Читаем A good German полностью

“No, only me, is that it? How can I bring people to a couch?”

“I said I’d pay. You can take a vacation, give yourself a rest. You could use it.”

“Go to hell,” she said, then noticed the washed cups on the counter. “Ha. Maid service too. My ship has come in.” But she sounded mollified now, already counting the money. “You have a cigarette?”

He gave her one and lit it.

“I’ll move her out as soon as she’s better. Here, take this.” He handed her some money. “I can’t move her now.”

“All right, all right, nobody’s throwing anybody out. I like Lena. She was always nice to me. Not like some,” she said, looking at him. “She used to come sometimes during the war, bring coffee, have a little visit. Not for me. I knew why she came. She wanted to be here, just sit in the flat. Make sure it was still here. It reminded her, I suppose. Such foolishness. Everything just so. ‘Hannelore, you moved the chair. Didn’t you like it over here?’ I knew what she was up to. And my god, what did it matter, with the bombs every night, where a chair was? ‘If it makes you so happy, move it back,’ I’d say, and you know, she would? Foolishness.“ She finished off the drink.

“Yes,” Jake said. Another bell jar. “Did Hal give you the apartment?”

“Of course. He was a friend of mine, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” he said, genuinely surprised.

“Oh you, you never noticed anything. Just her. That’s all you could see. Hal was very nice. I always liked the Americans. Even you, a little. You weren’t a bad sort. Sometimes,” she added, then paused. “Don’t make trouble for me. I was never a Nazi, I don’t care what you think. Never. The BDM only-all the girls in school had to join. But not a Nazi. Do you know what they’ll do? They’ll give me a Number V ration card-that’s a death card. You can’t live on that.”

“I don’t want to make trouble for you. I’m grateful to you.”

“Huh,” she said, putting out her cigarette. “But I’m still on the couch. Well, let me get my things.”

When she came back she was in a silk nightgown, her heavy breasts bulging. Hal’s friend.

“Does it embarrass you?” she said, almost coquettish. “Well, I can’t help that if I’m out here.” She spread a sheet on the couch.

“Is she still sleeping?”

Hannelore nodded. “She doesn’t look so good,” she said.

“How long has she been sick?”

“A week, maybe two. When she came, I thought she was just tired. You know, everyone looks tired now. I didn’t know. What could I do? There wasn’t much to eat.”

“I’ll bring some food tomorrow. For both of you.”

“And some cigarettes maybe?” She had begun wiping her face with a damp cloth, taking off years with the rouge. How old would she be now, twenty-five?

“Sure.”

“Herr Geismar,” she said to herself, shaking her head. “Back in Berlin. Who would have thought? Even the old room, eh?”

“I’ll wait up,” Jake said. “Sleep if you like.”

“Oh, with a man in the room. Not likely. Maybe just a little rest.”

But in a little while she was out, her mouth open, the sheet barely covering her breasts, the unconcerned sleep of a child. More waiting, staring out into the eerie darkness of Wittenbergplatz. He made mental lists-food, medicine if he could get it from the dispensary, faking an illness. If not, Gunther, who could get anything. But what medicine? He glanced at his watch. One-thirty. What kind of doctor came at two in the morning?

He came at three, a little tapping up the stairs, then a skeletal frame in the doorway, clearing his throat as if he were ringing a bell. He was almost grotesquely thin, with sunken concentration camp eyes. Where had Danny found him? A rucksack for a medicine bag.

“You’re the doctor?”

“Rosen.” He nodded formally. “Where is she?”

Jake pointed to the bedroom, watching Rosen take in the sleeping Hannelore on the couch.

“First, somewhere to wash my hands.”

Jake assumed it was a euphemism, but in the bathroom Rosen really did wash his hands, then dry them methodically, like a surgeon.

“Should I boil some water?” Jake said, at a loss.

“Why? Is she having a baby?”

In the bedroom, Jake woke her gently, then stepped aside as Rosen felt her throat with his clean hands, presumably testing for swelling. A palm on her forehead instead of a thermometer.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. She said a week or so.”

“Too long. Why didn’t you call before?”

But that was too complicated to explain, so Jake just stood there, hovering. “Can I do something?”

“You can make some coffee. I’m not often up at this hour.”

Jake went to the kitchen, sent off like an expectant father, superfluous. Filling the kettle, a small pop as the gas lit. In the living room, Hannelore moaned and turned over.

He went back to the bedroom and stopped at the door. Rosen had opened her robe so that she lay naked on the bed, his hands spreading her legs to examine her, an unexpected intimacy. The body Jake had seen so many times, stroking it to life, now being prodded like a slab.

She’s not one of Danny’s girls, he wanted to shout, but Rosen had already caught his look of dismay.

“I’ll call you,” he said curtly. “Go make the coffee.”