My Enemy's Cradle (28 page)

"What do you want?"

"I've learned some things. We should talk, Cyrla."

My eyes darted to the door.

"I know," Karl said. "I won't call you that if anyone's around. Can we talk?"

I took a deep breath and spread my hands to him. "Fine."

"Well, let's sit down. You look tired."

I sat in the armchair so he wouldn't have a chance to sit beside me. So I wouldn't have to be touched by that uniform. He pulled the matching armchair up to mine. Then he jumped up again, went to a side chair at the door, and drew a large box from underneath his coat. He brought it to me, smiling. But trying not to. "Open it."

Again I searched his face for the danger.

"Open it," he said again. But he didn't wait; he knelt beside me and pulled the silver ribbon from the box, then lifted the top. He lifted a coat and draped it over my lap—cobalt-blue wool, thick and soft, with wide lapels of curly black lamb.

"Do you like it? It will fit, I know. My sister helped me pick it out—she's been, well, she's had a baby. See, it wraps around, so you can wear it after, too."

"What is this?" I interrupted him. I pushed the coat back into the box. "What are you thinking?"

"You need a new coat. Your old one won't button around you."

"But I don't need one from you. I don't need anything from you."

Karl put the cover back on the box and set it on the floor. "I think you do." He went to the door, pulled it shut, and sat beside me again. "I think you don't have anyone else. If you did, they'd at least make sure you had a coat that fit."

I looked out the window beside me. The ragged fog which now clung to the mountaintops every day was thicker and darker today, crawling lower.

"Snow," Karl said, reading my thoughts. This angered me and I hardened my shoulders to him and didn't answer.

"Look, I've been talking to some people. First, you haven't taken my name off those forms, have you?"

I shook my head. After the guard had caught me trying to run away, I'd been trying not to attract any more attention. And then, after Neve, it felt even less safe.

"Good. Don't. That's the most important thing. When the baby comes, he'll be much better off if there's a father's name on that certificate. And so will you. It gives you options. Did they tell you that?"

I shrugged, not implying yes or no.

"And if I'm on the forms, I can make some choices that you can't."

I folded my arms across my chest and still didn't turn from the window.

"Like where he goes afterward. You're going to try to take him with you, of course. How do you think you can do that?"

I looked down at my hands. I'd painted my nails again and the bright scarlet surprised me as it had each time I'd seen it. My hands looked so much like Anneke's now. I curled my fingertips into my palms, pushed my hands down to the sides of my lap, buried them in the stiff horsehair of the cushion.

"Oh, God. You're going to leave before he's born? You're in Germany, Cyrla. How are you going to manage? Do you have someone on the outside helping you?"

I seized that to end his questioning. "All right," I whispered, facing him. "Yes, I'm going home soon. So none of this matters. You don't have to be involved."

"What do you mean, you're going home?"

"Shhh ... home! Schiedam. It's all arranged. Now you see there's really nothing for us to talk about. You can leave."

Karl didn't, though. He looked at me in a way I didn't like and leaned in. His soap—almonds and pine again.

"Cyrla, when was the last time you spoke to your aunt and uncle?"

"Oh, a day or two ago."

I made a dismissive gesture with my hand and he reached to take it, but I pulled it back.

"Do you even know where they are?" he asked softly.

A scorched scent entered the room, as if the draperies were beginning to burn.

Karl slumped back, the fingertips of one hand pressed to his forehead, studying me. "I have to tell you something. After you told me about Anneke, I wanted to write to your aunt and uncle. But I knew they'd probably throw away a letter, so I called a friend who's still stationed in Schiedam and asked him stop in, in person, to convey my condolences. I just heard from him yesterday."

"What?" The blood rushed in my head so loudly I could hardly hear my word.

"They're gone." Karl saw my face collapse and then hurried to explain. "No. I mean they've left. The house has been requisitioned as an officers' headquarters."

"
Where?
"

"I don't know. He didn't learn anything except that the house had been taken several months before. And by the way, I never told him your name, so I didn't put you at any risk. You don't have to worry about that."

As if that was my worry.
If you leave people, they can die.

"So why don't you tell me what you're really planning? If you had a way out—a way to leave—I think you would have taken it by now. I can help you."

I studied the man in front of me, stared into his eyes for the first time. He was a liar. But he was not lying now.

"Can you find out where they are? If they're safe?" I asked.

"I can try. But what I meant was—"

"That's what you can do to help me."

"All right. Do you have any idea where they might have gone?"

"Tell your friend to ask the Schaaps next door—the house to the right, with the green door and the iron fencing along the walk. They probably won't trust him, but he can try. And see if my uncle's shop is open."

Karl nodded and stood to leave. I felt a surge of hope—this man was allowed to simply walk out of here and, once outside, he could make telephone calls.

And then I suddenly thought of Neve.
Carpe diem.

"Wait," I said. "Do you really want to do something for me?"

"Take me to dinner. You're allowed to take me out of here, you know."

"I know. 'Outings of no more than four hours, to be completed before eight in the evening, subject to permission from the chief of staff on duty.' "

"That's exactly right," I answered, surprised.

"The rules came with the notification," Karl explained. "I just never expected—" He broke into a smile. "Where would you like to go?"

In the months she was seeing Karl, Anneke used to drift off in the middle of a conversation, her face soft and dreamy. I reminded myself to be careful around this man. Around that smile. "Anywhere," I answered. "But let's go now. I'll just change my clothes."

"Now?"

I tried a helpless shrug and patted my rising waist. "We're hungry now."

"All right, I'll make you a deal. I'll take you anywhere you want to go right now. And you'll wear this coat."

Before he could ask any more questions, I went upstairs. I changed into different clothes so he wouldn't be suspicious, and then I dug to the bottom of my drawer for the money my aunt had packed. I pulled out a few useless guilders and stuffed them into my purse.

Karl was at the front desk, signing a form. I heard him tell Frau Klaus that we would be driving, and this gave me a new hope: If it turned out that I had to leave on my own in the spring, running away from one man on an outing would be a hundred times simpler than running away from an armed Nazi institution. I would make this afternoon enjoyable.

He stopped on the steps and lifted my collar to button it around my neck.

"Thank you for the coat, Karl. Truly. It's very kind of you."

"Are you warm? And see—it's cut so it will still wrap around, all the way through." Karl was still beaming when we got into the car, as if he had made the coat himself. As if he had invented coats. I couldn't help smiling.

"Yes, it's warm. And it fits. You're very thoughtful."

"Well, my sister helped. Actually, she picked it out."

"She's here? I thought Anneke had said your family was from Hamburg."

"Outside Hamburg. But no, she's here now." Karl's face clouded and warned me not to ask anything more. It had begun to snow—fat, soft flakes that glowed against the darkening afternoon sky—and we talked about the weather in the mountains as we drove toward the town. Then he asked where I wanted to eat.

"I don't care. No—I do. Someplace small. For the past five months I've eaten every meal in a big dining hall."

"Someplace small, then."

"And someplace where they have soft white bread!" I laughed. "And food that's been cooked for hours! Nothing raw!"

"I noticed a guesthouse at the edge of the main village. Let's try that."

I suddenly felt disoriented. Of course—I hadn't been in an automobile for five months, or been alone with a man, or even left the grounds of the home. Still, it wasn't the unfamiliarity of these things that made me anxious—it was their very normalcy. It was the freedom after so long; I remembered reading about animals in the zoo who tried to run back into their cages when they were released. The baby moved, swimming like a little otter—he, at least, was nothing but happy about it all.

At the guesthouse, the manager greeted us as if we were only a young couple who had come in for a meal. When he saw I was pregnant, he made a fuss about seating us near the fire—asking me if I were warm enough or too warm, pointing out the antique beer steins on a shelf above us, the paintings of the Alps lining the dark-beamed walls. We ordered
Jägerschnitzel
and salad, and while we were waiting, we each had a beer, dark and cool. I told Karl more about my days at the home. I began to relax. Perhaps the beer and the fire relaxed Karl, too, because he told me more about his sister.

"Her name is Erika. We're twins."

"Are you close?"

Karl nodded. He had lit a cigarette, but he now put it out, picking shreds of tobacco from his tongue and then leaning back before he answered me. "We were the only ones, so we were always together. She was a lot smaller, so people thought I was the older brother, and that infuriated her. She insisted on doing everything I did, which was fine until we were eight and I started spending time in the boatyard."

"She didn't want to do that?"

"Oh, no. She did." He smiled to himself at the memory. "But my grandfather and my uncles were old-fashioned. They didn't want a girl there. I took her side and made a big show of letting her come with me, as if I were the indulgent brother. But the truth was I wanted her there. She's funny and smart, and when she was young she was absolutely fearless. It's hard to explain, but when she wasn't with me, I never felt completely whole. Because we were twins, I guess."

"Anneke told me you had a niece. Erika's daughter?"

Karl smiled. "Lina."

"So she's married."

His smile disappeared. "Was." He looked away and studied a hunting trophy on the wall beside us, then turned back. "Six weeks after their wedding, Bengt was sent to the Russian front. Erika was pregnant. Two weeks before Lina was born, he was killed."

"I'm sorry. How awful—to be alone. And with a new baby." Karl looked up at me and I raised my chin—I was not alone. Or I wouldn't be, soon.

"It is awful. The worst thing for Erika is that Bengt never saw the baby. He never knew it was a girl. He wanted a little girl. Erika manages, but just barely."

"And she's here in Munich now? So you see her?"

"She took a flat here when I was transferred. My mother came to live with her. She helps take care of the baby—she's a year old. Oh ... I have a picture."

The baby sat on Karl's sister's lap, smiling up coyly at the photographer from behind her mother's protective arm, one hand thrown back for a reassuring touch to her mother's neck. Erika was looking away from the camera slightly, as if searching for someone behind the photographer. I wondered—if I didn't know what she had lost, would this woman still look so sad to me? I thought so.

"They're beautiful." I passed the photograph back. "They both look like you."

Karl nodded, pleased. He studied the photo for a moment before sliding it back into his wallet. "She was studying to be a teacher, but now she works in a butcher shop. And that's good, because at least they have meat. Milk is always a problem, though. I send them my paycheck—without that..."

Karl looked around the dining room as if he were suddenly worried about being overheard. It was too early for dinner, and only one elderly couple sat drinking tea in little glass cups across the room.

"I've been watching them," I said, knowing he wanted to change the subject. "See how he nods all the time, how he's agreeing with everything, yet it seems he's trying to calm her. She keeps getting agitated and picking at the buttons of her sweater. It's nice to see—just an ordinary couple. I haven't seen an ordinary couple in five months."

The meal came, and while we ate we talked of nothing dangerous. Every few moments, my fingers found my purse, squeezed the clasp.

"What are you smiling about?" Karl asked.

"Oh, nothing." I placed my hands on the table, like a schoolgirl caught passing a note. "It's just so nice to be out. I haven't been off the grounds since I came."

"Why not?"

I explained about the regulations. "They don't feel we're safe outside alone. We have to be accompanied by a guard. Or ... the father of the baby."

Karl took my bait. "Well, I can take you out whenever you want."

"How is that possible? All the German girls are complaining—some of their boyfriends haven't had leave in a year or more!"

Karl nodded. "I've been promoted." He tapped the insignia on his arm. "I have duties, but I'm not restricted."

"What do you do?"

He hesitated. "I build things."

I waited for him to explain, but he didn't.

Suddenly I wanted to know something. "Do you think Germany will win the war?"

No one else had come in and the elderly couple couldn't possibly hear us, but Karl leaned in and spoke in a low voice, curt. "This isn't the place." He picked up his fork, but he only pushed his salad around his plate, then looked out at the falling snow and drank some beer. "Yes. I think so," he said quietly. It was impossible to tell what was in his voice, but it was not happiness. We had come to the end of another conversation, and we finished our meal in quiet.