They Divided the Sky: A Novel by Christa Wolf

28.

Christa Wolf 175 the same uncanny, silent sunbeam, knitting away at a black scarf for winter. She had nothing else; only the grief for her deceased sister, which would have to last a long time. When she realized where the young lady was from, she was suddenly willing to make coffee. A little light entered her pale eyes. Who would miss the opportunity to host someone from the East, and interrogate them? With several polite words they escaped. Outside, as the door closed, they looked at each other openly for a few moments. Is this what you were looking for here? — How can you ask that? No, this isn’t it. — What is? Manfred looked down. He took her hand and pulled her down the stairs behind him. He swung her around the bends. Then they ran through the cool, echoing, stone entrance hall and were finally outside: in the street noise, the heat and the glaring noon light. “Right,” Manfred said with a grin, “now take a look around. The free world is at your feet.” All the church steeples rang out twelve o’clock. 28. “Am I supposed to spend the whole winter here?” Rita asks the doctor on his daily visit. October has passed and a dismal, cold November is setting in. “Not at all!” the doctor says, “You’re free to go. Wherever you like.” “Right away?” Rita asks. “Let’s say tomorrow.” On this last afternoon, Erwin Schwarzenbach comes to visit. The heating has been turned on for the first time. Rita and her visitor sit in the winter garden at the end of the corridor. The lush green plants in the big glass windows stand before the great grey wall of the sky. they divided the sky 176 What does he want? Rita wonders. He knows I’m being released soon. Schwarzenbach doesn’t say much; he is thoughtful. He smokes and has a good look around. Rita asks questions until she runs out of them. He answers quietly until there’s nothing left to ask or answer. All right, she thinks, we’ll just keep still. She leans back in the wicker chair and listens to the gusts of rain on the window panes, the wind in the trees of the park. Sometimes the wind and rain cut out, and everything grows very quiet. “Listen,” Schwarzenbach says. “Did you never consider following him?” Rita understands immediately. “I did follow him,” she says without hesitating. Schwarzenbach is not the sort of person who collects superfluous testimonies. He prefers facts that come straight to the point, which he listens to calmly. “And what happened?” he asks with interest. Maybe it’s good to talk to him about this, Rita thinks. Especially today, especially him. As of tomorrow she’ll be busy with the everyday joys and sorrows she’s been longing for. The doctor was clever enough to let this longing grow until it would be big enough to carry her over the first few difficult days. But when will anyone else ever ask, why did you do this or that? When will she have another chance to think about an answer? “I remember it was a really hot Sunday,” she says. “But I hardly noticed it at the time. “The streets must have stored up the heat. The few people who weren’t seated at tables for lunch—wanderers like ourselves—kept to the narrow shady strips along the house fronts, which would only release the accumulated heat in the afternoon. By the way, the buildings are no different. They’re built according to the same pattern ‘over there’ as they are here. For the same people, for the same joys and the same sorrows. I couldn’t understand why they were supposed to be different from other houses in other places. Of course, there was more glass and plastic in the shopping streets. Christa Wolf 177 And goods I couldn’t even name. But I knew all about that beforehand. I liked that. I could just imagine how much I’d enjoy shopping there. “But in the end everything comes down to eating and drinking, dressing and sleeping. Why do you eat? I wondered. What do you do in these fantastically beautiful apartments? Where do you go in these cars that are as wide as the street? And what do you think about in this city as you fall asleep?” “Don...