Читаем A good German полностью

“Then he goes now. I’m going to my sister. You think I’m staying here, with the Russians? I’ll give her one more week, I said, and then- But anyway, here you are, so it’s all right. Come. I won’t be a minute. There’s not much. Get me clothing coupons, I told her, but did she? No, not her. She couldn’t come herself? She has to send an Ami? You can see how he’s frightened. Well, he never says much. Say hello, Erich. Ouf.” She waved her hand. “Well, he’s like that.”

The boy stared at him silently. Not fear, a numb curiosity, an animal waiting to see what would happen to him.

“But I can’t take him today.”

“Yes, today. I waited and waited. You can’t expect-” She began emptying a drawer, putting things in a string bag. “The war’s over, you know. What does she expect? Here. I told you, there’s not much.”

She handed him the bag, past arguing.

Jake pulled out his wallet again. “But I can’t-let me pay you something extra.”

“A gift? Well, that’s very nice,” she said, taking it. “So maybe she’s lucky now. You see, Erich, he’s all right. You’ll be fine. Come, give auntie a hug.”

She bent down, barely clasping him, an indifferent sendoff. How long had they been together? The boy stood, not moving. “Go on,” she said, giving him a little push. “Go to your mother.”

The boy jerked forward. Jake looked at her hand on the boy’s shoulder, stung, his heart dulled by every terrible thing he’d heard in Berlin and now moved finally by this, a single moment of casual cruelty. What had happened to everybody?

The boy took a step, looking down. Frau Metzger flicked through Jake’s bills, then shoved them in her apron pocket.

“That’s all you can say to him?” Jake said. “Just like that? He’s a child.”

“What do you know about it?” she said, eyes flashing. “I took care of him, didn’t I? While she had her good times. I earned every mark. And how long will you last, I wonder. Well, tell her not to come back when it’s over-the hotel is closed.” She had reached the door and held it open, then looked down at Erich with a twinge of embarrassment. “I did the best I could. You, you be a good boy, don’t forget. Don’t forget your auntie.”

And then they were in the hall, the door closing behind them, a soft click, maybe the only thing the boy wouldn’t forget, a click of the door. They stood motionless for a second, and then the boy lifted his hand, still not speaking, just waiting to be led away.

It was no better in the jeep. He sat quietly, passive, watching the streets go by, like the children from Silesia. Down the gentle slope of Schonhauserallee, then out past the pockmarked walls of the schloss to the Linden. Bicycles and soldiers. The plane wreckage in the Tiergarten. Registering everything without a word. He took Jake’s hand again on the walk from Savignyplatz.

“My god, who’s this?” Lena said.

“Another one for Fleischman. Erich.”

“But where did you-”

“He’s Renate’s child. You remember, from the office?”

“Renate? But I thought all the Jews-”

He stopped her. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. First let’s get him to the church.”

“First some food, I think,” she said, kneeling down. “Look how thin. You’re hungry? Don’t be afraid, it’s safe here. Do you like cheese?”

She led him over to the table and brought out a small block of rubbery PX cheese. The boy looked at it warily.

“It’s real,” Lena said. “That’s the color it is in America. Here, there’s still some bread. It’s all right-eat.”

He picked up the bread dutifully and took a nibble.

“So Erich, it’s a good name. I knew an Erich once. Dark hair, like yours.” She reached over and touched it. “It’s good, the bread? Here, try some more.” She broke off a piece and offered it to him by hand, gently, the way you would feed a stray. “See, I told you. Now some cheese.”

She fed him for a few minutes, until he began to eat on his own, taking in the food as quietly as the sights on the drive. She looked up at Jake. “Where is she?”

Jake shook his head, a not-in-front-of-the-child gesture. “He’s been living with a woman in Prenzlauer. I think he’s had a rough time. He doesn’t say much.”

“Well, it*s not so important, is it, to talk?” she said to the boy. “Sometimes I’m quiet too, when things are new. We’ll have something to eat, then maybe a little rest. You must be tired. All the way from Prenzlauer.”

The boy was nodding at her, reassured, Jake saw, by her German, familiar, without Jake’s accent.

“We should get him to Fleischman,” Jake said. “It’s getting late.”

“There’s plenty of time,” she said easily, then turned. “But if she’s alive- You’re taking him from his mother? To Fleischman?”

“I promised her I’d find a place. I’ll explain later,” he said, feeling the boy’s eyes on him.

Lena offered him another piece of cheese. “It’s good, yes? There’s more-take as much as you like. Then we’ll sleep, what do you say?” Her voice soft, lulling.

“Lena,” Jake said, “he can’t stay here. We can’t-”