she could think was: no, please don’t say that, darling, you’ve gone the wrong way, turn back or what’s to become of me?

Paul immediately asked, in the morning, what was the matter with her, for heaven’s sake? Bad news? She doesn’t know whether the news is bad or simply news; she has read the postcard over and over again, that passage about the ghost, and now, gradually, she begins to feel calmer. If this is the only possibility then, fundamentally, it’s all right. She just has to know where to stay for the immediate future. She could go to her friend Judith, who is spending the summer in a village near Rathenau. Perhaps she can stay there for the time being.

Paul says: anyone can tell you’re not in a good way, but anyone can see how happy you are. He helps her in the kitchen, sits in the garden with her, fetches coffee and pastries, pays her compliments but always nicely, as if he were speaking for the doctor, who can’t pay her compliments at the moment. He’ll come here, he says. He’d be really stupid not to come and leave you for someone else, who knows who that would be? And then she believes in it again. She feels a little weary, but cheerful, and if it were only these few days, the landing-stage, the forest, that first visit to his room and then, later, her second visit. But even without the second visit, if she only knew that he was there for her, if she only had letters, telegrams, some kind of sign to let her know that it was her he meant to be with.

The next day she finds accommodation. Hans has sent a telegram, not exactly in a good humour, but he does seem to have accommodation, a large room with a bay window in Steglitz, in a street that she has never heard of, with a bathroom and kitchen. At first she can hardly believe it, but then she does, she jumps for joy almost up to the ceiling, and tells Paul so later. For your doctor, writes Hans. It must be settled quickly, it must all be decided by the end of the week. He also sends a phone number, and the name of the landlady (Frau Hermann), who wants the rent backdated for half of August if Dora is interested. No salutation to the letter, only his name so that she will realise he isn’t stupid, or why would she go to such lengths for a mere seaside acquaintance?

He doesn’t yet know anything about his room. His last letter came the day before yesterday, but all the same it is strange that he hasn’t the faintest idea about it, or surely he would be glad, but he sounds fretful, as if his days were a battle and he doesn’t know whether he will win it. He sits on the balcony in the sun, he says, reading the newspaper accounts of how everything is going from bad to worse in Berlin, decides to give up all newspapers but then reads them again every morning, only to take fright at what they say again.

I’ve told Ottla about you, he writes, I’ve told her that you exist and what you’ve made of me. She looked at me wide-eyed and then said that she knew that already, from her husband Pepo, and it was the same for her. Won’t you come to us in Schelesen? There’ll be enough room. You’d like the country here, the weather has been good so far, and my two nieces are delightful. They are staying in a little boarding house above a grocery shop, on the first floor with a view of the village street. It’s not a very large village; he describes a kind of valley surrounded by tree-grown hills where he sometimes goes for walks. He mentions a swimming pool, but he hasn’t been to it yet. She thinks of him mainly in his room, which she imagines as similar to the room in Müritz, sitting on the balcony and reading, with an indistinct view of the landscape, wooded and hilly but without the sea, not like here, where you always have sand between your toes.

Dearest, look, she writes. Can you see me? I’m sitting at the long table in the garden, trembling at the thought of Berlin. I’m half sitting here at the table, and half in your new room, which I think of as bright and large, with the sun shining in nearly all the time. I don’t know where to go, she writes. It’s windy, everything is fluttering and flying, nothing will stay put, even this letter wants to be on its way in a hurry. With a thousand kisses, love from your Dora.

The village was called Döberitz, she remembers now. She can board the train tomorrow, Judith tells her, you have to change several times, but you’ll always be welcome. Judith herself has been there only since last week and is staying until the end of September, because she finally has to study for her examinations, what else is there to do this rainy summer? I look forward to seeing you. I’m afraid there aren’t any men here, or at least I haven’t seen anyone of that kind, only adolescent rustics who gape at me all the time, as you’ll find out.

Paul seems rather disappointed when she tells him about Judith’s invitation. He may have hoped, secretly, that she would go to Berlin with him, but now she is going to Döberitz. She begins saying goodbye down on the beach, as if she must not on any account forget anything, although this is only Thursday. Paul seems genuinely sorry, but in the evening, when they are singing and dancing with the children, all that is forgotten. She hasn’t danced for ages, and Paul lets her persuade him to be her partner – now they are dancing. They don’t dance very well together, but they are dancing.