She looked up. “I forgot. You don’t know. Peter was our son.”
“Your son?” he said, stung in spite of himself. A family, with someone else. “Where is he?”
She stared back at the cup. “He was killed,” she said, her voice flat. “In a raid. Almost three.” Her eyes filled again.
He put his hand on hers. “You don’t have to tell me.”
But she hadn’t heard him, the words spilling out now, a purge.
“I left him in the kindergarten. Why did I do that? In the shelter all night I had him with me. He would sleep in my lap, not cry like the others. And I thought, well, that’s over, another night. But then the Americans came. That’s when they started like that-the British at night, the Americans in the day. No let-up. Eleven o’clock, I remember. I was shopping when the warning came, and of course I ran back, but the wardens caught me-everyone into the shelter. And I thought, the nursery’s safe, they had a deep cellar.” She stopped for a moment, looking away to the window. “Then after the raid, I went there and it was gone. Gone. All buried. We had to dig them out. All day digging, but maybe there was a chance. Then the screaming when they brought them out, one after another. We had to identify them, you see. Screaming. I went a little crazy. ‘Be quiet, be quiet, you’ll frighten them.’ Imagine saying such a thing. And the crazy thing was-Peter not a scratch, no blood, how could he be dead? But of course he was. Blue. Later they told me it was asphyxiation, you just stop breathing, no pain. But how do they know? I just sat there in the street with him all day. I wouldn’t move, not even for the wardens. Why? Do you know what it’s like, to lose a child? Both of you die. Nothing’s the same after that.“
“Lena,” he said, stopping her.
“All you can think is, why did I leave him there? Why did I do that?”
He got up and stood behind her, smoothing his hands on her shoulders, calming her.
“It’ll pass,” he said quietly.
She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
“Yes, I know. At first I didn’t believe it. But he’s dead, I know, that’s all there is to it. Sometimes I don’t even think about it anymore. Isn’t that terrible?”
“No.”
“I don’t think about anything. That’s what it’s like now. You know what I used to think, during the war? That you would come and rescue me-from the bombs, everything here. How? I don’t know. Out of the sky, maybe, something crazy. You’d just appear at the door, like yesterday, and take me away. A fairy tale. Like the girl in the castle. Now you’re here and it’s too late.”
“Don’t talk like that,” he said, turning her chair and bending down, looking up at her. “It’s not too late.”
“No? You still want to rescue me?” She ran her fingers across his hair.
“I love you.”
She stopped. “To hear that again. After all these terrible things.”
“That’s over. I’m here.”
“Yes, you’re here,” she said, her hands at the sides of his face. “I thought nothing good would ever happen to me again. How can I believe it? You still love me?”
“I never stopped. You don’t stop.” “But such terrible things. And now I’m an old woman.” He reached out and touched her hair. “We’re an old couple.” That night they slept close together, his arm around her, like a shield even bad dreams couldn’t get through. Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
CHAPTER EIGHT
Each day was better, so that by the following weekend she was able to go out. Hannelore had found a friend “temporarily” and they’d been alone for days, a reclusive happiness that had finally become confining. Jake had done a second piece-“Adventures in the Black Market,” Russians and Mickey Mouse watches, the food situation, Danny and his girls discreetly left out-and Lena had slept and read, getting stronger. But the weather had grown sultry; the humid Berlin summer that used to drive everyone to the parks now just swirled the rubble dust, coating the windows with grit. Even Lena was restless.
Neither of them had seen the Russian sector, Lena because she refused to go there alone, so Jake drove east through the Mitte, past Gendarmenmarkt, then Opernplatz, where they’d made bonfires of books. Everything gone. When they saw the caved-in Berliner Dom in the distance, they were too dispirited to go on and decided to stroll up the Linden instead, the old Sunday outing. No one was out walking now. In the ruins, a makeshift cafe that had been set up just before Friedrichstrasse was crammed with Russians sweating in the heat.
“They’ll never leave,” Lena said. “It’s finished here now.”
“The trees will grow back,” Jake said, looking at the black stumps.
“My god, look at the Adlon.”
But Jake was looking at the figure coming through the door, the building evidently only partially ruined. Sikorsky noticed him at the same time and came over.
“Mr. Geismar, you decided to visit us after all,” he said, shaking hands. “For the afternoon tea, perhaps.”
“They still have it?”
“Oh yes, it’s a tradition, I’m told. Not so formal now, but more democratic, yes?”
In fact everyone Jake could see at the door brimmed with medals and decorations. A generals’ playground.
“In the back there are still some rooms. From mine you can see Goebbels’ garden. Or so they tell me it was. Excuse me,” he said, turning to Lena, “I am General Sikorsky.” A polite bow.
“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “Fraulein Brandt.” Why not frau?
“Brandt?” he said, looking at her carefully. “It’s a common name in Germany, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a Berliner? You have family here?”
“No. All killed. When the Russians came,” she said, an unexpected provocation.
But Sikorsky merely nodded. “Mine too. My wife, two children. In Kiev.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Lena said, embarrassed now.
He acknowledged this with another nod. “The fortunes of war. How is it a beautiful woman is still unmarried?”
“I was. He’s dead.”
“Then I am sorry for that,” Sikorsky said. “Well, enjoy your walk. A sad sight,” he said, looking at the street. “So much to do. Goodbye.”
“So much to do,” Lena said after he walked away. “And who made it like this? Russians. Did you see the way he looked at me?”
“I don’t blame him. He has an eye for a pretty girl.” Jake stopped and put his hand to the side of her head. “You are, you know. Look at you. You’ve got your color back. Like before.”
She looked up at him, then shook her head, embarrassed again. No, not that. Something else. Suspicious. The Russians are suspicious of everything.“
“I heard he was in intelligence. They look at everybody that way. Come on.”
They walked past the Brandenburg Gate, still plastered with giant posters of the Big Three.
“No trees,” she said. “Oh, Jake, let’s go back.”
“Tell you what, we’ll go out to the Grunewald, take a walk in the woods. You up for that?”
“It’s not like this?”
“No. Cooler too, I’ll bet,” he said, wiping sweat from his face.
“Something for the lady?” A German in an overcoat and fedora, detached from the group milling around the Reichstag.
“No,” Lena said, “go away.”
“Prewar material,” the man said, opening his coat and pulling out a folded garment. “Very nice. My wife’s. Scarcely worn. See?” He was unfolding the dress.
“No, please. I’m not interested.”
