The Roses Underneath (17 page)

Anna shrugged off Frieda’s intimation. “I do feel strangely protective of him. He’s just a boy, really. He needs proper treatment. For his mind,” she said.
Thomas would help him
, she thought.

“Oh, he’ll be all right. He has a hard time, with all the Americans taking all the women. All the good German women are gone now. With all the bombs it’s a wonder any of us is still standing.” She looked at Anna and added, “I mean
most
good German women, of course. We are still here, you and I.” She laughed. “But, of course, the Americans have so much more to offer a woman, don’t they?”

Anna wondered what Frieda was trying to say. She wanted to let the comment roll off but it stuck to her. Did she want to be thought of as a ‘good German woman?’ Was she one? Did she care? She didn’t think she did, but what did that make her? “Yes. Well, we’ll be off,” she said and took a step back.

Frieda fumbled with the belt of her dress. “When did you say your husband would be joining you?”

“My Papa will be here very soon,” Amalia said. “I told you
Fraulein
, he’s getting closer every day.”

“That’s right,” Anna mustered. “Any day.”

“Oh, so you’ve heard from him. How wonderful! I’ll tell Emil. That will make the situation clear to him.”

Anna decided to leave it alone and turned again to go. “Goodbye, Frieda.” She paused to let the question that was percolating rise all the way to her mouth. “Were you ever married? I mean
, are you waiting for someone, Frieda?”

Pools of roses surfaced on Frieda’s cheeks. “Me? No, I never…well the war, you know.” She bit her lip. “No, that was not to be for me.”

“Maybe it still will.” Anna smiled. “You never know.”

“No, you don’t. You never do,” Frieda exhaled. The two women parted, Anna setting her sights on home and another night spent waiting for her husband to return from the war.

The water in the tub was murky. Anna threw a remnant of the bar of soap in the water, and Amalia dumped the pile of clothes in. Anna leaned over and pulled pieces out one by one, hung them on the edge of the tub, and began to scrub them with the wooden brush. Her back ached after only two minutes and the soap burned her already dry hands. When she had washed all of the dresses, blouses and underwear, she took off her pants and added those to the water. Sitting on the edge of the tub she wrung out each item as best she could, then threw it in the sink. She could have gone down to the wash kitchen in the basement, but she’d rather not encounter any of her neighbors. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and anyway, this way she could wash all the clothes at once.

“Here, Mama, these are Madeleine’s.” Amalia threw more clothes into the tub.

Anna sighed and knelt back down on the floor and washed the old woman’s nightgowns, which is all Madeleine wore anymore these days. The soap transferred its salt onto the clothes so that even straight from the wash they already smelled sweaty. The edge of the metal tub cut into her armpits and her arms wailed. She brushed her hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What is Auntie doing?” she asked.

“We are playing Snow Queen. She is reading the words and I am acting out the parts.”

Anna was so glad to have Madeleine home, even as sick as she was. She liked the soothing presence of her mother’s best friend. She was the closest thing she had to her own mother, something that rooted her to her life before. Without that, she thought she and Amalia would float off into the sky, alone and untethered. They owed Madeleine their lives, she knew that. They had arrived on her doorstep without even one suitcase, Anna following the vague directions of the forlorn people in the streets. When Madeleine had opened the door, Anna was shocked at the sight of her: frail and dirty, hair hanging in threads from a snowy scalp, her body racked with age and sickness, the air in the apartment hot and rancid. Amalia had already been crying for most of the day, her hunger and confusion and fear their constant companions. The reunion brought them all to tears and they stood for a long time on the landing in a huddle, their grief and joy sharing what little room was left for any feeling. Madeleine said their coming had saved her life, but Anna knew it had been a reciprocal act. Maybe one day Anna could repay her.

Anna was draining the tub when a knock at the door snapped her back to awareness. She looked down at herself, standing in the bathroom in her underwear. All her clothes were wet. The knock came again.

“Mama, I’ll see who it is,” said Amalia, skipping past the bathroom door.

Anna heard the door creak and then a man’s voice.

“Yes, it is,” said Amalia. “Yes, I will give it to her. Thank you.”

As soon as the door closed, Anna stepped into the hallway. Amalia held a large basket filled with food: bread and butter, jars of jam, vegetables,
eggs. There was even a sausage and two packs of Lucky Strikes. Real American cigarettes.

“It’s from Herr Schneider. He said to tell you, Mama. Look there’s cookies.” Amalia squealed with delight and ran past her into the living room to show Madeleine.

“What else did he say?” Anna asked as she followed. “Anything?”

“He said to tell you he is very…” Amalia searched for the word. “Grateful.
For your help. Did you help him Mama?” Amalia was spreading the contents of the basket onto the bed to show Madeleine.

“No, I did no such thing.” Anna sat down and put her hand on her rumbling stomach. Schneider was bribing her? Why? If she’d gone to the door she could have turned him away. Now it was too late.

“Who is Herr Schneider?” asked Madeleine. She held the sausage under her nose and inhaled.

Anna began to recount the visit with the old man when Madeleine interrupted.

“Ludwig Schneider? The art dealer? He showed his face to the Americans?”

“Yes, why would he not?”

Madeleine snorted. “He was fat and happy during the war, dealing art to the Nazis, those criminals. Last I heard he was working for the culture chamber—the Reichskammer—in Frankfurt. As an ‘art consultant.’ ” She rolled her eyes. “What did he tell you?”

“That’s pretty much what he said.
And that the Nazis sent him to a concentration camp. He made it sound like he was some kind of principled resister or something. Cooper didn’t like him so he sent him away.”

“Well he’s right to do so. I never liked that man. We used to travel in the same circles and see him at parties. He’d always be angling for some advantage or seeking some favor from whomever he thought had the power. It was embarrassing. My Otto hated him. He would pretend to be hard of hearing when he was trapped in a conversation with him.” She chuckled at the memory. “Of all the people to crawl out from under the Nazis, he had to be the one. A resister? Never.”

“Well, what do I do now? I have to send this back. I can’t take favors from him.” She looked at Amalia, who was clutching the packet of cookies to her chest. “Come on Maus, we can’t keep it. I am sorry.”

“No, Mama. It was a present. You can’t give presents back.”

Anna sighed. “It’s not a present little Maus. I can’t take this. I could lose my job!” She reached for the cookie, but Anna pulled her hand away.

“Mama!” she wailed.

Madeleine patted Anna’s knee. “Now, let’s be practical. He didn’t give the food to you; he gave it to the child. You did not accept anything and you never saw him. You can’t return the basket—you don’t even know where he lives.” She batted her eyes.

“I could find out,” Anna said.

Madeleine held up a hand. “Now, you could give the food away, but what good would that do? Schneider already thinks you have it. Really, the Americans don’t have to know about this. And, Schneider can’t be sure you even received the food, given that he didn’t see you. What a shame it would be if he made the delivery to the wrong house.”

“But Amalia…”

“Hungry children presented with a basket of food might say anything to get their hands on it, mightn’t they? You can’t go by the word of a child. So unreliable.” Madeleine grinned and Amalia looked at her mother with the expectation of Christmas Eve on her face.

Anna swallowed. She wanted Amalia and Madeleine to have the food; they both needed it desperately. Her stomach joined the conversation with a loud grumble that made Amalia giggle. Anna stood up. “Oh, all right. Someone has to eat this food, I guess. It might as well be us.”

“Just think, Schneider doesn’t get to eat any of it. That seems right and good to me.” Madeleine clapped her hands and looked pleased with herself.

Amalia jumped up and flung her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you Mama. I love you.”

Anna hugged her back and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. She put the girl down and returned to her washing. The food would have to wait a while longer.

Anna hung the wash on the line at the far end of the living room and then prepared a nice meal of buttered bread, sausage and cucumbers. She sliced everything as thinly as possible so the cucumbers were nearly transparent but still delicious. It was much too extravagant.
But what the hell
, she thought.
The war is over. We can celebrate a little
.

After they had eaten, the three of them lay around like beached seals, the rhythmic drip of the washing lulling Anna into feeling happier than she had in months. Even Madeleine had a rosy blush in her cheeks. Outside, the sun was finally setting, and the day was winding down. Anna turned on the radio. She still half-expected to be assaulted with the shouting, the absolute righteousness and the hateful lies that had been spewed at them for years through the radio waves. Every time you turned on your receiver it was Hitler or Göbbels or that fat Göring screaming at you. She never believed any of it, instinctively, but without having access to any alternate reality, the Nazi
world view, their
Weltanschauung,
became so normal she no longer knew what was real and what was not. The Americans now controlled the radio, but her cynicism continued. Official voices, no matter whose they were, still made her suspicious. But, for now, the radio played American big band music and its rhythms glided through the air without leaving a mark anywhere.

This time the knock on the door was loud and insistent. Anna jumped from the couch where she had fallen asleep and instinctively looked for Amalia. The girl was fast asleep next to Madeleine. Anna pulled the clock from the small side table and held it up into the moonlight: four-fifteen. The street outside the open window was silent. She stood still and waited. The knocks came again, this time more insistent. She tugged her damp bathrobe from the line and pulled it on. Creeping down the hallway, her breath tightened her chest like an inflating balloon.

The knocks came once more. This time Anna heard a voice, whispering. She put her ear to the door.

“Anna? Let me in. Goddammit. I’ll wake up the whole building. Come on, I know you’re here,” Cooper’s voice growled.

Anna opened the door a crack and Cooper pushed his way in, nearly falling on top of her. In the dark she felt his breath on her face and put her arms up to catch him. His shirt was wet and his footing unsteady. “For God’s sake, Captain, what is going on? Are you drunk?”

Cooper slumped on the floor. Anna closed the door and bolted the lock. She flipped the light switch, but the electricity was out again. The room was pitch dark and she could only make out his shape on the floor. He pulled himself up to sit with his back against the door.

“No, I’m not drunk, damn it.”

“What’s happened?” Anna knelt down and tried to focus her eyes on his face.

“I was out at the villa, and someone ambushed me. Beat the hell out of me. Christ.” He dabbed at his head.

“Mama?” Amalia stood in the doorway to the living room like a ghost in a thin white nightgown.

“It’s all right Maus, go back to bed. Everything’s all right,” Anna whispered. She turned to look at her daughter. “Go on,” she hissed. The girl darted back into the darkness.

“Come on Captain, let’s get you into the bathroom. Can you walk?”

She pulled him to his feet and leaned her shoulder into his side. In the bathroom she lit the candle by the sink and held it up. “Oh my dear God,” she gasped. His right eye was swollen nearly shut and a gash above the eyebrow poured blood down the side of his face. The left side was in better shape, but the ear was encrusted with dried blood. More blood had flowed from another gash at the base of his skull down his back, soaking his shirt.

Cooper took the candle from her and held it up to the mirror shard that hung over the sink. “Holy Mother,” he said. “That’s gonna be hard to explain.” He smiled at her with a fat lip.

Anna held a rag under the running water and began to dab at the cuts without much effect. Cooper winced and took the cloth from her, wiping his cheeks and forehead.

“Careful, you’ll open them up again,” she said. “I don’t have any alcohol to clean them. You should really go to the hospital.”

“Can’t,” Cooper said. “I’d have to go to the base hospital and then there’d be a whole ton of paperwork explaining what I was doing and with whom, why, when, where, and how. I’d rather just skip all that if it’s all the same to you.”