ON THE first day of Easter vacation， I got up at four. Hanna was working the early shift. She rode her bicycle to the streetcar depot at a quarter past four and was on the streetcar to Schwetzingen at four-thirty. On the way out， she’d told me， the streetcar was often empty. It only filled up on the return journey.

　　I got on at the second stop. The second car was empty； Hanna was standing in the first car close to the driver. I debated whether I should sit in the first or the second car， and decided on the second. It promised privacy， a hug， a kiss. But Hanna didn’t come. She must have seen that I had been waiting at the stop and had got on. That’s why the streetcar had stopped. But she stayed up with the driver， talking and joking. I could see them.

　　The streetcar passed one stop after another. No one was waiting to get on. The streets were empty. It was not yet sunrise， and under a colorless sky everything lay pale in the pale light： buildings， parked cars， the new leaves on the trees and first flowers on the shrubs， the gas tank， and the mountains in the distance. The streetcar was moving slowly； presumably the schedule was based both on stopping times and on the time between each stop， and so the speed of travel had to be slowed down when there were no actual stops. I was imprisoned in the slow-moving car. At first I sat， then I went and stood on the front platform and tried to impale Hanna with my stare； I wanted her to feel my eyes in her back. After some time she turned around and glanced at me. Then she went on talking to the driver. The journey continued. Once we’d passed Eppelheim the rails were no longer in the surface of the road， but laid alongside on a graveled embankment. The car accelerated， with the regular clackety-clack of a train. I knew that this stretch continued through various places and ended up in Schwetzingen. But I felt rejected， exiled from the real world in which people lived and worked and loved. It was as if I were condemned to ride forever in an empty car to nowhere.

　　Then I saw another stop， a shelter in the middle of open country. I pulled the cord the conductors used to signal the driver to stop or start. The streetcar stopped. Neither Hanna nor the driver looked back at me when they heard the bell. As I got off， I thought they were looking at me and laughing. But I wasn’t sure. Then the streetcar moved on， and I looked after it until it headed down into a dip and disappeared behind a hill. I was standing between the embankment and the road， there were fields around me， and fruit trees， and further on a nursery with greenhouses. The air was cool， and filled with the twittering of birds. Above the mountains the pale sky shone pink.

　　The trip on the streetcar had been like a bad dream. If I didn’t remember its epilogue so vividly， I would actually be tempted to think of it as a bad dream. Standing at the streetcar stop， hearing the birds and watching the sun come up was like an awakening. But waking from a bad dream does not necessarily console you. It can also make you fully aware of the horror you just dreamed， and even of the truth residing in that horror. I set off towards home in tears， and couldn’t stop crying until I reached Eppelheim.

　　I walked all the way back. I tried more than once to hitch a ride. When I was halfway there， the streetcar passed me. It was full. I didn’t see Hanna.

　　I was waiting for her on the landing outside her apartment at noon， miserable， anxious， and furious.

　　“Are you cutting school again？”

　　“I’m on vacation. What was going on this morning？”

　　She unlocked the door and I followed her into the apartment and into the kitchen.

　　“What do you mean， what was going on this morning？”

　　“Why did you behave as if you didn’t know me？ I wanted . . .”

　　“I behaved as if I didn’t know you？” She turned around and stared at me coldly. “You didn’t want to know me. Getting into the second car when you could see I was in the first.”

　　“Why would I get up at four-thirty on my first day of vacation to ride to Schwetzingen？ Just to surprise you， because I thought you’d be happy. I got into the second car . . .”

　　“You poor baby. Up at four-thirty， and on your vacation too.”

　　I had never seen her sarcastic before. She shook her head.

　　“How should I know why you’re going to Schwetzingen？ How should I know why you choose not to know me？ It’s your business， not mine. Would you leave now？”

　　I can’t describe how furious I was. “That’s not fair， Hanna. You knew， you had to know that I only got in the car to be with you. How can you believe I didn’t want to know you？ If I didn’t， I would not have got on at all.”

　　“Oh， leave me alone. I already told you， what you do is your business， not mine.” She had moved so that the kitchen table was between us； everything in her look， her voice， and her gestures told me I was an intruder and should leave.

　　I sat down on the sofa. She had treated me badly and I had wanted to call her on it. But I hadn’t got through to her. Instead， she was the one who’d attacked me. And I became uncertain. Could she be right， not objectively， but subjectively？ Could she have， must she have misunderstood me？ Had I hurt her， unintentionally， against my will， but hurt her anyway？

　　“I’m sorry， Hanna. Everything went wrong. I didn’t mean to upset you， but it looks . . .”

　　“It looks？ You think it looks like you upset me？ You don’t have the power to upset me. And will you please go， finally？ I’ve been working， I want to take a bath， and I want a little peace.” She looked at me commandingly. When I didn’t get up， she shrugged， turned around， ran water into the tub， and took off her clothes.

　　Then I stood up and left. I thought I was leaving for good. But half an hour later I was back at her door. She let me in， and I said the whole thing was my fault. I had behaved thoughtlessly， inconsiderately， unlovingly. I understood that she was upset. I understood that she wasn’t upset because I couldn’t upset her. I understood that I couldn’t upset her， but that she simply couldn’t allow me to behave that way to her. In the end， I was happy that she admitted I’d hurt her.

　　So she wasn’t as unmoved and uninvolved as she’d been making out， after all.

　　“Do you forgive me？”

　　She nodded.

　　“Do you love me？”

　　She nodded again. “The tub is still full. Come， I’ll bathe you.”

　　Later I wondered if she had left the water in the tub because she knew I would come back. If she had taken her clothes off because she knew I wouldn’t be able to get that out of my head and that it would bring me back. If she had just wanted to win a power game.

　　After we’d made love and were lying next to each other and I told her why I’d got into the second car and not the first， she teased me. “You want to do it with me in the streetcar too？ Kid， kid！” It was as if the actual cause of our fight had been meaningless.

　　But its results had meaning. I had not only lost this fight. I had caved in after a short struggle when she threatened to send me away and withhold herself. In the weeks that followed I didn’t fight at all. If she threatened， I instantly and unconditionally surrendered. I took all the blame. I admitted mistakes I hadn’t made， intentions I’d never had. Whenever she turned cold and hard， I begged her to be good to me again， to forgive me and love me. Sometimes I had the feeling that she hurt herself when she turned cold and rigid. As if what she was yearning for was the warmth of my apologies， protestations， and entreaties. Sometimes I thought she just bullied me. But either way， I had no choice.

　　I couldn’t talk to her about it. Talking about our fights only led to more fighting. Once or twice I wrote her letters. But she didn’t react， and when I asked her about them， she said， “Are you starting that again？”

　　復(fù)活節(jié)第一天，我四點(diǎn)鐘就起床了。漢娜上早班，她四點(diǎn)一刻騎自行車去有軌電車停車場(chǎng)，四點(diǎn)半她就在開往施魏青根的電車上了。她對(duì)我說過，去時(shí)車上往往很空，只是回來時(shí)，車上才滿滿的。

　　我在第二站上了車。第二節(jié)車廂是空的，漢娜在第一節(jié)車廂里，站在司機(jī)旁邊。我猶豫著是上前面的車廂還是上后面的車廂，最后我還是決定上了后面的車廂。后面的車廂很隱蔽，可以擁抱，可以接吻，但是漢娜沒有過來。她一定看到了我在車站等車，也看到我上了車，否則車也不會(huì)停下來�？墒撬�還是呆在司機(jī)旁邊和他聊天說笑，這些我都能看到。

　　車開過了一站又一站，沒有人在等車。街道上也沒有人，太陽還沒有升起來，白云下面，一切都籠罩在白茫茫的晨曦中：房屋、停著的小汽車、剛剛變綠的樹木、開花的灌木叢、煤氣爐還有遠(yuǎn)處的山脈。因?yàn)楹枚嗾径紱]有停車，車現(xiàn)在開得很慢，估計(jì)是由于車到每站的時(shí)間是固定的，車必須按時(shí)到站。我被關(guān)在了慢慢行駛的車廂里。最初，我還坐在那兒，后來，我站到了車廂前面的平臺(tái)上，而且盡力注視著漢娜。她應(yīng)該能感覺到我在她身后注視著她。過了一會(huì)兒，她轉(zhuǎn)過身來仔細(xì)地打量著我，然后又接著和司機(jī)聊天。車?yán)^續(xù)行駛著，過了埃佩爾海姆之后，鐵軌不是建在街上，而是建在街旁用鵝卵石砌成的路堤上。車開得快些了，帶著有軌電車那種均勻的咔噠咔噠聲。我知道這條路線要經(jīng)過好多地方，終點(diǎn)站是施魏青根。此時(shí)此刻，我感覺自己與世隔絕了，與人們生活、居住、相愛的正常世界隔絕了。好像我活該要無目的地、無止境地坐在這節(jié)車廂里。

　　后來，在一塊空地上，我看見了一個(gè)停車站，也就是一個(gè)等車的小房子。我拉了一下售票員用以給司機(jī)發(fā)出停車或開車信號(hào)的繩子。車停了下來，漢娜和司機(jī)都沒有因?yàn)槲依�了停車信�?hào)而回頭看看我。當(dāng)我下車的時(shí)候，好像她對(duì)我笑了笑，但我不敢肯定。接著車就開走了。我目送它先是開進(jìn)了一塊凹地，然后在一座小山丘后面消失不見了。我站在路堤和街道中間，環(huán)繞著我的是田地、果樹，再遠(yuǎn)一點(diǎn)是帶著花房的花園。這里空氣清新、鳥語花香，遠(yuǎn)處山上的白云下，飄浮著紅霞。

　　坐在車上的那段時(shí)間，就好像做了一場(chǎng)噩夢(mèng)。如果我對(duì)那后果不是如此記憶猶新的話，我真的會(huì)把它當(dāng)做一場(chǎng)噩夢(mèng)來對(duì)待。我站在停車站，聽著鳥語，看著日出，就好像剛剛睡醒一樣。但是，從一場(chǎng)噩夢(mèng)中醒來也并非是件輕松的事，也許惡夢(mèng)會(huì)成真，甚至人們夢(mèng)中的可怕情景也會(huì)在現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中再現(xiàn)。我淚流滿面地走在回家的路上，一直到了埃佩爾海姆我才止住了哭泣。

　　我徒步往家走，試了幾次想搭車都沒有搭成。當(dāng)我走了一半路程的時(shí)候，有軌電車從我身邊開了過去，車上很擁擠，我沒有看到漢娜。

　　十二點(diǎn)的時(shí)候，我傷心地、憂心忡忡地。大為惱怒地坐在她房門前的臺(tái)階上等候她。

　　"你又逃學(xué)了？"

　　"我放假了，今天早上是怎么回事？"她打開房門，我跟她進(jìn)了屋，進(jìn)了廚房。

　　"你為什么裝做不認(rèn)識(shí)我的樣子？我想要……"

　　"我裝做不認(rèn)識(shí)你的樣子？"她轉(zhuǎn)過身來，冷冰冰地看著我的臉說，"你根本不想認(rèn)識(shí)我，你上了第二節(jié)車廂而你明明看見我在第一節(jié)車廂里。"

　　"我為什么在放假的第一天早上四點(diǎn)半就乘車去施魏青根？我僅僅是想要給你個(gè)驚喜，因?yàn)槲蚁肽銜?huì)高興的。我上了第二節(jié)車廂……"

　　"你這可憐的孩子，在四點(diǎn)半就起床了，而且還是在你的假期里。"我還沒有領(lǐng)教過她嘲諷的口吻。她搖著頭："我怎么知道你為什么要去施魏青根，我怎么知道你為什么不想認(rèn)得我，這是你的事情，不是我的，現(xiàn)在你還不想走嗎？"

　　我無法描述我的氣憤程度。"這不公平，漢娜，你知道的，你一定知道的，我是為你才去坐車的，你怎么能認(rèn)為我不想認(rèn)得你呢？如果我不想認(rèn)識(shí)你的話，我也就根本不會(huì)去乘車了。"

　　"啊，行了，我已經(jīng)說過，你怎么做是你的事，不關(guān)我的事。"她調(diào)整了自己的位置，這樣，我們之間就隔了廚房的一張桌子。她的眼神、她的聲音、她的手勢(shì)都說明她正把我當(dāng)成了一個(gè)破門而入者來對(duì)付，并要求我走開。

　　我坐到沙發(fā)里。她惡劣地對(duì)待了我，我想質(zhì)問她。但我還根本沒有來得及開始，她卻先向我進(jìn)攻了。這樣一來，我開始變得沒有把握了。她也許是對(duì)的？但不是在客觀上，而是在主觀上？她會(huì)或者她一定誤解了我嗎？我傷害她了嗎？我無意傷害她，也不愿?jìng)�害��，可還是傷害了她？

　　"很抱歉，漢娜，一切都搞糟了，我沒想傷害你，可是看來……"。"看來？你的意思是，看來你把我傷害了？你沒那能力傷害我，你不行�，F(xiàn)在你總該走了吧？我干了一天的活，想洗澡，我要安靜一會(huì)兒。"她敦促地看著我。看我還沒站起來，她聳了聳肩，轉(zhuǎn)過身去，開始放水脫衣服。

　　現(xiàn)在，我站起來走了。我想，我這一走就一去不復(fù)返了。可是半小時(shí)之后，我又站在了她的房門前。她讓我進(jìn)了屋。我把一切都承擔(dān)了，承認(rèn)我毫無顧及地、不加思考地、無情無愛地處理了這事。我知道她受到了傷害。我也知道她沒有受到傷害，因?yàn)槲覜]有能力傷害她。我明白我不可能傷害她，因?yàn)樗�根本就不給我這種機(jī)會(huì)。最后，當(dāng)她承認(rèn)我傷害了她的時(shí)候，我很幸福。這樣看來，她并非像她所表現(xiàn)的那樣無動(dòng)于衷，那樣無所謂。

　　"你原諒我了嗎？"

　　她點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭。

　　"你愛我嗎？"

　　她又點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭。"浴缸里還有水，來，我給你洗澡！"

　　后來我自問，她把浴缸里的水留在那兒，是不是因?yàn)樗�知道我還會(huì)回來的？她把衣服脫掉了是不是因?yàn)樗�知道我忘不了看到她脫衣服時(shí)的感覺，因此，會(huì)為此再回去的？她是否只是為了在這場(chǎng)爭(zhēng)執(zhí)中取勝？當(dāng)我們做完愛，躺在一起時(shí)，我給她講了我為什么沒有上第一節(jié)車廂而是上了第二節(jié)車廂的原因。她以嘲弄的口吻說：'小家伙，小家伙，你甚至在有軌電車上也想和我做愛嗎？"這樣一來，引起我們爭(zhēng)吵的原因就似乎無關(guān)緊要了。

　　可事情的結(jié)果卻至關(guān)重要。我在這場(chǎng)爭(zhēng)吵中不僅僅敗下陣來，在短暫的爭(zhēng)執(zhí)之后，當(dāng)她威脅著要把我拒之門外時(shí)，當(dāng)她回避我時(shí)，我屈服了。在接下來的幾周里，我沒有和她爭(zhēng)吵過一次，即使是很短暫的一次也沒有。當(dāng)她一威脅我對(duì)，我立刻就無條件地投降。我把所有的過錯(cuò)都攬到自己身上。不是我的過錯(cuò)我也承認(rèn)，不是故意的也說是故意的。當(dāng)她的態(tài)度冷淡和嚴(yán)厲的時(shí)候，我乞求她重新對(duì)我好，原諒我，愛我。有時(shí)候，我感覺到，她似乎也為自己的冷淡無情而苦惱。好像她也渴望得到我的溫暖、我的道歉、我的保證和我的懇求。有時(shí)我想，她太輕易地就征服了我，可是無論如何，我都沒有選擇的余地。

　　我和她無法就此交談。就我們的爭(zhēng)吵來交談會(huì)導(dǎo)致一場(chǎng)新的爭(zhēng)吵。我給她寫了一封或兩封長(zhǎng)信，可她對(duì)此毫無反應(yīng)。當(dāng)我問起此事時(shí)，她反問道："你怎么又開始了？"