WALTER ABISH
67
0,
the duality in the picture. Seeing something that others may
have overlooked.
She looked startled when I said: Why are you attacking me?
Later that afternoon in a bar frequented mainly by students, she
told me that she had been in Wurtenburg a little over six months. Tired
of sharing a place with another American student, she had looked
around for an apartment and found one in the building where I was
staying. To support herself she gave English lessons
to
young German
business executives, most of whom expected to be sent by their firms
to
America for a year or two.
Teaching beginners must be a bore, I said sympathetically.
Oh no, she said. I enjoy it. They're all extremely eager
to
learn
English, in addition to being so very ... Here she paused briefly,
evidently searching for the right word.
Understanding.
Understanding?
I was puzzled by the word. What did she mean. Why should her
German students show understanding for anything other than the
information she was imparting to them. Understanding. I think that
word, more than anything else she may have said, served
to
arouse my
curiosity.
It
is quite conceivable that had I not been so involved in
writing about Paula Hargenau, my former wife, and Marie-Jean
Filebra, my former mistress (to use an old-fashioned description), I
might have paid closer attention
to
Daphne. From her appearance and
her surname I assumed that she was of German extraction. I admit that
I found her serious face, her measured and frequently humorless
responses to what I said, not unattracti ve. I don't know why. Perhaps
because she gave me the appearance of someone in need of protection,
although I felt convinced that she would not permit herself to accept it,
if it were offered. I had not spoken of my work to her and had no reason
to believe that she knew what I did or, for that matter, who I was. She
did not ask questions, and I did not offer any information. I was not in
the leas t attracted to her sexually, and for some inexplicable reason
wanted to communicate this fact to her, as if feeling the need to
reassure her of my intentions, as if
to
indicate that she could allow
herself to relax in my presence. No, that is patently untrue. At this time
the burden of another intimate relationship would have been more
than I could handle.
If
anything, I was signalling to her my own
unavailability.
It was a glorious summer day. Daphne and I were seated at a
