The Undertaking Read online

‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You look cold.’

  ‘I said I’d be fine.’

  She walked past him, away into a city he did not know.

  ‘Where are we going, Katharina?’

  ‘To the park. The lake.’

  ‘You could at least wait for me.’

  ‘Why? You didn’t bother waiting for me.’

  He stopped, a slight curve in his shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just needed to get away.’

  ‘My parents have that effect.’

  ‘It was intense. More than I had expected.’

  ‘It always is.’

  ‘How do you manage?’

  ‘Years of practice. They mean well. And they like you.’

  ‘Your mother hates me.’

  ‘She doesn’t. She just wants the best for me.’

  ‘And I’m not good enough?’

  ‘I’m her only daughter.’

  ‘And she thought you could do better than a teacher.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘What was she hoping for? A doctor? A lawyer? They don’t marry bank clerks.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they do, Mr Faber.’

  She walked ahead of him again. He caught up with her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Katharina.’

  ‘The bureau gave us details about you and four other men, including a doctor’s fat son.’

  ‘And your mother wanted him?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Faber laughed.

  ‘And instead she got a useless lanky schoolteacher.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘So, where is he? The doctor’s fat son. Is he here? In Berlin?’

  ‘No. On the Russian front somewhere.’

  ‘He’s not fat any more then.’

  They both laughed, and he offered her his arm. She took it.

  ‘And your father? What does he think?’

  ‘He approved of you. From the beginning.’

  ‘So why does he want to turn me into a farmer?’

  ‘He gets ideas. But you should see Weinart. It can’t do any harm.’

  ‘I said I’d think about it.’

  She tugged his arm and he shortened his stride to keep pace with her. He took a deep breath and rolled from the heel to the toe of each foot, relishing the hard pavement, the distance from Russia. He felt her press into him.

  ‘Actually, my father likes you.’

  ‘How can you possibly tell?’

  ‘You’re a soldier, fighting on the front. That is enough for him.’

  ‘He made that clear, I suppose. And you? What do you think?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘Should I try to persuade you?’

  ‘You could try.’

  He put his hands on her shoulders and steered her backwards, into the doorway of a shop that was already closed. He kissed her. She pushed him away and moved back onto the pavement, her right hand over her mouth, overwhelmed by his stench.

  ‘Your buckles were sticking into me,’ she said.

  He smiled at her.

  ‘You’re a funny woman. Come on. Let’s see this park.’

  She took his arm again. They walked through the gates to a bench overlooking a lake. Three boys were using the last of the day’s light to push boats around the lake with long sticks.

  ‘It’s good to sit among trees again. Russia’s forests are huge and dark. Frightening. I hate them.’

  ‘Is there anything you like about Russia?’

  ‘I was in Belgium before and it was civilized, comfortable. The people were like us. But Russia is different. Hard and hostile.’

  ‘It’ll soon be over.’

  ‘It’s such a big country. It seems to go on for ever.’

  ‘All the better for us.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  He kissed her again and she let him, briefly.

  ‘I thought it was against the rules for soldiers to kiss in public,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure they’d forgive a man on his honeymoon.’

  He stared at the lake, at the water lapping at the boys’ feet. She put her head on his shoulder, her face away from him.

  ‘Why did you marry?’ she said.

  ‘I wanted leave. And you?’

  ‘My mother said it would be a good idea. A bit of security, I suppose. The title of wife. Other girls are doing it.’

  ‘Why did you choose me?’

  She smiled.

  ‘I don’t know. I liked your picture. Your hands, especially.’

  He flipped them over and back.

  ‘What is there to like about my hands?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  She touched his thumb.

  ‘They’re strong. Sinewy. I like that.’

  ‘Ah yes, I remember. You don’t like fat.’

  They both laughed and he kissed her again.

  ‘You’re prettier than I thought. Your hair and eyes. Your smile. Why didn’t you smile in the photograph?’

  ‘Mother said I shouldn’t. That it might put men off.’

  ‘You’ll have to stop listening to your mother.’

  ‘If I had, you wouldn’t be here.’

  He opened her coat and ran his hands over her breasts.

  ‘You’re much prettier than I expected.’

  ‘So you keep saying. What had you expected?’

  ‘Somebody duller.’

  ‘Why would you marry somebody dull?’

  ‘God knows.’

  They laughed and she stood up.

  ‘We should go,’ she said.

  They passed the boys’ abandoned sticks.

  ‘What do your parents think of our marriage?’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t told them yet.’

  ‘Will they approve?’

  ‘I doubt it. They don’t know you.’

  ‘Nor do you.’

  ‘No, but I will.’

  ‘Will you, Mr Faber? You sound very sure of yourself.’

  She took his arm.

  ‘We should hurry. Mother will be waiting for you.’

  Mrs Spinell stood at the end of the corridor waving her arm, directing Faber to the bathroom. The bath was already full.

  ‘Please use the toothpaste and soap sparingly,’ she said. ‘They’re hard to come by.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Leave your clothes in there.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He smiled at Katharina, closed the door and began to undress, dried Russian soil falling to the floor as he removed layer after layer of clothing stiff with sweat. He looked in the mirror, at his tanned face and torso, at his white legs and red feet, blistered and chafed by months of marching over hard Russian earth.

  He stepped into the hot water and submerged his head, wallowing in the warmth and quietness, in his distance from the other soldiers. He splashed water over his chest, relieved to be away from the noise, the chaos, the explosions, the buzzing of flies, the rattle of machine guns, from the voice of Katharina’s father making plans for the rest of his life. He didn’t need another father. Another set of parents.

  He bent his knees and dropped his head under the water again. Away from the maggots crawling from corpses, from the sickly sweet stench of death. Cocooned in water. In stillness. In nothingness. He wanted to stay, but came up for air, took the flannel and soap from the end of the bath, and scrubbed himself until the water turned brown.

  Mrs Spinell had left clothes, a razor, toothbrush and paste on a stool by the sink. He dragged the dull blade through his stubble and scrubbed at his teeth, so neglected that the foam turned from light pink to red. The trousers were too short, but the shirt fit well enough. He hesitated at the sweater with swastikas on each sleeve but pulled it on anyway, grateful for the warmth of the thickly knitted wool.

  Mrs Spinell hurried from the kitchen as he opened the bathroom door.

  ‘It feels good to be clean again,’ he said.

  He saw her looking at the floo
r.

  ‘Could you at least empty the bath?’ she said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Your food is ready.’

  ‘I’m afraid that I used all the soap.’

  ‘And the toothpaste?’

  ‘There was only a small amount anyway.’

  Katharina and Mr Spinell were already at the table. A single black pot sat between them, steam seeping from an ill-fitting lid.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Mr Spinell. ‘Eat with us.’

  Mrs Spinell piled stewed vegetables onto her husband’s plate and selected three pieces of meat to place on top of the mound. She gave the same to Faber, but only two to herself and Katharina. Faber ate in silence, chewing at the gristly beef offcuts, mopping the watery sauce with grey bread. He sat back from his meal, months of hunger still to be sated.

  3

  Mrs Spinell slipped a brown paper bag into the pocket of her daughter’s faded blue apron.

  ‘You’ll need that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Powder.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘He has lice.’

  ‘What? How can you tell?’

  Katharina turned from the sink to look at Faber, who sat beside her father scrutinizing Johannes’ trophies and badges. He scratched his scalp, briefly but aggressively, still holding the thread of conversation. She whispered to her mother.

  ‘He doesn’t even know he’s doing it.’

  ‘The bath must have roused them,’ said Mrs Spinell. ‘That’s some husband you chose.’

  Katharina wiped down the sink, although it was already clean.

  ‘You’ll have to treat him, Katharina.’

  ‘But I hardly know him.’

  ‘You’re his wife, Katharina. Do it or you’ll get them too. We all will.’

  ‘It’s too disgusting.’

  ‘They might be all over him. You’ll have to ask.’

  Katharina folded the tea towel and took down the crockery required for breakfast.

  ‘Leave that, Katharina. You have to do this.’

  ‘I don’t want to do it. Any of it.’

  ‘It’s too late for that now, Katharina.’

  Katharina rubbed her hands down the length of her apron and lingered as she hung it from its hook.

  ‘We should sort out your things, Peter.’

  ‘Your brother has done very well, Katharina.’

  ‘He was a star of the youth movement. He won everything.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I won nothing. I either tripped or came last.’

  He smiled at her and followed her to the large bedroom used by her parents until that morning. Katharina had removed their possessions and cleaned the room, the walls, floor and bed, turning the space into her own, marking it with vases of rose buds on either side of the bed. She opened the door and inhaled sharply.

  ‘God, this place stinks,’ she said.

  ‘It’s my pack,’ said Faber. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The lights still out, she opened the two large windows and looked down onto the street, drained of movement and light by the curfew.

  ‘My mother thinks you have lice.’

  ‘She’s probably right. Everybody does.’

  ‘How can you come here with lice in your hair?’

  ‘I didn’t know I had them. It’s second nature to scratch in Russia. Have you ever had them?’

  ‘We are sometimes a little hungry in Berlin, but never dirty.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  Katharina looked at him. At the man she had chosen.

  ‘We need to sort you out,’ she said. ‘Close the shutters and curtains, but leave the windows open. Then we can turn on the light.’

  Faber sat on the chair she had positioned below the bulb hanging from the ceiling. She lifted a clump of hair. Dozens of parasites were crawling across his scalp.

  ‘It’s disgusting.’

  ‘Will you ever kiss me again?’

  ‘I haven’t yet.’

  She stepped back from him and sprinkled the powder over his head, its caustic cloud falling onto his face, into his eyes. She ignored his complaints.

  ‘Do you have them anywhere else? In your armpits?’

  ‘Not that I am aware of. I didn’t notice any in the bath.’

  She took a narrow-toothed comb from her mother’s dressing table and used it to drag the powder through his hair, her throat burned by the bile rising from her stomach. She went back to the window and waited for the insects to die and then picked them out, dropping them into the dressing table dish she used to hold her hairpins.

  ‘I’m sorry, Katharina.’

  She went to the bathroom, bumping the door against her mother who was on her hands and knees mopping the muddied floor with a cloth. Katharina stepped over her and scraped the lice into the toilet.

  ‘You’ve got your hands full with that one, Katharina.’

  She flushed, scrubbed furiously at the comb and dish, and then at her hands.

  ‘He said that he had none under his arms.’

  ‘What about his groin?’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘Maybe you should.’

  ‘I don’t know that I can.’

  ‘I’ll soak his uniform in the bath. You can do his pack. They’ll be in there too.’

  ‘We’ll need more powder.’

  ‘I’ll look for some in the morning.’

  Katharina stared at herself in the mirror, certain that her skin had aged since his arrival.

  ‘I hope you’re not right, Mother. About the doctor’s son.’

  She ran her fingers across her now pale lips, but decided against adding more lipstick.

  ‘I’d better go back to him.’

  ‘I suppose you had.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mother.’

  ‘Goodnight, Katharina.’

  He rose to his feet as she walked in, clicked his heels and bowed.

  ‘My dear new wife, will you ever forgive me?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  He ran his fingers across her forehead, flattening the deep furrows.

  ‘I’m not as awful as you think,’ he said.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  She moved away from him, back towards the window.

  ‘What were you expecting, Katharina? Casanova? You picked me from a bloody catalogue.’

  ‘And it was obviously a lousy choice.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You arrived here covered in lice and stinking so badly that I thought I would vomit. What was I expecting? Somebody who had bothered to wash.’

  ‘I didn’t want to leave the train, Katharina.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was supposed to get off in Poland, at the cleansing station, but I was afraid that they would send me back. That I wouldn’t get home. So, I stayed on the train. And nobody noticed.’

  ‘I bloody did.’

  He laughed, and covered his face with his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry, Katharina. I just had to get away from there.’

  She sat down on the end of the bed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t expect it to be this difficult. This awkward.’

  ‘What had you expected?’

  She smiled.

  ‘I don’t know. Flowers. Chocolates. Not head lice.’

  He sat down beside her. She moved away.

  ‘I don’t want to catch them.’

  ‘You nearly killed me with the powder, so I doubt that any of them has survived.’

  She laughed.

  ‘You’re beautiful when you laugh.’

  ‘Not just pretty?’

  ‘No. Beautiful. How many men did you write to?’

  ‘Just to you. Did you write to other women?’

  ‘No.’

  He reached for her hand and she let him take it.

  ‘When was your photograph taken?’ she said.

  ‘Just before I left for Russia.’

  ‘It’s a nice photograph.’


  ‘Nicer than me in the flesh.’

  ‘I don’t know. Just different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Your face is different. Kinder, maybe.’

  ‘So you’re disappointed?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘It’s a hard place, Katharina.’

  ‘I can smell that.’

  They lay across the bed that she had made up that day, working with her mother, an embarrassed silence between the women as they tucked and folded the sheets. She moved her hair away from his.

  ‘What’s it like on the front?’ she said. ‘Johannes tells us very little in his letters.’

  ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like you as a little girl.’

  ‘I lost all the races. There is nothing more. That’s all I was – the girl who came last in everything. Except sewing and cooking – I was always good at those. What about you? What were you good at?’

  But he was asleep. A light snore rose from him. She prodded him.

  ‘There are pyjamas under the pillow for you.’

  He put them on, his back to her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Katharina. I’m exhausted.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  He kissed her on the cheek, this man in her brother’s pyjamas, and fell back to sleep. She sat at the dressing table to brush her hair, to look at herself, this woman married to a man she did not know. She pulled on a long nightdress and climbed in beside him.

  4

  Shortly before dawn, Faber woke, sweating and panting, his body no longer accustomed to comfort and warmth. He threw off the covers and lay still, quietening his breath, absorbing the coolness of the dark air.

  Katharina lay beside him, still asleep. He turned away from her and put his feet on the floor. He would leave, slip away to his parents’ living room of soft chairs and matching crockery. He stood up but then slumped back down again. Her mother had his uniform. He slapped his head onto the pillow. Katharina woke.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘Are all those lice dead?’

  He laughed.

  ‘They’re well murdered.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  She moved across the bed towards him, and set her hand on his chest.

  ‘It’s all a little odd, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘We didn’t start well, did we?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He sat up.

  ‘I’m hungry, Katharina.’