Three Women in a Mirror (6 page)

Anne was mortified, and put up no resistance.

Why wasn't she struggling? Basically, other people had done what they liked with her ever since her birth, and she had always let them.

While they finished tying her up, Anne saw a sudden danger her torturers had failed to notice: a giant was approaching.

A huge man, wearing a cloak of thick black wool, was marching toward them with a quick determined stride. Formidable enough by the sheer size of him, what was even stranger was that he moved so silently, without cracking a single twig or crushing the carpet of leaves. He was plowing through the thicket the way a ship cleaves the waves.

Ida, unaware of his presence, was commenting upon her victory, pointing to her trussed-up cousin: “Look at her, Philippe, a worm would have struggled more than she did. She's a half-wit. Yes, quite simpleminded. She doesn't even know why she left or why she is rotting here. Trying to talk to her is like conversing with a goat: it makes no sense.”

The stranger clapped his huge hand onto Ida's shoulder.

She screamed, as much from surprise as from fear. When she turned around, the stranger stared at her: he looked as though he were about to slaughter her like fowl, wring her neck, break her bones.

With a sudden quick gesture, Ida managed to escape and recoiled, breathless.

Philippe, surprised but above all frightened, understood that he was expected to act the protector. He puffed up his chest and mumbled, “But . . . who are you?”

The stranger gave him a blow that sent him flying into a bush.

Philippe stood up, reached for his hat, and ran away. Shriek­ing, “Wait, wait!” Ida followed close behind.

Anne lay on the ground, tied up, looking at the stranger's cold, hard, emaciated face beneath his hood.

He reached a hand under his cloak, pulled out a dagger and brandished it above her.

Vienna, May 25, 1904

 

Dear Gretchen,
Coming back to Vienna has been dreadful.
During our honeymoon, when we were traveling amiably from town to town, we didn't really get to know people, Franz and I; if by chance there was a couple we liked among those we met, our relationship with them was all the stronger for the brevity of the acquaintance.

From the moment we set foot in Vienna, I have felt cooped up. As if I'm living in an aquarium.

Oh, a luxurious aquarium to be sure: who does not dream of living on Linzerstrasse, of hobnobbing with the aristocracy, of flitting from party to ball, listening one night to
Lucia di Lammermoor
at the opera and the next day to the
Fledermaus
at the Theater an der Wien, and then having dinner at the Sacher?

Even though my glass walls let me see the horizon all around, I bump up against them, I cannot go through. I am doomed to see the same people, the fish that are trapped in here with me. It is useless to try and find a way out. I can no longer isolate myself, I go round in circles.

I am sure you will say this is merely the complaining of a spoilt child?

A child, to be sure.

And spoiled as well.

However, you must understand, a part of me is suffering. I feel like a mistake. A complete mistake. In fact, I cannot rise to the level of anything, neither what life offers me nor what it expects of me.

This aquarium I am talking about is filled with women, a dozen or so who have decided to look after me, so I am surrounded by their solicitude and their good intentions.

Let me explain.

No sooner did I arrive at our house—I should really refer to it as our palace, there are so many splendid rooms and gardens—than the von Waldberg women began their stream of visits. As I expected, they all gazed meaningfully at my belly. One question was nagging them: had I come back pregnant from my honeymoon? At the mere sight of my hips, tone needn't be an eminent obstetrician to conclude that I had not; yet, because they hoped, they asked all the same.

“Well, Hanna, have you come back to Vienna with a new Waldberg?”

“No, not yet. But you can be sure that Franz and I thoroughly familiarized ourselves with the operating instructions while we were in Italy, and we are still hard at work.”

They smiled, satisfied that our little couple was behaving as a little couple should.

But you cannot get rid of such creatures in two sentences! They redoubled their onslaught. These guardians of the family produce heirs like brood hens, and they have been at it for centuries; they were here when Vienna had ramparts, they were here before Vienna had ramparts, they were here long before Vienna even existed; in actual fact, they are the ones who built Vienna and everything that resembles anything like a family, a dynasty, a community, a city, a country, an empire. To consolidate their power, they made sure they reproduced themselves to start with, from mother to daughter, from aunt to niece, from sister to cousin, from neighbor to neighbor. These women are so good at closing ranks that even if you sent a brigade of anti-reproduction Amazons against them, they would be unable to get through. In short, after only one week of armistice, Franz's mother, who has always intimidated me, launched an investigation: her husband was dispatched to have a man-to-man conversation with his son—Franz told me about it, and couldn't stop laughing—to find out if anything was going on in our bed, if we were doing it properly, if we were doing it often. As Franz's replies had all been positive—and we all know that men are often guilty of bragging where these private matters are concerned—my mother-in-law decided to verify this information for herself, with me. She was smart enough to suspect that I would never confide in her, and so she sent her sister Viviane, commonly known as Vivi, the black sheep of the family, who collects lovers openly and publicly and in plain sight of her gout-ridden husband. Although no one approves of her and everyone envies her, she nevertheless avoids reproof because she has two very highly placed lovers—one in government, the other at court—and they are very useful to the family.

Aunt Vivi's behavior and manner of speaking are so free that in five minutes she can create an atmosphere of familiarity and a euphoric lack of restraint. She invited me to take tea with her in her garden, where the lilacs were in bloom, and she regaled me with stories that were as spicy as her gingerbread.

Then once the bounds of modesty had been pushed aside, she said, “Well then, is my tasty nephew making you happy?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I mean in bed, of course . . . is he a vigorous lover?”

“Yes.”

“Regular?”

“Yes.”

“Excessive?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well then, so much the better. I envy you, Hanna, as do all the young women in Vienna! You have caught one of our finest young men. And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you eager?”

“I never have time to be, he's always ahead of me.”

“And after those delights, do you beg for more?”

“Should I?”

She was observing me thoughtfully behind her smile.

“Let me guess, my little Hanna: if you never take the initiative to show your love, it is because you have not yet experienced the dazzling moment. Am I correct?”

“The . . . ?”

“The dazzling moment! When your body explodes with pleasure, and you are nothing but a shriek of delight. You do know what I am referring to?”

I frowned and concentrated on finishing my cup of tea, which unbeknownst to me was a kind of answer in itself.

Vivi gently took my hand.

“It's perfectly normal, my dear.”

“Do you think so?”

“I'm sure of it. You have to relax, let yourself go, you have to think about yourself, your sensations, your happiness . . . because it's during orgasm that you have the best chance of becoming pregnant.”

“Oh?”

“It's a well-known fact. During the dazzling moment, a woman opens herself entirely, allowing the man's seed to more easily so that it can arrive safe and sound. If you are tense, you block the egg off.”

“No one has ever said a word of this to me.”

“Well, that is why I'm speaking to you now.”

“Are you implying that my mother-in-law, Aunt Adelaide, Baroness Karolus, and Frau van Tieck all conceived their heirs in such a state?”

I had deliberately chosen the sternest dowagers in our midst. Annoyed, Vivi looked at me as if I were a fly that had landed on her
macaron
. I further damaged my case by adding, “And what about children who are born of rape? Are you implying, Aunt Vivi, that the victims of assault gave themselves with exquisite delight to their attackers?”

“My dear niece, we are not all created equal in this matter. Humanity is divided into two camps: women who breed, and women who love. Breeders do not need to have pleasure, their organism is naturally fertile and is only awaiting the opportunity. Women who love, however, are more subtly structured—you or me, for example—we need ecstasy, arousal, we need to be shaken up in order to accomplish the difficult task of impregnation. Think about it, Hanna, listen to what your aunt Vivi tells you. Make the most of your darling husband and you will soon give birth.”

In spite of her liberated behavior and free-spirited mannerisms, Vivi's arguments were just like everyone else's: the four children she gave her husband the count before she started being unfaithful to him—at any rate I hope it was before—are her honor, her pride and joy, her worth as a female, her passport to morality. How far I feel from all that . . . will I never meet a woman I do not feel different from?

Aunt Vivi must have passed on our conversation and vaunted the remedy she had proposed, because the very next day the visits started, and they continued relentlessly for a period of twelve days. The ladies of the family drank tea with me and showered me with their secrets; they lavished their advice on me with a nonchalant air, as if the words just had slipped from their mouths, when in fact they had come for the very purpose of sharing them:

“I obliged my husband to stay inside me after . . . you-know-what. In this regard, my dear, nature has been kinder to animals than to us poor human beings. Take canines, for example: the moment his seed is ejected, the male dog cannot come out of the bitch because his . . . thing swells up and blocks her orifice. At the time, it's dreadful for the poor bitch—I have heard my Ketty wailing with pain—but five minutes later, she's fine.”

“Once my husband had finished, I would stay in bed and not move for two full hours! On my back. Making sure my hips and pelvis were right against the mattress. Long enough for . . . for it to go where it must! You would have had to shout ‘Fire!' to get me out of bed! Look at the result: six splendid children.”

“Have you tried celery? Parsley? The moment I got engaged I started on a diet of celery and parsley, they encourage gestation. My sisters made fun of me, the youngest one would say ‘Moo' whenever she saw me, she said I was grazing like a cow . . . I shrugged my shoulders and I was right: four children during the first five years of our marriage. What more could you want? What do my sisters know, after all? Oh, and by the way, Hanna, you must make sure it is wild parsley, and not coriander. As for the celery, it must be the stalks, of course!”

“The moon! A woman comes into bud during the full moon. Like the forests! Like the fields! Like oysters! There are certain nights when it is pointless to wear yourself out; you must make the most of the full moon. Why should we be any less influenced than the tides, which are governed by the moon? That would be nonsense! Here, you never know, this lunar calendar might come in handy. Oh, you've seen it . . . but do you consult it regularly?”

“I know this is none of my business, Hanna, but I brought you some amber. The savages in America and Siberia use it for other purposes, not only cosmetic. Naturally I'm too good a Catholic to subscribe to such superstition . . . However, my mother gave me amber the night before my wedding, and then I passed it on to my daughters, and we all have felt the better for it! Please accept this gift, I would be so delighted. You'll see, it's simple, just touch it and sniff it in the evening before you go to bed.”

Dear Gretchen, need I tell you anything more?

In a short while Franz will come back from his club, we will have dinner just the two of us, and he will desire me. Imagine what is going on inside my head: I have more chores to see to than a general leading his troops into battle! I am supposed to eat a bowl of parsley soup and some celery gratin, then check on the moon, and go fiddling with this amber without him noticing, then I have to make him fall asleep on top of me without withdrawing, and when he does move to one side I have to stay with my pelvis flat against the mattress. Oh yes, I was about to forget: and during all this high-wire act, I'm supposed to relax and think only of myself and try to attain ecstasy!

The end result is that all I want to do is run away. Even though I adore Franz, I would almost rather avoid him. I did not know that in marrying him I was also marrying all these women who swarm around him and conspire to make me just like them. They will harass me until I give in to them. Yes, I did not know that by becoming his wife I would be espousing a condition that fills me with horror.

I hold you tight, my Gretchen, and now I shall run off to weep in the music room until Franz returns.

 

Your Hanna

At the medical center in Beverly Hills, the sun was shining through two sets of Venetian blinds, the real ones hanging in the window, and their shadow on the wall.

When at last she regained consciousness, lulled by tranquilizers in a state between sleep and wakefulness, Anny fastened onto these two elements. Her body was drowsy with anesthesia and her mind was confused, so she clung to the light as though it were the only solid, tangible substance on earth; if she concentrated, she could become one of the motes of dust dancing in the gilded beam that slanted across the room, connecting the material blinds to the projected ones. Where did she stop most often? As a woman of the cinema, she tended to prefer reflection to reality.