“And if I lose my license?” he said to her. “What happens to us then? I don’t understand why you come here. Or you,” he said to Alex. “Meier, it’s Jewish, yes? Many Jews have tried to make trouble for me. Maybe you want to report me.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Alex said smoothly. “I’ve never been here. Neither has Erich. And you never treated him or gave him medicine. None of that happened, all right?”
Mutter said nothing.
“He’s sick. I want to know with what. What to do.”
“You want to know.”
“Alex was close to us,” Elsbeth said, explaining. “Like cousins.”
“A Jewish cousin. And you come back to Germany? Why? To gloat over us?”
“Just tell me what’s wrong with him. It shouldn’t take long.”
“For God’s sake, Gustav, he’s my brother,” Elsbeth said.
“And what does he say if they catch him? He implicates us.”
“They’re not going to catch him,” Alex said.
“I have never broken the law.”
“That must be a comfort.”
“Alex,” Elsbeth said, alert to his tone. “You don’t know how difficult it’s been for Gustav. Such accusations. Lies.”
“All of them?” Alex said, looking at Mutter.
Mutter said nothing, then turned to Erich. “Come.”
Alex started to follow.
“No. You stay here.”
“Do you mind if I sit on your furniture?”
“Alex,” Elsbeth said, disapproving. “You mustn’t talk that way.”
Mutter left, taking Erich to a back room.
“Sit. I’ll have Greta bring some tea,” Elsbeth said.
“No, don’t bother.”
“It’s been a difficult time for Gustav,” she said, her voice apologetic. “You know, these things he did, all legal—he was asked to do them—and then after they try to make him a criminal. Gustav a criminal, imagine. Of course he was exonerated, but the experience, so unpleasant.”
“What things did he do?”
“Medical things. All legal,” she said again, clinging to it. “But of course difficult to explain after.”
“Yes.”
“We were in the American sector then. For the denazification hearing. And you know the lawyers, the translators were all Jews. Who else knows German there? People from here. Jews who left. That’s why he said that to you. He thinks they came back for revenge. To make trouble for him. So when you come here—”
“With your brother.”
“Yes, well, he sees only the other thing. He’s suspicious. After all that happened.” She paused. “He’s a good man. A wonderful father. You should know that. And you know, some of them did make trouble. Jews are like that.” She caught herself. “Not you—”
“Just all the others.”
“I didn’t say all. Excuse me, but you don’t know what it’s been like here. Oh, let’s not talk about these things. I’m so surprised to see you. And Erich. From the dead. I never thought— Where are you living? Are your parents—?”
He shook his head. “Dead. Both.”
She sighed. “That whole generation. Gone now. I think of my father all the time.”
Alex stared at her, at a loss. As if the deaths were remotely comparable, a quiet passing, not murder.
“You know he’s in the Franz?sischer Friedhof now? At first he was buried on the farm, of course, as he wanted, but when the Communists gave it away in the land reform, well, they call it reform, not theft, which is what it was. Anyway, Irene had him moved. She knew someone who could arrange that. So now he’s in Berlin. But I don’t like to go to the Russian sector, so I don’t visit the grave the way I should. Funny, isn’t it, his ending up in Berlin. He never really liked it here.”
“But don’t you go to the Russian sector to see Irene?”
“I don’t like to,” she said, suddenly prim. “Russians. Those first few weeks, after the war. You’ve heard the stories? I’m afraid, even now. Just to see them. So she comes here. Ah, Greta, thank you.” A tray with teapot and cups was put before them. “And honey cake, yes?” She put a slice on a plate and handed it to him. “Such a treat, since the blockade, even a little sugar. POM they send, dried potatoes, not even like real food. Of course, Irene, it’s different for her,” she said, switching back, confiding. “You know she goes with them, the Russians. At first I thought for her work—they own the studios now. But Gustav says no, someone high up. A protector. What kind of protection? People who steal your land. Of course, Kurt Engel was a Communist too, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“He was German.” She stopped for a minute, some vague, disturbing thought, then looked at him. “It’s like a miracle to see you again. But to come back—after everything. How was it in America? You didn’t like it? Everyone dreams of going there now.”
“They offered me a position here.”
“A position?”
“A publisher. A stipend. And—Berlin.”
“Oh, father always said there was never a Berliner like you. How you liked it.” She looked up. “But you know that’s all gone. How do you bring that back? Bring the people back? So many in the raids. Night after night—” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry about the boys.”
“Rolf would have been twelve now. Tall, I think, like Gustav. The same stubbornness too.” She smiled to herself, then looked up. “He says I shouldn’t think about them. That it will make me sick, living in the past. Where else can I live? That’s where they are. Not here. How can I leave them?” Her eyes had begun to shine, moist and pleading. “I don’t care if it makes me sick.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t care if I die. Maybe I’ll see them again then. It’s possible, no? We don’t know—”
“What’s possible?” Gustav said, coming in.
Elsbeth looked up, startled, somehow caught out. A scene they’d had before.
“To visit her father’s grave,” Alex said. “Now that he’s in Berlin. The Franz?sischer Friedhof, yes?” he said to Elsbeth, who nodded quickly, grateful.
“Such morbid thoughts,” Gustav said, looking at her, really asking something else.