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Back The Hiding Game
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Naomi Wood
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. 1
  6. WEIMAR, 1922
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. DESSAU, 1929
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. BERLIN, 1932
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. Thank you
  62. Praise
  63. The Hiding Game
  64. Also by Naomi Wood

But after we had paid the journey home was almost wordless.

41

Berlin

The front page of the newspaper announced that von Schleicher was planning on relocating all of Germany’s unemployed to the ‘thinly populated East’. Irmi frowned at the headline, the newspaper tented on her lap. ‘Where are they going to live? Are there thousands of empty houses waiting for them? What if they don’t want to go?’

‘He just wants to appear decisive. It won’t happen.’

Irmi’s apartment looked bare without people. She had a red blanket drawn around her legs, and a fisherman’s sweater over her slacks; in her hands she nursed a cup of tea, which she drank with the dipping motion of a bird. All wrapped up, she looked contented; all the day’s light alive in her quick grey eyes.

‘You look happy sat there. Are you so in love?’

‘Paul!’

‘What?’

‘Love is for babies.’ Irmi picked off a rotten leaf from one of the house plants. ‘Every time I see Teddy I feel surprised that it’s my turn, that finally I get to do all of this; not you, not Charlotte, not Jenö. It’s rather wonderful.’

‘I’m glad. You’re right: it is your turn.’

‘More tea?’

‘Sure.’

From the kitchenette I heard the gas flame. The door to the galley was open, and I saw Irmi lean against the top, her expression abstracted. Maybe she was wishing it was Teddy who was here rather than me. Weeks ago on New Year’s Eve I had asked her why she hadn’t told me about inviting Jenö to the Christmas party. She’d said she’d forgotten she had even invited him, and Teddy had quickly moved the conversation on.

I went to the window. It had been raining all day and the potholes in the unrepaired road were full of black water. Now the day was brightening the puddles showed the sky and clouds. Kids played football against a wall with a ball many times patched. A few streets away, Charlotte would be setting out. Since New Year she had used her afternoons to walk the city. Several times I had watched her from a window, wishing I could see if she had already met the ventilated air of the station entrance. So far I had resisted the notion of following her. So far I’d resisted searching for train tickets to Steglitz. When she came home in the evenings she brought the cold in on her coat.

I could not resist, though, the idea of her and Jenö together. Since the Christmas party I had been unable to put away the image of them together in the Steglitz Bauhaus: in a locked workshop room, in a broom cupboard; on a lunch break. How hot would be their embrace; how urgent their need.

These afternoons waiting for her to come home; how long they were.