Freud's Mistress (15 page)

A
s the train approached Hamburg, Minna could see the river Elbe, now covered with ice, and the sweeping skyline marked by the familiar spires of St. Nicholas, St. Michaelis, and St. Peter's. But she wasn't inclined to admire the view. After all, despite the thousands of bridges and canals crisscrossing the city, this certainly wasn't Venice. And this time of year was particularly harsh and forbidding. The temperatures were close to freezing and the winds, blowing from the North Sea to the west and the Baltic to the east, cut right through to the bone, no matter how many layers of clothing one wore.

She gathered her belongings, put on her coat, and stepped off the train. The platform was lined with a thin sheet of ice and she could already smell the smoke from the factories that lined the southern shores of the river. A few years before, the city had been gripped with the worst cholera epidemic in Europe. Luckily, her mother had been traveling at the time, but the death toll was staggering.

She took a cab from the train station to the rural outskirts of the city, where the roads were increasingly treacherous and difficult to pass. At one point, the driver got stuck in a patch of cracked black ice and had to dig them out of a deep rut.

“This will cost you extra,” he said in his Low German dialect.

“Just carry on,” she replied, her breath trailing visible puffs of steam. Normally she would have argued with him but now it seemed hardly worth the effort.

They arrived at her mother's house, Hamburger Strasse 38, in the late afternoon. It was a modest, two-story redbrick with a gabled roof and a large yard. Minna climbed the steps and knocked lightly on the front door, but there was no answer, so she walked around the house past some overgrown shrubbery to the service door and let herself in. Her mother never locked that door, one of her lifelong peculiarities. At one point, Minna had asked why she insisted on leaving it open.

“Then, if I'm locked out, I can always get in the back door,” her mother had replied matter-of-factly.

Minna entered through a narrow corridor that led to the kitchen. The hearth was cold, and there was a single plate on the unpainted wooden table with a half-eaten piece of streusel and a pot of tea that had gone cold. Her mother was probably out shopping. There had been no time to get word to her that she had decided to come home.

Everything about this place seemed austere to Minna, drab and frugal except the smell of pine, which she always associated with home. She walked up the stairs in silence, demoralized, and entered her old bedroom. There was the carpet she had always hated, a threadbare mess of indeterminate color with stains still there from her childhood. It seemed her mother had taken over the room. Well-worn shawls and sweaters hung from pegs by the door, and a sewing kit was open on the small table near the bed, with swatches of fabric lined up in a row. All Minna's childhood things had vanished, even her books, stored in the attic, probably. Feeling suddenly fatigued with a slight sense of panic, Minna sat down on the neatly made iron bed and glanced around the room, dazed, as if she had just awakened from a dream.

She leaned back, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about what her body felt like when he was holding her. She wanted his arms around her, his legs wrapped around hers. She felt empty and ashamed.

It was the strangest thing. It didn't occur to her at the time, but he seemed not to care about the consequences or anything else but their desire. It was reckless and wrong . . . and it must never happen again.

Minna thought back to the days when she was fourteen and just beginning to be noticed by men. In her mother's eyes, there were two kinds of women: prostitutes, who reveled in obscene pleasures of the flesh, or chaste, passive wives and daughters unencumbered by sexual feelings of any kind. It was a common sensibility, one that blithely categorized sensual women as mistresses or whores. As opposed to loyal wives who dutifully engaged in sex in order to procreate or satisfy their men. Wives like Martha.

It was getting dark now and Minna dreaded hearing her mother's footsteps. She should have been home by now. She pulled the blankets around her and started to doze off. She didn't notice her mother standing in the shadows by the door.

“Martha? Is that you?” she asked.

“No, Mother, it's Minna,” she said, as she looked up with a weary smile. Minna felt like an intruder, not a child who had grown up here.

Emmeline took off her heavy woolen coat and hat and stood in the doorway, peering at her daughter. She was dressed all in black, as usual. Ever since Minna's father had died, her mother preferred the black of mourning, even though she was years past the required time for bereavement. The color did not suit her. The severity of it made her skin look sallow and the sharp angles of her face more pronounced. She had also accepted the Orthodox Jewish tradition of shaving her head upon marriage and had worn wigs ever since . . . even after being widowed. Minna thought that the moment her father died, Emmeline had aged twenty years and stayed there. And now, with her coarse gray hairpiece pulled back in a bun and her skin hanging loosely on her once-pleasing profile, one might guess she was over seventy when, in fact, she was in her mid-fifties. She had become what she previously emulated—an old lady.

“Minna! My goodness, this
is
a surprise. How long have you been here?” she asked.

“A few hours . . . I came for a visit.”

“Nonsense. You never visit.”

“Of course I do.”

“When was the last time?”

“Mother, surely you don't want to argue when I've just arrived.”

“And you never write, either,” Emmeline added petulantly.

“Is it warm in here? I'm so warm . . .” Minna said. Lack of sleep and tension from the night before were taking their toll.

“What's the matter? Is something wrong?” Emmeline asked, putting her ice-cold hand on Minna's forehead. “You look pale.”

“It's nothing. I'm feeling fatigued, that's all, and Martha suggested I visit you.”

“That's odd, you're never fatigued, but I shouldn't doubt it in that household. So much for Martha to do. I wish you would have let me know, though. I'm expecting Uncle Elias and Aunt Mary for supper, and now I don't believe I have enough.”

“I'm not hungry,” Minna lied. Her stomach had been growling since she arrived in Hamburg, and she sorely regretted refusing breakfast on the train.

“Well, certainly, you don't have to eat, but I don't want it to appear as if I haven't enough.”

Good God, Minna thought, looking outside at the dismal darkness. She
actually
wants me to go to the market.

“And you know your uncle. He has such a huge appetite. Eats enough for the two of them.”

“Would you like me to go out and get something?” Minna offered weakly.

“Heavens, no. I wouldn't ask you that, don't give it another thought. Although the table might look sparse . . .”

Minna collected herself, sat up, and smoothed her hair. A thick, impotent feeling swept over her. She knew that one of her mother's biggest fears, even in front of her own brother, was looking as though they couldn't afford an ordinary meal.

“What would you like, Mother?” she asked, pulling her boots out from under the bed.

“Just another challah . . .” Emmeline answered immediately. “And as long as you're there . . . you might as well stop at the cheese shop and get some Gouda . . . go to the cheese monger on Hasselbrook.”

“It's so much farther. . . .”

“He's single. Do you need money?”

“No, I have enough,” Minna said. She'd rather die than ask her mother for one krone. She leaned over and hooked the long row of buttons on her boots, left foot, right foot. And then put on her coat and hat. Her mother was being unreasonable and Minna knew it. But she would go anyway. No one could accuse her of not being accommodating. She followed her mother downstairs, grabbing an apple from a bowl as she walked through the kitchen.

“Hurry, dear. The shopkeepers are closing. I'll make you a nice dinner,” Emmeline called out warmly.

This was Emmeline's signal to her daughter that she should now be grateful. Minna couldn't bear it. Martha, on the other hand, would have been dutiful and appreciative. “Oh, thank you, Mother,” she would have said. I'll be damned, Minna thought, remembering her stormy adolescence.

The realization that she would be here for a while was disheartening. She'd been a governess and lady's companion for the past ten years, and what did she have to show for it? There was a moment of panic that her life was no longer under her control. But she must try not to be resentful. Whatever their past relationship had been, Minna's fall from grace had nothing to do with her mother.

T
he table was set and the Sabbath candles ready to be lit when Minna returned home. She was out of breath from rushing to the baker before he closed, and then to the cheese shop, and the sense of urgency about it all made her head ache. She was about to sit down and take off her muddy boots when she realized her aunt and uncle had already arrived and were sitting in the parlor.

“Put the parcels in the kitchen and come join us,” Emmeline said in a silvery tone.

Minna obeyed, scuffing off her boots on a mat near the door and hastily shoving the last bit of a puff pastry into her mouth. She hadn't eaten since the night before and couldn't resist. She licked the cream off her fingers and entered the parlor.

“Isn't it wonderful, Elias—my Minna has come home to visit,” Emmeline said, stretching out her arms, leaning over, and drawing up a chair near her own.

While Minna was out, it seemed as if the considerate, sweet Emmeline had suddenly appeared. This was the public face of her mother. Only the very immediate family members, including Sigmund, who made no secret of his intense dislike for his mother-in-law, had to deal with the other Emmeline—the exacting, aggressive one.

“Minna, my dear,” said Uncle Elias. “What a surprise! You look so beautiful. I wish I'd known. Elsa would have loved to see you. Did you know she's expecting? Hard to believe. Her little terrier is so jealous, all he does is whine and jump in my lap. Dogs seem to have a sixth sense about this, don't you think?”

“You know Minna's been caring for Martha's children, don't you?” Emmeline broke in.

“Oh, yes. And how are Martha and the
Kinder
? What a lot of grandchildren our Emmy ended up with, in spite of herself. Eh, Emmy?” he asked, smiling broadly at Minna and leaning back in his chair.

“Time to eat,” Emmeline said, taking Minna's hand and motioning them to follow. The smell of roast chicken with liver stuffing permeated the dining room. There were also colossal slabs of bright red beets, and sweet-and-sour green beans drenched in butter nestled next to chunky sour-cream potatoes. Minna covered the challah with a white linen cloth. As they gathered around the dining table, Uncle Elias put on his yarmulke, while Emmeline placed a small black lace veil over her head and lit the Sabbath candles.

“Barukh atah Adonai Elohaynu melekh ha-olam,
asher kidishanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat.”

Minna listened to the familiar words and began to recite the prayer with her mother, as she and Martha had done every Friday night of their childhood. Sigmund, of course, had put an end to all that. He considered all religions “patently infantile and foreign to reality,” and she had heard him often refer to Emmeline's Orthodox beliefs as a “crazy piety.” Especially since he felt she offered up only petitionary prayers, asking God for this or that, rather than prayers of gratitude. Emmeline in turn resented him because he refused to allow her daughter to observe the Sabbath at all or even recite prayers at the dinner table.

But the animosity between them went far deeper than that. He blamed Emmeline for “abducting” Martha to Hamburg when they were first courting, believing it was a deliberate scheme to separate them. In her eyes, he was an impoverished student with an uncertain future, a poor match for her precious Martha. It was no secret that Emmeline had declared war on Sigmund, and indeed she may have won the initial battle, but he proved a tough opponent, and in the end, victory was his.

The blessing over the bread had just finished, and now Minna's uncle was looking at her with interest.

“And when are you going back, my dear?” he asked kindly.

“I haven't decided, I might stay awhile,” Minna answered, noticing her mother examining her face from across the table.

“What are your plans, then?” he asked.

“I'm not sure. I was thinking of seeking employment in Hamburg.”

“Oh. This could be quite fortuitous,” chimed in Aunt Mary. “Perhaps you'd like to help Elsa with the new baby. They were just about to interview for the post.”

Minna felt like saying, Not as long as I've a breath left in my body, but restrained herself. The thought of working for her young cousin, whom she used to care for, was far too humiliating.

“I've actually been offered a post in the city, but if it doesn't work out, I'll certainly let you know,” Minna lied easily, avoiding eye contact with her mother.

“I just thought of something,” continued Aunt Mary. “Remember that man someone introduced to Elsa, the one she didn't like? Why don't we find out if he's still available for Minna?”

It was perfectly acceptable and even considered polite for women to drink five to six glasses of wine at a formal Sabbath dinner. And Minna felt she needed every glass. In fact, the alcohol filled her with a renewed but unfounded state of calm, effectively easing her anxiety for a time.

Later that night, as she and her mother washed the dishes, Minna carefully avoided questions regarding her hasty departure from Martha's house and what exactly
was
this new position. When her answers were too obtuse, her mother changed the subject.

“Such good news about Elsa,” Emmeline said as she wiped the last platter. “She was such a lovely-looking child. The prettiest of all the cousins.”

Emmeline placed the plate on the upper shelf of the cupboard, closed the glass doors to the cabinet, and turned to her daughter.

“Are you eating enough, dear?”

“Of course I am.”

“You're looking far too thin. Only young girls can stay this thin. It affects your face, you know.”

“Do you think I look old?”

“What I think is that you might perhaps attract a man if you seemed a bit softer. It makes one more approachable.”

“I don't want to attract a man.” Even as she said it, the hypocrisy of that remark was not lost on Minna.

“Well, if you want to have children
of your own
 . . . you can't just blithely go along year after year without a man. Women who do that . . . well, there's a kind of sadness about them. You remember our neighbor, poor Fräulein Hessler? That's how everyone referred to her. I can't remember anyone saying her name without the word ‘poor' in front of it. And now you're nearly twenty-seven . . .”

“Twenty-nine . . .”

“Twenty-nine, my goodness. Time marches on,” Emmeline said, wiping the last of the dishes and handing it to Minna. “You know, tomorrow we could visit Rabbi Selig. He always has such good advice. And he's known the family for so long. Then we could crochet, and I could show you my new yarn. You might take up needlework again.”

“Good night, Mother,” Minna said, her stomach churning. “It's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed.”

“Good night, dear.”

Minna walked up the stairs, thinking that she hadn't been home for even twenty-four hours and she had to get out. Things always slid back to the way they were. Homesickness, she thought . . . one affliction she had
never
suffered from. Living here would be like being buried alive. She would waste no time and look for a position immediately. She unpacked her bag, filled the iron tub with warm water, and sank into it. Orthodox Jewish law forbade bathing on the Sabbath, but her mother rarely enforced that edict with her daughters. Thank goodness, because Minna needed its therapeutic solace that night. Later on, as she lay in bed reading, there was a light knock on the door.

“I brought you some water,” Emmeline said, placing a pitcher with a chipped spout next to her bed.

“Thank you,” Minna said, feeling helpless at her resentment. After all, her mother
was
trying.

Minna listened to her trudge back down the stairs, lock the front door, then walk back up the stairs into her bedroom across the hall. I'm twenty-nine years old. My mother didn't need to remind me, Minna thought, gazing around the bedroom. Everything looked the same, but shabbier. The floral wallpaper was yellowed and peeling off in the corners, and the dresser drawers were scratched, with half of the knobs missing. This wasn't what she had dreamed of when she was a child. But then again, she never had those domestic dreams that captured other young girls. She had somehow always known that motherhood was not her fate.

She rolled over and tried to sleep, but she couldn't stop the sudden rush of remorse. It was a stranger who lay in that man's arms. It wasn't her. She couldn't erase those memories but she would try. She would
not
let them affect her future. Up until then, she had led a respectable life. She would find a new position in another town and would build a life where nothing remarkable ever happened again. She turned on her side, pulled the blankets up around her chin. Then she heard a rustling noise outside and remembered that the back door was unlocked. Was it a possum? A rat? Or maybe something bigger . . . ?

“Oh, hell!” she said as she threw off the covers and ran downstairs and slid the bolt.

As she crawled back into bed, she wondered, just for a moment, if he was thinking of her.