Page 64 of Hell to Pay
No rest for the wicked, though—we’d no sooner taken the town than we were sent off again. Remember how I complained about that march to the camp after we landed in Marseilles? That seems like years ago, yet it’s only been a few months. Well, this time we marched ten miles at night over rugged terrain to encircle yet another city, where the Germans were supposed to be well dug in. We got a little morale boost to cheer us on our way, though—Westheim was some kind of winery town, and we found a whole cellar full of champagne! Every Jeep carried a case, and I don’t mind telling you that I drank my share. Easier to get than water! We brushed our teeth with the stuff. If that’s looting, I guess we’re guilty.
One more thing the Germans don’t have now, besides champagne, is air power. Part of my job is to call in our flyboys to smash their artillery, and do they ever get it done! The Germans fire at the bombers, of course, but that just tells us where they are so our own artillery can wipe out their antiaircraft guns. It’s been workingmighty well so far. I guess the reason they’re sending all those V-2 rockets over to England is because they don’t have any bombers left.
They blew the bridge, which won’t make things any easier, but that cut off their retreat, too. So now we mop up. And on we go.
Love to Mom. And remember—charmed life.
Joe
30
THE VALUE OF SELF-CONTROL
We dined at the Kobalt Club Royale that evening, sitting outside on Brühl’s Terrace beside the river. I said, once we were seated, “Do you know that Jews were banned from this terrace? I didn’t know myself, but Dr. Becker told me later that it was one of the things that disturbed him most on that morning after the raids. To set foot here meant shipment to a concentration camp.”
“What, to walk on the sidewalk?” Ashleigh asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Merely that. Most inconvenient, he said, when he was also not allowed to ride the tram, as it’s quicker to walk to many places in the city along this route. Really, the Nazis were extraordinarily inventive in all the ways they found to humiliate the Jews.”
I regretted saying it, as talk of persecution does tend to put a damper on an evening, and on such a beautiful, balmy June night, too, with the Semperoper towering in the background! Another building restored to its former glory, its grand façade glowing gold in the evening light. I wondered if the royal box had been restored, too? Not if the restoration had been done by the East Germans, unless they’d meant it for Party officials. I mentionedthat to Sebastian as a way of shifting the conversation—this restaurant had been his idea, and it was extremely kind of him—and he immediately said, “We should go and see for ourselves, if you’d enjoy it.” He pulled out his phone—really, what these people can do with their telephones!—swiped his finger over the screen a few times, and said, “It’sLa Bohèmenext week. What do you think? I don’t think we can get the royal box, but …”
“What’s that?” Ben asked.
“A very famous opera by Puccini,” I said. Ben made a face, and Sebastian read, “The opera follows the passionate yet fragile romance between the poet Rodolfo and the seamstress Mimì, set against the backdrop of a vibrant but impoverished Parisian community of artists and bohemians.” He raised his brows. “Sounds cheerful.”
“Oh, it’s not cheerful,” I said. “It’s very sad, but so beautiful, and the music! The Italian, also—how beautiful the Italian language is, truly made for opera.”
“Do people die?” Ben asked.
“But of course,” I said. “It’s an opera, after all.”
“Great,” Ben said. “Just what I wanted on my vacation—to go see some tragic opera with people wailing in Italian for about four hours and then dropping dead. Hasn’t anybody ever heard of a happy ending? Or, like, an action movie? Something actually entertaining?”
“You’re free to go see an action movie,” Sebastian said. “It’ll be in German, but then again, it’s an action movie, so you’ll probably be able to follow the plot. A whole lot cheaper for me if you do. Ashleigh too, if she’d rather. Alix and I, though, are taking Marguerite to the opera. At least—” He looked at Alix, who said, “Why not? I’m supposed to be stepping out of my comfort zone these days, and I haven’t been to an opera since my parents used to drag me. I’m guessing I may appreciate it more now than I did at fifteen.”
“And you have that red dress,” Sebastian said.
“I do indeed have that red dress,” Alix said. “And the heels to go with it, too.” At which Sebastian sighed and said, “I am a happy man.” And I laughed.
“And, yes,” Sebastian said, scrolling some more, “it looks like the royal boxhasbeen restored. This is some place. Our house is going to seem a little plain after all this decoration.”
“Our house,” Alix said, “is going to seemawesomeafter all this decoration. Not to take away from your former glory, Oma, but this place is a lot.”
“Totally extra,” Ashleigh put in. “But amazing. I’m definitely coming, as long as somebody else is buying my ticket, because I’m sure I can’t afford it. Ooh—wouldn’t it be something if we found the tiara by then and you could wear it, Mrs. Stark?”
“That would be great,” Alix said. “And the earrings, too.”
“The earrings are yours now,” I said.
“Oma,” Alix said, and put a hand on mine. “I’d rather you wore them. Your mother said you’d wear the parure to the opera when you were a beautiful, grown-up lady, right? And now you are. We’re going to get the very best seats we can—notice how I’m freely spending Sebastian’s money here—you’re going to sweep in like the princess you are—it’s too bad you didn’t bring an evening gown or something—and Ashleigh’s going to film you and put it on her feed. It’s going to be the most beautiful moment.”
Her voice had gone a little choked by the end of that, and her eyes had filled with tears. That was most unlike Alix. I said, “Are you pregnant?”
The words were out before I could stop them. Sebastian stared at me, then at Alix, all hissangfroidvanished. Alix said, “What? No! At least—no. We’re not even married yet!”
I said, “I understand that’s not always required.” Dryly,because really—Alix was meant to be the modern woman here.
“And, you know,” Alix said, “hemophilia carrier? Genes? IVF?”
