Page 205 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"Hold it on a Wednesday, to discourage people from staying in the city all weekend, and end it early so that the marchers leave well before nightfall."

"You're trying to draw the sting."

"If we must have a demonstration, we should do everything possible to make sure the occasion is nonviolent and makes a good impression, especially on television."

"In that case, how about stationing portable toilets all along the route? I guess Bobby can get that done, even if he can't fire Hoover."

"Great idea."

"And how about rounding up some white supporters? The whole thing will look better on TV if there are white marchers as well as black."

George considered. "I bet Bobby could get the unions to send contingents."

"If you can promise both of those things as sweeteners, I think we have a chance of changing Martin's mind."

George saw that Verena had come around to his point of view and was now discussing how to persuade King. That was half a victory. He said: "And if you can persuade Dr. King to change the sit-in to a march, I think we might get the president to endorse it." He was sticking his neck out, but it was possible.

"I'll do my best," she said.

George put his arm around her. "See, we are a good team," he said. She smiled and said nothing. He persisted. "Don't you agree?"

She kissed him. It was the same as the last kiss: more than just friendly, less than sexy. She said thoughtfully: "After that bomb smashed the window of my hotel room, you crossed the room barefoot to fetch my shoes."

"I remember," he said. "There was broken glass all over the floor."

"That was it," she said. "That was your mistake."

George frowned. "I don't get it. I thought I was being nice."

"Exactly. You're too good for me, George."

"What? That's insane!"

She was serious. "I sleep around, George. I get drunk. I'm unfaithful. I had sex with Martin, once."

George raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"You deserve better," Verena went on. "You're going to have a wonderful career. You might be our first Negro president. You need a wife who will be true to you and work alongside you and support you and be a credit to you. That's not me."

George was bemused. "I wasn't looking that far ahead," he said. "I was just hoping to kiss you some more."

She smiled. "That, I can do," she said.

He kissed her long and slow. After a while he stroked the outside of her thigh, up inside the skirt of her tennis dress. His hand went as far as her hip. He had been right: no underwear.

She knew what he was thinking. "See?" she said. "Bad girl."

"I know," he said. "I'm crazy about you anyway."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It had been hard for Walli to leave Berlin. Karolin was there, and he wanted to be near her. But that made no sense when they were separated by the Wall. Although they had been only a mile apart he could never see her. He could not risk crossing the border again: it was only by luck that he had not been killed last time. All the same it had been hard for him to move to Hamburg.

Walli told himself he understood why Karolin had chosen to stay with her family to have the baby. Who was best qualified to help her when she gave birth--her mother, or a seventeen-year-old guitar player? But the logic of her decision was small consolation to him.

He thought about her when he went to bed at night and as soon as he woke up in the morning. When he saw a pretty girl in the street it just made him sad about Karolin. He wondered how she was. Did the pregnancy make her uncomfortable and nauseous, or was she glowing? Were her parents angry with her, or thrilled at the prospect of a grandchild?

They exchanged letters, and both always wrote "I love you." But they hesitated to say more about their emotions, knowing that every word would be scrutinized by a secret policeman in the censorship office, perhaps someone they knew, such as Hans Hoffmann. It was like declaring your feelings in front of a scornful audience.

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