The Berlin Connection (29 page)

I had suggested the trip to Natasha when I had called her from a telephone booth, after I had spoken to Shirley.

"I must see you, I must talk to you, Natasha!"

"When?"

"Right away."

"Tell me where and when."

"I am free tomorrow afternoon. Shall we meet at three? At the piers near the Hafentor subway station. We could charter a boat and do a little sightseeing." It was safe on a boat. No one would recognize us there.

"You know Hamburg very well."

"I've taken sightseeing trips before."

"I usually spend Saturdays with Misha. Would you mind if I brought him along?"

"Not at all."

That had been on Friday.

Saturday morning I talked to Kostasch. The hundred thousand marks, part of my fee, was paid in three instalments. The second part was not due for another ten days. I needed that money for Schauberg's bail and asked Kostasch for an advance.

"Sure you can have the thirty thousand, Peter boy. But—"

"But what?"

"It's none of my business. It's your money."

"Exactly."

"But don't you think you're spending rather a lot here in Hamburg? You know, you're Uke a son to me. I'd hate to think you're buying diamonds for some starlet. Those girls do it for nothing and—"

"There is no girl."

"Okay." While he was telephoning the cashier, a telegram was delivered. Kostasch opened it, read it, suddenly grabbed my shoulders and, yelling and shouting, danced me around his office. The telegram came from Hollywood.

"Rushes excellent. Thank you. Carry on. Wilson Broth-

ers."

After Kostasch had calmed down somewhat I confided, "By the way, I'm going to look around for movie locations with the assistant producer. In case my wife calls . . ."

"Of course, Peter boy. You can rely on me." His wide grin froze. "So there is a girl!"

"But I swear she is not what you think!"

He looked at me, doubtful.

"ReaUy!"

"I beheve you. Boy!" He seemed genuinely relieved. "Do you know I had suspected you of being weak enough to be carried away through some affair? Don't get mad but I was really concerned. You seemed troubled those last few days." He cleared his throat. "But you are a decent fellow. Your wife should be very happy."

"Why?" __

"No loves. No affairs. Like me. Always a new girl. One, two, three, finished. You know, there are some men who have affairs that last for years? Our wives don't really appreciate us. Looking for a location, eh? For how long?"

"Early evening will be sufficient."

"Okay. Have fun. But," he began, "if you're going to give her money—"

I set his mind at rest. Then I called Madam Misere. "I cannot post bail until Monday," she told me. "Over the weekend hardly anyone is at court. A few gentlemen are having breakfast here just now."

"How is Kathe?"

"She is very unhappy but she pulls herself together. I've had no complaints about her, the poor little thing."

"Give her my regards, please. Until Monday then, Madam Misere."

We finished shooting at one o'clock. I drove Shirley back to the hotel where Joan, Shirley and I had lunch. I told Joan that I had to spend the afternoon looking for a suitable location to shoot a part of the movie. In the car I had told Shirley, "I have some things to take care of. Possibly I can get the doctor out on bail." I could not tell whether or not she believed me. She had only replied, "Yes, Peter."

"Don't you believe me?"

"Please. Not again. I'm sure youll do the best you can for both of us." Was she smiling? My nerves became increasingly worse. Naturally, she was not smiling.

While we were having lunch she received a telephone call.

Joan watched her leave the room smiling. "I think our little daughter is in love."

Surprised I dropped some food. She had not noticed. "In love? Shirley?"

She nodded. "Isn't it sweet?"

"What makes you think so?"

"A blind man could see it. But not you! Your mind is so occupied with your movie or you would have noticed how frequently she is called to the telephone. She has gone out twice at night too."

"At night?"

"You were already asleep. I saw her leave." Joan smiled again. "I see quite a lot. I'm not as unobservant as all that. I see what I see."

What did she see? What did she know? Was there a reason for all this? Had I been so wrong about her? Was she the most prudent of the three of us? Could she really be different from what I had always thought her to be? Was she not the woman beset with the fears of aging, quietly suffering, the deceived? Or was she really the spider of the web in which we were enmeshed? The spider, cruelly, untiring, watching its victims become more and more entangled in its web?

"Did you ... did you talk with her?"

"I'm waiting."

"You're waiting?"

"Well, after all, she is nineteen!"

"So? Are you going to wait until she— "

"Until she becomes pregnant?" said Joan softly. "Darling, don't be so melodramatic. If you could only see yourself!" She laughed out loud. "What a face you're making!"

"Very comical, I'm sure."

"Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?" The spider. Careful now. "Why should I be jealous?"

"After aU she is not your real daughter. She is only your stepdaughter. And what a pretty stepdaughter! When I came to see you at the studio I could see she had already charmed the production staff." That was true. The young men were, to a man, after Shirley. Mostly that fresh kid Hennessy, chief-cutter Jaky's assistant. Was it Hennessy? Who could it be? Was it at all probable that

Shirley, in her condition, even felt like flirting with a young man? Or was it a trap? A trap Joan had set for me?

Had Joan seemed suspicious these past few days? She had gone shopping, modeled her new dresses for me, come to the set when we were shooting. She had had tea with her cousin, a high-ranking member of the American Consulate. Joan's relatives, wealthy, famous, influential, could be found in all parts of the world.

Suspicious?

No.

Yes! Now I remembered something. Twice, on days I did not have to be at the studio early, I had been at the hotel when the mail arrived. Each time Joan had swooped down on it, preventing me from seeing the mail first as though she were expecting some secret message.

What could that be?

"Peter!"

I started.

"Yes?"

"The waiter wants to know if you would like more meat."

"No. Yes. No, thank you."

"What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing. Why?"

Joan smiled. "Your movie, right? You just can't think of anything else but your film, I know ..."

A spider?

Shiriey returned.

"I'm sorry..."

"Who was that?"

"It was nothing important, Paddy."

"Who was it!"

"My goodness! What's the matter? Why are you shouting at me? It was Hennessy."

"Hennessy. I see. What did he want?"

"I had locked up the latest rushes in the cutting room. But they have to make the plane to Hollywood tonight."

"So?"

"By mistake I took the key with me. He'll stop by later to pick it up."

I stared at Shirley.

"Really, Peter," said Joan. "That's the second time you've dropped your French fries. Do artists always have to be sloppy like that?"

14

At three o'clock I was waiting for Natasha and Misha who were coming by subway. Misha's skin was as fair and clear as his mother's. He had also inherited the slanted, black, luminous eyes and wide cheekbones. He bowed as he offered me his hand. Then moved his fingers quickly.

"Thank you again for the crayons and the sketch pad," translated Natasha.

Misha laughed soundlessly and nodded. He wore a gray fur-lined coat over a blue suit. To his delight I rented a boat, and mentioned Misha's condition to the young skipper.

"Well then, I must let him steer the boat a little." He smiled at Misha as he helped him aboard. The little boy seemed a little afraid as we entered the rougher waters of the Elbe River. Thfe skipper explained how the motor worked and how to steer and soon the child had forgotten his fear and beamed at the skipper; "talked" to Natasha.

"He says the skipper is wonderful."

Although the skipper was not familiar with the sign language he and Misha appeared to understand and enjoy, each other.

Leaving the Neuen Petroleumhafen we once again entered the rougher waters of the Elbe. Silvery, screeching

seagulls circled above, frequently diving down onto the water.

I opened the black bag anchored between my legs and fixed two large drinks. Natasha and I looked at each other before we drank. Her beautiful eyes were moist but she smiled.

We entered a maze of narrow canals and the water became calm once again.

"I know," said Natasha.

"Know what?"

"What you are going to tell me."

"What am I going to tell you?"

"That you don't love your wife, that your daughter is jealous, that youVe defrauded your insurance company, and that we must not see each other any more," answered Natasha. "Was I right?"

"Yes," I replied. "You were correct."

"Just by observing you these last few days it was not difficult to guess." She had guessed as much as I had wanted to tell her. I felt relief. There was nothing to worry about. I finished my drink and bent down to pour another. Just then the boat swayed; Natasha was pressed against me and for one second our cheeks touched.

I know that this moment, when Natasha's face touched mine for the first time, is the one I treasure and relive in my memory.

15

A moment of desperate hope while T wished this trip on the shimmering water would never end. I said, "It's true, T have defrauded the insurance company, I am going to divorce my wife, and my stepdaughter is jealous." For a moment I wanted to confide everything to Natasha but it passed. While our httle boat and other vessels were

waiting to enter a lock I said, "My stepdaughter thinks I ... that you and I..."

"That we are lovers?"

"Yes."

Natasha blushed and looked straight ahead. Her little son signaled and she answered. "Misha thanks you for inviting us on this trip." I waved to him. He waved back. "I thank you too. Could I have another drink?" I refilled her glass.

The gates of the lock opened and once inside it was shady and cold.

"I told Shirley that I did not know you. I explained that you were probably a fan of mine. Please forgive me."

She did not reply.

"Shirley now knows your name. If she should contact you, would you ... would you stay with my version? A lot depends on it for me."

"I promise. Your stepdaughter is in love with you, isn't she?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. She is very beautiful and young."

"Nineteen."

"And she looks very unhappy."

The boat had reached the other gates of the lock. Misha, his face flushed with excitement, asked to sit between us for a little while. When he made sounds Natasha's eyes became moist.

"He produces sounds more often now. And louder too. I'm taking him to another specialist in two days."

"I wish you success, Natasha."

The gates of the lock opened and through a canal we re-entered the Elbe.

Misha held our hands; he smiled and his eyes were shining. To all appearances we were a happy little family.

Natasha translated for me. "Misha would like to draw a picture for you. I have told him I will mail it to you." She did not look at me. "And then I will tear it up."

"Save it. Don't throw it away."

"Why not?" Suddenly she turned her face to me and I saw tears in her eyes. She hugged Misha closely so he would not see her tears and repeated, "Why not? So I'll be reminded of this hour?" She took off her glasses and dried her tears. Misha's fingers were moving quickly. Natasha shook her head.

Misha looked at me sadly.

"What did he say?"

**Nothing."

"What did he say?"

"He asked if we were going to surprise him. If you, perhaps, were his father and would stay with us from now on. I have told him his father is on a long trip." Her eyes were moist again. Misha's fingers were making signs. Fiercely she said, "Don't hsten to him! Don't listen to him!" She held the boy closely and the inarticulate noises he made sounded sad.

We had come back to the piers crowded with people on this pleasant afternoon.

"We'll take the subway," Natasha said to me as I helped her off the boat. The young skipper lifted Misha onto the pier. When I paid him he remarked, "You're very fortunate to have a child like that."

'*But I told you the boy is deaf and dumb."

"What does it matter?" he replied. "I'm married too. Our child was bom dead. My Marie can't have another. Can you understand why God allows that?"

"No," I said, "I don't'^know."

He told me where to find him if we should ever dedde on another trip. "I would like to see the httle boy again. What is your son's name?"

"Misha," I said.

At the subway station I said good-by. Misha made signs. Natasha translated, "Could he kiss you?"

I bent down. His silent hps kissed my cheek. I kissed him too. His little arms encircled my neck but in a mo-

ment Natasha freed me from his embrace. "We must go now. Please nod. He asked if we are going to see you again." I nodded. His smile was bright and with his thumb and index finger he formed a circle.

"That means Auf Wiedersehen,*' said Natasha.

I also made the sign.

"Don't worry. You can rely on me."

"Natasha—"

"No," she said, "I can't stand any more." And she quickly pulled Misha along to the subway entrance where he turned and made the circle with his finger and thumb. I did the same. Auf Wiedersehen.

I would never see them again I thought as I watched them go down to the subway. Not Misha and not Natasha. We might, perhaps, meet by chance and then only to say hello. It was all finished. I picked up my black bag and left. I had parked the car on a side street. It was quiet there.

I sat in the car and drank. I dreaded the drive back to the hotel, back to Shirley and Joan. More than that, I was disgusted with myself and my life.