Freud's Mistress Read Online Free Page A

yards of extra-wide yellow brocade (no crinoline—too vulgar and old-fashioned) that would be measured, cut, and sewn into a tightly corseted, tyrannizing shape, emphasizing Martha’s tiny waist and modest derriere.
    The shop was located on a crooked, dark street with medieval cobblestones and was sandwiched between a perfumery and a fine cabinetmaker’s studio that reeked of lacquer. As the two girls entered, they were instantly marooned in silk. Scores of fat, luscious fabric bolts leaned up against the walls, blocking the aisles and windows, along with boxes spilling over with trimmings, bows, feathers, and fringe. Minna fingered the rich French weaves, the intricate Italian prints, the satin velours in jade and garnet and shimmering gold. But where were the prices? she wondered. Not a tag in sight.
    â€œMartha, how much do you suppose . . .”
    â€œOh, Minna, look. It’s Prussian blue velvet,” Martha replied, transfixed.
    â€œYour friends will be Prussian green with envy,” Minna said with a grin.
    At fourteen, Minna was taller than her older sister, almost unfashionably so, with abnormally long legs and neck, and collarbones that stuck out from her blouse. She did not yet go to socials, like her sister, nor did she even own one grown-up party dress. She glanced at herself, then at her sister in the dressing-room mirror. She did this on a regular basis, hoping her image would magically shrink down to that of her sister’s, but, alas, it was not to be, something that made her glad in the years to come.
    Minna, however, was comforted by some things. Both she and Martha had the same fine-boned Bernays profile and their skin was white and spotless. But her feet were gargantuan compared to Martha’s, and by the time Minna was eight, the two couldn’t even share boots or slippers. Then there was her hair, always falling out of its braid and ending up in unruly wisps around her face. And the matter of her handwriting. It was smudgier than Martha’s, the tutor never failed to point that out, while grudgingly conceding that Minna was the “student” in the family.
    After the fitting, the two sisters walked arm in arm past the architectural infinity of the Ring and the ornate facades of apartment houses, and then along the Kärntner Strasse, past the cathedral. Those days, one could hardly go anywhere without seeing military officers in full regalia, and a group of them smiled at the sisters and touched their helmets. Then it was just a few more streets down to the canal and the wholesale merchant mart, where they bought hot, sticky cream cakes in paper cones and waved at the people in passing boats. At that moment their world was secure and uncomplicated, and they were thankful in a way most young girls were not. The past had been a nightmare.
    Ten years earlier, when the family lived in Hamburg, their father, Berman Bernays, was sent to jail for bankruptcy fraud. He had been wrongfully accused, of that Minna was certain. Nevertheless, for years there was a lingering tinge of embarrassment that blighted family gatherings and other social events. While he was in prison, Minna’s mother assumed a haughty air of contempt to counteract the disgrace; and her older brother, Eli, dropped out of school, abandoned his friends, and went to work for an uncle from Kiev who peddled dry goods up and down the countryside. Eli would disappear for weeks on end to God knows where, then reappear dispirited and drained of energy, wearing rumpled clothes and smelling of sausage and cabbage. He would rail about the filth and disease of the villages, the crowded rooming houses with no lavatories, but most of all, he hated the life of an itinerant peddler. (Ah, well, thought Minna, he showed them all, moved to America with his own family, richer now than any of them.)
    She would never forget the day her father finally came home. He stood in the doorway, looking half-dead, his hair