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

it’s the movements, gestures, the way he raises his head, the fleeting grins. Like Siegfried he has a large head and bright, wide-apart eyes with thick blond eyelashes, but his nose is narrower and his lips aren’t as full. He looks pale in comparison to Siegfried, whose skin is brown and leathery from his daily work on the farm and in the fields, from the biting winter wind and burning summer sun. The brothers greet each other with a firm handshake. Marianne is in tears and throws her arms around Hartmut. She’s made herself look lovely, has Marianne. She’s wearing a wide black skirt printed with lavish roses, and a tight-fitting, low-cut red top.
    Then the wife gets out of the car. I’ve been watching her. She had flipped down the sun visor, which must have a mirror in it, put on some lipstick, and smoothed her eyebrows. Now she makes straight for Frieda, offers her hand, and says, “I’m Gisela. Delighted to meet you, after all these years.”
    “You’re telling me,” Frieda says, without really looking at her. Gisela is wearing a gray trouser suit and a white blouse. Her blondhair is tied up. She’s quite elegant. Her shoes are black, and they don’t have heels; she’s almost as tall as Hartmut, and therefore Siegfried, too. Although Marianne’s wearing high heels—and she often wears them, even in the animal sheds—she only comes up to Gisela’s nose. Then the rest of us greet each other in turn, offering our hands and introducing ourselves. We all look through the gleaming car windows at the backseat, where the children are asleep. They are seven and nine; Hartmut took his time to have children.
    Frieda hurries into the kitchen to warm up the food while the rest of us stay outside. Marianne has linked arms with Gisela and is showing her the farmyard; Siegfried and Lukas are gawping into the open hood of the Mercedes. Johannes follows Hartmut, who looks as if he’s about to cry. I can understand why. Alfred slinks around for a while, then goes back to his work.
    No one take any notice of me, and Johannes has not commented on what I’m wearing: the scarf around my neck and the cardigan—it may have cooled down a little, but it’s still almost sixty-eight degrees. I take advantage of the time before lunch and go for a walk with The Brothers Karamazov . So Alexey has gone to visit Grushenka after all, even though he must have been aware that her charms would be the ruin of him. But everything turned out differently.
    I lie down in the grass behind the sawmill. The words dance on the page and blur.
    Now, like a thief, sleep takes hold of me; it descends from the gloomy sky and sinks heavily onto my abused body, ill treated by love. I can feel Henner’s hands—coarse, gentle, brutal, expectant—and I long for them . . .
    When I return the children are awake. They’re running around the yard, shouting in their throaty dialect. I find it hard to understand them. Gisela is watching them from the kitchen window. Then shemotions to us to come in for lunch. Hartmut is sitting beside Frieda, holding her hands in his. This moment belongs to them alone, a silent tableau that harbors all the suffering of a woman who thought she’d lost her son, and all the joy of their reunion. The kitchen feels too small, the rest of us are just intruding, how can we eat lunch now? Without a word I withdraw and go back up to the spiders’ nest, my home.
    Something inside me died last night.
    I take the note Henner put in my case and write something on the other side. Then I return it to the envelope and run to his house as quickly as I can. The window from which I saw the Brendels’ farm yesterday is still open. I throw the envelope inside.
    But just then, as the envelope glides to the floor, I am overcome by terrible guilt. After making sure that no one’s around, I climb in through that same window and grab the envelope. Before I can leave again Henner opens the door. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look