Contents ( 38)
He held her in both arms and squeezed her against his chest.
Lena pushed him away so she could see his eyes. ‘And I want a child. You must have children, Anton. It’s your duty.’
‘Someone else said that once.’
‘And do you want to?’
‘We can have a child, Lena. More than one if you like. Poor things …’
She took him by the hand and led him into the main room, where she sat down and he stood in front of the fireplace, testing how long he could be apart from her.
‘Thank you for the letter,’ he said.
‘I tried to tell you before. At the Schloss. But you wouldn’t listen.’
‘There was something I was reading when you came to tell me. It took all my attention. I couldn’t take in what you were saying.’
‘Well, you’ll have to listen now, won’t you?’ said Lena.
‘I know.’
‘And the letter you were reading then?’
‘It’s finished,’ said Anton. ‘It’s a closed book at last.’
Giving in, he went and sat beside her on the sofa. ‘Will you come and live with me?’ he said. ‘My apartment’s not as big as this, but we can get rid of some of the books.’
‘I’ll come today.’
‘There’s a second bedroom which––’
‘No, I need to be in your room.’
‘I’ll help you carry your things.’
‘I only have two bags,’ Lena said. ‘And tomorrow I’ll go and find some work. Frau Haas said there might be something in her shop.’
Anton stood up again and walked over to the window. He looked down the street towards the Belvedere Gardens, where a group of armed policemen was moving purposefully along the pavement. He felt Lena’s hand on his sleeve and her lips against his ear.
‘Will we be together now?’ she said. ‘Even after death?’
‘I … believe so.’
‘You do know I’m just a little girl from the wrong side of the bridge.’
‘I do. And I know that you are more than that as well.’
‘And if it turns out that it was all a joke?’ said Lena. ‘The whole thing of being alive at all. There was no love that lasted, no life afterwards … And I die in a back ward of Emil Kraepelin, not even knowing my own name … Or I lose you to a gun …’
‘Then Amen.’
Acknowledgements
In 1935, the Japanese novelist Yasunari Kawabata wrote a novel called 雪国, or Yukiguni. An English translation by Edward Seidensticker appeared in 1956 as Snow Country. I acknowledge the inspiration of this translated title, and the book itself, with gratitude. Kawabata received the Nobel Prize in 1968 and died in 1972.
My thanks to the Civitella Ranieri Foundation (https://civitella.org/), in whose retreat in Italy this book was started in October 2018.
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