only one bouquet. Erika’s mother affably helps mummify the bouquets in tissue paper for the trip home. We only have to carry these gorgeous flowers to the trolley stop and then the trolley will take us comfortably almost to our door. You start by saving on a cab, and you end up with an apartment. Indispensable friends and helpers offer rides in their own cars, but Mother calls them all dispensable. Thanks but no thanks. We accept no favors, and we offer none.
Walter Klemmer strides over and helps his piano teacherinto her winter coat with the fox collar; he is quite familiar with her coat from all their lessons. It’s got a belt and it’s also got that sumptuous fur collar. He covers the mother in her black Persian-lamb-paw coat. He wants to continue the conversation, which had to be interrupted. He instantly says something about art and literature, in case Fräulein Kohut has bled out all her music after the triumph she has just celebrated. He latches on to her, digging his dentition into her. He helps her into her sleeves, he is even so bold as to pull her shoulder-length hair out of the collar and arrange it neatly upon the fur. He offers to accompany the two ladies to the trolley stop.
Mother senses something that can’t yet be expressed. Erika has mixed feelings about any attention showered upon her. Let’s hope it won’t turn into hail the size of hen’s eggs, the hailstones could strike holes in her! She too has been given a gigantic box of candy; Walter Klemmer has wrested it from her and is now carrying it. He is also holding an orange lily bouquet or something of the sort. Burdened with all kinds of things, not the least of which is music, the three of them (after cordially saying goodbye to our host and hostess) trudge to the trolley stop. The young people should walk ahead, Mama can’t keep up with those young feet. Besides, Mama has a much better view from behind and can hear much better. Erika is already hesitating, because poor Mama has to slog along behind them, all alone. Usually, the two Kohut ladies enjoy walking arm in arm, discussing Erika’s achievements and unabashedly praising them. But today, some young male upstart is replacing faithful old Mother, who, crumpled and neglected, has to bring up the rear. The apron strings tighten and pull Erika back. They pinch her because Mother has to walk behind her. The fact that she herself offered to do so only makes it worse. If Herr Klemmer weren’t so seemingly indispensable, Erika could comfortably walk next to her mother. The two women couldruminate about the recital and perhaps graze in the candy box. A foretaste of the cozy, homey warmth awaiting them in their parlor. Perhaps they can even catch the late show on TV. That would be the nicest finale to such a musical day. And that student keeps getting closer and closer to her. Can’t he keep his distance? It’s embarrassing to feel a warm, steaming, youthful body next to you. This young man seems so dreadfully intact and carefree that Erika panics. He doesn’t intend to burden her with his health, does he? The twosomeness at home, which no one else can share, appears threatened. Who else but Mother could guarantee peace and quiet, order and security in their own four walls? Every fiber in Erika’s body longs for her soft TV armchair behind a locked door. She has her customary chair, Mother has her own, with a Persian pouf for her often-swollen feet. Their domesticity goes awry because Klemmer won’t skedaddle. He doesn’t intend to force his way into their home, does he? Erika would much prefer to creep into her mother and rock gently in the warm fluid of her womb. As warm and moist outside as inside. She stiffens in front of her mother when Klemmer gets too close for comfort.
Klemmer talks and talks. Erika remains silent. Her rare experiments with the opposite sex flash through her mind, but the memories aren’t good. Nor was the reality any better. Once it happened with a salesman who
Walter Klemmer strides over and helps his piano teacherinto her winter coat with the fox collar; he is quite familiar with her coat from all their lessons. It’s got a belt and it’s also got that sumptuous fur collar. He covers the mother in her black Persian-lamb-paw coat. He wants to continue the conversation, which had to be interrupted. He instantly says something about art and literature, in case Fräulein Kohut has bled out all her music after the triumph she has just celebrated. He latches on to her, digging his dentition into her. He helps her into her sleeves, he is even so bold as to pull her shoulder-length hair out of the collar and arrange it neatly upon the fur. He offers to accompany the two ladies to the trolley stop.
Mother senses something that can’t yet be expressed. Erika has mixed feelings about any attention showered upon her. Let’s hope it won’t turn into hail the size of hen’s eggs, the hailstones could strike holes in her! She too has been given a gigantic box of candy; Walter Klemmer has wrested it from her and is now carrying it. He is also holding an orange lily bouquet or something of the sort. Burdened with all kinds of things, not the least of which is music, the three of them (after cordially saying goodbye to our host and hostess) trudge to the trolley stop. The young people should walk ahead, Mama can’t keep up with those young feet. Besides, Mama has a much better view from behind and can hear much better. Erika is already hesitating, because poor Mama has to slog along behind them, all alone. Usually, the two Kohut ladies enjoy walking arm in arm, discussing Erika’s achievements and unabashedly praising them. But today, some young male upstart is replacing faithful old Mother, who, crumpled and neglected, has to bring up the rear. The apron strings tighten and pull Erika back. They pinch her because Mother has to walk behind her. The fact that she herself offered to do so only makes it worse. If Herr Klemmer weren’t so seemingly indispensable, Erika could comfortably walk next to her mother. The two women couldruminate about the recital and perhaps graze in the candy box. A foretaste of the cozy, homey warmth awaiting them in their parlor. Perhaps they can even catch the late show on TV. That would be the nicest finale to such a musical day. And that student keeps getting closer and closer to her. Can’t he keep his distance? It’s embarrassing to feel a warm, steaming, youthful body next to you. This young man seems so dreadfully intact and carefree that Erika panics. He doesn’t intend to burden her with his health, does he? The twosomeness at home, which no one else can share, appears threatened. Who else but Mother could guarantee peace and quiet, order and security in their own four walls? Every fiber in Erika’s body longs for her soft TV armchair behind a locked door. She has her customary chair, Mother has her own, with a Persian pouf for her often-swollen feet. Their domesticity goes awry because Klemmer won’t skedaddle. He doesn’t intend to force his way into their home, does he? Erika would much prefer to creep into her mother and rock gently in the warm fluid of her womb. As warm and moist outside as inside. She stiffens in front of her mother when Klemmer gets too close for comfort.
Klemmer talks and talks. Erika remains silent. Her rare experiments with the opposite sex flash through her mind, but the memories aren’t good. Nor was the reality any better. Once it happened with a salesman who
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