"Come, darling, sit down here, rest a little," she whispered, and though her words were loud enough to be heard, people were too tired to turn around and give her a dirty look.
"He wore me out completely."
"Come, our young friend here will give you his seat."
They had their game down pat; Thea still didn't budge; her face, like an open landscape anyone could freely admire, was relaxed, absorbed in itself.
"You ought to give that boy a ring, Sieglinde; why don't you call him for me?" she continued in the same, softer than whispering voice: "Please. The way I feel, I don't think I have the strength to go home. The thought that my old man's been piddling around all day, just the thought of that makes me sick. How I'd like to enjoy myself for a change! Maybe we could go someplace together, I've no idea where. Someplace. And you could call the boy for me, right? Will you call him?"
She seemed to be playing at someone talking in her sleep, maybe overdoing her part a bit in the game; because she had to get Frau Kühnert to carry out a most unpleasant task, she almost went too far.
"I don't dare call him, because the other day he told me not to. He told me please to stop calling him. Not very polite, is he? But if you call him it's different, you might be able to soften him a little. Would you do that for me? It wouldn't take much, just a little buttering up," she said, and fell silent as though expecting a reply; but before Frau Kühnert had a chance to answer, Thea's unpainted lips began moving again: "I'd love to buy my old man a great big garden, and I shall, too, once I have lots of money, because it must be awful for him to sit in that horrible flat all day, just awful — for me it's all right, except right now I don't feel like going home — but for him it must be depressing as hell, he ends up smelling bad after piddling about all day; I mean, imagine, that's all he does all day, sits down, gets up, lies down, sits down again, and that's how he spends his whole life; if he had a garden, he could at least move around while doing nothing; shouldn't I buy him a garden? will you call that boy?"
Our Afternoon Walk Continued
But after so many digressions, let's return to that afternoon walk — we'll have enough time to deal with what is yet to happen, for it's the past we so often forget, and so quickly, too; let's go back to where we left off, to the moment when, having concluded the fresh-air cure in rather dramatic circumstances, we started on the straight road leading to the station, walking under the giant plane trees.
Here we immediately reached the peak of sensory delights, the gayest hour of the promenade; the trees' long shadows fluttered in the gentle sea breeze, which also carried the soft music of the dance band set up in the open lobby, now bringing the strains closer in unpredictable waves, now turning them into garbled snatches and scattering them into the distance; carriages were rolling toward the railroad station to pick up new arrivals and one could already hear the puffing, whistling locomotive; riders were trotting, alone and in groups, down the bridle path, switching to brisker gallops as they rounded the tidy stationhouse, only to be swallowed up by the dark and dense beech forest whose very name, the Great Wilderness, had a quaint archaic flavor; and the strollers! at this hour everyone whose cure did not call for bed rest was on his feet and out here, was expected to be here and to cover this short distance on foot, to and fro, stopping along the way for a brief chat or an exchange of pleasantries; if one walked with someone more serious or with a more interesting topic of conversation, the distance could be covered more than once and away from the general traffic, but one didn't tarry too long with any one partner, for that might he taken for unseemly eagerness, and here everyone was watching everyone else; one had to be careful that the casual informality — the robust bursts of laughter, the abrupt darkening of brows, the waving of hats, kissing of hands, the knowing chuckles, trembling nods, and raised eyebrows — an informality full of resentments and petty jealousies, naturally, should not violate the familiar conventions and should seem spontaneous, for all its glib artificiality; young boys and girls, more or less my age, trundled colored hoops along the road's smooth marble slab, and thought they were especially adroit if the hoops did not get caught in the folds of ladies' dresses or roll under gentlemen's legs; on occasion, even Heinrich, Prince Mecklenburg, would appear, in the company of his much younger and somewhat taller Princess and surrounded by attendants, and each time he did, the promenade's unwritten rules were altered; outwardly nothing seemed to change except that the apparent naturalness appeared a shade less natural, but the experienced stroller, as soon as he reached the decorative marble urns on their slender white pedestals, could sense that the Prince would be there; the two marble urns with their velvet-smooth cascading purple petunias formed a kind of gateway to the tree-lined esplanade; yes, the Prince would definitely be present today, because backs were a bit straighter, smiles a shade friendlier, laughter and conversation so much softer; soon, though not yet, he would be seen on the arm of the Princess, in the wide semicircle of his attendants, listening attentively to someone, registering every word with grave nods of his gray head; it was improper to seek him out even with a curious glance; he had to be noticed accidentally, as it were, and with the same casual ease we also had to adjust our pace to the rhythm of his steps and seize that fraction of a second during which, without interrupting his conversation, he might honor us with his attention, so that our respectful greeting would not dissolve in the air but might be returned; we had to be alert to avoid any potentially embarrassing thing and to pay attention to proper decorum; and the strollers thronging the promenade were indeed alert, each and every one well prepared: what if the Prince should wish to exchange a few politely pleasant words with me! with my humble person, of all people! and they would watch and listen with mixed curiosity and envy, determined to learn the identity of the lucky person the Prince talked to, and later to find out what had been said.
Mother, who thanks to her upbringing was particularly adept, one might say accomplished, in matters of decorum, accepted Father's politely proffered arm with a gesture worthy of the gentlest wife, and smiling the loveliest smile of the afternoon walked with him arm in arm, her chest and back erect, gracefully picking up the train of her elegant mauve dress with three fingers of her free hand, pressing against him comfortably, somewhat committing her body to his care; I lagged behind, because I couldn't stand their bickering, but also catching up and joining them at Mother's side when I was curious; it seemed to me that these slightly raised flowing gowns (one never raised them too high, of course) polished the white marble pavement to a sleek, smooth shine; those fabulous fabrics! those fine silk, lace, and taffeta dresses swishing and rustling, and dainty shoes gliding smoothly on the bright surface, with the boots tapping just a little harder! with such activity all around, and Father's permanent smile, a forced smile to be sure, it was not in the least surprising that strangers and even acquaintances were unaware of, and from my parents' posture could not guess, the intense hatred they had for one another: "In that case we ought to leave immediately! The purpose of our stay here, my dear Theo, if I'm not mistaken, is not for you to be entertained but for me to get well!" — in these quiet, frequently repeated scenes Mother was in control of their emotions; she hated more, and more strongly, because Father's mere presence was the source of her sufferings; he was present, yet she could not reach him, she was like one aroused but not satisfied, while Father seemed completely indifferent (though he may not have been) to the emotional exertions of this slender female body; it was Mother's stronger passions and her exceptional skills in handling social situations that enabled her to take revenge during the most sensitive moments on these afternoon walks — and hers was no ordinary revenge: the more elegantly she carried it out, the more ruthless she became, she had the upper hand; but revenge is treacherous; during the momentary lulls in the complex, well-worn ritual of strolling and chatting, in full view of the promenaders, she murmured and hissed into Father's ears her sharpest and nastiest remarks, which Father, because of his less agile physical and mental makeup, could not possibly return in kind; she did this accompanied by her most enchanting smile.