Someday We'll Tell Each Other Everything by Daniela Krien, Jamie Bulloch Read Free Book Online Page A

lips. I nod, perhaps not distinctly enough; I sense that his eyes on my back lack their usual certainty. So I turn and repeat the gesture he was looking for.

6
    The following morning I get up before Johannes. He was asleep when I got back; he probably thought I was spending the night at my mother’s.
    I’d lain down beside him fully clothed. Shivering, sweating. My sweat mingled with Henner’s odor; the cracked patches of his dried semen felt taut on my skin. I was terrified that Johannes might wake up, stroke me and realize what had happened; but I couldn’t bring myself to wash off the smell. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
    I couldn’t sleep.
    Nor can I forget.
    And now the morning sun with its revealing light. I creep out of the room and downstairs to the bathroom where I fill the tub.Marianne is in the shop, Siegfried out in the animal sheds, and Frieda is standing at the gate waiting for the guests. It’s just past eight o’clock; they won’t be here before noon.
    When I undress I see the bruises on my body. I feel desperate. What have I done? What did Henner do? Everyone’s going to notice, starting with Johannes, of course. How can I hide the traces of his hands all over my neck, arms, and thighs? There’s no denying it, it can’t be explained away. They’ll send me back to my mother and the shame will stick to me like bad luck. That’s how it still is in our village, even though it’s 1990.
    Outside clouds are looming; it’s going to rain. The air is cooling, a wind is picking up. The weather will save me! From my suitcase I take a blue dress with mid-length sleeves, blue with white spots; it covers my knees. Over it I wear a white cardigan and I wrap a scarf around my neck. My face doesn’t give anything away; he spared that.
    Right at the bottom of my case is an envelope; I didn’t put it there. It’s not sealed, and there’s a note inside with the single sentence: “He lay awake at night, desiring her, and he had her.” I look over at Johannes, who’s still asleep and knows nothing. I’m utterly ashamed, and yet—I keep the note.
    Later, at brunch, I start talking. I babble on and on at Johannes. About my grandparents, how they’re renovating the house after all these years, about how Traudel was always so envious of people who had automatic washing machines while she was still using a tub. I blather about my mother and how she’s out of work, about my father and his young Russian girl, who I might make friends with, but perhaps I’ll hate her, if she’s pretty I’ll definitely hate her, and she’s supposed to be very pretty, Grandpa saw a photo and said, “not bad,” Grandpa knows all about pretty girls, he had an eye for the women, as the landlord of the local tavern once put it, but that’s all in the past, I mean he’s an old man now. Johannes only looks up when I’m talking about the Russian girl, and says, “She’s just a year older than me.”
    I nod and continue my monologue. Eventually Siegfried comes into the kitchen and says they must be here soon, the Westerners. “Yes,” I say. “It can’t be long now!”
    And it isn’t long, which is a relief, because Frieda’s had butterflies for hours. She’s quite distracted. She was in the kitchen cooking at four this morning. Everything was done by the time I came down for breakfast; lunch only needs warming up. After a while we hear a soft purring in the drive—a completely new sound to us. Lukas in particular will remember it for a long time. He’s never seen a car like it: a real Mercedes, we hadn’t expected that. Frieda steps aside and peers into the distance as if she were expecting more visitors. But then she closes the gate and, head bowed, approaches Hartmut, who has just gotten out of the car. She clasps her hands over her large tummy, nodding all the while. “Is that you?” she asks, nodding a few more times.
    Hartmut is unmistakably Siegfried’s brother. Not that he’s a carbon copy, but