Bone and Blood (23 page)

That was one of the things Aisling liked about the city. Anything goes. She left the aunt sitting on her nappy to locate the loo. She was side-tracked then to the place where you had to show your pass – just empty like they had just stopped using it that day. It was possible now to imagine a queue of people waiting in a warehouse type place to show their passports. She'd come back and take a photo to show Dad. It was the only the second time she had felt the story of the wall as real – not just something from a newsreel or a history book. The other time was the memorial to the young guy who was shot while in the river. She could imagine that too.

She went back to get Brigitte to show her that the window where you presented your pass was still there. It was a bit like a really old railway station window – one of those that hadn't changed in a lifetime. She hoped they wouldn't pull it down. She liked the mix of the low-key pub with the big empty warehouse style structure used as a music venue. Far better than a museum as long as they didn't tart it up or make it official. She wished she had her camera now; it could be gone the next time she came.

Brigitte refused her offer of company as far as the loo – waving the stick she had unearthed the night before. ‘I've got this.' At least she was able to send her off in the right direction.

‘I'm glad you brought me here,' she said when she settled again. ‘It hasn't changed much since I was here thirty years ago to watch Katharina and Monika queue there. It is a good place to say goodbye to Katharina one last time. To have someone from Ireland –and from my family – means a lot to me. No-one ever came to visit us here.'

‘Not even Gran?'

‘Peggy's not a big traveller, is she?'

‘Not now, but she did make it to Boston once.'

‘Well, that was to James, wasn't it? James with his big house and bathrooms with gold taps. But I can't complain. Peggy has kept in touch more than any of them, even Liam, to give her her due.' The last phrase was such a good imitation of Gran's condescension, it made both of them laugh.

They had one and then another. And then another. The beer, the aunt's deep chuckle and the wicked glow of the sunshine warmed Aisling inside out.

Too good to last, of course. In the taxi home, the sense of holiday persisted but felt a bit false. By the time Aisling came into the living room behind the aunt, now back in her chair, she realised it was over. Maybe the beer had only loosened the tears now tripping off the strong jaw.

‘Monika arranged it all. She claimed Katharina for her own. Now Katharina will be there with her forever. I have nowhere and no-one. There will be no Katharina to arrange my funeral.'

Aisling's first instinct was to make a run for it. Out anywhere fast. To leave on the memory of wicked laughter and a nappy that could take a litre of beer. But there was no-one else now. No Yola until to-morrow morning.

‘Look, I'm sure Dad would be happy to give you a hand to sort something out. You're not really on your own completely.' Brigitte looked at her with a look that said she knew that was a false promise.

‘O.K. O.K. It might depend too much on the football season,' Aisling laughed weakly but her attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell flat. Her next words were out before she knew what she was saying. ‘I could do it. It can't be that hard to make arrangements for whenever. This is Germany. You could sort out stuff on the telephone and I could do the running around buying graves or whatever you have to do.‘

Brigitte's eyes focussed again – her pupils dark and bright against the watery blue but she said nothing – just looked hard.

‘I couldn't stay now but I could come back. I like Berlin'

‘You are too young to have to deal with these things,' Brigitte's tone was hopeful but you could hear the doubt behind it too.

‘I'm old enough – older than you were when you had Katharina. It would be good practice for my German and I would have no problem asking Monika for help. I want to come back anyway. I found a brochure about a course in Mitte for comic-book design. It is part-time so I could get a job to pay my way. It would suit me perfectly, better than going back to Uni to do a degree in marketing. The first year was bad enough and next year looks like a recipe for total boredom.'

‘If it suited you then it would be different. You could stay here as long as you wanted.'

‘Just a few weeks until I get my own place. Let's have a wee whiskey to settle it'.

Plans for a complete change. It was beginning to work out. Even if the parents didn't stump up an allowance, she would get waitressing work. Smiling to herself under the sheet, as she closed her eyes for images of Berlin cafes, clubs, and a new set of friends. No shadow of Michael or snub from Maeve to bring her down. How much did she say to the aunt after one beer too many? How much had she guessed? ‘You weren't anywhere near him when he died,' Brigitte had said. Guilt buried with Katharina's ashes. After a pause, Brigitte had added, ‘You have a strong imagination and a strong will. Don't waste them on feeding the devil in you.' A weird death rattle laugh followed. Aisling laughed with her.

She fell asleep but woke again out of a dream where she was behind Michael in the queue at the station where they had to show their passports. The border guard wouldn't let her through. She tried to shout to Michael to tell him to come back but she couldn't get the sound out. He was waving to her and smiling. She woke up wondering if she had called his name out loud. No sound from the aunt's room. Then she heard her shout, ‘Das Badezimmer ist frei.'

All ready now. Aisling dropped her backpack and satchel in the hall and went into the living room to say good-bye. The aunt sat in her usual chair looking stern in her attempt not to cry. I hope she manages to save it until I'm gone, Aisling thought.

‘Do you want me to get you anything before I go?' she asked. Brigitte examined the little table beside her; everything was in its place. Aisling could see the packet of paper hankies, the packet of cigarettes, the bar of chocolate, the bulky purse, her glasses case, the remote for the TV that she never watched, the glass of water and of course the fly spray.

‘You promise you will come back?'

Aisling didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the thought of making a promise to arrange a funeral. Genuine Goth or what! ‘A promise is a promise,' she said aloud.

‘My door is always open to you.' The aunt pushed an envelope across the table. ‘For you to come back.'

‘Oh you don't have to do that. There's no need really,' Aisling dithered – to take it, or not to take it? What if she changed her mind?

‘Please take it. If you take it, I know you will come back one day.'

Aisling stuck the envelope in the inside zip pocket of her gilet. She looked at her watch. She knew she had plenty of time but she needed to get out now. She gave the aunt a hug –easier than the pecking experience with Gran. She was surprised when the aunt followed her out to the door of the apartment to see her off: she was using the stick inside now too, Aisling noticed.

She felt her eyes on her from the window as she headed off down the street in the direction of the U-Bahn. Round the corner she had a peek in the envelope – green ones – 100-euro notes – 5 of them. She was better off after this Berlin trip than if she had been working. What with her father's subsidy, the cheap flight, all her food paid for while she was there. She still had the savings from the holiday job. It was a good omen; she would use some of the money to come back to set things up for a year out.

Now she could look forward to a private reckoning session when she got to the airport. For a moment she saw Michael quizzing and teasing her about it when she got home. Let him dare! She hated anybody to know that she cared about money. She made sure that none of her friends knew by making flagrant generous gestures from time to time to counter any danger of being seen as a skinflint. None of them knew the depth of that secret pleasure of treasure mounting in her. Michael was the only one who had guessed her obsession with adding and subtracting her daily expenses. He had a string of nicknames he used to wind her up about it but no-one else ever picked up on it. For the first time the feeling of missing him was stronger than guilt, or anger at him for leaving her an only child, with their mother more and more of a limpet.

Brigitte had sensed more about Michael than anyone even though Aisling hadn't told her much. Aisling could hear the words again now in her head. The short sentences. ‘You did what you did. Whatever it was. He's dead and you're alive. Forgive yourself.' The aunt had said some more too pooh-poohing the idea that Aisling had tortured him. ‘The pain of living must have been awful if it was easier to face death.' If that was true then Michael's pain must have been worse than hers so far. Aisling had never thought that maybe Micheal's death was a relief for him.

She had something to do with his death but everybody else had something to do with it too – himself most of all. His broken heart over Richard was probably more important than anything. And then whatever happened between him and Richard's dad. Maybe the aunt was right. None of that had anything to do with Aisling. There was nothing she would do differently if he was alive now.

She looked out the window of the train. No goodbye for Berlin – see you soon, she said. She would have liked a closer look at those apartments with the lop-sided windows. She laughed out loud. There was a lot in the way you looked at things but if something is lop-sided, accept it as lop-sided.

It was so cold that her very bones felt bare to it, in spite of the layers of clothing. She had the church and Alexander TV Tower in the background in her sights before she asked herself, ‘Maybe I should have gone straight to the hospital?' Another Berlin. It was hard to remember the heat making her rucksack stick to her back when she looked back as she left in summer. It was better to come here first to orientate herself. Anyway she didn't know where the hospital was, or where to find Yola if she wasn't at the apartment as Monika said she would be. And all she had of Monika was a mobile telephone number.

But Yola answered the entry phone and stood in the hallway of the apartment when Aisling reached it. Standing in front of the first image of Brigitte in August.

‘Deine Tante ist krank,' Yola said. Aisling felt anger rise in her, ready to spill aloud,. Why the fuck do they think I travelled through the night to get here? And why do you say aunt? She has a name. She had tried loads of times to tell Yola Brigitte was not her aunt. She had even got Brigitte to explain their relationship in German but still she persisted.

She was even angrier with herself. All those plans to come to Berlin for a year out hadn't materialised. Her parents thought the whole thing was a crazy idea and made her promise to stick Uni one more year. It was still only January. That would teach her to make plans around somebody with one foot in the grave. She was angry at Brigitte too. Why did she have to go and get ill before Aisling had a chance to come and make arrangements as she had promised? She'd fixed a visit for the Easter holidays and her plan was to set things up for the September following.

‘She's not my aunt,' Aisling said now in English. Yola looked at her, ‘Krankenhaus,' she said hopefully and repeated it again, ‘Krankenhaus?' with a question mark this time. Aisling had her sick and hospital vocabulary ready and just nodded to confirm whatever it was Yola wanted to communicate. Brigitte is in the hospital or will we go to the hospital? She dropped her bag in the hall and offered a handshake. Yola seemed really out of her depth. In a way that was reassuring. ‘Welches Krankenhaus, Yola?' She needed to know which hospital so no point in wasting energy on being mad at Yola.

Now it was Yola's turn to fumble for words. So Aisling took out her map of Berlin and spread it carefully on the dining table, while congratulating herself on remembering it. Yola just shook her head then and said, ‘I too go with you.' So they went together.

Yola led her to the ward where Brigitte was lying asleep but with a drip in her arm and some machine that went beep, beep like a neglected mobile phone. Aisling felt a flicker of hope. It could be all a big fuss about nothing. Brigitte would wake up. Aisling could visit her the odd time until she got better and spend the rest of her time enjoying Berlin with no death, wakes or funerals. It would be the excuse she needed to drop out of the course. She took Brigitte's hand on the arm that was free of attachment to machines.

‘It's me, Aisling. I'm back again. I've come over to see you as I promised. Gran sends her love. Oh and Mum and Dad too.'

Brigitte took a deeper breath, more like a sigh, but didn't open her eyes.

Her mother had warned her, ‘Aisling, Aunt Bridget has had a stroke. You don't have to go there. It might be too much for you. She's unconscious: she might never come round again. People can last ages with a stroke and then die or they can go quickly. Mostly they never get back to themselves again. If Aunt Bridget survives, she will probably have to go to a nursing home. You can't go and stay there in that apartment by yourself. Your father and I will go at the weekend; you don't have to do this. You were good to her when she needed it.'

The more her mother went on, the more Aisling was determined to get on the net, book a flight and go. Now that she was here, the decision felt odd when there was no response from Brigitte.

They sat in silence. After a while, Yola looked at the clock. Aisling sent her home. She had already taken the spare set of keys hanging in the cloakroom in the hallway. They had been her keys for her trips out on her last visit. She would sit here for another while and then decide what to do.

She sat by the bedside. There was a space where another bed should be. Someone who wasn't coming back? When a nurse about her own age came to fiddle with the beeping machine, Aisling introduced herself. The nurse shrugged when Aisling asked what was likely. We must wait and see. So wait and see it was. Another hour later, Aisling went out for air and passed a little Turkish cafe which reminded her of how hungry she was. She came back and there was no change. She decided not to stay much longer.

Home to bed alone in the apartment. She checked all the rooms before going to bed and found a cardboard box with a paper on top and Aisling written on it in Brigitte's room. Inside there was the cracked enamel jug and inside it another envelope with her name on it. She knew the jug all right – it was Anna's enamel can from the Lager. When she touched it, it brought with it those hours of waiting and the stories of Ravensbrück. A visit to Ravensbrück was part of her plan for Easter.

She wished now that she had told Brigitte she had kept the dirty yellow pages. She wished she had told her that she hadn't managed to put them in Katharina's coffin. She still had them in the drawer of her desk at home. There hadn't been a time to get shot of them. It felt weird opening the envelope inside the can, in spite of her name on it. Inside, five 100 euro notes. Nothing else. Was that the money needed to bury her or what? She had no idea what a funeral cost but it was unlikely to be enough. She left the jug on the chest of drawers with the empty envelope. She put the money in her jeans pocket.

Later, she lay in bed wide-awake thinking she would never sleep. Suddenly it was the next morning and she was startled to hear Brigitte's voice, ‘Das Badezimmer ist frei.' She shook herself awake and realised she had imagined it. Better not tell Mum that one, she thought. In need of ritual, she went for Brötchen even though Monika had asked to meet her for brunch at the cafe at Hackescher Markt.

She almost didn't recognise Monika when she got there. Monika looked younger and fresher – her cheeks rosy from the cold and wearing a terracotta and burgundy striped scarf with a burgundy beret. Winter suited her or she'd had time to get over Katharina, but after they had ordered food and got over the polite pleasantries, a glimpse of last summer's look came back. So how did it come about that it was Monika who had been the one to call Aisling about Brigitte's being taken to hospital? Aisling had been turning the question over and over. When she'd left, Brigitte had given the impression Monika was the last person she wanted to see.

‘I hope you were not too shocked,' Monika said carefully. ‘Brigitte asked me often to be sure to let you know when she died. You became her family when Katharina died. You meant a lot to her but I think you know that.'

Aisling shrugged off the emotion in her throat, ‘Well we didn't have a lot of contact since.'

‘No, she didn't expect it. She was pleased to get your letter telling her your plans to come to Berlin.'

‘So when did you see her last?' Aisling asked.

‘Last Saturday. I visited her every Saturday as Katharina did.'

Aisling raised her eyebrows and Monika smiled back a crooked smile, her head a little to one side showing off the silver sheen from her hair now in a well-cut bob.

‘Yes, I knew she thought she could keep me away and at first she was too angry to talk to me. I would go and bring her some chocolate or some cake and leave again without speaking to her. But I knew she needed someone to talk to about Katharina as I did. I also needed to call to make sure she was O.K. I promised Katharina I would. One day, she asked Yola to offer me coffee and cake as Katharina predicted she would. Then I would always go for coffee and cake on Saturday. Sometimes we sat in silence. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we would look at photographs together. Often we spoke about you.'

‘About me?' Aisling laughed.

‘Yes, she said that you helped her put together the times in Ireland, the times in the Lager and the times with Katharina. In the end, all the times became one time.'

Aisling wasn't sure she could believe Monika – the two of them sitting talking cosily together about old times. It seemed a bit unlikely.

‘You know that she asked me if she could be buried with Katharina?' Monika added.

‘Now that I don't believe,' Aisling thought. ‘She asked me if I would make arrangements for her when I came back,' she said aloud.

Monika sighed, ‘I know so. She told me and she also said it was unfair to ask you such a thing. And she was also afraid she would die before you came back. I told her I had promised Katharina to make sure she was looked after while she was alive and when she died too. I suggested she be cremated and buried with Katharina. She laughed then, a strange laugh, and nodded. That was some weeks ago.'

‘Do you think she will die soon?' Aisling asked.

‘I do think so,' Monika said. ‘When I saw her on Saturday, she complained about being so tired. She said she was tired of waiting for death. I reminded her about your letter and there was life to wait for too but she said, “Aisling will come in any case.” I wasn't so shocked when Yola rang me on Monday morning. She found her half way out of bed and already unconscious. We don't know for how long. Sometimes Yola stayed with her in these last months but on Sunday she had sent her away.'

Aisling wished she knew how Brigitte's change of heart came about. Hopefully she'd come round and tell her all. Monika offered herself for whatever Aisling would need. She was softer than she seemed under the stiffness.

Aisling was glad of the empty ward when she got back to the hospital. She could sit there and chat quietly to Brigitte. She went over it all. The waiting and waiting. The wake that wasn't a wake. The relatives who didn't come. The Jules turned angel of mercy. The cemetery. Anna and the Lager. Irma and the escape. So much of it coming all together now as Monika said. Happy times surrendering to sad times and sad times to happy times. She would sit quietly then chat a bit. Go off into the grey winter day to find lentil soup and come back again. Sit a while, chat a while. Off again for spaghetti and sauce or Bratwurst swallowed down with a beer. The little Turkish place again for her favourite lamb kebab. Phone calls in the evening to her parents. After two days of it, she felt like she could keep it up forever.

On the third day, she arrived back in shaking off some flakes of snow, feeling fresh. There was a nurse at the bed and she looked at Aisling. ‘Es ist nicht viel Zeit'.Not much time for what? And the answer came by itself. Not much time left to live.

Aisling had more she wanted to say but not in front of the nurse. When the nurse left, she sat again holding the hand now free of machines. How long is not much time to die? She watched the breathing change. The nurse came back and took Aisling's both hands. ‘Gut gemacht. Sie ist von uns gegangen.'

Aisling looked at her, ‘She's gone?'

‘Gestorben,' the nurse said. Dead? Aisling thought. It's not possible. Dead already Brigitte looked pale but not a lot different from yesterday evening when she was just sleeping – no blood, no guts, no scary white balloon face, no death. How did the nurse know she was dead?

‘Tot?' she asked. No breathing. A woman doctor came, blond and tall and efficient. No heartbeat. She spoke English, ‘The nurse said that you did well. Your voice was reassuring and you helped her go. They say that the hearing is the last thing to go. She probably knew your voice. Not everyone can speak as you have done.' Aisling felt a strange warm whiskey feeling in her gut.

She sent her father a brief text and then rang her mother, ‘Dad's Aunt Bridget just died… ' It felt weird describing Brigitte like that – it didn't fit her somehow even dead. Aisling heard the panic in her mother's voice and Michael's face bobbed in front of her for a few seconds while she listened to the stream, ‘Oh you poor baby. Oh god! Are you OK? You poor baby – in bloody Berlin. We don't even know anybody. You did say that she's gone, didn't you? I told your father he should go and that she wouldn't last long. It's the best thing for her. I told him it wasn't fair on you to be alone there. I'll ring him right away. I just knew this would happen. It's not right.'

‘What about Granny – should I ring her?' Aisling cut in.

‘Oh no you'd better wait until your father goes over to see her. It might be too much of a shock for her on the phone. He can ring you from there.'

Aisling wished she could ring Gran. She wanted a job. She didn't want to stand by, feeling useless and empty. Monika had turned up from somewhere and was jabbering away to the nurses, arranging god-knows-what. Two orderlies came – asked her to wait outside – of course to clean up the body… No-body said anything about a priest and Aisling didn't either – she didn't even know how to ask that in German and she didn't want to ask it in English or to ask Monika to do it. She'd been sent into a waiting area, so she sat there and said a decade of the rosary. It felt stupid but she didn't know what else to do and didn't want to go back to the apartment. There must be more to do and she wanted to see Brigitte once more.

Her phone rang making her jump. Her mother never did text.

‘Your father called and told Gran on his way home. You could ring her if you like, he said. He is going to get us on the first flight to Berlin. He's on the internet now. Diarmuid – what time did you say it leaves at?' Aisling heard her father in the background. ‘It gets in at around ten o'clock local time.'

‘Hang about, not so fast,' Aisling interrupted. ‘You know the funeral is not likely to be for a couple of weeks at least. She's going to be cremated.'

‘Oh god! We hadn't thought of that. Diarmuid, Diarmuid, what shall we do? Better to go to the funeral. But we can't leave Aisling there alone.' Aisling heard them muttering together then her mother's voice again, ‘Yes, you're right; Aisling can come home now and come back with us.'