Small g (6 page)

6

A
t about the same time, Luisa was walking back the way she had come a couple of hours before, toward Rickie’s apartment, hoping she’d see a light behind the balcony. Then—she was sure she would find the courage—she would ring his doorbell.

But there was no light, just blackness at the tall french windows.

Well, there was Jakob’s, not far away. Hadn’t she been there a few times on her own after supper, to take a coffee? Certainly.

Since Willi the Dunce always sat at the long table in the front part of Jakob’s, Luisa entered via a side gate that opened onto the back garden. A path led to the back terrace, where lights hung from grapevine-covered beams. Voices and laughter. Luisa’s shoulders relaxed, and she felt her frown go away. All the tables but a small one seemed occupied. She would sit at the little table and not care when Andreas or Ursie appeared to take her order. It was wonderful to be among people who were having a nice evening, people who weren’t Renate Hagnauer and didn’t know she existed.

She was about to sit down, when a male voice called, “Luisa!” Rickie had half risen from a full table at the other end of the terrace, tall and very visible in a white cardigan. “Come over to us!”

Luisa made her way.

“Welcome!” said Rickie, indicating a chair that someone had secured for her.

There were five or six people at the table, one of them a woman. A single candle burned low between ashtrays.

Rickie introduced the woman as Evelyn Huber. “And Claus—Bruder,” he went on. “Philip Egli—”

“Enough!” said a dark-haired young man, smiling and a bit drunk. “I’m Ernst.”

Lulu barked from her own chair.

“And Lulu,” said Rickie.

“I know Lulu!” said Luisa, smiling.

“This is Luisa—Zimmermann.” Rickie was happy that he had managed to recall her last name. “And what would you like to drink—or eat?”

“There’s wine! Where’re the glasses? Give me the—” This from Ernst who was extending an arm in Rickie’s direction.

Andreas arrived.

“A Coke?” asked Rickie, who had sat down. “Wine? The peach tart is lovely tonight.” He was aware that he had drunk enough, but he had not made any mistakes as yet. “Another espresso for me, please, Andy. And for the young lady,” Rickie continued, “our guest of honor tonight—”

“A Coke, please,” said Luisa.

“Rickie,” the man called Philip said, “the glasses—the funny ones!”

“In due time,” replied Rickie, raising a finger, looking round for Renate and happy not to see her.

“. . . no, I’m an apprentice seamstress,” Luisa was saying to Ernst.

“Really? You mean—fancy—sewing work?”

Luisa looked at Rickie. “Ernst thought I was a model!”

“That is because you are pretty,” Rickie replied.

“I have seen you here—with the couturiere.” This was from the woman called Evelyn, who looked the soberest of all present.

“Yes. Frau Hagnauer often comes here for a coffee in the mornings.”

“And to snoop,” Rickie put in genially.

A giggle rose in Luisa, irrepressible.

“Ha!” This from Philip. “What else has the old witch got to do? Goggle-goggle!” He put his hands up to his eyes, as if he looked through binoculars. “Rickie, show Luisa the glasses! Put ’em on Lulu!”

Lulu barked once on hearing her name, and put a white foot gently on the table edge. She looked around for orders, making an “Ooo-ooo” sound as if she were dying to talk.

“Sit till I finish my coffee, Lulu,” Rickie said and the dog took her paw from the table.

“Evelyn, show Luisa your castle,” said the young man called Claus.

Evelyn carefully unrolled a cylinder of paper that she had been holding across her lap. “This is for children, you understand, Luisa. I’m a librarian—in a school.” She stood up, and with the aid of Claus held the corners of the black-and-white drawing of the spired castle.

It looked dreamy to Luisa, reminding her of stories half remembered, when she had been small. The castle made her feel for a few seconds like a four-year-old looking into picture books when she could believe in them.

“Rickie copied a boy’s drawing for me—on his machine,” Evelyn shouted over the table conversation.

“You’re going to pin them on the wall? Or give them as prizes?” There seemed to be at least six.

Luisa never heard an answer, because of a clap of laughter: Rickie had put on a pair of joke glasses, and was clowning with his espresso cup in hand. Luisa’s Coke had arrived, and a few more beers. Rickie’s glasses had eyes painted on them, rather sleepy, stupid dark eyes with blue eyeshadow above them, set farther apart than Rickie’s own.

“Put ’em on Lulu!”

Lulu pranced in her chair.

“Anyone got a scarf?” Rickie asked.

Philip Egli pulled a blue muffler from a jacket pocket.

Lulu’s winter-cruise tableau again. Rickie obliged, and settled the glasses on Lulu’s nose.

“Ha-ha! Look! Look!”

Applause for Lulu! Rickie glowed with satisfaction.

“Take her on a tour!” Ernst yelled.

Rickie went with Lulu on the lead into the larger, more lighted part of Jakob’s, now bordered with tables and chairs. One by one people spotted Lulu and pointed.

“Look at the
dog
!”

“Hello, Lulu.”

“
Very
becoming!”

Patters of applause.

“Hi, Rickie!”

A few were Rickie’s neighbors, lived in his building. Steadied by Lulu’s confident lead, Rickie walked past the table where Renate and Luisa usually sat, and returned at a leisurely pace to the back terrace.

Luisa had watched from the open doorway between terrace and the big section, trembling inside with laughter, while her eyes filled with tears, tears that even ran down her cheeks. Was she laughing or crying? It had turned into a wonderful evening!

“Friend of Petey’s,” Luisa heard Rickie say to someone at the table. “And you know, Petey’s birthday is tomorrow. He’d have been twenty-one.” He went on, “It’s my party tonight. Nobody pays anything.”

The librarian Evelyn groaned, smiling. “Come on, Rickie.”

“Thanks, Rickie, some other time. I left some money under my glass. No argument!”

Luisa found another Coca-Cola in front of her. She glanced at her watch and saw that more than an hour had gone by since she had left the house! “Rickie—”

He was on her left, and at that moment he looked down at the table and grimaced. Then she saw that his eyes were wet. He wiped them quickly with the back of one hand. His other hand held Lulu’s lead.

“G’night, Rickie. Many, many thanks,” said Evelyn, departing with the white cylinder under her arm. “Don’t get up.”

But Rickie, somewhat wobbly, was on his feet.

In the next minutes, Rickie settled the bill with Andreas, who gave Rickie change, no doubt exact, as Andreas was honest. Just as Andreas walked away toward the inside room, Luisa saw Willi standing in the doorway, looking straight at her with the gray-eyed, fixed but neutral gaze with which he looked at everything. He was going to report her presence here to Renate, Luisa supposed.

Ernst was the only one left at the table besides Luisa and Rickie. “Thank you, Rickie,” he said. “Want me to walk you home?”

“I am seeing this young lady to
her
home,” said Rickie.

Luisa took an uneasy gulp of her Coke. “But I live so near. You don’t have to see me home, Rickie.” Glancing, Luisa saw that Willi had disappeared as if he had been a bad dream. She stood up.

So did Rickie and Ernst. The three went through the garden to the gate, the way Luisa had come. The two men took her gently by an elbow, one on either side.

“Now this is an escort!” said Luisa, amused and anxious too.

“And an honor. An honor guard!” said Ernst.

Three or four streets away, St. Jakob’s Church tolled once for half past ten.

“Isn’t she a darling?” asked Rickie.

Ernst said, “What a shame we’re not the marrying type. We’re what the English call ‘confirmed bachelors.’ Ha-ha! It means something like the Small g, only bigger!”

Somehow it was funny, and harmless. Luisa laughed, not knowing why. They were approaching the whitish house where she lived. Formerly this had been a capacious private dwelling, big enough for a growing family and a couple of live-in servants who would have had to climb to the little rooms at the top, with their small peaked windows in the roof, to sleep. The window below the servants’-rooms level was lighted. This was the sitting room, where the TV set was.

“Thank you—both. Thank you, Rickie—for the wonderful evening.” Luisa almost whispered.

“Soon again, I hope,” said Rickie. “Phone me, any time.”

“G’night, Luisa.”

Luisa opened the front door with her key, and waved to the two watching her. Then she climbed the stairs, second key at the ready.

As she had expected, Renate had slid the inside bolt. Luisa knocked gently.

But nothing came, no sound. Luisa’s thoughts jumped: Renate was going to make her wait half an hour, longer, maybe. Keep calm, Luisa told herself. She had found calmness a good defense against Renate, who preferred to see her hurt.

She knocked again. Luisa was sure Renate was not far away, probably standing in the hall, listening to her difficulties. She rang the bell briefly, and hearing no response, tried her key again, hoping. The bolt still held.

Luisa turned to the banistered stairs with a crazy thought of dashing after Rickie and Ernst. Nothing more certain than that Rickie would let her sleep on his sofa tonight. Angry now, Luisa tried a trick: she went somewhat noisily down the stairs, halfway down the next flight, and waited.

And waited. After two minutes, she decided to creep back up. Again she tried the key, and then knocked. And waited.

At last, the bump and scrape, a bit slower than usual, which heralded Renate’s approach. Luisa straightened, taut; why should she say she was “sorry,” when Renate hadn’t needed to double-lock?

“So,” said Renate, in nightdress and dressing gown. “A little late tonight.”

“Thank you,” said Luisa, coming in. “I don’t know why you bolted it. I wasn’t going to be out long.”

“Long enough! Woke me up!” Renate sniffed. “Where were you?”

They were standing in the hall. Renate had turned off the sitting room light, where she had probably been watching TV.

“At Jakob’s, having a Coca-Cola,” replied Luisa, hoping to take some steam out of Willi’s report tomorrow. “When I wasn’t walking, that is.”

“Walking. If you have so much energy, you might start working as our
putzfrau
, no?” Here Renate gave a twitch of a smile.

The storm was over. Luisa was able to walk on to her room.

To Luisa’s relief, Renate did not follow her to her room with a last thought. Luisa had near the end of the hall what she could call her own bathroom, albeit a small one: toilet, basin and shower, and hot water. In five minutes, she was showered and in bed, with the light out, eager to think about the evening.

What had Rickie meant when he said, “Come to the Small g Saturday night?” Luisa knew there was dancing Saturday nights, sometimes Friday nights too, if the crowd was big enough. Jakob’s boasted an old jukebox, and there were amplifiers in the corners.

What a really nice evening it had been! Such friendly people! Petey’s birthday tomorrow—meaning an hour from now. Luisa remembered the tears in Rickie’s eyes, and she was sure he had loved Petey quite as much as she had.
A dream!
She knew Petey had been “a dream,” because he didn’t like girls, not in a romantic way. Now she remembered distinctly Petey’s smooth, handsome face with the worried look, saying, “You mustn’t fall in love with
me
.” Now she felt she understood, at least understood a lot better.

Pleasantly drowsy, Luisa drew her knees up nearly to her chin, stretched her legs and turned face down, to sleep. She would see Rickie again, she was sure, and the white dog Lulu with the soft ears and alert eyes—sitting on a chair at the table listening to everything, like another person. Luisa shook with silent laughter. She had the feeling that something important had happened this evening, something happy and lucky.

7

L
uisa’s Wednesday began between six-thirty and seven with coffee and roll in the kitchen. By seven-thirty Renate’s “girls” began to arrive, usually Vera first, the oldest and a coworker (higher than an apprentice), then Elsie (serious and conscientious), then Stephanie, of cheerful disposition and usually the last. Stephanie came on a tram from the center of Zurich. The others lived in Aussersihl, at least, and Vera often walked.

By seven-thirty the fluorescent lights had flickered on down the long ceiling of the workroom. The six big windows might have given adequate light, certainly in summer, but Renate had grown accustomed to bright light and insisted on it.

“Hi, Luisa!” Stephanie had called on entering the “factory,” the workroom, where Renate and Luisa were checking things for the day’s work, scissors handy, thread for work-in-progress. A private client was having a suit made, requiring a certain pink thread: Vera’s project, that suit, with help from Renate. There were six sewing machines, a steam-ironing board and two normal ones.

Yesterday afternoon, Renate had fairly given a eulogy about Luisa’s latest creation, a two-piece suit for autumn, drawings of which were now pinned to the long bulletin board on the wall opposite the windows. This was without lapels and had a generous stand-up collar, large flaps on two side pockets, a skirt with pleats, two front and back. Today Luisa was to cut the pattern in two sizes to sell first as “exclusives.” Three of the sewing machines had tables on their own, the others lived on the table which was some six meters long, made of three well-worn flush doors supported on six trestles. Luisa supposed that at forty-two or -three, Renate liked the old-fashioned, the near antiques that could be chic if one announced that they were chic. Such was the old table with its scratches and scars from Stanley knives, slight burns from irons, even some splotches from the days of ink, though this was drawing ink, black.

Luisa sensed tension in Renate this morning as she drifted among the girls, as usual looking over their shoulders, though not so close as to annoy them. Renate usually made a comment, sometimes a moderately contented, “Hmm-m,” sometimes, “That looks nice,” peering at a girl’s work through her hand lens. Renate demanded especial care with buttonholes.

Stephanie went to the telephone-radio and pressed the number three button for classical music. Classical was permitted, not too loud, but not the pop music of the German, French, or Italian channels.

Luisa was well into her pattern of the suit jacket, when Renate rapped out, “All right, girls. A nice cup of coffee?”

It was after nine-thirty. Luisa wished she did not have to go to Jakob’s this morning with Renate (still cool), but she might see Rickie, might see the librarian Evelyn—friendly faces. The girls drifted toward the kitchen. Vera took care of the kettle. They made drip coffee in a large pot. Renate as usual put out a cake and a knife on a plate. If the girls got sticky fingers, the sink was right there. Crumbs on the floor much annoyed Renate, and it was a ritual that Elsie swept in midmorning and Luisa after lunch, which the girls took in the kitchen, while Renate and Luisa usually ate in the front sitting room.

That morning Renate walked in ominous silence with Luisa toward Jakob’s, and Luisa’s remark about the beauty of the chestnut trees met with a preoccupied, “Um-m.”

Renate’s favored table was not free, but big enough for them to share with a smallish man sunk in a newspaper at one end of it.

And nearly opposite were Rickie and Lulu, Rickie with newspaper, but he saw her and waved discreetly.

“
Morgen, meine Damen
,” said Andreas in
Hochdeutsch
, to be funny. “And what might the ladies like?”

“
Guten Morgen
,” replied Renate, then gave her usual order in Swiss German, and for Luisa too. Espresso with cream.

Luisa saw Willi, entering this morning from the back rooms behind Rickie. He beckoned to Renate in a sly way as if his gesture would not have been noticed even by a child, and Renate did not bother to acknowledge it. Willi seated himself at a table with a couple of men in work clothes.

“Did you see Willi last night?” asked Renate.

“I don’t think so. I wasn’t looking.”

From Willi Biber’s gesture—unusual—Renate thought Luisa was lying. Luisa would’ve noticed Willi, and known that he would report her presence to Renate. Renate enjoyed her near total control of Luisa, though at the same time realized that it had a sadistic element. Whenever these self-critical thoughts crossed her mind, she absolved herself utterly from blame or overcaution by remembering Luisa when she first presented herself—unkempt, even in need of a bath, broken fingernails, hair cut short and abominably by herself, Luisa had admitted. She had run away from home and also her apprenticeship in Brig (so Renate had had to straighten that out for her), run away also from a stepfather who had sexually abused her, Renate felt sure, but she disliked querying Luisa on the subject. More important, Renate was tutoring Luisa to become a first-rate dressmaker and designer, if Luisa heeded her.

“A French paper?” Luisa asked, ready to go to the paper rack.

“I’ll go,” Renate said.

Luisa watched her, knowing that Renate did not like walking in a public place like this more than was necessary. Renate lifted
Le Matin
and carried it on its stick toward Willi, with whom she began talking.

Here Rickie made comic gestures with his hands as of two people talking, and mimed silent laughter that bounced him up and down the bench.

Luisa was seized with nervous hilarity, looked down at her empty coffee cup and nearly exploded. What could Willi be narrating? That she drank a Coke? Renate would try to stop her from seeing Rickie, Luisa warned herself, but even this did not make her sober up completely. It was as if Rickie were a knight in armor—in that castle in the picture—and the armor protected her from Renate somehow.

Renate was returning, head high, taking small steps. She had left enough coins for their coffees. “What’re you smiling at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know I was smiling.”

Renate was not going to sit down. “So—you were at quite a party last night, it seems.”

Luisa had stood up. “I sat at a table with my Coke.”

Renate went off to hang her newspaper. Luisa followed, avoiding looking at Rickie.

“You seem to know some of the people—this Rickie—and others.”

They were going out the door. Luisa nodded a good-bye to Ursie, who was sweeping the path across the front terrace.

“I saw Rickie, yes. The others—just a few friends of his.”

“All these homos. All homos.” Renate continued as they walked, “What’s the matter with you?”

“With
me
? Last night there was a woman called Evelyn—a librarian. Other people—with jobs. Just talking. I don’t know what’s the matter with having a Coke with them.”

“These people get murdered. Robbed! You ask
me
what is the matter?” She seemed all at once in a teeth-shaking fury.

Luisa decided to stay quiet, not sure at all that it would help.

So the day began.

T
HAT EVENING AFTER DINNER
, Renate proposed a game of chess. This they always played in the front sitting room, where a bridge table stood folded against the wall. There was a sofa covered in pale-green cotton. A full-page photograph of a model wearing a winter-coat creation hung above the sofa; a famous Zurich store’s name was prominent at the bottom. The slender blonde model looked out with amused arrogance, and Luisa found her face, not to mention the coat, truly
démodé
. But of course the coat and the page in a sleek magazine had been a triumph for Renate then.

By a fluke, Luisa did not do badly at chess that evening. She did not really like chess, and felt that the game had helped her to realize that—it seemed—she was not aggressive by nature. “Attack!” Renate sometimes said during a game. “Always attack!” Luisa lost the game finally, but she did not feel the usual inferiority that Renate, even wordless, could make her feel, because tonight she had given Renate a bit of a struggle to win.

More coffee. Luisa declined. Renate could drink coffee till midnight and still get to sleep at once.

“You must work, work, work—to get anywhere. No silliness, do you understand?” She looked Luisa in the eyes, as if Luisa had done something wrong in the last hour.

“Yes, of course. I understand,” replied Luisa, in a tone that asked, why shouldn’t she understand such a simple statement?

“Then be sure that you act on it. Practice—draw—get new ideas, try them on paper, watch what the younger generation likes—though that may be temporary, still . . .”

Luisa listened with solemn face, sometimes looking down at the chessboard (which often remained on the table a few days), aware of the aging photographs, two or three in the room, of Renate’s skinny brown-haired husband, rather handsome with long dark sideburns and heavy brows and pleasant smile: married in Casablanca, Renate looking like a dwarf compared to him, in white with white veil over her head.
White!
Then Renate’s mysterious family in the photos, numerous cousins and aunts on a long bench outside a country house with two chimneys, somewhere in Romania. A couple of the women had babies wrapped in white in their arms, the men were all in dark suits and white shirts.

“We must pay a visit to the newspaper archives soon,” Renate went on, “see all this on computer screen. The history of fashion. Fashion is not oversized metal buttons or these vulgar short skirts that look like a towel wrapped around and tucked somewhere at the waist!”

Luisa was thinking of the one date she’d had with Petey Ritter. They’d gone to a film, then had hamburgers and Cokes afterward. She had been proud to be with him. That same week he had given her, at her request, a photo of himself, bigger than passport size, which Luisa still carried in her wallet.