The Glassblower(143)

“Happy New Year!” he said, taking off his cap awkwardly.

“Happy New Year,” Ruth muttered in reply. Without looking at him, she tried to walk past. As she went she hunched her shoulders unconsciously. Perhaps he would leave her alone.

But just as she was even with him, he grabbed her wrist.

“Ruth! Please stop, let’s talk.”

Thomas didn’t look good. His chin was almost black with stubble and there were blue shadows under his eyes. The stench of beer on his breath was so strong that Ruth felt she could almost see it in the air.

Her husband.

All at once she felt unspeakably sad.

“What do we have to say to one another?” she said, taking her hand wearily from his grasp.

“Isn’t it time to ring out the old and ring in the new?” He forced a smile. “Ruth, come back to me,” he pleaded. “I . . . perhaps I wasn’t always the best husband. But that will change, I promise you. I’ll do better. I won’t drink so much, if that’s what you want. You and me, we were really something! Think of our wedding day . . .” He broke off as though unsure of what he was saying.

Ruth kept quiet. What could she even say? That it had all been a mistake, nothing but a mistake?

“If you like we can go to Sonneberg together and buy you something nice to wear. Or something for Wanda,” he added, glancing briefly down at his daughter.

“These last six months without you, alone in the apartment . . .” He shook his head. “That’s no life! And as for you, living with your sisters . . . that can’t go on forever.”

Ruth struggled for something appropriate to say—to no avail. She had nothing left to say to Thomas Heimer. It was as simple as that. The only thing she felt for him was a kind of pity. No matter how hard he tried, Thomas would never be able to quench her longing. And she could not quench his.

“Not a day has gone by when I do not yearn for you morning, noon, and night. . . . Sometimes I long for you so much that it hurts.”

Encouraged by her silence, Thomas carried on trying. “We’re still young, you and I. We’ve got our whole life before us. Who knows? Perhaps our next child will be a boy? And if not, that’s all the same to me. We’ll manage to make an heir at some point. All we need is patience. That’s what my father says too. Look at us, three boys in a row.”

Ruth could hardly believe her ears. Any pity she had felt was gone in a flash. “You’re talking as though I were nothing but a brood cow! How can you blather on about having a son after all that’s happened? The moment you raised your hand against Wanda you gave up every right as my husband.” She would never forget that night. How he had staggered around the bedroom, drunk. “Not answering back now, Ruth Steinmann, are you?” How she had watched helplessly as he had leaned over the cradle and . . .

“We may still be married on paper, but as far as I’m concerned we divorced a long time ago! You let me past, Thomas Heimer.”

“No, wait! Ruth, I’m begging you. For better or for worse, isn’t that what they say?” He smiled awkwardly. “If we want it to be, the worst could be over now.” He held tight to her sleeve.

“The worst is certainly over for me. Because I have nothing more to do with you,” she replied icily. “Now let me past or I will scream the whole street down.”

“Oh, is that so? Is there no end to your pride?” His voice had lost its wheedling tone as though a switch had been thrown. Now he was shouting at her. “Here I am, pleading like a good-hearted sap for you to come back to me, and you make a fool of me! If you think things can go on like this then you’ve reckoned wrong, Ruth Heimer! There are other means I can use. You can forget your talk of divorce! If you think . . .”

His shouting woke Wanda, whose tiny eyes looked reproachfully at Ruth as her little hands reached out for her.

Ruth felt a surge of cold rage.

“What I think has nothing to do with you,” she interrupted him. “And I will not let you threaten me a moment longer!” She didn’t even try to keep her voice down. She wanted everyone to hear what she had to say. She couldn’t care less if all the neighbors up and down the street stuck their heads out their windows.

“Get out of my way,” she repeated, more vigorously than before. She was nonetheless surprised when he did as she asked. She had been bracing herself for more insults. She took a step toward him.

“If I can give you some friendly advice, a bath wouldn’t do you any harm. You stink as though you’d drunk a keg dry. But knowing what I do of you and your family, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s precisely what you did for New Year’s.”