RUBY SPENT SEVERAL MONTHS RECOVERING AFTER her hospitalization. She managed to keep Werner at bay, much to his dismay, but remained sequestered inside her apartment most of the time. Werner would still come creeping around to her door, calling out for her insistently, but she had changed the lock and refused to open the door. He’d have to get the picture and stop sometime. She hoped that would be soon.
Her mood had fallen very low; she had decided that this must be the usual trajectory of mental illness—skyrocket, then crash and burn. What goes up must come down. She was still heavily medicated with Haldol, and was going once a month to the doctor’s for a shot. She felt woozy a lot of the time and still suffered from stiffness in her joints, but “the Haldol shuffle”—slumped head, arms hanging like a gorilla, trudging pace—was gone. The language institute had been very generous and sympathetic and had given her another two months off work, so she needn’t worry about that. In fact, there was scarcely any reason to go out at all. Ruby lay in bed all day tossing and turning and sighing. She would only come up from under the blankets when her lungs could no longer stand the closeness under the covers. A deep sadness lapped at her, like little waves pulling her away from her core, setting her adrift in a vast nothingness. Her mood was grim and she remained incommunicado, not wanting to reach out to anyone or have them reach out to her. She had lost her appetite, nibbling on crackers and cheese or a piece of fruit. Sleep was her best friend. She called out to death one day, wishing it would lay its blanket over her and extinguish the fire of life once and for all. But underneath all her blues she could hear her family calling out to her. Be strong! Pull yourself up! Stand tall! “I don’t know how,” she would wail. But she couldn’t drown out their voices as they tried to coax her on.
After three weeks her mood finally began to lift a little in the evening and she would sit up, maybe even stand and stretch for a moment or two. She managed to sit in the chair in her room, but couldn’t summon the interest to read a book. One evening she tiptoed down the hall and put on a little music—the lilt of the jazz horn made her cry. Someone knocked at the door. She knew it wasn’t Werner because he always gave three knocks followed by two quick knocks. It was Emma, who had been trying to reach her for ages. Her friend was stunned at the mess in the house: dishes left standing everywhere, clothes strewn across all the surfaces.
“Ruby, you can’t go on this way. You have to get some help.”
“I have my doctor, that’s all I need.”
“But you don’t even have a therapist or psychiatrist.”
“I have my friends, like you. Why go to a stranger?”
“Oh Ruby, don’t you see, I can only help so much. You’re stuck inside your flat, and probably inside your head, too. How long have you been lying around day and night?”
“A while now. It’s hard to get motivated. It’s like I’m in the slow cycle of the wash, swishing back and forth in the darkness. Sleep brings relief.”
“You need just as much help as you did before. You let yourself be helped then. Why not now? Just because you’re not having delusions doesn’t mean it’s not just as important.”
“I know, Emma, I know it’s not right. I just can’t bring myself to do anything about it. I’m like a rock stuck in a cave.”
“Do me a favour, Ruby—call your parents and let them know what’s going on. Maybe they can come over again.”
Ruby mulled that over. She hadn’t wanted to bother them again, but Emma was right. She should ask them if they’d be willing to visit again.
After Emma left, Ruby went back to her routine of wandering the apartment, lying down, wandering some more, jags of crying in between. She eventually picked up a book by de Maupassant. The coarse slang of the Normandy countryside reminded her of Quebec’s joual, which had filled her ears in her university days. It was like comfort food, sustaining her for an evening. She played Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding and Solomon Burke on the stereo, alternating them with familiar jazz standards. Sometimes she cried while listening to the music, imagining herself to be the spurned lover in one of the songs, feeling the splintered blueness of her situation. In a way it all reminded her of home. Especially the jazz.
When she called her parents the next night, her voice was shaky. “Dad, it’s me. How are you?”
“Ruby! I’m thrilled to hear from you. We’ve been worried. We tried and tried but we couldn’t reach you.”
“Dad, I’m calling to ask if you’d like to come over and visit again.”
“Of course we would, but I have to discuss it with your mother. She’s been through a rough patch herself in the last few weeks. But she’s coming out the other side now.”
“What happened to Mom?”
“Well, she got so busy worrying about you that she went off a little herself, got a little manic.”
“Is she all right? How is she now?”
“They adjusted her medication. But she’s a trooper and she’ll be fine. Just like you, Ruby. Are you okay?”
“I’m a little low, but I’m doing fine,” Ruby lied. “But I’d really like to see you soon.”
“Fine, my ass. I can hear your voice quaking as we speak. We’ll arrange to come over as soon as we can. Are you still seeing a doctor?”
“I see my GP, but no psychiatrist.”
“Ruby, that’s not good. Your mom’s got a great shrink.”
“I don’t know any shrinks here. My GP is just fine.”
“We’ll talk about it more when we see you.”
In the one week it took for her parents to arrive, Ruby tried hard to pull herself together. She cleaned up the apartment a little bit every day, but it was still rough around the edges. Which is exactly how she felt. One day Ruby put on her shoes and slipped out the door. She had decided to go to an animal shelter and look for a cat. There was an array of cute cats and dogs, kittens and puppies at the shelter. But Ruby saw one beautiful little kitten, white with swirls of grey, that hung back in the cage, shy and tentative. She bent down further and picked up the little thing by the scruff of its neck and pulled her out of the cage. It squirmed and cringed and tried to break free. But Ruby kept petting it and cooing at it until it sat still for a moment. She gestured to the staff that she wanted this kitten, and they prepared the papers for her. “I will call you Luna, which means ‘moon’ in Spanish. You feel electric and full of emotion, just like when the moon comes out.”
Ruby took Luna home and set her on the living room floor. She folded up a blanket and made an indentation where Luna could nest. The kitten ran away and hid. Ruby looked for her for ages but couldn’t find her and gave up the search. Finally at night the cat resurfaced. Ruby was lying in bed when there was a little thump. Luna came nudging her way along the bed to where Ruby lay. She reached out with her paw and gave Ruby’s hand a pat. Ruby scratched and caressed the kitten and then lifted up the duvet so that it could crawl in. It wriggled up against her and promptly fell asleep. Luna would continue to hide much of the day and come to see her at night when it was quiet and dark. Ruby would make shadows on the walls with her hands and the kitten would lunge after the shapes with comic ferocity and pluck. Ruby was gratified for this little bit of company and touch, and a deep smile penetrated her being.
It was the day her parents were to arrive. Standing at the window of her apartment, Ruby looked out over the courtyard, watching for them. She had to admit she was thrilled by the prospect of seeing them again, even though she knew that her father was a man on a mission, crossing an ocean to retrieve his wayward daughter.
As Ruby turned for the door, an image of her younger, more innocent Canadian self flashed before her eyes. As she stood there, her hand, the colour of cardamom, wandered like her mind and ruffled her dark curls. She looked forward to some sassy repartee with her father and her mother, some juicy updates on the latest family gossip. She thought of her mother and father and could see them wrapped in each other’s arms dancing around the living room, while she first watched and then joined in. Tight-knit—that is how she thought of them, with so much love in the air.
Ruby had just turned six. The new dress lay on top of her bed, where her mother had laid it out carefully for her. Her small, pudgy fingers gingerly traced their way over the soft red velvet, then round and round the shiny black buttons, up to the lacy collar, and finally slid down plushy sleeves that ended in smooth black cuffs. Oooh, wasn’t it so pretty, pretty, pretty, she whispered to the collection of dolls and animals—a pink kitten, a spotted puppy, a cloth doll made by her grandmother, and a doll her father called Pocahontas, its head smashed in by her sister’s baseball bat. Ruby had painstakingly coaxed what was left of the brown plastic head back onto the shoulders with a bit of adhesive tape. But it sat there lopsided, ready to fall at the slightest mishandling. They had snuggled up close together, and watched Ruby from their corner of the bed.
She slithered eagerly into the dress, then stood in front of the mirror admiring herself. Little brown-black freckles danced around her nose; chestnut eyes shone brightly. Two thick, black braids tumbled down behind her shoulders. She did a little twirl. And then again, round and round and round she went, arms flung high in the air. Breathless, she fell onto her bed and gathered up her furry friends in her arms. The voices of her mother and father wafted into the room.
“Aw, Louise, baby, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to let her get up in front of people like that.”
“James, nobody’s pushing her. It’s just for fun. You know she loves to sing.”
Ruby flung her bedroom door open. “It’s true, Daddy, it’s true, I want to do it.”
Her mother and father stood in the hall, arms locked around each other’s waists. Ruby eyed her father’s hand as it slipped down to pat her mother’s bottom.
“Eeew, yuck! You guys, don’t do that stuff around me.”
Her mother brushed her father’s hand away playfully. She slanted her eyes down towards Ruby and said, “Darlin’, it’s called love. That’s what people do.”
Stooping down, she caressed a few curly threads back from Ruby’s face. She turned Ruby around to do up her dress. “Listen, sweetheart, are you sure . . . ?”
“But I am, Mommy. Daddy, puh-leeze!”
Her father grunted. “I can’t fight against two of you. Okay, go ahead.”
Turning away from them triumphantly, her mother waved and said, “See you guys downstairs.”
Her father picked her up and looked her over approvingly. “Well, my, my, my. You look beeyoootiful,” he cooed, squeezing her in his grizzly-bear arms. The smell of his aftershave tickled her nose. He tossed her into the air. She squealed with delight, not wanting him to put her back down.
“Daddy, Daddy, tickle me.”
He poked thick fingers into her ribs, this side, now that side. She wriggled away, feeling as if she’d burst, then came back for more.
“You’re getting too big for this now,” he said, catching his breath. He escorted her down the stairs, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. “Now be good. Company is here.”
Ruby’s parents were surprised to see how large her flat was and more than a little unnerved by the messiness they found. Ruby had tried to tidy up, but dishes were still stacked high in the kitchen sink, though the counters had been cleared. Papers and odds and ends were strewn over the coffee table, and a multitude of shoes lay piled up at the door. Most surfaces had something gathered upon them collecting dust.
“My dear, it looks like you’re barely managing,” her mother said. “That’s not like you, Ruby. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m just a little out of sorts, Mom. It’s been hard, breaking up with Werner. I don’t feel like going out much these days. I guess my spirits are low.”
“Werner called us and was very upset. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing by letting him go?”
“Mom, I couldn’t carry on—he was so overbearing, he left me no room to move. If we argued, then he simply insisted that I was in the wrong all the time. There was no way to seek a compromise.”
Her father cleared his throat and mumbled something about young people today.
Ruby wheeled on him. “You had your time, too. Don’t deny it, Dad.”
Her father responded by saying they would all go out to dinner the next night at the hotel on Kleiststrasse and have a family meeting of sorts.
As a young waiter cleared their plates from the table the following evening, her parents ordered coffee. Ruby sipped on a crisp Riesling, washing down the sharp, smoky taste of the fish she had eaten. Raindrops sprayed the window of the hotel restaurant, and she stared out through the glass. Ink-black clouds hurtled across the skies, and in a far corner of the palette, rays of lemon-orange light burst through, dissolving the darkness around them.
“Honestly, Ruby, why don’t you come back home?”
Her father’s voice demanded her attention. She watched him defensively as he took another swig of his coffee.
“Damn, it’s cold,” he sputtered. He stood up, snapping his fingers to get the waiter’s attention.
Ruby was used to her father’s restaurant antics. As a child, she had always cringed when he returned food, demanding that it be brought back piping hot. Now she took it for one of those immutable traits that you just lived with. As she watched him chastising the waiter, she noticed he had thinned down over the last few years, but there was still something impressive, almost majestic, about his frame. It wasn’t that he was especially tall, yet he seemed to loom over you with an aura of authority in his bearing. His skin was smooth and toffee coloured, his head balding. His dark brown eyes danced in his face, but they could stop and pin you down in a moment.
When he sat down, Ruby’s mother whispered, “James, do you always have to be so insistent? It borders on arrogance, my dear.”
Ruby egged her father on. “You were saying . . .”
“Well, yes I was. You know, Ruby, there are lots of good jobs at home for a bright young woman like you. Think about your future, about your security. What can Berlin offer you . . . ?”
Her mother piped up. “Your father and I disagree on this matter, Ruby. I think that if you’re happy here, if you have a good job and you’re healthy, then you should stay. But if you can’t look after yourself, especially with this illness, you should come home.”
“Thanks, Mom. God, Dad, I thought you told everybody I was a translator. Isn’t that good enough for you?”
Her father winced. She had slowly returned to work at the institute, but only part-time. As a result, she did just about everything—translating, tutoring English, even modelling nude for desperate art students. Her father had stretched and eliminated truths, telling the neighbours that she was a translator in French, German and Spanish for some prestigious German company.
But the one thing she wasn’t doing in Berlin was pursuing security. Why bother? Life was too short to worry about pensions. Besides, how could she explain to her parents that she was still infatuated with the city? How she loved its wild extremes, from tattooed punks and anarchist squatters to soaring public monuments to winding, winsome tree-lined canals. Where else could she pedal off to the open-air cinema to watch Jules and Jim in the twilight? And finally, where else could you knock on a neighbour’s door and she’d open it up nice and wide and stand there stark naked and say, “Hello, Ruby, what gives?” She had not done any of these things lately, but she knew they were waiting for her.
The waiter carefully set the fresh coffee down in front of her father, then stood back and waited for his approval. Her father took a sip, nodded, and pronounced with sudden graciousness, “It’s fine now, thank you.”
Ruby smiled at the waiter, her thoughtful gaze resting on his tanned body, curly brown hair and sensuous mouth. Her eyes followed him as he turned away.
Her father chuckled. “You haven’t forgotten how to flash that smile. Well, that’s okay, as long as it’s just a smile.”
“Oh god,” Ruby groaned. “And what if it wasn’t?”
“Oh, go ahead and flirt,” said her mother. “Enjoy it while you’re young!”
Her father continued as if he hadn’t heard either of them. “Ruby, you know, before I met your mother I did a lot of running around with all kinds of women. I hung with a guy, both of us just out of the army, blowing whatever money we had on the finest zoot suits and fancy drinks for the gals we chased.” A childlike grin broke over his broad face. “Damn, I nearly drove your grandparents crazy. Maybe that’s why they never said much when I told them I was marrying a white woman. They just wanted me married and out of the house.”
Ruby laughed and shook her head. She’d heard different versions of the same story a million times, but it was still a stretch to imagine her flashily dressed father hitting the nightclubs years earlier.
“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked with a smile.
“Well, I know everyone has to kick about and enjoy life when they’re young. But there comes a time when you just have to get it out of your system. Your mother and I have been married thirty-five years now. And I’ve never looked at another woman since I met her.”
Ruby shuffled her legs impatiently under the table. She knew she couldn’t expect her father to understand how she could love one person and still get a kick out of messing around with someone else. Especially since she didn’t quite get it herself. Intellectually it made sense; she’d read all those books about Sartre and de Beauvoir, Hammett and Hellman, and the tyranny of marriage as a patriarchal institution. And she knew many Berliners who seemed to thrive in open relationships. But something else seemed to be driving her that she couldn’t explain.
Ruby stared out the window, head resting in her hand, fingers pressed tightly over her mouth. She looked at her father, his hand stirring a brown whirlpool in his white porcelain coffee cup. She expected him to launch into another tale of how her great-great-grandfather rose up from the shackles of slavery to become one of Canada’s first black dentists, how her great-aunt Rose had painted in Mexico with Diego Rivera, how Great-Uncle William had studied music in Berlin, how her sister was a productive, successful member of the community back home. But surprisingly he remained silent.
“Dad, I’m doing my best. I’m doing what I like, though it can be menial at best. I don’t want to be trapped in the same old job for thirty years. And I won’t stay tied to someone who doesn’t understand me.”
“I know, sweetheart. I guess I just want you back home, safe and sound.”
Ruby reached over to touch her father’s hand, his shiny brown skin still smooth and supple. “I’ll be back someday, Dad. You’ll see.”
Ruby’s mother pursed her lips and said, “Ruby, we’ve been worried about you. I can’t help wondering if you’re still depressed.”
“I have been kind of low, but I’m starting to come around.”
“You look rather drawn to me, not as spunky as usual. You need to come home for an extended visit.”
“I think you’re probably right about that. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Please come home soon, darling.”
“Mom, I’m sorry to hear that you weren’t well either,” Ruby said. “What happened?”
“We’ll talk about that later, sweetie. Right now I want to focus on you. Can you get a recommendation for a psychiatrist from your doctor? It would be great if you could get some more help.”
“I’m taking my meds already, Mom. I get a shot of Haldol once a month. I’m not big on psychiatrists. But maybe I can find some other kind of therapist. I’ll look into it.”
Her father took a last sip of his coffee, now cold, and grimaced. He stood up and said, “I’m going back to the room.”
Her mother smiled and touched his hand. “I’ll stay here with Ruby for a while.” Her father nodded and slowly left the restaurant.
Ruby’s mother reached across the table and grabbed her daughter’s hands in hers. “Darling, I’m so sorry this has happened to you. I don’t know what to tell you, except that I’m so worried that you have to handle it on your own. Are you sure you’re done with Werner?”
“Yes, I’m sure. He was smothering me.”
“You’ve always been so headstrong. I guess you’re following your gut instincts, and if so, you know what’s best. But being on your own means you have even more reason to look after yourself.”
“Mom, while we’re on the topic, let me get right down to it. How come you and Dad never gave Jess and me a heads-up about mental illness?”
“Goodness, you and your sister were very young when things first started going wrong. We didn’t know what to say. I just did my best to get better with the help of medication, a psychiatrist and your dad.” Her mother was looking deep into Ruby’s eyes, searching for a little compassion.
“But all you had to do was describe what you went through, what it felt like and what you were doing about it.” Ruby turned her gaze to the window again and chewed her lip. The sun was still inching its way across the moist sky.
Her mother twirled the cardboard coaster that sat in front of her. She waved the waiter over to order a martini. Then an almost imperceptible sigh slipped from her lips. Ruby watched her mother as she struggled with the words. “I didn’t know you were so angry. But Ruby, how could I possibly describe what I was going through to a young child? There’s not much you would have truly understood. I was just as scared as you, but in a different way.”
Ruby thought about everything her mom would have had to contend with and suddenly felt sorry for her. But she continued nonetheless. “You could have talked to us when we were a little older.”
“You’re probably right. I can’t say why I didn’t. We weren’t consciously trying to hide it. I guess we just dealt with it as honestly as we could have. We were still young, and mental illness was very taboo at the time.”
“Yeah, I know. It still is. And it’s awful, being so out of control. Never knowing who or what to believe. Being so angry when the happiness and energy disintegrate. Did you ever have delusions? My head was full of them.”
Her mother paused before answering. “Aside from feeling like I had a godlike strength, no, I never got psychotic, if that’s what you mean. It was all rampant energy, feeling strong, creative and happy.”
“But you were really cranky, too.”
“You’re right. I was getting to that. I was edgy. I wanted my time all to myself and not to have to share it with anyone else.”
“And then you crash . . .”
“Yes, down, down, down.”
“Do you remember when I came to see you in the hospital once?”
Her mom shrugged. “Umm, I’m not sure. Which time?”
Ruby leaned in towards her mother. “You hugged and kissed me all over. And then suddenly you jumped up out of bed and ran down the hall, yelling and crying.” Ruby sat back again.
“I don’t remember that at all.” Her mom hunched over her martini.
“I thought I’d done something wrong. I didn’t recognize you anymore. Who was this person? Not my mom.”
Ruby’s mom scraped her chair back and sat straight, as if collecting herself. “I’m so sorry you went through all that. And maybe somehow, when you and Jessie were older, we should have tried to talk to you about it some more. But it’s not like other illnesses. It’s invisible. There’s no cure. There’s so much stigma. And after all, just what is a ‘broken’ brain? It manifests itself in so many different ways. Your experiences are so different from mine.”
“I told them in the hospital that my mother was bipolar, but they preferred to treat it as a one-off situation rather than permanently diagnose me.”
Her mother’s fingers tapped out a little song on the table. “I’m not sure if that’s wise or not. I needed a diagnosis in order to get proper help.”
“But this way I’m not labelled for life. I can get on with things. I know I’ll only be on meds for a limited time.”
“Ruby, I hate to say this, but don’t fool yourself. You may well get sick again, you just don’t know. And then you may need medication again.”
“Yes, but maybe only temporarily, just like this time. Mom, what seems to bring it on for you?”
Her mother smiled at her. “Plain and simple—stress and lack of sleep. Maybe there are other factors, but those are the two biggies for me. The latest episode was when I was up a number of nights worrying about you. I had to increase my medication and lay low for a while. What sets you off?”
“I’d have to say the same. Stress. Troubles building in and out of my relationship with Werner. Other stuff.” Ruby couldn’t look her mother in the face. She was not about to tell her any details about Dom and her abortion, although she guessed that Jessie might have alluded to it already.
“How were you managing your so-called open relationship with Werner? I’ll admit it’s not my cup of tea. It must have been rather trying.” Both women wriggled a little in their seats and glanced out the window. The final clouds had blown by and it was as if threads of gold were suspended along the lines of dampness still in the air.
“Perhaps more so for him than for me in some ways. For Werner it was all theoretical, a way of asserting his authority, but I needed to feel free and took advantage of the deal. He couldn’t handle it.”
Ruby’s mother drained the last drops from her glass. The women stood up and embraced for a long time, then Ruby went back to her parents’ room and lay down on the sofa for a nap. Such frank talks were rare between them, and exhausting. She thought of earlier days.
Claude Gauthier, Claude Léveillée, Félix Leclerc. Ruby’s mother was playing the music of various chansonniers from Quebec, their haunting and mournful music filling the quiet Sunday afternoon air after brunch at the Edwards’ house. Music was blending with food, food with music.
“Mommy, put on something French.”
Her mom slipped a record on the stereo and sat down on the sofa with Ruby tucked neatly into her body. Her mom always smelled so good. Today she smelled of baked apples. Although Louise Edwards was not the housewifely type, she had a few tricks up her sleeve and today it was big Spy apples baked with cinnamon, brown sugar, butter and nuts. As Ruby uncurled herself after the song to look up at her mom, she saw eyes that glistened brightly as they drank in the music.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Ruby asked breathily. For she too was transported by the music, the rich voices, even though she barely understood the words.
Louise hugged her daughter. “It’s just so beautiful,” she murmured as she collected herself. They listened to The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and hugged each other knowingly as the songs reached their denouement.
“Mommy, is he leaving her?”
“Yes, he’s going to war.”
Ruby picked out bits and pieces of the lyrics.
“Mommy, Mommy. He’s going to wait for her. But she can’t wait for him.”
“No, sweetie, he says that he will think only of her and that he knows that she will wait for him.”
“Mon amour, je t’aime. Je t’aimerai jusqu’à la fin de ma vie.”
Ruby smiled at the memory. She would always remember those dreamlike afternoons under the spell of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.
Ruby told her mother she was going for a walk but instead went back to the restaurant and took a seat near the bar. She ordered a drink and took a pen and some paper out of her handbag, intending to record some of her thoughts while they were still clear. As she began scribbling notes to herself, a shadow loomed over her page. She looked up to see the waiter who had served her earlier. He handed Ruby her drink and sat down beside her. Broken English and German spilled forth. His name was Hans. They asked each other the usual questions. She felt the pressure of his hand on hers.
“Fräulein, we go get drink at another bar?” The restaurant was closing.
She nodded and emptied her glass, unable, as usual, to resist distraction. Unable to resist any man’s interest in her. Crossing the street, Ruby turned to look up tentatively at the hotel windows behind her. Inside the new bar, the air was murky with smoke. The customers, mainly men, stared at them as they passed by. An hour later, back at the hotel, they rode the elevator to the top floor and stepped out, arm in arm. Hans unlocked the door to the restaurant and fumbled with a boom box behind the bar. Ruby’s body jerked as Europop bounced off the walls and lights flooded the room, hurling throbbing streaks of red, blue and green around her head. Hans grabbed her hand and pulled her across the floor. She moved reluctantly at first, pushing the sounds away. Slowly she let go. They began circling each other. Ruby was losing herself to the music, but kept breaking the grip of his arms trying to direct her on the floor. The circles grew tighter and tighter, her body feeling freer, more fluid, more giving.
Ruby was downstairs in full regalia, standing in front of a crowd of her parents’ friends. “Okay, Ruby, sing it!” yelled her dad, and the room became quiet.
With eyes closed, she listened to Louis blow his magic horn. Sweet, sweet horn. She stepped into the middle of the living room, puckered her mouth and started to growl, “Well, hello, Dolly . . .”
The grown-ups broke out into hoots and howls. When she finished singing, she took a deep bow and then ran over and dove into her father’s lap. She buried her flushed cheeks into his chest. The world spun around her as she heard the people clapping. Her father hugged her with his big arms and planted a slobbery kiss on her forehead. “You were wonderful, honeybunch. You sounded just like Satchmo.”
A door slammed. A tall, imposing shadow stormed over to where Ruby lay entangled with her lover.
“Get up off that floor, girl!”
A large brown hand grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. Hans melted swiftly into oblivion. Curse that old bear paw, she thought to herself, not yet daring to look into her father’s eyes. She heard him shout: “Goddammit, there you go again!”
He pulled her into the elevator, and Ruby stared numbly at the numbers on the panel.
Back in the room, she found her mother in a distraught state. Ruby pressed her cheek into her mother’s lily-white face and they hugged each other fiercely. “I tried to stop him,” she whispered. “He couldn’t reach you by phone at home, so went to look around the hotel for you in case you were still here.”
Then she turned to her husband and said, “How dare you stalk your daughter like that. Surely it would have come to no harm. She’s twenty-four years old. She has a right to have a life. What on earth were you thinking?”
Ruby decided it was time to go home. She said goodbye to her mom and ignored her father, who was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his eyes on the floor. Ruby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But already she envisioned sharing this story with her sister and enjoying the bittersweet mirth it would cause. She knew she would laugh, and then nod knowingly. Only Dad could pull off such a thing.
The next few days saw Ruby escorting her parents to various tourist attractions around town. Their mood was tense, and Ruby didn’t speak much with her dad. On the weekend they went to the zoo and then wandered through the Tiergarten till they came upon the flea market, where Ruby wanted to look around. As the people crowded around the stalls, Ruby noticed a familiar figure a few steps ahead. She tried to turn around and shuffle her parents along another lane, but it was too late.
“Ruby, stop. Come here.” Werner approached Ruby and her parents. “I’m glad to see you again. But I must tell you your daughter has been awful to me. She refuses to even speak with me.”
“Werner, you should know by now that Ruby has a mind of her own,” said her mom. “There’s no point trying to force her to do anything.”
“Maybe we could go for coffee somewhere and talk a little more,” said Werner.
Ruby turned to him to speak but her father beat her to it. “Young man, we only have a few days to spend here and I’d rather spend them with my daughter. Thank you for all you’ve done for her in the past. It was nice seeing you, but we have to go.”
“Thanks, Dad. I really appreciated that,” said Ruby.
But as the Edwards clan walked back towards downtown, Ruby realized that maybe her parents weren’t so wrong after all. Ruby had come to Berlin to find herself, but instead she had lost herself in the process.