Читаем A good German полностью

“I’ve got the major outside.”

“Right. That’s you, darling,” he said to the blonde, who put down her napkin and took out a lipstick. “Just as you are, love. No sense doing your mouth, given where it’s going. Off you go.”

“ Wiedersehen,” she said politely to Jake, getting up and following the private.

“Safe home,” Danny called after her. “Choice goods, that one. Enjoys it. Sure you don’t want a go?”

“Can I ask you something? Why-” Jake said, then stopped, not sure how to ask it. “I mean, I thought all it took was a couple of cigarettes. So why-”

“Well, some gents are shy, like. That’s how it started. See, I’m not shy, so I was in a way to make a few introductions. Some appreciate that. The convenience. Officers, they don’t want to pick something up off the street. You don’t know what you’re getting, do you? A little surprise for the wife. Hello, what’s this? Nasty. It’s the hygiene, really. I’ve got a doctor checks them. Decent chap. Takes care of any accidents too, if you know what I mean. Of course, the girls prefer it- saves wear and tear, all that walking about.”

“Why only officers?”

Danny smiled. “Got the money, for a start. But, you know, it’s really the girls. All the same, aren’t they? Looking for love. And a ticket out. London, why not? Anywhere but here. Now, an enlisted man isn’t going to do that, is he? You need an officer.”

“And do they?”

“What? Take them home? Naw. Quick suck and a poke is what they like. Still, you never know. I always tell the girls, look on the bright side. There’s always a chance. Just put your heart and soul into it and maybe something will come of it.”

“And they believe you.”

Danny shrugged. “They’re not whores, see. Nice girls, some of them, temporaries. They’re just trying to get by. You have to give them something to hope for.”

“What do you tell the boys?”

“That’s just a side,” Danny said. He ran his hand over his slick hair, embarrassed again. “It takes all kinds.”

“Are they really Hitler Youth?”

“ ‘Course. Viktor, anyway. He’s Use’s brother.”

“Quite a family.”

“Well, you know, I think he was that way. The others, I don’t know. Bit reluctant at first. But they’re glad of the money, and who’s to know, really? Viktor finds them-friends of his. As I say, it’s just a side. Here, watch this one. He’s good, he is. Regular Benny Goodman.”

He pointed to the bandstand, where a clarinet player had stood up, licking his reed as he waited for the lead-in. When he started, he did play Goodman, “Memories of You,” the sad opening notes mellow as liquid. Another sound of home, the music so unexpectedly beautiful that it seemed a kind of reproach in the smoky room. On the dance floor couples drew closer, swaying instead of bouncing, as if the clarinet were charming them. The player swayed too, eyes closed, blotting out the bright, ugly room to let the music take him somewhere else.

“Everything seems to bring…” The music of romance, not good times and quick gropes, a song for girls looking for love. Jake watched them move dreamily on the floor, heads leaning on uniformed shoulders, giving themselves something to hope for. At the tables people had grown quieter, pretending to watch the solo but really drawn by something else, the world they’d known before Ronny’s, brought back, close enough to touch, by the sentimental notes. “… memories of you.” Even here. There was Lena’s dress, across the floor, the same deep blue, her going-out dress. He remembered the way she’d brush the back as she got up, a quick touch to smooth out the wrinkles, so that it clung to her afterward, moving with her. On the front there’d been a patch of glitter going up to the shoulder, little fingers of bright sequins, like a sprinkling of stars. But wool, too warm for a summer’s night in a crowded room, and this one had a wet patch showing between the shoulder blades, stretched over a girl too big for it, with blond hair piled on top of her head like Betty Grable. Still, the same deep blue.

When the band came in behind the clarinet, ending the solo, there was a restless stirring at the tables, a kind of relief to be out of the spell, back to just music.

“What did I tell you?” Danny said, his eyes shiny, but Jake continued to watch the dress, the damp spot now covered by an American soldier’s hand. Fragebogen. Message boards. Why not here, dancing at Ronny’s? But the waist was too thick, bulging over the belt.

Gunther was making his way steadily across the room, skirting the dancers. There was a sudden roar at the door as a large party swept in, looking for tables. “Memories of You” floated away.

“Gunther, you old sod,” Danny said, standing up, a show of respect. “Take a pew.” He pulled out a chair. Gunther sat down and poured a drink.

“Meet the general?” Jake said, nodding in Sikorsky’s direction.

“I know the general. Sometimes a useful source.”

“But not this time,” Jake said, reading his face.

“Not yet.” He downed the glass and sat back. “So. You’ve had a good talk?”

“Danny’s been telling me about his real estate. He’s a landlord.”