Nur dein Abbild mir im Herzen, -" '
She stopped, frowning again, and I, knowing the poem
well, prompted her in a whisper.
'Weil mein -'
'Ach, du kennst es? I'm so glad! "Weil mein eignes Herz
erschuttert".'
I was moved to see tears in her eyes, but a moment after,
as she gave a quick sob and turned her head away, I felt taken
aback and a little upset.
'Oh, Kathe, I know it's very beautiful, but you mustn't -'
'It's - it's not the poem, Alan.' She was weeping in earnest
now, biting her lip and speaking between sobs as she held
me by the sleeve. 'At least, yes, it is, but not just the poem -'
'What, then?'
'Well, the kindness, the - the - style - courtesy, I suppose
you'd say - all that you've given me this last week - there's
so little of that in my life, you see -'
'What?' I was startled. She said nothing more and I repeated,
more gently, 'What did you say?'
'- And now you have to go - still und sicher - I do understand
- I'm not going to make a silly fuss, really - but you
must know, Alan - how can I help it? "Es zittert nur dein
Abbild mir im Herzen -" '
I was so much surprised that I could find no words. Still
looking away from me, she groped for my hands and took
them in her own. At length I said hesitantly, 'You mean you
mean my going away has made you feel all this?'
She was apologetic. 'I'm so sorry to make a scene; but
you must realize - after all, it's natural, isn't it? - I've never
met anyone like you before -'
'You've never met anyone like me before?'
'No. I mean, someone who - well, who behaved like a
gentleman - treated me like a friend - someone I could feel
safe with - you know, laugh and tease without being taken
the wrong way - have a happy time. Oh, I am sorry, Alan!
108
I'm afraid I haven't got your - detachment. I'll - I'll snap
out of it: that's what you say, isn't it? Just let me get myself
straight and then you can put me on the Always 'bus -'
I was trembling now, my mouth dry.
'Kathe, do you really mean what you say?'
She looked up, nodding slowly and expelling her breath
in a long sigh.
'Kathe, listen! I've loved you from the moment I first saw
you - I love you to distraction - you're the most beautiful
girl I've ever known in my life - I can't believe what you've
just told me. I was going away because I couldn't bear the
thought that you'd never - Kathe, if you want me, I'm yours
for ever. Will you marry me?'
She started violently, looking up at me open-mouthed.
'You ask me marry you?'
'Yes! Yes!' She remained staring and I gave her hands a
little shake and tug. 'Yes!'
She fell forward where she sat on the grass, against me
and into my arms, pressing her wet cheek against mine. 'It's
not true! It's not - to believe -'
'Well, that's how I feel, too. I repeat, would you like to
marry me?"
She sat back and faced me, wet-eyed but composed now,
speaking slowly and clearly, like someone taking an oath.
'More than anything - anything in the world!'
It doesn't matter what else we went on to speak of that
evening. We had dinner - it was early - at another small
restaurant, I saying little and drinking less. We were both, I
think, in a state of mind rather like delayed shock. I felt as
though a new world were gradually becoming clear before
my eyes. I could not grasp it all at once, but at least I realized,
with bewilderment and great intensity, that I had time
- the rest of my life - in which to explore and take possession
of this delight. Yet as I looked, again and yet again, at the
marvellously beautiful creature sitting opposite me, radiant
with gladness and fulfilment, I could hardly believe in the
miracle which had taken place. Continually, I reached out to
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touch her - her finger-tips, her wrist, her hand. I would
open my mouth to speak, then shut it again, for talking
could not express what I felt.
Kathe, for her part, talked easily and spontaneously of
nothing, just as she had after the concert, but with less
animation and a kind of joyous awe; rather as she might, perhaps,
if we had been sitting together on a high cliff, watching
a huge, red sun sink into the distance of the sea. Once,
breaking a little, pausing silence, she took my hand and said,
'I know I'm a chatterbox, dearest Alan: it's only excitement,
you know. We'll talk about - what is it? - ways and means
- tomorrow, won't we? Not this evening. I think we've had
enough - importance - for one day.'
As we left the restaurant an unexpected and slightly
macabre little incident took place. Perhaps thirty yards up
the street was standing a group of about ten or twelve
people who seemed to be gathered round something lying in
the road. It turned out to be a large seagull which had obviously
been badly injured, probably by a passing car. It was
plain that there was no hope for the poor bird, which was
bleeding and had a shattered leg and trailing wing. Nevertheless
it was jerking, pecking at the ground and thrashing
about, and no one seemed keen to try to pick it up. Neither
was I, for it had a beak like a pickaxe and never kept still for
a moment. I heard murmurs of 'Vi ma sla den stakkels fugl
ihjel' and 'Vi kan ikke lade den lide mere', but clearly any
such exercise was a long way from getting off the ground.
Kathe, after one glance, handed her bag to me without a
word. Then, murmuring in a low but firm voice, 'Undskyld,
ma }eg ...' she pushed her way between three or four of the
bystanders, stooped, picked the gull up with both hands and
without the slightest hesitation wrung its neck. It died instantly,
whereupon she laid the body gently in the gutter,
came back to me, took her bag and my arm and walked on
as though nothing had happened.
'Kathe, what an amazing girl you are! I really do admire
you! I could never have done that.'
'Oh, but sometimes things have to be done, Alan. There's
no sense in holding back or pretending otherwise, is there?'
110
'I suppose not. But I wonder it didn't - well, bother you
or turn your stomach.'
'Nothing turns my stomach - nothing. I was in the Red
Cross once - did I tell you? Never mind, let's forget about it
now. Listen, I will come and see you tomorrow, after breakfast,
at the hotel. I won't go to work. But now, here comes
the Always - oh, Alan, Alan! - the Not-Always 'bus!'
II
AFTER Kathe had left me I returned to 0rsteds Parken and
sat for some time by the lake in the fading light, watching
the ducks, the people strolling on the grass and petals twirling
down from the cherry trees. Both my excitement and
the feeling of unreality that had followed it were gone, and
now I felt only a firm, smooth confidence and content. Like
/>
Kathe in the concert hall, I felt there was nowhere I wanted
to go. I lacked for nothing, needed nothing.
Together with this sufficiency I had, too, a sure sense of
the Tightness and acceptability of what I had done. I remember
repeating to myself, 'His delight is in the law of the
Lord: and in his law will he exercise himself day and night.
He shall be like a tree planted by the waterside, that will
bring forth his fruit in due season.'
I had long been incomplete, and my incompleteness had
been known both to myself and - so it seemed to me - to
God, Who had needed, on my part, this step towards Himself
before His Creation could become entire. These sort of
feelings have been expressed in many different ways, since
they cannot be expressed at all except by image and metaphor.
Yet it delighted me, now, to reflect that in some form
or other, they must have been present to the hearts of countless
people at this moment of their lives. I wasn't so strange
as I'd thought. On the contrary, I was right in the swim.
I was both praying and receiving an annunciation, though
prayer and message alike were wordless.
Ill
After a time the blessed physical continuum - Brother Ass
- took over, as it always does, both in grief and in joy; like a
respected, kindly servant, privileged by years of trusty employment
to advise and to speak his mind. 'You could do
with a drink." 'Have you seen the evening paper?' 'A bath
would be nice.' To live in the body - what a comfort, what
a delightful, reliable pleasure! To feel hungry, to feel tired,
to look forward to going to bed! I agreed whole-heartedly to
my loyal subordinate's suggestions, attended to all these
matters in their proper order, went to bed and slept like a
four-year-old.
'In twelve months, Alan, I will know everything about old
china.'
'Well, you'll enjoy learning, I'm sure, but it might take
even you a bit longer than twelve months. There's a lot to
it, you know. But as a matter of fact, my darling -'
'Anyway, I'll know enough to be able to help you and work
with you -'
'As a matter of fact, my darling - grossmachtige Prinzessin
- I don't think I'll let you. You don't suppose I'm marrying
you to get a free assistant, do you?"
'Oh, yes, naturally. I must confess it. Sie uns selber eingestehen,
ist es nicht schmerzlich suss? I'm Zerbinetta, you see
- not Ariadne.'
'Even she couldn't be quicker in the uptake than you. But
to be honest, Kathe, you really don't have to do anything to
justify your existence at all. One might as well ask an orchid
to justify its existence. And anyway, I reckon you've done
enough work for a bit. No, you're going to lie in bed all the
morning -'
'Oh, but I can help you there too, Alan! I can lie in state,
lie in chains, lie on your conscience, lie in ruins -'
'As far as in you lies.'
'Well, you said you loved me to destruction.'
'To destruction? I couldn't have. When did I say that?'
'Last night, in the gardens. Why, don't you any more?'
'Loved you to - oh! To distraction, you precious darling!
112
I love you to confusion, perplexity, frenzy, madness! Got it?'
'Ach so - to distraction! I thought it sounded funny! But
listen, dearest Alan, now we must not be distracted any more.
Ways and means. What are we to do? You tell me.'
'Well, although it tears me in two to say it, I think probably
the thing is for me to go back to England at once, tell
my family, put the shop straight and able to go on running
under its own steam for a bit, and then come back here, or
wherever you want me. It won't take long and I'll ring every
day, of course.'
'But why not the other way round, mein Lieber? You go
back, then I will make arrangements to leave Hansen's und
so wetter; then I'll come straight over to England and join
you.'
'Well, that sounds fine, if it's what you'd like, but I was
hoping we could get married as soon as possible.'
'Me, too! Wedded and bedded, isn't that what they say?
If I come -'
'But aren't we going to be married in Germany?'
'No, in England.'
'But your home - your family, Kathe?'
'No. In England, Alan. In England, really. Ernstlich!'
Seeing me stare, she gave a little laugh. There was nothing
nervous in it. She was laughing at me for feeling that there
could possibly be anything odd about any preference that she
might express.
I was just going to pursue the point when two things
occurred to me. First, the wedding is commonly agreed to
be the bride's affair and within reason she is entitled to any
arrangements she likes. Secondly, if Kathe did not want to
be married in Germany she must have her motives, and they
could well be unhappy ones. Her family might be dead, or
estranged, or lost behind the Iron Curtain. In all probability,
to pry would only upset her ajd get nowhere. Anyway, where
was the advantage? It would be perfectly practicable for us
to get married in England. It might raise a few eyebrows
locally, but I didn't care. It would probably be quicker, which
was all to the good, and it would save me - and my mother,
and Flick and Bill, none of whom spoke German - from all
113
m
the trouble and expense of travelling to a strange country
and dealing with a lot of strange people. In fact, these advantages
now appeared so plain that I began to wonder
whether Kathe might perhaps have decided on a wedding in
England purely out of consideration for me.
I took her in my arms, kissed her and said, 'Is that what
you really want, for your own self? You're quite sure?'
'Absolutely. I'll join you in England very soon - just as
soon as I can.'
'Won't you want to bring Inge or someone over - you
know, chief bridesmaid and all that?'
'No, I don't think so. If I do, I'll let you know.'
'But shouldn't a bride be attended? It was you who were
talking so generously last night about style -'
'Well, to be honest, Alan, I don't think it's worth the
extra expense, do you? And as for style - oh, my love, I'll
give you style! You just wait and see!'
'I don't doubt that.' Returning her gaze, I felt myself
trembling, and hurriedly went on to something more prosaic.
'Give me a number where I can telephone you."
She shook her head. 'No, I can't, dearest, I'm afraid. But
give me yours in England and I'll telephone you, don't worry.'
Her lips strayed over my face, my forehead, my eyelids and
the lobes of my ears, to one of which she gave a little nip,
so that I jumped. She laughed delightedly.
'Alan - oh, I love you - I long for you! I'll do anything
for you - now and always. Do you want to make love now,
or wait till we're married, or what? I'll do whatever you
want.'
>
'Of course I want to! I can't help being a man! If I weren't
going to marry you, I'd be making love like a shot. Since I
am, I think perhaps there's something to be said for playing
it by the book. What about you?'
'Oh, that's really an Englishman talking - my Englishman!
'Says half of what he means! You mean you think it's
- sacred?'
'Well, yes. That's about it.'
'Then at that rate, my dearest, you must let me out of
your arms, because it's driving me half crazy.'
114
But indeed she looked so beautiful, so brilliant in her
happiness, that for my part I found even to look at her an
almost unbearable excitement.
That same afternoon I boarded the plane at Kastrup and
two hours later landed at Heathrow on a clear May evening.
For two pins I'd have gone chasing the hares over the grass
between the runways.
'What wonderful news!' said my mother. 'No, Alan dear, of
course I don't mind whether she's German or Alsatian or
Double-Dutch. I know I'm going to love her! How clever of
you to keep it so quiet! I never had the least idea. When
did you meet her?'
'You couldn't have had any idea, Mummy, because I only
met her ten days ago. That was why I stayed in Copenhagen
another week, of course.'
'Yes, of course. You mean you've only known her ten days
altogether?'
'Ten days - ten months - ten years. Last Tuesday week that's
several light-years away already.'
'What a lovely, lightning courtship! There's lots of people
would look down their noses at that, I suppose, but I'm not
going to. I feel almost as excited as if it was me! What part
of Germany does she come from?'
'I've no idea. She's never told me. She's worked in Copenhagen
for - oh, well, I don't know exactly how long, but at
least a year or two, I think. Her Danish is absolutely perfect,
and her English too.' *
'What does her father do?'
'I can't tell you that either, I'm afraid. I think she may
have lost touch with her family, because she's never talked
to me about them. I mean, you know how it sometimes is
with Germans - her parents may very well be behind the
Iron Curtain, or even dead. I haven't cared, really, to press
her about it. It could be very painful, you know.'
'How old is she, then?'
T suppose twenty-three; twenty-four. About that.'
'You're not quite sure?'
115
'No, Mummy. It doesn't really matter, after all. You just
wait till you meet her.'
'Well, I'm only trying to get a picture of her, darling, in
my mind. Hasn't she any family at all, that you know of?'
'Well, no, I suppose not. I tell you, she lives in Copenhagen
-'
'Whereabouts?'
'Well, I don't know, because I've never actually been
there, to tell you the truth.'
'How does she get on with your friends Jarl and Jytte?'
'She's never met them. I was telling you, there was this
chap Hansen -'
'Tell me a bit about her friends then, the sort of set she's
in-'
'Well, I can't, actually. But she's ravishingly beautiful, and
she loves music, and she's so amusing and elegant, and she
teases me - she's awfully good for me - she's wonderful
company; and just imagine, I very nearly parted from her in
Copenhagen without either of us saying a word, because each
of us thought the other couldn't possibly be in love with
someone like them! She actually thought I wouldn't want
her! Honestly, it was touch and go. Thank goodness it
worked out all right!'
'Well, I was only just wondering whether she mightn't
have told you a bit more about herself, dear. I mean, she'd
know I'd want to know, don't you think?'
'She doesn't need to. You only have to look at her, talk
to her -'
T'm longing to! What arrangements have you made? Are
you going back there soon? Shall I come over too, or wait
till you tell me?'
'No, you won't have to. That's another nice thing. She's
coming over. We're going to be married here.'
'Here, Alan? Why?'
'Well, because that's the way she wants it."
'Yes, obviously. But why?'
'Oh, Mummy, I can tell you're getting all bothered about
nothing. Please don't! Just leave it till you meet her. The
proof of the pudding's in the eating, you know.'
116
'You're the one who'll be eating it, dear.'
'Mummy, I promise you, she's as good and honest a girl
as ever you could wish for. Just wait, do! Come on, tell me
about the shop and all that. I'm sorry I left you with it so