“Where have you been?” As if out of nowhere, Strobel was suddenly standing beside her.
“I . . .” Startled, Johanna put a hand to her throat. “I had to take care of something,” she said lamely.
Strobel took a step closer. “So I see!” He nodded toward the window. His breast heaved. “Taking care of things with your sister!” He shoved her back, took a few steps, and was at the door, putting down the bolt.
Strobel didn’t want anybody watching while he scolded her. Johanna rubbed her arm.
“I can hardly believe it. I come back, suspecting nothing, and I find that you . . .”
“I really am very sorry. If I had known that I would be held up so long, I would never have . . . I’ll work late tonight, I’ll . . .”
Deciding that the best thing to do was to steer clear of Strobel and his temper until he had calmed down a little, she took a few steps toward the kitchen.
But he leapt after her.
“I leave my business in your hands in the belief that it will be well looked after. And what do you do? Abuse my trust at the first opportunity!” As he spoke, a fleck of spittle in the corner of his mouth puffed out with every breath like a spiderweb in the wind.
Johanna turned away, disgusted. She was ready to admit that she had made a mistake, but she didn’t have to stand here and allow his insults.
“As I said, I am very sorry!” she repeated. With more courage than she really felt, she put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re making such a fuss about half an hour! This is ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous, is it? I’ll show you who is ridiculous here!” And with that, Strobel grabbed her arm, pushed her into the kitchen, spun her around so that she was facing him, and shoved her up against the table until her spine bent backward.
It all happened so fast that Johanna had no chance to put up a fight.
What is going on? This wasn’t how an angry employer behaved. This was the behavior of a man who had something quite different in mind, she thought in a panic.
“This is how you wanted it!” he whispered hoarsely. His bony fingers were digging through the fabric into her flesh. “This is all your fault, no one else’s.”
Johanna wanted to scream but not a sound crossed her lips. She tried to look him in the eyes, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
This can’t be happening. Not Strobel. Not me.
Her brain was so busy trying to grasp the situation that at first she didn’t even realize what was happening. And so it took her a moment to associate the sound of cloth tearing loudly with what Strobel’s hands were doing; pressing her up against the table with his hips and legs, he had reached inside the collar of her dress and yanked at it until the velvet tore. His eyes gleamed at the sight of naked skin.
“A lesson . . .”
Johanna came to her senses at last. She began to scream, tried to tear her hands free where he had them clamped in a grip of iron with his left hand—all in vain. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them together so hard that the pain clouded her vision for a moment, and she saw black.
“This is how you wanted it. Come on, tell me this is what you want. Tell me you need it!”
She tried in vain to push his arms away and to kick him. But she could do nothing against his fanatical strength, and he simply laughed at her helplessness.
Where was Sybille Stein? Why was nobody helping her?
She was like an animal caught in a trap; the more she struggled, the harder Strobel dug his claws into her. He was muttering something to himself, but she couldn’t understand what. Laughing. Raucously. Then he kneed her in the belly.
For a moment she didn’t recognize the sound of her own scream in her ears, echoing off the kitchen shelves. She couldn’t double over because he was holding her.
Her breasts, her belly—the pain was so fierce that the world blazed yellow before her eyes.
Just before she could faint, the pain ebbed away. As the tears streamed down her cheeks, she realized how finely tuned was the pain he administered. And upon realizing this, she grew truly terrified.
Do something, put up a fight.
I can’t.
He had already torn away her skirt and petticoats. Before she knew what was happening one of his thighs was between her legs, and he was fumbling at his pants. He pushed up against her. Hot. Moist. Disgusting.
No, not that! Not that, anything but that.
“I’ll teach you to lead your master up the garden path.” He shook her head between his hands. Flecks of spittle landed on her cheek, her neck, and her mouth. She clamped her lips together.
No kisses, please. Please no kisses!
Given what Strobel was doing to her at that very moment, the thought struck Johanna as so crazy that she had to laugh. Panic-stricken laughter. Her eyes were wide open, wide with fear.