from his lips what was in her heart: “I don’t want to see those birds
smashed!” Balamir firstscreamed so long ago to his startled nurse. Jutta
hurried, pushing the drunk man in front of her towards the hill, and began to think that
Stella was a strange woman to take a man crazy with the stars into the house, while out in
the cold, I, her lover, had to wait for the puttering of the motor-bike, for the saddlebags,
the prize.
PART TWO–1914
LOVE
“Stella sings like an angel,” cried the crowd, and the Bavarian orchestra
played all the louder. Some of them were shocked, some annoyed, others opened their big
hearts and wanted to join in the chorus, while some looked out into the sultry night. The
largest of them were eager waiters whose black jackets showed here and there with darker
patches of velvet from stains, whose stout arms bore platters of beer and who paused near
the kitchen doors to hear the new singer. The officers in their new grey tunics were
slightly smaller and the girls were smaller yet—but still were Nordic women, straight,
blonde, strong and unsupple. Even the vines on the trellises were thick and round, swaying
only slightly out in the heat. Heads nodded close together at the tables in the garden. In
the brightly-lit room the wooden chairs and tables were uncarved, unornamented, and the
white walls and pillared ceiling were remote. It did not seem possible that enough blue
smoke and shadow could rise to make the hall alluring. The men talked together, the clatter
of cups intruded. Their backs were straight, they nodded cordially, and the light gleamed on
undecorated chests. But it was only ten, still dusk, still formal. They smiled. Stella
twisted the handkerchief in her fingers, squeezed it strongly into her damp palms and
continued to sing and to smile. Then she found it simple, found that her throat opened and
her head could turn andsmile, that she could move about and thrust into
her shoulders the charm of the song. They listened, turned away, then listened again, and
like a girl with breeding and a girl with grace, she made them look and sang to them. First,
sadly, then with her eyes bright and her shoulders thrust backwards:
“Dass du mich liebst, weiss ich
.”
Some of them laughed and twisted in their seats. She shook her hair
loose, she felt like telling them they could come to her, that they could send flowers.
“Must I then, must I then come back to your heart And smile again?”
She moved as if she had a sunflower just beneath her bosom, as if she
could draw them sailing on a sacred lake, and first a crackling chicken, then a duckling,
then a head of cheese fell under her swoop. But always she looked directly over into their
eyes startled from eating, or eyes large from some private imagination. Her bosom, larger
than her hips, swayed with pleasure. And only a moment before she had stood in the left
wing, hidden by dusty curtains and sheets of music, feeling that never in the world could
she face the lights and attention of the drinking hall. The
Sportswelt Brauhaus
,
austere and licensed, patronized and rushed upon, coldly kept her out for a moment, then
with a smart burst from the accordion, drew her down, deeply as possible, into the fold.
After the summer broke, she had come, and tonight she stood before them all, her body slowly
showing through the gown, more and more admired for her stately head, singing,
“All my body blossoms with a greater …”
They clapped, chuckled, and slowly the undecorated chests slid open, the
lights swirled about in the fog, while Stella, arm around the accordion player, sang
anything at all that came to mind. Her ancestors had run berserk, cloaked themselves in
animal skins, carved valorous battles on their shields, and several old men, related thinly
in blood from a distant past, had jumped from a rock in Norway to their death in the sea.
Stella, with such a
smashed!” Balamir firstscreamed so long ago to his startled nurse. Jutta
hurried, pushing the drunk man in front of her towards the hill, and began to think that
Stella was a strange woman to take a man crazy with the stars into the house, while out in
the cold, I, her lover, had to wait for the puttering of the motor-bike, for the saddlebags,
the prize.
PART TWO–1914
LOVE
“Stella sings like an angel,” cried the crowd, and the Bavarian orchestra
played all the louder. Some of them were shocked, some annoyed, others opened their big
hearts and wanted to join in the chorus, while some looked out into the sultry night. The
largest of them were eager waiters whose black jackets showed here and there with darker
patches of velvet from stains, whose stout arms bore platters of beer and who paused near
the kitchen doors to hear the new singer. The officers in their new grey tunics were
slightly smaller and the girls were smaller yet—but still were Nordic women, straight,
blonde, strong and unsupple. Even the vines on the trellises were thick and round, swaying
only slightly out in the heat. Heads nodded close together at the tables in the garden. In
the brightly-lit room the wooden chairs and tables were uncarved, unornamented, and the
white walls and pillared ceiling were remote. It did not seem possible that enough blue
smoke and shadow could rise to make the hall alluring. The men talked together, the clatter
of cups intruded. Their backs were straight, they nodded cordially, and the light gleamed on
undecorated chests. But it was only ten, still dusk, still formal. They smiled. Stella
twisted the handkerchief in her fingers, squeezed it strongly into her damp palms and
continued to sing and to smile. Then she found it simple, found that her throat opened and
her head could turn andsmile, that she could move about and thrust into
her shoulders the charm of the song. They listened, turned away, then listened again, and
like a girl with breeding and a girl with grace, she made them look and sang to them. First,
sadly, then with her eyes bright and her shoulders thrust backwards:
“Dass du mich liebst, weiss ich
.”
Some of them laughed and twisted in their seats. She shook her hair
loose, she felt like telling them they could come to her, that they could send flowers.
“Must I then, must I then come back to your heart And smile again?”
She moved as if she had a sunflower just beneath her bosom, as if she
could draw them sailing on a sacred lake, and first a crackling chicken, then a duckling,
then a head of cheese fell under her swoop. But always she looked directly over into their
eyes startled from eating, or eyes large from some private imagination. Her bosom, larger
than her hips, swayed with pleasure. And only a moment before she had stood in the left
wing, hidden by dusty curtains and sheets of music, feeling that never in the world could
she face the lights and attention of the drinking hall. The
Sportswelt Brauhaus
,
austere and licensed, patronized and rushed upon, coldly kept her out for a moment, then
with a smart burst from the accordion, drew her down, deeply as possible, into the fold.
After the summer broke, she had come, and tonight she stood before them all, her body slowly
showing through the gown, more and more admired for her stately head, singing,
“All my body blossoms with a greater …”
They clapped, chuckled, and slowly the undecorated chests slid open, the
lights swirled about in the fog, while Stella, arm around the accordion player, sang
anything at all that came to mind. Her ancestors had run berserk, cloaked themselves in
animal skins, carved valorous battles on their shields, and several old men, related thinly
in blood from a distant past, had jumped from a rock in Norway to their death in the sea.
Stella, with such a
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