“Hey.”
She whirled around. Walter was dressed in a uniform.
“Hey,” she said.
“Want to dance?” He held out his hand.
The black jacket. The red armband. The swastika.
She had asked herself what one dance could mean. She had not expected this answer, yet still she took his hand. She wanted to know who the SS officer at the villa had been. And Walter would know.
The band played a fast polka, and people spun drunkenly around. As Walter led her toward the bumping and jarring crowd, Magda spotted Aleš and a couple of other men in civilian clothing milling near a drinks and sausage stand. She wanted to go to Aleš, to tell him to take her home, to make sure she got there. Magda was about to pull out of Walter’s grip, when Renata appeared from behind the stand. She went to Aleš, they kissed, and he put a drink in her hand.
Numb, Magda took her position before Walter. He started, and she stumbled a little. He excused himself, and she stared mutely at his left shoulder, the lapel, the shiny buttons of his uniform jacket, the leather strap. In the spins, she caught sight of Renata and Aleš watching her, and she now knew what the argument had been about. Aleš had been trying to spare her this. This was what had upset him. Walter Fenkart was now one of Hitler’s obedient elite.
The polka came to an abrupt halt. She started to pull away, but Walter drew her closer to him as soon as the music began again, a slower song she did not recognize. Somewhere behind her, young men’s voices rose, singing a German folk song. Walter led her to the music. She was aware of his every touch, his hand on her waist, the pressure, the hand that held hers, the hand that pressed her closer to him. She felt his hips brush slightly against hers. She tried to put some distance between them, but he bent down and whispered something into her ear. She could not make out what he said, but she felt shivers up and down her back. He pulled away then and turned her. Magda tried to smile, tried to look as if she were enjoying herself. She reminded herself he was what she wanted.
“Something wrong?” he murmured as he drew her back in. “Why don’t you laugh? You should laugh more, Magda.”
She swallowed. “There was a man at the house today. Someone who knows you?”
Walter pulled back and frowned. “A man?”
“An SS officer.”
His face brightened and he grinned. “That’s Doctor Obergruppenführer. Yes, he runs the Napola.”
“And what was he…looking for?”
“Looking for? No, I recommended him to Dr. Tauber. He has a”—he pulled in closer—“problem. I referred him to Dr. Tauber.”
“Oh.” Magda replayed the scene in her head. It made sense, but that feeling of dread did not dissipate.
Walter pulled away and looked as if he were confirming he’d answered her question to her satisfaction. “Can you smile now?”
“I didn’t know you were…that you were so good that…” She stopped, and he had to as well. She waved a hand in front of his uniform, from his shoulders to his shoes. “What does your father say about all this?”
He frowned. “About what? About us?”
But he was lying again. He knew exactly what she was referring to.
“He did not agree to it, but I managed to convince him.” He looked nonplussed. “Look, I come from a family of farmers. None of us have ever had the chance at a higher education. I might have started working. I might have gone straight into the Wehrmacht. But I didn’t. I got accepted into a program where I can still learn something and make something of myself. I’m a good swimmer, Magda. And I don’t want to go to war. You understand? Can you not just believe that this is what I have to do? Like you?”
“What do you mean, like me?” Her throat tightened.
“Hide. You’re hiding.”
Across the dance floor, someone called Walter’s name. Magda twisted around. It was Gustav, dancing with a girl, steering her toward them.
Walter’s thin lips brushed along the right side of Magda’s neck, and his mouth came up, close to hers. Magda held her breath.
“Come with me,” he murmured. “Let’s get away from all this.”
“Where?”
He broke away from her and yanked her off the floor. No. Yes. OK. Magda stayed on Walter’s heels as he hurried down the slope and to the far end of the island. They slowed when they reached the water, his hand still holding hers. There was a small hut. Magda smelled fish.
Walter stopped behind the fish cleaning house and sighed. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. It was a long way back to the bridge, to the mainland, to the bicycle.
Walter pulled something out of his trouser pocket. A flask. He unscrewed it, offered it to her. She smelled the alcohol and made a face. He took a pull.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “I thought you liked me.”
She did. She had. The night the Germans marched into the Russian territories, Magda had met Walter at midnight. He had kissed her that evening. They had sat on the far side of the swimming pool and talked. And then he kissed her.
Magda thought about her brothers, how quickly it had all turned. “Won’t they send you to the front at some point, Walter? If not as a common soldier, then as SS or something? I mean, that’s what the Napola’s for, right? To shape you into Nazi officers?”
Walter screwed the top back on and put the flask back into his trousers. “When the time comes, either way I’ll have to
