And all the time he was thinking of Sarah. He should have been thinking of the Rat
and Maxie and the others, psyching himself up, readying himself for killing. Instead
his thoughts were full of their love, her warmth, her body, the contentment he could
not have dreamed possible just a month ago. He poked his head around the alley corner
in case Seeler was coming.
Funny, he sniffed, her sleeping on the bed when he had to go. Even without being aware,
she had done her best to stop him being here right now, and if she knew what he was
up to she would go crazy. She would do anything to stop him. Lucky she doesn’t know,
then. She didn’t understand. All he wanted to do was this one thing, and then it would
all be over. Debt paid. Promise kept. They would leave, go somewhere else. Or even
stay in Heidelberg. At least until he had made enough money to really start a business
somewhere. He had counted his money that morning. He had more than nine hundred dollars
in American, a small fortune in the circumstances. And all that in a month. A construction
business. He’d worked it all out. He’d import construction material for sale, and
also build homes and offices. Big buildings. Everybody needed work, everybody needed
a home, the destroyed city centers would need to be rebuilt from scratch. He’d hire
architects, designers, builders, tradesmen of all kinds, he’d put the deals together.
He could live in Heidelberg and make the right contacts with the Americans, and work
in Mannheim and maybe Frankfurt. Both towns were lucky if one in three buildings was
standing after the Allied bombing. Glass, he thought. That’s it. They’ll all need
windows. I’ll start a glass business too, supply myself and everyone else.
Start quickly, he said to himself, that’s the secret, get to work before anyone else.
He peered around the corner again. There weren’t many people in the street, it would
be easy to spot Seeler.
He’d get number 9 back, he was sure of that. The house had belonged to his family
for so long there would be no problem. The Bergers wouldn’t be so happy, though. Or
the neighbors. They’d all stick together. They hadn’t changed. But that didn’t matter.
They’ll all do what they’re told, they’re good Germans, that’s the trouble. What’s
the joke? There could never be a revolution in Germany, the police wouldn’t allow
it. He’d make money quickly and then they’d leave. America. Palestine. Who knows,
maybe Paris? He’d always wanted to see Paris. He could run the business from there.
“Where is that bastard?”
THIRTY-SIX
Heidelberg,
June 13, 1945
While Jacob fretted in the alley, rose-streaked water washed against the wharf in
the wake of a tugboat pulling a platform loaded with military crates and piles of
boxes. The setting sun touched the trees and its last rays cast a cool glow on the
bench where Sarah sat, taking deep breaths, focused on what she had to do. With a
slight breeze it was chillier than she had expected. She did up the buttons on her
blouse, thought better of it, and undid them again. If only she had a mirror.
She had arrived just in time. Two benches were occupied by young couples and since
she had claimed the last one two more couples had come who now sat with their legs
dangling over the wharf. They held hands and kissed and lay their heads on each other’s
shoulders, and again she thought she should have come here with Jacob. Or Hoppi.
Nerves made it hard to swallow, she could feel her heart beating. She looked up over
her shoulder. People were leaning on the wall, gazing across the water, waiting for
the sunset or just resting during their evening stroll. Their faces were lit by an
orange glow. It could not have been more serene: for them. As for her, how quickly
it all changed. From terror in basements and bushes, alone and starving, to hot baths
with her lover in their lovely little home. In what? A month? Her eyes closed. It
didn’t seem possible. Was it too good to be true? She heaved a sigh of contentment,
a gentle smile played on her lips. Until she started: Yes, it may be too good to be
true. If it all goes wrong now.
She had almost forgot why she was here.
* * *
In the alley, Jacob’s heart was racing. It’s almost dark. Where is he? Don’t say I
missed him. His mouth was dry. He licked his lips. He should have brought a bottle
of water. He should have worn a coat. He should have come earlier. He should have
done a lot of things. How long to wait? Verdammt! Damn, tomorrow’s Saturday, the Rat’s
leaving for Argentina, this is my last chance: Where is the bastard!
Jacob peered around the corner yet again and jerked his head back as if he’d been
shot. It’s him. It’s the Rat. Now his heart slammed against his ribs. Thirty meters
away. Close. From the hotel then he came. Only now it occurred to Jacob. He was coming
from the right, so he’d have to pull him in with his left hand. His weaker arm. He
might not have the strength. Or should he hold the club in his left hand, wait for
Seeler to walk by, grab him with his right arm, then pull him inside? He didn’t have
the power or the coordination to hit him with the club in his left hand. He’d need
to pull him in, throw him against the wall, transfer the club from his left to his
right hand, then hit him. Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He could hear
the heavy steps now. Is the ground shaking? The Rat was wearing a coat and a hat.
He could grab the coat. But with which hand? He held the club in his left hand, ready
to grab Seeler with his right, his stronger arm, as he walked by. Or just club him
in the street with both hands and then drag him into the alley? If he falls, people
may see him. He pressed himself back against the wall, tried to push himself into
the bricks, he thought his heart would explode, he smelled his own sweat, he prepared
his legs to pounce. At the last moment he changed his mind and held the club in his
right. He’ll pull him in with the left and hit him at the same time. Or pull him in
with both hands. But what about the club?
Jacob sensed him before he saw him, a premonition of him, his aura, maybe it was the
evil that preceded him, and now a leg appeared in the frame of the alley walls followed
by his bulk and another leg and he was past.
Jacob could hardly breathe. What happened? Had his heart stopped for an instant? He
gasped for air, slumped back against the wall, hung his head forward, and heard the
dull thud of the club falling by his feet. Inside, his head was screaming, howling,
it was Maxie, and he turned and threw up against the wall.
Sweating, groaning, he felt a hand stroking his head, lips brushing his neck, he shivered,
heard a loving whisper in his ear, and he dropped to the ground, where he sat against
the wall and could barely support his head. He felt his strength drain away, all his
energy fade; he could have slept for two days on the spot.
It’s over, he thought. Sarah was right. There was no point waiting for Seeler to come
back home.
He couldn’t do it.
His body had understood before his mind, and said no. If it meant losing Sarah, he
didn’t want to. Between Maxie, who was dead, and Sarah, who was alive, at last he
chose. His heart leaped. He felt a tear of joy.
Jacob pulled himself up and steadied himself against the wall. He swirled saliva around
his mouth and spat out bile that had burned his throat. He took deep breaths and looked
back down the alley, to the light at the end, the courtyard, the middle building,
his escape route.
He stubbed his foot on steel and looked down. He bent but stopped halfway. He straightened
and walked out of the alley, leaving the club on the ground.
* * *
He’s late, Sarah thought. Maybe he won’t come? Another young couple came down the
steps and approached her bench. She waved them away with a gesture and a smile and
they went to the edge of the wharf and sat with their legs hanging over. Where is
he? Has something happened? Jacob? She felt her hands trembling, held one out to see
if it was shaking. At that moment, with one arm stretched out, with the sun almost
behind the hills, Hans Seeler took her other hand, making her start, and she felt
the bench shake as he fell down next to her. “I didn’t frighten you, did I?” Hans
asked.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” Sarah said. “I was daydreaming. Isn’t it beautiful here?”
“Oh, yes. When we were small we jumped into the water from here, the river was nothing
like it is now. It was clean. There was a rope ladder to climb back up.” He stood,
went to the edge, and looked along the wharf. “It’s gone. Everything’s gone. It’s
all so different now.” He sat next to Sarah and took her hand again, resting it on
his thigh.
She looked down. Her hand was so small in his big fist. She should have been afraid
but a calm settled upon her. Rarely in her life had she felt so sure of herself, so
sure that she was doing the right thing, the only possible thing. She closed her eyes
for a long moment, as she breathed in, telling herself, Be strong.
He had been gazing into the distance. Now he looked down, at her hand, and stroked
it. “Well, well, Gertie, here we are.” He smiled at her.
“Yes, Hans, here we are.”
“Gertie Haus.”
“Haas. Gertie Haas.” She squeezed his hand.
“Oh yes, Haas. Where does that name come from?”
Sarah frowned at him. “Where does it come from?” She shrugged, as if to say, doesn’t
everyone know? “It’s from Hase, hare. You know, the saying. ‘Wo die Fuchse und die
Hase einander gute Nacht sagen.’ Where the foxes and the hares say good night to each
other. It means in the middle of nowhere. Because my family, going way back, came
from tiny villages in the north, in the middle of nowhere. Hase became Haas, I suppose.”
She laughed. “What about Seeler, where does that come from?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, Hans Seeler, here is a question you should be able to answer.” She peered through
the dusk, at the young couples gazing across the water at the big red ball; searching
up and down the wharf; over his shoulder and pausing at the people standing at the
top of the steps. “What did you do during the war?”
“Well, that came from nowhere,” he said, turning to look at her directly. “Anyway,
you ask as if the war is over.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Which war? Against the Americans? Yes. Against the Bolsheviks? It’s just beginning.
But, so tell me, you want to work in our hotel?”
“Yes, I do, I hope so, your parents are very nice.”
“Oh. And I hope I meet your approval too.”
She took her hand from his. “Why, who decides? I imagine if your mother needs help
she would decide, no?”
“Well, jobs are hard to find these days, very hard, especially good ones. And yes,
actually, I do have something to say in the matter.” He raised an eyebrow and moved
closer. “Isn’t that why you wanted to meet me?”
Sarah looked away, across the river, toward the sun, whose reflection, as it sank,
sent a shimmering column of orange across the darkening water, pointing at them. The
sky was turning a delicate pink, diaphanous among the gathering night clouds. The
young couples kissed and hugged. She looked over her shoulder, toward the steps.
Where are you? Please come now. Now!
A knot tightened in her stomach as she searched among the people gathered on the
road above. It was hard to see faces in the fading light.
“No, it isn’t,” she said. “Why would you think that?” The pink glow of the sun sparkled
in her dark eyes. He leaned forward and she leaned back, away from his thin lips,
his stinking mustache. He stopped her with his hand behind her head, his fingers curling
in her hair, and as her eyes widened, her heart pounded, he pulled her toward him
and their lips met. She pinched hers and squealed with disgust. Desperate, her eyes
wide, she stared over his shoulder at the group at the top of the steps, forcing herself
to see through the gloom, and there, standing on the top step, a big man. He raised
his hand and waved and walked down two steps.
Sarah jumped up and screamed. “How dare you! Leave me alone. Don’t touch me.” The
young couples turned and looked as Hans sat up in surprise. He stared as Sarah hit
his shoulder and slapped his face. “Help, leave me alone,” she screamed, a thin, piercing
cry. Hans stood up and grabbed her shoulder. “Gertie, what are you doing, be quiet.”
Sarah kept screaming and Hans slapped her in the face, not very hard. At this Sarah
screamed louder, held on to his jacket, and pulled and wriggled, as if trying to escape
his grasp.
Isak bounded down the stairs, shouting at the man to leave the woman alone, and leaped
onto Hans, striking him in the face. Hans, shocked, stepped back. “Why, you Jew bitch,”
he yelled at Sarah, “I didn’t do anything.” Isak punched him again and sent him sprawling
to the ground. Sarah was screaming, “Help, he attacked me, help!” Now everyone was
watching, the young lovers, the strollers above, as the two men struggled on the ground.
Hans had kicked out behind Isak’s knee and his leg had buckled. He fell awkwardly
to the ground, saving himself with one arm and fending Hans off with the other. He
understood from the perfectly judged kick—Seeler knows how to fight. Finish it quickly.
He roared and threw himself onto Seeler, his weight forced him to the ground, and
he punched him in the head, once, twice, he seized his neck and smashed his head into
the concrete. But Hans lashed out with his elbow, catching Isak in the eye, and he
wriggled away and kicked Isak in the arm and rolled over to the edge of the wharf,
and as he rolled his right hand went into his coat and came out with a pistol that,
even as he rolled, he whipped into a straight arm as if the pistol were his hand,
and he was pointing at Isak’s chest.
But Isak’s gun was already in his hand, and as Hans fired Isak dropped and fired too,
a thunderclap and its echo. There was a scream from a woman on the wall as Isak heard
the crack of a bullet missing by millimeters. She fell to the ground. But Isak didn’t
miss. He had thrown himself to the side and on one knee aimed the Nagant pistol. At
dusk Hans formed a perfect silhouette in the red glow. He hit Hans in the chest, once,
twice. The .32-caliber bullets hurled Hans back. Splashes of blood looked like smudges
in the dark. He teetered over the edge and, with everyone agape, he tried to rise
but sank to his knees. His good arm clawed at the brick as he toppled over the side
of the wharf and splashed into the river. His arm flailed as he tried to keep himself
up in the current, which pulled him out.