They threatened and they begged, Mimi even wept and sobbed, ‘Mai tu m’as déchirée!’ But the old accusation had lost its power. Désirée just went on repeating over and over again, ‘I love him,’ a magic phrase that suspended all reality. And Alfred, the law student, explained stubbornly that he was an adult now, and as soon as Désirée turned twenty-one nothing would stop of them from doing what they thought was right.
‘And what are you going to live on?’ cried François. ‘You won’t get a rappen from me.’
‘You can’t buy everything,’ Alfred replied, and Désirée, with a courage that scared even her, reached for his hand across the table and said, ‘The really important things are free.’
The more often the same arguments were repeated, the more everyone talked at the same time. You could hardly make out a word, even though Lea and Rachel had now opened the door to their room wide, curious passers-by standing outside a circus tent without tickets, and trying to guess from the reactions of the spectators which sensation they had just missed.
‘What if we made them some more coffee…’ Rachel wondered aloud, but Lea shook her head. ‘Papa will kill us.’
At first Rachel seemed entirely willing to take even that risk into account. She had — ‘It’ll be her red hair,’ Zalman always said — a fiery temperament and was inclined to rebellion. But then she stayed sitting next to her sister on the bed after all.
‘What kind of person is Alfred?’ she asked.
Lea shrugged. ‘Would you have thought Déchirée capable of such a thing?’
‘No,’ Rachel replied, and added yearningly after a long pause. ‘But I’d like to be able to love someone as much as that one day.’
48
They finally agreed on a compromise that satisfied nobody.
‘If no one has really won,’ Zalman said afterwards to Hinda, ‘then no one has really lost.’ Even though it had been not a piece of pay-bargaining, but a love story, he was probably right.
The solution, which wasn’t a real solution, and which could therefore be accepted by everybody, consisted in putting off the decision. The two lovers were obliged not to see one another for a whole year; then, if they were still sure of their cause — ‘Which God forbid!’ — then they would see what happened next. At worst they would be allowed to do as they pleased, although it was to be hoped — ‘Very much to be hoped!’ — that they would have come to their senses by then. Désirée and Alfred claimed that nothing, nothing at all, could part them? Then fine, now they would have the opportunity to put their conviction to the test.
But as long as they both remained in Zurich, the Meijers and the Pomeranzes were agreed, they could not be relied upon to keep their word on anything. They were practised at secrecy, and even without Esther Weill’s help they would find ways and means of getting round any arrangement. Over the last few months Désirée had demonstrated that she was able to lie shamelessly to her parents, above all to her mother, who had — ‘Tu m’as déchirée, ma petite!’ — sacrificed herself for her all her life.
So the family council decided that Arthur, during this cooling-off or probationary period, would interrupt his studies and go abroad. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let him study so young, and the spoilt rich sons in a fraternity had probably not always been the best models for him. A thorough dose of practical work, François hoped, would drive the fancies from his mind. In Paris — that was far enough away — François had a business friend, a certain Monsieur Charpentier, who also ran a department store; he would get in touch with him and ask him to take his son on as an apprentice.
Mimi, who liked things to be dramatic, suggested that the two of them shouldn’t be allowed to write letters to each other either during the agreed year, but everyone thought that was too harsh. ‘But I will read every letter that comes to our house,’ said Mimi, having the last word after all.
The arrangement with Monsieur Charpentier was soon in place. He didn’t just agree to taking Alfred on in the various departments of his store and, if he proved his mettle, even giving him some responsibility, he also personally found him a little lodging, nothing luxurious, but with a good reputation, where the young man could suitably stay. In a long letter full of solemn French politesses he promised Mina to keep an almost paternal eye on Alfred, and in a second, significantly less formal letter, he agreed with François that he would keep him discreetly informed if his son did anything stupid. Whereby the two businessmen agreed that a particular kind of stupidity in this special case was thoroughly desirable. In Paris, according to François’s secret plan, the women weren’t nearly as buttoned up as they were in Zwinglian Zurich. A young man would find enough distractions there to forget any kind of romantic nonsense.
Désirée wasn’t even allowed to accompany Alfred to the station. Mimi even tried to keep the date of his departure secret from her, but in contrast to the image that she had of herself, she had no great gift for dissemblance, and chattered with such incredible excitement about trivial matters that Désirée set down her knife and fork and said, ‘He’s leaving today, isn’t he?’
‘He’s gone already,’ said Mimi, and was prepared to take her weeping daughter comfortingly in her arms. But Désirée just nodded silently as if the news had no particular importance for her.
Mimi had undertaken to spend a lot of time with her daughter now. ‘After all,’ she often said to Pinchas, ‘it’s all my fault and mine alone. I have paid too little heed to Désirée, and am a very bad mother!’ Pinchas then contradicted her, and that comforting contradiction, they both knew, was the true purpose of her self-reproach.
Although Mimi repeatedly stressed that she, in the goodness of her heart, was entirely willing to forgive and forget, the old friendly intimacy between mother and daughter did not reappear. When Désirée had confided her secret adventures to her every day, even though she did so under the pretext that it had all happened to her best friend, they had got on better. She was now forbidden to see Esther Weill, much to the amazement of Esther’s parents. But if one didn’t want to be the talk of the whole community, one couldn’t let anyone in on the whole sorry story.
Contrary to Mimi’s expectations, Désirée showed no sign of seeking her forgiveness or consolation. Quite the reverse: it was as if they had swapped roles, and now Désirée, as the adult, had to overlook some of her mother’s immature behaviour. Her whole life long Mimi had preserved the egocentricity and whining tones of a little girl; Désirée had grown up almost overnight.
Pinchas was not unhappy with the change in his daughter. He had been worried about her, and now comforted himself with the thought that with her increasing maturity she would soon see what a pointless flirtation she had wandered into; one only had to give things time. At first one could be pleased that she was developing very new interests and was no longer content simply to tick off the social diary of a daughter of the affluent middle classes.
Désirée even tried to make herself useful around the house, although that only led to difficulties. Mimi’s maids, if they didn’t leave the house at the first possible opportunity, very quickly developed a high degree of independence. Every now and again they stoically endured a monologue from the mistress of the house, but they were also well organised, and Désirée’s sudden interest in household matters was perceived as bothersome spying. Mimi too didn’t really think it appropriate for a daughter from a good house to be bustling around in the kitchen, and even trying to join in with the cleaning. She herself liked to complain how exhausting it was running a household — Pinchas had no idea! — but she preferred to leave these things to others. The current holder of the post was very efficient, and Mimi did not want to give her cause for complaint under any circumstances.