wield that bow like a cleaver. Softly, softly. It’s an extension of your wrist, not a butchering utensil.”
He honed my skill—not as much as I wanted, but it was better than before. Just as Jolie improved my appearance, while I deprived my body until the day came when I finally fit into my new clothes and Mutti grumbled over supper, “You look different. Have you been doing something to your hair?”
“I cut it shorter,” I said, “for the violin. So it wouldn’t . . . get into my eyes.” I lowered my face as I spoke, lest she also decided to inspect my noticeably thinner cheeks and eyebrows. She didn’t. She was too exhausted from work; she retired like a farmer’s wife at sunset, leaving me and Liesel to wash the dishes and tidy up before bed.
My sister wasn’t so myopic. “You’ve been visiting that woman, haven’t you?” she said, so unexpectedly I almost dropped the plate I was drying. “Uncle Willi’s guest. She’s teaching you things. You pick at your food like a bird and your eyebrows are plucked. And you’ve not only cut your hair but also dyed it.”
“Wife. She is Willi’s wife.” I squared my shoulders. “Are you going to tell on me?”
“No.” She arranged the dishes in the cupboard; Mutti liked everything in order. “But she’s bound to find out, Lena. And when she does . . .”
“I’ll be gone. I’m applying for a job as a musician. As soon as I can, I’ll get my own room.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “On a musician’s pay?”
She was right. Jolie had warned me. In fact, she’d offered to let me move into the house with her and Uncle Willi, but as much as I’d fallen prey to her influence, I couldn’t go that far. If I left Mutti to move in with them, she’d disown me. It was enough that I contrived to deceive her. She’d be enraged if she found out I was going to auditions beyond the exclusive Kurfürstendamm Boulevard near the Behrenstrasse, where the trees strung with candelabra and the elegant facades of department stores gave way toa tawdry labyrinth of cheap theaters, kinos, and neon-lit cafés, as well as raucous cabarets, music halls, and other disreputable venues.
The auditions were excruciating. There were more unemployed musicians in Berlin than I’d supposed, my Weimar training and Uncle Willi’s reference vanishing like smoke in the air as hundreds rallied to the job calls. Their desperation only made the theater managers haggle for the cheapest rate. Male musicians, regardless of their talent, always won. A woman in an orchestra was rare, unless one took into account the growing infamy of the Girl Kabarets , where women performed onstage, in the orchestra, and behind the scenes after the show. But just as I resisted moving into Uncle Willi’s house, I resisted the lure of the cabaret because Mutti’s rules, inculcated in me since childhood, were not so easily disregarded. A musician, yes. A performer in a band in an off-boulevard establishment—never.
After months of rejections that left me disconsolate, Uncle Willi intervened. He’d had lunch with the manager of a prospering chain of picture houses owned by the UFA—the Universum Film Aktiengesellschaft , a studio that had started by presenting short reels about the war and branched out into full productions, some of which featured my Weimar actress-idol, Henny Porten. The manager had complained of losing a violinist in one of his traveling orchestras that accompanied the films. The job, Uncle Willi assured me, was mine. UFA had no issue with hiring a woman, as I’d not be seen in the pit. But the pay was less than I’d heard theater managers offer, scarcely enough to put food in my mouth, much less get me out of Mutti’s flat.
“I told you,” Jolie sighed. “You can always move in here with us. We’d be delighted to have you. Wouldn’t we, Willi dearest?”
My uncle didn’t look delighted. Like me, he feared the wrath of the dragon, as I’d dubbed Mutti. “I’d have to
He honed my skill—not as much as I wanted, but it was better than before. Just as Jolie improved my appearance, while I deprived my body until the day came when I finally fit into my new clothes and Mutti grumbled over supper, “You look different. Have you been doing something to your hair?”
“I cut it shorter,” I said, “for the violin. So it wouldn’t . . . get into my eyes.” I lowered my face as I spoke, lest she also decided to inspect my noticeably thinner cheeks and eyebrows. She didn’t. She was too exhausted from work; she retired like a farmer’s wife at sunset, leaving me and Liesel to wash the dishes and tidy up before bed.
My sister wasn’t so myopic. “You’ve been visiting that woman, haven’t you?” she said, so unexpectedly I almost dropped the plate I was drying. “Uncle Willi’s guest. She’s teaching you things. You pick at your food like a bird and your eyebrows are plucked. And you’ve not only cut your hair but also dyed it.”
“Wife. She is Willi’s wife.” I squared my shoulders. “Are you going to tell on me?”
“No.” She arranged the dishes in the cupboard; Mutti liked everything in order. “But she’s bound to find out, Lena. And when she does . . .”
“I’ll be gone. I’m applying for a job as a musician. As soon as I can, I’ll get my own room.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “On a musician’s pay?”
She was right. Jolie had warned me. In fact, she’d offered to let me move into the house with her and Uncle Willi, but as much as I’d fallen prey to her influence, I couldn’t go that far. If I left Mutti to move in with them, she’d disown me. It was enough that I contrived to deceive her. She’d be enraged if she found out I was going to auditions beyond the exclusive Kurfürstendamm Boulevard near the Behrenstrasse, where the trees strung with candelabra and the elegant facades of department stores gave way toa tawdry labyrinth of cheap theaters, kinos, and neon-lit cafés, as well as raucous cabarets, music halls, and other disreputable venues.
The auditions were excruciating. There were more unemployed musicians in Berlin than I’d supposed, my Weimar training and Uncle Willi’s reference vanishing like smoke in the air as hundreds rallied to the job calls. Their desperation only made the theater managers haggle for the cheapest rate. Male musicians, regardless of their talent, always won. A woman in an orchestra was rare, unless one took into account the growing infamy of the Girl Kabarets , where women performed onstage, in the orchestra, and behind the scenes after the show. But just as I resisted moving into Uncle Willi’s house, I resisted the lure of the cabaret because Mutti’s rules, inculcated in me since childhood, were not so easily disregarded. A musician, yes. A performer in a band in an off-boulevard establishment—never.
After months of rejections that left me disconsolate, Uncle Willi intervened. He’d had lunch with the manager of a prospering chain of picture houses owned by the UFA—the Universum Film Aktiengesellschaft , a studio that had started by presenting short reels about the war and branched out into full productions, some of which featured my Weimar actress-idol, Henny Porten. The manager had complained of losing a violinist in one of his traveling orchestras that accompanied the films. The job, Uncle Willi assured me, was mine. UFA had no issue with hiring a woman, as I’d not be seen in the pit. But the pay was less than I’d heard theater managers offer, scarcely enough to put food in my mouth, much less get me out of Mutti’s flat.
“I told you,” Jolie sighed. “You can always move in here with us. We’d be delighted to have you. Wouldn’t we, Willi dearest?”
My uncle didn’t look delighted. Like me, he feared the wrath of the dragon, as I’d dubbed Mutti. “I’d have to
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