‘You didn’t make things easy for them, did you, Wilfried? You never wanted to buckle under. That’s how I remember it.’
He snaps his fingers and a waiter appears immediately.
‘Beer?’
Lode doesn’t say a word. I give another nod.
‘A sweet wine for me,’ Yvette laughs.
‘If you’ll dance with me again later…’ Karel wheedles.
‘We’ll see.’
‘It has to be today. Next week I might not be here any more.’
Then he tells us about his imminent ‘rendezvous with history’ as if it will make us swoon before him.
‘Sounds like a hot little missy,’ Lode sneers.
‘Fighting the Russians,’ Karel laughs. ‘Can’t get much hotter than that.’
‘It’s only just started over there…’ Yvette takes a mouthful of wine.
‘I signed up today straight away, even though it was still too early, so they said. I just want to be part of it. I hope they accept me soon, otherwise it will all be over without me ever drawing a bead on a Russian. I wasn’t the only one. Lots of my friends are going too. I’m glad. We have to let Germany know she’s not alone in this great struggle. It’s part of the rebirth of our nation.’
Karel drains his glass and stands up. ‘Excuse me. I just have to pop out the back.’ He nods, looks around for a moment, then heads off in the direction of the toilets.
Lode runs his fingers through his hair and says, ‘OK.’ He goes to get up, but I stop him.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Don’t—’ I say.
‘Don’t what?’ interjects Yvette.
‘Your brother wants to knock your new dance partner’s teeth down his throat in the gents.’
‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Lode!’
‘Let go of my sleeve, Will.’
‘Don’t do it, Lode.’
Lode looks at me and Yvette, gulps down his beer and says, ‘Do whatever you like if that’s how it is. I’m off. If you enjoy laughing along with that windbag like a spineless imbecile it’s up to you. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.’
And he’s gone.
‘He’s had too much to drink,’ Yvette apologizes.
‘Nowhere near.’
‘No, you’re right. It’s just his character. You’re different, aren’t you? You’re… how can I put it?… more realistic.’ She looks at me and smiles.
‘I wouldn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.’
‘Have you got a light for me?’
I flick my lighter open and hold the flame up to her cigarette. For a moment her hand touches mine and that’s no coincidence because the touch is accompanied by a deep look.
More realistic… It feels like a slap in the face. Inside of me Angelo swears contemptuously.
She asks if she’s said something wrong.
‘What I mean is you come across as a survivor.’
‘Lode’s a survivor too. We all are. Until we aren’t, of course.’ I laugh a little nervously.
‘No, you’re different. I know that much. You’re not like any of us. You see through everyone. And there’s something hard inside you.’
‘Goodness.’
‘That’s something, isn’t it, me seeing that.’
‘It really is.’
‘Are you making fun of me now? Am I wrong?’
I look her straight in the eye and for the first time in my life I let someone else see Angelo.
Now I’m wondering if that really did happen then. But it’s not that important. Was it a reflex because she already had me under her spell, or did I do it to put her under my spell? Do you show your vulnerable side to girls? You might think you do, but I’m sceptical. You’re too young for it, if you ask me. There’s no need for it either, it’s not a prerequisite for a healthy life. It’s not even necessarily good for the soul, no matter what they try to tell you on that score. It’s exciting, true, but then you have to accept the kind of circumstances people describe as ‘romantic’. That’s why I remember showing her Angelo in that particular place, Café Atlantic. The circumstances couldn’t have been better. Her dancing with the ersatz Prussian first, the latter’s toilet break, Lode’s fury and what she said to me. Don’t forget the Gypsy-obsessed singer, the piano and accordion music, and me feeling classy about having acquired tickets for that matinee. In retrospect, a fellow can say it happened in such and such a way and pat himself on the back for having wanted it like that, but someone like me would do better to humbly admit that it was just as likely Angelo who decided to reveal himself and bent things to his will.
The look in my eyes makes her blink for a second in confusion. I tell her not to worry.
Karel is back at the table, rubbing his hands.
‘Another dance?’
‘Later perhaps,’ Yvette says. ‘Wilfried just asked me.’
And that’s it as far as Karel is concerned. Never in a hundred years could I have predicted the transformation of goody-goody Karel into a self-assured member of the master race. If the Germans had never set foot in this country, he would have long since followed in the footsteps of his father the notary, bending over deeds of title and other documents. Instead he went off to the Eastern Front and came back a year later with a piece of shrapnel in his skull. He let them patch him up a little, then hurried back to his white hell. Immediately after the war I heard that he had been sentenced in absentia to death for high treason. But then he popped up again six months later, just when the first unsteady skeletons were returning from the camps and everyone was getting furious all over again, or at least pretending they were. They arrested him at Liège railway station, somewhat thinner, and definitely dishevelled, I assume, thanks to the Russian steppes and the horde of subhumans out for his blood, who had chased him and his SS buddies all the way from Ukraine right up the arse of his beloved Germany. His father set a bunch of lawyers to work: death was commuted to life, and
