The story implies that Vroni’s carefree existence is possible because she lives in a “welfare state,” where the government supports child care, education, housing, and so on, and thus there is less pressure to earn and climb in a career, and children can be somewhat left to raise themselves. Is that your take on life in Germany, too?
Germany is a more patriarchal, more ageist, less free country than the U.S., but a little constitutional commitment to human dignity goes a long way. Unlimited education for all who qualify is crucial to maintaining the level of public discourse, as well as the quality of public services. By “less free” I mean, for instance, that federal law here mandates rent stabilization and even something resembling unionization. It’s hard to evict or fire anyone, and wages in fields with vulnerable workers are regulated (along with payments to veterinarians, estate lawyers, and other potential extortionists). The lack of an open market gives workers leverage, and women often use it to reduce their hours in harmony with the short school days here, rather than to raise their income. Day care is sparse, because of stringent licensing requirements. But now I’m reminding myself of a German friend who warned an American friend’s trans child against moving here because of Germany’s “creeping fascism.” If it’s creeping here, what’s it doing over there—galloping? Poor people struggle in Germany, but from a relatively comfy platform, child care aside.
I don’t want to give away the last scene of the story for anyone who hasn’t read it yet, so I’ll just say that it comes as a completely unexpected shock to Julia. Why do you think Julia fails to read the room, so to speak, and doesn’t realize that her view of things isn’t shared by those around her?
She’s always known that there’s a disconnect between her and Vroni, but that’s common enough in friendships, unless you socialize exclusively with like-minded people from your own milieu. The paradox is that, when you’re not just nodding and smiling about unfamiliar emotions but truly trying to comprehend them, you’re probably forcing square pegs into round holes. If Vroni published a novel, of course, Julia would be off the hook. Any reader can buy access to literary writers’ minds for the price of a library card and then give them one-star reviews for not being relatable. But Vroni’s just trying to live her life. Because Julia cares about her enough to identify with her, she’s torn between expressing her concerns and simply being a helpful friend.
Should we take it as both literal and metaphorical that, on the mountaintop, Julia feels as if she were about to fall into an abyss while Vroni bounds around like a chamois, fully convinced of her own safety?
Right now all my American pals who aren’t retirement age are afraid of losing their jobs. They work in fields that are downsizing, like journalism, social work, and global-health advocacy. Many own guns, which they keep loaded and within reach when I’m sleeping in their homes, to my extremely amazed trepidation. Julia’s first instinct is to fear the unknown, because life in America can be over so fast, both figuratively and literally. One little tax-evasion case goes against you, one mug shot for an alleged misdemeanor, and you’re unemployable, at least if you have an unusual name like mine. In Germany, you can discreetly serve time for murder—generally fifteen years, with time off for good behavior—which cuts down on your motivation to take out as many people as possible in one fell swoop, before turning the gun on yourself. I say that Julia consumes news stories—which contributes to her anxiety—and happy-go-lucky Vroni doesn’t, but the unpredictability in the U.S. is getting close enough to touch. My friends in Philly had a neighbor shot to death by a fourteen-year-old in front of their house, followed by a mass shoot-out between two teen cliques at the local dog run, and the weirdest thing happened when I was in Virginia in October: I was at an old friend’s house way out in the woods, and someone came during the night and stole about fifty ripe tomatoes out of the garden. We were planning to can them the next day. I guess Americans are back to doing food heists like hobos.
