Читаем A good German полностью

“You want to hear this?” He took a pull on his cigarette. “The first big roundup here was in ‘forty-two. February. After that, any Jew in Berlin was illegal, underground. U-boats. There were still thousands, if you can imagine it. Some had a place-if a gentile was protecting them. The others, they had to move around. Place to place. During the day, you had to keep moving, so the neighbors wouldn’t suspect. Wouldn’t report you,” he said, almost spitting the word. “Berlin’s a big city. You could stay lost in the crowd, if you kept moving. Unless somebody knew you. A greifer.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“No? Ask the Jews she caught. A few survived. A few. Or we wouldn’t have caught her. That’s when I had to break a few regulations.” He looked up. “It was worth it. To catch her? Worth it.” He moved away from the jeep, pacing in a small circle. “How it worked? Some covered the railway stations. Renate liked the cafes. Usually Kranzler’s or the Trumpf, over by the Memorial Church. The big one in Olivaerplatz, the Heil. A drink, you watch the people. Sometimes a Jew you actually knew, from the old days. Sometimes someone you just suspected, so some talk, a little fishing, a hint you were a U-boat yourself. Then snap. A visit to the ladies’ room for the telephone. They usually took them on the street, so it wouldn’t cause a disturbance in the cafe. Finish your drink, they’re just rounding up some Jews. Everyone but Renate. The next day, another cafe. She had a great eye, you see,” he said, glancing back at Jake.

“She said she could tell just by looking. Not even Streicher could do that-to him it was all cartoon noses. Renate was better than the Nazis, she didn’t need the star patches. Not with that eye. And, you know, people are foolish. So careful, day after day-can you imagine what that’s like? — and then the relief, a friendly face. If you can’t trust another Jew- A few even asked her out. A date, under those conditions. Just let me powder my nose in the ladies‘.’” He flicked the cigarette into the street.

“And then?” Jake said, helpless, wanting to know.

“The collection point. A Gestapo building, so disturbances didn’t matter anymore. Lots of screaming there. They put them on the trucks. Then out to the trains for the trip east. The neighbors told us the noise was terrible. They’d keep their windows closed until the trucks left.”

“Maybe she didn’t know,” Jake said quietly.

“She lived there. With the other catchers. They kept them on a short leash. Maybe a reminder-‘You could be next.’ But she wasn’t. She saved herself.” He paused. “I saw the room where she lived. It’s on the courtyard. She could see them loading the trucks. So maybe she closed her window too.” He looked harder at Jake. “She knew.”

The day seemed to have stopped around them, the empty street as still as the archives inside. Birdless trees. Sentries standing motionless in the sun.

“That’s-” Jake sputtered, then stopped, like a candle without air.

“The worst thing you ever heard?” Bernie prompted. “Stay in Germany. When you think you’ve heard the worst, there’s something more. Always something worse.”

Loaded into trucks while she watched. “How many?” Jake said.

“Does it matter?”

Jake shook his head. A girl with bright eyes and curly hair. But who was anybody anymore?

“Can I see her? Could you arrange that?”

“If you want. I should tell you, you won’t be the first. Your buddies were all over this one. A Nazi? Old news. But a Jew? That they went for. Ach” He waved his hand again, as if he were swatting the whole thing away like a gnat. “There’s a trial coming up. If you have the stomach fork.”

“Does she admit it?”

“There’s no question about this one,” Bernie said, looking at him. “We have witnesses.”

“But if they forced her-”

“She did it. That’s what matters, you know. She did it.” He took a breath. “The people she caught are dead. Nobody made excuses for them.”

“No.”

“So,” Bernie said, exhaling the word, case closed. “Not what you expected, is it?”

“No.”

“No,” Bernie said. “I’m sorry. It’s a lousy business, all of it. Stick to the black market.”

“I’d still like to see her.”

Bernie nodded. “Maybe she’ll tell you something. Why. I’ll never understand it.”

“We weren’t here. We don’t know what it was like.”

“I had family here,” Bernie snapped. “I know what it was like for them.”

Jake looked back at the quiet villa, through the high barbed wire that gave Bernie the willies. “What’ll happen to her?”

“Prison,” Bernie said flatly. “She’s a woman-they won’t hang her. Maybe it’s worse-she’ll have to live with it.”

“In a cell with the Nazis who made her do it.”

“She decided that herself when she became one of them. I said it was a lousy business. How do you think I feel-her greifer. Another Jew. Was I right? You tell me.”

Jake lowered his head. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t either,” Bernie said quietly, a tiny crack in his voice that left his face unguarded, for a second the boy again practicing Mendelssohn. “So you just do the job.”

“It was you who got her?”