Christian smiled and took it. “Christian Mayr.” They shook and backed a step away from each other, measuring each other, leaving me in the middle.
“You’re an American?” said Christian in his careful English.
“Yep. A New Yorker.”
“Yes? I would like to go there someday.”
“Great city. Berlin’s a great city, too,” David offered, being generous.
“Yes. You are here long?”
“Almost a year.”
“I thought David could come with us. If it’s all right.” Christian looked disappointed, although he covered his feelings well. I was pleased that he was looking forward to spending the time alone with me, but I wanted to prove to David that Christian was not a bigot. “He’s got nothing to do, and I’d love for my friends to get to know each other.”
“Of course,” said Christian. “We must all do as the lady desires. You will come with us, Mr. Wohl?”
“Call me David, and I wouldn’t think of it,” David said. “I’m sure you kids want to be alone.”
“Come with us, please. It’ll be fun,” I pleaded, taking his hand. “I’ll bet you’re a great skater.”
“I’m not bad,” he said, allowing me to pull him forward. “You sure you won’t mind?” he asked Christian.
“I’m pleased to meet an American friend of Sally’s,” Christian said politely.
“That’s settled, then,” I said, and stood between them, my hand tucked into the crook of each of their elbows. They both smiled down at me, and I could see they were indulging me. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if they were wary, circling each other. I didn’t care if they really didn’t like each other now. I just wanted them to let us have a good time, and then, maybe, they would like each other.
“I got thrown out of fencing,” I said, to change the subject. We ended up walking all the way to the ice rink, talking about fencing and then about New York, and Christian and I told David about the lake. Well, I did most of the talking, and by the time we got to where we were going, we were starving, so we went straight into tea and wound up not skating at all.
Christian was very reserved, with that same seriousness I had noticed before. He was polite and interested, although, as the afternoon went on, he began to talk more. But there was always something distant about him, as though he was being very careful about his manners or about what he said. He loosened up most of all when David started talking about boxing. Knowing nothing about that sport, I couldn’t contribute, but I felt I had done my best to carry the afternoon.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, standing up to go to the ladies’ room. When I came back, David was gone and Christian was sitting slouched in his chair, one arm along the table, his fingers restlessly moving a salt cellar back and forth.
“What happened?” I said. “Where did David go?”
“He left. Let’s go too, Sally. I’ve paid the bill.” And he stood and shepherded me from the restaurant.
In the foyer, as we adjusted our coats and mufflers and pulled on gloves, I asked him again. “What happened? Did David have a meeting or something?”
“No.” He slung his muffler around his neck. “I’m afraid I insulted him. I apologized, but he was angry and left.”
“Why? What did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Sally. I didn’t realize. I should have realized . . . from his name, but I just didn’t expect it. I forget about foreigners.” I grabbed his arm.
“Christian, what did you say? Something about the Jews, about David being Jewish?”
He looked embarrassed, he wouldn’t meet my eyes, but he nodded. “I am sorry, Sally. I think we should go now.” And he took my arm.
“Wait. Tell me what happened.” I refused to budge.
“I’ll show you. Come on.” And he led me outside, down the steps leading down to stone pedestals that stood on either side of the walkway. “Look,” he said, pointing, and there, half covered with vines, was a discreet sign: “No Jews Allowed.”
I’d seen the signs, although they came and went, depending on the party policy. I’d ignored them. They didn’t apply to me, and anyway, I was an American.
“Did you tell David he wasn’t allowed in here?”
“No, of course, not. I’m not that . . .” He waved his arm, dismissing the idea. A couple got out of a cab just then, the man in military dress. So Christian took my arm and drew me away as they went up the path to the tearoom.
“He asked me about the restrictions, how bad I thought they would get. I told him I thought they were ridiculous, but they were spreading. ‘Like here,’ I said. ‘Here?’ he asked. And then I said something stupid like, ‘Look around, you don’t see any, do you?’ I am sorry, Sally. I didn’t mean . . .” Christian stopped and turned toward me. “Perhaps you can let him know. He is a good fellow, very funny and smart, and I enjoyed talking to him. Now I think it is getting late, so I should find you a taxi.” And taking my arm again, he led me down the sidewalk.
“Christian, are you only upset because of the social situation? Do you care that he is Jewish? Did that offend you?” I spoke quietly, trying to look into his face in the darkening light. I wanted to understand this.
“Your friend is an intelligent, interesting fellow,” he said, sounding almost irritated. “I can see why you like him. But there is more to it than his being or not being Jewish. Oh, how can you understand? You’re a foreigner.”
“Then tell me. Help me understand,” I said.
He didn’t answer me right away, but deliberated before he spoke. “You know how it was here. We almost had a revolution. The Communists nearly took over the country. I wanted to join the navy, but I was refused entry to Kiel because there was no space and my family knew no influential person. You see, to become an officer, you must already be a member of the elite—or, at least, know a member.
“I went to college, studying history, philosophy, English, anything I wanted because I knew it didn’t matter. There would be no job for me when I came out. Except perhaps schoolteacher in some elementary school in some small boring town somewhere.
“Then Heydrich came to a class I was in, an English literature class. He was looking for someone who could speak and read English well, and that’s how I found my job. Or rather, it found me.
“It would be easier for me now to find a job, to join the navy, because the elite has changed. But now, I don’t need to. I am a member of it. And I am also working for the betterment of my country as much as if I were in the navy. Perhaps more. So I am satisfied.”
“I understand that, but—”
“I do not wish to talk about this anymore. It is late. It is getting very cold and I must go.” And without another word, he walked me to the nearest taxi stand and packed me off.
In the taxi home, I decided I didn’t like him very much. And he hadn’t answered my question about the Jews.
I TRIED PHONING David that evening, after dressing for dinner, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found and I went into the piano room and played through the Haydn to cheer myself up.
When I got hold of David the next day, he made a joke of the whole incident, not letting me apologize.
“So how’s Heydrich?” he asked lightly.
“I don’t know.”
“You seeing him?”
“No plans.” We were silent for a few moments, the sound of the wires in our ears. I knew what he was asking. I tried to answer him. “Christian’s kind of a prig, isn’t he? Didn’t used to be.”
“Well, people change, doll. You’re probably different from the person he remembers.”
“Oh, don’t remind me.” I laughed and reminded him of our dinner date.
I called Sydney to tell her all about what had happened and how cold Christian had become. I said I didn’t think I wanted to see him again. She agreed that it was for the best. And, of course, she and Brian would love to come meet my father.
WE HAD DRINKS in the music room and Daddy did his best to be sociable, alth
ough I’m afraid he treated us all like undergraduates. All through dinner, we were on our best behavior, Brian and David curbing their usual irreverence. When Daddy left us to go upstairs, we went back to the music room, pulled the sliding doors shut and played dance records. We felt as though we’d been let out of school. We had a good time, though, dancing and drinking a little too much.
After Sydney and Brian left, David and I sneaked into the kitchen to raid the icebox. The big room was dark except for a faint light coming through the long, rectangular window over the sink. I padded on stocking feet across the linoleum to the icebox and pulled it open. Moving things about, I looked for some ice cream.
The dress I was wearing was new. Full length, it had a flower pattern, violets and purples on black, and it was cut on the bias, close to my body, until it flared into a full skirt. The style was more sophisticated than I was used to wearing, with its scooped neck and back and fancy ruffled sleeves.
And as I leaned over to look in the icebox, David came up behind me and ran his hands along my sides. I jumped and jerked away.
“Sally, Sally, it’s only me,” he said, his hands on my shoulders.
I laughed nervously and turned to face him, the round tub of ice cream in my hand. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You startled me. Want some ice cream?” I held it up.
“No,” he said, and put his hand on top of mine and pushed it and the tub down. I realized he was going to kiss me. And I didn’t want him to. Not yet.
“Don’t,” I whispered, as his head came toward me. He hesitated, his lips no more than an inch from mine, and then he backed away. He turned and walked to the table, his back to me. “I’m sorry,” I said, still in the wedge between the icebox and its door.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”
“David. Listen, I’m just so confused.” I took a few steps toward him.
“I know, Sally. You don’t have to explain.”
“I want to. I don’t understand.”
“Sally, put the ice cream away; no, better yet, bring it here. Come on, give it to me.” He waved me forward and I obeyed. “Good girl, now go close the icebox before the whole thing melts. You got a spoon around here?” He started opening drawers. “Ah, here we go.”
I did as I was told. I leaned my head against the white porcelain corner of the icebox. It felt good. I had really drunk too much. Maybe that was why I was so confused. I sighed and slowly turned to face David. Things were so complicated and I didn’t like it. I guess my face looked as woebegone as I felt because he sort of chuckled, then reached his arm out to me.
“Oh, kid, come here,” he said. I went to him and he folded me against him. “Now, don’t worry about me. I’m a lot tougher than that. I’ve had myriads of women refuse me, believe me, and with a lot less class than you just did. It’s okay. These things work out this way.”
“But I do care for you, David. Almost more than anyone. You’re the only person who ever really cared enough about what I thought to get mad at me for it.”
He laughed at that. “Here, hold this,” he said, giving me the ice-cream tub and carving out a spoonful with his right hand, he offered it to me. “Eat it. It’ll make you feel better. You know I’m right. It’s why we eat ice cream. It cures what ails us.”
“Oh, David, I’m sorry,” I said, and started to weep, turning my head into his shoulder.
“For Pete’s sake, Sal, don’t get my dinner jacket all sodden. I had it cleaned once this month already. Look, people’s feelings land where they land. Just because you’re not stuck on Heydrich, I shouldn’t have assumed I was next in line.”
“You are, but. . .”
“I know. Listen, there’s more to this. I mean, about you. Your innocence.”
I lifted my head and looked at him. “My what?”
“Innocence. Don’t get mad. I know people hate being called that, especially when they’re nineteen.”
“I’m twenty.”
“All right, twenty.” He put a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, bowl-side first, and sucked on the spoon as though it were a Popsicle. “You are pretty well educated, well-read, well-traveled, you dance good, speak excellent German, play a damn fine piano, and, I guess, fence like Doug Fairbanks, but you don’t know damn-all about men. Now, that’s not strange. Probably when you’re fifty, you still won’t know much. I sure as hell don’t know much about women.”
“You’re not fifty,” I said, starting to take the tub back to the icebox.
“No, but you catch my drift?” He caught my arm, dug out another spoonful of ice cream and let me go.
“Anyway,” David went on, “what I mean is, you are so romantic, Sally. You look at the world with those big blue eyes as though it were all shiny and perfect.”
“And you’re going to tell me it’s not.” I went to the sink and turned on the tap. He followed me, pulling the spigot over to him, and washed his hands.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Got a towel? Thanks.” I stood facing the sink, leaning against it, feeling the hard, cold porcelain under my hands. I could feel the cold night air through the glass of the window. They had taken off the double windows just the week before. It was April.
“Kid,” said David, touching my face. I turned to look at him. “You’re high on my list and I worry about you. Not like your father would or if he had any sense should, but as a friend. I worry about you and that wide-eyed look of yours and the way you believe people, accept what they say.
“Your friendship with Heydrich especially worries me. And don’t get huffy. I’m not your father. I’m not out to protect your morals or your standing in society or whatever fathers do for daughters. That’s their job. Look, if Heydrich weren’t who he is, I’d say, fine, have an affair with him. An older married man is a good choice. Girls ought to have a little adventure before they settle down. But not with him.
“I think you know he’s a dangerous man. I think if you’d be honest with yourself, you’d admit that that’s one reason you keep seeing him. You’re attracted to that. But listen, Sal, don’t be.” I started to deny what he had said. He shushed me.
“I know you don’t want to believe me. Maybe I’ll be proven wrong. Maybe he will value your innocence and keep you safe. But I doubt it. So, here’s my advice, kid: Just be careful. Be wary.”
“Wary?”
“Yeah. Like a rabbit is when she knows the woods are full of dangerous creatures that want to eat her. She can’t stay in her warren, because life’s outside. But it’s dark out there, Sally. Believe me, I know. Real, real dark. Especially here. Especially now.”
I looked out the window, seeing the trees at the bottom of the property. They faced onto a deserted military academy and looked like the dark, dangerous woods David was describing. I shivered, knowing he was right, not wanting to admit it.
WHEN WE WERE on the train back to Berlin, I had told my father about running into Christian in Munich. If Daddy had asked what Christian did, I knew I would have to tell him. But Father didn’t ask.
Finally, he turned his head and, in a mild voice, asked me about Herr Professor Mayr.
“Oh, Daddy, didn’t I tell you? Christian told me at Christmastime. It’s awful. His father killed himself.” My father was visibly shocked, although he kept his usual controlled demeanor. His lips tightened and he turned his eyes back to the window.
“I would not have expected it of him,” was all he said. So, I never had to tell him either that Christian’s father had killed himself when the Nazis gained control of the country, or how.
About a quarter of an hour later, my father said, into the silence of our compartment, “Do you expect to see young Mayr again?”
I looked up from my book, a new Agatha Christie. My father’s serious blue eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses would not be lied to. “I hope so, Daddy. He is an old friend. And we have so much to talk about. Also, I’d like to see his mother. She’s in Denmark with Ursula, who married a Dane. Do you remember? I think she was married
by the last time we were at the lake. Marta, the second daughter, is teaching German in England, at a fancy girls’ school. And Annaliese, the youngest—do you remember her? —she’s in Vienna at school. Art, music, or something.” My chatter had its desired effect; those intelligent eyes glazed over. My father’s patience for small talk was minuscule.
THE DAY AFTER my dinner party, I was flying up the stairs to change into dinner clothes after a long tea for some charity—Daddy and I were going to a dinner at the British embassy. I was looking forward to it, because I knew Sydney would be there, as would Ivor Novello, the composer and actor, who was sure to play and sing for us. I had a beautiful new dress, black velvet with a huge white satin off-the-shoulder collar, a cuff at least seven inches deep. It was late in the season for velvet, but still so cold out, I thought I might get away with it.
My mind was on the dress and getting ready, so I nearly didn’t hear my father’s soft voice below me. I stopped and turned on the stairs, looking down at him.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Could I see you for a moment, my dear?” he said.
“I’ve got to change, and you do too.”
“I know, but this is important.”
In his study, Daddy went behind his desk and indicated that I should sit in the chair to his right. I suddenly felt apprehensive.
He folded his hands on the blotter. His desk was covered with files and papers, but all in tidy piles. “Sally, I am concerned about your choice of friends. Please don’t say anything until I am finished. Hear me out.” He thought for a moment, trusting in my obedience.
“I have lived all my adult life among intellectuals, scholars, so it is strange to see the difference between men and women of the mind and those I am forced to deal with now.” He smiled at me wanly. “I have left you alone to live your life here, trusting in your judgment, in your sense of yourself as your country’s representative. I have also felt I owed you this, after taking you away from your life in California.”
“Such as it was,” I added.
“Be that as it may, I have treated you as an adult, have I not?”
The Last Innocent Hour Page 29
