Sister Franzi shook her head. “Ma’am! You’re going the wrong way! Over here! Over here!” Wilhelmine again welled up with indignation. Yet after an arduous struggle with herself, she thought it best to let it pass, even if letting things pass was far from her strong suit. She nodded solemnly and said, “Of course. I know that. I’m not an idiot, you know.” And she marched past Sister Franziska Querbalkener with her head held high.
She stopped one more time, to gather herself in front of the door to Ward 66. She caught her breath before opening the door. Now she was in her element. She would create order, set matters aright, and save that catastrophe called Berta from Wilhelm’s doubting and brooding once and for all.
“So!” she said, and, “Here I am!” pinning Wilhelm in a devastating stare that clearly indicated what awaited him as soon as they had left the fortress behind. “Wait and see! Just you wait!”
INSEPARABLE FRIENDS
When Wilhelmine caught sight of Berta, she went up to her with arms wide: “Berta! You poor thing! How are you though? Just look at you! This hair! Who gave you this outrageous haircut?” She accosted Berta’s left cheek with a kiss, her right with another, examined her from all sides, took a look around the room, and declared with satisfaction, “The bed linens are clean and everything seems to be in its place.”
She ran a finger lightly over Berta’s nightstand and announced, thoroughly contented, “Indeed. No dust. That’s what I call order. See, Berta. Things have actually turned out quite well for you. They take care of you here. Here everything is in order, everything has its place.”
She pawed Berta’s cheek and then offered good-naturedly, “Isn’t that right, you poor little thing? It’s not so bad as all that. What do you say, my little dear?”
Berta giggled and dropped her head, ashamed. Hardly had the door opened when Wilhelm jumped up, jerking back his hand and sending the roses flying from Berta’s lap onto the floor. Desperately, he racked his brains for a clever turn of phrase, something to make light of the situation. He soon found it, or so he thought, for as soon as he spoke it aloud, he immediately regretted opening his mouth:
“You know our Wilhelmine, Berta! She sweeps in, tosses everything into disarray, and then, miracle of miracles (!), God looks down and all is squeaky clean.”
Wilhelmine’s eyes were on the Madonna. She sat down by Berta on the bed, ran her hand over Berta’s hair, reached nonchalantly for Berta’s necklace, and in a tone so gentle it made the sweat bead up on Wilhelm’s forehead, she cooed, “Berta! My child! My little disaster! You’re still holding onto that Madonna trinket!” She smiled, stared into Berta’s eyes, and Berta giggled, more ashamed than ever, before lowering her eyes to the floor.
Wilhelmine rested her right hand on Berta’s lap and left it there a long while, till Berta’s fluttering eyelids showed she had seen what there was to see on Wilhelmine’s ring finger. Berta reached up, let her arm drop, said, “So. So,” and set to twiddling her thumbs. Her own ring was locked up in the fortress depository.
Wilhelmine rolled the Madonna trinket back and forth between her fingers. When Wilhelm nudged her, she responded with an obstinate shrug. He wiped his forehead with the large white kerchief Wilhelmine had embroidered with a W and an S, then tugged at his necktie, opened the top button of his white shirt, and pushed the cloth down into his collar, mopping up the sweat on his neck.
“Wilhelmine. We have to go.”
Berta looked up, her eyes met Wilhelm’s, and in that moment he longed for the floor to open up and swallow him and Wilhelmine whole.
“So. So,” Berta said, and turned toward Wilhelmine: “He’s a good chauffeur. Does he take good care of you?”
Wilhelmine tried to look solemn, but was incapable of hiding the triumphant gleam in her eyes. Berta had understood!
“Yes. What can I say. There’s the occasional ‘if’ and ‘but,’ the occasional ‘on-the-one-hand’ and ‘on-the-other.’ But I don’t suppose he’s a bad man. He’s managed to make a little something of himself. No, he’s not bad. If you keep your ears open, if you look around the neighborhood, you can see he’s better than most.” Wilhelmine sighed. “If only I could break this habit of his, this doubting and brooding. That would be progress. But he just can’t seem to give it up.”
“Well then,” Berta said and twiddled her thumbs busily.
Wilhelmine felt the clock ticking and reached for Berta’s treasure one more time. “Believe me, my dear, believe me — life on the outside is no cakewalk. I would be happy to change places with you. You have everything here, there’s nothing for you to worry about, you’re always taken care of. No noise from the city, no bills, no rushing here and there. Just quiet, blessed quiet. No one curses at you, no one tells you off, no one makes you toe the line. You always were a bit of a disaster, weren’t you? Even as a child, no? But now all that’s finally over. You deserve a rest. You shouldn’t feel the least pang of conscience. I understand you, you know. Once someone’s been through what you have, they deserve a bit of peace and quiet. If they hadn’t sent you here, you’d be made out to be a black widow, a vulture, killing her children out of pure selfishness, to satisfy her own wanton urges, who knows, to have more time for her lover. Oh! People! Sometimes they’re so horrible, and from pure ignorance, too! People! I … I have to tell you that! But that’s no reproach, my little catastrophe. How could I reproach you? It was your disease that dragged you into this story, wasn’t it? Isn’t that the case?”
Berta giggled while Wilhelmine pawed her hand: “It’s true, it’s true. That damned illness. And anyhow, things are better for your children now, up there with the Lord God. They really were such miserable things, such sad little waifs. Most likely they’d never have come to any good. You shouldn’t reproach yourself. Everything does turn out for the best. And I mean everything. The Lord God makes sure of that. He knows there was nothing you could do about it. He knows what he’s doing. You poor, poor little thing, poor Berta. How can one person be so unlucky!”
And Wilhelmine pulled Berta’s head into her bosom, and as she looked down, pity and sympathy filled her shifty eyes; it was a commendable display of fellow feeling for the fate of Berta Schrei. The mercy she bestowed on this poor disaster made her eyes grow damp, and tears rolled down her fat cheeks as she turned Berta’s face to hers and gazed deep into her eyes. Moved by Wilhelmine’s compassion and understanding, Berta felt for the necklace with the Madonna trinket.
Placid and comprehending, Wilhelmine smiled, caressed Berta once more on the cheek, and said, “We’re the closest of friends, isn’t that so? We women understand one another. If only I could show you, in spite of everything, just how close I feel to you. But there’s nothing so dear to me that it would make a fitting gift for you. Really, I have nothing!” And Wilhelmine was aggrieved.
BERTA HANDS WILHELMINE THE CHAIN WITH THE MADONNA TRINKET
A few tears rolled down Berta’s cheek, a tremor rose up inside her and tugged at the corners of her mouth. Berta fidgeted with the clasp of the necklace for what seemed to Wilhelmine an eternity before she finally figured out how to open it. She cupped her left hand, laid the necklace inside it with her right, and stared at it, contemplative, almost brooding.
Wilhelmine was worried Berta might have second thoughts. Wilhelm held his breath. Just then he swore to himself that if Wilhelmine tried to snatch it, he would disregard her virtues and end their marriage right then and forever.
But she didn’t try to snatch it. Berta raised her cupped hand to Wilhelmine and said, “I have this,” looking at her as if she wished to say, “This is everything.”