by Joseph Kanon
“You’re tired, that’s all.”
“But to do that. Oh, how much longer like this? Boiling water, just to drink. The children, living like animals. Now another one dead. And this is the peace. It was better during the war.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Jake said softly, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her.
“No,” she said, blowing her nose. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Boiling water, my god. What does that matter?” Another sniffle, then she wiped her face, the shaking subsiding. She leaned back, drawing a breath. “You know, after the Russians there were many-like her. I never cried then. You saw the bodies in the street. Who knew how they died? My friend Annelise? I found her. Poison. Like Eva Braun. Her mouth was burned from it. And what had she done? Hide until some Russian got her. Maybe more than one. There was blood there.” She pointed to her lap. “You didn’t cry then, there were so many. So why now? Maybe I thought it was over, that time.” She gave her face another wipe, then handed back the handkerchief. “What are you going to tell him?”
“Nothing. His mother died in the war, that’s all.”
“In the war,” she said vaguely, looking at the sleeping boy. “How can you leave a child alone?”
“She didn’t. She left him to me.”
Lena turned to him. “You can’t send him to the DPs.”
“I know,” he said, touching her hand. “I’ll think of something. Just give me a little time.”
“While you arrange things,” she said, leaning back again. “All our lives. Emil’s too?”
“Emil can arrange his own life. I’m not worried about Emil.”
“No, I am,” she said slowly. “He’s still something to me. I don’t know what, not my husband, but something. Maybe it’s because I don’t love him, isn’t that strange? To worry about someone you don’t love anymore? He even looks different. It happens that way, I think- people look different when they don’t love each other anymore.”
“Is that what he said?”
“No, I told you, he forgives me. It’s easy, isn’t it, when you don’t love somebody?” she said, her voice drifting, back in an earlier thought. “Maybe he never did. Only the work. Even when he talks about you, it’s that. Not me. I thought he’d be jealous, I was ready for that, but no, it’s how he can’t go back if you use those files. The others won’t work with him, not after that. Those stupid files. If only his father—” She stopped, looking away and drawing herself up. “You know what he talks to me about? Space. I’m trying to feed a child on food you steal for us and he talks to me about rocket ships. His father was right-he lives in his head, not here. I don’t know, maybe after Peter died there wasn’t anything else for him.” She turned to him. “But to take that away now-I don’t want to do that.”
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” she said to herself. “I want it to be over, for all of us. Let him go to America. They want him there, he says.”
“They don’t know what they’re getting yet.”
She lowered her head. “Then don’t tell them. Leave him that too.”
Jake sat back, disturbed. “Did he ask you to say this?”
“No. He doesn’t ask for himself. It’s the others-it’s like a family for him.”
“I’ll bet.”
She took out another cigarette, shaking her head. “You don’t listen either. Both my men. They already know. Maybe he’s right a little, that it’s personal with you.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know-no. But you know what will happen. They think everybody was a Nazi.”
“Maybe he’ll talk them out of it. He’s already convinced himself.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me.”
“He’s not a criminal,” she said flatly.
“Isn’t he?”
“And who decides? The ones who win.”
“Listen to me, Lena,” Jake said, covering the matches with his hand so that she was forced to look at him. “Nobody expected this. They don’t even know where to begin. They’re just soldiers. It’s got mixed up with the war, but it wasn’t the war. It was a crime. Not the war, a crime. It didn’t just happen.”
“I know what happened. I’ve heard it, over and over. You want him to answer for that?”
“What if nobody answers for it?”
“So Emil answers? He’s the guilty one?”
“He was part of it. All of them were-his ‘family.’ How guilty does that make them? I don’t know. All I know is we can’t ignore it-we can’t be guilty of that too.”
“Numbers, that’s all he did.”
“You didn’t see the camp.”
“I know what you saw.”
“And what I didn’t see? At first I didn’t even notice, you don’t take things in, it’s so- I didn’t notice.”
“What?”
“There were no children. None. The children couldn’t work, so they were the first to go. They were killed right away. That one.” He pointed to Erich. “That child. They would have killed him. That’s what the numbers were. Erich.”
She looked at the couch, then put down the cigarette without lighting it, folding her arms across her chest, drawing in again.
“Lena—” he started.
“All right,” she said, moving her legs out from underneath and getting up, finished with it.
She went over to the couch and bent down, rearranging the sheet on the boy, a gentle tucking-in motion, then stood watching him sleep.
“I’m like all the others now, aren’t I?” she said finally, keeping her voice low. “Frau Dzuris. Nobody suffered but her. I’m no different. I sit here feeling sorry for my own troubles.” She turned to him. “When they made us see the films, you know what I did? I turned my head.”
Jake looked up. His own first reaction, a bony hand pulling him back to make him see.
“And after, people were quiet, and then it began. ‘How could the Russians make us look at that? They’re no better. Think of the bombing, how we suffered.’ Anything to put it out of their minds. I was no different. I didn’t want to look either. And then it’s on your couch.”
Jake said nothing, watching her move toward the easy chair, running her hand along the back.
“You expect too much from us,” she said. “To live with this. All murderers.”
“I never said—”
“No, just some of us. Which ones? You want me to look at my husband. ‘Was it you?’ Frau Dzuris’ son? My brother, maybe. ‘Were you one of them?’ How can I ask? Maybe he was. So I’m like the others. I know and I don’t know.”
“Except, this once, you do.”
She looked down. “He’s still something to me.”
Jake stood and went over to the table, rifled through his papers, and pulled out a file. “Read it again,” he said, holding it out to her. “Then tell me how much. I’m going for a walk.”
“Don’t leave.” Her eyes moved down to the folder. “See how he comes between us.”
“Then don’t put him there.”
“You expect too much,” she said again. “We owe him something.”
“And paid it off at the Adlon. We owe him something,” he said, nodding his head at the couch.
She sank onto the broad arm of the chair. “Yes, and how do you pay? What are you going to arrange for him? Imagine his life in Germany. Renate’s child.”
“No one will know.”
“Someone will. You can’t save him from that.” She had slumped forward, staring at her bare feet.
“You want to keep him,” he said.
She shook her head. “A German mother? And one day he looks at me-‘Were you one of them?’ No, he should have a Jewish home. She paid for that.”
“Then we’ll find one.”
“Just like that. You think there are so many left?”
“I’ll talk to Bernie. Maybe he knows someone.”
“An answer for everything,” she said, breathi
ng out in a half-sigh. She got up and began to pace, caged, arms folded across her chest. “Everything’s so easy for you.”
“You’re not. Not tonight. What is it, Lena?” he said, watching her back as she crossed the room, as if he could follow her mood, slippery as mercury.
“I don’t know.” She took another step, then stopped, facing the bedroom door. “And I’m the one who wanted him here. Anything but the Russians, that’s all I could think. And now he’s here-now what? I’m angry at him. Then angry at you. I listen to you and I think, he’s right-and I don’t want you to be right. Maybe it’s personal with me too. So it’s a fine mess.” She paused. “I don’t want you to be right about him.”
“I can’t make the files go away,” Jake said quietly.
“I know,” she said, rubbing her sleeve. “I know. But don’t let it be you. Let someone else—”
She bit her lower lip.
“Is that what you want?”
She looked up at the ceiling, head back, reading the plaster for an answer.
“Me? What do I want? I was thinking before, how it would be if none of it had ever happened.” She lowered her head, looking past him, her voice slowly drifting again. “What I want? Shall I tell you? I want to stay in Berlin. It’s my home, even like this. Work with Fleischman, maybe-he needs me, someone to help. Then after, I’ll come home and cook. Did you know I could? My mother said it’s something a man will always appreciate.” She raised her eyes to his, taking him in now. “So we’ll eat dinner and be together. And once in a while we’ll go out, get dressed up and go out together. And we’ll be at a party, it’ll be nice, and I’ll turn around and you’ll be looking at me, the way you did at the Press Club. And nobody will know, just me. That’s all. Millions of people live like that. A normal life. Can you arrange that?“
He reached out his hand, but she ignored it, still wrapped up in herself.
“Not in Berlin, I think. Not even an American can arrange that now.“ Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was Gunther who chose the place.
“Not the station. It’s too exposed. And there’s Herr Brandt to consider. ”
“Emil? I’m not taking Emil.”
“You must. It’s Brandt he wants. He won’t show himself for you.” He got up with his coffee, cold sober, and walked to the map. “Imagine what he’s thinking. He can’t lose him again. If you’re alone, what has he accomplished, even if he kills you? Still no Brandt. No, he wants a simple pickup. You don’t suspect anything, so he surprises you, and he takes Brandt away. Or both of you. You for later. But the meeting must happen somewhere he can’t risk drawing attention. If he kills you there, he’ll lose everything. You need that protection.”
“I can take care of myself,” Jake said, touching the gun on his hip.
Gunther turned, the beginning of a smile on his face. “So it’s true. Americans say such things. I thought only in Karl May.” He glanced at the bookshelf. “But in real life, foolish, I think. In real life, you get protection.”
“Where? I still have to do it alone. There’s no one I can trust.”
“Do you trust me?” He caught Jake’s eye and, almost embarrassed, turned back to the map. “Then you won’t be alone.” “You’re going to cover me? I thought you—”
“Someone has to. In a police operation, always use a partner. Two set the trap. One, the cheese. The other, the spring. Snap.” He clicked his fingers. “He thinks he surprises you, but I surprise him. Otherwise—” He paused, thinking. “But we need protection.” “There’s nowhere in Berlin with that much protection.” “Except tomorrow,” Gunther said. “What occurred to me was to use the American army.” “What?”
“You know they parade tomorrow, all the Allies. So we meet here,” he said, putting his finger on Unter den Linden. “In the Russian zone?”
“Herr Geismar, even the Russians won’t shoot you in front of the American army.” He shrugged. “Very well.” He moved his finger left, past the Brandenburg Gate. “The reviewing stand will be here, inside the British zone.” “Just.”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as the army is there. So, opposite the reviewing stand. Stay in the crowd.”
“If I’m that protected, why would I go away with him?” “Well, he might have a gun in your back. Discreet, but persuasive. That’s what I would do. ‘Come quietly,’” he said in a policeman’s voice. “They usually do.”
“If that’s the way the Russians play it.”
“They will. I’m going to suggest it to them.” He turned from the map. “The problem is, we don’t know. I would feel better if we knew who to expect. Now we wait until the last minute-his surprise. You can set the trap, but a surprise is never safe. Logic is safe.”
“I know, follow the points. Find anything in the persilscheins?” Jake said, glancing at the table.
“No, nothing,” Gunther said glumly. “But there must be some point we’re missing. There is always a logic to a crime.”
“If we had the time to look for it. I’m out of leads. My last one died with Sikorsky.“
Gunther shook his head. “No, something else. There must be. I was thinking, you know, about Potsdam, that day in the market.”
“We know that was him.”
“Yes, but why then? It must be a point, the when. Something happened to make him strike then. Why not before? If we knew that—”
“You don’t give up, do you?” Jake said, impatient.
“That’s the way you solve a case, logic, not like this. Traps. Guns.” He waved his hand toward the bookshelf. “Wild West in Berlin. You know, we can still—”
“What? Wait for him to pick me off while you work it out? It’s too late for that now. We have to finish it before he tries again.”
“That’s the logic of war, Herr Geismar, not a police case.” Gunther moved away from the map.
“Well, I didn’t start it. Christ, all I wanted was a story.”
“Still, it’s as you say,” Gunther said, picking up his funeral tie from the table. “Once you begin, nothing matters but the finish.” He began threading it under his shirt collar, not bothering with a mirror. “Let’s hope you wink.”
“I’ve got a good deputy and the U.S. Army behind me. We’ll win. And after—”
Gunther grunted. “Yes, after.” He looked down at the tie, straightening the ends. “Then you have the peace.”
The afternoon at the flat was claustrophobic, and dinner worse. Lena had found some cabbage to go with the B-ration corned beef, and it sat on the plate, sodden, while they picked around it. Only Erich ate with any enthusiasm, his sharp Renate eyes moving from one sullen face to another, but even he was quiet, used perhaps to wordless meals. Emil had brightened earlier at the news that he’d be turned over tomorrow, then lapsed into an aggrieved sulk, spending most of the day lying on the couch with his arm over his eyes, like a prisoner with no yard privileges. The ersatz coffee was weak and bitter, merely an excuse to linger at the table, not worth drinking. They were all relieved when Rosen turned up, grateful for any sound louder than a tense clinking spoon.
“Look what Dorothee found for you,” he said to Erich, handing him a half-eaten bar of chocolate and smiling as the boy tore off the foil. “Not all at once.”
“You’re good to him,” Lena said. “Is she better?”
“Her mouth is still swollen,” he said. A slap two nights before from a drunken soldier. “Too swollen for chocolate, anyway.”
“Can I see her?” Erich said.
“It’s all right?” Rosen said to Lena and then, when she nodded, “Well, but remember, you must pretend she looks the same. Thank her for the chocolate and just say, Tm sorry you have a toothache.‘”
“I know, don’t notice the bruise.”
“That’s right,” Rosen said softly. “Don’t notice the bruise.”
“Can I do anything?” Lena said.
“She’s all right, just swollen. My assistant wil
l fix her up,” he said, handing Erich the bag. “We won’t be long.”
“And that’s the life you give her,” Emil said to Jake when they’d gone. “Whores and Jews.”
“Be quiet,” Lena said. “You’ve no right to say such things.”
“No right? You’re my wife. Rosen,” he said dismissively. “How they stick together.”
“Stop it. Such talk. He doesn’t know about the boy.”
“They always know each other.”
Lena glanced at him, dismayed, then stood up and began to clear. “Our last evening,” she said, stacking the plates. “And how pleasant you make it. I wanted to have a nice dinner.”
“With my wife and her lover. Very nice.”
She held a plate for a second, stung, then dropped it on the stack. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s no place for a child here. I’ll take him to Hannelore’s tonight.”
“You can’t get back before the curfew,” Jake said.
“I’ll stay there. It’s no place for me either. You can listen to this nonsense. I’m tired.”
“You’re leaving?” Emil said, caught off-guard.
“Why not? With you like this. I’ll say goodbye here. I’m sorry for you. So hurt and angry-there’s no need to end this way. We should be happy for each other. You’ll go to the Americans. That’s the life you want. And I’ll—”
“You’ll stay with the whores.”
“Yes, I stay with the whores,” she said.
“You’ve got a nerve,” Jake said.
“It’s all right,” Lena said, shaking her head. “He doesn’t mean it. I know him.” She moved toward him. “Don’t I?” She lifted her hand to place it on his head, then looked at him and dropped it. “So angry. Look at your glasses, smeared again.” She took them off and wiped them on her skirt, familiar. “There, now you can see.”
“I see very well. How it is. What you’ve done,” he said to Jake.
“Yes, what he’s done,” she said, her voice resigned, almost wistful. “Saved your life. Now he’s giving you a chance for a new one. Do you see that?” She lifted her hand again, this time resting it on his shoulder. “Don’t be like this. You remember in the war-how many times? — we wondered if we would survive. That’s all that mattered then. And we have. So maybe we survived for this-a new life for both.”
