The American Reporter Pt. 03

"You should see the way the whites treat them, you'd think the Civil War was still raging," she stirred the tea slowly, "but you know what colour a black man bleeds?"

"Red," she answered her own question, "we can be different colours on the outside but on the inside we're all one colour, one human species descended from apes."

"Helmut despises coloured people," Helga stared at the ceiling fan turning slowly above them, "you should have seen his face when Jesse Owens won the hundred yard sprint at the Olympics. If Herr Owens had been standing in front of him and looks could kill, he would be dead."

"It was the same when he returned home," Harriet traced around a knot of wood in the table top, "the whites didn't know where to look. Even Roosevelt couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the nation's newest sporting hero."

"So, why do you stay in America?"

"Because for all its faults, America is still a democracy. The New Deal was unpopular with big business but no one doubts it rebuilt the country. America is built on an idea that people can decide their own fate and that government is there to serve the people, not the other way around. Granted there have been many mistakes over the centuries but every now and then you have one person or a few who stand up and tell the majority that they are going the wrong way. Change comes slowly but if you are not willing to change then you are already dead. The Jim Crow laws are a blight on my adopted country but one day they too will be swept away, once people begin to accept that change is not something to fear, it is a thing to embrace."

Helga looked down as Harriet nudged her.

"I am boring you?"

"No," she managed a slight smile, "you are not boring me. You have made me think and that is a good thing, although perhaps not so much at home."

"That is what worries me about Hitler," Harriet mused, "this hero worship of one man. Picture if you will, the perfect man or in my case the perfect woman," she studied her.

"Are you picturing him?"

"I am," Helga nodded.

"Now imagine he is in love with you and you are in a position to be with him."

"That would be impossible but I am with you."

"Eventually you would look at your perfect man and find some fault, perhaps he does not clean his teeth often enough or maybe he snores. It could be a minor thing but it would take away his perfect nature, yes?"

"Yes," she nodded, "I did not think Helmut was perfect but I thought him good enough, certainly the best choice at the time."

"And if you had a time machine and travelled back in time to meet your younger self, what would you tell her?"

Helga swallowed as she enunciated her reply.

"I would tell her to take the boat to America. My mother's brother lives there with his family, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, he wrote to my mother and suggested she move over with her husband but my father was not willing to leave his home. Papa was an older man and the war had damaged him, he was gassed during the war and now and then he would go into a hospital to rest for a month. It was the only peace we got at home."

"Is your uncle in America still alive?"

"Of course, Uncle Erich is still working. He owns a printing press, he sends Christmas cards every year and he always remembers my birthday," she contemplated the hashish pipe in front of her.

"That is another thing only you know."

"About your Uncle Erich sending you Christmas cards?"

"No, you are the only one who knows he wanted me to move to the United States. Not even my family know that," she picked up the pipe.

***

Helga couldn't pinpoint a day when she crossed the line and fell in love. It was not as if some great and marvellous thing had tipped the balance. She only knew that one August day as she watched Harriet drive away that her pulse quickened and she found herself memorising everything about their visit to the Museum of Antiquities. That night when Helmut came home late from work she pretended to be asleep when he leaned over to kiss her goodnight. It was only when she was sure he was asleep that she slipped out of bed to answer a call of nature and while she was contemplating this new situation Helga finally admitted privately that she loved Harriet.

That however presented a problem for Helga. How to show her love. For the fates it seemed had also aligned with her, Harriet's work consisted of a weekly article and while she wrote every day, much of what she wrote was background material for upcoming articles. The eyes of the world were on Germany and China and the latter was of more importance to the American public. Thus Harriet had a lot more free time on her hands and it had not escaped Helga's attention that her friend was getting restless. By now they had seen each other almost every day for the last three weeks and Helga realised with a start that it was nearly a month since she had washed Harriet's back in the bath. Had it been that long ago?

The idea came to her that next morning as she mended one of her husband's shirts in the sewing room. A book of patterns had arrived in the mail the previous week and one of the patterns for a blouse had caught her eye because it was a good copy of a blouse worn by Greta Garbo. As she stared at the blouse she recalled the outburst in Harriet's hotel room when she was getting changed for their daily visit to the souk.

"I really need to buy some new clothes. I packed for a month and I have been here nine months."

"I could make you some," Helga found herself saying without thinking.

"Please be my guest," Harriet sighed.

The result hung from a hanger on the other side of the bedroom and it filled her with a mixture of excitement and fear. She'd told Harriet that she had indeed made something but when Harriet asked to look at it Helga refused.

"It is my surprise even though you now know."

"So I am to be kept in suspense?" Harriet eyed her as she pulled up outside Helga's house.

"Until the day after tomorrow," she replied.

"Thursday," Harriet pouted in the rear view mirror.

"Helmut is working late, again. I have told him I will be seeing you for lunch."

"I already know one thing," Harriet smiled.

"What?"

"This garment you are making has silk-covered buttons."

"It might," Helga eyed the bag containing her purchases.

"And yesterday you bought white lace."

"I do make other things too, the lace might be for curtains."

"Even though you already have fine lace curtains," Harriet grinned.

"Will you please let me surprise you?"

"Forgive me," Harriet laid a hand on her leg somewhat lightly, "but this is arousing to me. I did not stop thinking about it when I left you yesterday."

That snippet of conversation came back to her as she stared at her freshly made up face in the mirror. The truth be told it was arousing to her as well.

These are the things you do for lovers.

A smile nudged her lips as she heard the doorbell, followed a minute or so later by footfalls as her housekeeper went to answer the door. She heard Harriet's voice in the entrance porch and rose quickly and crossed the room to gather up the blouse and hang it on one of the hooks at the back of the wardrobe door. She'd just closed the door when Harriet stepped into the room. She wore a white blouse tucked into a white skirt, Helga swallowed her fear and put her back to the door as she regarded her.

"Today is the day," her eyes narrowed.

"It is," Helga stepped forward with her hand on the knob and pulled the door outwards, "and here is your surprise."

She half turned and pushed the door wide open to show the blouse, her heart in her mouth at the look on Harriet's face. Her mouth was wide open as she stared at the white blouse with the tie neck collar in white lace, the cuffs were flared with white lace as well.

"My God," Harriet moved closer, "you have a rare and beautiful talent," she glanced at Helga, "it is the blouse, isn't it?"

"Ja," she nodded, "and you were right, the buttons and the lace were for the blouse."

"I hope it fits me."

"Would you like to try it on?"

"Do the ducks fly south in winter?" Harriet chuckled, "of course I want to try it on, now."

Helga didn't know if it was watching Harriet change or the thought that she might have made it too small but she definitely felt disconnected and almost robotic as her friend buttoned the blouse and tied the wide tie into a bow.

"It fits?"

"Like a glove," Harriet looked down at herself and smoothed her hands over her breasts, "this is a gift I will treasure for many years, although in twenty years time I don't think it will fit me."

"Then I will make you a new one in twenty years."

Harriet stared at her and Helga blushed and touched her hair.

"I am sure that despite the current situation in Germany that you and I will always be friends."

"But of course," Harriet examined herself in the mirror on the back of the other door, "you and I will always be friends."

A moment later she took two steps forward and kissed her on the lips. Helga felt slightly heady as the perfume washed over her and for a split second she parted her lips, willing herself to go further but then the moment passed and Harriet stepped back.

"I will wear it today of course, we will have to choose a different restaurant though," she ran an eye over Helga's outfit. Helga had opted for a white trouser suit and white blouse, although she had borrowed one of Helmut's ties.

"You look almost like Marlene Dietrich," she reached out and tugged at the tie, "I was wearing a tie just like that the first time you came to my hotel room."

Helga smiled at that as she flicked at her hair.

"I had not realised that, this is one of Helmut's ties."

"Shall we?" Harriet nodded at the door.

***

The restaurant Harriet took them to was a French one, the irony didn't escape her and she stifled a chuckle as they were shown to their table. Helmut's opinion of the French had never been good but of late it had deteriorated even more.

"He loathes them but because he works at the embassy he must maintain some decorum," Helga commented some time later.

"And how do you find the French?"

"Honestly?" Helga sipped her wine, "before I met you I might have agreed but since meeting you I feel as if the scales have fallen from my eyes."

"I was not aware you had scales on your eyes," Harriet looked past her and smiled, "although it was a few weeks ago."

Helga chuckled at that.

"I feel as if I have been living in a waking dream, like the poor souls in an asylum. They walk and have the appearance of sanity but when you talk to them their eyes are blank, their medication keeps them calm. Helmut tried to have me sent to a sanatorium after my miscarriage because he thought my emotional state needed medical help."

"Helmut tried to have you committed?" Harriet's eyes shifted dangerously, "does he not know the value of grieving? You carried a child in your womb and then lost it, there might be some women whose state of mind warrants such a measure but there is usually something else that triggers it, not a miscarriage."

The words came slowly, painfully so but over the next hour or so Helga came out with more about that fateful day when she fell heavily and started bleeding. Harriet listened patiently as she told about how she'd begged Helmut to help but he had seemed almost dismissive and it was only when she started feeling faint that he finally took her to hospital. Thankfully the doctor had seen the worrying signs but despite his best efforts he was unable to save the baby.

By the time she finished talking, Helga felt drained and almost lifeless. Reliving it had brought it all back again. The angry accusations, Helmut's angrier retorts and finally the silence between them that was only really broken when he announced casually over dinner that they were moving to Cairo.

"He said it would be good to feel the sun on my skin. He thought that a change of scenery would lift my mood and I have to agree, it did at first but then I felt as if I had to perform a routine in a play with no ending."

"This is the first time you have told me everything," Harriet nudged her hand gently, "you have found your voice."

"And yet the only time I feel I can use my voice is when I am in your company," she glanced at a newspaper on a nearby table, "and with every passing week it seems as if our countries are moving closer and closer to war."

"Such are the ways of men," Harriet smiled crookedly, "they would rather make war than make love," she glanced at her watch, "but it is now afternoon and I should take you back home."

Helga opened her mouth to say no but instead she merely agreed. Nevertheless, she felt as if she was in a trance as she slid onto the passenger seat of Harriet's car. It was such a familiar routine by now, the drive home so as she could prepare to greet her husband. Harriet went back to the hotel to work on her stories or read.

"Shit," Harriet swore suddenly and pulled over to the side of the road.

"What is wrong?"

"I went past your street," she glanced up at the rear view mirror, "I completely missed it."

"Perhaps you should keep driving."

"Where?"

"Where do you usually go after you drop me off?"

"The hotel," she replied.

"Then let us go to the hotel room, Helmut has been working later every day."

Harriet leaned on the steering wheel and studied her, a few moments later she reached out and touched her cheek gently.

"Okay, we will go home but you should call your husband from the hotel and tell him I was feeling faint and you will sit with me for a while."

"Of course," Helga murmured.

***

Helga had never lied so blatantly to Helmut, although she had told white lies but she was on totally different ground now. Helmut seemed distracted over the phone and actually believed her lie, which made it all the more surreal as she followed Harriet up the stairs to her hotel room. She was just going to sit for a while and take in the sounds of the city, the low hum of traffic, the tooting of horns and the ceaseless tide of humanity moving past the hotel. She would not give into temptation and yet as soon as she stepped inside the room, Helga felt a tremor of excitement tinged with anxiety and guilt.

Nevertheless, Harriet did not touch her in a way that could be construed as being sexual. On the contrary, she almost seemed distant and aloof as she rang down for champagne that was delivered by a uniformed bellboy.

"So, what are we to do with ourselves for the rest of the afternoon?" Harriet propped on her elbow a few minutes later, "the champagne is good but I am in the mood for something else."

Helga pursed her lips as she set the glass down. They were both sitting at a small table near the window and she let her eyes play over the bedroom door.

"Perhaps an afternoon nap?"

"Is that before or after sex?"

Helga blushed but said nothing and a moment later Harriet reached over and loosened Helga's tie, inching the silk tie through the knot. Helga put a hand on top of Harriet's hand but didn't try to stop her as the other woman undid the tie. A cheeky grin nudged her lips as she slid the tie over her shoulder and rose.

"If you want your tie, it will be in the bedroom," and with that she picked up her glass and the bottle and walked into the bedroom.

Helga stared after her as she tried to think of an honourable or at least half diplomatic solution to the missing tie, but as she sat at the table with her half full glass of champagne she recalled an off the cuff remark Harriet had made a couple of weeks ago.

"There are two ways to look at life," she'd raised a glass of beer, "the glass is either half full or half empty. To most people this glass is half empty and they fret over it and all their decisions are taken in light of this half empty glass. Then there are those who see the glass as half full, which is better than an empty glass, for them there is some relief and satisfaction that there is still something left in the glass."

For the last year, Helga's glass had been half empty. The miscarriage had taken more than the life of her unborn child, it had taken her will to go on and yet this alluring, Anglo-American had given her the will to live. Her immediate situation had not changed but her perception had changed. Now she had an opportunity to make love with a woman. Helmut would never know the truth, nor would he suspect infidelity, an affair with a woman was not so easily proved. Men rarely inquired into secret women's business, why would they?

Nevertheless, it was with a sense of unreality that Helga also rose and walked into the bedroom. Harriet sat on the bed with her back to the brass bedhead, their eyes met and Helga closed the door and felt the latch. A moment later she turned it to lock the door, the click sounded louder than she thought possible but every sense was on a heightened level. She put her back to the door, feeling the mouldings around the central panel pressing into her shoulderblades.

Harriet moved forward and untied the bow of the collar tie, and then slid off the bed and leaned down to remove her shoes, they clunked on the floor when she dropped them. Helga swallowed as Harriet rose and moved to the window, it was only when she unhooked the second curtain tie, plunging the room into semi-darkness that Helga finally moved away from the door. Her eyes locked onto the bed, now freshly made up, everything seemed to move in slow motion as she reached the bed and stopped. She was aware that Harriet was slowly moving towards her and then she felt a light touch on the small of her back and caught the aroma of her perfume.

"Are you sure?" Harriet murmured.

"I am," she exhaled.

Harriet turned her around and studied her face.

"A second time, are you sure?"

"Ja, I am sure," she replied.

"Then kiss me," Harriet replied.

Helga stared into her eyes, willing herself outwards and she felt Harriet's hands grabbing hers and then she brushed her lips across Harriet's. It was a brief touch, she tasted champagne and then the other woman moved forward slightly, grasping her hands firmly and tilting her head at the same time. Her lips parted and found Helga's lips at the same time and for a brief instant, Helga felt the desire to pull back but that dissipated as the power of the kiss took hold. It was a kiss such as she'd not had in such a long time. The only person who had kissed her so tenderly was Hans, the Jewish boy who had been taken to a camp. His face filled her now as Harriet's kiss continued, soft lips tugged at hers, tasting her juices and yet at any time she could have pulled back.

Helga finally broke free and exhaled as she looked sideways at the wall where a rather bad painting of the Great Pyramid of Giza hung. It held her attention as Harriet released her hands and brought her hands up to her face. One hand cupped her cheek, the other brushed her hair aside and then she kissed the side of her neck with soft, teasing kisses. A tremor went through her body at that point and she felt the familiar dizziness, part desire, part fear.

Driven partly by a desire to keep distance between them and out of instinct, she put her hands on Harriet's shoulders but didn't try to move away. A few moments later she felt her friend's hands sliding down over her front to her breasts. She held them firmly and Helga turned her head to stare into her eyes and then a moment or two later Harriet kissed her again, this time however she forced her mouth open in a passionate kiss that almost made her swoon. She tried to pull away but Harriet held her firmly and when they finally parted she was panting.

"Du hast mich geküsst." Helga finally spoke.

"Yes, I kissed you," Harriet translated, "more than once. It is the way with women, we like to kiss each other," she squeezed her breasts, "all over."