The Berlin Connection (24 page)

"I'll bring you a check," I said and coughed.

"That would be nice. I'll bring a few nice new injections for you."

I couehed again. "I think I've caueht a cold. You can also bring me something for my coueh."

He threw himself back against his seat and laughed, lau'rhed, and laughed as if he'd eone crazy. In between, he ppnted, "Somethine against a cough!"

"What is so funny?"

He continued to laugh.

"Schauberg!"

He composed himself. "Relief. That's all. I'm just relieved. Yes, all right, I'll brine something against your couph. T have a lot to help your coush."

And with that he began to laugh again.

For the first time, I felt sympathy for him. No, not sympathy—pity. The poor superman. He too had dared

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to break through the circle of his ruined life. He intended to go to South America. This morning it had seemed as if the lieutenant had become aware of this step. Now the danger had passed.

Yes, that is how I analyzed his laughter.

What an idiot I was.

18

The trumpet pulsated. The singer smiled at us as my wife and I danced past him. His voice was soft and low.

The bar, decorated in dark blue, was crowded. Candles glowed on the small tables; the lighting was intimate.

Joan nestled close to me. She wore her most expensive jewelry, her dress was so tight she could only take tiny steps. Now we were dancing past our table. Shirley was smiling at us. Tomorrow I did not have to be at the studio until nine o'clock. It had been my wife^'s wish for the three of us to go out together this evening.

"Doesn't she look adorable?" said Joan. Proudly she looked at Shirley in her white cocktail dress. Her auburn hair shone in the candlelight. "Our daughter is really beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes," I said, "beautiful."

We continued dancing. As soon as Joan's back was turned to Shirley, her smile vanished and she looked at me steadily. Dark circles were under her eyes.

"I didn't think it was possible any more," murmured my wife.

"What was not possible any more?"

"That we could get along so well. She is so considerate. So tender. Sometimes I think it's a conspiracy."

"Conspiracy?"

"By the two of you."

I looked at her quickly but saw only love and trust in

her brown eyes. Her unnatural blonde hair was freshly set. She was flushed from champagne and the heat in the bar.

"A conspiracy to make me happy. Did you say anything to her?"

"No."

"Or write to her before we came to Hamburg?"

"No."

"Phone her?"

"Whatever gave you those ideas?"

Once more we danced past our table and Shirley smiled again.

"What made you think Shirley might change like this in Europe?"

"Intuition," I said, and continued to turn with Joan in a circle (in the chalk circle), away from the table where Shirley stopped smiling. "I just had this feeling." - Joan kissed me.

Shirley tipped over her glass. A waiter hurriedly brought another. Joan had not noticed anything. She pressed close to me. "It really hasn't passed, Peter. You and I. Shirley and I. We three. Your movie. All miracles. Now everything is all right, isn't it?"

"No," I said.

She started, horrified. "No?"

*TSro, Joan."

"What do you mean?"

"Your money." •

"What about it?"

"You must take it back. Then everything will be aU right."

"I don't want it. It is yours."

"I won't ever touch a cent of it."

"Then don't." She laughed heartily. "Don't touch it. Give it to the poor . . ." Again she pressed close to me. "Oh, Peter, Peter. That was all? You really did give me a fright."

"Fm sorry. But your money..."

"You won't touch a cent of it. I heard you, darling. My God, but you are adorable!" She kissed my hand and placed it against her cheek.

The song came to an end and the vocalist bowed to Joan who was applauding him. The musicians loved us. I had given them money so they would play the song— "our" song—when Joan and I danced.

19

The muted trumpet rose to a romantic cadence. The piano player smiled at Shirley and me as we were dancing past the band.

"What did she tell you?"

"How considerate and loving you are now."

"I try very hard. I promised you I would."

We passed Joan sitting at our table. Candlelight gave ' an extra sparkle to her jewelry. She raised her glass to us. We waved. She smiled. We smiled. Joan extracted a red silk kerchief from her evening bag.

"Turn around." Shirley's voice was quavering. "Quickly, turn around with me or I'll cry."

We whirled around. Now only I could see Joan carefully touching the kerchief to her eyes so as not to smudge the mascara.

"Fm so sorry for her. I'm so terribly sorry for her."

"I am too."

"Oughtn't we to—"

"No," I said loudly.

"No what? You don't know what I was going to say."

"I know. Don't talk about it. I love you. I love only you. I want to be with you. Always."

"I do too. But—?"

"We cannot undo what has happened. Nor do I want to. And you?" _

Her lips were quivering.

"And you?"

"You know how I feel."

I held her tightly.

"Don't. Please don't do that. It drives me crazy when you do that."

"Tomorrow you're coming to the studio with me. Once you're working there we will have time to be alone^'

"When? When will we be alone?"

"Fm not in all the scenes. You're not always working. We just have to be careful."

"Please. Don't let's talk about it, don't think about it..."

"We've almost reached the table again. Smile."

"I can't smile."

"You must."

Slowly we circled past Joan. She smiled. We smiled. Shirley even raised the hand with the diamond ring Joan had given her.

"There," I said. "Was that so difficult?"

"Sometimes I hate you."

"I know. I know."

"I mean it. Sometimes I think dreadful things of you."

"They are all true."

"Do you have to talk like this?"

"Like what?"

"You know what I mean. I wish you would say something nice, something good."

"A doctor is going to examine you tomorrow morning. \ After that it can be done right away," I said.

For a moment I thought she was going to slap me. Then she put her arms around my shoulders and clung tightly. My vision became blurred; the room seemed to i float. I

" "At last. Oh, God, at last. When that is taken care of,

my nerves will improve. When that is done, I shall feel better again."

"I wonder if we have a guardian angel, in spite of everything?"

"Would I have found the ring if we had not? And the doctor? Would I have gotten the chance to make the movie?" I asked.

"Horrible."

"Whatis horrible?"

"That it makes me happy. Happy about a murder."

"Don't talk nonsense."

**But it is murder!"

"It's fortunate. And that's why you are happy. That's aU."

Now everybody could be happy: Joan—^because the three of us got along so perfectly now; Natasha—^because her child had uttered a sound; Schauberg—^because soon he would have money to go to South America; they all could be happy, as happy as I was, as was the rabbi, as—

I had to stop thinking this way. Now.

"Shuley, I love you."

Her eyes were moist and her lips soundlessly formed a sentence. I understood.

The vocalist bowed to Shirley who was applauding him. He loved us. The musicians loved us. I had given them money again, this time to play "our" song when Shirley and I were dancing.

20

It was a clear night, unusually warm for November. Moonlight suffused the Alster. For a few moments we stood outside the hotel enjoying the clean invigorating air. Two couples passed us. Then I heard another sound.

Pad, pad.

I saw her walking on the promenade along the water, her coat collar turned up, a scarf over her hair.

Pad, pad. Pad, pad.

She was walking slowly, not once looking over to us. Her steps died away.

"There she is again," said Shirley.

"Who?" asked Joan.

"The woman from the airport."

"Airport? What woman?"

"The one who was staring at us there."

Natasha disappeared behind the old bare trees.

"What is she talking about?" asked Joan.

"I've no idea."

"But I did ask you who that womaa was!"

"Now I remember vaguely that you did ask me ,.."

"Peter! Who is that woman?"

"Shirley, are you high? What is the matter with you?" She pulled her arm from mine.

"You mean the woman who was walking along the promenade over there?" asked Joan.

"Yes, mommy! The same woman was also at the airport!"

Joan laughed. "Shirley, darling, we were also at the airport and now we are standing here. Coincidences like that happen in a large city. Besides, you're probably mistaken."

"Fm not mistaken."

"In this darkness! Really, I think you've had too much champagne!" Joan was still laughing. "Let's go, I'm getting cold." She walked up the steps. We followed. Shirley stared fixedly but said nothing.

Passing the newspaper stand I read the headlines of the just-delivered paper: Dike Breaks Near Amsterdam. Ten Thousand People Homeless. Martial Law in South Korea. Students Revolt in Istanbul. Camp Commander Herrle Accused of Murder of 30,000 Prisoners.

"WeU, are you coming?"

Joan stood in the open elevator.

The elevator!

Seeing it, the fist made itself felt. No. No. I could not take the risk.

"I'll take the stairs. You take the elevator."

I had not used the elevator again after my dream, only the stairs. I knew it was ridiculous, cowardly, pathological. I did not care. Schauberg's injections were effective but I noticed they also had side effects. Possibly Joan and Shirley would think my behavior strange if nothing worse. That did not bother me. All this would be behind me in another five or six weeks. Then I would enter a clinic. Until then I had to try and avoid anything which would further frighten, agitate or unnerve me.

Joan laughed again. "You walk up six flights?"

"I always do. I don't get enough exercise."

"Well then, scale the Nanga Parbat, Mr. Hillary!"

"I'll go with you, Paddy," said Shirley softly.

"Well," cried Joan, "that's not for me. So long, heroes!"

When we reached the fourth floor Shirley said, "Of course you know that woman."

"I don't."

"If I had not climbed the stairs with you you would have met her again."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Why don't you answer?"

"Such nonsense does not deserve an answer."

"Oh, thanks."

"Not at all."

"You have nothing to tell me?"

What could I tell her now? At the airport, when Shirley had asked me about Natasha the first time, I ought to have answered, "A doctor. She gave me an injection once when I did not feel well." Then, tonight I could have said, "Good evening, doctor. She lives right around the comer, you know, Joan."

Would Shirley believe an explanation like that now? Possibly she had seen Natasha return the jewelry case to me. Had she seen us walking together in the rain? Had she, by some idiotic coincidence, found out I had sent flowers to Natasha?

Shirley was an intuitive woman. The first time she saw Natasha she had just known—known what? What, after all, was there to know?

Women. Women's minds probably have antennas.

No. For then I would have to tell her the truth. About my breakdown, Schauberg, the whole story. Could I?

No. Never. It was too late now.

"You have nothing to tell me?" asked Shirley on the stairs.

"No."

In silence, we reached Joan standing at the door. She laughed, "The climb doesn't seem to have done you much good! How about a nightcap?"

"Not for me," said Shirley. "Good night, mommy." She kissed Joan's cheek. Joan embraced her.

"Good night, my darling. And thank you both for another lovely evening."

"Oh, Joan!" I said.

"Don't say oh, Joan!' One ought to thank the people one loves most for every lovely hour. Who knows how long we'll be together? These are terrible times. Another war . . . illness . . . accident . . . death . . . Don't look so disapproving Why shouldn't an old lady be high once in a while? Good grief, that's the second time since we arrived here! Give Peter a kiss, Shirley."

Shirley kissed my cheek. "Thank you for a lovely evening," she said. Her eyes were mere slits.

Naturally she was not there any more.

It was crazy to hope she would stiU be there. Presumptuous to think that she would be walking up and down just to see me once more.

I was standing on the moonlit balcony staring at the empty street, feeling disappointment and pain because I did not see Natasha.

My wife was getting ready to go to bed. Shiriey was surely asleep by now. I had been standing there for the last ten minutes, hoping that she might pass by after all.

Pad, pad.

It couldn't be.

Pad, pad.

She came from the direction of the Alten Lom-bardsbriicke, hands in the pockets of her coat, the collar

pulled up. ' , ,. 1

Natasha saw me in the moonlight. She stopped directly under the balcony. I raised my hand. She raised hers. We looked at each other for a long time.

Suddenly she dropped her arm.

"Natasha!" My voice was subdued.

Quickly she crossed the street and disappeared into a net of bizarre tree shadows.

Why did she not look up once more, wave to me just

one more time?

I bent over the balcony. The street was deserted. Natasha must have turned the comer. When I straightened up I saw Shirley.

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She was standing on her balcony looking at me.

There were four balconies between us. The moonlight made her face appear a mask. She turned, entered her room. I heard her close the door. She must have seen us. Yet had she?