The only one who could tell him, slipping away, the last thing that would go wrong. Jake looked at the closed eyes for another second, then took the gun away from Sikorsky’s face, drained.

“Finish it yourself. It took my friend about a minute to die. The one you killed. I hope it takes you two. One to think about her. I hope you see her face.”

Sikorsky opened his eyes wide, as if in fact he were looking at something.

“That’s right, like that. Scared.” Jake stood up. “Now take another for the kids in the boat. See them?” He stared for another second, Sikorsky’s eyes locked on his, even wider. “Steel,” he said, then walked down the stairs, not turning even when he heard the strangled gasp behind him. He handed the gun to the stunned Russian.

“Will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on here?” the GI said.

“Speak German?” Jake said to the Russian. “Get your men out of here.”

“Why did they shoot?”

“The Japs surrendered.” The Russian looked at him, dumbfounded. “These men are wounded,” Jake said, suddenly dizzy. “So are yours. We have to get them out. Move the car.”

“But what do I say? To explain?”

Jake looked down at a Russian in the street, spattered with blood. As stupid and pointless as it always was.

“I don’t know,” he said, then turned to the GI, feeling the back of his head. He brought his hand back down, bloody. “I’m hurt. I need a ride.”

“Jesus.” The GI turned to the Russian. “Move, you fuck.”

The Russians looked at them both, uncertain, then waved his hand at the driver to start the car.

In the party jeep, the men moved to make a place, one of them still holding a beer bottle.

“So the war’s over?” Jake said to the GI.

“It was.” Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He awoke to find Lena’s face floating over his.

“What time is it?”

A faint smile. “After noon.” She reached up and felt his forehead. “A good sleep. Erich, go get Dr. Rosen. Tell him he’s awake.”

There was a scampering in the corner, then a blur as the boy darted out of the room.

“How did you do it?” she said. “Can you talk?”

How? A bumpy ride in the jeep, getting off in a Ku’damm swarming with headlights and blaring horns, packs of rowdy GIs with girls dancing out of the clubs into the street, then a blank.

“Where’s Emil?” Jake said.

“Here. It’s all right. No, don’t get up. Rosen says-” She smoothed his forehead again. “Can I get you something?”

He shook his head. “You got out.”

Rosen came through the door with Erich by his side and sat down on the bed, taking a pinpoint light out of his bag and shining it into each of Jake’s eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“Peachy.”

He reached behind, checking the bandage on the back of Jake’s head. “The stitches are good. But you should see an American doctor. An injury to the head, there’s always a risk. Sit up. Any dizziness?” He felt below the bandage, freeing his other hand by passing the light to Erich, who put it carefully into the bag. “My new assistant,” Rosen said fondly. “An excellent medical man.”

Jake bent forward as Rosen prodded with his fingers.

“A little swelling, not bad. Still. The Americans have; an X ray? For the shoulder too.”

Jake glanced down and saw an ugly splotch of bruise, and moved the shoulder, testing. Not dislocated.

“You got this how?” Rosen said.

“I fell.”

Rosen looked at him, dubious. “A long fall.”

“About two stories.” He squinted at the bright afternoon light. “How long have I been out? Did you give me something;?”

“No. The body is a good doctor. Sometimes, when it’s too much, it shuts down to rest. Erich, would you check for fever?”

The boy reached up and rested his dry palm on Jake’s forehead, looking at him solemnly. “Normal,” he said finally, his voice as small as his hand.

“You see? An excellent medical man.”

“Yes, and now sleepy,” Lena said, her hands on his shoulders. “He stayed up all night, watching you. To make sure.”

“You mean you did,” Jake said, imagining him slumped next to her in the easy chair.

“Both. He likes you,” she said pointedly.

“Thank you,” Jake said to him.

The boy nodded gravely, pleased.

“So you’ll live,” Rosen said, gathering his bag. “A day in bed, please. In case.”

“You too,” Lena said, moving the boy. “Time to rest. Come, I have coffee for you,” she said to Rosen, busy, organizing them, so that they followed without protest. “And you,” she said to Jake. “I’ll be right back.”

But it was Emil who brought the coffee, closing the door behind him. Back in his own clothes again, a frayed shirt and thin cardigan.

He handed Jake the mug stiffly, averting his eyes, his movements shy and prickly at the same time.

“She’s putting the boy to sleep,” he said. “It’s a Jewish child?”

“It’s a child,” Jake said over the mug.

Emil raised his head, bristling a little, then took off his glasses and wiped them.

“You look different.”

“Four years. People change,” Jake said, raising his hand to touch his receding hair, then wincing in surprise.

“Broken?” Emil said, looking at the bruised shoulder.

“No.”

“It’s a terrible color. It hurts?”