XIX. TERESA

The traffic report mentioned a 10-kilometre bottleneck on the A1 due to construction and an accident near the Maschener Kreuz interchange. Then Chopin came on, a series of dribbling piano notes, terribly sentimental. I turned off the radio and listened instead to the monotonous noise of the car.

Hedda was waiting for me at home, probably flipping through a book on the Russian Futurists. On my suggestion, she’d had her hair cut in a severe bob which made her look more elegant and a bit more mature. At the time, she was thirty-two and I was on the staff of the University of Göttingen. We’d been arguing a lot. About her colleague Karsten who she had lunch with every day at Café Schroeder; about her doctorate which wasn’t getting anywhere; about the colour of the sheets and the colour of the sky. For a few weeks, being with Hedda had been unbearable, she was more moody than ever and would start to cry in the morning for no reason at all, as soon as she woke up next to me. I’d ask her what was wrong and she wouldn’t answer. I just wanted out of that cage and, I have to admit, it didn’t just have to do with her. Someone honked. I slammed on the brakes and swerved back into the right lane.

One of my affairs had become more important than I’d expected. Her name was Teresa. She was frighteningly beautiful, and in bed possessed the eternal fervour of the inexperienced who you could surprise with anything. In short, I couldn’t drag myself away, and she’d begun to make demands. Usually, this was when I politely explained to women why things between us would go no further. I was always polite. Losing your manners was vulgar. I was never vulgar. I acted politely, I paid attention to my body, I showered for a long time after sex with every woman and, regardless of where we were, picked up the bill for us both. All in all, I was an ideal lover, and Teresa could have been more than happy about our having met, that meeting which was fleeting and straightforward and markedly beautiful. But she was damned determined to hold on to something that it’s better not to try and hold on to.

I parked the car in a small side street, for though I knew that Hedda, at most, would go to her gallery (if she left the house at all), I was careful. In some things Hedda was really sensitive and I wanted to protect her. I hurried the last few metres over the pavement, went up the un-renovated stairwell, and Teresa, who must have already been waiting for me, opened the door before I’d even rung.

I remained in the hallway, I liked to tantalize her, she hung back, playing the ice queen, but then grabbed my hand and we hurried through the narrow corridor to her bed. Or, rather, what she considered to be her bed, just a slatted base balanced on a bunch of old bricks. It creaked and groaned and was extremely uncomfortable.

‘You could buy yourself a decent bed at some point,’ I said. She looked at me offended, though I really meant well; after all, she had to sleep there at night too.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘let’s go to yours then.’

I dodged. ‘We could get a hotel room.’

‘A hotel? In the town where we both pay rent?’

‘You’re terribly parsimonious, do you know that?’ I said and ran my thumb along her chin.

‘Always these secret meetings here,’ she said.

‘Always your questions,’ I said.

The only thing I could do to get her to terminate her inquisition was to kiss her and place my hand between her thighs. She was sullen, she was anxious, she was wonderful. She moaned roughly, which made a mockery of her shyness, flouted her subtle inhibitions, and every time I made her submit anew. It could all be so easy: her flat was small, but with a few new pieces of furniture, a bit more order, we’d have a nice place for the two of us. I’d have a key and would come by between appointments at the university, would quickly take her clothes off in the hall, or she would come to meet me, naked already, maybe in fishnets or yellow lingerie. In itself yellow lingerie was tasteless, but on her olive-coloured skin it would have an absurdly exquisite charm. Teresa in yellow lingerie. It could go that way for months if she just gave up her unnecessary questions. Why I was so closed about certain things. Why I didn’t want to go out in public with her. Why I didn’t talk about my early experiences.

‘Always this curiosity, dear Teresa,’ I whispered.

‘I’m just interested in you,’ she answered.

You couldn’t get anywhere with that crap. Didn’t she understand that in asking these questions she was letting the beautiful thing we had die? She was simply letting it go bad, as if it didn’t matter. I didn’t want it to end; for the first time since I’d been with Hedda, perhaps for the first time in my life, I wanted to preserve my relationship with a woman even though it went against my own rules. I knew that I had to end it, that it was beginning to get tricky for me. But every time I was with her, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was subject to some kind of mysterious force that sapped me of any free choice.

‘You’re already imagining odd things with me,’ I said.

‘You know what, Anton?’ she answered laughing. ‘I think you’re completely in love with me.’

‘You think so?’

She kissed me on the chin, the neck, her lips crept across my shoulder, her tongue licked the groove of my jugular.

‘I’m going to have a quick shower, if that’s OK with you,’ I said, pushing her away.

Teresa didn’t answer, just pulled the blanket up to her collarbone. All of a sudden I found a satin landscape blocking my view.

I looked at the clock in the bathroom. It was just after six, in half an hour Hedda would be waiting for me. It was our anniversary, and even if Hedda maintained that she didn’t care about such things, I knew it was only unimportant to her so long as I was thinking of it. I washed carefully, looked at myself in the mirror, and the more the mist cleared the more I had to accept how positive my affair with Teresa had been for me. The skin beneath my eyes was soft and bright. And though I was sleeping less than ever, I looked rested.

As I was getting ready to leave the bathroom, Hedda rang. I terminated the call, but she didn’t give up and my mobile rang once more with that hideous sound she’d programmed. I terminated it again, but she called back.

‘What is it?’ I hissed.

‘Anton?’ Hedda stammered. It sounded as if she’d just been crying. ‘I have to see you, right now,’ she said, and I noticed that I’d been mistaken, she hadn’t stopped crying, and one thing I cannot stand is when grown women cry. It’s such an infantile move.

‘Listen, I can’t right now,’ I said.

‘My mother’s had a stroke, she’s in hospital, I don’t know how she is.’

‘It’s really not a good time.’

‘I don’t know a thing, we have to go see her. Now.’

‘Don’t put me under pressure, Hedda. We were supposed to see each other at seven,’ I said somewhat louder.

‘Anton?’ Teresa called from the hallway. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Where are you?’ Hedda asked.

‘At the university. I told you already.’

‘No you’re not. I’m at the university. I’m standing in your office.’

‘What’s with the haughty tone?’

‘Anton, sorry, my mother’s not doing well, I’m worried.’

‘Then drive to the hospital. I’ll cancel our reservation at the Italians.’

‘I’m scared, Anton.’

‘You always act as if you’re the only one things happen to. Your mother’s not the first seventy-year-old to have a stroke, you know.’

‘Anton?’ Teresa called from the hallway.

‘Where are you, Anton?’ Hedda asked again.

‘Hedda, we already talked about that. Go see your mother, we’ll talk later tonight.’ I hung up, rubbed my wet hair with the towel and left the bathroom.

Teresa had laid back down, the blanket only reached her hips, I could see her white breasts, the violet-brown lace of her bra, and beneath the blanket her legs were spread and formed a triangle. My hand slid across the satin up to the spot. Now we had time, Hedda wouldn’t be back before eight or nine.

‘Who were you talking to?’ Teresa asked.

‘Someone from the university. They don’t even leave me alone on Fridays.’

Her small hand crept into mine, and gripping it for a moment I thought it would have to work out, that nothing between Teresa and I would endanger my relationship with Hedda, not in any real sense, and anyway, you shared your life with so many people, why should these two rule each other out? Teresa kissed my neck, her hand stroked my hairline; I pulled her to me and kissed her breasts.

‘You are so ridiculously clean, Anton,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t taste you at all. Just soap.’

‘Really?’ I said and backed away. ‘Does anything else about me bother you?’

‘What’s wrong? Why are you so pissed off all a sudden?’

‘I’m a bit stressed at the moment, I have so much work, the edition of the letters, the articles for the Marxist dictionary and this whole Bachelor’s nonsense, you have no idea how much work that is. Right now I really am just not interested in your mood.’

Teresa stretched out, naturally, only so that I would see her what she imagined to be irresistible body. Then she opened her eyes, such big round eyes! But, despite all her charm, the snappy tone did not escape me.

‘Who were you talking to?’ she asked. ‘It didn’t have to do with the university, be honest.’

‘Are you implying something? Listen, Teresa, we can end this too, right now.’

I stood up and crossed my arms.

‘Sit down, Toni, what’s with you?’ she asked and lowered her eyes, the silly fawn-like charm. I looked around the room, reviewed her whole slovenly day-to-day life, a skirt hung carelessly over the clothes rail, a shirt lying crumpled on the ground, Teresa probably didn’t even own an iron, and then I noticed the white flecks on the fabric. I didn’t flinch, for I had my body under control, but if I’d been a less composed man, I would have. I recognized those spots, I liked seeing them on expensive suits and business clothes. The more severe the outfit, the greater the excitement, and theoretically I would have liked it on Teresa’s well-cut and well-ironed shirt too, which must have looked good on her, it’s just that she’d never worn it around me and had likely never ironed it either.

‘Please don’t be so angry,’ she said sweetly. What completely phoney innocence. She just had to make the little bit of emotion she felt appear absurd. Because she couldn’t bear it. Because she preferred the safe, the safe and the dull.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ Teresa asked, begging for an explanation. She looked concerned, and when I refused to turn away from her gaze, she risked a smile. Of course she only wanted to hear that she hadn’t said anything wrong. Teresa, how could you of all people say something wrong?

‘Say something, Anton.’

I picked up her shirt and threw it into her lap.

‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

‘You should keep your clothes clean.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘You expect me to put up with that?’

‘Put up with that? Some yoghurt on my shirt?’

‘Yoghurt?’

‘Or toothpaste, I don’t know.’

‘Toothpaste?’

‘You’re nuts, Anton, you’re really nuts.’

‘Is that so? I’m nuts. And your accusations are, naturally, completely legitimate.’

‘Perhaps you’d better go and we’ll talk tomorrow,’ Teresa said, knotting the shirt in her hands.

‘Yes, of course. Always according to your rules. Do you know what, this game is far too idiotic. We can spare ourselves the call. Once and for all.’

Leaving the building I called Hedda. She’d finally got hold of her father. Her mother—hadn’t I told her immediately?—was doing fairly well. ‘You see, Hedda, it’s not all as bad as you always think. I’ll pick you up afterwards and we’ll go to the Italians. No, not because of your mother. Do you remember that, as of today, we’ve been together for exactly five years?’