They Divided the Sky: A Novel by Christa Wolf

20.

they divided the sky 118 Quickly, almost hastily, the guests departed, as though driven by guilty consciences. 20. Time has not left the professor’s evening parties untouched. While politic get-togethers may be attractive, the attraction wanes when the politics change. New wishes and yearnings develop much less quickly than huge factories built on sand. Of course there are always facts that carry their own weight, but does that mean that these facts must also pave my way? No real life can be built on mere hopes for the future. Days, nights, weeks and years with one woman, an apartment, a car, food and drink … That requires clear thinking, doesn’t it? Manfred, who liked to come across as hardboiled, was used to disappointments but not failures, which came out now. So far, he had reached his goals easily. The country was in desperate need of talented people; he had increased their number. But so much depended on those few drawings, on the birth certificate for a new machine, a being he had created, that was as perfect as only invented beings can be. And now the birth would not take place. He was surprised by how despondent he felt. Only now did he become aware of how, for years, he’d been propelled forward by the strong wind at his back. Only for love of Martin Jung—he couldn’t afford to disappoint him—did he decide to spend the first weeks of the year in Thuringia, in the factory that refused to test their machine. He made preparations as though he were planning an expedition into an unknown part of the world. This was not his first visit to a factory, but it was the first time he thought about how best to make a good impression. “So much can depend on details,” he said. “For instance, should I wear a tie or not? A cap? Or a hat? What do you think?” He asked Martin Jung, who was watching him pack and laughing at him. “No cap and no hat,” he said. “Patience.” Christa Wolf 119 “And ‘confidence’ is probably what you’ll say next.” That would be the best. It was hard to resist a confident person. Rita noticed that Martin was preparing his friend as gently as he could for unpleasant experiences. Did Manfred not feel this? He glanced at Martin disparagingly. “Do you have to talk to me as though I were a sick horse?” he asked. It was good to see Martin laugh; he was still very young. Rita huddled there, her legs tucked up, watching what was going on between the two of them and not knowing if she was happy or sad. “Misty weather” was Manfred’s term for that condition, and she protested every time, fighting back with accusations. “Why didn’t you at least give me a budgie instead of Cleopatra? She sleeps in her box all winter. A bird would sing to me. Especially when I’m alone. People need something to look forward to every day.” First of all, she wasn’t alone, Manfred informed her, when she had so many friends. Yes, friends. I know what I’m saying. Second, no respectable girl would deliberately give a man a hard time when he has to go on a trip. And third... Martin knew this scenario. He turned away when they kissed each other. “By the way, nobody there knows that we’re coming,” he said after a while. Manfred looked at him in surprise. “Shall I just unpack?” “Do whatever you want.” What he wanted! He wanted to see the machine working, right away, and problem-free. But he was gradually realizing that there were other things involved, beyond the machine. Martin, for instance, whom he now gave a ferocious scolding. Rita had cheered up; she didn’t know exactly why. She made coffee and set a plate of ginger cookies on the table that she kept refilling from what appeared to be a bottomless box from home. In thanks, Martin played her a serenade on the long ruler Manfred used to draw lines under his long formulas. He handled it like a zither. He sang whatever they wanted to hear. It was good that no one else could hear they divided the sky 120 them. You felt happy about yourself when you could say: this is our friend. Rita could talk to...