by Joseph Kanon
She turned her head back to kiss him, her breathing still ragged, opening her eyes. I see you. And when they kissed he started moving again, still slowly, because now there was no urgency, they were there, and he felt they would never have to stop if he didn’t go faster and they’d never have to let the feeling go. More. His face was in her hands now as she kissed him, his body still suspended over her, and he realized that she was moving faster, hurrying him, even wetter. “It’s all right,” she said, “it’s all right,” almost a sob, but smiling, freeing him to pleasure himself. Except that it was already everything he wanted, the intimacy, both of them there, and he kept moving the same way, not even aware anymore that his prick was filled with blood to bursting. Just keep moving. No end. He felt her hands on his buttocks, clasping him, pushing him in deeper because she was still moving too, something he hadn’t expected, rocking, and now he had to hold out because he heard little cries, could feel her wrapped around him, the feeling no longer individual, spreading over them both, so that when she came again, a series of shudders, it spurted out of him too and he saw that what he thought he wanted before wasn’t everything after all, this was everything, even as it went away.
He wasn’t aware of falling down next to her, his arm still around her, not even of his penis slipping out, only of her shoulders shaking beside him.
“Don’t cry,” he said, touching her.
“I’m not crying. I don’t know what it is. Nerves.”
“Nerves.”
“It’s so long—”
He ran his hand over her shoulder, feeling the shaking begin to subside. “I love you. You know that?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know why. I do such terrible things. How can you love a person who does terrible things?”
Babbling. He continued stroking her shoulder.
“It must be your jokes,” he said softly.
“My jokes. You say I never make jokes.”
“Then I don’t know why.”
She smiled a little, then sniffed. “Is there a handkerchief?”
“In my pants.”
He watched her get up, languid, walk over to the pile of clothes, and take out his handkerchief and gently blow her nose, her body still flushed with patches of red, love marks. She stood for a minute, letting him look at her, then held up the pants.
“Do you want a cigarette? You always used to like a cigarette.”
“I left them downstairs. Never mind. Come here.”
She curled up next to him, her head on his chest.
“You didn’t notice the curtains were open.”
“No, I didn’t notice,” she said and even now made no move to cover up or try to draw the spread around her.
“Why did you—”
“When I saw you before,” she said easily. “So white. Like a boy.”
“A boy.”
“My lover,” she said, putting her hand on his chest. “I thought, I know him. I know him. He’s my lover.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I can feel that again.” She turned her head to look at him. “How I was with you.”
The words went through him, a flush of well-being so complete that all he ever wanted to do was lie there, holding her and listening to the rain.
“It used to frighten me,” she said. “How it made me feel. I thought it was wrong to feel that way. I wanted to have a normal life. Be a good woman. I was raised for that.”
“No,” he said, stroking her, “for this.”
“And now it’s all gone anyway, that life. It doesn’t matter anymore.” She put her head back, lying quietly, looking across his chest at the room. “What’s going to happen?” she said.
“We’ll go to America.”
“Germans are so popular there?”
“The war’s over.”
“I don’t think for us. Even here, the Americans look at you—What do they think we did?”
“Never mind them. Somewhere else, then, where nobody knows who we are. Africa,” he said, playing.
“Africa. What would you do there?”
“This. All day long. If it’s hot, we’ll close the shutters.”
“We can do this anywhere.”
“That’s the idea,” he said, pulling her up and kissing her.
She hung over him, her hair falling around his face. “Somewhere new,” she said.
“That’s right.” He ran his hand over her buttocks. “No more terrible things.”
Her face clouded and she turned away, facing the wall. “There’s no place like that.”
“Yes, there is.” He kissed her shoulder. “You’ll forget.”
“I can’t,” she said, then turned back to face him. “I killed him. Do you know what that means? I can’t forget the blood. It was everywhere, in my hair—”
“Ssh,” he said, then put his hand up to stroke her head. “It’s not there anymore. It’s gone.”
“But to kill somebody—”
“You had to.”
“No. It was finished. I couldn’t stop him from that. Then I killed him anyway. With his gun, while he was still on me. Killed him. And I didn’t have to. You think I’m the same person.” She lowered her head. “I wanted to be. Pretending to look like before. But it’s not before.”
“No, it’s now. Lena, listen to me. He raped you. He might have killed you. We all had to do terrible things in the war.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What things?”
He took her face between his hands and looked straight at her. “I forget.”
“How can you forget?”
“Because I found you again. I forget the rest.”
She looked away. “You mean you want me to.”
“You will. We’re going to be happy. Isn’t that what you want?”
She smiled a little.
“We’ll start here.” He turned her face and began kissing it, the cheek, then the lips, drawing a map of their place. “We’ve already started. You forget everything when you make love. That’s why they invented it.”
Finally they drifted off, not quite asleep but hazy, like the vapor that hung outside after the rain. They were still lying there, holding each other, when he heard a door close, footsteps next door, the world coming back.
“We should get dressed,” she said.
“No, wait a little,” he said, his arm around her.
“I have to wash,” she said, but she didn’t move either, content to lie there, still drifting, until they heard the quick knock on the door. “Oh,” she said, flipping the end of the spread up to cover them, only halfway there when Liz opened the door and stopped in surprise, eyes wide with embarrassment.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, a gulp, ducking away and closing the door behind her.
“My god,” Lena said, swinging out of bed, grabbing clothes and holding them up in a bunch. “You don’t lock the door?”
He looked at her from the bed, grinning.
“How can you laugh?”
“Look at you, covering yourself. Come here.”
“Like a farce,” she said, ignoring him. “What will she think?”
“What do you care?”
“It’s not nice,” she said, then, hearing herself, began to smile too. “I’m a respectable woman.”
“You were.”
She put her hand to her mouth to cover her smile, a girlish gesture, then tossed his pants over to the bed and started wriggling into her dress.
“What will you say to her?”
“Tell her to knock longer next time,” he said, up now and putting on his pants.
“It happens so often, is that it?”
“No,” he said, coming over and kissing her. “Just this once.”
“Get dressed,” she said, but smiling. She turned to the mirror. “Oh, look at me. My hair’s a mess. Is there a comb?”
“In the drawer.” He nodded at the frilly vanity. He buttoned his shirt and started tying his shoes, watchin
g her at the mirror, the same absorbed concentration. She opened a drawer, searching. “On the right,” he said.
“You shouldn’t leave your money around,” she said. “It’s not safe.”
“What money?”
She held up Tully’s hundred-mark note. “And no lock either. Anyone could—”
He went over to the dressing table. “Oh, that. It’s not money. It’s evidence,” he said easily, the word as far from his thoughts as Tully or anything else.
“What do you mean, evidence?”
But he wasn’t listening now, looking at the bill. What had Danny said? A dash before the number. He turned the bill over. A dash, Russian money. He stood for a second, trying to think what it could mean, then gave it up, indifferent, his mind still hazy, not wanting anything to interrupt the day. He put the note back in the drawer and leaned down to kiss her head. The lavender was still there, mixed now with the smell of them.
“I’ll be down in two minutes,” she said, eager to leave, as if the billet were a hotel room they’d rented for the afternoon.
“All right. We’ll go home,” he said, pleased at the sound of it. He picked up Liz’s shoes on the way out.
In the hall he waited until she answered his knock.
“Hey, Jackson,” she said, still looking embarrassed. “Sorry about that. Next time put a tie on the door.”
“Your shoes,” he said, handing them to her. “I borrowed them.”
“I’ll bet you looked swell.”
“Hers were wet.”
She looked up at him. “It’s against the house rules, you know.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“No? You could have fooled me.”
“What did you want, anyway?” he said, feeling too good to want to explain.
“Mostly to see if you were alive. You still live here, don’t you?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Uh-huh. And here I was, worried. Men. People have been asking for you, by the way.”
“Later,” he said, unconcerned. “Thanks again for the shoes.”
She tipped one to her head in a salute. “Anytime. Hey, Jackson,” she said, stopping him as he turned to go. “Don’t let it throw you. It’s only—”
“It’s not what you think,” he said again.
She smiled. “Then stop grinning.”
“Am I?”
“Ear to ear.”
Was he? He went down the stairs, wondering if his face were really a flushed sign, giving them away. Slap-happy. All the intimacy reduced to a popular song lyric. But who cared?
He turned off the phonograph and finally had a cigarette, pacing now instead of lying in bed, the usual ritual turned around like everything else. How long since she’d come down the stairs dressed like that, wanting to? Outside, the wet leaves were gleaming in the new light, shiny as coins. Russian money. Tully’d had Russian money. His mind, still vague, was toying with it when he heard stamping at the door. Bernie, wiping his feet on the mat and shaking out an umbrella, a careful boy who practiced piano.
“Where the hell have you been?” he said, hurrying in. “I’ve been looking for you. For days.” A faint accusation.
“Working,” Jake said, the only legitimate excuse. Was he grinning?
“I’ve got other things to do, you know. Playing errand boy. And you take a powder,” Bernie said, his voice as raspy as an alarm clock.
“You heard from Frankfurt?” Jake said, waking to it.
“Plenty. We need to talk. You didn’t tell me there was a connection.” He put the files he’d been carrying on the piano, as if he were about to roll up his sleeves and start to work.
“Can it wait?” Jake said, still elsewhere.
Bernie stared at him, surprised.
“Okay,” Jake said, giving in, “what did they say?”
But Bernie was still staring, this time beyond him, to Lena coming down the stairs, her hair pinned back up, proper again, but the dress swaying with her, another entrance. She stopped at the door.
“Lena,” Jake said. “I want you to meet someone.” He turned to Bernie. “I found her. Bernie, this is Lena Brandt.”
Bernie kept staring, then nodded awkwardly, as embarrassed as Liz.
“We got caught in the rain,” Jake said, smiling.
Lena mumbled a polite hello. “We should go,” she said to Jake.
“In a minute. Bernie’s been helping me with a story.” He turned. “So what did they say?”
“It can wait,” Bernie said, still looking at Lena, flustered, as if he hadn’t seen a woman in weeks.
“No, it’s all right. What connection?” Curious now.
“We’ll talk later,” Bernie said, looking away.
“I won’t be here later.” Then, taking in his embarrassment, “It’s all right. Lena’s—with me. Come on, give. Any luck?”
Bernie nodded reluctantly. “Some,” he said, but he was looking at Lena. “We’ve located your husband.”
For a minute she stood still, then slumped to the piano bench, holding on to the edge.
“He’s not dead?” she said finally.
“No.”
“I thought he was dead.” Her voice a monotone. “Where is he?”
“Kransberg. At least he was.”
“It’s a prison?” she said, her voice still flat.
“A castle. Near Frankfurt. Not a prison, exactly. More like a guesthouse. For people we want to talk to. Dustbin.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, confused.
“That’s what they call it. There’s another near Paris—Ashcan. Dustbin’s where they’ve stashed the scientists. You know he was part of the rocket team?”
She shook her head. “He never talked to me about his work.”
“Really.”
She looked at him. “Never. I don’t know anything.”
“Then you’ll be interested,” Bernie said, his voice hard. “I was. He did the numbers. Trajectories. Fuel capacity. Everything but the casualties in London.”
“You blame him for that? There were casualties in Berlin too.”
Jake had stood following them as if he were at a tennis match and now looked at her, surprised at the strength of her return. A kindergarten covered with concrete slabs.
“Not from flying bombs,” Bernie said. “We didn’t have the benefit of his expertise.”
“And now you will,” she said, unexpectedly bitter. “In prison.” She got up and went over to the window. “Can I see him?”
Bernie nodded. “If we find him.”
The phrase shook Jake awake. “What do you mean?”
Bernie turned to him. “He’s missing. About two weeks now. Just up and left. It’s got them all foaming. Apparently he’s a particular favorite of von Braun’s,” he said, glancing toward Lena. “Can’t do without him. I made a routine query, and half of Frankfurt jumped down my throat. They seem to think he was coming to see you,” he said to Lena. “Von Braun, anyway. Says he tried it before. There they were, safe and sound down in Garmisch, waiting for the end, and he makes a beeline for Berlin to get his wife out before the Russians got here. Is that right?”
“He didn’t get me out,” Lena said quietly.
“But he was here?”
“Yes. He came for me—and his father. But it was too late. The Russians—” She glanced over to Jake. “He didn’t get through. I thought they killed him. Those last days—it was crazy, to take that risk.”
“Maybe it was worth it to him,” Bernie said. “Anyway, that’s what they think now. In fact, they’re looking for you.”
“For me?”
“In case they’re right. They want him back.”
“Do they want to arrest me too?”
“No, I think the idea is that you’re the bait. He’ll come looking for you. Why else would he want out? Everyone else is trying to get in. Kransberg’s for special guests. We like to keep the big Nazis comfortable.”
“He’s not a Nazi,” Lena said dully
.
“Well, that’s a matter of opinion. Don’t worry, I can’t touch him. The technical boys put Kransberg off-limits. Scientists are too valuable to be Nazis. Whatever they did. He should have stayed where he was, nice and cozy. A little Ping-Pong in the evenings, I hear. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Bernie—” Jake began.
“Yeah, I know, leave it alone. You can’t fight city hall. Every time we start getting somewhere on one of them, the tech units yank the file. Special case. Now I hear they want to take them to the States, the whole fucking team. They’re arguing over salaries. Salaries. No wonder they wanted to surrender to us.” He nodded to Lena. “Let’s hope he finds you soon—you don’t want to miss the boat.” He paused. “Or maybe you do,” he said, glancing at Jake.
“You’re out of line,” Jake said.
“Sorry. Don’t mind me,” Bernie said to Lena. “It comes with the job. We’re a little shorthanded.” He looked at Jake again. “Now the tech units, that’s something else. Nothing but manpower there.” He turned back to Lena. “If he turns up, give one of them a call. They’ll be glad to hear from you.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Jake said. “You said two weeks.”
“Then start looking. I think you’ll want to find him.”
Jake looked at him, puzzled. “What exactly is he accused of?”
“Strictly speaking, nothing. Just leaving Kransberg. A little rude, for an honored guest. But it makes the rest of them jumpy. They like to stick together—improves their bargaining position, I guess. And of course the tech boys have had to beef up security, which takes away from the country club feel of the thing. So they’d like him back.”
“He just walked out?”
“No. That’s the part that will interest you. He had a pass, all official.”
“Why would that interest me?”
