The American Lady(133)

It was a bright sunny day, and the spring air blew in through the train windows as a pleasant breeze. The whole world seemed to be in bloom outside. Wherever they looked, they saw the gleaming white of apple and cherry blossoms.

At first Wanda took Richard’s hand and savored the idea that this journey was a dream come true for her. Even two weeks ago she would never have believed it could happen. But with every curve of the tracks, reality became more wonderful than any dream. There was something new to look at every few minutes, and Wanda simply couldn’t sit still. She waved her hands in excitement, pointing first at dark forests, then at orchards stretching up the hillsides, then at the little villages with their red-tiled rooftops—she hadn’t seen slate since they left Thuringia. They also passed several lakes where the water gleamed a rich dark-sapphire blue.

It took Wanda some time to notice that Richard did not share her excitement but was instead staring ahead, lost in thought. When she asked him what the matter was, he said, “Did you notice how it was only my ticket the conductor checked? He didn’t even ask the other passengers to show theirs.”

At first Wanda didn’t understand what Richard was driving at. She had long forgotten their little delay in boarding.

“It’s typical, though!” Richard went on. “People think they can treat us hillbillies any way they like. If that’s the way it’s going to be, then I’ve already had enough!”

And with every mile they traveled away from Lauscha, he grew more and more taciturn. Wanda knew that Richard’s bad mood had nothing to do with her, that he was simply feeling nervous. Secretly she was even a little amused that her own dear Richard had lost his self-assurance as soon as he left Lauscha behind . . . She decided to leave him alone, however, and instead buried herself in the guidebook on Italy that she had bought a few days before from Marie’s friend Alois Sawatzky.

Richard didn’t relax until that afternoon, but then he was happy to talk. And by the time their train reached Munich toward evening, he was almost his old self again.



The boarding house by the Munich railway station was modest but well kept. Once Wanda and Richard had taken their luggage up to their rooms, Richard would have been quite content to stay in and order the dish of the day in the dining room—a lentil soup with sausages—but Wanda rolled her eyes. The sun was still shining golden outside and the streets were still full of people out enjoying life. So she persuaded Richard to come out with her and take a walk along the famous Maximilianstrasse, which she had heard about even in New York. The shops were all closed at this hour, but they could still enjoy window-shopping. Wanda put her hand on Richard’s arm, then laughed as she spotted their reflection in a shopwindow. All they needed was a walking stick for him and a parasol for her and they would look like an old married couple. It was only when the streetlamps came on and their feet began aching from walking that they finally decided they’d had enough.

Instead of going back to their boarding house to eat, they ended up at a restaurant in the Schwabing district where two fiddlers were playing lively tunes. Richard kept glancing curiously over at the other diners as though they were from another planet. He pointed discreetly at the man at the next table, who was wearing a black tailcoat and a fiery red scarf, and then at another man whose scalp was shaved completely bald but who had a great bushy beard down to his chest. Then he pointed to two young women who were kissing one another on the lips in front of the whole restaurant. Soon Richard was so embarrassed that he didn’t know where to look next.

Wanda felt right at home however. The atmosphere reminded her of the many evenings she had spent with Marie and Pandora in Greenwich Village.

“They’re artists,” she whispered to Richard, then told him that he had best get used to such eccentric characters since there would be droves of them in Venice. When she saw one of the diners being served a plate of spaghetti, she suggested that they order the same thing—they were headed for Italy after all!

“Women kissing, men whose hair has slipped down to their beards, spaghetti here in Bavaria—well, why not!” Richard commented dryly. At that Wanda kissed him on the lips.

As the evening wore on, the mood among the customers grew ever more cheerful. The music was so loud that it was hard to engage in conversation, but Wanda and Richard were content simply to gaze into one another’s eyes and sway gently in time with the melody.

At last the musicians sat down with a jug of wine and it became a little quieter—aside from the heated political arguments at some of the other tables.