Kürk Mantolu Madonna Read online

  How familiar her voice was! This must be because I was so intimately acquainted with every line in her face and could read between them.

  My long inspections of the painting had engraved it onto my mind. I had further strengthened the impression by studying the original. But her voice … most likely I had heard it before. Somewhere … maybe long ago, in my childhood … maybe only in my imagination.

  I shifted in my seat. Enough! I told myself. She was here, at my table. She was speaking to me. This was not the time for silly games.

  Again, she asked me: ‘You aren’t angry with me, then? So why didn’t you ever come back?’

  Dear God! She really had confused me with someone else … I opened my mouth, to ask her how she knew me. But then I stopped myself. This was not the right thing to ask. What if she took it the wrong way? She might make her excuses, and get up and leave.

  Best to prolong this dream, this miracle, for as long as I could. What was I to gain by cutting it short? Soon enough, I would wake up to the truth.

  When she saw I wasn’t going to answer her question, she changed her tack: ‘Does your mother write to you?’

  Electrified by shock, I leapt from my chair. Taking her hands in mine, I cried: ‘Oh, my God, it was you?’ And suddenly it all made sense. At last, I knew where I’d recognized her voice.

  She let out a light, bright laugh: ‘You really are a strange young man.’

  I recognized that laugh, too. She’d laughed the same way when she’d joined me on the bench across from the painting, and asked me what I thought of it, and when I said that the woman in the painting reminded me of my mother, she’d let out that same laugh and asked me if I had a picture of my mother … What I could not understand was how I’d failed to recognize her at the time. Had that painting hypnotized me? Had it blinded me to the real world?

  ‘But you, you didn’t look anything like the painting at the time,’ I murmured.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she said. ‘You didn’t even look at my face.’

  ‘No, I believe that I did … How can that be?’

  ‘You did glance up at me once or twice … but do you want to know how? As if you didn’t want to see me.’

  She pulled away her hands: ‘When I went back over to my friends, I didn’t tell them that you hadn’t recognized me. Otherwise they would have laughed at you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She thought for a moment, and a cloud settled in her eyes; suddenly she was serious. ‘So, do you still want to have a mother like that?’

  For a moment I was unable to remember. Then my words tumbled out. ‘Of course … of course … so very much.’

  ‘That’s just what you said then.’

  ‘Perhaps …’

  She smiled again. ‘But how could I be your mother?’

  ‘Oh, no, no …’

  ‘Maybe your sister!’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Now how can you ask a question like that? All the same, I’m twenty-six … you?’

  ‘Twenty-four.’

  ‘You see? I could be your sister.’

  ‘Yes …’

  We were silent for a while. I had so much to say to her, enough to fill whole years or an eternity … but at that moment, I couldn’t think of a single word. She, too, was looking blankly into the distance, her right elbow propped up on the table, and her hand casually draped across the white tablecloth. The tips of her long, fine, tapered fingers were flushed red, as if from cold. And now I remembered how cold her hands felt. Seizing the advantage, I said: ‘Your hands are so very cold.’

  She answered without hesitation. ‘Warm them up.’ And she held them out to me.

  I looked into her face. Her gaze was bold and strong-willed. It was almost as if she found nothing extraordinary about surrendering her hands to a man with whom she was conversing for the first time. Unless? Again, my mind spun with ugly possibilities. So I began to speak, in the hope that this would chase my fears away: ‘I hope you will forgive me for failing to recognize you at the exhibition,’ I said. ‘It’s just that you were so cheerful. You even teased me … and then, how can I put this, you were nothing like the woman in the painting … you had short hair … a short skirt and such a tight coat … When you rushed off, you were nearly skipping … It would have been difficult to see you in that wise, thoughtful, even mournful painting that the critics dubbed the Madonna … Even so, I have to wonder … I must have been lost in thought.’

  ‘Yes, very much so … I remember the first day you came to the exhibition. You were strolling through the gallery looking rather bored, when you suddenly stopped in front of my portrait. You looked at it so strangely! Everyone around you noticed. For a moment I thought you must have likened me to someone you knew. Then you started coming every day … So naturally I was curious. Now and again, I joined you. We’d sit there together, looking at the painting. But still you didn’t recognize me, even though you’d turn your head from time to time, to glance at this stranger who was ruining your concentration. There was something oddly appealing about the way you just sat there, lost in thought … Like I said, I was curious … Then one day I went over and talked to you. My artist friends were as curious about you as I was … it was their idea … But I wish I hadn’t … because after that I lost you altogether … you raced out of the gallery, and never came back.’

  ‘I thought you were making fun of me,’ I said. Immediately I regretted it, fearing she might take offence. Instead, she said: ‘Well, you were right.’

  She searched my face. ‘You are alone in Berlin, right?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean … alone … with no one else … spiritually alone … How can I put it … you have such an air about you that …’

  ‘I understand … I am completely alone … But not just in Berlin … alone in all of the world … since I was a child …’

  ‘Me too,’ she said. This time she took my hands in hers. ‘So alone sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe … as lonely as a sick dog.’

  Squeezing my hands even tighter, she lifted them up. Then she pounded the table with her fist. ‘We could be friends,’ she cried. ‘You’re just getting to know me, but I have been observing you for nearly twenty days … There is something special about you … Yes, we would make excellent friends.’

  Bewildered, I looked into her eyes. What was she trying to say? What could a woman offer a man in a situation such as mine? I had no idea. I had no experience and knew nothing about people.

  She could see that. And I could see her concern. Fearing she had gone too far, or said something I might take the wrong way, she said: ‘Now don’t you dare start thinking like all the other men … I don’t want you reading volumes into everything I say … just know that I am always completely open … like this … like a man … I’m like a man in many other ways, too. Maybe that’s why I’m alone …’

  She looked me over, before exclaiming: ‘And you’re a bit like a woman! I can see it now. Maybe that’s why I’ve liked you ever since I first set eyes on you … Yes, indeed. There’s something about you that makes me think of a young girl …’

  How surprised I was – and how saddened – to hear a new acquaintance echo my parents’ words!

  ‘I’ll never forget the way you looked last night,’ she continued. ‘Every time I think of it, I laugh. You were wriggling like a young girl struggling to defend her honour. But it’s no easy feat, escaping the clutches of Frau van Tiedemann.’

  I opened my eyes wide in surprise: ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘How could I not? We’re related. She’s my cousin. But we’re not on good terms … Actually, it has nothing to do with me … it’s my mother who’s severed relations, because of the way she’s been behaving. Her husband was a lawyer. He died in the war. Now she leads a life that Mother finds “unsuitable” … but that’s none of our business. What happened last night? Did you manage to escape? How do you know each other?’

  ‘We a
re staying in the same pension. But I had a lucky escape. She’s close to another resident in the pension – Herr Döppke. We ran into him in the corridor.’

  ‘They might as well get married.’

  From the way she uttered these words, it was clear that she wished to say no more on the subject. For a time, we were silent. But we were still trying to look each other over, without making it too obvious, and whenever our eyes met, we smiled, liking what we saw.

  I was the first to break the silence: ‘So you have a mother then?’

  ‘Yes! Just like you!’

  I wanted to kick myself for having asked such a silly question. Noticing, she changed the subject. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen you here.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve never been to a place like this … but tonight …’

  ‘Tonight?’

  Mustering all my courage, I said: ‘I followed you here.’

  That seemed to surprise her. ‘Were you the one that followed me all the way to the door?’

  ‘Yes. So you noticed?’

  ‘Of course … How could a woman not notice such a thing?’

  ‘But you never looked over your shoulder.’

  ‘I never look back …’

  Again, we fell silent. She was mulling something over, I could see. Then she looked up, smiling mischievously. ‘It’s just a game I play. If I think someone’s following me, I don’t let my curiosity get the better of me. I never turn my head. Instead, I run through all the possibilities. Is my pursuer a young man, or a feeble old man who likes his women young? Is he a rich prince? A penniless student? A homeless drunkard? I try to guess, judging by their footsteps, and before I know it I’ve arrived! … So, then, it was you tonight? But your footsteps were so hesitant. I took you for an old man. Old and married.’

  Now she looked into my eyes: ‘So you waited for me on the street?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you know I would pass that same spot? Did you know that I worked here?’

  ‘No, how would I know that? I thought that maybe … Indeed, I didn’t think, but rather I found myself in the very same place at the same hour. Then I was afraid you might see me. So I hid in a doorway.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go … we can talk on the way …’

  Seeing my surprise, she asked: ‘Don’t you want to walk me home?’

  I leapt up from my seat. This made her laugh.

  ‘There’s no rush, my friend,’ she said, ‘I still need to change out of this dress. Wait for me at the door. I’ll be out in five minutes.’

  Rising to her feet, she lifted up her dress and skipped away. Just before she vanished behind the orchestra pit, she turned around, fixing me with those magnificent eyes of hers. Winking, as if we had been friends for forty years.

  I beckoned to the waiter and asked for the bill. Suddenly I felt light-hearted, even brave. As I watched the waiter standing there, totting up the figures, I had the overwhelming urge to smile and say, ‘Just look how happy I am, you fools!’ I wanted to salute every customer in the room, throw my arms around them all, even the musicians, and embrace them like long-lost friends.

  Rising, I strode off to the cloakroom. Though I normally disdained such gestures, I gave a mark to the woman who handed me my coat. Outside, I took a deep breath and looked around me. They had turned off the electricity. The sign above the door was no longer lit. I could see neither the waves nor the letters spelling out ‘ATLANTIC’. The sky was clear and there was a sliver of a crescent moon on the western horizon.

  Behind me I heard a low voice: ‘Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘No, I just came out now,’ I said, turning around.

  She was standing across from me, blinking like someone who was struggling to make up her mind. Then finally she said: ‘You seem like a good person.’

  But by now my courage had deserted me. Though I longed to thank her, and take her hands in mine, and kiss her, I only managed a low whisper. ‘Really? I don’t know.’

  With disarming confidence, she took my arm. Cupping my chin in her other hand, she spoke to me in the sort of voice you’d use to soothe a child: ‘Oh, you really are innocent, aren’t you? As pure as a little girl.’

  Blushing furiously, I cast my eyes down. I did not like being addressed so casually by a woman. Thankfully she didn’t go any further. Letting go of my chin and releasing my arm, she let her own arms fall by her side. When at last I raised my eyes, I saw, with some amazement, that she looked shocked, even ashamed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her neck too. Her eyes were half closed, as if she hardly dared to look at me. A question instantly came to mind: ‘Why is she behaving like this? Clearly, she is not that kind of woman … But then, why is she behaving like this?’

  She seemed to read my mind. ‘That’s just the way I am,’ she said. ‘I’m a strange woman … and if you want to be my friend, you’re going to have to get used to quite a lot. My little caprices, my awkward working hours … I have to warn you – my friends have always found me to be an unsettling and exasperating creature …’

  Then, as if she were angry for being so hard on herself, she assumed a tone of voice that was sharp to the point of rudeness: ‘But suit yourself … I don’t need friends, and I don’t seek them out … I don’t want to depend on the kindness of others. I am beholden to no one … so it’s up to you …’

  When I spoke, it was in my usual, fearful voice: ‘I’ll try to understand you.’ We walked in silence for a time. Slipping her arm around mine, she began to talk. Her voice was flat, as if we were chatting about matters of no importance.

  ‘So you’re going to try to understand me? That’s not a bad idea … but I’m warning you, it might be in vain. Only sometimes do I think that I might actually make a good friend. Time will tell. If I draw you into petty arguments from time to time, don’t pay too much attention. Don’t take it personally.’

  Stopping in the middle of the street, she wagged her finger at me, as if she were telling a child to behave: ‘There’s one thing you must remember. This all ends the moment you want something from me. You can’t ask me for anything … Anything – do you hear?’ It was almost as if she were arguing with a faceless enemy, for now, as she continued, her voice was thick with anger. ‘Do you know why I hate you? You and every other man in the world? Because you ask so much of us, as if it were your natural right … Mark my words, for it can happen without a single word being uttered … it’s how men look at us and smile at us. It’s how they raise their hands. To put it simply, it’s how they treat us … you’d have to be blind not to see how much confidence they have, and how stupidly they achieve it. And if you need a measure of their arrogant pride, all you need is to see how shocked they are when an advance is rejected. They are the hunters, you see. And we their miserable prey. And our duties? To bow down and obey, and give them whatever they want … But we shouldn’t. We shouldn’t give away a single bit of ourselves. It’s revolting, this arrogant male pride … Do you understand what I’m saying? Yes, well, that’s why I think that maybe we can be friends. Because I can’t see a trace of that awful male pride in you … but I don’t know … even when he has a lamb between his teeth, a wolf can hide his savagery behind a smile …’

  Somewhere in the middle of her speech, we had started walking again. Walking fast, while she gesticulated angrily, gazing now at the ground and now at the sky. She would stop mid sentence, as if she had said all there was to say. Then narrowing her eyes, she’d walk on.

  We carried on like this for some time. And then once again we fell into a long silence. I walked beside her, in fearful silence, until she stopped in front of a three-storey stone building on one of the streets near the Tiergarten.

  ‘This is where I live … with my mother,’ she said. ‘We can continue this conversation tomorrow … But don’t come to the club … I don’t think I would be happy for you to see me like that again … Consider that a point in your favour … Let’s meet tomorrow during the day … we can take a stroll together
. I can show you some of my favourite places in Berlin. Let’s see what you think of them. So for now goodnight … Just a minute: I still don’t know your name!’

  ‘Raif.’

  ‘Raif? Is that all?’

  ‘Hatip zade Raif.’

  ‘Oh, that’s impossible … how could I ever remember that? I can’t even pronounce it. Could I just say Raif?’

  ‘That would make me even happier.’

  ‘And you can just call me Maria … like I say, I don’t want to feel beholden.’

  She smiled again and though she had changed expression many times since we’d met, she now wore the sweet face of a friend. She reached out and squeezed my hand. In a gentle, almost apologetic voice, she said goodnight, before pulling out her keys and turning away. Slowly I walked off. I had taken no more than ten steps when I heard her calling out to me.

  ‘Raif!’

  I turned around and waited.

  ‘Come back! Come back!’ It sounded as if she were trying to stop herself from laughing. And then, assuming an elaborately courteous tone, she said: ‘I’m delighted that we’re already on first-name terms.’ She was talking to me from the top of the stairs, so I looked up to see her. But it was too dark to see a thing. I waited for her to go on. She still seemed on the verge of laughter, while struggling to stay serious. ‘So you’re going, then?’

  My heart skipped a beat. I took a step forward. Would I be glad to have stayed? I was unable to decide. But as much as my mind rejected it, hope found its way through. ‘Should I stay?’

  She came down two steps. Her face was now lit by the street lamp. Those dark eyes looked sly now, and curious. ‘So you still don’t know why I called you back?’

  Oh yes, I knew … I was coming back to hurl myself into her arms. But at the same time I felt a powerful sense of loss, shock, even nausea. Flushing, I looked down at the ground. No, No! I didn’t want it to be like this.

  She was running her hand across my cheek. ‘What’s happening to you? You look as if you’re about to cry. You really do need a mother and not just a sister … So, tell me, you were really just about to leave?’