Heinrich stroked her hair. 'Maybe it will be better this time. The SS isn't so strong now-at least, I hope it isn't.'
'I'll believe it when I see it,' Lise said, and he had no answer for that.
The next story was about a riot at a football match in Milan, when the home team's goal against visiting Leipzig was disallowed on a questionable offside call. The crowd did more than question it. They bombarded the field with rocks and bottles, so that both teams and the officials had to flee for their lives. One German football player was slightly injured; one official-not the one who'd made the dubious call-ended up with a broken collarbone.
'Leaders of the German Federation of Sport have called upon their Italian counterparts for explanation and apology,' Witzleben said in tones of stern disapproval. 'Thus far, none has been forthcoming. These disgraceful scenes have grown all too common at matches on Italian pitches. The German Federation of Sport has declared it reserves the right to withdraw from further competition with teams from the Italian Empire unless and until the situation is corrected.'
That would hurt the Italians a lot worse than it did their German foes. They depended on revenue from matches against visiting German powerhouses to keep themselves in the black. And if they couldn't tour in the Germanic Empire…Some of their teams would probably have to fold.
Heinrich tried to look at things philosophically: 'What can you expect from Italians? They get too excited about what's only a game.'
And then Lise brought him down to earth, saying, 'And who was it who whooped like a wild Indian when we won the World Cup four years ago?'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Heinrich said, whereupon Lise made a face at him. He poked her in the ribs and found a ticklish spot. She squeaked.
'What's that funny noise?' Francesca called from upstairs.
'That funny noise is your mother,' Heinrich answered.
'Why are you a funny noise, Mommy?' their middle daughter asked.
'Because your father is tickling me, which he'snot supposed to do,' Lise said. She tried to tickle him back, but he wasn't ticklish. 'Unfair,' she muttered. 'Very unfair.'
'And why is this night different from all other nights?' Heinrich murmured. The first of the Four Questions from the Passover service reminded Lise that life wasn't fair for Jews, never had been, and probably never would be.But we-somehow-go on anyway, Heinrich thought. His wife didn't answer him. He did stop tickling her.
Esther Stutzman worked a couple of mornings a week as a receptionist at a pediatrician's office. It wasn't so much that the family needed the money; they didn't. But she was a gregarious soul, and she'd wanted to see people after Gottlieb and Anna started going to school and didn't need to be looked after all the time.
The doctor was a short, plump man named Martin Dambach. He wasn't a Jew. Several of his patients were, but he didn't know that. 'Good morning,Frau Stutzman,' he said when Esther came in.
'Good morning, Doctor,' she answered. 'How are you today?'
'Tired,' he said, and rubbed his eyes. 'There was a traffic accident outside the house in the middle of the night-one of the drivers reeked like a brewery-and I gave what help I could. Then the police wanted to talk with me, which cost meanother hour of sleep. Would you please get the coffeemaker going?'
'How awful! Of course I will,' Esther said. Dr. Dambach was a skilled and knowledgeable physician, but when he tangled with the percolator he turned out either hot water faintly tinged with brown or unpalatable mud. As she got the coffee started, she asked, 'Was anyone badly hurt?'
'Not the drunk,' he said sourly. 'He was so limp and relaxed, you could have dropped him from the top of the Great Hall and he wouldn't have got hurt when he hit the ground. A woman in the other car broke her leg, and I'm afraid the man with her had internal injuries. They took him away in an ambulance.'
'What will they do to the drunk?' Esther asked.
Dr. Dambach looked less happy still. 'That I cannot tell you. He kept blithering on about what an important fellow he was in the Party. If he was lying, he'll be sorry. But if he was telling the truth…You know how these things go.'
Being an Aryan, the pediatrician could afford to grumble about the way the world worked. Esther Stutzman nodded, but she never would have complained herself. Even nodding made her feel as if she was taking a chance.
'What appointments do we have this morning?' Dambach asked.
'Let me look.' She went to the register. 'There are…three immunizations, and the Fischers will be bringing in their seven-year-old for you to check his scoliosis, and-' The telephone rang, interrupting her. She picked it up. 'Dr. Dambach's office. How may I help you?…Yes…Can you bring her in at ten-thirty?…All right. Thank you.' She turned back to the doctor. 'And Lotte Friedl has a sore throat.'
'Probably the first of several,' Dambach said, in which he was probably right. 'Anything else?'
'Yes, Doctor. The Kleins are bringing in their little boy for another checkup,' Esther answered. She tried not to change her tone of voice. Richard and Maria Klein and their son, Paul, were Jews-though Paul, who was only eight months old, had no idea that he was.
Dr. Dambach frowned. 'Paul Klein,ja. That baby is not thriving as he should, and I do not know why.' He sounded personally affronted at not knowing, too. He was a good doctor; he had that relentless itch to find out.
'Maybe you'll see something this time that you didn't notice before,' Esther said. She paused and sniffed. 'And the coffee's just about ready.'
'Good,' Dambach said. 'Pour me a big cup, please. I have to get my brains from somewhere today.'
The outer door to the waiting room opened. In came the first patient and her mother. Esther started to say hello, then got interrupted when the telephone rang again. Sure enough, it was a woman whose son had a sore throat. Feeling harried, Esther made an appointment for her. As if by magic, a cup of coffee appeared at her elbow. Dr. Dambach had not only poured one for himself, he'd poured one for her, too, and laced it with cream and sugar.
'I'msupposed to do that,' she said indignantly.
He shrugged. 'You were busier than I was just then. I suspect it will even out as the day goes along.'
Esther had her doubts about that, though she kept quiet about them. Dr. Dambach's work was more specialized than hers; she knew that. But the phones, the patients and parents in the waiting room, the billing, and the medical records often made her feel like a juggler with a stream of plates and knives and balls in the air. If she didn't pay attention every moment, everything would come crashing down.
On the other hand, she'd felt that way ever since she found out what she was. At worst, an office disaster could get her fired. A disaster of a different sort…She resolutely declined to think about that. Staying busy helped drive worry away. Busy she was.
But she was reminded of her heritage when the Kleins brought in little Paul.Something was wrong with him; she could see as much. He seemed listless and unhappy and somehow less well assembled than he should have been. He didn't hold his head up the way a baby his age should have, nor did he act fascinated with his hands and feet like most eight-month-olds. His parents, especially his mother, looked drawn and worried.
They were the last appointment before lunch. Dr. Dambach stayed in the examining room with them for a long time. Paul cried once. He didn't sound quite right, either, though Esther had trouble putting her finger on why. It wasn't astrong cry; that was as close as she could come. Working here, she'd heard plenty of unhappy babies. Paul Klein should have raised a bigger fuss.
At last, the Kleins came out of the examining room, the baby in Maria's arms. 'Thank you, Doctor,' Richard Klein said. 'Maybe this means something important.'
'I will have to do more investigating myself before I can say for certain,' Dr. Dambach replied. 'Make an appointment with Frau Stutzman, please-I'll want to see him again in another two weeks.' He sounded brisk and businesslike. The Kleins probably wouldn't know he used that demeanor to mask alarm.
Having worked with him for two years, Esther did. After she'd made the appointment, after the Kleins had left, she turned to the doctor and asked, 'What's wrong with him?'
'His muscular development is not as it should be,' Dambach said. 'He seemed normal up until a couple of months ago, but since then…' He shook his head. 'If anything, he has gone backwards, when he should be moving ahead. And I saw something peculiar when I looked in his eyes: a red spot on each retina.'
