The Valkyrie Song

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Sisters, she thought, are reflections of each other.

Ute sat and watched herself in younger reflection: Margarethe. Margarethe looked weary. And sad. It hurt Ute to see her like that: when they had been small, it had been as if the energy had been divided unequally between them — Margarethe had always been the livelier, cleverer, prettier sister. It also hurt Ute to see her sister in a place like this.

‘Do you remember,’ said Margarethe, gazing at the blue-tinged window glass, ‘when we were little? Do you remember we went to the beach and looked out across the Schaalsee and you said that one day we would sail away across it? To the other part of Germany — or to Denmark or Sweden — and you told me that it wasn’t allowed? Do you remember how angry I got?’

‘Yes, Margarethe, I remember.’

‘Can I tell you a secret, Ute?’

‘Of course you can, Margarethe. That’s what sisters are for. Just like when we were little. We always told each other secrets back then. At night, with the lights out; when it was safe to whisper, and Mamma and Papa couldn’t hear us. You tell me your secret now.’

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