took a little gold-topped bottle. With a twist of his wrist he broke the seal and held it out to Manfred, who took a long swig and started to cough.
“Not so fast or you’ll be singing before too long…”
“Damn, that burns. What the hell is it?”
“It’s called Krugsle. It’s distilled by the German colonists in Windhoek. The bottle was a present from a friend. I was saving it for a special occasion.”
“Thank you,” said Manfred, handing it back. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but…”
Julian came back from the bathroom and sat on a chair.
“Are you my father?” the boy asked Paul.
Paul and Manfred were aghast.
“Why do you say that, Julian?”
Without replying to his uncle, the boy grabbed Paul’s arm, forcing him to crouch down so they were face-to- face. He ran his fingertips around his father’s features, exploring them as though merely looking were not enough. Paul closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears.
“I look like you,” said Julian at last.
“Yes, son. You do. Very much so.”
“Could I have something to eat? I’m hungry,” said the boy, pointing to the tray.
“Of course,” said Paul, suppressing the need to hug him. He didn’t dare get too close, because he understood that the boy must also be in shock.
“I need to talk to Herr Reiner alone outside. You stay here and eat,” Manfred said.
The boy folded his arms. “Don’t go anywhere. The Nazis have taken Mama away, and I want to know what you’re talking about.”
“Julian…”
Paul placed his hand on Manfred’s shoulder and gave him a questioning look. Manfred shrugged.
“Very well, then.”
Paul turned toward the boy and tried to force a smile. To be sitting there looking at the small version of his own face was a painful reminder of his last night in Munich, back in 1923. Of the terrible, selfish decision he had taken, leaving Alys without at least trying to understand why she had told him to leave her, leaving without putting up a fight. Now the pieces were falling into place, and Paul understood the serious mistake he had made.
I’ve lived my whole life without a father. Blaming him and those who killed him for his absence. I swore a thousand times that if I had a child I would never, never let him grow up without me.
“Julian, my name is Paul Reiner,” he said, holding out his hand.
The boy returned the handshake.
“I know. Uncle Manfred told me.”
“And did he also tell you I didn’t know I had a son?”
Julian shook his head, silent.
“Alys and I always told him his father was dead,” said Manfred, avoiding his gaze.
This was too much for Paul. He felt the pain of all those nights when he’d lain awake, imagining his father as a hero, now projected onto Julian. Fantasies built on a lie. He wondered what dreams this boy must have conjured in those moments before he fell asleep. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He ran over, lifted his son from the chair, and hugged him tight. Manfred stood up, wanting to protect Julian, but he stopped when he saw that Julian, his fists clenched and tears in his eyes, was hugging his father back.
“Where have you been?”
“Forgive me, Julian. Forgive me.”
54
When their emotions had calmed a little, Manfred told them that when Julian was old enough to ask about his father, Alys had decided to tell him he was dead. After all, no one had heard from Paul for a long time.
“I don’t know if it was the right decision. I was just a teenager at the time, but your mother did think long and hard about it.”
Julian sat listening to his explanation, his expression serious. When Manfred had finished, he turned to Paul, who tried to explain his long absence, though the story was as hard to tell as it was difficult to believe. And yet, Julian, in spite of his sadness, seemed to understand the situation and interrupted his father only to ask the occasional question.
He’s a smart lad, with nerves of steel. His world has just been turned upside down, and he’s not crying, not stamping his feet or calling for his mother the way many other children would do.
“So you spent all these years trying to find the person who hurt your father?” asked the boy.
Paul nodded. “Yes, but it was a mistake. I never should have left Alys, because I love her very much.”
“I understand. I’d look everywhere for someone who had hurt my family too,” replied Julian in a low voice that seemed strange for someone his age.
Which brought them back to Alys. Manfred told Paul what little he knew about his sister’s disappearance.
“It’s happening more and more frequently,” he said, looking at his nephew out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to blurt out what had happened to Josef Tannenbaum; the boy had suffered enough. “No one does anything to stop it.”
“Is there anyone we can go to?”
“Who?” said Manfred, throwing up his hands in despair. “They didn’t leave a report, or a search warrant, or a list of charges. Nothing! Just an empty space. And if we show up at the Gestapo headquarters… well, you can guess. We’d have to be accompanied by an army of lawyers and journalists, and I worry even that wouldn’t be enough. The whole country is in these people’s hands, and the worst thing is that nobody noticed until it was too late.”
They went on talking for a long while. Outside, dusk hung over the Munich streets like a gray blanket, and the streetlamps were starting to be turned on. Tired from so much emotion, Julian was giving his leather ball desultory kicks. He ended up putting it down and falling asleep on top of the bedspread. The ball rolled toward the feet of his uncle, who picked it up and showed it to Paul.
“Familiar?”
“No.”
“It’s the ball I hit you on the head with all those years ago.”
Paul smiled at the recollection of his trip down the stairs and the chain of events that had led him to fall in love with Alys.
“It’s thanks to this ball that Julian exists.”
“That’s what my sister said. When I was old enough to confront my father and resume contact with Alys, she asked for the ball. I had to rescue it from a storeroom, and we gave it to Julian on his fifth birthday. I think that was the last time I saw my father,” he recalled bitterly. “Paul, I-”
He was interrupted by a knocking at the door. Alarmed, Paul gestured for him to be quiet and got up to fetch the gun, which he had put away in the cupboard. It was the landlady again.
“Herr Reiner, there’s a phone call for you.”
Paul and Manfred exchanged a curious look. Nobody knew Paul was staying there but Alys.
“Did they say who they were?”
The woman shrugged.
“They said something about Fraulein Tannenbaum. I didn’t ask anything else.”
“Thank you, Frau Frink. Just give me a moment, I’ll get my jacket,” said Paul, leaving the door ajar.
“It might be a trick,” said Manfred, holding on to his arm.
“I know.”
Paul put the gun in his hand.
“I don’t know how to use this,” said Manfred, frightened.
