Another day, as Hans watched her condescendingly, Frau Pietzine came up to him and whispered in his ear, in a conspiratorial voice that left him wondering: I bumped into Elsa on the street and she told me Sophie would be here within the hour. Hans closed his book and looked at her, as though demanding an explanation. But Frau Pietzine simply repeated: Within the hour. And vanished between the rows of shelves.
Lisa came back smelling of river. She came back with a burning brow and frozen arms, with mud from the riverbank on the hem of her dress, with the weariness of the river. She pushed the inn door closed with her foot, dropped the basket of laundry and pulled off her headscarf with a sigh. She called her mother twice. There was no reply. She went to the yard, quickly hung out the laundry, then wandered about the house — her father wasn’t there either and Thomas was still at school. She washed her face, tidied her hair and went upstairs.
She knocked on the door, and before Hans could say Come in, walked into the room. She saw him hunched over the table surrounded by piles of open books, holding a quill. Lisa contemplated the raised lectern, Hans’s hasty writing, open-mouthed ink pot. There was something about those symbols, those printed characters that fascinated her, even though she couldn’t understand them, or perhaps because she couldn’t understand them. And above all there was something magical about the way Hans would spend hours immersed in these books, caught up in his own quiet fervour. He looked like a different person when he was reading, his face changed, he seemed distant but contented, like people when they sing. Her father also read, mostly newspapers, but it wasn’t the same — he turned the pages without ever immersing himself, like someone who goes down to the river, dips a toe in the water, then turns round. Hans’s way of reading was different. Hans was, what was Hans doing? What was it that held his attention? If throwing herself into books could change her that much then she wanted to learn, too.
Hello, Hans said, what is it? How are you? Lisa asked. I’m very well, thank you, I’m working, he replied, what is it? I just wanted to see how you were, said Lisa, and to fetch your dirty laundry. My laundry? said Hans. Yes, said Lisa, examining the room, where do you keep it? Doesn’t your mother see to that? Hans said, rising from his chair. My mother, replied Lisa, beginning to walk round the table, hasn’t got time to see to everything, so I have to help her, you see, that’s why I came up, where do you keep your dirty laundry? Well, Hans paused, I don’t know, look here, are you sure your mother told you to? Aha! she exclaimed. It’s under the bed! Do you think that’s the proper place to keep clothes? Leave it, Lisa, please, said Hans, there’s really no need, honestly!
Hans went over to try to take the basket away from her.
Look here, said Hans, you shouldn’t have to, please let go of that basket! (It’s my job, said Lisa, what does it matter?) Quite, Lisa, it doesn’t matter, honestly, I’ll take it down to the yard (the yard? she said. You can’t do the washing in the yard, you have to go to the river), all right, then I’ll go to the river. (You? Lisa scoffed. You couldn’t wash out a single stain!) Give it to me! (Let go of that sleeve, will you, she insisted, brushing his finger.) Listen, Lisa, look here (all right, but let go), it’s just, I think … (Will you let go, then?) Yes, no! Wait, listen, you should be studying, don’t you see? Studying at school, let go of the basket, you should …
In that case, why don’t you teach me? Lisa paused.
I beg your pardon? Hans took the basket.
Teach me, said Lisa, to read those books you’re reading, you keep saying I should, I should, then teach me (but I, well, he stammered, that is, your family), I don’t think it can be that difficult, I know plenty of stupid people who can read. Give me back that basket will you? That’s better, thank you. We’ll start tomorrow, shall we? You must excuse me now. My mother will be back any minute and we’ve lots to do. I’ll leave you in peace. Until tomorrow, then.
Lisa went down the stairs with a grin on her lips and butterflies in her stomach. She tidied the kitchen before leaving to fetch Thomas from school. On her way, she bumped into Frau Zeit, who was hurrying home to get the tea ready. You’re late, said her mother, I don’t like your little brother having to wait at the gates. I’ve been doing laundry, she replied, and I cleaned the kitchen. Very good, her mother said, but you’re still late. I’m on time, said Lisa. And if you keep answering back you’ll be even later, Frau Zeit said finally. While you’re about it, child, take your brother to the square until his tea’s ready, you know what he gets like at home. But mother, Lisa groaned. And she watched Frau Zeit as she began walking away.
In the market square, Thomas was playing blind man’s buff with some other children next to the baroque fountain. Lisa watched over them with a mixture of exasperation and envy, as though she were losing an intrinsic part of herself in the game, and at the same time something new was preventing her from joining in. Her brother was running around blindfolded, arms outstretched. Suddenly he stopped, stuck out his hip and let out one, two, three little explosions. Thomas! his sister bawled. The other children roared with laughter. Thomas went on searching. He caught one of his friends, hurled himself at the lad, groped his face, stomach and tiny prick before shouting out his name. The others came running to make fun of the captured boy. They formed a circle, scaring the pigeons away, a few punches flew and the blindfold changed owners. Lisa found herself smiling. The children might seem rather silly, but they were having a lot of fun. When had she last played blind man’s buff? A long time ago. Well, not that long. Only last year. And why had she stopped playing? Because it was no longer appropriate, she was too grown-up to play those games. Was she really? Yes. Well, more or less. For a moment Lisa felt the urge to run around like her brother, to play with him and caper about. She was on the point of doing so when her heart leapt — Hans had appeared at the other side of the square and was heading towards her. Was he coming towards her? Of course he was. Or was he? For Hans had veered off, where was he going? He stopped in front of an old man with a beard, a beggar playing an instrument resting on a cart. Hans bent down, dropped some coins into his dish and — amazing! — stroked the black dog accompanying the old man. Only then did Hans turn round and acknowledge Lisa. She waved in a deliberately desultory manner. Then she turned her back and shouted to her brother: Thomas! For God’s sake, stop playing the fool, come along, it’s getting late!
The following day at noon, Lisa went to Hans again and finally persuaded him to give her secret reading lessons. They agreed to meet twice a week, at more or less the same hour — when Hans got up, while her father was out sampling a few beers and her mother was busy in the kitchen. Half-an-hour of class — according to her calculations, that was the longest Lisa could be out of her parents’ sight without them becoming suspicious. Half-an-hour with her head buried in a book. Half-an-hour reading, becoming someone else. Half-an-hour alone with him. Hans bought her an exercise book and a pencil. He kept them in his trunk so that no one would see them.