The Woman Who Heard Color (17 page)

“American women gained the right to vote in . . . the early twenties?”

“Nineteen twenty, I believe,” Isabella said. “But in Germany it was a year earlier. This new government, the German Republic, though hated by many, was also surprisingly supportive of art, literature, and music. Berlin became the center of a cultural life of theaters and nightclubs, of jazz, and other entertainment which many considered indecent, including nude performers and transvestite balls. Some thought it was little more than pornography, depravity, and perverted behavior. The Bauhaus, the school of architecture and applied arts in Weimar, where Kandinsky had taken a position, was supported by the Republic.”

“He came back to Germany after the war?” Lauren asked, though it was a fact she was well aware of.

“Germany, yes. Munich, no. His paintings took on a new form of expression, geometric shapes, lines, forms, completely abstract now, still plenty of color.”

“His most commonly reproduced work probably—paintings from his Bauhaus phase.” Lauren remembered that Mrs. Fletcher had expressed a dislike for this period of the artist’s work. “He’d gone completely abstract by then.”

“You know Kandinsky is often called the father of abstract art?”

“Yes,” Lauren replied. “He was a great influence on those artists stretching beyond realism.”

“The pieces in our gallery were all from before that time. He and my mother had a bit of a falling-out.”

“Oh?” Lauren asked with interest, leaning forward.

“His invitation to exit from Germany was so sudden that he had to leave many of his paintings with Ms. Münter. When he returned he wanted them back. By then they had broken up—not cordially, as I understand. Kandinsky asked my mother to act as a go-between, as she was friendly with Ms. Münter. He implored her to persuade the woman to hand over his paintings, but Mother wrote and told him that it was between the two of them.” Isabella laughed. “My mother had good sense, in that respect. He’d already married a young Russian woman, half his age—he’d divorced the first Russian wife. Ms. Münter was heartbroken. She refused to return many of the paintings.”

Lauren was aware of this, also aware that in a sense the story had a happy ending—at least for the paintings that Gabriele Münter refused to return. “Your Kandinsky
Composition
? Still in the family then?” she asked.

“Yes,” Isabella replied.

“This was during the mid-twenties,” Lauren said, wanting to make sure they were both situated in the same time period. “Between the two wars, a period when there were still some innovative things taking place in the German world of art.”

“Oh, yes, definitely. With the open views of the Republic, modern art was shown in the galleries and state-funded museums. Artists were once more free to paint, free to express themselves, and supplies were readily available. Eventually even the general economy picked up somewhat, particularly after the Americans helped in rewriting the terms of reparation. Though the $33 billion debt that had been dictated by the Treaty of Versailles was not forgiven, the terms of payment were rewritten. This did not make the injustices of the agreement acceptable to the Germans, but it did ease the pain.

“Both of my parents believed this might be temporary. The Americans and Germans had fought on opposite sides in the Great War, and I think my mother understood it might not last—this
peace built on quicksand
, as the American president Woodrow Wilson called it—so she went to visit Käthe and her family in America. My father remained in Germany, feeling the business needed his full attention.”

“What year was that?”

“Nineteen twenty-six.”

“So, you were . . . ?”

“Not yet.” Isabella held up a finger, again telling Lauren to be patient. “This was the year
before
I was born. “Willy accompanied her. He was in his teens then, but in so many ways still a little boy.”

Both Isabella’s and Lauren’s eyes moved together toward the photo with the shattered glass—the young Isabella, now an old woman, and the young man who would never grow old.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

It was a long journey on the boat. Willy loved it. He went about visiting with the other passengers, taking part in any recreational activities available, looking out onto the vast expanse of water with childlike delight. Sasha had accompanied them, and was kept busy following Willy about the large boat, making sure he didn’t bother the other passengers.

Hanna was not particularly fond of this mode of travel—the lack of scenery, the dearth of color, made her feel melancholy. Yet she questioned whether the gloom she felt within her had perhaps begun before their departure. She planned to stay in America for the entire summer, the longest she had ever been away from her husband, but he had expressed little concern over this lengthy separation. She understood he could not leave Munich. Business and the general economy were much too fragile now. People were convinced there would be another war. Nothing had been stable for years.

Often, particularly in the evenings, she found herself alone, reflecting on her life, her marriage. She and Moses had celebrated their twenty-second anniversary in April. She felt herself grinning as she recalled his unexpected proposal, their trip to Austria and Italy, the years that followed, their travels in search of art, the life they shared as they worked so compatibly, so happily at the gallery. Back then she had felt so close to him, so connected through their shared passion for the artists’ creativity.

Moses often teased her that he had no choice but to marry her. He’d taught her everything he knew about art, about the art of dealing art, and he couldn’t let her go now.

It was always presented in a lighthearted, loving way, but now at times Hanna wondered if this
was
the reason he had married her—because of the art. It had always been a big part of what had drawn them together. She knew that. But for the past several years, it seemed that this was all that was left—the art, the business. Yet, hadn’t their feelings for each other ebbed and flowed many times throughout these past twenty-two years?

When Willy came to them, imperfect as he was, this change in their lives, this baby who was not at all the child they had prepared for, created an enormous chasm between them. Yet it was the threat of losing him that had brought them back together. Then the war, the turmoil in Germany that followed, both their efforts thrown into ensuring the gallery’s survival. Business was bad, then things improved. Artists were inspired, not by images of the imagination, but by the despair, and a whole new form of art emerged. Their marriage, Hanna reflected, was not unlike Germany itself—joy followed by despair, interspersed with hope, and then newness emerging, then back to uncertainty.

As she stared out onto the vast expanse of colorless ocean, she reflected on how it might represent the current state of her marriage. Flat and dull. Yet, didn’t this very body have great depth? She and Moses had a relationship that ran very deep over the expanse of many years, many shared experiences. They loved each other and they would be fine. And maybe this time apart was exactly what they needed.

H
ans and Käthe lived on a dairy farm in New York, which confused Hanna at first because she didn’t understand how they could have a farm in the city. But they were in the
state
of New York, in Onondaga County, a short distance from a small village south of the city of Syracuse. They had established a creamery where they produced their own cheese, based on family recipes Hans’ father had developed in Germany.

Hanna had not seen Käthe for more than seventeen years, and though they had written, there was much to catch up on. The early-summer mornings were filled with talk and laughter. Hanna helped with the cooking and cleaning, finding amusement in the fact that in America, even in prosperous families, everyone had chores. Käthe teased Hanna about bringing along her maid, though she explained Sasha was as much a friend as an employee.

Each day, Hanna rose and helped Käthe with breakfast—an enormous amount of food—bacon, eggs, potatoes, toasted bread.

“My husband needs a big meal to get him through the morning,” Käthe said, giving Hans a little peck on the cheek as he returned from the early-morning milking. He grinned as he sat, jabbing with enthusiasm at a large pile of potatoes. He was a quiet man, but Hanna could see there was still great affection in the way Käthe and Hans loved each other. She wondered, If she and Moses had been sweethearts from their youth, as her sister and her husband had, might their marriage have had this tenderness? She could not escape the fact that she was Moses’ third wife, that he had loved two wives before Hanna. And she could never escape the thought that she was second best at that, perhaps even third, as she had never known his first wife, Young Helene’s mother. Perhaps all married couples have these ups and downs, she reasoned, and she should be grateful for what she still shared with her husband. And perhaps, she reflected, we see in others only the surface. As with the ocean, much lies beneath.

One morning as the two sisters walked along the lane next to the pasture, Käthe took Hanna’s arm in hers. “It’s so good to have you here,” she said. “I wish you could stay.” Earlier in the visit Hanna had described some of the difficulties facing the people of Germany, the distrust many held for the Republic, and Käthe had suggested—more than once—that the Fleischmanns move to America.

The two women stopped as they approached the corral. Hanna propped her elbows on the fence and watched as Käthe’s daughter Ella led the horse with Willy astride, grinning and waving at his mother and aunt. Sasha stood on the opposite side of the corral, her face scrunched up in an expression that told Hanna she was concerned that Willy might tumble off at any time. Sasha was a small woman, and Hanna guessed that if her son took a fall, Sasha would be incapable of getting him up. Though Willy was short of stature, he was much heavier than Sasha now and of equal height. Hanna nodded at Sasha, as if to say,
It’s fine
. She tried not to deny Willy the fun that other boys might enjoy.

“Look at me, Mama,” he called out.

“You look like a cowboy,” Hanna called back. At fifteen, he was still a child, bubbling with excitement.

“Could you ever live like this again?” Käthe asked. “In the country?”

“I’m having a wonderful time,” Hanna replied. She was, but she missed the excitement of the gallery, the city, and she missed her husband. “Willy would love it.”

“If you decide to move here,” Käthe suggested, “Moses could open a gallery in New York City. I hear the art scene there has begun to compete with that in many cities in Europe.”

“Moses would resist such an idea, I’m sure.”

“We’ll take you for a visit,” Käthe said. “You can see for yourself and then tell Moses.”

T
he following week Käthe and Hans took Hanna to visit New York City. She found the pace of life exciting, much more like home, and even the colors and sounds of the city reminded her of Munich. She was tempted to write to Moses and suggest he come join them, that they move the family to America, the land of opportunity where democracy worked, where one determined one’s own future. But she knew he would never leave Germany.

Moses wrote often. The political instability they had witnessed for many years continued. Why was it so difficult for this republic to work in Germany? Hanna wondered.

They stayed through the summer. Käthe and Hans had a large family and they tended one another as they had in their own big family in Weitnau. Hanna often felt as if she had returned to her youth at the family farm in Bavaria, and she realized how much Willy had missed, being an only child in the city.

Willy loved America. He loved the country, the horses and cows, dogs and kittens. He loved his cousins and second cousins, and one day he asked his mother, “Mama, may I have a sister or a brother?”