The Passenger (22 page)

L
ORENZ WAS SITTING OUTSIDE A
café on Unter den Linden, sipping his coffee and flicking through the evening papers. The
unseasonal mildness of the preceding day had caused him to doff his overcoat and drape it over an adjacent chair. After twenty-seven months, Germany was finally at war with America. Yet this momentous news had had no noticeable effect on life in the city: civil servants clutched their leather briefcases and marched briskly toward the Brandenburg gate; well-dressed secretaries checked their makeup in hand mirrors as they clicked past on high heels; crowded trams rattled along tracks, and Mercedes drivers honked at cyclists. The bustling capital seemed unchanged.

Leaning back in his chair, Lorenz estimated the size of the US navy, and made some rudimentary calculations. It took up to 300,000 man-hours to build a Type VIIC U-boat—and the newer models took even longer. German shipyards would never be able to meet revised targets, not unless some of the work was given to steel mills and factories. Pressure hull sections and plating would have to be assembled by subcontractors. The task was colossal.

‘Kapitänleutnant.' Lorenz turned to see who had spoken. The voice belonged to a boy of about fourteen years of age, dressed in the winter uniform of the Hitler Youth: a blue tunic, cap, and black shorts. He was accompanied by an identically accoutred and smaller companion. ‘Kapitänleutnant, we would be greatly honored if you would sign our autograph book.' The boy produced an imitation-leather volume chased with gilt involutions.

‘What?'

‘Your autograph, Kapitänleutnant?' The boy signed the air to make his meaning clear.

‘Listen,' said Lorenz. ‘Why don't you run along to the nearest theatre, where I'm sure you'll find a gamesome actress who'll be only too pleased to sign your book. That would be a much better use of your time, believe me.'

The boys shared a moment of confusion before their simmering excitement came to the boil and they both started asking questions simultaneously: ‘Where are you based?' ‘What is the number of your boat?' ‘What type is it?' The taller boy stopped talking but
his friend continued. ‘American sailors will be no match for our navy.' He looked somewhat moist and overwrought. ‘Our group leader says that they have left it too late to enter the war, that the Americans are inexperienced and unprepared.'

Lorenz was relieved to see Monika approaching. When she arrived she smiled at the boys and said, ‘Who are your friends?' Lorenz stood up and drew a chair out from under the table. She sat down and the taller boy said to her. ‘We're collecting autographs.' When Lorenz sat next to Monika the boy placed the book and a pen on the table directly in front of him. Lorenz stared at the blank pages.

‘Siegfried?' Monika prompted.

‘The book contains the names of many heroes,' said the smaller boy encouragingly.

Lorenz recoiled. Observing his discomfort, Monika said, ‘Kapitänleutnant Lorenz is a very modest man.' Then, catching his eye, she queried again: ‘Siegfried?‘

‘I'm not . . .' Lorenz began an abortive sentence and then immediately failed to complete another. ‘It's just . . .'

Monika stiffened. ‘Siegfried, they're waiting.'

He didn't want to make a scene. Picking up the pen he scrawled his name and said, ‘There!' The delighted boys gave him the party salute and said in unison, ‘Good hunting, Herr Kapitänleutnant,' before rushing off with their prize.

‘Why didn't you want to sign their autograph book?' asked Monika.

Lorenz shrugged. ‘Where shall we eat?'

They found a pleasant, traditional restaurant in Kurfürstendam but the tasteless, rubbery food was somewhat disappointing. Lorenz made a comment to this effect, and Monika said, ‘Well, nothing's quite as good as it was.' There was no awkwardness and their conversation flowed easily. Monika talked about the school where she worked, her love of teaching, and her hobbies, which were all, predictably, either healthy or meritorious: mountain
walks, swimming, painting watercolors, and singing in a choir. As the evening progressed, Lorenz realized that he had not fully registered the magnitude of her beauty. Her perfectly balanced features conformed to a classical ideal and her clear, powder-blue eyes were like those belonging to an antique doll. She was a sweet-natured creature, solicitous and sympathetic. Suggesting that they book a room in Hotel Fuerstenhof for the night was not going to be acceptable.

‘That boy,' said Monika, ‘the shorter of the two who wanted your autograph. He was right, you know.'

Lorenz tried to make sense of the non sequitur but was unable to do so. ‘I'm sorry?'

‘You
are
heroes.' Her expression changed, quite dramatically, as though her features had suddenly been cast in a different light. Her elevated jaw suggested Stoic pride and her striking eyes became filmed with emotion. Lorenz smiled politely.
Heroes
. A part of him was still standing on the bridge of U-330, watching men burning and screaming in an infernal sea. Monika reached across the table and covered his hand with her own, and he noticed that her skin was remarkably soft and cool. ‘You do your duty. And I am prepared to do mine.' There was no doubting her meaning.

Lorenz was shocked and for a moment quite speechless. In his mind, sex and patriotism were very separate entities, and he wanted to keep it that way. ‘You are most kind and I am genuinely touched by your generosity of spirit.' He captured the attention of a passing waiter and ordered another bottle of wine. ‘But please . . . tell me more about your school.'

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
L
ORENZ WANDERED
into the kitchen and found Steffi sitting at the table. ‘Well,' she said. ‘How did it go?'

‘How did what go?'

‘The district baking competition—what do you think?'

Lorenz was amused by her sarcasm. ‘It went very well.'

‘So, do you like her?'

‘She's extremely good company.'

‘But . . .'

‘Could we continue this conversation after I've had a cup of coffee? I've only just woken up.'

The telephone rang, and Steffi left the kitchen. She returned almost immediately.

‘It's for you.'

‘Who is it?'

‘Someone calling from Brest.'

Lorenz went to the drawing room and picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?'

‘Good morning, Lorenz, it's Cohausz.'

‘Good morning, sir.'

‘I'm sorry to disturb you at this early hour but I have some bad news concerning your boat.' Cohausz hesitated before continuing. ‘There was a battery explosion.'

‘My crew,' said Lorenz anxiously. ‘Were any of them injured?'

‘No. But two electricians were killed and two firemen.'

‘That's terrible,' said Lorenz. ‘Do you want me to come back now?'

‘No,' said Cohausz. ‘There's nothing you can do—your return would serve no purpose. U-330 will be in dry dock for at least four or five weeks. What with it being so close to Christmas we've decided to extend your leave.'

‘Thank you, sir. What caused the explosion?'

‘We don't know as yet.'

‘Is the boat very badly damaged?'

‘I've been assured that everything can be put right.'

They speculated about the possible causes of the explosion for a few minutes before Cohausz said, ‘Incidentally, we've found replacements for Hoffmann and Richter.'

‘Are they experienced men?'

‘Be realistic, Lorenz.' Cohausz didn't elaborate. ‘And you've been allocated an extra crew member—a photographer.'

Lorenz sighed. ‘They get in the way. Do we have to take him?'

‘Yes. Enjoy the rest of your furlough.'

When Lorenz returned to the kitchen Steffi looked wary. ‘What's happened?'

‘An accident—a battery explosion on my boat—some people got killed.'

‘Crew?'

Lorenz shook his head. ‘Maintenance and firemen.'

‘Must you go back?'

‘No. I can stay in Berlin until after Christmas.'

Steffi stood up and embraced him tightly. ‘I know I shouldn't say this—not given the circumstances—but that's wonderful.'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘It is.'

After eating a light breakfast Lorenz walked to the lake. Had the batteries been leaking chlorine? And for how long? Poisonous fumes could cause hallucinations;
that
was common knowledge. He was still searching for answers, explanations for his bizarre experiences, common-sense explanations that didn't implicate brain lesions or esoteric psychology or the reality of ghosts. The degree to which he wanted to believe that everything could be attributed to the pedestrian expedient of poisonous fumes was, he realized, a measure of his desperation. But the very fact that there had been yet another accident made the superstitious agitation of his crew seem less ridiculous—even warranted, perhaps. Lorenz picked up a stone and made it skip across the water.

‘Y
OU KNOW,' SAID
L
ORENZ, AS
he tied a glass ball to one of the lower branches of the Christmas tree. ‘I have a Christmas tree on my boat. In the control room there is a complicated assembly of
pipes and red wheels. All U-boat men refer to this structure as the Christmas tree.'

‘Do you hang things on it?' asked Jan.

‘No. That would be dangerous. The red wheels are the flooding and bilge valves. We need to get to them quickly—decorations would slow us down.' Pia handed Lorenz a carved wooden angel blowing a trumpet. ‘Last year,' Lorenz continued, ‘when I knew that I was still going to be at sea on Christmas day, I made sure that we had an artificial Christmas tree on board. We put it up on Christmas Eve and the cook made us a special Christmas dinner.'

‘Did Father take a Christmas tree with him to Russia?' asked Jan.

‘He didn't need to,' Lorenz replied. ‘They have plenty of Christmas trees in Russia. I had to make special provision, you see, because Christmas trees are rather hard to come by in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.'

When they had finished decorating the tree, they sat on the floor and admired their handiwork. Lorenz pointed out how their reflections were distorted in the silver baubles and the children laughed. He wanted their laughter to last forever, because when they stopped laughing, another minute would have passed, and every passing minute brought him closer to the end of his furlough. A familiar dread rose up inside him, bringing with it memories of the torpedo room splattered with blood and brain tissue; a cold hand on his shoulder; Richter saying,
He tried to strangle me. While I was asleep
. Hoffman's severed safety belt; and a face—as white as alabaster—momentarily illuminated by the sweep of a flashlight beam.

‘Uncle Siegfried, what's the matter?' Jan was pulling at his sweater.

‘I was just wondering what I'm going to get for Christmas, that's all.'

Later, Monika arrived and suggested to Lorenz that they go for a short walk. The streets were empty and tiny flakes of snow
began to fall. Monika's talk was as easy and fluent as usual. They stopped beneath a street lamp and the crystals of ice on her eyelashes twinkled like stars. When she pouted Lorenz found that he could not resist kissing her.