The girl next to him, Charlene, watched Amos and Dolly dance, too. She wore strong lilac perfume and drank a gin fizz. She smoked Camels and constantly dug in her handbag; that seemed to be her chief occupation. Henry could not quite remember her background: she worked in Mexico, Maine, or maybe it was Rumford, and she was up visiting Dolly for the weekend. She had leaned into him twice and put her hand on his thigh. Now, he supposed, she was inattentive because he had not responded. Amos responded instantly to women, staking out territory as if a date were a military campaign, but Henry simply felt uneasy in the haze of hands and drinks. He always had. Besides, he was tired and wanted to turn in, but he imagined Amos was set on having a big night and he doubted they would make it home much before dawn.
Amos and Dolly returned to the table when the jukebox flipped over onto a new record. Lester Young began singing “Stardust.”
“You two not dancing?” Amos asked, his voice drunken and tight and watery. “What’s wrong with my brother? Is he being a wet blanket, darling? He sometimes is, but he can’t help himself. Is he being a wet blanket?”
Amos asked the question of Charlene, but she missed it for digging in her purse. Like a badger or groundhog, Henry thought drunkenly. Like an animal trying to dig into the earth.
“Let’s have another round,” Dolly said, wobbling a little on her feet. “We could use another round.”
“Now you’re talking,” Amos said. “Now you’re making perfect sense.”
“We may have had enough,” Henry said, though he knew it was futile to say it.
“Enough? Now come on, Henry, we have to have a little fun, don’t we? This is our first night out in the old haunts in a long time. We’re haunting the old haunts,” he said again, evidently amused at his construction, then straightened and called to the bartender. “Ernie, another round, my good man. The same poison. The same concoctions. We’ll keep trying till we get it right. Until we perfect them.”
Amos sat and dragged Dolly onto his lap. Dolly was a Berlin girl, younger than any of them. She worked in the restaurant at the local bowling lanes. She had dark hair and a slim waist and she wore a bright black-and-white-checked skirt that made Henry think of checkers. She leaned back onto Amos’s lap, yawning as she went. Some of her hair had come loose on the right side of her head and it dangled down. She fit Amos’s lap like a viola. Now and then, despite her drowsiness, she shot a hand down to stop Amos from exploring too freely beneath the table.
“You’re horrible,” she said to Amos after one of his attempts and just before the next round arrived. “Did you know how horrible he is, Henry? Just the devil, your brother. Charlene, didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I say Amos is a devil?”
Charlene nodded. She looked up only when Ernie, the bartender and owner, appeared with the next set of drinks.
“This place is for the birds,” Charlene said after Ernie withdrew. “Just for the birds. I thought we were going out someplace special.”
“This is special,” Amos said, nuzzling Dolly’s neck. “This is where everyone goes. This is where the elite go to meet.”
“Well, if this is the elite, I don’t know where that puts me,” Charlene said, taking her gin fizz off the cork-bottomed platter Ernie used to serve them. “Some big night out.”
“This is the only place open this late,” Amos said. “Stow that gab.”
“Let’s drive over and see the Krauts,” Dolly said. “You said we could. I want to see them!”
“They’ll be asleep now,” Amos said, his hand beneath the table, making Dolly shift quickly on his lap. “They went nighty-night.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting out of this dump,” Charlene said.
“You’re a picky one,” Amos said, turning a drunken eye on her. “Dolly, your friend is a picky one.”
“They’ll be waking up by the time we get there,” Dolly said. “Can’t we go? Can’t we please, please go?”
She kissed Amos and wiggled a little deeper into his arms. Henry felt resigned to whatever happened. The last thing he wanted was to drive to Stark to see the German prisoner-of-war camp in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t think of a way to get out of it without being again called a wet blanket.
“Your wish is my command,” Amos said, chucking Dolly up onto her feet and grabbing his drink. “Let’s go. You have to promise not to get fresh in the car, though.”
Dolly laughed and slapped his arm lightly. Amos drained half of his drink. He took a big, breathy inhalation to steady himself. Henry stood and said he’d drive.
“The hell you will,” Amos said. “I’m your big brother, so it’s up to me to drive. You take a ride in the backseat with Charlene. Charlene, you promise to keep your hands to yourself in the dark?”
“Sure I do,” Charlene said, coming alive a little at the prospect of a drive. “I love a car ride.”
In no time Henry found himself standing beside the family Oldsmobile, its front wheels jammed up on the lawn beside Ernie’s Tavern. Amos had wheedled a bottle of rye from Ernie. He grasped it as if choking its neck, the brown paper bag around it rolled back as a collar. Amos held the door open for Dolly and she slid inside. Henry did the same for Charlene and then climbed in beside her. She had apparently refreshed her lilac perfume, because she gave off a haze of fragrance, slightly tinged by the scent of gin.
“Now, this is an adventure,” Amos said, pulling away from the curb. “You girls ready for a little adventure?”
“Of course we are,” Dolly said, turning in her seat to glance at Charlene. “Aren’t we ready for an adventure, Char?”
“My friend saw the German camp and she said one of the men had red eyes,” Charlene said. “You wouldn’t notice it right away, not in full sunlight, but right near evening his eyes caught the sun and she swore they were red. Like a wolf or something.”
“A couple of them have tails,” Dolly said. “I know that for certain. I have it on good account.”
“What, were you in the showers with them?” Amos asked.
Dolly shrieked in mock offense. The car jerked across the road and Amos settled it back too rapidly and the tail fished out a little. Henry held the back of the seat in front of him. Charlene’s perfume had begun to make him a little seasick. He rolled down the window beside him. Fog laced the roads and puffed as the car passed through it.
Henry dozed for a while. When he woke, Charlene had the rye bottle in hand and shoved it against his shoulder. They had arrived at the camp. It wasn’t much of a place, Henry saw. He took a drink and climbed out when the car stopped. Amos leaned hard on the horn.
“Wake up, you German shits!” Amos yelled in between honks. “Heil Hitler, you Heiny bastards!”
Dolly giggled. Charlene walked close to the fence and stared inside.
“It’s too dark,” she said. “I can’t see anything.”
“The guards are going to chase us off,” Henry said. “We should go.”
“I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” Amos said. “It’s a free country.”
He honked the horn in one long blast. It sounded terribly loud in the darkness, Henry thought. He walked off a few paces and peed against a maple, happy to be away from the horn noise. Amos joined him. Amos had trouble staying steady on his feet. Henry offered to drive back, but Amos shook his head.
“I got it,” he said, zipping up.
He honked the horn some more. There was nothing to see, Henry reflected, except when the searchlight passed over the interior of the camp. He could make out guard towers posted on each side of a square, and he saw the fence topped by razor wire, but otherwise it was difficult to make out any details. It was too early, or too late, for the German soldiers to be about. They would still be in their barracks, asleep.
“Okay, let’s go,” Amos said, letting off the horn. “You girls satisfied?”
“We didn’t see anything!” Charle
ne said. “I wanted to see something.”
“At least you can say you’ve been here,” Amos said. “Climb back in. I have to put my little brother to bed.”
“I can put myself to bed,” Henry said, bored with Amos’s constant reference to his age.
“No, it’s my job to look out for you, little brother.”
Henry climbed into the backseat. Charlene climbed in, too. Amos grabbed Dolly and kissed her and rolled her a little on the hood of the car. Dolly fought him off and crawled into the car, laughing.
On the way back, near Eden Road, Amos pulled the car onto a dirt turnout and told the girls they had to take off their clothes to get a ride back.
“Stop it!” Dolly said, laughing. “You’re so naughty!”
“I’m serious,” Amos said in a voice that Henry didn’t recognize as coming from his brother. “Get out and peel off. I want to see both of you. The whole package. Either that or you can stay right here and walk home.”
A tightness entered the car. Henry couldn’t read his brother’s tone, though he imagined Amos was drunk enough to do anything, to mean anything. The girls didn’t speak. Amos turned off the car. Light had begun to build in the east. It was a crazy situation.
“Amos . . . ,” Henry started, but Amos opened his door and climbed out.
“Both of you naked,” Amos said. “If you want a ride home, that is. That’s the fare. You don’t have to if you want to walk home.”
“What a bastard,” Charlene said. “I thought you were a bastard, but I didn’t know you were this kind of bastard.”
“I’m not doing that,” Dolly said. “You stupid, damn gorilla.”
“Okay, then both of you out,” Amos said, his head propped in the driver’s-side doorway. “Good luck getting back. Should be logging trucks along here pretty soon. Maybe you can hitch a ride with them. Now hop out. Henry and I are heading to Berlin.”
Amos’s head jerked sometimes in its drunkenness, Henry saw. It was an ugly thing to watch. The girls didn’t move, except to glance nervously back and forth across the seatback, trying to read each other.
“You won’t tell if we do it?” Dolly asked, weighing her words, Henry sensed. “You won’t spread it around town?”
“You’re not serious, are you, Dolly?” Charlene asked. “For this jack wolly?”
“You give us your word you will bring us right back?” Dolly asked. “If we do. You promise? Afterward? You promise?”
“Of course I do,” Amos said.
His words slurred together so that it came out, “Course-sigh-dew.”
Dolly slipped out the passenger side. Henry felt the booze and the lilac perfume linking together in his guts. He wasn’t sure if Amos was being serious or not. It was low behavior, no matter what, but it still felt remotely like a prank. Amos told Charlene to get out, too.
“You’re as bad as he is,” Charlene hissed at Henry as she slid out on her side. “Letting this go on.”
“Now right over here in the headlights,” Amos said, pointing to a patch of grass in the center of the beams. “Just a little show, that’s all. That’s all you’re doing. Just putting on a little theatrical performance. A little entertainment for the troops.”
The women stood side by side. Neither made a motion to start. Amos reached into the car and grabbed the bottle of rye and took a swig. He stuck it through the window at Henry. Henry took the bottle and pretended to drink. He kept his tongue in the opening. That was easier than refusing his brother.
“You ready, ladies?” Amos asked.
He started clapping his hands slowly, wryly punctuating striptease music he made with his tongue and lips. A few June bugs rattled around in the headlights, creating a buzzing noise; twice, the bugs flashed off and bounced against the women and they flicked their hands at them to get them away.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Henry said through the window when Dolly started unbuttoning her blouse. “It was just a dare. Just a stupid dare.”
“Like hell it was,” Amos said, still clapping. “This is the cost of the ride home.”
Henry climbed out of the car. He thought he might be sick.
“Come on,” he said, and held out his hand to his brother. “Give me the keys and we’ll head home. Drop the girls off and head home.”
Amos made the striptease music louder. Dolly’s hand paused on the buttons of her blouse. Charlene had reached behind her waist to undo the band of her skirt, but now she stopped. Henry reached for the keys in Amos’s pocket, but his brother slapped his hands away. Amos kept his eyes fixed on the women. He clapped and smiled, egging them forward.
“They want an excuse to take off their clothes,” Amos said, his mouth wet and borderless. “Don’t you get it?”
“Let’s call it a night,” Henry said. “Let’s head home.”
Unsteady on her feet, Dolly took her clothes off. She did it quickly, automatically, her hands covering her breasts and her groin when she had dropped all the clothes into a mound beneath her feet. She kept her eyes down on the ground. Charlene didn’t strip. Amos kept clapping slowly, then made a motion with his hand to have Dolly spin around. She did. Amos nodded. Henry looked despite himself. Dolly appeared white and pale in the early light. Still, he had never seen a woman completely naked before. Not like this, not right out in front of him.
“There,” Dolly said, stepping into her skirt. “Satisfied?”
“I’m telling the police,” Charlene said. “First thing when I get back, I’m telling them.”
“The police won’t do anything to them,” Dolly said, snapping her bra closed. “Not in Berlin, they won’t. It’s their word against ours.”
“Now, don’t be sore,” Amos said. “Because Dolly was so pretty, I’ll let you ride home for free, Charlene. See? I can be generous.”
Amos took a drink of rye. Then he walked the bottle over to Dolly. She slapped at him a bit when he held it out for her, but when she had her top back on she reached for the bottle and took a long drink. Amos put his arm around her until she kissed him. She laughed, too. She squealed as they climbed back in the Oldsmobile and said Amos was a devil.
Chapter Five
“We are used as verheitz,” Boris hissed at lights-out. “Kindling wood for a larger fire burning beyond this camp. Bread and water!”
That had been the theme all evening. August listened from his bunk, tired of the virulence of the Nazi leaders. Camp life had made their extreme views more pungent than ever. They refused to believe the war had turned against the Fatherland. The reported appearance of Hitler at the funeral of Gauleiter Adolf Wagner had reassured them, despite the fact that the Führer had not spoken publicly. The mere fact of his ongoing life had heartened them, and they filled the camp with vows to continue fighting, to have faith, and all manner of other nonsense. Now William Zimmerman’s somewhat absurd escape had proved a rallying cry. It had fanned the nationalistic flames and restored honor to men removed from combat months before. August wanted to point out that the German war effort now relied on schoolchildren to carry out the necessary labor, but he didn’t dare raise his voice.
He turned restlessly on the bunk and tried to bury his hearing in the pillow at his head. Other voices replied to Boris’s imprecations, their tones angry and layering on Boris’s original statement. Yes, they were kindling wood. No, they would refuse to work if asked to subsist on bread and water. A general strike. On and on the voices went, hot and bitter, and August tried to send his hearing outside to the tree frogs calling in the spring air. Occasionally he heard the river passing over stones, the whisper it made as if carrying secrets from the mountaintops.
He also thought of Collie. He wondered if she had read the poem by now. He had copied it out as accurately as he could recall. He had memorized it many years before for a school exercise, but he could not be certain he had it right. It was a blessing, really, a poem by Lu
dwig Uhland called “Faith in Spring.” He pictured her reading it, her golden hair catching the light as she turned to the lines. She spoke German! What kind of miraculous luck was that! She spoke German better than he spoke English, but between them they might make up a new language. It made him smile to think of it.
He fell asleep and did not wake until morning. That was a benefit of working outdoors logging; one slept like the dead. Boris, large and dark, his chest hair spilling over his undershirt, stood in the center of the barracks, stirring the pot once more. August ignored him as much as possible. He skirted around him and went outside, following the raised boardwalk to the latrines. He washed and used the toilet, and on his return ran into Hans the Butcher, a member of his work party, who informed him that William had been seized in Portland.
“He made it that far at least,” Hans said, a towel draped over his neck. “A conductor asked a few too many questions and eventually William gave in. He’s been sent back to Fort Devens. That’s the report, though there are some here who won’t believe it. Some think he was taken out and shot.”
“Where did you hear it?”
Hans waved at the air to indicate it came from anywhere, everywhere, from the wind. Rumors.
“Will we work today, then?” August asked.
“If they give us breakfast, we will.”
“I’d rather work than sit around all day.”
“It’s all the same to me,” Hans said, and passed by to return to his barracks.
They served a full breakfast. August drank two large cups of coffee and ate a seeded roll with butter and a slice of sausage. He had been hungry since the dinner of bread and water. Rumors flashed around the refectory. Canteen privileges would be restored, he heard in one ear, and in the other heard the canteen would be closed indefinitely. William had been beaten horribly, one rumor maintained; in another rumor William had been captured not on a train, but in a high-priced cathouse with two women sharing his bed. In each new telling William gained the strength and cunning of a superman, and it was all August could do to stop reminding his fellow prisoners that William was a simple lad who had barely grown into his bones.
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