“She’s not ill! It’s one of those women with her; I told you that. It must be the poet, since Wanda tells me that her dance teacher was still in the pink of health last week . . . Oh, what does it matter!”
Ruth put her hand over the receiver for a moment.
“You see what Marie’s gone and done now!” she hissed at Wanda. “She’s put off poor Johanna with just a few lines, and now I’m supposed to explain her scandalous behavior! Just think, she never even wrote to Magnus; the poor soul had to hear secondhand that Marie has up and left with another man!”
Ruth turned back to the receiver.
“No, Johanna, I was just talking to Wanda. Yes, she’s sitting right here next to me. She sends all her love.”
Before Wanda could say a word, Ruth skewered her with another look.
“Franco de Lucca! Well of course he’s Italian, you can tell that from his name! Why Switzerland?” Ruth rolled her eyes. “They’re taking their sick poet off to a sanatorium! The Swiss know all about that sort of thing, or so I’ve heard. All the same I would have thought that a patient from New York might have gone to convalesce in New England somewhere. I mean, think how much the journey must cost! But apparently Franco’s paying for everything, don’t ask me why. Marie mentioned some nonsense about wanting to take her friend to a sanatorium that’s run by artists—perhaps this woman thinks she’ll recover sooner if she’s surrounded by her own sort.”
Johanna must have said something in reply, since Ruth frowned deeply.
Wanda ran her finger over the threads on one of the satin cushions, and her mother immediately put out a hand to stop her.
“Worried about Marie? To be honest, I don’t see why you should be. She’s made a very good catch with this Franco, let me tell you. You should have seen the tiara that he gave Marie as a present. A tiara!” she yelled. “Besides which, she’s not worrying about you. Or do you think she cares how you’re going to get through the next few weeks without her?” she said sharply. The tic under her right eye was back.
Wanda sighed. If Mother got a migraine now, she could forget all about asking permission to go off on travels of her own.
“Our little sister is only thinking about herself. She’s out for a good time, believe you me. I know, I know, that doesn’t sound like the old Marie at all!”
“Why don’t you ask Aunt Johanna when I can come and visit?” Wanda asked, shaking her mother insistently by the arm.
“Will you be quiet?” Ruth hissed. And then she spoke into the receiver again. “I meant Wanda, not you. What does she want?” Ruth heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Well if I were to tell you everything she wants, you’d have nothing to eat next month because you’d have spent all your money on the telephone. I’ll put it all in a letter, and more besides!” she announced ominously. “But I can tell you one thing for sure: after all that happened here, Marie needn’t bother coming back anytime soon. She hit us harder than a hurricane just on this first visit!”
Half an hour later Wanda left the apartment. Rather than waiting for the elevator, she opened the heavy iron door at the end of the hallway and gathered up her skirts to climb the fire escape up to the roof.
Just as she had expected, her mother was now lying down with a migraine. Before she went to her room, though, she had left no doubt as to whom she blamed for her suffering.
“Ever since Marie arrived, it seems to have become the fashion for everyone in this family to look out only for themselves. Nobody ever asks how I feel! My nerves feel as fragile as glass,” she lamented. “First Marie leaves town on a whim, and now you come along with this obsession about going to Germany! I told you last week that I think it’s a terrible idea. Harold would certainly not welcome the thought of your leaving, and heaven knows that Johanna has enough to do right now, what with having to parcel all of Marie’s work out to others!” Ruth spoke as though Wanda was to blame for all that Marie had done.
“She has one less glassblower in the workshop, so she doesn’t have time for tourists. Quite apart from which, I haven’t the faintest idea what you want to get out of going to Lauscha. If you imagine that the man who happens to be your father is eagerly awaiting your arrival, you’re mistaken. He didn’t even glance at you once the day you were born! He just went off to the tavern and got stinking drunk while I cried my eyes out back at home. That’s how things were, missy!” Ruth became angrier with every sentence. “But nobody wants to hear about that, oh no. Anybody listening to you and Marie would think that I’m the villain here, that I stole you away from your father!” Her voice was bitter, as it always was when she spoke of Thomas Heimer.