Autumn Sonata Page #4

I mustn't forget to have Brammer

invest the money from Leonardo.

The house is worth quite a lot.

Yes, Leonardo, you didn't bother with

assets and liabilities.

You were beyond worldly worries.

You left all your problems

to your Charlotte.

Three million, seven hundred

and thirty-five thousand,

eight hundred and sixty-six francs.

To think you had all that money,

Leonardo. Who would have guessed?

And you left everything

to your old Charlotte.

I also have a penny or two.

That makes nearly five million in all.

What do I want with all that money?

That's it - I'll buy a nice car

for Viktor and Eva!

They can't keep their old banger -

it looks lethal.

We'll go into town on Monday

and look for a new car.

That will cheer them up,

and me, too.

"She gave him the red flower of her

innocence with quiet dignity.

"He received it without enthusiasm."

What trash!

He really was quite an idiot,

that Adam.

Even if he nearly killed himself

for my sake.

What if I buy myself a new car, and

give the Mercedes to Viktor and Eva?

Then I could fly to Paris

and buy a new car there.

Then I won't have to drive

all the way there.

Tomorrow I must

set about Ravel properly.

Christ, I've been lazy lately.

It's inexcusable, really.

Mother, dear, what's happened?

I heard your cry, but then I couldn't

find you in your room.

I'm sorry if I woke you up, but I had

a nightmare. I dreamt that...

No, I don't remember.

- I'll stay if you want to talk.

- No, thank you, dear.

- I'll just sit here for a while. Go to bed.

- If you say so.

- Eva!

- Yes, Mother?

- You do like me, don't you?

- You're my mother.

What an answer.

- Do you like me?

- But I love you!

That's not true.

I took a break in my career

to stay at home with you and Father.

Your back injury made it impossible

for you to practise six hours a day,

so your playing deteriorated

and your reviews got poorer.

Really, Eva!

I don't know what was worse - you

playing at being a wife and a mother,

or you being on tour.

You made life hell

for both Father and me.

It's not true. Your father and l

were very happy.

Josef loved me, and I'd have done

anything for him.

Of course - you cheated on him.

I did not cheat on him!

I was totally honest with your father.

I fell in love with Martin and

went away with him for eight months.

Do you think it was so easy?

It was I who sat with Father in the

evenings, I who had to comfort him.

I had to tell him

that you still loved him,

and that you would surely come back.

I had to read your letters aloud.

Your long, affectionate, funny letters,

in which you told of

your interesting journeys.

We sat there, like two idiots,

reading your letters twice, three times.

We thought you were

the most wonderful woman alive.

Eva, you hate me.

I don't know.

Suddenly you're coming here,

and I'm so happy.

I don't know what I was imagining.

Maybe that you were sad and lonely.

I don't know, I'm so confused!

I thought I was adult, that I had

a clear picture of you and me,

of Helena's illness and our childhood.

Now I realise it's utterly chaotic.

It's Helena.

There, there. Wake up a little.

Wake up.

I'll sit here while you go back to sleep.

To you I was a doll to play with

when you had the time.

If I was ill or difficult, you'd

hand me over to the nanny.

You'd shut yourself up in your work,

no one was allowed to disturb you.

I would stand outside and listen.

I'd sneak in during your coffee break

to make sure you existed.

You were always kind...

but completely preoccupied.

If I asked you something,

I'd barely get a reply.

Mummy would like to be alone.

Why don't you go out and play?

Because you were so elegant,

I wanted to be elegant, too.

I became fussy about my clothes.

I worried that you wouldn't like

my appearance.

I was ugly.

Skinny and angular,

with big, round eyes and fat lips.

No eyebrows.

My arms were too thin and my feet

too big. I thought I looked disgusting.

Once you said,

"You should have been a boy."

Then you laughed, so I wouldn't

be upset. But I was, of course.

One day, your suitcases

stood at the foot of the stairs.

You were talking on the phone,

in a foreign language.

I prayed to God something would

happen to stop you going away.

But you always went.

You came up to me,

hugged and kissed me.

Embraced me and kissed me again.

You looked at me and smiled.

You smelt so good, so strange.

But you were a stranger to me.

You were already on your way,

you didn't see me.

And so you were gone.

I thought, "Now my heart will stop.

I'm going to die from the pain.

"I'll never be happy again.

"How could I endure

this pain for two months?"

I would cry on Father's lap.

He would sit motionless,

his soft little hand on my head.

He'd sit there for hours, smoking his

old pipe, enveloping us with smoke.

Sometimes he'd speak.

"Shall we go to the cinema tonight?"

Or, "Let's have ice cream

for dinner today."

I didn't care about either,

because I was dying.

The days and weeks went by.

We negotiated the loneliness.

We didn't have much to talk about.

It was easy with Father -

he was never disturbed.

At times he'd look worried. I didn't

know that he had financial difficulties.

But he always lit up

when I came clumping in.

We'd have a little chat, or he'd just

pat me with his pale little hand.

Or Uncle Otto would sit on the sofa,

drinking cognac.

They would mutter quietly.

I wonder if they actually heard

each other.

Or Uncle Harry would be there,

playing chess.

It would be extra quiet then.

You could hear three different clocks

ticking in the house.

Several days before your return,

I'd be feverish with excitement.

At the same time,

I feared falling ill for real,

as I knew you were afraid of

sick people.

When you came, my joy

was more than I could stand.

I couldn't speak. Sometimes you

would become impatient and say,

"Eva doesn't seem very happy

to have her mother back home."

Then I'd turn crimson,

and all sweaty.

I couldn't speak.

I didn't have any words.

You'd taken care of all the words

in our house.

- You exaggerate, Eva.

- Let me finish.

I know I'm a little drunk. But if I wasn't,

I wouldn't be saying this.

When I daren't say more, or fall silent

from shame, then you can explain.

I shall listen and understand, the way

I've always listened and understood.

I loved you, Mummy.

It was a matter of life or death,

but I didn't trust your words.

They didn't agree with

the look in your eyes.

Your voice is beautiful. I could feel it

in my whole body when you spoke,

but I knew instinctively that you

hardly ever meant what you said.

I didn't understand your words.

The worst part was that you smiled

when you were angry.

When you hated Father,

you called him "my dearest friend".

When you were fed up with me,

I was "my darling girl".

You're very quiet.

What do you want me to say?

You could defend yourself.

- Is it worth it?

- How would I know that?

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