19

It would be nearly midnight by the time they arrived at Ingrid’s home, where her birthday would be waiting for her in the shadows of an empty apartment.

‘Why am I at the service of things I don’t understand,’ Thomas thought to himself. ‘Why must I always make up for my friend’s shortcomings?’

As the tram travelled, Ingrid began to sober, though her eyes remained heavy and her speech was slow and difficult. It wasn’t long before she sensed Erich was not with them, and when she realised this, she began to speak in apologetic terms.

‘Thomas, where has he gone? Is he coming back? I’m sorry for ruining the night.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Thomas said. By now his anger at Erich’s behaviour had turned into a grotesque form of foreboding.

‘Is it my fault?’ Ingrid went on. ‘He’s tired of me isn’t he? I should be more generous with him. Is that what he wants from me?’

‘I really think you should forget about Erich for tonight.’

‘No, I don’t want to forget about him. I feel sorry for him.’

‘Erich has disappeared. He doesn’t deserve our sympathy.’ Then he said, ‘Perhaps you need to think about life without him.’

‘Yes,’ Ingrid said, suddenly understanding something. ‘How could he leave me? Thank you Thomas.’ She paused, then as her concentration slipped away she began to fall asleep. The way the tram rattled and swayed seemed to have a sedative effect on her. But within a few minutes she woke up again and said. ‘I just don’t like to be, you know, tactile with him, because there is no pleasure in it for me. It’s not really that I don’t like him touching me, but I do wonder why he wants to touch me. His hands…they make me feel so ugly.’

‘Please get some sleep,’ Thomas said. ‘You’re too tired.’

‘Look at me! I’m a state!’

‘Just rest. We’re not far from home now.’

The pair remained silent for the next few minutes as the suburbs of Berlin rolled by through the darkened windows. Ingrid kept her eyes open and stared straight ahead of her. Some time passed before she spoke again, this time in more articulate tones.

‘Do you remember the war?’

‘Of course.’

‘Did I ever tell you what happened to me?’

‘No.’

‘My father was a surgeon. Did I ever tell you that? He has stopped working now, but when the war was on he was extremely busy. He worked from home. Men with wounds would come round to visit him as part of their recuperation. Officers, higher-ranking soldiers, you know? He would examine them, replace stitches, dress wounds. Often he would perform small operations. He had all the instruments at home you see, all kept in a box. Locked away, of course. Do you know morphine?’

‘Yes.’

‘My father kept a lot of that. It was useful to him. He would give it to all the men he treated, so he kept a large stock of it. And sometimes he would give it to me. Are you surprised? You look a little shocked. But morphine is okay. Here, take my hand. You see, I’m not ill.’

She looked up and smiled. Her eyes looked tired and wounded.

‘But why did you take it?’ Thomas asked.

‘Must I say? Because I was in pain. When I was about thirteen – that is not an easy time for a girl. So you see, that’s why my father gave me the drug, to help me.’

‘And do you still take it?’

‘I suppose never really stopped taking it. Actually, that’s not true. I have it only every now and then. Sometimes. I enjoy it. Sometimes. But it is not so easy to get anymore, now my father has stopped working. I used to take his prescription forms, you see. But now it’s not that easy. I speak to doctors and the nice ones give it to me. Thank God. They understand better, like you do. Anyway, I don’t know why I started talking about it. Is it time to get off this horrible tram yet? We must be nearly home by now. Oh look, do you see that? The moon is shining.’

They arrived at Ingrid’s apartment some thirty minutes before midnight. They sat together in her living room waiting for the coming of the hour. It was a strange way to go about celebrating a birthday. As twelve o’clock approached they exchanged fewer and fewer words until, with two minutes to go, they stopped speaking altogether. Ingrid’s mind was many miles away, and when eventually the chimes from the clock in the hallway rang, her eyes filled with tears that ran in streaks down her face, and in this disagreeable way, ruined by fatigue and emotion, she seemed to come back to life. The sound of her crying filled the room, and for a time Thomas felt overcome with pity. A strong sensation of love welled inside him, and in a certain way, for those few minutes, he did not want the night to end.

Ingrid went into the hall and sobbed in muffled tones at the door. Her crying continued through the hour, and although she and Thomas conversed a little as the hour passed, he could say nothing to pacify her. He left shortly after one o’clock, and as he went to leave, she kissed him on the cheek and said thank you. Then, in an unexpected turn, she came forward and took hold of his hand and gave it a short tug back in the direction of the hallway, intimating with this almost childish gesture a new set of thoughts. She smiled a pithy, apologetic smile, which nonetheless made an assertion, one which Thomas understood instantly.

He hesitated, on the edge of a situation he had not imagined.

She held her demeanour for a moment longer, waiting for a response. Thomas said nothing. He thought about Käthe. When she realised he was not about to consent, her face seemed to relax and she returned to a more reticent composure.

‘Thomas,’ she called after him as he left.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you again – for staying with me.’

‘That’s alright.’

‘Has Erich mentioned to you?’

‘Mentioned to me what?’

‘Mentioned that I’m going to have a baby?’

‘A baby? No, he didn’t mention.’

‘Isn’t that why you stayed to look after me?’

‘I stayed because we’re friends. I didn’t know you were pregnant.’

‘Well I am. What do you think about that?’

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know what to think. All I know is that you should go to bed.’

‘Aren’t you happy for us?’

He thought for a second. ‘Of course. I’m shocked – but of course I’m happy.’ He stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I’m delighted.’

‘I don’t know what will happen,’ she said.

‘Everything will be fine. Now, you must go to bed. Take a drink of water with you.’

‘I will. Thank you. I’ve stopped crying now. See?’

Thomas let the door close quietly behind him as Ingrid went back inside. His journey home was slow and pensive. Most of the trams had stopped for the night. Later, taking heed of the disarray he saw all about him, he honoured the birthday girl with several tears of his own.