Page 105 of Hell to Pay
“There are,” Joe said with not the least discomposure. “It’s about the least bombed-out place I’ve seen in Germany. That’s a pretty good attraction right there.” He told me, “I’m staying at the hotel. In the attics, actually, sharing a room with a Frenchman.”
“You’re lucky to have a bed at all,” Frau Braun said. “With so much of Germany destroyed, as you say.”
“Let me guess,” Joe said calmly. “That’s our fault.”
“Certainly it’s your fault,” Frau Braun said. “Who else’s? The bombs didn’t drop themselves.” She wasn’t making a very good stab at hospitality, but perhaps she considered that she could be as rude as she liked on her lunch hour. At least she wasn’t pursuing the topic of Joe’s prior acquaintance with the shop.
Dr. Müller said, “Is it so easy to assign blame in war, I wonder?” He asked it of the distance, as if opening a discussion in his lecture hall.
“I certainly have no problem doing so,” Frau Braun said. “Are you going to serve me, Fräulein Glücksburg, or must I go elsewhere for my bread?”
“Certainly,” I said. “What would you like?”
She left at last, and once she had, Frau Adelberg poked her head in. She dithered a bit at seeing Dr. Müller still present, but when he greeted her, she really had no choice.
Make a decision,I told myself,instead of standing here like a great goose.I pretended to be my mother, though I fell decidedly short of her social grace, and said, “Thank you very much for the book, Dr. Müller. I’ll read it as soon as I finishGone With the Wind,and I look forward to discussing it with you.”Then I turned to Joe and said, “Shall we go? I warn you, Frau Braun will probably wait on us.”
Joe laughed. “Well, she’s had her chances to poison me already. I’m not sure she didn’t—I don’t know what to call what I ate last night, but I’m not sure it was food. But unless you know someplace better …”
“Alas,” I said, “no. The brewery was damaged in the fighting and is still closed. I’m afraid it’s the hotel or nowhere.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Dr. Müller said.
“Excellent,” I said. “That way my social sin will be halved, for we will share it.” He smiled, and Joe laughed out loud, held the door for us, and said, “Mine will be doubled, though mine’s more of a military sin. We’re still discouraged from fraternizing too much with the locals, but I’m on leave, so …” He spread his hands.
“Perhaps we should keep the talk to books, then,” Dr. Müller said, lacing his hands behind his back in the contemplative manner he favored as he shuffled slowly along. “Have you by chance readThe Grapes of Wrath,Staff Sergeant?”
“I practically had to,” Joe said good-naturedly. “I’m from California. From San Francisco, actually. That’s probably why I’ve readThe Maltese Falcon,too.”
“Is California like that, then?” I asked. “LikeThe Grapes of Wrath?It hardly seems better than Germany, with all the poverty and dislocation.” I felt a bit shy, and was glad to have something to talk about. He was on leave? Had he come, then, to see … me? Us? Surely not. But then why? I couldn’t imagine any soldier voluntarily spending his leave in the mess that was Germany. He’d go to Switzerland, surely, or perhaps England, where his uniform would be welcome and his money could actually buy something.
“LikeThe Grapes of Wrath?”Joe said. “Well, my life hasn’t been, though I guess some people’s was. It’s set during theDepression, of course, and among the people hardest hit by it, and things have gotten easier since then. If you want to know more, though, Steinbeck’s written a new novel.Cannery Row,set in Monterey, south of San Francisco. Have you read it, sir?” he asked Dr. Müller.
“Alas, no,” he said. “I fear I haven’t been able to add to my library, particularly the English and French sections, since the start of the war.”
“ I’m planning on spending a bit of my leave in England,” Joe said. “I’d be happy to bring a few books back with me, if you’re interested. We could read them in turns and set up a sort of book discussion group, the three of us, if you’d like. I haven’t had much chance of that over here.” He stopped at the door of the hotel and asked Dr. Müller, “Can I invite you to join us for lunch, sir? I warn you, it’s not likely to be very good, but I’d like your company.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Müller said. “I will accept with pleasure.”
Joe held the door for us once more, then led the way to the dining room, and I found myself enjoying—what, exactly? Not having to take the lead in every situation, possibly. Was that wrong, or weak? I wasn’t sure.
“It seems there isn’t much of a menu here,” Joe said when we were seated. “You get what you get.”
What we got, along with Frau Braun’s accusing stares, was rather dubious sausages—“I guess if I don’t ask what’s in them,” Joe said, “I won’t have to think about it,” with turnips and potatoes and very inferior bread, washed down with ersatz coffee. I said, watching Joe manfully take a sip and not shudder, “You can’t have wanted to spend your leave like this.”
He smiled. Once again, his smile was so sweet, his eyes so warm, and I got a little lightheaded. Silly, really. “Are you asking why I’m here?” he said.
“Well, yes,” I said. “And why you seem to be coming back here, if we’re to have a book discussion group. How long canyour leave possibly be?The Grapes of Wrathis a very long book, and I’m afraid I’m only a quarter of the way through.”
Joe said, “Let’s see if I can answer all those questions. My leave is two weeks, and I’ve just started it—got a lift up here with a convoy this morning. I’ve been in Austria with my unit, but I’m going to be stationed in Nuremberg starting in October.”
“Oh.” I was crestfallen, stupidly enough. What kind of egotism was it to imagine he’d travel all this way to see me? I was sure he was grateful for the rescue, but at some point, the post would work again, and he could have written a letter.
He glanced at me, something arrested in his gaze. Dr. Müller ate a bite of sausage and turnip—it really was rather terrible—and looked thoughtful and interested and detached. I do enjoy the company of intellectual people; they care much less about one’s personal life, and view one’s foibles through a more forgiving lens, as if putting them into the context of human history.
Joe said, “Do you imagine Ididn’tcome up here to see you?”
Oh, no. This was betraying that we hadn’t met by chance recently, but had somehow encountered each other before. I was all confusion, and could only stare at my plate. Which was when Joe touched my hand—just my hand, but when his hand closed over mine, what comfort was in that touch!—and said, “Daisy. Look at me.” Utterly gently, and somehow, there were tears in my eyes.
