Page 124 of Hell to Pay
I nodded against him. “I’ve been in the church since seven, but I couldn’t stay there all day. After I sat a while and thought and prayed, and then went to Mass … I realized I needed to come see you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Joe said. “We have to get you warmed up, though. Where can we go? It’s Christmas. There’s a brewery in Zirndorf, but it won’t be open today. I’m trying to think where …”
“The train station,” I said, “in Nuremberg. That would be the most likely. I have my bicycle. Can we …”
“We’ll throw it in the back,” he said, “and drive there. You’ll still be cold, but not for long.”
“Can you take the Jeep so far?” I asked.
“I can if I’m doing an urgent interview,” he said, and put my bicycle in the back of the Jeep.
“Oh,” I said, as he started the motor again and took off. “You lied today, too, then. I told the sentry at the gate that I was English. I couldn’t think how else to see you.” My teeth were chattering again, my bones aching with the cold. Riding in an open car in near-zero temperatures isn’t for the faint of heart.
When we got to Nuremberg, the station was closed. Joe swore under his breath, and I said, “A church, then. Any church must be open on Christmas.”
The streets of the city center were as eerily empty as the road here had been. The rubble had been cleared enough for the Jeep to pass, but that was all one could say for it; a mountain of debris still lined every street. We passed some thingsthat may once have been churches, but that was all. At last, Joe said, “I don’t think we’ll find anything here. Too much damage. Next idea?” Not sounding frustrated. Sounding deliberately calm.
“All I can think,” I said, “is to go to the professor’s. He’ll be there, unless he too is in church. I should have thought of that in the first place, but I suppose I didn’t want an audience.”
“And if he’s not there?” Joe said, not answering the second part of my sentence, or perhaps not registering it.
“Then,” I said, “I go to Mass again. With you. Are you allowed?”
“I imagine so,” Joe said. “The God’s the same, anyway. I’ll just skip the body and blood of Christ.”
I laughed. I wouldn’t have said it was possible, but Joe could always make me laugh. He turned the Jeep, and back west we went again. By this point, I couldn’t feel my hands, feet, or face, and he couldn’t be much warmer. No point commenting on it, though.
What a relief when Dr. Müller opened the door to us! He looked more stooped than ever today, and his skin had a gray tinge to it, but he invited us upstairs at once and made tea. He offered bread, too, which I took with thanks—I hadn’t eaten anything yet today—and Joe refused.
When we were seated at his little table, our hands wrapped around our teacups, I said, “I have a gift for you, Dr. Müller, but unfortunately, it’s back in my room.” I was still shivering, even though it was warmer in here—not warm, but certainly above freezing—and I was still wearing my coat and mittens.
“Never mind,” Dr. Müller said. He looked between the two of us. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yes,” I said. “Although it’s also right. Herr Adelberg has come home.”
“Ah. And?”
I looked at my cup. “And he doesn’t want me to stay thereanymore. He can bake, he says. Well, of course he can. He was always a baker, and his father before him. And he wants to be with his family again. I understand that, but …”
“Did you tell him,” Dr. Müller said, “how much you’ve done for them?”
“I’m afraid I told him most impolitely,” I said. “Which didn’t help my case. Neither did seeing Joe at his table for Christmas dinner. He got the wrong impression, I’m afraid. And even when I corrected it …” I shrugged. “There’s no getting around it. Joeisan American soldier, and I’ve definitely consorted with him. I understand that, too.”
“Then you must come stay with me,” Dr. Müller said, before pausing to cough again. “It isn’t proper, but I’m an old man. If there is gossip, I don’t think we need concern ourselves. It’s too ridiculous for that.”
“You have only two rooms.” That much, I’d realized the first time Joe and I had visited. His bed was tucked into a curtained alcove off the sitting room, and the tiny kitchen and a small closet for the toilet were the only other spaces. The bath, he shared with the rest of the floor.
“You can sleep on the floor of my sitting room,” he said. “We’ll find another blanket, and you can use your coat and mine.”
“I’ll need work, though,” I said. “Is there—is there work, Joe, for the Army, at the trials? Could I interpret, possibly? Translate?” He hesitated, and I said, “The captain still doesn’t trust me, then.”
“There’s a process,” Joe said. “Interviewing family, friends, all of that, to make sure the person’s sound. Looking at their records. They’re mostly bringing over Americans and Brits for the sensitive stuff, for obvious reasons. You’d have to prove you’re reliable. And anti-Nazi.”
“And I’m an unknown quantity,” I said. “With no family to interview, and no friends who’ve known me long.”
“Yes,” he said. “But itmightbe possible, if we take in all your documents and you answer some questions. Your life in Dresden, your family, your schooling, all of that. It’s worth a shot. But Daisy—there’s another answer.”
“There is? What?”
