He had almost given up looking for her and was about to jump in the water when she walked out of the Japanese changing room wearing a navy blue bathing suit. Her long, thin legs, her small breasts, her straight, athletically built torso, and the balletic grace with which she carried it all turned heads as she eyed the deep end, but she looked at no one in particular. She bent over, her long hair sweeping down her shoulder, and dropped her towel before diving cleanly into the pool.
Christian could see her hair flowing behind her as she swam underwater, the German and Japanese children in the pool parting for her, something they never did for him. At the end of the pool, despite the fact that it was a circle instead of a rectangle, she executed a precise flip turn and swam back to the other side. She only made it halfway before she had to come up for air. Inhaling deeply, she pushed her hair out of her face and took it around to one shoulder, finally letting Christian inspect her back, her vertebrae showing when she arched. He imagined running his hand down her spine, pushing away water droplets until they evaporated from the heat on her very pale skin. He thought about what she would smell like when he first leaned over her, the way her arms would feel as he pulled her close to him, what she would think when she first felt his lips on her skin. He imagined her eyes closed, her body smelling of chlorine and the sweat that came from the eternal summer days of Texas.
When she got out of the pool after readjusting her suit, he badly wanted to follow her, to sit near her, but none of the older Germans sat near the Japanese, so he stayed put at the rear of the pool’s thin concrete surround, his eyes fixed on her despite the sun’s glare in his face.
Suddenly, he felt a wet slap against his back.
“Hey, Lange. You got a crush on someone? That Jap over there? Sure looks that way to me,” said Kurt, coming around from behind him.
Christian looked up to see Kurt in his bathing suit, his skin still a pink-tinted white. He was pudgy in all the wrong places, but his cheerful, pleasant face made it easier to forgive his ample midsection. He took out a glass bottle of water and drank a few swallows before pouring the rest on top of his head and shaking it out like a dog, spraying Christian.
“You’re the kind of person that says ‘Jap’?” Christian asked as Kurt arranged himself on his towel.
“Nah, I just wanted to piss you off. Because you have a crush on that Jap. You should see your face.”
“I definitely do,” said Christian, lying down again. “Have a crush on that Japanese girl. Know anything about her?”
“I know she’s a rich kid,” said Kurt with his eyes closed against the sun. “Real high-class. Her dad is a diplomat or a general or something. I also know you’re not the only one to have a crush on her—on the Japanese or German side—and that she’s what . . . twenty? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Fine. Twenty-one. Well, that means she’s not going to want anything to do with an American kid like you. Look at all those eyes on her. You should give up now. There are plenty of girls at the high school who are in love with you.”
“Are there?” Christian asked, surprised.
“Sure there are. Are you really that stupid or are you just being humble?”
Christian shrugged, still looking at Emi.
“You’re just bad at reading women,” said Kurt. “Lucky for you, I have a gift for it. Now things aren’t great for me because I’m in fourth-grade Deutsch, but who am I not to help out my fellow man, especially my interned fellow man of pure German stock? But that one,” he said, raising his head and looking at Emi, “is not in your orbit. Plus, they separate the sides for a reason. I bet O’Rourke will come running if you try something with a Japanese girl. Mixed-race anything is mighty illegal in Texas.”
“There are mixed-race people here,” said Christian.
“Then they are illegal,” said Kurt. “Texas probably doesn’t even acknowledge them as human beings.”
They watched Emi as she dove into the water again, this time making it down the pool and back without coming up for air.
“I forgot to say before, but I’m real sorry about your mom,” Kurt said when Emi had climbed out of the pool again, silently greeted by her coterie of Japanese admirers. “Real bad luck.”
“Is that what it is?” asked Christian, still watching Emi.
Kurt shrugged and tried to kick a passing lizard. He kicked the concrete instead, making his toe bleed. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
Christian nodded his thanks and they watched the kids playing in the deep end; the youngest seemed to have forgotten that they were fenced in, simply enjoying being in cool water on a hot summer afternoon.
“Maybe it’s easier to be here if you’re young,” said Kurt. “But at our age? Have you ever been more bored? Now you’ve got your crush to amuse you, but even that’s not enough, is it? I want to drive a car. Run on the road. Go to a school where I’m in eleventh grade. For Christ’s sake, I’m in a German class full of nine-year-olds. Can you imagine? I want to be in a class where I can stare at pretty girls. Instead, all I daydream about is jumping that fence and running as fast as I can from this place.”
“They’d kill you,” said Christian flatly.
“That doesn’t happen in my dream. Instead I sprint right out of town like Jesse Owens, I’m never caught, and I’m hailed a hero. Also, there’s a girl out there waiting for me. An innocent American of pure Irish origin who doesn’t even know about these camps and would never think that a dashing fellow like myself could find himself trapped like cattle.”
“Instead you are hailed a hero by Herr Beringer and his dishrags,” said Christian. “I’ve seen how many bottles you can get through in four hours. You’re the Jesse Owens of dishwashing.”
“Lucky me,” said Kurt, rolling onto his well-padded stomach, his cheek on the rough concrete.
“We all need a skill,” said Christian. “At least tomorrow’s Saturday. I need the weekend to figure out how to get Emi Kato to fall in love with me. You can help me brainstorm at work.”
“No, I won’t be there tomorrow,” Kurt mumbled, his mouth half-open. “I don’t work for Herr Beringer on Saturday. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Don’t you?” said Christian, thinking back. “Why not?”
“Because I’m Jewish,” Kurt said, his eyes closed. “Beringer lets me work Sunday instead.”
“What?” said Christian, sitting up. “You’re Jewish?”
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “And I’m the kind of Jew that doesn’t work on Saturday. Is that a problem?”
“Of course not,” Christian replied. “I’m just wondering why someone Jewish would be stuck here with us. I thought they were imprisoning us to protect the rest of the Americans, especially the Jews.”
“Bad luck is why I’m in here,” said Kurt, seemingly appeased. He closed his eyes. “Like everyone else. Well, most everyone else. There are definitely a few Nazis among us, but I try to stay far away from them.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to be Jewish to know that.”
“And what about you? Why did the feds flag the picture-perfect Lange clan?” asked Kurt. “Too good-looking and successful?”