Zoo Station

Why, for Gods sake?

I dont know. Ill keep trying, but. . . . He let the word hang. Oh, he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out two tickets. I was given these today. Brahms and something else, at the Philharmonie, tomorrow evening. Would you like them? We cant go.

Thanks. Effill be pleased.

Whats she doing now? Barbarossa has finished, hasnt it?

Yes. But youd better ask her about the next project.

Conway grinned. I will. Come on, wed better join the others.

The evening went well. The conversation flowed through dinner and beyond, almost wholly in German, the two Conways taking turns at providing translation for Fay Unsworth. The two German men were of a type: scions of upper middle class families who still prospered under the Nazis but who, in foreign company especially, were eager to demonstrate how embarrassed they were by their government. They and Freya Auer lapped up Effis account of the Mother storyline, bursting into ironic applause when she described the hospital bed denouement. Only Ute Neumaier looked uncomfortable. Among her fellow housewives in Grunewald she would probably give the story a very different slant.

Rolf Auer was encouraged to recount some news hed heard that afternoon. Five of Germanys most famous cabaret comediansWerner Finck, Peter Sachse, and the Three Rulandshad been expelled from the Reich Cultural Chamber by Goebbels. They wouldn't be able to work in Germany again.

When was this announced? Russell asked.

It hasnt been yet. Goebbels has a big piece in the Beobachter tomorrow morning. Its in there.

Last time I saw Finck at the Kabarett, Russell said, he announced that the old German fairytale section had been removed from the program, but that thered be a political lecture later.

Everyone laughed.

Itll be hard for any of them to get work elsewhere, Effi said. Their sort of comedys all about language.

Theyll have to go into hibernation until its all over, Phyllis said.

Like so much else, her husband agreed.

Where has all the modern art gone? Effi asked the Auers. Six years ago there must have thousands of modern paintings in Germanythe Blau Reiter group, the Expressionists before them, the Cubists. Where are they all?

A lot of them are boxed up in cellars, Rolf Auer admitted. A lot were taken abroad in the first year or so, but since then. . . . A lot were owned by Jews, and most of those have been sold, usually at knockdown prices. Mostly by people who think theyll make a good profit one day, sometimes by people who really care about them as art and want to preserve them for the future.

It sounded as if the Auers had a few in their cellar. Ive heard Hermanns building up his collection, Russell observed.

He has good taste, Auer conceded with only the faintest hint of sarcasm.

The conversation moved on to architecture and Speers plans for the new Berlin. Russell watched and listened. It was a civilized conversation, he thought. But the civilization concerned was treading water. There was an implied acceptance that things had slipped out of joint, that some sort of correction was needed, and that until that correction came along, and normal service was resumed, they were stuck in a state of suspended animation. The Conways, he saw, were only too glad to be out of it; America would be a paradise after this. The Unsworths didn't have a clue what they were getting into and, unless they were much more perceptive than they seemed, would draw all the wrong conclusions from gatherings like this one. But the three German coupleshe included himself and Effiwere just waiting for the world to move on, waiting at the Fuhrers pleasure.

Whatll happen to you if theres a war? Unsworth was asking him.

Ill be on the same train as you, I expect, Russell told him. Across the table, Effi made a face.

Thatll be hard, after living here for so long.

It will. I have a son here, too. Russell shrugged. But itll be that or internment.

In the way home, sitting in a line of traffic at the eastern end of the Kudamm, Effi suddenly turned to him and said: I dont want to lose you.

I dont want to lose you either.

She slipped an arm through his. How long do you think a war will last?

Ive no idea. Years, at least.

Maybe we should think about leaving. I know, she added quickly, that you dont want to leave Paul. But if theres a war and they lock you up youll be leaving him anyway. And we . . . oh I dont know. Its all so ridiculous.

Russell moved the car forward a few meters. Its something to think about. And it was. She was righthed lose Paul anyway. And he couldn't spend the rest of his life clinging to the boy. It wasnt fair to her. It probably wasnt fair to Paul.

I dont want to go either, but. . . .

I know. I think weve got a few months at least. He leaned over and kissed her, which drew an angry blow of the horn from the car behind them. And I cant let Paul run my whole life, he said, testing the thought out loud as he released the clutch.

Not forever, anyway. Has he seen the car yet?

No. Tomorrow.

THERE WAS SUNSHINE ON SATURDAY, the first in a week. He arrived at the Gehrts household soon after two, and felt somewhat deflated by the sight of Matthiass Horch. How had he expected Paul to get excited by a 1928 Hanomag?

He needn't have worried. His son, happily changed out of his Jungvolk uniform, was thrilled by the car, and thrilled by their exhilarating 100kph dash down the new Avus Speedway, which connected the eastern end of the Kudamm to the first completed stretch of the Berlin orbital outside Potsdam. On their way back they stopped for ice cream at a cafe overlooking the Wannsee, and Russell allowed his son to work the petrol pump at the adjoining garage. FatherI mean Matthiaswouldn't let me do this, Paul said, anxiously scanning Russells face for signs of hurt or anger at his slip.

Its okay. You can call him father, Russell said. Short for stepfather.

All right, Paul agreed.

During their four hours together, his son showed none of the reticence hed displayed on the phone. Just a passing something, Russell hoped. He had a wonderful afternoon.

The evening wasnt bad either. Effi looked stunning in another new dressMother was certainly paying welland three members of the Philharmonie audience came up and asked for her autograph, which pleased her no end. Unlike Russell she had been brought up on a diet of classical music, and sat in rapt attention while his wandered. Looking round the auditorium, it occurred to him that this was one of the places where nothing much had changed. The music was judenfrei, of course, and Hitlers picture dominated the lobby, but the same stiff-necked, overdressed people were filling the seats, wafting their fans, and rustling their programs. It could have been 1928. Or even 1908. All across Germany there were people living in time bubbles like this one. That was the way it was, and would be, until Hitler marched across one border too many and burst them all.

Russell couldn't complain about the effect the music had on Effishe insisted on their going straight home to make love. Afterward, lying in an exhausted heap among the tangled sheets, they laughed at the trail of clothes disappearing into the living room. Like our first time, remember? Effi said.

Russell couldn't remember a better day, and hated to spoil it. Ive got something to tell you, he said, propping himself up against the headboard. You know I said Id heard rumors that they were planning to change the Law on the Prevention of Hereditary Diseases?

Yes. She sat up too.

I didn't.

Then why. . . ?

Tyler McKinley was working on a story about it. He got me to go with him when he interviewed this woman in