The Good German (Bestselling Backlist) Page 34

  “Any time,” he said, smiling at her words.

  In the quiet he thought she had drifted off, but she moved closer, facing him, eyes now open. She put her hand on his cheek. “Do you know something? I’ve never loved you as much as I did tonight.”

  “When was that, exactly?” he said softly. “So I can do it again.”

  “Don’t joke,” she said, leaning her head into his. She stroked his cheek. “Never so much. When you read to him. I saw how it would have been. If nothing had happened.”

  He saw her eyes in the basement again, not tired, brimming with something else, a sadness out of reach, hanging in the air between them like rubble dust.

  “Sleep,” he said. He moved his hand up to close her eyes, but she took it in hers.

  “Let me see it again,” she said, tracing. “Yes, there.” Satisfied, her eyes closing finally.

  CHAPTER 13

  Brian had been as good as his word. Jake’s name was listed at the Grunewald yacht club and the boat was his for a signature.

  “He said you’d be by,” the British soldier said at the marina landing. “I’ll have Roger bring it round for you. Know how to handle a sail?” Jake nodded. “’Course, she’s only a sunny. Nothing to it. Still, we like to ask. Some of the lads—” He jerked his head toward the terrace café, where soldiers sat drinking beer under a row of flapping Union Jacks, one table in kilts, still in parade dress. “Wait here, I won’t be a sec.”

  Lena was standing with her face to the sun, oblivious to everything but the day. There was a breeze off the lake, fresh, not even a trace of the city’s smell.

  The boat was a small single-masted sailboat scarcely big enough for two, with a toylike tiller and oars. It bobbed unsteadily when Jake stepped in, so that he planted his feet apart and held the dock piling before he reached for Lena’s hand, but she grinned at his concern, slipping off her shoes and leaping in, surefooted, her skirt blowing up in the breeze. Half the terrace seemed to be watching, heads tilted to catch her legs.

  “Sit first,” she said to Jake, in control, then pushed the boat off.

  “Watch the current,” the soldier said. “It’s not really a lake, you know. People forget.”

  Lena nodded, stretching the sail out along the jib, an old hand. They began moving on the water.

  “I didn’t know you were a sailor,” Jake said, watching her tie the sail rope.

  “I’m from Hamburg. Everyone knows boats there.” She looked around, theatrically sniffing the air. “My father liked it. In the summer we used to go to the sea. Always, every summer. He would take me out with him because my brother was too small.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “He was killed. In the army,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, Peter. The same name.”

  “Were there others?”

  “No, just him and my parents. There’s no one left now from that life. Except Emil.” She shrugged and lifted her head again. “Pull to your left, we have to bring it around. My god, what a day. So hot.” Deliberately pushing them away from shore.

  And in fact, the farther they went, the better it became, away from the war, the burned pockets of woods disappearing in the distance, only the standing pines visible. Not Berlin at all, little waves catching the sun in flashes, postcard blue. He looked across the water, shading his eyes from the glare. Not choked with bodies like the stagnant Landwehrkanal—all flushed to the North Sea with the current, except for what had settled to the bottom, bottles, scraps of shells, even riding boots. The surface, anyway, was bright and clear.

  “A brother. I didn’t know. What else? I want to know everything about you.”

  “So you can decide?” she said, smiling, determined to be cheerful. “Too late. You’ve already had the sample. It’s like Wertheim’s—no returns permitted, sales final.”

  “Wertheim’s never said that.”

  “No? Well, I do.” She flicked some water over the side at him.

  “That’s all right. I don’t want to return anything.”

  She sat back against the prow, hiking her skirt up to her thighs, stretching her white legs in the sun.

  “You look beautiful today.”

  “You think so? Then let’s not go back. We’ll live here, on the water.”

  “Careful you don’t burn.”

  “I don’t care. It’s healthy.”

  The breeze had died down, the boat barely moving, as still as a beach. They lay on their backs like sunbathers, eyes closed, talking into the air.

  “What will it be like, do you think?” she said, her voice lazy, like the quiet slap of water against the side of the boat.

  “What?”

  “Our life.”

  “Why do women always ask that? What happens next.”

  “So many have asked you that?”

  “Every single one.”

  “Maybe we have to plan. What do you tell them?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  She trailed her hand in the water. “So that’s your answer? ‘I don’t know’?”

  “No. I know.”

  She said nothing for a minute, then sat up. “I’m going to swim.”

  “Not here you’re not.”

  “Why not? It’s so hot.”

  “You don’t know what’s in there.”

  “You think I’m afraid of fish?” She stood, holding on to the mast to steady the boat.

  “Not fish,” he said. Bodies. “It’s not clean. You could get sick.”

  “Ouf,” she said, waving it off, then reached under to slip off her underpants. “You know, during the raids it was like that. Some nights you were afraid of everything. Then others, nothing. No reason, you just knew nothing would happen. And nothing did.”

  She took off her dress, pulling it over her head, then standing with her arms still up, stretched out, everything white but the patch of hair between her legs, brazen. “Your face,” she said, laughing at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t swallow.”

  “Come on, Lena. It’s not safe.”

  “Oh, safe.” She tossed the dress aside. “You see, a gypsy,” she said, flinging her arms out. She glanced back. “Hold the boat,” she said, still pragmatic. “You don’t want it to swamp.” And then with a light bounce she was over, slicing into the water, her splash spraying the boat as it rocked in her wake.

  He leaned over the side, watching her glide beneath the surface, long arms pushing back the water in smooth arcs, hair streaming behind her toward the round curve of her hips, a free streak of white flesh, so graceful that for a second he wondered if he had made her up, just an idea of a woman. But she bobbed up, spitting water and laughing, real.

  “You look like a mermaid,” he said.

  “With fins,” she said, rolling on her back in a fluid movement to point her toes upward, then slapping the water with them. “It’s wonderful, like silk. Come.”

  “I’ll watch.”

  She plunged down in a backward dive, making a circle underwater, performing. When she came back up she floated again, eyes closed to the sun, her skin glistening in the light. He looked across the water. They had drifted closer to the Grunewald shore, and he could make out the beach where they’d stood that day when the rain had caught them. Closed into herself, not even wanting to kiss, then shivering on the drive through the woods. Dancing to the records, wanting to come back to life. He thought of her moving down the stairs in Liz’s shoes, tentative. Now splashing like a porpoise in the bright sun, somebody else, a girl who would jump off a boat. Lucky cards.

  She swam over and held the side of the boat.

  “Had enough?” he said.

  “In a minute. It’s so cool. When do we have to go back?”

  “Whenever. I don’t want to move till it’s dark.”

  “Like thieves. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “I have to tell Professor Brandt. He won’t know where I am.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t want him to. They’re watching his house.”

  “For Emil?”

  “For you.”

  “Oh,” she said, then ducked her head in the water, still holding on to the side.

  “I’ll have somebody check on him, don’t worry.”

  “It’s just that he’s alone. There’s no one.”

  “Not Emil, that’s for sure. He said he was dead.”

  “Dead? Why would he say that?”

  Jake shrugged. “Dead to him, maybe. I don’t know. That’s what he said when they questioned him at Kransberg.”

  “So they wouldn’t bother him. Arrest him. The Gestapo did that—took the families.”

  “The Allies aren’t the Gestapo.”

  She looked up at him. “Well, it’s different for you. When you think that way—” She turned back to the water. “Did he say I was dead too?”

  “No, he wanted to find you. That was the trouble. That’s how everything started.”

  “Then why not let him? And finish it? I don’t want to hide.”

  “He’s not the only one looking now.”

  She glanced up, a flicker of concern, then turned her face to the sun and pushed away from the boat.

  “Lena—”

  “I can’t hear you,” she said, swimming away in long strokes. He watched her head toward the club, just a speck in the distance, then turn over and float back toward the boat, lying suspended in the still water. Tully would have done the same, except it had been windy that night, enough to stir the waves, pushing the body along.

  Getting back in the boat took longer than diving out, an awkward pull up, one leg flung over the side to prevent it from tipping. She shook herself, squeezing out her hair, then lay back again to dry in the sun.

  After that they were content to drift in the gentle rocking motion, like Moses in his basket. The boat had turned again, facing down toward the Pfaueninsel, where Goebbels had given his Olympics party. No lights now, half the trees gone, the dreary look of a cemetery island. Bodies must have landed here with the other debris, bobbing sluggishly, like Tully’s at the Cecilienhof, floating in circles until he’d ended up where he wasn’t supposed to be found.

  Jake felt a few drops on his face. Not rain, Lena sprinkling him awake.

  “We’d better start back. There’s not much wind—it’ll take time.” She was sitting up, having slipped on the dress while he was drifting.

  “Let the current do it,” he said lazily, his eyes still closed. “It’ll take us right past the club.”

  “No, it’s the wrong way.”

  He waved his fingers. “Simple geography. North of the Alps, the rivers flow north. South, south. We don’t have to do a thing.”

  “In Berlin you do. The Havel flows south, then it curves up. Look at any map.”

  But the maps just showed a string of blue, off in the left-hand corner.

  “Look where we are already,” Lena said, “if you don’t believe me.”

  He raised his head and looked over the side of the boat. The club was off in the distance; still no wind.

  “You see? If you don’t turn around, we’ll end up in Potsdam.”

  He sat upright, almost knocking his head against the mast. “What did you say?”

  “We’ll end up in Potsdam,” she repeated, puzzled. “That’s where the river goes.”

  He looked around at the bright water, turning his head in a swivel, scanning the shore.

  “But that’s it. He wasn’t put in there. He never went there.”

  “What?”

  “He just ended up there. He didn’t go there. The where was wrong.” Turning his head again, scanning, as if the rest of it would come now in a rush, one piece unlocking all the others. But there was only the long Grunewald shore. So where did he go?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tully. He never went to Potsdam. Somewhere else. Do you have a map?”

  “Nobody has maps except the army,” she said, still puzzled, watching his face.

  “Gunther has one. Come on, let’s go back,” he said, eager, pushing the tiller to make a circle. “The current. Why didn’t I think of it before? Moses. Christ, it was right there. Thank you.” He blew her a kiss.

  A nod, but no smile, her face frowning, as if the day had turned cloudy.

  “Who’s Gunther?”

  “A policeman. Friend of mine. He didn’t think of it either, and he’s supposed to know Berlin.”

  “Maybe not the water,” she said, looking down at it.

  “But you did,” he said, smiling.

  “So now we’re all policemen,” she said, then turned her face back up to the sun. “Well, not yet. Look how still it is. We can’t go back yet.”

  But the idea seemed to produce its own momentum, refusing to wait, and in a few minutes brought a slight, steady breeze that blew them back to the club in no time.

  Gunther was at home in Kreuzberg, sober and shaved. Even the room was tidied up.

  “A new leaf?” Jake said, but Gunther ignored him, his eyes fixed on Lena.

  “And this must be Lena,” he said, taking her hand. “Now I see why Herr Brandt was so anxious to come to Berlin.”

  “But not to Potsdam. He never went there. Tully, I mean. Here, come look,” Jake said, walking over to the map.

  “American manners,” Gunther said to Lena. “Some coffee, perhaps? It’s fresh-made.”

  “Thank you,” she said, both of them walking through a formal ritual.

  “He lives on coffee,” Jake said.

  “I’m German. Sugar?” He poured out a cup and indicated his reading chair for her.

  “The Havel flows south,” Jake said. “The body floated to Potsdam. We were on the water today. It flows this way.” He moved his hand down the map. “That’s how he got there.”

  Gunther stood for a moment, taking this in, then walked over to the map, staring at the left-hand corner. “So, no Russian driver.”

  “No Russian driver. It solves the where.”

  Gunther raised an eyebrow. “And this makes you excited? Before, you had only Potsdam. Now you have all of Berlin.”

  “No, somewhere here,” Jake said, making a circle around the lakes. “It has to be. You don’t drive a body across town. You’d have to be near enough to think of it. Where to get rid of it, fast.”

  “Unless you planned it.”

  “Then you’d be on the water,” Jake said, pointing to the shoreline. “To make it easy. I don’t think it was planned. They never even took the time to go through his pockets, get his tags. They just wanted to get rid of him. In a hurry. Somewhere nearby—where nobody would find him.” He pointed to the center of the blue patch.

  Gunther nodded. “An answer for everything,” he said, then turned to Lena. “An expert on crime, our Herr Geismar,” he said pleasantly. “The coffee’s all right?”

  “Yes, an expert,” Lena said.

  “I have been looking forward to this meeting,” he said, sitting down. “You don’t mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Somewhere here,” Jake was saying at the map, his hand on the lake.

  “Yes, but where?” Gunther said over his shoulder. “It’s miles around those lakes.”

  “Not if you eliminate.” He blocked off the western shore with his hand. “Not Kladow, the Russian zone.” He moved his hand and covered the bottom. “Not Potsdam. Somewhere along here.” He traced his finger from Spandau down to Wannsee, the long swatch of the Grunewald. “Where would he go?”

  “A man who spoke only English? I would say to the Americans. In my experience, they prefer it.”

  Zehlendorf. Jake moved across the woods, the map alive in his hand. Kronprinzenallee, headquarters. The press camp. Gelferstrasse. The Kommandatura, across the street from the KWI, an Emil connection. But the KWI was closed, dark for months. The Grunewald itself?

  “What question?” Lena said.

  “Forgive me, I was distracted. Just a small point. I was curious about t
he time your husband came for you. That last week. You know, I was in Berlin then—the Volkssturm, even the police became soldiers at the end. A terrible time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Such confusion. Looting, even,” he said, shaking his head, as if even now the behavior disturbed him. “How, I wondered, did you know he was here? You didn’t see him?”

  “The telephone. It was still working, even through that.”

  “I remember. No water, but still the telephone. So he called?”

  “From his father’s. He wanted to come for me, but the streets—”

  “Yes, dangerous. The Russians were there?”

  “Not yet. But near. Between us, I think, but what’s the difference? It was impossible. The Germans were just as bad, shooting everybody. I was afraid to leave the hospital. I thought, at least I’ll be safe here. Not even the Russians—”

  “A terrible thing for him. So close. And after coming so far. The Zoo tower was still secure, I think, but perhaps he didn’t know that. To get through that way.”

  Lena looked up. “You mustn’t blame him. He’s not a coward.”

  “My dear lady, I don’t blame anyone. Not that week.”

  “I don’t mean that. I told him not to come.”

  “Ah.”

  “I was the coward.”

  “Frau Brandt—”

  “No, it’s true.” She lowered her head and took a sip of coffee. “I was afraid we’d both be killed if he waited. I didn’t want another death. It was crazy to come then—there wasn’t time. I told him to leave with his father before it was too late. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t care. It was foolish, but that’s how it was. Why do you want to know this?”

  “But his father didn’t leave either,” Gunther said, not answering. “Only the files. Did he mention them?”

  “No. What files?”

  “A pity. I’m curious about those files. It’s how he got the car, I think. You remember there were no cars then. No gas either.”

  “His father said he came with SS.”

  “But even they had no cars for personal matters. Not then. So it must have been for the files. What files, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”