Byron cringed to hear it, and to recall that a full belly and a glass of beer had brought him to join German soldiers in this song, not six hours after he had escaped burning Warsaw.
At the Americans’ table the waiter started removing plates with a jerky clatter, spilling gravy and wine and jostling them with his elbows.
“Watch what you’re doing, please,” Colonel Forrest said. The waiter went on with his brusque sloppy clearing. Sally Forrest gave a little yelp as he struck her head with a plate.
Pug said to him, “Look. Call your headwaiter, please.
“Headwaiter? I am the headwaiter. I am
Forrest said to Henry, “It might be smart to leave.”
“Oh, by all means,” Sally Forrest said. “Just pay, Bill, and we’ll go.” She picked up her purse.
“We haven’t had our dessert,” Pug Henry said.
“It might be an idea to knock that waiter on his backside,” Dr. Kirby said, his face disagreeably contorted.
“I volunteer,” said Bryon, and he started to get up.
“For God’s sake, boy!” Colonel Forrest pulled him back. “An incident is just what he wants, and what we can’t have.”
The waiter was striding past them to another table. Henry called, “I asked you to bring your headwaiter.”
“You’re in a hurry, honorable sir?” the waiter jeered. “Then you’d better leave. We’re very busy in this restaurant.” He turned a stout back on Henry and walked away.
“
Pug did not shout or bark. He used a dry sharp tone of command that cut through the restaurant gabble. The waiter stopped and turned. “
“I think we should go,” Sally Forrest said. “This isn’t worth the trouble.”
The waiter soon approached, followed by a tall, bald, long-faced man in a frock coat, who said with a busy, unfriendly air, “Yes? You have a complaint?”
“We’re a party of Americans, military attaches,” Pug said. “We didn’t rise for your anthem. We’re neutrals. This waiter chose to take offense.” He gestured at the table. “He’s been deliberately clumsy and dirty. He’s talked rudely. He’s jostled the ladies. His conduct has been swinish. Tell him to behave himself, and be good enough to let us have a clean cloth for our dessert.”
The expression of the headwaiter kept changing as Victor Henry rapped the sentences out. He hesitated under Henry’s direct gaze, looked around at the other diners, and all at once burst out in a howl of abuse at the waiter, flinging both arms in the air, his face purpling. After a short fierce tantrum, he turned to Pug Henry, bowed from the waist, and said coldly. “You will be properly served. My apologies.” And he bustled off.
Now a peculiar thing happened. The waiter reverted to his former manner without turning a hair, without a trace of surliness, resentment, or regret. The episode was obliterated; it had never happened. He cleared the dishes and spread a new cloth with deft speed. He smiled, he bowed, he made little jokes and considerate little noises. His face was blood red, otherwise he was in every respect the same charming,
“I’ll be damned,” said Colonel Forrest.
“We hadn’t had our dessert,” Pug said.
“Well done,” Kirby said to Pug Henry, with an odd glance at Rhoda. “Beautifully done.”
“Oh, Pug has a way about him,” Rhoda said, smiling brightly.
“Okay, Dad,” Byron said. Victor Henry shot him a quick look. It was the one remark that gratified him.
The Americans rushed uneasily through their desserts: all but Victor Henry, who was very deliberate about eating his tart and drinking his coffee. He unwrapped a cigar. The waiter jumped to light it for him. “Well, I guess we can shove off,” he said, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “Time’s a’wasting and the colonel and I are cheating the U.S. Government.”
That night after a late dinner, as they were having coffee on the terrace, Rhoda said, “I see you’ve brought home a pile of work. I thought we might see that new Emil Jannings movie. But I can get one of the girls to come along.”
“Go ahead. I’m no fan of Emil Jannings.”
Rhoda drank up her coffee and left the father and son sitting in the gloom.
“Briny, what about that report? How’s it coming?”
“The report? Oh, yes, the report.” Byron leaned forward in his chair, legs apart, elbows on knees, hands clasped. “Dad, I’d like to ask you something. What would you think of my joining the British navy? Or the RAF?”
Victor Henry blinked, and took a while to answer. “You want to fight the Germans, I take it?”
“I enjoyed myself in Warsaw. I felt useful.”
“Well, this is one hell of a change, coming from you. I thought a military career was o-u-t out.”
“This isn’t a career.”
Pug sat smoking and looking at his hands, crouching forward in his chair. Byron usually slouched back and extended his long legs, but now he was imitating his father. Their attitude looked comically alike. “Briny, I don’t think the Allies are going to make a deal with Hitler, but what if they do? A peace offensive’s coming up, that’s for sure. Suppose you join the British, possibly lose your citizenship — certainly create a peck of problems — and then the war’s off? There you’ll be, up to your neck in futile red tape. Why not hang on a while and see how the cat jumps?”
“I guess so.” Byron sighed, and slouched back in his chair.
Pug said, “I don’t like to discourage an admirable impulse. What might be a good idea right now is to ask for active duty in our Navy, and -”
“No, thanks.”
“Now hear me out, dammit. You’ve got your commission. The reserves who go out to sea now will draw the best duty if and when the action starts. You’ll have the jump on ninety-nine percent of the others. In wartime you’ll be the equal of any Academy man.”
“Meantime I’d be in for years. And
“You’re not doing anything else.”
“I wrote to Dr. Jastrow in Siena. I’m waiting to hear from him.”
The father dropped the subject.
Rhoda went to see the Emil Jannings movie, but first she did something else. She picked up Dr. Palmer Kirby at his hotel and drove him to Tempelhof airport. This was not necessary; cabs were available in Berlin. But she had offered to do this and Kirby had accepted. Perhaps there would have been no harm in telling her husband that she was giving the visitor this last courtesy; but she didn’t.
