arms folded in prayer. They were doing a penitential performance ritual. Not calling any outrageous attention to themselves or anything, in fact it was pretty hard to notice the Catholics up there, dangling naked by the ridged teeth of the stone Gothic spire. They were exposing the flesh to the wind and the cold, very pious and dedicated, and obviously higher than kites.
Someone spoke to her, right at her elbow. She turned, looking away from the steeple penitents. “What?” she said.
And there stood a young good-looking guy in a sheepskin jacket and sheepskin pants—basically, in fact, the guy was wearing an entire sheep, included the tanned and eyeless head, which was part of his jacket lapel. He was white and woolly-curly all over. But he had black slicked-back hair, which went well with his rather slicked-back forehead and his sloping black eyebrows. “Ah, English,” he said. “No problem, I speak English.”
“You do? Good. Hi!”
“Hi. From where are you coming?”
“California.”
“Just come to Munchen today?”
“
He smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Maya.”
“I’m Ulrich. Welcome to my beautiful city. So you’re all alone, no parents, no boyfriend? You are standing here in the Marienplatz two hours, you don’t meet anybody, you don’t do anything.” He laughed. “Are you lost?”
“I don’t have to go anywhere in particular, I’m just passing through.”
“You
“Well,” Maya said, “maybe I am a little lost. But at least I haven’t been spying on other people for two whole hours, like you have.”
Ulrich smiled slowly, swung a big brown backpack off his shoulders, and set it at his feet. “How could I help but to watch such a beautiful woman?”
Maya felt her eyes widen. “You really think so? Oh, dear …”
“Yes, yes! I can’t be the first man to tell you this news! You’re lovely. You’re beautiful! You’re cute like a big rabbit.”
“I bet that sounds really nice in Deutsch, Ulrich, but …”
“I’m sure I can help you. Where’s your hotel?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Well, where’s your luggage, then?”
She lifted her handbag.
“No luggage. No hotel. No place to go. No parents, no boyfriend. You got any money?”
“No.”
“How about an ID? I hope you have your ID.”
“Especially no ID.”
“So. Then you are a runaway.” Ulrich thought this over, with evident glee. “Well, I have good news for you, Miss Maya the Runaway. You’re not the only runaway to come to Munchen.”
“I was kind of thinking of taking the train back to Frankfurt tonight, actually.”
“Frankfurt! What a waste! Frankfurt is a tomb. A grave! Come with me and I’ll take you to the most famous pub in the world!”
“Why should I go anywhere with some guy who’s so terribly mean to sheep?”
Ulrich touched his sheepskin coat with a look of wounded shock. “You’re making funny! I’m not mean! I killed this sheep myself in single combat. He wanted to take my life! Come with me and I’ll take you to the famous Hofbrauhaus. They’re eating meat! And drinking beer!”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s not far.” Ulrich crossed his fleecy white arms. “You want to see, or don’t you?”
“Yeah. I do want to see. Okay.”
He took her to the Hofbrauhaus, just as he had promised. There were massive stone arches outside and big brass-bound doors and uniformed civil-support people. Ulrich shrugged out of his coat, and quite neatly, in a matter of seconds, stepped deftly out of his pants. He stuffed the sheepskins into his capacious backpack. Beneath the skins he was wearing brightly patterned leotards.
Inside, the Hofbrauhaus had a vaulted ceiling with murals and ironwork and lanterns. It was wonderfully warm and smelled very powerfully of burning and stewing animal meat. A veteran brass band in odd hats and thick suspenders was playing two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old polkas, the kind of folk music that was so well worn that it slipped through your ears like pebbles down a stream. Strangers were crammed together at long polished wooden benches and tables, getting full of alcoholic bonhomie. Maya was relieved to see that most of them weren’t actually drinking the alcohol. Instead, they were drinking big cold malts and inhaling the alcohol on the side through little lipid-tagged nose snifters. This much reduced the dosage and kept the poison away from the liver.
It was loud inside. “You want to eat something?” Ulrich shouted.
Maya looked at a passing platter. Chunks of animal flesh swimming in brown juices, shredded kraut, potato dumplings. “I’m not hungry!”
“You want to drink some beer?”
“Ick!”
“What do you want, then?”
“I dunno. Just to watch everybody act weird, I guess. Is there some quiet place here where we can sit down and talk?”
Ulrich’s long brows knotted, in impatience with her, she thought, and then he methodically scanned the crowd. “Do something for me, all right? You see that old tourist lady there with the notebook?”
“Yes?”
“Go ask her if she has a tourist map. Talk to her for one minute, sixty seconds, nothing more. Ask her … ask if she can tell you where is the Chinese Tower. Then come outside the Hofbrauhaus and meet with me again. In the street.”
“Why?” She looked searchingly into his face. “You want me to do something bad.”
“A little bad maybe. But very useful for us. Go and talk to her. There’s no harm in talking.”
Maya went to stand by the old woman. The old woman was methodically and neatly eating noodles with a fork and a spoon. She was drinking a bottle of something called Fruchtlimo and was very nicely dressed. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you speak English?”
“Yes, I do, young lady.”
“Do you have a map of Munchen? In English? I’m looking for a certain place.”
“Of course I do. Glad to help.” The woman opened her notebook and deftly shuffled screens. “What do they call this place you want to go?”
“The Chinese Tower.”
“Oh, yes. I know that place. Here we go.… ” She pointed. “It’s located in the English Gardens. A park designed by Count von Rumford in the 1790s. The Count von Rumford was Benjamin Thompson, an American emigre.” She looked up brightly. “Isn’t it funny to think of a town this ancient being redesigned by one of our fellow Americans!”
“Almost as funny as Indianapolis being redesigned by an Indonesian.”
“Well,” said the woman, frowning, “that all happened long before you were born. But I happen to be from Indiana, and I was there when the Indonesians bought the city, and believe me, when that happened we didn’t think it was very funny.”
“Thanks a lot for your help, ma’am.”
“Would you like me to print you a map? I have a scroller in my purse.”
“That’s okay. I have to meet someone, I have to go now.”
“But it’s quite a long way to the tower, you might get lost. Let me just …” She paused, surprised. “My purse is gone.”
“You lost your purse?”
“No, I didn’t lose it. It was right here, right below the bench.” She glanced around, then up at Maya. She
