Russell brought up his other idea. Id like to take my son too. Ill pay for him, naturally, but if you could arrange the trip for four. . . . Ill need his mothers agreement, of course, he added.
Jens smiled. An excellent plan. It will look more . . . natural. Ill arrange things for four. If your son cant go we can always amend the reservations. He placed the cup of coffee on the side table and got up, looking pleased with himself. Zarah will be relieved, he said. She was not looking forward to making such a journey alone.
Im sure shed have managed, Effi said with a slight edge, but this will be better.
This is my number at the ministry, Jens said, handing Russell a card.
This is mine at home, Russell replied, tearing a sheet from his notebook and penciling out the Neuenburgerstrasse number. England with Paul, he thought, and he was still reveling in the notion when Effi returned from seeing Jens out.
Youre not to fall in love with my sister, she told him.
HE PHONED ILSE FROM Effis flat early the next morning and arranged to have coffee at a cafe in Halensee which they knew from their earlier life together. Russell wanted to ask her in person rather than over the phone, and she sounded more than willingeager, in factto get out of the house for a couple of hours.
The cafe looked more run-down than Russell remembered it, a consequence, perhaps, of the fact that a large proportion of its former clientele had been Jewish. Ilse was already there, looking less severe than usual. Her shoulder-length blonde hair, which over the last few years had invariably been tied back in a knot, hung loose, softening the stretched lines of her face. She still seemed painfully thin to Russell, and her blue eyes never seemed to soften as once they had, but she seemed genuinely pleased to see him.
He told her what he wanted, at worst expecting a flat refusal, at best a painful argument.
I think its a wonderful idea, she said. Well have to inform the school of course, and his
I hope so. Matthias wont object?
Why should he?
No reason at all. Well, thats good. I expected more of an argument, he admitted.
Why, for heavens sake? When have I ever tried to come between you and Paul?
He smiled. You havent.
She smiled back. You must be getting lots of work, she said. Pauls very impressed with the car.
They talked about Paul, his interests and anxieties, for more than half an hour. Afterward, driving back across the city for his Wednesday appointment at the Wiesners, Russell found it hard to remember a warmer conversation with his ex-wife. He was still bathing in its glow when he rapped on the door of the apartment in Friedrichshain.
There was no answer for several moments, then an anxious voice called out, Who is it?
Its John Russell, he shouted back.
The door opened to reveal a haggard-looking Frau Wiesner. Im sorry, she said, looking down the stairs behind him. Come in, please.
There was no sign of the girls.
Im afraid there will be no lesson today, she said. And perhaps no more lessons for a while. My husband has been arrested. They have taken him to a camp. Sachsenhausen, we think. A friend of a friend saw him there.
When? When was he arrested? What was he arrested for?
They came here on Monday. The middle of the night, so it was really Tuesday. She sat down abruptly, as if she needed all her strength to tell the story. They kept hitting him, she almost whispered, a solitary tear running down her right cheek. He wasnt resisting. He kept saying, Im coming with youwhy are you hitting me? They just laughed, called him names. Called the children names. I only thank God that Albert wasnt here when they came.
Russell sat down on the settee beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. Frau. . . . he started to say. I should know your name by now.
Eva.
Did they give a reason for his arrest?
Not to me. Our friends are trying to find out whether there was a reason . . . not a real reason, of course . . . but surely they have to say something, write something down in their record books. She looked at him almost imploringly, as if their having a reason would make a difference.
Where are the girls? he asked. And wheres Albert?
The girls are with friends down the road. They love your lessons, but today . . . they couldn't. . . .
Of course not.
And Albert. . . . He came back on Tuesday morning, heard what had happened, and ran straight out again. I havent seen him since.
The Gestapo havent been back?
No. If they came back, I could ask them about Felix. I dont know what to do. Some friends say kick up a fuss, or youll never be told anything. Others say that if you do it makes matters worse, and that Felix will be released eventually, like Albert was. And I wouldn't know where to go if I wanted to make a fuss. The Alex? If I go there and demand to know where Felix is and why theyve arrested him they might arrest me, and then wholl look after Albert and the girls?
That wouldn't be a good idea, Russell agreed. He wondered what would be.
Have the Conways gone? she asked.
Im afraid they have. Theyd been at sea for at least 36 hours. But I can try talking to someone at the Embassy. I doubt whether theyll be able to do anything, but its worth a try.
Theyre not allowed visitors in Sachsenhausen, she said. We found that out when Albert was there. Not family or friends that is. But perhaps theyd let you visit him. You could say he owed you money for the girls lessons, and you need his signature for somethinga check on a foreign bank account or something like that.
You have a foreign bank account?
No, of course not, but they think we havethey think we all have them.
Russell winced. What could he do? The embassy certainly, but how much would a Jewish doctors kindness to a now-departed colleague count for in the grand scheme of things? Not much. He could go to the Alexor, more worryingly, the Gestapo HQ on Prinz Albrechtstrasseand make some polite inquiries. Not as a journalist, of course. In fact, Eva Wiesners suggestion was a good one. He could say that Wiesner owed him for the girls lessons, and that the Jewish swine wasnt going to get out of it by running away to a Kz. That should give the bastards a good laugh.
And then there was Jens, who now owed him a favor. A last resort, Russell decided. That was one favor he wanted to keep in reserve.
Ill make some inquiries, he told her. Tactfully. I wont stir up any resentment. Ill try and find out where he is and why hes been arrested. And if theres any chance of arranging a visit.
She gave him a despairing look. Why is it that you can see how wrong this is, and so many people cant?
I like to think most people can, he said. And that theyre just too afraid to speak up. But lately. . . . He spread his hands. If I find out anything definite Ill be back to let you know. Otherwise Ill come on Friday at the usual time.
Thank you, Mr. Russell. You are a real friend. Another solitary tear crawled down her cheek, as if her body were conserving the supply for future contingencies.
As he walked back to the car Russell found himself hoping he was the friend she thought he was. He had considered giving her his address, but there was no way he could keep one or more of the Wiesners in his apartment. If Frau Heidegger didn't report it, one of his neighbors would.
Driving down Neue Konigstrasse he decided on visiting the Gestapo first. Another voluntary encounter with the Nazi authorities, he told himself, would weaken any suspicions they might hold with regard to McKinleys missing papers. And if they handed out prizes for wishful thinking. . . .
He parked behind a shiny, swastika-embossed limousine on Prinz Albrecht Strasse, and approached the impressive portals of the State Police HQ. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the steps and in through the revolving door. As usual, the Fuhrer was up there in his frame, beady eyes tracking Russell round the room like
