The Good German (Bestselling Backlist) Read online

  It was then he stopped, in front of the broken plate glass window, watching the tiny beam of light move toward the familiar heavy door. Almost a joke, there all along. His old flat, passed around the Columbia staff until finally Hal Reidy had left too. Had Hal given it to her, a farewell bonus? Or had she simply moved in, another spoil to pick up, like the French cognacs and Danish hams that flooded into the city that last year. The meek inherited after all, even Hannelore Schmidt. Now what? Race up the stairs for another punching session with Steve? Now he knew where she was. He could come back tomorrow, bring some coffee, a peace offering, and talk to her calmly. A light went on in his window. His window. He imagined Hannelore draped over his couch with her GI, Lena’s dress flung aside, sequins crumpled on the floor. Where did she get it?

  He crossed the square, warily circling the DPs, and went into his street. A walk he’d taken a million times. He pushed open the tall wooden door. Pitch dark, the hall light either gone out or stolen. In one corner he could hear the dripping of water in a bucket. But this was home, stairs he could climb with his eyes closed. He felt his way up the banister. A turn at the landing, then up to his floor, along the railing to the door. He knocked, not loud, a force of habit. The most terrifying sound in Germany, a knock on the door. Harder now. “Hannelore.” What if she refused to open? He tried the doorknob. Locked. His flat. He knocked again, then banged his open palm against the door, a steady pounding. “Hannelore!” Finally the sound of the lock clicking, the door opening a crack, then wider. A woman with frightened eyes standing with the light behind her. Not Hannelore, a gaunt woman with stringy hair, sickbed pale, another ruin. But over the dark circles her eyes widened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed, turning away.

  “Jacob,” she whispered.

  He glanced back, startled. Her voice. And now the face, familiar, was taking shape too, behind the pale skin. Not the way he’d imagined it. The same weightless feeling, falling into Ronny’s tables.

  “Lena. My god.” His voice also a whisper, as if sound would chase her away, a ghost not yet real.

  “Jacob.” She reached up her hand, touching the blood at the corner of his mouth, and he realized that he was the ghost, wild-eyed and bloody, someone from another world. “You came back.”

  He took her hand from the streak of blood and moved it to his mouth, kissing it, grazing the fingers, not yet able to take in any more. Just the fingers, real. Alive.

  She moved them along his lips, a Braille touch, trying to make sense of the ridges.

  “You came back.”

  He nodded, too happy to say anything, weightless but not falling, rising now, a balloon, watching her eyes fill, still too startled to smile.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, touching him, but he took her fingers away, holding them as he shook his head.

  “No, no. It doesn’t matter. Lena, my god.” And then he reached out for her, drawing her to his chest, arms around her. He kissed the side of her face, moving his head with hers, kissing her everywhere, as if he were still afraid she’d evaporate unless he touched her. “Lena.” Just saying it. Holding her tightly, his face in her hair, feeling her against him, until suddenly she let go, slumping, a dead weight, and he realized she’d fainted.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jake carried her inside. There was a pillow on the couch where Hal used to flop—evidently her bed. Struggling under her weight, he moved past the bathroom to the bedroom door. No hands free to open it, so he kicked. The door was flung open by Steve, down to dog tags and boxer shorts, his socks still on. Behind him, Hannelore, in a slip, let out a squeak.

  Steve started toward him. “Boy, you don’t quit, do you?”

  “She passed out. Help me get her on the bed.”

  Steve looked at him, dumbfounded.

  “It’s all right. I’m an old friend. Ask her.” He cocked his head toward Hannelore. “Come on, give me a hand.”

  Steve stepped aside. “Who is he?” he said to Hannelore.

  “From before the war. No,” she said to Jake as he carried Lena in. “That’s my bed. She’s on the couch. A few days, she said, and now look.”

  “Go fuck in the hall for all I care. She’s sick—she needs the bed.” He put her down gently, stepping on the blue dress lying on the floor. “Do you have any brandy?”

  “Brandy. Where would I get brandy?”

  Steve walked over to his dropped uniform, took out a pint bottle, and handed it to Jake. A few drops on her lips, then a faint choke, eyes half open. He wiped sweat from her forehead. Feverish.

  “You going to tell me what’s going on here?” Steve said.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Jake asked Hannelore.

  “I don’t know. I took her in, she was all right. I thought, well, two rations. It’s a help, you know? Now this. She just lies there all day. It’s always the same when you’re kindhearted. People take advantage.” Her voice hard and aggrieved.

  “Has she seen a doctor?”

  “Who has money for doctors?”

  “You look like you’re doing all right.”

  “You can’t talk to me like that. What do you know about it? Coming here like this. It’s not your flat. It’s mine now.”

  “This your place?” Steve asked.

  “It was. She used to work for me,” Jake said, looking at Hannelore. “And Dr. Goebbels. She tell you that?”

  “That’s not true. You can’t prove anything.” She looked at Steve, then walked over to the nightstand and lit a cigarette, defiant. “I knew it was trouble when I saw you. You never liked me. What did I do? I take in a friend. Kindhearted. Now you’re going to make trouble.”

  “Jacob,” Lena said faintly, then clutched his hand, holding it with her eyes closed.

  “Get her something to drink. She’s burning up. Some water. You can spare that, can’t you?”

  Hannelore glared at him, then started for the kitchen. “Maybe it’s good you’re here. You can feed her now. I’m finished with this business.”

  “Nice girl,” Jake said as she left. “Friend of yours?”

  Steve shrugged. “A few times. She’s all right.”

  Jake glanced over at him. “I’ll bet.”

  “Here,” Hannelore said, returning with a glass of water.

  Jake raised Lena’s head and made her drink, then dipped his handkerchief in the water and put it on her forehead. Her eyes were open now.

  “You came back,” she said. “I never thought—”

  “It’s all right now. We’ll get you a doctor.”

  “No, don’t leave,” she said, still holding his hand.

  He looked up at Steve. “Listen, I need your help. We have to get a doctor.”

  “She’s German, isn’t she? Army docs don’t treat civilians.”

  “There’s a man back at Ronny’s. He knows me. Ask for Alford.”

  “Alford? I know Alford,” Hannelore said.

  “Good. Then you go with him. Tell him it’s urgent—tonight. And have his doctor bring medicine. Penicillin, I guess, whatever he has. Say it’s a personal favor to me.” He stood up, pulling out his wallet. “Here. Tell him it’s a down payment. If it’s more, I’ll pay him tomorrow. Whatever he wants.”

  Hannelore’s eyes widened at the sight of the money.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jake said. “Every mark. I’ll check.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, offended. “Go get him yourself, then.”

  “Listen, Hannelore, for two cents I’d turn you in. They’ll make you a rubble lady. It’s hell on the nails.” He looked at her red fingertips. “Now get dressed and do it.”

  “Hey, you can’t talk to her—”

  “And I’ll have you up for fraternizing with a Nazi. And assaulting an officer. I can do it, too.”

  Steve stared at him. “Tough guy,” he said finally.

  “Please,” Jake said. “She’s sick, for Christ’s sake, you can see that.”

  Steve glanced over at the bed, then no
dded and began to put on his pants.

  “I’m not a Nazi,” Hannelore said. “I was never a Nazi. Never.”

  “Shut up and get dressed,” Steve said, throwing her the dress.

  “You were always trouble for me,” she said to Jake, still disgruntled, pulling the dress over her head. “Always. And what made you so perfect? Sneaking around with her. I knew all the time. Everybody knew.”

  “Here,” Jake said, handing Steve the money, “you take it. He’s a young guy. Slick hair.” He took a key from his pocket. “My jeep’s there, if you want to drive back.”

  Steve shook his head. “She can walk.”

  “What do you mean, she can walk? Where are you going?” Hannelore said, still arguing with him as they went out the door.

  “You mustn’t be angry with her,” Lena said in the sudden quiet. “She’s had a hard time.”

  Jake sat on the bed, looking at her, still trying to take her in. “You’ve been here. All the time,” he said, as if that were the remarkable thing. “I passed the other day—”

  “I knew she had the flat. There was nowhere else. The bombs—”

  He nodded. “Pariserstrasse, I know. I looked for you everywhere. I saw Frau Dzuris. Remember?”

  She smiled. “Poppyseed cakes.”

  “She’s not fat anymore.” He wiped her brow, letting his hand rest on the side of her face. “Have you been eating?”

  “Yes. She’s good to me. She shares her ration. And of course she gets a little extra from the soldiers.”

  “How long has that been going on?”

  She shrugged. “We eat.”

  “How long have you been sick?”

  “A little while. I don’t know. The fever this week.”

  “Do you want to sleep?”

  “I can’t sleep. Not now. I want to hear—” But in fact she closed her eyes. “How did you find me?”

  “I knew the dress.”

  She smiled, her eyes still closed. “My good blue.”

  “Lena,” he said, smoothing her hair. “My god.”

  “Oh, I must look terrible. Do you even recognize me?”

  He kissed her forehead. “What do you think?”

  “That’s a nice lie.”

  “You’ll look even better after the doctor fixes you up. You’ll see. I’ll bring some food tomorrow.”

  She held her hand to his head, looking at him. “I thought I’d never see you again. Never.” She noticed his uniform. “Are you a soldier? Were you in the war?”

  He turned slightly and pointed to his shoulder patch. “Correspondent.”

  “Tell me—” She paused, blinking, as if caught by a sudden pain. “Where to begin? Tell me everything that happened to you. Did you go back to America?”

  “No. Once, a visit. Then London, all over.”

  “And now here.”

  “I told you I’d come back. Didn’t you believe me?” He took her by the shoulders. “Everything’s going to be the same.”

  She turned her head. “It’s not so easy, to be the same.”

  “Yes, it is. You’ll see. We’re the same.”

  Her eyes, already shiny with fever, grew moister, but she smiled. “Yes, you’re the same.”

  He brushed the bare hairline above his temple. “Almost, anyway.” He looked down at her. “You’ll see. Just like before.”

  She closed her eyes, and he busied himself wetting the handkerchief, disconcerted by his own words. Not like before.

  “So you found Hannelore,” he said, trying to be conversational, then, “Where’s Emil?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice curiously detached. “Dead, maybe. It was terrible here, at the end.”

  “He was in Berlin?”

  “No, up north. For the army.”

  “Oh,” he said, not trusting himself to say more. He stood up. “I’ll get some more water. Try getting a little sleep before the doctor gets here.”

  “Like a nurse,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “That’s right. I’m going to take care of you. Go to sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

  “It seems impossible. I just opened the door.” Her voice drifting.

  He turned to leave, then stopped. “Lena? What makes you think he’s dead?”

  “I would have heard.” She moved her hand up, covering her eyes. “Everyone’s dead. Why not him?”

  “You’re not.”

  “No, not yet,” she said wearily.

  He glanced at her. “That’s the fever talking. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked through the main room to the kitchen. Everything the same. In the bedroom, littered with Hannelore’s clothes and bottles of lotion, he could imagine being somewhere else, but here it was his flat, the couch against the wall, the little table by the window, not even rearranged, as if he’d simply gone away for the weekend. The kitchen shelves were bare—three potatoes and a few cans of C rations, a jar of ersatz coffee. No bread. How did they live? At least Hannelore had her dinner at Ronny’s. Surprisingly, the gas ring worked. A kettle to make coffee. No tea. The room itself felt hungry.

  “It’s cold,” she said when he put a new wet cloth on her forehead.

  “It’s good for the fever. Just keep it there.”

  He sat for a minute looking at her. An old cotton wrapper dotted with patches of sweat, wrists thin enough to snap. Like one of the grim DPs he’d seen plodding across the Tiergarten. Where had Emil been?

  “I went to the Elisabeth,” he said. “Frau Dzuris said you worked there.”

  “With the children. There was no one to help, so—” She winced. “So I went there.”

  “Did they get out? Before the raid?”

  “Not bombs. Shells. The Russians. Then the fire.” She turned her head, eyes filling. “No one got out.”

  He turned the cloth over, feeling helpless.

  “Don’t think about it now.”

  “No one got out.”

  But she had, somehow. Another Berlin story.

  “Tell me later,” he said softly. “Get some sleep.”

  He smoothed her hair again, as if it would empty her head, and in a few minutes it seemed to work. The little gasps evened out and became almost soundless, so that only the faint movement of her chest showed she was breathing at all. Where was Hannelore?

  He watched her sleep for a while, then got up and looked around the jumbled room. Clothes had been flung over the chair, a pair of shoes resting on top. Without thinking, he began putting things away, filling time. A messy room is the sign of a messy mind—his mother’s old saying, ingrained after all. He realized, absurdly, that he was tidying up for the doctor. As if it mattered.

  He opened the closet door. He had left a few things with Hal, but they were gone, traded perhaps on one of the message boards. In their place, a fur coat was hanging next to some dresses. A little ragged, but still fur, the kind of thing he’d heard they collected to send to the troops on the eastern front. But Hannelore had kept hers. A present, no doubt, from a friend in the ministry. Or maybe just salvaged after one of the bombing raids, when the owner hadn’t got out.

  He went into the living room. There wasn’t much to straighten here—the lumpy couch, a suitcase neatly set underneath, some stray cups that hadn’t been washed. Near the window table, something new—an empty birdcage, Hannelore’s one addition to the room. Otherwise, just as before. He washed the cups in cold water, then wiped off the sink counter, settling in. When there was nothing left to do, he stood by the window smoking, thinking about the hospital. What else had she seen? All the time he’d imagined her in the old flat, getting dressed to go out, frowning at herself in the mirror, safe under some bell jar of memory. The last four years were only supposed to have happened to him.

  A few cigarettes later, he heard Hannelore on the stairs.

  “Leave the door open,” she said, switching off her flashlight. “He’ll never find it otherwise.”

  “Where’s the doctor?”

  “
He’s coming. They had to get him. How is she?”

  “Sleeping.”

  She grunted and went into the kitchen, pulling down a bottle hidden over the top shelf.

  “Where’s Steve?” Jake said.

  “You ruined that for me,” she said, pouring a drink. “He’ll never come back now.”

  “Don’t worry, there’re plenty more where he came from.”

  “You think it’s so easy. What am I supposed to do now?”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay for the room, too. She can’t sleep out here.”

  “No, only me, is that it? How can I bring people to a couch?”

  “I said I’d pay. You can take a vacation, give yourself a rest. You could use it.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, then noticed the washed cups on the counter. “Ha. Maid service too. My ship has come in.” But she sounded mollified now, already counting the money. “You have a cigarette?”

  He gave her one and lit it.

  “I’ll move her out as soon as she’s better. Here, take this.” He handed her some money. “I can’t move her now.”

  “All right, all right, nobody’s throwing anybody out. I like Lena. She was always nice to me. Not like some,” she said, looking at him. “She used to come sometimes during the war, bring coffee, have a little visit. Not for me. I knew why she came. She wanted to be here, just sit in the flat. Make sure it was still here. It reminded her, I suppose. Such foolishness. Everything just so. ‘Hannelore, you moved the chair. Didn’t you like it over here?’ I knew what she was up to. And my god, what did it matter, with the bombs every night, where a chair was? ‘If it makes you so happy, move it back,’ I’d say, and you know, she would? Foolishness.” She finished off the drink.

  “Yes,” Jake said. Another bell jar. “Did Hal give you the apartment?”

  “Of course. He was a friend of mine, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” he said, genuinely surprised.

  “Oh you, you never noticed anything. Just her. That’s all you could see. Hal was very nice. I always liked the Americans. Even you, a little. You weren’t a bad sort. Sometimes,” she added, then paused. “Don’t make trouble for me. I was never a Nazi, I don’t care what you think. Never. The BDM only—all the girls in school had to join. But not a Nazi. Do you know what they’ll do? They’ll give me a Number V ration card—that’s a death card. You can’t live on that.”