268
Fl'LlPPA ROLF
and opened my twenty-seven-year-old arms for my aunt, a coyly
tit·
tering creature with a certain up and down jerk of her body from
the toes upward and a snakish glint of absolute observation hidden
behind her
~and
pursuing itself with two fingers at her oval bosom
when she said: "Nice you are here. Let Astrid take your things up–
stairs. Dinner is at seven. We'll have a little snack when you are ready.
Come down in the radio room." She was a remarkably talentless •
painter, I paused to think.
I followed the sturdy servant and her kitchen-red face, remind·
ing of a sweet roll, upstairs as she hugged my strapped basketwork
suitcase and, curtsying, left me at the door under a soaring eagle
(Artz).
I threw off my coat. The room was not warm yet, though a
fire shrieked and bounced
in
a shining tile stove in the corner by the
washstand and its nine folded towels of homespun linen - the kind
with goose eyes in the weaving - and big red names. With a little
falling feeling inside my chest from the change in atmosphere and
the pleasure at soap, spring water and towels, all building a beautiful
pale yellow and white like porridge made with wheat-flour and butter,
swimming in its
milk
and easily cooling to fonn skin on top, I dried
my hands and rehearsed what to discuss with my aunt while I looked
out of the small panes at a spectacular oak in front of the garden
with its distant temple, which had a swanlike whiteness with cream
added, and a round copper roof.
It
had been erected lately, so the
structure was heavy, German style, I should say Bayreuth. With
this
agreed the castles on the yellow walls, an European remnant
in
America, the heavy benches
in
the garden, very uncomfortable,
al·
most impossible to lift, and the fantastically primitive beds, made
with .
three transversal featherbeds and almost no mattress; in mahogany,
however, with little beads along the fillets; and strong saddle
girths
supported the poor sleeper, who was actually meant to sit and
sleep
in them. There were two of them, both along the wall. Our visitor
had once . . . But no, the snack
is
waiting.
Now I want you to believe something: women do not hate each
other, neither is there competition between them.
Exaggerated women used to come to. this place with its
am· •
biguous hospitality. My aunt had a wistfully good time setting them
up against one another with snickers and behind the hand half-tone
remarks, since she thought they were after her money. Alas, this
was
