Point of No Return

by Gellhorn, Martha;

  Kathe led him to the park alongside the river. It was not far to walk but Jacob Levy worried about the time. Four hours had seemed plenty and now he was left with not enough minutes of it. They were standing in the cold deserted park, with the narrow river shining in a ravine below them. He pulled Kathe towards him, not hard or fast because he did not want to frighten her. He had to stoop far down to reach her mouth. Kathe put her arms around his neck, like a child he thought, and he was touched and scandalized by the trustfulness of the gesture. She oughtn’t to act like this with soldiers. Her mouth was soft and trusting too, and she did not kiss the way girls did when they’d had a lot of practise. Jacob Levy held her and was afraid to do all the things he wanted to do. He held her and thought of her little body tight and warm and full inside the healthy skin, inside the modest black clothes. He thought her petticoat and underpants would be made of starched white cotton. He felt dizzy with the effort of holding her like that against him, and keeping his hands still, and not kissing her as he wanted to.

  Then he remembered the time and pointed to his watch and took Kathe’s arm to make her hurry. He left her in front of the restaurant because he could not ask where she lived and he had no time now to go wandering around the city.

  “I come back tomorrow,” Jacob Levy said slowly. Again he acted it out, pointing to himself and the restaurant, and making a circle with his finger on the crystal of his wrist watch. Kathe understood, and smiled, and standing on tiptoe, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Now I really have to make time, Jacob Levy thought. If there was a password for after dark, he didn’t know it; and if he kept the Colonel waiting this first night, that would be his last chance, he’d have to sit in the jeep like other drivers. Why didn’t he get started sooner? He hoped the Colonel had a fine time at the Officers’ Club and would want to come in every night.

  Jacob Levy was waiting in front of the modern chromium-trimmed restaurant, which had a cocktail bar and deep leather chairs and a juke box and murals of never-never-land peasants, when Lieutenant Colonel Smithers and Lieutenant Gaylord came out. A crowd of officers and two Red Cross girls came out with them. Jacob Levy saw Lieutenant Colonel Smithers talking to one of the girls, bending over her, and he thought the Colonel was holding her arm high-up where he could feel her breast against his hand. Nice work, Jacob Levy said to himself. That was what he needed, a good hot Red Cross girl for his Colonel.

  In the jeep, driving without lights through the blacked-out town, Lieutenant Colonel Smithers turned to Lieutenant Gaylord and said, “I liked that Dotty!”

  “I like that cute little blonde WAC.”

  “Hell of a nice club.”

  “You bet.”

  “I wonder where those fellows get all that Bourbon?” Lieutenant Colonel Smithers asked.

  “I guess they don’t go without, in a Headquarters like this.”

  “Rugged!” said Lieutenant Colonel Smithers.

  “Yeh, hard life those boys got here. No women, no liquor. You see that major I was talking to?”

  “Yeh.”

  “He lives in a six-room apartment with two other majors.”

  “They break my heart.”

  “He told me we could borrow a room anytime.”

  “Maybe he’s not too bad a guy.”

  Jacob Levy rejoiced. It would have been the end of all hope if the Colonel had come out of that Officers’ Club, sober, bad-tempered, saying the place was a sewer and the girls were a bunch of cows.

  “Dotty’s got her night off day after tomorrow,” Lieutenant Colonel Smithers remarked in the direction of the back seat. But Lieutenant Gaylord was sunk into his coat collar, and the wind made a cold whistling noise, and he was figuring out how soon he could get Lucille, his WAC, to give him a date at that Major’s apartment. 72 rue Philippe, Lieutenant Gaylord repeated to himself, second floor; as if there was any chance he’d forget.

  Sergeant Postalozzi, who thought of everything, owned an English-French dictionary. Jacob Levy was sitting on the edge of his bed, with his fountain pen and a block of airmail paper beside him, looking up words. “Where is your house?” Slowly, this became, “Ou être votre maison?” He printed this on a half sheet of paper. There was another sentence he ought to fix, just in case, so as to avoid confusion. “I’ll be back later.” This was harder and he decided to use “come” instead of “be back” and as he did not see any word for “later,” he thought “late” would do. He printed, “Je venir tard,” on another half sheet of paper. Then he folded them both and buttoned them into his breast pocket and returned Sergeant Postalozzi’s dictionary.

  “What’s the matter?” Sergeant Postalozzi asked. “Can’t she read it in your eyes?”

  “It’s a place I saw where I want to buy me a Christmas present for my mother,” Jacob Levy answered.

  The whole Battalion was busy, secretly, noisily, in groups, in pairs; the Battalion was busy returning to life. There were the ones who loved food or drink, there were those who pursued women, there were shoppers, souvenir hunters, camera specialists, sightseers, gamblers. There were even athletes and letter writers and one or two who read books. Every man was furiously occupied; searching, moving, scrounging, borrowing money, lending money, giving addresses, picking up addresses, laughing, being shrewd, helping a pal, looking after himself; all making time reward them, greedy, grateful and alive.

  This was what they would remember if they were around to do any remembering. This was what they would have to remember of their youth in foreign lands.

  4

  Jacob Levy gave Kathe the first piece of paper when they left the restaurant at ten. Now he was memorizing the turnings and when he stood at the door he noted, number 14, and the street was called rue de la Boucherie. He kissed Kathe in the dark before the big door, before the high old building with many windows. He could not keep his hands still, he wanted her too much, there was too little time. But her outgrown coat was buttoned up to her chin and he could only pass his hand, steadily and softly, across the rough wool over her breast. She seemed puzzled but not afraid, with her head bowed watching. She stayed close to him and then she turned her face up and smiled. He had to go; it was a long way back to the car park. He’d have to run and you never liked to run in a dark city with a lot of trigger-happy rearguard sentries and M.P.’s around. Kathe looked disappointed. If he could only talk this stupid French and explain to her. Tomorrow was Dotty’s night off, tomorrow there would be time. “Honey,” Jacob Levy said, “Kathe,” and he kissed her once, harder than he had dared before, and turned and ran. He remembered on the way that he had forgotten to tell Kathe he would come back tomorrow night but he couldn’t stop and she’d have gone inside and it was almost ten-thirty this minute. What if tomorrow was her night off, too? She might go out visiting friends; she might do anything. He’d find her if he had to knock on every door in Luxembourg. It all depended on Dotty now; if only she wasn’t going steady with some jerk of an officer, if only she wasn’t the hard-to-get kind. He needed time; he needed time just once.

  Jacob Levy had been thinking about this all day, planning, foreseeing, and making alternate plans. He borrowed Sergeant Postalozzi’s dictionary again and the Sergeant was funny about Christmas presents but Jacob Levy was too concentrated to joke back. “What floor? What number?” That was a big house, there must be ten apartments in it anyhow. How could he have been so dumb as to overlook a thing like that? He flicked at the dictionary, urgent and bungling. There were three choices for “What”: why couldn’t those French make up their minds? Jacob Levy printed under “Je venir tard,” the second line, “Quoi etage? Quoi numero?” Then he felt safe and returned the dictionary to Sergeant Postalozzi.

  There was plenty of work to do but the good thing about it was, it stopped. They operated on the eight hour day, you might say, like normal people. The old hands weren’t knocking their brains out. To date, he had had it soft, driving the Colonel to the Companies and to Regiment and keeping the jeep cl
ean: no work at all. He observed with sympathy the poor godforsaken soldiers who had to crawl through these little peaceful woods, practicing all the things they’d done wrong in that hell forest; and the other godforsaken soldiers standing around on the range; and the poor dumb replacements sweating out everything anyone could dream up for them. It was his considered opinion that a jeep driver had the best life of anybody because he saw the world and had nothing except his jeep to worry about.

  But now, when every minute was a waiting for the end of the day and the Colonel saying: “Okay Levy, let’s go,” that Motor Sergeant had to get a notion the cylinder block on the jeep was cracked. This was the sort of craziness a Motor Sergeant invented when he didn’t have enough to do. The jeep was perfect. The Motor Sergeant did not wish to listen to reason. “Get over to Regiment and see if you can find what you need there; if the Colonel wants transport before you get back I’ll send him a jeep from the pool.”

  Jacob Levy stood outside the barn that was Service Company’s repair shop, in the village of Ettelroth, and pleaded with the mechanic to hurry. “Take it easy,” the mechanic said, from under the jeep’s hood. “Your Colonel isn’t gonna shoot you if we don’t finish in time.” Anxiety wore Jacob Levy out, and left him bemused, waiting in resignation of spirit for the worst to happen: he would return and find that the Colonel had gone to Luxembourg with another driver.

  I was never like this before, Jacob Levy told himself. He could not remember when he had made any plans in this war. He didn’t care what he did; he went along with anybody; it never mattered. There was only time to live through, and though the present was interminable and tomorrow was more of today, and all of it endless, his only real occupation was waiting. He waited for the calendar to get crossed out. I was never like this, he thought. You exposed yourself, as soon as you started to hope.

  The evening began to happen on schedule, according to plan. At the door of the Officers’ Club, Lieutenant Colonel Smithers said, “You know where the Transient Mess is, Levy?”

  “Yes sir.” You always said “Yes sir,” to questions like that.

  “Pick up some chow and get right back. No more than an hour.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Jacob Levy had imagined that was how it would be. The Colonel would feed Dotty at the club, give her something to drink first of course, and then he would want to leave as soon as he could persuade her. He would need his transport ready and waiting.

  Jacob Levy drove the jeep to the Café-Restaurant de l’Etoile. He locked it with a chain through the steering wheel, and a padlock. He wasn’t going to let some joker pinch his jeep tonight. The restaurant was empty. Jacob Levy smiled at the coffee urn lady and she called Kathe. He sat near the front window where he could hear if anyone tried to monkey with his jeep.

  When Kathe stood by his table, they stared at each other, serious-faced and silent. Jacob Levy felt he had been away a long time and was just getting back now, from a great distance. He wanted to put his arms around her, he didn’t want to eat or remember the Colonel, he wanted to go to a warm room of their own and stay with her. He wanted to talk to her too, but he knew he couldn’t. It was bad to have so much to say to a girl and no way to say it except Sergeant Postalozzi’s crummy little dictionary. Jacob Levy shook his head; all this was in his way, there was important business to settle.

  “I only got a half hour to eat.” He showed Kathe thirty minutes on his watch and made gestures of eating. She nodded and looked sad, somehow tired and sad, as if she saw ahead the terrible disappointments: the life of the war always coming before their life, the fearful relentless lack of time. Jacob Levy pulled the printed slip of paper from his pocket and spread it on the table and beckoned Kathe to come close and read. The coffee machine lady can see, he thought, but what’s the difference, she can’t see the words.

  Kathe bent forward to read. She smelled better than he had dreamed, a sweet warm smell, something only women had, that you couldn’t name exactly. Jacob Levy watched her. Kathe read slowly; then, without anything showing on her face, she folded the paper and put it in her apron pocket. She doesn’t understand, Jacob Levy thought, there’s something wrong with the dictionary. What could he do now; how could he show her by signs?

  Kathe offered him the menu card and Jacob Levy said, “Anything,” shrugged, pointed to his watch and pushed the card away. She went through the door to the kitchen but he was not looking at her. He was thinking, fast, maybe there’s some Luxembourg boy in the Officers’ Club kitchen that can speak English and I could send him to explain to her. No, it would never work; it was too complicated; it would get too late; he couldn’t send her a stranger with a message like that. He wanted to break something; he wanted to beat somebody up. Why couldn’t they all speak the same language? Why couldn’t the lousy dictionary get the words right?

  Kathe stood in the kitchen waiting for Monsieur Steller, the proprietor and cook, to finish with the plate. There were two fried eggs, two fat wienerwurst sausages, some mustard pickles and a big dollop of fried potatoes. Now Monsieur Steller was going to fix some lettuce, with sweet dressing, as a side dish. Kathe held the tray and felt her heart beating with fear.

  It was only going in and coming out that there was danger. The long tunnel of the hall led down the apartment, past the parlor and the dining room, the Hefferichs’ bedroom, the bathroom and the kitchen, to her little room at the end. Once inside her room they would be safe for it was far away and they would keep quiet. Unless the Hefferichs heard something strange, they would not come out into the hall. She was only a boarder and they did not visit together in the evenings. She could wait downstairs just inside the big front door, and lead him upstairs when he came.

  But if the Hefferichs saw him they would put her out, naturally. And maybe they would tell Madame Steller, and she would lose her job. And maybe Madame Steller would tell her mother, who lived in Müllerhof with her brother’s wife. And then, and then.

  It was the most dangerous and important decision she had ever had to make and she had no one to consult, but even if there was time to think she could not ask anybody. This was not a matter a girl could talk about to anyone. If he took off his shoes, surely the Hefferichs would not hear him. But perhaps they would hear the front door closing when he left?

  Kathe picked up the tray and carried it to where Jacob Levy sat, listening for the safety of his jeep, waiting, trying to think and having no thoughts that followed each other or made sense. He looked up at Kathe and his wide black eyes were pleading and stricken. Kathe needed a pencil but she could not borrow one from Madame Steller.

  Jacob Levy stared at the full plate of food. I can’t even touch it, he thought; he had not known he could feel so awful. There had been no place in his plans for this fatal misunderstanding.

  Kathe was making signs, writing signs, and she had opened his printed note, shielding the table from Madame Steller with her back. Jacob Levy gave her his pen quickly and she wrote: 14 rue de la Boucherie, chez Hefferich, 3 ième étage. He picked up the paper, took the pen, just brushing her hand, and the beautiful mouth that she wanted to stroke with her fingers, smiled.

  The food tasted marvelous, now. He was swallowing as fast as he could; above all, he must not be late for the Colonel. Jacob Levy left the tip with his bill, paying at the beer and coffee counter, because he was ashamed to give Kathe those crumpled dirty notes. Then he smiled at everything, the tables, the advertisement for beer, the water color of the Cathedral, the photograph of the Grand Duchess, Madame Steller, Kathe, and saluted as if he were sweeping off a plumed hat, and was gone. Kathe thought it was scarcely possible that any human being could be so handsome and so graceful and she had to lean against Madame Steller’s chromium counter for a moment before her legs became steady.

  She could sit down now in the back of the restaurant, and think. Madame Steller would not talk to her; they were not loquacious people here, though they were kind and good natured. They did the work between them, in friendliness, and
no one talked much.

  Kathe knew she had done what she ought to do. If there was trouble afterwards it would be dreadful trouble, for her people would not forgive her. She did not worry about her soldier; he was not wicked and he would know that she was not wicked. In real life, where everyone was safe, this could not happen to either of them. He would be home on his farm and she would be home on her farm. It did not matter that she could not talk this over with him, or explain, he was certain to understand it as she did.

  And Kathe knew too that this had always been going to happen; she truly had no choice. She had been waiting for it these last four years. In the beginning, when the Germans came, she was like everybody else; she shrank inside of herself, she seemed to go blind and deaf at once, she felt herself shrivelling to a little place within her, and even this secret part of her was quiet. That was during the first two years when they were still on the farm. You could not believe it was the same farm or that people had been happy there, or ever had a birthday party or her brother’s wedding or a Christmas tree or gone sledding in the winter or laughed and kissed Henri Laroche, in a haystack in the summer. That was the two years before her father died, when they all worked like animals and had nothing to say to each other or to look forward to. Her father probably died from overwork, after her brother and the hired man ran away so they wouldn’t have to go in the German army or go for the labor service, in Germany. Her father wanted them to run away. He said he had seen the Germans walk into his country twice, as easily as opening a door. He didn’t even seem to love his family, after the Germans came, he seemed too disgusted with life to care about anything. It was like being dead to live on that farm, dead from tiredness and hopelessness, and with the Germans around them like a hateful silence.