Читать книгу Mirror, Mirror - Paula Byrne - Страница 7

Berlin, 1993

Die Deutsche Kinemathek

My mother was still alive when the wall came down, but she made no comment except this: ‘I have cried all my tears for Germany. They have dried and I have washed my face.’ She had the loveliest face since Helen of Troy, but her beauty was in flight, like Nike of Samothrace.

When she died alone, in her Paris apartment, she left no will. Her millions had been spent. But she had kept every possession in cardboard boxes: hats, scarves, gowns, shoes, clocks. I sorted 45,000 pages of correspondence, 16,500 photographs, and over 3,300 textile objects, and I sent everything I had to the Deutsche Kinemathek.

She was finally being honoured. Berlin’s most famous and infamous child. I could never imagine her as a girl. She was a goddess; unknowable, unreachable. When I was a child I had a doll called Heidi. She was the most beautiful doll, with golden hair, and nobody could have loved her more than I. But every day, I prayed that I would never have a daughter. Dolls could not feel pain. Could not be hurt. I feared girl children. I would not know how to be a mother to such complex creatures.

And now the last box has been sent. As I enter the museum, I find myself in a mirrored lobby, like a jewel box. A hundred images of myself are reflected back at me. I am old now. I see an elegant, white-haired lady in a smart suit. There are eyes everywhere, and with a sudden burst of grief and clarity, I know how she must have felt. Every aspect, every angle of her life scrutinised, photographed, filmed, analysed and judged. Nowhere to escape, and nowhere to hide. And now I understand what she meant when she told me ‘Kater, I was photographed to death.’