Читаем A good German полностью

Lena insisted on getting up for dinner, so the three of them sat around the table, Hannelore bubbling over with high spirits, as if the ham sandwich had been another kind of injection.

“Wait till you see what I got at Zoo Station, Lena. For ten cigarettes. She wanted the pack, and I said, who gets a pack for a dress? Even ten was too many, you know, but I couldn’t resist. In good condition, too. I’ll show you.”

She got up and held the dress to her body.

“See how well cut? She must have known somebody, I think. You know. And see how it fits. Not too small here.”

She took off her dress without a hint of embarrassment, and slid the new one over her slip.

“See? Maybe a tuck here, but otherwise perfect, don’t you think?

“Perfect,” Lena said, eating soup. A little more color than before.

“I couldn’t believe the luck. I can wear it tonight.”

“You’re going out?” Jake said. An unexpected bonus to the shopping trip, the flat to themselves.

“Of course I’m going out. Why not? You know, they opened a new cinema in Alexanderplatz.”

“The Russians,” Lena said grimly.

“Well, but some are nice. They have money, too. Who else is there?”

“No one, I guess,” Lena said indifferently.

“That’s right. Of course the Americans are nicer, but none of them speak German, except for the Jews. Are you not going to finish that?”

Jake handed her his piece of bread.

“White bread,” she said, a child with a sweet. “Well, I’d better get ready. You know, they’re on Moscow time, everything so early. Isn’t that crazy, when they have all those watches? Leave the dishes, I’ll do them later.”

“That’s all right,” Jake said, knowing she wouldn’t.

In a minute he heard a trickle of water in the bathroom, then a spray of perfume. Lena sat back, finished, looking out the window.

“I’ll get coffee,” Jake said. “I have a treat for you.”

She smiled at him, then looked again out the window. “There’s no one in Wittenbergplatz. It used to be so busy.”

“Here, try this,” he said, bringing her the coffee and giving her a doughnut. “It’s better if you dunk.”

“It’s not polite,” she said, laughing, but dipped it daintily and took a bite.

“See? You’d never know they were stale.”

“How do I look?” Hannelore said, coming in, hair pinned again like Betty Grable’s. “Doesn’t it fit well? A tuck here.” She pinched the side, then gathered up her purse. “Feel better, Lena,” she said, unconcerned.

“Don’t bring anyone back,” Jake said. “I mean it.”

Hannelore made a face at him, oddly like a rebellious teenager, and said, “Ha!” too full of herself to be annoyed. “Look at you, an old couple. Don’t wait up,” she said, pulling the door behind her.

“An old couple,” Lena said, stirring her coffee. “I’m not yet thirty.”

“There’s nothing to thirty. I’m thirty-three.” I was sixteen when Hitler came. Think of it, my whole life, Nazis, nothing else.“ She looked out again at the ruins. ”They took everything, didn’t they?“ she said moodily. ”All those years.“

“You’re not ready for a cane yet,” Jake said, and when she managed a smile he took her hand across the table. “We’ll start over.”

She nodded. “It’s not so easy sometimes. Things happen.”

He looked away. Why bring it up at all? But it seemed an opening.

“Lena,” he said, still not looking at her, “Rosen said you had an abortion. Was it Emil’s?”

“Emil?” Almost a laugh. “No. I was raped,” she said simply.

“Oh,” he said, just a sound.

“Does that bother you?”

“No.” A quick lie, without missing a beat. “How-”

“How? The usual way. A Russian. When they attacked the hospital, they raped everybody. Even the pregnant mothers.”

“Christ.”

“Not so unusual. It was ordinary then, at the end. Look how squeamish you are. Men do the raping, but they never want to talk about it. Only the women. That’s all we talked about then-how many times? Are you diseased? I was afraid for weeks that I had been infected. But no, instead a little Russian. Then, when I got rid of it, a different infection.”

“Rosen says it isn’t venereal.”

“No, but no more children either, I think.”

“Where did you get it done?” he asked, picturing a dark alley, the cliche warning of his youth.

“A clinic. There were so many, the Russians set up a clinic. ‘Troop excesses.’ First they rape you, then they-”

“Wasn’t there a doctor?”

“In Berlin? There was nothing. My parents were in Hamburg- god knows if they’re alive. There was nowhere else to go. A friend told me about it. Free, she said. So, another gift from the Russians.”

“Where was Emil?”

“I don’t know. Dead. Anyway, not here. His father’s still alive, but they don’t speak. I couldn’t go to him. He blames Emil for all this, if you can imagine.”

“Because he joined the party?”

She nodded. “For his work. That’s all it was. But his father-” She looked up. “You knew?”

“You never told me.”

“No. What would you have said?”

“Do you think it would have made a difference to me?”

“Maybe to me, I don’t know. And this room, when we came here, it was away from all that. Emil, everything. Somewhere away. Do you know what I mean? ”

“Yes.”