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Ella leaned back against the stove. She was wearing two pairs of trousers, one on top of the other, a pair of long johns, two pairs of woollen socks and a cardigan over her sweater. The time when she was afraid of drying up was over. The thermometer showed that the temperature in the room was fifteen degrees, and it would probably rise higher. Before Käthe went away she had turned off the heating in the cellar and locked the door. She must have taken the key with her; at least, Ella hadn’t found it anywhere. Käthe suspected Ella of wasting heating oil behind her back. Suitcase in hand, pilot’s cap on her head, Käthe had said that if Ella really felt too cold she had better heat one of the stoves. It was indeed too cold, and had been for some days. But obviously Käthe had also hidden the key to the coal cellar, which proved impossible to find. A week after Käthe left, Ella had written a letter to the Walter Ulbricht Leuna Works, asking Käthe to write to her or phone her and tell her where the key was. But there was no reply yet; the post could take a week. Maybe all mail was opened by the manager of the works before being passed on to its recipients? Maybe Käthe simply didn’t want to answer the letter. She hated requests and begging letters. She thought Ella was not just a parasite but a thief as well. Ella’s request for the key to the coal cellar might seem presumptuous to her. It wasn’t easy to make it sound respectful enough and yet as casual as possible.

It had been a few more days before Ella ventured to go over to Michael’s place. Ella was freezing, and hadn’t got out of bed all day. She had put on a cap and a scarf, she had drunk hot tea and broth, and after supplies of both were finished she had drunk nothing but hot water all day. In the end it was too much. She put on several pairs of trousers, looked at the thermometer, which showed minus nine degrees, and found a thick woollen coat in Käthe’s wardrobe. Snow was falling as if in slow motion, fine flakes sailing through the twilight. She stood outside the house. Under the apartment where Michael and his family lived there was a butcher’s shop. The shutters were rolled down. Steam came from a small air vent, carrying a salty smell of smoked meat. Ella looked up. The lace curtains at the top windows were illuminated from inside, warm light, there must be candles burning there, the family believed in God and Sunday was the first Sunday in Advent. Ella had never been here on her own before. Whenever they had needed something in the past, she had sent Thomas over to his friend’s family. Thomas could get anything there. But Thomas was in Gommern and wouldn’t come home until Christmas.

Ella, how nice! Michael’s mother was glad to see her and asked her in. How was Thomas, she asked, had Ella heard anything? Ella shook her head, no, nothing, there had only been a brief postcard since he left in September. Arrived safely, will write again. However, Thomas had written two long letters to his friend Michael, but Michael, while giving her a friendly smile, kept quiet about their contents. Ella didn’t like to ask.

Michael’s mother sent her son down to the cellar to fill a rucksack full of coal for Ella.

Would she like to sit down for a minute? Ella nodded undecidedly, it was warm in the living room here. Michael’s mother was sure she would like tea, or would she rather have some cocoa?

Ella drank, gulping greedily. Michael’s mother wrapped up some cake for her too, walnut stollen and dried apple rings. A jar of plum compote so that Ella wouldn’t go hungry while Käthe was away. Ella nodded, and took the rucksack from Michael. Michael would help her to carry the things, said his mother as Ella was wrapping her scarf around her hair and her cap, and going to the door. No, Ella assured her, no, it’s only two streets, I can manage that. The kind glances of mother and son touched her; the love was for her brother, thought Ella, and was glad to feel some of it rubbing off on her. Did she have enough money? Michael’s mother asked as Ella was standing in the doorway, legs apart, stooping forward slightly with the weight of the heavy rucksack. Ella had shaken her head. In fact Käthe had left five marks on the table for her, but she had spent that on a kilo of smoked sprats and a bottle of wine in the dance-hall cafe on the first day. Johnny had carried the tipsy Ella, half asleep, home on his back, put her down outside the door and thanked her for the lovely evening. Ella had slammed the door in his face: she had wanted to sleep and nothing else.

Michael’s mother now disappeared into her nice-smelling apartment and came back to the door with the purse containing her housekeeping money. She wanted to give Ella ten marks. Ella said she felt embarrassed to take it, and as she made that claim she imagined herself really feeling ashamed, and sensed that she was succeeding, she was blushing and awkward, indeed, she was looking meekly at Michael’s mother’s brightly coloured apron. But she took the ten-mark note, folded it and put it in her coat pocket.

Michael’s mother touched her cheek as she might have touched the cheek of a poor child. All alone, she whispered. Her soft hand was alarmingly warm. Ella felt herself deliberately making the shame she had conjured up into misery, a yawning abyss of what seemed to her untold depths, she felt tears come to her eyes as she took a faltering step backwards.

Look after yourself, my dear, said Michael’s mother. Ella felt dizzy. The cold reinforced the rushing in her ears. Even when she was at home, heating the stove and getting a spoon from the kitchen, she felt dizzy. She stabbed a hole in the screw-top lid of the jar of compote with a knife to let the air out, and opened it. She ate the plums spoonful by spoonful, swallowing two plum stones, drank the sweet liquid until the jar was empty, and leaned back against the stove.

Her stomach ached, the thermometer rose, it was dark outside now. Ella lit a candle and proudly examined the ten-mark note that she had placed on the carpet in front of her. She put her head back until her hair felt hot against the stove; her shoulder blades tingled with heat through all the layers of shirts and sweaters she was wearing.

She heard a sound outside the front door. A rattling, the door was opened. Ella sat there rigid. She wasn’t expecting anyone, it was dark outside. Käthe wouldn’t be back for another ten days, and she had taken her dog Agotto with her as usual. Also, Käthe wouldn’t be likely to come through the front door; she usually parked in the yard, where she unloaded her baggage and then came in by way of the studio or the other flight of back stairs. Ella would have heard the Wartburg. Now the door was being closed. Ella listened, keeping quiet. No one knocked, no one rang the bell, no barking, no one calling out who’s there? Should she call out herself, stand up, find out who it was? She didn’t dare. The light in the corridor was switched on. She heard footsteps, bumping and banging. The bathroom door was opened, and Ella heard the splashing of a long jet into the lavatory bowl. Someone was taking a long pee. The intruder must think he was alone in the house, because apart from the faint candlelight that no one could have seen from the outside there wasn’t a single light on. The stove was hot against Ella’s back, she didn’t want to move. The lavatory was flushed, more water flowed in, Ella heard it gurgling as if she were right beside it. The lodger. Yes, it seemed he was busy in Hamburg, and the Wall might make it more difficult for him to travel, but he still had a key. He could have passed it on to someone else who worked with him. Steps came closer. But the intruder passed Ella’s dark room, probably hardly noticed the candlelight in the bright light of the corridor, went on and opened the door to the smoking room. Now Ella heard a voice talking to itself: Your mirror is time — / Endless! / Like mine / You are not flesh, life — / you are fear, and she recognised the voice, I live on fear — death is boring — / and so are you! Ella pushed herself away from the stove, stood up and hurried out of her room, running the last few metres down the long corridor. She pushed the door open with both hands and fell into Thomas’s arms.

What are you doing here? In her relief, she snuggled close to him.

Ouch, watch out, you’re hurting me. Thomas tried to free himself from her embrace, but Ella didn’t want to let go.

Oh, I’ve missed you, dear little brother. You never wrote. I thought you weren’t coming home until Christmas.

What about Käthe? Thomas was still trying to get out of Ella’s arms.

Käthe, Käthe, oh, away on business as usual. The combine in Leuna wants to give her a bigger, more important commission. Ella rolled her eyes. So off she goes for discussions and preliminary sketches. She won’t be back for another ten days.

Please, Ella, let go of me. Thomas grimaced as if he were in great pain, drew in air between his teeth and gripped Ella’s arms so that she couldn’t keep them round him.

What’s the matter with you? Thomas had never before pushed her away so harshly when they were reunited. He was pale, with red rings under his eyes. Have you been crying?

Don’t talk nonsense, he said, but Ella didn’t entirely believe him. Ah, now his grin was back, a forced grin this time, but it was back. When had it first appeared, when had it wormed its way into her company? That cynical grin, how distant he wanted to show himself. Ella breathed deeply; she didn’t want to see that grin.

How about the trolls?

They won’t be here until Christmas, they’re in that home in Werder. Did he really want to know how they were? No one else asked after the twins, only Thomas. Going backwards and forwards couldn’t be good for them, if it hadn’t been for Thomas they’d have been forgotten long ago. They probably wouldn’t even come back from their home for Christmas. They’re fine, they really are. At least, we can suppose so as long as there’s no letter.

I’ve got something. I don’t know. . Hesitantly, Thomas pulled at the sleeves of his sweater. The grin had gone.

Got what?

What. . He looked around in search of something. Ella sensed his eyes looking for Käthe, chasing Käthe and failing to find her.

Don’t be like that, tell me what’s the matter.

They’ve sent me home.

Sent you home? Ella couldn’t take it in. Wow, that’s great!

Why was her little brother acting so strangely? He’d never got up to anything bad, surely they wouldn’t have turned him down for labour service? Why wasn’t he grinning?

I’m not well.

Not well? Incredulously, Ella looked at her brother. How did he really seem? Did an invalid look like that? Were the rings round his eyes real, pain expressed in those short sentences? People didn’t fall ill in this family, at least not physically ill. The body proved itself flawless by enjoying unbroken good health. Moments of weakness were for shirkers. Such weaker vessels attracted pitilessly derogatory nicknames, a kind of advance warning. Those who were capable of coping with life and enjoyed their work were people like Käthe who took a cold shower in the morning all the year round, jumped into the icy waters of the Baltic in February, and stood chiselling away at stone or doing other work in a bikini in summer. For some time Ella had suspected that Thomas was Käthe’s favourite child because, apart from his fear of the dark, he had no little aches and pains, there was his radiantly sunny childhood, romantic poetry in his teens, there were the rings, circlets and belts made from brass by Käthe’s golden boy, and of course he always got top marks at school. Above all, however, he was never ill. Nothing about Thomas dried out, no need for him to rest and sleep in a sanatorium. And now he said he was ill? Ella felt resentment, heretical derision. What do you mean, you’re not well?

Don’t laugh. Thomas wrinkled up his nose, looking as if he were about to bare his teeth. The works doctor says it’s shingles.

Shingles? Ella rolled the word around on her tongue. Show me. She was going to pull up his sweater, but he held it down in place. You can die of it if the blisters form a circle all round your body! Ella’s nostrils flared as her fear rose.

Nonsense. Don’t shout like that.

Thomas was suffering, no doubt of it. Ella could hear it in his voice, he was in pain, real physical pain. He sat down in the low leather armchair, Ella knelt on the floor and put a hand on his shoulder. There are old women, you know, witches who can treat that with an incantation, cast a spell and the shingles will go away.

It just has to get better of its own accord. Otherwise I’ll be in pain all my life. It mustn’t spread any more.

Show me, please.

Only if you promise not to show you’re disgusted.

I promise. Ella lifted two fingers as she swore.

And do me a favour, Ella, stop looking at me like a dog. It makes me furious.

I won’t look at you like a dog any more. Ella raised her two fingers again and swore.

When Thomas raised his sweater, carefully, holding it up and away from his body, luckily he had the fabric in front of his eyes and didn’t see Ella’s face. Her silent scream, the open mouth, the look that said she couldn’t believe what she saw. She tried to keep quiet, looked at the raised skin covered with blisters, fiery red, yellow in places with pus both wet and encrusted, mauve like clotted blood at some of the edges of the rash. A devastating, horrible burn spreading everywhere, said Ella, clearing her throat. Looks as if you’ve burnt yourself.

Thomas lowered the pullover.

Where did you catch it?

You’re disgusted after all. Thomas was already smiling his forgiveness. He knew Ella too well, she couldn’t pretend with him.

Not at all. She waved the idea away, and Ella believed what she said, she already felt objectively cool superiority. I’m not disgusted by anything. But where did you catch it?

Don’t worry, it’s not infectious.

As he leaned back in the chair and asked if there was anything to eat in the house — and Ella did not mention the plum compote any more than the stollen, which she had not yet eaten, but she planned to keep for herself — all she could think of was what he was bearing, suffering, enduring.

Don’t look at me like a dog. Thomas spoke sharply, the beginning of the sentence very quiet, the end of it in a voice not very much raised, but she sensed his anger at her helpless pity.

All right. On tiptoe, arms spread wide like a tightrope walker to make a show of her extreme caution, mocking her poor sick brother, Ella left the smoking room and went back to her own room, where the wax of the candle had run down over the holder and onto the rug. Here she crouched in front of the stove and ate her stollen; smacking her lips with relish she licked the burnt sugar off the walnuts. Let Thomas sit there in his armchair, grinning, let him see who could bear it if she couldn’t. He could wait a few more days for Käthe. Would he venture to go and see Michael with his shingles? Or Violetta?

In the morning, when Ella opened the door of the lodger’s room, where Thomas had been sleeping more and more often during the prolonged absence of the lodger himself, he was lying on his bed with his forehead wet with sweat and his face distorted. The skin of his face was reddened by strain, with only a white triangle around his nose left free. A sure sign that he was seriously ill. He was biting his pillow to help him bear the pain.

Help me, please, Thomas groaned, turning on his side. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and Ella could see the rash under it.

What am I supposed to do?

Ella thought about it; she didn’t know any doctors. She went into the smoking room and looked in the telephone book, but apart from a vet and a dentist she found only a paediatrician and a GP who didn’t have any consulting hours that day.

Get me some painkillers, Thomas called from his room, anything, and maybe the pharmacist can call a doctor. Please!

Ella put Käthe’s woollen coat on. She wondered whether to write to Käthe. Maybe a phone number for the Leuna chemical works could be found?

A doctor came in the evening and examined Thomas. He confirmed the diagnosis: yes, it was shingles, and he couldn’t say what had caused it or suggest anything much in the way of treatment. Apart from painkillers and powdering the rash, there was nothing to be done for shingles.

As soon as the doctor had left, Thomas was whimpering with pain. Ella stuffed cotton wool in her ears to keep the sound out. But in the middle of the night his screaming woke her. She couldn’t bear it, it was sending her out of her mind. She went into his room and shouted at him. Yes, she said, of course it was bad that he was in pain, but if she herself couldn’t get a wink of sleep all night either, it wasn’t going to help anyone. He’d better bite his pillow, she told him, going back to her room, and she took her quilt and lay down on the sofa on the veranda to be out of earshot. Thomas tried to keep quiet.

Five days later Käthe came back. Although she had gone in the Wartburg, she was wearing her pilot’s cap, probably because it was so cold. Agotto was already barking in the yard. He raced in through the doorway ahead of her, wagging his tail. He had jumped up at the door handle and opened it before Käthe came up the stairs with her baggage. There was no greeting, no hello, no how are you? Käthe was indignant. Are you still at nursery school? This is a state commission I have, an important piece of work! Don’t you two have any respect for me? Just because one of my children, almost grown up, is ill, I can’t drop everything back there! What on earth were you thinking of, sending the manager a telegram? She snorted. Am I a professional mother?

Don’t shout at me, Käthe. I thought you ought to know. The works doctor at Gommern sent him home. He’s been here for a week now, screaming with pain day and night. Ella ran both hands through her hair, scratching her scalp nervously and energetically. Honestly, I’ve been sleeping on the veranda the last few nights because I can’t stand it.

So where is he now?

Where do you think? In bed, of course.

Of course, of course. People don’t go to bed in broad daylight. Käthe took her pilot’s cap off and stalked through the smoking room, opened the door to the corridor and called to the rooms off it: Käthe’s back, everyone rise and shine!

But no one rose; no one appeared at all.

Ella had seldom seen Käthe so annoyed with her favourite child. Didn’t he always do everything right, didn’t he say the cleverest things, wasn’t he the most handsome boy in the world?

From a distance, Ella heard Käthe finally walking down the corridor. She stayed in Thomas’s room for quite a long time. When she reappeared she had changed. Her annoyance had given way to deep concern.

If we don’t find someone who can cure this thing he could die, Ella, do you realise that?

For a moment Ella hesitated; then she nodded. I heard of a woman in Erkner. Ella quietly tried explaining her idea. They say she can work magic — with her hands and with spells.

A witch? Käthe laughed heartily and put her blue working jacket on. First you can give me a hand getting the statue out of the car.

Ella looked enquiringly at Käthe. Käthe turned and led the way downstairs and into the yard, where her Wartburg was standing with its tailgate open. A monster wrapped in cloths and a blanket, all tied up with coarse rope, lay on the folded-down rear seat of the estate car. A smell of wet dog came from the car. Presumably Agotto had had to lie beside the statue on the way.

The plaster wasn’t even dry when I had to set out. But it was wonderful, the Brigade there had never seen anything like it. The director’s eyes popped out of his head. Along comes Käthe to show them what art is! Käthe spread her arms wide. Careful, take it by the plinth. No, wait, turn round. Käthe harassed Ella, making her go this way and that, she was to hold on more firmly, bend her knees sooner, more to the left, and be careful where she was treading when she walked backwards. It was the same as usual, as if Ella were helping her for the first time. Every order struck home. No sooner had Ella put the plinth carefully down on the wooden turntable, pulled away the blanket from under the stand and undone the packaging from below, to help Käthe get the statue erect, than Käthe said impatiently: Go a little way to the side, and pushed the statue towards Ella. Ella caught the package in both arms. Two heads came into sight, the bodies scarcely separated yet. A dancer with two heads. Maybe two dancers who were still merged together. Ella could already guess whose leg would belong to a man or a woman later, one of the woman’s legs was coming away from the bulk of the rock at the back, one of the man’s legs was wound round her. They shared a body, their heads were separate.

Do you like it? Käthe was watching Ella’s expression. This woman in Erkner — well, why not? Erkner, that’s some way to go. I have things to do here. You’d better take your bike and cycle there. We want the woman to cure Thomas.

Ella nodded. She rode her bicycle to Erkner to fetch the woman who could work magic.

The woman couldn’t come until the following day, because she worked on Saturday and had to fill the shelves after the shop closed. She was a sales assistant in a grocer’s shop in Erkner.

You don’t think I can work magic, you don’t think that, do you? said the woman, reassuring herself as she came through the doorway and shook hands with Käthe. She looked anxious. Ella was curious; she had never seen a real witch at close quarters before.

We think only the best of you. Käthe led the woman to Thomas’s bedside. Ella draw back the curtains. In full daylight the sales assistant looked even slimmer. Shyly, without any grand gestures, she took off her patterned green headscarf and her fine white gloves. She had delicate, slender fingers, she wore thin tights under her pleated skirt, and she had slightly bandy legs with graceful ankles. Her feet were in flat patent leather shoes. Hesitantly, she unbuttoned her coat, which so far no one had taken from her. Ella saw no warts, no hairy chin, no evidence, however small, that this was the genuine enchantress she had hoped for.

I’m not a witch. The sales assistant looked at Käthe and then back at her patient. Thomas was blinking in the bright light.

You’ve helped other people. Go ahead. Käthe was not just expressing confidence; it sounded more like an order. Without a word of goodbye Käthe left the room; she probably had to go down to the studio where her dancing couple was waiting. She had worked on the thing with wax half the night, the plaster had been mixed, the carving was as good as done, she’d even been promised a place at the foundry next month. Two naked models would be sitting downstairs in the studio, waiting for her. Time was pressing.

The sales assistant looked around for something.

Do you need anything? Ella wondered whether the sales assistant would want a cauldron or some herbs for her magic.

Well. . The sales assistant looked down, not at Ella.

Take her coat for her, please, groaned Thomas from his bed. His voice came hissing through his teeth so that anyone could guess at his pain. He braced both fists against the mattress to help himself sit up.

May I? Ella took the sales assistant’s coat, and the slender little woman stowed her headscarf and gloves away in her handbag.

Would you, the sales assistant’s voice was getting quieter and quieter, so that Ella had to stand still to make out what she was saying, would you leave us alone, please?

Why. . and Ella wanted to ask, why should I? But she bit the words back and said: Why not? Ella left the door wide open; she didn’t want to miss anything. As she hung the sales assistant’s coat up on a hanger, she heard the door to Thomas’s room being closed behind her. Wasn’t she a witch herself? Didn’t she know as much about herbs as this sales assistant? Maybe more. What was the woman supposed to know that she didn’t know? She could hardly hear her voice through the door. After a few remarks had been exchanged, there was silence. Ella pressed her ear to the door, she couldn’t hear any rustling, any voices. Once she heard a footstep. After a long time that seemed to Ella like an eternity, Thomas said something that she couldn’t hear properly. She moved away from her listening post on tiptoe, and waited at the end of the long corridor for the door to open.

There you are. The woman stepped out into the corridor and looked around her.

Do you need to go to the lavatory?

What? Oh no, I was looking for my coat.

Here it is. Ella went to the coat stand and handed the sales assistant her coat. Well?

What did you say? The sales assistant put her coat on.

Well, has it gone away? Have you cured him?

I’m sorry, the next few days will show. The slender woman took her headscarf out of her handbag and put it on.

We can’t wait. Ella opened the front door for the woman with a deep bow. The sales assistant did not take much notice of the bow, but stepped over the threshold. Outside the door, she turned to Ella.

It would be a good thing if he didn’t have to go back to that stone quarry, you know where I mean, to Gommern, she said quietly, and with a slight smile she shook hands with Ella.

This was not the way Ella had imagined a witch. She took the big silk scarf that no one must touch or wear but Käthe herself — it had been given to her a few years ago by the French boyfriend of her youth — off the coat stand. She draped the scarf over her head and went into Thomas’s room. Whoooooo! Hocuspocus, abracadabra, when shall we three meet again?

Oh, leave me alone. Thomas was sitting on the edge of his bed, as weak as ever. Ella asked what the woman had done, how she had worked magic. She had only put her hands on his shoulders, said Thomas, she hadn’t even touched his rash, no spells and incantations, or not aloud anyway. Ella couldn’t believe it.

Maybe I can do better. Can I have a go? Ella raised her hands as if conjuring up spirits. But to Thomas it was serious; she had better go away.

While Käthe was finishing the Dancing Couple, and Ella was in her room trying to burn small lumps of resin — she had scraped them off the bark of trees in the summer and kept them in a box — to try out her own powers of witchcraft, Thomas’s rash turned darker and formed scabs. The resin didn’t burn, it only sweltered and turned black where the flames had licked it. Ella invented magic words: Guttlenuts and Shatzlebrutz.

After tomorrow we can all go back to our work, stated Käthe, relieved, at the end of the second week. They were sitting at the supper table, together with a certain Susanne and a certain Kalle, models for the Dancing Couple. What did I tell you? Käthe proudly looked round the table. Thomas’s rash had dried up and the scabs were already coming off many places on his skin. The magic powers of the sales assistant from Erkner had proved their worth. There was no doubt that Thomas’s cure was all due to Käthe, it was her success. Ella wondered how she could let it be known that she, too, had powers of witchcraft.

I know a fairy who works magic, I gave her a quick call, and guess what, Thomas is better now! You just have to know what will help. Pass the butter.

Susanne passed Käthe the butter. A real enchantress?

Well, it helped, anyway. You’ll be taking the early train to Gommern tomorrow, won’t you, Thomas?

Thomas sat hunched at the end of the table. He was chewing his coarse wholemeal bread very thoroughly, and had taken no part in the conversation yet.

Thomas?

Thomas nodded obediently; he wanted to have chewed the bread well before he opened his mouth. Since he ate so slowly, the conversation had usually got away from him before he could contribute to it.

What they do there is just fabulous, Käthe now told her guests happily. They’re bringing stones from all different eras to the light of day, the famous quartzite and slate of the Lower Carboniferous period, fine sandstone from the Pleistocene. Truly unique. Well, of course Ulbricht hopes we can be independent and find our own oil — for Ulbricht, there has to be that bit of hope. But for scientific research it’s all gain. Do say something, Thomas.

What do you expect me to say?

Since you’ve been home you haven’t told us anything about Gommern. A piece of cauliflower fell out of Käthe’s mouth; she wiped her greasy lips with the back of her hand.

What do you expect me to tell you? We’re just breaking up stones, hauling them to the truck or taking them to the next station. Thomas was smiling like an angel.

Don’t play it down. You’re acting as if you were a building worker.

Not at all, I don’t build anything. Quite the opposite, I’m hacking away to destroy the earth. A miner, maybe, no, not even that. I just help, I just lug stones about. Bored, Thomas yawned. He put his hand in front of his mouth and looked gloomily across the table with his sick eyes.

Children! Without deigning to give him so much as a glance, Käthe made a brief and clearly dismissive gesture in Thomas’s direction; she turned cheerfully to their two guests, not much older than Thomas and Ella, who had spent the day modelling for her. Didn’t you say you’re studying economics in Karshorst now? That’s amazing! Käthe drew the cauliflower salad towards her and ate what was left of the stem straight from the bowl.

Since Susi’s been a Free German Youth leader we’re on the move round the clock. And we’re doing handicrafts too, making things for the Christmas market, and going into the schools in January.

Making things for the Christmas market? Käthe articulated the words Christmas market as if they evoked Popocatepetl. Her mouth had dropped open. But why?

We do our bit everywhere, you know that. The Free German Youth goes into the factories, into the schools, among the people, everywhere. Susi sipped her wine, smiling.

Terrific. Fabulous. That’s what I call fabulous. Käthe seemed relieved at first. Then she stopped and thought. But how do you manage to study as well?

Oh, working with the Free German Youth is fun, said Susi, putting her glass down.

And but for the Free German Youth it wouldn’t have been so easy to get a place to study. Kalle spoke with a heavy Berlin accent; Käthe liked that, and was tempted to emulate him. But it was clear that she had had difficulty in understanding exactly what he said. How was she to react? She knew that Thomas was obstinate enough to decline to join the youth organisation. And even with the prospect of taking her final exam as an inducement, Ella had made the mistake of leaving it again.

If we got places to study at all, Susi pointed out.

I believe you! Käthe looked past Thomas and Ella, an expression of reproof in her eyes. Two clever young people sat there before her who supported the Republic and did not, like her children, refuse to lend a hand.

In mid-December Thomas came back to Berlin from Gommern for the second time, only a week earlier than expected. But he had been sent back because of a recurrence of his rash. Once again the sales assistant from Erkner who worked magic had to be called in, and the doctor came to see Thomas as well. On the same day the phone rang. After a long illness he had passed away, were the words with which Käthe’s mother gave the news of her husband’s death. Perhaps it should be described as a blessed release, he didn’t have to suffer any more. He had been Käthe’s father the professor, the Vati she revered, she didn’t believe in blessed releases. She sat at the table in silence, staring at the tablecloth.

Her brother Paul and his family were coming from America for the funeral, and her sister Erna and Erna’s husband were coming from England, so the professor’s son and younger daughter would both be here. However, the German Democratic Republic wasn’t going to let them into the country on flimsy grounds. The family did battle with all means at its disposal against formalities, documents were certified, sent off, file numbers were communicated, and two days before the funeral the entry permits were granted. For the funeral, and between Christmas and New Year, Uncle Paul’s family and Erna with her husband stayed with Käthe. Käthe warned her children not to tell their relations about Thomas’s illness in case they feared infection. She was obviously embarrassed by the fact that Thomas was ill. As their beds were needed for the visitors, Thomas and Ella had to share a bed with Käthe. In the daytime Ella lay on the sofa on the veranda, dozing; the door of the smoking room was open, and she couldn’t help overhearing a conversation between Käthe and her sister Erna.

Who keeps house for me when I’m earning money?

Surely Ella and Thomas don’t get up to any mischief? Erna whispered.

Thomas is eating me out of house and home, hissed Käthe softly, and Ella lies and steals whenever she can. How am I supposed to pay for it all? The rent, the stones, a studio, it all costs money. Haven’t I been bereaved?

Not in the eyes of the law.

I mean as a widow, from back in the past.

You weren’t married to him.

But we loved each other.

Erna said nothing in reply to that, and Ella didn’t see what she could have said.

After a moment when they were both silent, Käthe whispered: Aren’t I entitled to anything?

Perhaps Erna pressed Käthe’s hand. You’re strong, you can work.

Of course I can work, no question about that. Käthe was getting heated. She could easily get annoyed with Erna, with her immaculate respectability as a married woman and her part-time job as a teacher. To Käthe, her sister’s life was the quintessence of a secure existence. But I need money to work as well, I don’t have a wife to look after my children. By way of reply Erna started crying. Was she shedding tears of sympathy or of shame for her own better situation? Käthe came marching firmly out on to the veranda, and saw Ella there with her eyes closed. Don’t just lie around idling like that, you’ll sleep half your life away. There are dishes to be washed in the kitchen. Get up, Pimpernel, off you go.

Käthe had bought an enormous carp for New Year’s Eve; Ella and Thomas feared that carp every year. While Käthe was gutting the carp in the kitchen, and her sister Erna was supposed to be helping her to clean the vegetables and peel the potatoes, Uncle Paul and Thomas were playing badminton in the smoking room. Uncle Paul had suggested moving the big table into the next room so that they could run back and forth more freely. He showed Thomas the way he served. Ella sat in front of the radiator, with no one taking any notice of her, rolling a ball of wax with the palms of her hands. Her eyes kept closing, and then she heard the whoosh of the shuttlecock in the air, heard its springy ping and then the firmer plop as it fell.

Thomas was not to put himself under any strain, the doctor had said only just before Christmas, to speed his recovery from shingles, but no one forbade playing games, so Thomas was leaping into the air, bright red in the face. Uncle Paul spoke with a strong American accent, as if he hadn’t been born and gone to school in Germany. You have to jump higher!

Thomas jumped higher.

Faster!

Thomas jumped faster. Ping. Plop. Plop. Plop.

Once Thomas stumbled, gasped for breath and collapsed. Uncle Paul crouched down beside him. In concern, he put his hand on Thomas’s shirt, which was wet with sweat. He patted his nephew like an animal. Oh boy, you’re not on good form.

Thomas shook his head.

Oh boy, repeated Uncle Paul, nodding sadly. Sport is so important. How are you going to study if you don’t keep fit?

I want to get out, whispered Thomas.

What did you say?

Out, Uncle Paul. Out of here. O.U.T.

You mean? Uncle Paul looked around as if he feared someone might be listening to them. Only now did he see Ella, but he just smiled at her briefly, bent over Thomas and said: You know perfectly well you can’t do that to your mother. She loves you.

Thomas sat up, supporting himself on the floor with one arm, blew back his fringe and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. In the middle of his overheated face, a white triangle stood out around his nose. Something was running down his cheek, Ella couldn’t be sure whether it was sweat or tears.

You can help me, Uncle Paul.

But Uncle Paul shook his head. Your mother will get you a place to study, you wait and see.

Please! Now Thomas gripped his uncle’s arm and held it tight. He was gasping. Please.

At this point Ella threw her ball of wax in Thomas’s direction, but although she hit him on the leg with it neither of them took any notice of her.

Thomas, that won’t do. His uncle pinched Thomas’s cheek as if he were an impudent little boy. I’m sorry, Thomas. He stood up and gave Thomas his hand to help him to his feet.

Can’t someone set the table? Käthe opened the door. Do get a move on! Isn’t anyone going to bring the table back in? We’ll be ready to eat in ten minutes!

On New Year’s Day all the visitors left after breakfast. It was not Käthe’s style to go to the door with her guests. Whether or not they were family members, whether they had stayed the night or only an hour, they all had to open and close the door for themselves. Käthe was testing the dampness of her Rosa, a clay figure on which she was working in these winter weeks and which stood on the veranda, wrapped in pieces of cloth. The brim of Rosa’s hat kept breaking off. Käthe was annoyed by her inability to force the clay to do what she wanted.

As soon as she heard the door latch behind her departing family, Käthe heaved a deep sigh, said: L’ospite è come il pesce, dopo tre giorni puzza, and without another word set to work.

In spite of a second visit by the shop assistant from Erkner, this time Thomas’s recovery was slow.

He had become familiar with the pain of his skin over those weeks. Thomas wondered if there was a condition beyond loneliness and pain, beyond cold and the stars, a place where he wouldn’t be seen by anyone, wouldn’t taste piss in his mouth, wouldn’t hear anyone bawling in his exhausted ears, and wouldn’t have to be anyone’s poor boy.

On New Year’s Day he woke up without pain for the first time. Thomas wondered what they had paid the woman. He looked at his ruined skin and fanned it with his sweater. His nerves felt exposed, sometimes the wind cooled him, sometimes it burnt him.

Paid her? Ella shrugged her shoulders. No idea. Anyway, I didn’t give her anything. Perhaps she was asked to choose one of Käthe’s little reliefs?

No, seriously: what did Käthe give her?

The first time, Käthe said hello to her when she arrived and I said goodbye. And the second time Käthe wasn’t there at all. Don’t you remember, she was with her painter friends beside the lock that day? I spoke to the sales assistant, I let her in. So if that’s what you’re asking me, no, she didn’t get anything.

What sort of people are you? You can’t just ask the woman to come here and not give her anything.

You might have thought of that yourself. Ella wasn’t accepting a reproof. Anyway, she had doubts of the efficacy of the sales assistant. Guttlenuts Shatzlebrutz, she could work much better magic herself. How do you know she was the one who cured you? I did it: Guttlenuts Shatzlebrutz.

That’s pathetic. Downcast, Thomas shook his head. Whether the rash goes away entirely again this time or not, she started the improvement, twice. She has to be thanked. Thomas ran his hands through his hair. I’ll go there.

Look out of the window. It’s snowing, it won’t get properly light at all today. Maybe a real witch doesn’t accept payment, hmm? She can make you better by magic if she wants to. Maybe taking money is against her honour?

Then I’ll send her a thank-you present. Thomas brought out the cardboard box in which he kept the bracelets and rings he had made himself from under his bed.

Are you crazy? You’re not going to give her that bracelet, are you? Don’t you remember, that was the one you promised to me?

Dismayed, Thomas turned the bracelet in his fingers. Did I? He seemed to have something on his mind. Sometimes I feel afraid I’m forgetting things.

You mean you hope you are. Ella laughed. You hope you’re forgetting me. You’re not giving that woman any of those things. Or not unless you want to forget me.

But we must give the woman something. Are you sure Käthe didn’t give her anything?

I’ll just go and ask her, said Ella, walking out of the room. Käthe had been down in the studio all day, and hadn’t even come upstairs to eat.

Agotto was lying on the back stairs, wagging his tail. Käthe didn’t like to let him into the studio, because he disturbed her work.

Ella opened the door and went downstairs. What to some are happy dreams. . it wasn’t often that Käthe listened to pop songs; perhaps she hadn’t been in hearing distance or had changed the radio station by accident. . what to others. . Before Ella reached the bottom step she could see Käthe’s bare breasts hanging down to the floor, heavy as melons, almost as if she were mopping up dust with them. . hard cash means . . Freddy Quinn, ‘La Guitarra Brasiliana’, Käthe on all fours, head down, backbone slightly bent, naked and grunting. Behind her knelt a man whom Ella didn’t immediately recognise. Shocked, she went up the stairs again backwards, step by step, without turning round, quietly, making as little noise as possible, she opened the door and closed it behind her. Agotto jumped up at her, licked her hands and whimpered.

Well, what does she say? Thomas came into the kitchen, went past Ella and over to the larder.

Nothing, she’s grunting.

What?

Ella followed Thomas into the larder. She’s grunting. Go and see for yourself. She’s crouching on all fours and grunting, along with a naked man. Ella laughed, and made a graphic gesture with her hands.

Thomas raised his eyebrows; he didn’t look at Ella’s hands, he looked into Ella’s eyes. He felt uncomfortable. Aren’t there any apples left?

All sold out. There may be some more in spring. But there’s dried apricots, sweet and juicy. Ella climbed on the narrow stool and reached purposefully for a tin on the shelf. Käthe keeps them hidden from us up here. Before she climbed off the stool she opened the tin and handed it down. Thomas took it. You don’t mind maggots, do you? There are a few little maggots in there, but they have to live on something too. She ought not to have said that, she knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth. After all, maggots were living creatures.

In revulsion, Thomas gave her the tin back.

Do you want to save the maggots? No? Ella took an apricot out and put it in her mouth. Delicious.

Thomas turned away. I’m hungry.

They had spread newspaper on the big table in the smoking room and peeled the wrinkled, softened potatoes as well as they could. Where they were sprouting, Ella broke the sprouts off.

Potato soup for the New Year.

Go over to Michael’s, I’m sure they’ll give you a cut off the joint there. Ella threw a piece of potato peel at Thomas’s head.

Thomas threw one back at her. Not today, the whole family is visiting.

Well, aren’t you part of the family? Ella pouted, making her mouth look like a beak, and pretended to be sympathetic.

Not entirely.

Ella picked up each peeled potato separately, examined it, and cut out the dark eyes with a knife. Nightshade, she said, and repeated the word, nightshade. Potatoes belong to the nightshade family. You know everything, why are they called that?

Good evening. Käthe’s fluting tones were accompanied by the barking and whining of Agotto as he stormed in. The way he licked their hands reminded Ella of the naked man down in the studio.

Ella craned her neck to see whether anyone was following Käthe. But there was no one else, the door latched, Käthe sat down.

Why are you two in such a dismal mood?

We’re not in a dismal mood, just wondering what there is to eat today. We found some potatoes and that was all. They cut the potatoes in pieces.

Oh well, then one of you must go shopping. And do some work, right? Käthe was rubbing her hands, but there’s time for that.

Ella rolled her eyes.

I have some good news. Listen to this.

What?

Roguishly, Käthe looked from Thomas to Ella and back again. Thomas can’t possibly go back to Gommern again. He’ll just fall ill, and that won’t do.

Ella and Thomas looked at Käthe in surprise. She took her time, the pause lasted too long.

Then what? Thomas uttered a nervous laugh.

I’m not really allowed to talk about it. You must promise me that this will stay between us. Promise?

They were to be Käthe’s accomplices. Promise, said Ella and Thomas in unison.

Well, Thomas, there are certain prospects of your getting a place to study medicine.

Medicine? Thomas forgot to blink, and suddenly his eyelids were fluttering. Had he understood Käthe correctly? Medicine was for those who toed the Party line, the children of officers, those who proved their worth in other ways than just getting brilliant results in their school-leaving exam. Thomas couldn’t believe his ears.

In Berlin. Käthe nodded proudly. What did I tell you? Your Käthe will find ways and means. She was singing the words out, carried away by her own joyful news.

And you think of something like this. . Ella hesitated, wondering if it was fair for her to doubt. . something like this in the middle of the holiday season? I mean, the phone hasn’t rung once today. This is New Year’s Day. So how do you know this now?

Hush, don’t ask silly questions. Käthe cut Ella short. You’re pleased, Thomas, aren’t you?

Thomas nodded, yes indeed, he managed to smile. He had learned to do that. The way he looked at her, his silky lashes cast down, his eyes hidden behind them. He felt there was something uncanny about her now, the woman he loved so much. The astonished Ella looked Käthe straight in the face. But how do you know?

Don’t be so inquisitive all the time. Käthe put her head on one side, looking mysterious. As with the naked man who had been kneeling behind Käthe in the studio, Ella felt laughter rising in her, but she suppressed it. She could be serious, pretend to be serious if necessary, she could pretend anything. She poured water into the pan of potatoes and put it on the stove. Ella wondered whether the naked man in the studio had been the lodger. But then wouldn’t she have recognised him? It had been only for a fraction of a second that she saw him, how familiar can a face seem to you in a fraction of a second? Had she recognised someone? Him? Her head was in turmoil. So Käthe’s golden boy was getting what his heart desired, had desired? But he wasn’t jumping for joy, his muscles had wasted during his illness, especially, so it seemed, the muscle of his heart. Ella felt uneasy. The dry air of winter sent her crazy, when she let her hair hang over the table dandruff fell out, like snow, she picked it up with a fingertip and put it on her tongue. The Host, wasn’t that what you called it? Give me this day thy holy bread? Why should she, Ella, be jealous? Jealous of the golden boy.

But you must do a period of practical training, of course. You must work in a hospital for a few months, you know that?

Thomas obediently nodded. His smile had long ago vanished.

You are pleased, aren’t you? A shadow of cautious doubt appeared in Käthe’s eyes. Had she misjudged her darling? Wasn’t she bringing him joy?

Yes, he said firmly, yes, I’m pleased. Just tell me, would you, who’s behind it?

It’s thanks to your grandfather, said Käthe, a mysterious gleam in her eyes. She pointed to the ceiling, probably meaning heaven.

Of course, why had no one thought of him before? The soul gone to heaven. What use was a professor as a grandfather, a great and illustrious mind? Maybe Käthe had spoken to someone of importance at the time of the funeral, made a contact, been able to fix something for her golden boy? Thomas’s strained face showed no joy. Ella felt sure that he had never thought of studying medicine before. The human body interested him less than any plant, any animal. Maybe he had once mentioned that he would be interested in studying botany, that was the name of the course of study he would have dreamed of if he had dreamed at all. But presumably Käthe hadn’t noticed. A place to study medicine must seem to her like a big win on the lottery, a win achieved with the help of the lodger’s friends.

Later, Ella lay on the bed in the room that the lodger hadn’t used for months. Thomas, like a hermit crab, had taken the room over, since he had no other room of his own in the house. Ella listened to the clacking of the typewriter. She had almost finished the wine in her glass, and put it down beside the bed. The clack of the typing sounded like heels going clickety-clack on paving stones, sending messages in Morse code, enticing you. Only the muted light of the desk lamp shining on his hair lit the room. Ella could think of no one she would sooner be close to than Thomas. Lying on the bed, listening to him writing, being with him in his light. How could he help it if Käthe loved him so unconditionally?

Read to me.

Thomas turned round. Holding the sheet of paper in his hands, he began: To Morning: I have lines on my face. His voice faltered, he crossed something out with a pencil and wrote in something new. The rest is great, immensely deep, / with lines on the outside. / Inside there are torn places, and a letter / to my dream of yesterday. // The dream was my word, my song and my life / Filled until then by a draught of hope; / Now I have woken — to a day with no scope / for dreams, that hope wasted on the eternal day. // The loud voices around me / are tinny, scornful in my ears. / No one asked me, I was born / guiltless, of night-time fears. / What’s the use of echoing / others’ loud and cheerful singing? / Inside, in the end, I am at. . How often had she lain like this, letting his words cradle her? The wine made her arms, her forehead and her lips tingle pleasantly.

Are you asleep? Thomas was leaning his hands on his knees, his voice was loud now. She must have nodded off without noticing. You’re not interested. Thomas put the sheet of paper back on the desk.

Yes, I am, of course I’m interested, go on reading, I wasn’t asleep.

Don’t tell lies, you were snoring, loud strong snores.

Ella couldn’t help giggling. Wearily, she turned her head from side to side. Her eyelids felt so heavy that she couldn’t even shake her head.

Can you actually listen without falling asleep? Thomas rubbed his eyes.

Of course I can. Ella sat up with a vigorous movement, and her head fell forward. I saw a smile on your face, she pointed to him, there, I knew it, I spotted it. In between the lines. A smile you didn’t want to show. I know, Ella closed her eyes, I mean, who wants to smile? You were fond of Grandfather, weren’t you?

Thomas breathed in deeply and audibly. Did he have to be patient with her? Ella made her own sense out of his poems; it had as little to do with understanding them as simply listening to them. She just couldn’t listen, she knew that herself, and she couldn’t help it.

We’re all saddled with our own guilt, innocent only when we’re born. Was that a preachy note in his voice? Was he going to deliver a sermon now?

Oh yes? Ella smiled a tipsy smile; sometimes Thomas thought in a very simple, almost plain way.

I did love him, yes. The childish side of him, his bib, the way he dribbled, his hearty laughter when we went to have a meal with the grandparents. Words like bockletop, suddlefoot, snickety-snack, he invented them in the first place, do you remember? He talked to us like that for days when we were little. Covered with the scabs of wounds / In the grip of frozen snow.

Ella shook her head. She had not loved anything about Grandfather, not the professor or his childish side. With the best will in the world she couldn’t see what her brother saw in him. Perhaps her will just wasn’t strong enough. How often was it? Ella found it hard to hide her amazement at the love he suddenly said he had felt, or at least had unexpectedly expressed. If they saw their grandparents two or three times a year, that was often enough.

What does often mean? Love doesn’t observe the frequency of opportunities. And very rarely, sometimes, I forget myself, / as I dare to remember. / As it came, so it goes, / under the pressure of petty things. / I cannot hold it fast, that lovely, lost / ruined dream in the past. / Only the letter I wrote him in his grave / I remember painfully well. // The words are burnt on my mind / they are my only faith — / Now you must forget — it says there, in the blood — / Forget, be silent, wait!

So that’s the end of your poem. Ella leaned over until her hair was dropping on the floor and tried to drink from her wine glass, which was standing beside the bed. Always blood, death and forgetting — you’re mad about them. Well, that figures! The wine glass tipped over, and Ella tried to catch it with her lips.

Thomas gritted his teeth. He was annoyed with himself for reading his poem aloud to Ella. Couldn’t he be happy that she followed his voice into sweet dreams? And what did he want to know about her? What did she know about death? Obviously not half as much as he did. At least she didn’t hope for anything from him. Her troubles were different: the heavy tongue that kept her from speaking well. And Johnny’s unhappy letters were embarrassing, now she came to think of it. She reached for her glass. Better drink a little more. Forget, be silent, wait! Ella was powerless against it, she had nothing to say in answer and nothing to say against it. Glass in hand, she stood up, bobbed a little curtsy and said goodnight: Zumbledum. Sleep well. Would be nice if you’re really better now.