{"id":930,"date":"2016-07-22T16:01:50","date_gmt":"2016-07-22T16:01:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/staging\/?p=930"},"modified":"2026-05-28T23:00:04","modified_gmt":"2026-05-28T23:00:04","slug":"stefanie-jahn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/stefanie-jahn\/","title":{"rendered":"Stefanie Jahn"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Old House<\/strong><\/h3>\n

When you look at my exterior, you see a white painted, unremarkable house. They implanted a restaurant unto my feet and three floors with two flats each spring from my spine. Nothing special. But I am more than that. I lived through two world wars; I saw my neighbours bombed into pieces. I was there as governments rose and fell. But now I am old and tottery. I start to forget things. Sometimes I forget even the present around me. Well, I am old, more than hundred years. You have to excuse me. I could tell you so many stories, about what happened inside, outside and around me. But right now I just want to sleep. Let me sleep, just for a few minutes. I need to rest my bones. For God\u2019s sake! I can\u2019t. Because they tramp on my head, they clomp around with their heavy shoes. These new residents! They don\u2019t respect me any more. Last week they broke my spine. They tried to fix it with a stick and tape. That\u2019s how they treat me. Can you imagine? But that\u2019s not the worst. My bottom is covered over and over with parasites; my ears are hurting because of their humming bass echoing through my body. My feet and my legs are stuck in dust and dirt. The big toe of my left foot smells always of spicy food and my ankles are filled with food vapour. They try to rescue me only inside my head. They are cleaning, renovating and decorating. They try to remind me of the old days, when I was young and beautiful. When the old gramophone played in my stomach and made me dance. But those days are long ago. They died like the old tenant who lived in my head next to my left ear. I liked her. She was one of the good ones. We understood each other. But I knew that it would come to an end soon when she began to search for yesterday in her pocket – like searching for a packet of cigarettes. She became confused and tottery like me now. She forgot the most ordinary of things. I felt pity for her in those moments. For example she once wanted to start her day with a well-brewed coffee in the morning. But she confused the coffee pot with the filter basket of the coffee machine, so that she got coagulated coffee powder mixed in hot water instead. It was like coffee suffering from a thrombosis. Nevertheless she sipped her strange coffee without flinching.<\/p>\n

When it became worse, a lot of strangers came to visit her. They looked after her and tried to fix her disorientation. Once I heard them talk about the situation and they said it would be better if she would move out because it\u2019s too dangerous for her alone inside me. I wanted to scream and tell them, I would always protect her and I would keep an eye on her, but they didn\u2019t hear me. To my luck, the old one thought the same. They tried to convince her, but she got angry and started to wave around with her walking stick. She lost her words, so that she spitted in their direction until they escaped stumbling down my backbones. With a fist up in the air, she stood confused in front of her door, not knowing why she was so angry before. She limped slowly into me, her flat, supported by her walking stick. She sighed and had that specific look in her eyes that showed her forlornness. But then her look turned into a secret smile, as if she knew something no one else knows. She went to my left ear, opened it and swung her leg over it, as if she were young again, and sat there waiting for someone she lost years ago.<\/p>\n

We had good days before all these confusing things happened. The old one wasn\u2019t old. She was young and beautiful as I was. She went out from Monday to Friday and came back every day around 5 pm. She went somewhere, probably to work; I couldn\u2019t follow her, of course. But I always imagined an elegant office, where she worked as a secretary. When she came home, she would open my left nostril and I soaked in the fresh inrushing air blended with a splash of her flowery perfume. I can still smell it. I remember trying to talk to her:<\/p>\n

\u2013 Hilde? Are you there? Where have you been the whole time? Hilde, It\u2019s good to have you here. I need someone who treats me well and listens to me. \u2013<\/p>\n

Instead of answering me Hilde opens my left ear as well and swings her right leg up, leaping onto my outer ear, where she leans on my skin with her back. She begins to sing while she is lightning a cigarette. She takes a strong pull on it. She always does that, when she comes home. She always takes a break before she starts cooking or cleaning or preparing herself for a night somewhere outside in the city. But the last months it happened quite often that a young handsome man, showed up and ate dinner with her and also sometimes stayed over night. I can see in her eyes that she\u2019s dreaming of him right now. It\u2019s just a few days ago that he left. He\u2019s away again, on a business trip. She looks at the golden ring on her left ring finger.  Last Thursday, he asked her if she wants to be his wife. And she said yes. They agreed that they would plan the wedding as soon as he is back from his business trip. He works as an agent for a coffee company. That\u2019s why he has to travel sometimes to South America to check the quality of coffee beans. These trips require mostly three weeks. The ring on her finger tells her that it\u2019s true, that she doesn\u2019t dream it. In three or four weeks she will get married to the smart-looking man whose picture stands on her bedside table.<\/p>\n

\u2013 As soon as I am back, we will get married. That\u2019s what he said, she whispers to herself. Suddenly she gets the feeling that she shouldn\u2019t smoke and stumps out the cigarette hectically. And then she jumps down from my outer ear and starts cooking dinner for two persons. Even if he isn\u2019t there, she always cooks at least for two because her neighbour is an old man with bad eyesight, which makes cooking a significant challenge for him. After she finishes eating, she knocks on her neighbour\u2019s door and brings him the second half of what she has cooked. Also tonight she knocks on his door with a plate filled with plenty of food in her hands. He opens and says with a smile:<\/p>\n

\u2013 Thank you, young lady. What shall I do without you? I hope you stay here until God calls me.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Don\u2019t say that. You would do fine also without me, of course! she answers and smiles back at him.<\/p>\n

He gestures that she should step in, what she does, he follows her and they sit in his kitchen. While he eats, she tells him about her day. And after he finishes off, she goes with the empty plate back into her own flat, like they always do.
\n<\/p>\n

Three weeks later she gets a letter of her fianc\u00e9 that he has arrived in South America one week later as planned. They have many problems with the working progress there, so that he has to postpone his return journey. But she has not to worry. He comes back as soon as possible, for sure. He is not able to call her, because in that village is no telephone. In the last lines, he tells her how much he misses her and that he can\u2019t wait to get marry to her. She sighs, puts the letter away and strokes over her belly.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Good, that you are alive\u2026 Good, that he\u2019ll come back soon. I\u2019ve started worrying, she whispers.<\/p>\n

In the morning she was at the gynaecologist who told her that her stomach ache comes from her pregnancy. She is already in the tenth week. Everything is fine with her, he said. But he told her also that if she doesn\u2019t want the child that she has only two more weeks to decide that. Just a few months ago there was a big newspaper article about abortion, because the legality of abortion passed the parliament. The article picked up the old discussion showing the feminist movement shouting, \u201cWe did it, too!\u201d and \u201cIt\u2019s our body! It\u2019s our life!\u201d These paroles could you hear everywhere five years ago. When the women were on their move forward, getting more and more rights. Now it was in her ears again.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Miss Johnstone, are you listening? The doctor asked. It sounded as if it came from far away, from another world.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Miss Johnstone, he repeated.<\/p>\n

She recognized that she was still sitting half naked on the examination chair and she breathed a yes, scarcely audible.<\/p>\n

\u2013 I asked you if there\u2019s a father to the child, he said in a calm voice.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Yes, there\u2019s a father. We want to get married soon.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Perfect! So you will be a happy family soon. You don\u2019t have to worry. Sometimes it comes like a shock. That\u2019s normal. Go home and make you a cup of tea. And tonight you make for your fianc\u00e9 and yourself a good meal and tell him the news. He will be happy, too. You\u2019ll see. I see you in few weeks, for the next examination, he said and went out of the room leaving her half-naked as she was on the chair.<\/p>\n

Back home she found the letter and her doubts vanished.<\/p>\n

\u2013 I will tell him the good news, when he\u2019s back and I can feel his protecting arms around me again, she thought.<\/p>\n

Happily, she started whistling a Spanish song, he taught her, while she cleaned and cooked a meal for two persons. And as always she brought the second half to her neighbour. She was happy for one week, until that morning we both fell in bitter grief\u2026<\/p>\n

\u2013 Sorry, where was I? I feel groggy like I have a hangover. Why are my eyes so watery like after crying? I feel restless like I am searching for something, maybe for yesterday. Or probably, I become senile like Hilde did. \u2013<\/p>\n

In that time, except of her and the old lonesome grumpy white-haired one, only families lived inside of me. It wasn\u2019t common for a young woman like her to live on her own in the city. Now only young people live in me, sharing the flats for saving money, because most of them are poor students. One of them is always listening to Spanish music like Hilde was. She taught herself Spanish through listening to Spanish music and reading Spanish books. She wanted to learn Spanish because her fianc\u00e9 told her that she would need it if she wanted to follow him to Spain and South America. He brought her books and vinyl\u2019s back from there, so she was able to learn the language. So many times, they sat together in my outer ear and he told her fabulous stories about the lands so far away. One day, she wanted to see it with her own eyes. That it will also be his destiny, they didn\u2019t know at that point. On that sunny Saturday morning, when she made herself a nice breakfast and opened the newspaper, she froze immediately in movement. The half of a breakfast roll coated with butter and jam dropped of her hand. The article, which caught her attention, was about an earthquake in South America, right there where her fianc\u00e9 was working.<\/p>\n

\u2013 I can\u2019t be that he is under the thousands who lost their life. It just can\u2019t be, she mumbled in fear. Instinctively, she held her belly. A shiver ran down her back. And few seconds later she felt the morning sickness growing.<\/p>\n

\u2013 What shall I do if it\u2019s true? We had so many plans. And the baby won\u2019t have a father\u2026Two weeks, the doctor said\u2026No, Hilde! Everything will be fine! Erik will return as always, safe and sound, she told herself now again in her usual confident voice.<\/p>\n

But if the destiny wanted her to born the child, she got a phone call after the two weeks had passed. On Friday morning one week later, a colleague of Erik called her and told her the undeniable fact that Erik was under the thousands who were taken by the earthquake. The searching took almost one week until they found his body.<\/p>\n

\u2013 I am so sorry, Hilde. Erik told me about your wedding plans. I am so sorry. If I can do something for you, tell me!, He said.<\/p>\n

She was just strong enough to reply and thanked him for his call and support. When she laid down the receiver, she sunk into the couch next to the telephone, buried her face in her hands and started crying. She cried for him, for herself and also for the unborn child in her belly.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Where\u2019s she gone? Hilde? She was there; right there sitting and crying on the couch, wasn\u2019t she? Didn\u2019t you see her? No? I could swear\u2026 \u2013 Where was I? Maybe I get old and tottery as she became before she left me forever. Please, stop this music! The bass makes me sick! Where are the old days gone? And the music out of the gramophone that made me dance? \u2026 At least inside my head they try to rescue me. They are cleaning, renovating and decorating. They try to remind me of the old days, when I was young and beautiful.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Old House<\/b> When you look at my exterior, you see a white painted, unremarkable house. They implanted a restaurant into my feet and three floors with two flats each spring from my spine. Nothing special. But I am more than that. I lived through two world wars; I saw my neighbours bombed into pieces. I was there as governments rise and fall. But now I am old and tottery. I start to forget things. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1792,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-930","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/930","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=930"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/930\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2112,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/930\/revisions\/2112"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1792"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=930"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=930"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=930"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}