No, he said authoritatively, looking up briefly and deciding that Russell was less interesting than his book. If there was anything wrong with him, it wasnt the same thing that afflicted Marietta.
Russell leaned down to kiss Zarahs upturned cheek. Effis older sister was an attractive woman of 35, taller and bigger-boned than Effi, with larger breasts and wider hips. Her wavy chestnut hair, which usually fell to her shoulders, was tonight constrained in a tight bun, and there were dark circles of either tiredness or sadness around her brown eyes. Russell had never disliked Zarah, but he had never felt any real connection either. She had none of her younger sisters fearless appetite for life: Zarah was the careful, responsible one, the one who had always sought safety in conventionality, whether of ideas or husbands. Her only redeeming feature, as far as Russell was concerned, was her obvious devotion to Effi.
Effi told me what you told her, she said, but I want to hear it from you.
Russell retold the story of his and McKinleys visit to Theresa Jurissen, omitting her name.
She stole this letter? Zarah asked, as if she couldn't believe people did things like that.
She was desperate.
That I can understand, Zarah said, glancing sideways at the happily engaged Lothar. But are you sure she was telling the truth?
As sure as I can be.
But you dont know any of the details of this new law those doctors were talking about? What it will say. Who it will affect.
No. But whatever it says, the first thing theyll need is a register of all those suffering from the various conditions. All the institutions and doctors will be asked to submit lists, so that they know exactly what theyre dealing with. And any child on that list will be subject to the new law, whatever it is. Thats why I think you should cancel your appointment. Wait until I can tell you more.
But when will that be?
Soon, I hope.
But what if it isnt? She was, Russell realized, on the verge of tears. I have to talk to someone about him.
Russell had an idea. How about abroad? Go to Holland or France. Or England even. See a specialist there. No one here will know.
He watched her eyes harden as she remembered the aborted abortion, then soften again as the idea impressed itself. I could, couldn't I? she said, half to herself, half to Effi. Thank you, John, she said to him.
Will Jens agree to that? Effi asked.
Yes, I think so.
You do understand how dangerous this will be for John if anyone finds out he knows about this law? Effi insisted.
Oh yes.
And youll make sure Jens understands it too.
Yes, yes. I know you disagree about politics, she told Russell, but Jens is as crazy about Lothar as I am. Believe me, even the Fuhrer comes a long way second. Jens will do anything for his son.
Russell hoped she was right. After driving Zarah and Lothar home to Grunewald he watched Jens in the lighted doorway, picking up his son with every sign of fatherly devotion, and felt somewhat reassured. In the seat next to him, Effi sighed. Did you see anything wrong with Lothar? she asked.
No, Russell said, but Zarah sees more of him than anyone else.
I hope shes wrong.
Of course.
How was your day with Paul?
Good. Hes away again next weekend.
Then lets go away, Effi said. I start filming on the Monday after, and Ill hardly see you for two weeks after that. Lets go somewhere.
How about Rugen Island?
Thatd be lovely.
We can drive up on Friday afternoon, come back Sunday. Ill teach you to drive.
RUSSELL WOKE EARLY, with an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach which toast and coffee did nothing to dispel. Are you going to get the passport today? Effi asked, brushing hair out of her eyes to receive the coffee hed brought her in bed.
I hope so.
Do you want me to come with you? As cover or something?
No thanks. Youd make me even more anxious. He kissed her, promised to ring the moment he had something to tell, and walked out to the car. There was no sign of the weekend sunshine; a thick blanket of almost motionless cloud hung over the city, low enough to brush the spires of the Memorial Church. As he drove on down Tauenzienstrasse, Russell decided to leave the car at homethe Ubahn seemed more anonymous. On arrival, he steeled himself to refuse a coffee from Frau Heidegger, but she was nowhere to be seen. Freshly attired, he was soon on the train to Neukolln.
Zembski had the passport waiting in a desk drawer. A nice job, if I say so myself, he muttered, using a photographers dark-sack to pick it up and hand it over. You should keep your own fingerprints off it, he advised. And pleaseburn it the moment youre finished with it. Ive already burned the negatives.
I will, Russell said, examining the photograph inside. It looked as though it had always been there.
He walked back to the U-bahn station, hyper-conscious of the passport in his pocket. Pretending to be McKinley might get him through a spot check, but anything more rigorous and hed be in real, real trouble. The passport was far too big to eat, though he supposed he could just tear the picture out and eat that. Explaining why hed done so might prove difficult, though.
He reminded himself that he was only guessing about the poste restante, but it didn't feel like guessing: He knew it was there. Once on a train, he decided on another change of plan. The U-bahn might be anonymous, but he would need somewhere to read whatever it was McKinley had accumulated. He couldn't take it to his own flat or Effis, and he had no desire to sit in a park or on a train with a pile of stolen documents on his knee. In the car, on the other hand, he could drive himself somewhere secluded and take his time. This sounded like such a good idea that he wondered why it hadn't occurred to him earlier. How many other obvious possibilities had he failed to notice?
Frau Heidegger was still out. He backed the Hanomag out of the courtyard, accelerated down Neuenburgerstrasse, and almost broad-sided a tram turning into Lindenstrasse. Calm down, he told himself.
On the way to the old town his head raced with ideas for foiling discovery and capture. If he checked who was on normal duty in the poste restante, and then waited till whoever it was went to lunch, hed probably be seen by someone less liable to go over the passport with a magnifying glass. Or would the lunchtime stand-in, being less used to the work, be more careful? A crowded post office would give more people the chance of remembering him; an empty one would make him stand out.
He parked the car on Heiligegeiststrasse, a hundred meters north of the block which housed the huge post office, and walked down to the main entrance. The poste restante section was on the second floor, a large high- ceilinged room with high windows. A line of upright chairs for waiting customers faced the two service windows. There was a customer at one window, but the other was free.
Heart thumping, Russell walked up to the available clerk and placed McKinleys passport on the counter. Anything for McKinley? he asked, in a voice which seemed to belong to someone else.
The clerk took the briefest of looks at the passport and disappeared without a word. Would he come back with a sheaf of papers or a squad of Gestapo? Russell wondered. He stole a look at the other customer, a woman in her thirties who was just signing for a parcel. The clerk serving her was now looking at Russell. He looked away, and wondered whether to put the passport back in his pocket. He could feel the man still looking at him. Dont do anything memorable, he told himself.
His own clerk returned, more quickly than Russell had dared to hope, with a thick manila envelope. Letting this drop onto the counter with a thump, he reached underneath for a form. A couple of indecipherable squiggles later he pushed the form across for signing. Russell searched in vain for his pen, accepted the one offered with a
