7
“Thank you,” laughed Miriam. Emma’s hands were on her muff, stroking it eagerly. “Hendchen, Hendchen,” she cooed in her consoling tones, “to house to house, I am so angry—hangry.”
“Hungry.”
“Hungry, yes, and Minna and Clara is ready. Komm!”
The child linked arms with her and pulled Miriam towards the corridor. Once out of sight under the gallery she slipped her arm round Miriam’s waist. “Oh, Hendchen, my darling beautiful, you have so lovely teint after your badth—oh, I am zo hangry, oh Hendchen, I luff you zo, I am zo haypie, kiss me one small, small kiss.”
“What a baby you are,” said Miriam, half turning as the girl’s warm lips brushed the angle of her jaw. “Yes, we’ll go home, come along.”
The corridor was almost airless. She longed to get out into the open. They found Minna at a table in the entrance hall her head propped on her hand, snoring gently. Clara sat near her with closed eyes.
As the little party of four making its way home, cleansed and hungry, united and happy, stood for a moment on a tree-planted island half-way across a wide open space, Minna with her eager smile said, gazing, “Oh, I would like a glass Bier.” Miriam saw very distinctly the clear sunlight on the boles of the trees showing every ridge and shade of colour as it had done on the peaked summer-house porch in the morning. The girls closed in on her during the moment of disgust which postponed her response.
“Dear Hendchen! We are alone! Just we nice four! Just only one most little small glass! Just one! Kind best, Hendchen!” she heard. She pushed her way through the little group pretending to ignore their pleadings and to look for obstacles to their passage to the opposite curb. She felt her disgust was absurd and was asking herself why the girls should not have their beer. She would like to watch them, she knew; these little German Fraus-to-be serenely happy at their bier table on this bright afternoon. They closed in on her again. Emma in the gutter in front of her. She felt arms and hands, and the pleading voices besieged her again. Emma’s upturned tragic face, her usually motionless lips a beseeching tunnel, her chin and throat moving to her ardent words made Miriam laugh. It was disgusting. “No, no,” she said hastily, backing away from them to the end of the island. “Of course not. Come along. Don’t be silly.” The elder girls gave in. Emma kept up a little solo of reproach hanging on Miriam’s arm. “Very strict. Cold English. No bier. I want to home. I have bier to home” until they were in sight of the high walls of Waldstrasse.