by Marc Levy
“Her name is Marina.”
“Pretty name.”
“She’s not my wife. It’s more . . . casual, you know, nothing too serious. We’re just sort of hanging up.”
“You mean ‘hanging out’?”
“Sure, whatever you say. My English still isn’t perfect . . .”
“You get by pretty well.”
They left the park and crossed the square. Thomas led her to a café terrace. After they sat down, a long time passed with the two just staring at each other in silence, incapable of finding any words.
It was Thomas who at last broke the silence. “It’s kind of mind-blowing how little you’ve changed.”
“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of changes since the last time you saw me. Try me at 6:00 a.m., and you can get an accurate count of just how many years have gone by.”
“I don’t need to. I counted every one.”
The waiter popped the cork out of a bottle of Prosecco and poured them two glasses.
“Thomas, about your letter . . . I have to tell you . . .”
“Stop. I know. Knapp told me everything. If there’s one thing I can say about your father, at least he sticks to his convictions.”
He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers delicately. Couples strolled across the square, stopping to admire the beauty of the Brandenburg Gate pillars.
“Are you happy?”
Julia said nothing.
“Where has life taken you?” asked Thomas.
“To Berlin, with you . . . just as lost as I was twenty years ago.”
“Why did you come back?”
“I didn’t have an address to write you. It had already been eighteen years; I didn’t want to risk it getting lost in the mail.”
“Are you married? Do you have children?”
“Not yet,” responded Julia.
“No children yet, or no marriage?”
“Neither.”
“Does that make you single?”
“You didn’t have that scar on your chin before.” She deflected.
“Well, jumping off walls is pretty harmless, but land mines leave their mark.”
“You’ve put on a bit of weight,” said Julia with a smile.
“Really? Thanks a lot!”
“No, it was a compliment. Seriously. It suits you.”
“You never got any better at lying. You’re right, I admit it. I’ve aged. Are you hungry?”
“No,” said Julia, lowering her eyes.
“Neither am I. Do you want to take a walk?”
“I feel like everything I say is just ridiculous,” she murmured.
“No, it’s not. You just haven’t told me a thing about your life yet,” said Thomas sadly.
“I went back to our little dive bar, you know.”
“I’ve never been back there myself.”
“The owner actually recognized me.”
“See? I told you: you haven’t changed.”
“They tore down the old building where we used to live and put up something new. There’s nothing left on our street except the little park across the way.”
“Maybe it’s better that way. Our time together gave me the only memories I have of that place worth keeping. I live in the West now. That may mean nothing to a lot of people, but I still see the border when I look out the window.”
“Knapp filled me in on your life,” continued Julia.
“Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
“That you run a restaurant in Italy, with a whole horde of children who help you make your pizzas,” Julia responded.
“That fool . . . I wonder how he came up with all that.”
“He was remembering the hell I put you through.”
“I imagine I put you through a lot, too, if you thought I was dead.” Thomas gave a slight wince at his own words. “That came out as very pretentious.”
“No. Well, yes, a little, but it’s true.”
Thomas took Julia’s hand in his own.
“We both followed our own paths. Life cut in and stepped between us. Your father had a lot to do with it, but in the end, it almost seemed as though fate itself was trying to keep us apart.”
“Maybe . . . destiny did it for our protection. Maybe we would have ended up annoying each other and getting a divorce. You’d be the man I hate most in the world, and we’d never have spent this evening together.”
“Or maybe we’d have spent the evening together, fighting over how to raise our kids. Not to mention, some couples break up and stay friends. So, are you seeing somebody? Please don’t nudge the question this time.”
“Dodge!”
“What?”
“You meant to say ‘dodge the question.’”
“I have an idea. Follow me.”
The adjoining terrace was part of a seafood restaurant. Thomas slipped in and deftly grabbed a table right from under the noses of a couple of waiting tourists.
“Is that type of thing normal for you these days?” asked Julia as she sat down. “It wasn’t very polite . . . and won’t they kick us out?”
“In my line of work, sometimes you have to be a bit assertive, and take care of yourself. Besides, I’m friends with the owner and rarely have a reason to play that card.”
Right on cue, the owner arrived and said hello to Thomas, then barked at him in an angry whisper, “Next time, be more discreet, or you’ll drive away my clientele!”
Thomas introduced Julia to his friend.
“What would you recommend for two people who aren’t hungry at all?” he asked.
“I’ll bring you some shrimp. That’ll kick-start your appetite, guaranteed.”
The owner left. Before entering the kitchen, he turned and gave Thomas a wink and a thumbs-up, clearly impressed by his date.
“I work in animation,” Julia told Thomas.
“I know. I’m a fan of your blue otter, actually.”
“You’ve seen Tilly?”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve seen all your work, but like everything in my profession, word gets around. I heard your name through the grapevine, then I had some free time one day in Madrid and noticed one of your movie posters outside, and decided to check out the film. The story wasn’t the easiest to follow, what with my Spanish being so shoddy, but I think I got the gist of it. Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“The bear character wasn’t based on me, by any chance, was it?”
“That’s funny. Stanley thought maybe the hedgehog was you.”
“Who’s Stanley?”
“My best friend.”
“And who’s he to call me a hedgehog?”
“He’s a smart guy, and very intuitive. But most of all, I talk to him about you all the time.”
“Sounds like a nice guy. What kind of friend is that exactly?”
“A widower. Let’s just say we’ve been through a lot together.”
“Wow. That’s really sad.”
“We’ve had good times, too, though.”
“No, I was talking about him being a widower. Did he lose his wife a long time ago, or—”
“Not wife, boyfriend.”
“Well, then I’m even sadder for him.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know, it’s stupid, but this Stanley seems even nicer when I picture him with a man. And who exactly inspired that weasel?”
“My downstairs neighbor. He runs a shoe store. Tell me, when you went to see my cartoon, what kind of a day were you having?”
“A pretty sad one, after the final credits rolled.”
“I missed you, Thomas.”
“I missed you, too. More than you can imagine. But we should change the subject. As far as I see, they’re fresh off of gnats in this place.”
“Fresh out of gnats.”
“Whatever you say. Bad days like the one in Madrid come and go. I’ve been through it hundreds of times, here, abroad . . . still happens from time to time, even now. But we
really should talk about something else, before you accuse me of boring you with my nostalgia.”
“Did you have any bad days in Rome?”
“How about you finally get around to telling me about your life, Julia?”
“Twenty years is a lot to catch up on.”
“You have someone waiting for you?”
“No, not tonight.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Yes. There’s somebody in New York.” Julia looked down at the table.
“Somebody serious?”
“We were supposed to get married last Saturday.”
“Why ‘supposed to’?”
“It was canceled.”
“Wow. Was it him or you who—”
“Actually, believe it or not, it was my father.” The thought brought a small smile to her face, her eyes rising off the tabletop.
“Still! After all these years, he’s still smashing your boyfriends’ faces?”
“No, this time he took it quite a bit further . . .”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s probably not altogether true, but I don’t blame you.”
“Well, truth be told, if anybody was going to punch out your fiancé, it should probably be me. Yikes, I really am sorry—that time I was way out of line.” Thomas shook his head ruefully.
Julia tried to swallow back a giggle, but she soon gave in to the insatiable urge and burst out laughing.
“What? Why is that funny?”
“The look on your face,” continued Julia, still laughing. “Like a kid next to an empty cookie jar, with crumbs all over his face. No wonder you inspired so many of my characters. Nobody but you can make faces like that. God, I really have missed you.”
“Stop. Just stop saying that, Julia.”
“Why?”
“Because you were supposed to get married last Saturday.” Thomas was no longer smiling.
Just then, the owner of the restaurant came to their table with a large plate of shrimp.
“I have just the thing for you two,” he announced. “Filet of sole in a fresh herb sauce with a side of grilled vegetables—just the ticket for your stubborn stomachs. How does that sound?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Thomas to his friend. “I’m afraid we won’t be staying. Would you mind bringing the bill?”
“Oh no you don’t. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you don’t leave my restaurant without tasting the food. So go ahead, keep on with your fighting, get it all off your chests, but leave your stomachs to me!”
The owner walked away to prepare the sole on a side table, but kept his stern gaze on Thomas and Julia.
“I get the impression we don’t have a choice. If you don’t put up with me a little longer, it seems you’re going to be in some real trouble with that guy,” said Julia.
“I get the same impression,” said Thomas, softening a bit. “Please forgive me, Julia. I really shouldn’t have . . . you know . . .”
“Stop apologizing all the time. It doesn’t suit you. Let’s try to eat, and then you can take me back to my hotel. I feel like taking a walk with you. Am I at least allowed to say that?” Julia asked, with the faintest hint of pleading.
“Yes,” Thomas replied with a smile. “So. Tell me exactly how your father managed to ruin your wedding.”
“Forget about him. Let’s talk about you.”
Thomas walked her through the past twenty years of his life, leaving out many key portions. Julia did the same. When they had finished dinner, the owner insisted they try his chocolate soufflé, which he had made especially for them. He brought out two spoons, but Julia and Thomas used only one.
With the moon shining brightly overhead, the two left the restaurant and took the long way back to Julia’s hotel. As they passed through the park, they caught sight of the full moon on the surface of the pond, where a few boats tied to a pontoon were gently rocking back and forth.
Julia told Thomas the old legend, and he told her about his travels, while sparing her the details of the wars he had covered. She told him about New York, her job, and her best friend, while avoiding any and all talk of the future.
They left the park and walked through the city. Julia stopped Thomas right in the middle of a particular city square.
“Do you remember?” she asked.
“Yes. This is where I found Knapp in the middle of the crowd. Talk about an unforgettable night. Whatever happened to your two French friends?”
“I haven’t spoken to them in ages. As I recall, Mathias runs a bookstore in Paris, and Antoine is an architect in London.”
“Did they get married?”
“And divorced, last I heard.”
“Look,” said Thomas, pointing to the darkened window of a café. “That’s the spot where we always used to meet up with Knapp.”
“You know, I actually found that number the two of you were always bickering about.”
“What number is that?”
“The percentage of East Germans who collaborated with the Stasi by passing along information. I happened to stumble across it a couple of years ago in the library, flipping through a special edition of a journal on the fall of the Berlin Wall.”
“A couple of years ago? You were still thinking of that as recently as—”
“Only two percent of the population. See? You can take pride in your fellow citizens.”
“My own grandmother was part of that two percent, Julia. I went and looked at my file in the archives. I suspected they would have something on me due to Knapp’s defection to the West. My own grandmother gave them information on me. I read pages and pages of details about my life, the things I did, who my friends were. Can you think of any stranger way of rediscovering all your childhood memories?”
“After these past few days? I could tell you some stories. But your grandmother might have done all that to protect you, so you wouldn’t be bothered.”
“Maybe. I’ll never know.”
“Is that why you changed your name?”
“Yeah, the idea was to put the past behind and start a new life.”
“Put the past behind, and everything in it? Even me?”
“We’re back at your hotel now, Julia.”
She looked up to see the Brandenburger Hof Hotel sign lighting up the face of the building. Thomas took her in his arms with a sad sort of smile.
“There’s no tree here. We can’t say goodbye like this.”
“Do you think things could have worked out between us?”
“Who knows?”
“I don’t know how to say goodbye, Thomas. Not even sure I want to . . .”
“I can’t tell you how sweet, how wonderful it was to see you again. Like an unexpected gift life handed me,” Thomas whispered.
Julia rested her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, it was so sweet. And so wonderful.”
“Of all the questions you haven’t answered tonight, only one of them really worries me. Are you happy, Julia?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“What about you? Do you believe things could have worked out between us?” asked Thomas.
“Probably.”
“Well, then you’ve changed more than I thought.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because back in the old days, with that sarcastic humor of yours, you would have said our life together would have been an utter fiasco. That there was no way you could have sat by and watched me get old and put on weight . . . and that you wouldn’t have put up with me traveling for work all the time. Stuff like that.”
“I guess I’ve just become a much better liar.”
“That’s the old Julia. The Julia I never stopped loving . . .”
“You really want to know if things could have worked? I can think of one way to find out,” said Julia breathlessly.
“What’s that?”
Julia placed her lips on his. The kiss stretched on and on—like two lovestruck teenagers, th
ey were oblivious to the rest of the world. She took him by the hand and led him through the hotel lobby, straight past the concierge, who was dozing behind the desk. Julia pulled Thomas to the elevators. She pushed the button, and their embrace continued to the sixth floor.
Their bodies reunited as naturally as they ever had in their most intimate memories. Sweat mingled with sweat under the sheets. Julia closed her eyes. His smooth hand slid down her stomach, and she reached up to clasp the nape of his neck. His mouth brushed from her shoulder, down her neck, and to the curves of her breasts. His lips wandered uncontrollably. She wove her fingers into his hair. His tongue went deeper, lower, and the pleasure rose in waves, bringing sensations from the past rushing into the present. With their legs intertwined and bodies wrapped around one another, no force could have torn them apart. The movements hadn’t changed. Awkward moments were vastly outshone by the tenderness of familiar instincts.
The minutes stretched into hours. At last, they lay at rest. Morning light broke over their languid bodies, strewn out and uninhibited in the warmth of the bed.
In the distance, a church bell struck eight. Thomas stretched and walked over to the window. Julia sat up and gazed at him, her sleepy eyes entranced by the interplay of shadow and light dancing across his body. Thomas turned around and looked back at Julia.
“God, you are beautiful,” he said.
Julia didn’t respond.
“Now what?” he asked with care.
“Now . . . I’m hungry!”
“I noticed that bag on the chair is already packed.”
“Well, I’m leaving. This morning,” Julia stammered.
“It took me ten years to move on. I thought all this was behind me. I thought that fear was most potent on the battlefield, but now . . . I can tell you it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling in this room right now, being here next to you and knowing I could lose you all over again.”
“Thomas . . .”
“What do you want me to say, Julia? That all this was a mistake? Maybe it was. When Knapp finally told me you were in town, I imagined that time might have wiped away all those differences, the things that separated us—a girl from the West and a boy from the East. I had hoped that was the one thing that might have changed for the better with age. But I think our lives are still very different, aren’t they?”
“I draw for a living; you’re in journalism. We’re both living the lives we dreamed of.”
