But my admiration for Elli was accompanied by the growing suspicion that she was using me to help her exact some sort of personal revenge against the Nazis; that perhaps she was intent on murdering Alois Brunner, or Max Merten—that maybe her mother or her father had been killed during the occupation. It was the only explanation for why she was with me that made any real sense. In which case I was going to have to be very careful because I wanted Max Merten alive and for a purpose I’d only just learned to appreciate myself; nothing is more compelling to a man nearing the end of his useful days than the sudden realization that he has the chance to do one good thing.
There’s no sacrifice that’s too great for an opportunity to do something like that.
FORTY-FIVE
–
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she said. “I mean, I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you.”
“Not you as well. I already told Garlopis, I can handle Max Merten.”
“Actually I was talking about your plans to bribe that policeman. Or try to. If he doesn’t take the fakelaki it would be all the excuse he needed to put you in prison.”
“He’s already got more than enough of an excuse to do just that.”
“I really do wonder if you know what you’re getting into, that’s all.”
“I know what I’m getting out of. This damn country, I hope.”
“That’s not very flattering, Christof. To me or my country.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, sugar. Look, I just want my lousy passport back. When I can see my picture in that little green book again, maybe I’ll feel a bit more comfortable about staying on for a while.”
Her eyes stayed on the meandering road ahead; I was glad about that; it meant she couldn’t look straight through me. I glanced out the passenger window at the sumptuously appointed view; with its bright blue sky, sapphire sea, and majestic coastline, it looked like the set for some inspiring Cecil B. DeMille epic. On a road like that, and with a driver like Elli, it was easy to think of Muses and Graces and of returning home after a long journey. Munich wasn’t exactly Ithaca but it would do.
“Did you take a day off work?” I asked, changing the subject quickly.
“It’s a Saturday.”
“Yes, but you said you work on a Saturday.”
“We have a different attitude to work than you Germans.”
“So I noticed.”
“Greeks don’t believe that God will like us better because we work hard, or because we deny ourselves pleasure. We prefer to believe that God wants us to go to the beach and admire the view. That contemplation of all the Unmoved Mover’s works is the highest form of moral activity there is. It’s the only way of understanding him.”
“That doesn’t sound much like Marx.”
Elli smiled. “It’s Aristotle. Actually he has a lot more in common with Marx than just an impossibly large beard.”
“I’m sure he does, but please don’t tell me what. I’m too busy right now, admiring the view.”
Elli glanced at me and saw that I was looking at her.
“The view’s the other way, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen it. But you. You’re always worth looking at. Garlopis was right. Looking at you is enough to make a man believe in God.”
“He said that?”
“Even if I can’t quite bring myself to believe in you, my lovely. Snow White is supposed to wait for her handsome young prince, not fall for the grizzled huntsman with an ax to grind.”
“I see we’re back on the age-old debate about my age and you being old.”
“I can see what’s in it for me. That’s obvious to any mirror on the wall, not only a magic one. I’m trying to figure out what’s in it for you, that’s all.”
“You think I might have an ulterior motive for choosing to spend time with you? Is that it?”
“Women usually do.”
“Perhaps you underestimate yourself, Christof.”
“I just don’t want to disappoint you the way I usually disappoint myself.”
“A woman falls for a man and maybe he falls for her. There’s aesthetics and chemistry and biology and a lot of other technical stuff. Then there’s what he says and how she responds to it. And let’s not forget the metaphysics of it, too: the things we can’t know—the time and place, and the men I’ve known before, and the women you’ve known before. I don’t have a secret agenda here. I don’t have a wicked stepmother or even seven friends who are dwarves. I like you. Maybe it’s just as simple as that.”
“Maybe.”
“You know what your real problem is? You want to try and understand something that goes beyond understanding.”
“That’s the German in me, I guess.”
“Then we’ll have to make a Greek out of you. I think you could use some cheering up. Sometimes you’re just a little bit too contemplative. Like you have something else on your mind.”
“There usually is. The gun in your bag, perhaps—that might give anyone pause for a whole series of thoughts.”
“You think I’m planning to shoot you? It’s an idea at that.”
“One that’s already crossed my mind.”
“Why on earth would I shoot you?”
“You know, I still can’t think of a good reason. But I was hoping I might find one before you got around to actually doing it.”
“Let me know when you come up with one. It will be interesting to hear it. Who knows? Maybe it will seem like such a good reason that it will inspire me to shoot you for real. I could certainly use a little target practice.” She shook her head. “Your head is a mess, do you know that? With all that suspicion it’s a wonder you can think straight. I’m guessing, of course, but I think
