Fritsch was in a rush, darting around his office in a kind of blur, then stopping short and looking down, as if he were trying to remember something.
“I’m sorry, so rude, but I didn’t know. I have to meet with Walter. Yesterday everything’s wonderful and now suddenly a meeting. So. Irene can show you around, yes?” He looked over to her. “And we can meet for coffee later. You’ll forgive me? Irene, why don’t you start with Staudte’s set. You want to see where the money goes? And he used to shoot in the rubble. Now—” He stopped, searching for something in his head, then looked at Alex. “He wants to call it Rotation. What do you think? You like the title?”
“Rotation. As in the planets?”
“What planets? No, like a printing press.” He made a cranking motion with his hand. “For the V?lkischer Beobachter. You see?” he said to Irene. “I told you it was confusing. What’s the first thing you think of. He says planets. A film about a Nazi newspaper. So what good is that? Talk to Staudte, will you? He doesn’t want to sabotage his own film with a title nobody—” He looked over his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “So let me get him some money. Then maybe he changes it. Herr Meier, you’ll forgive me? I shouldn’t be long. It’s always quick with Walter. Yes. No. Never maybe.”
“Who’s Walter?” Alex said when he’d gone.
“Janka. The head. Matthias ignores the budget and then he’s always surprised when— Come.”
She led him out of the admin building, across the grounds to one of the soundstages.
“Did they come this morning?”
“Twice,” she said, glancing around. “First Ivan and some driver from the pool. Where is he? Isn’t he with you? I said. No. Ivan’s still confused, of course, from all the drink. He left here hours ago, I said. I thought he was with you. Now more confused. Then, a few hours later, another two. From Karlshorst. One I recognized—he worked with Sasha—so he knew me too. What time did he leave? Early. I was still half asleep. Not yet light. Well, maybe just getting light. Vague, the way we agreed. He didn’t call for a car? I don’t know, didn’t he? Is something wrong? He’s all right? Now concerned. And the friend tries to calm me down. It’s probably nothing. And I say, but where is he? And they want to know, what did he say? When he was with me. Well, sad, of course, we were both sad. He’s leaving. But we always knew this would happen one day. And then they want to know the time again—when did he get there, when did he leave.”
“You didn’t say anything about how he felt, about going back?”
“I didn’t have to. Ivan already had. To make himself important, I think. How he told Sasha it wasn’t a trick, but Sasha was worried. So they asked me did he seem all right to you, the same? And I said, well, there was something on his mind, yes, but I thought, he’s thinking about leaving me. What else would it be? And of course they don’t answer that. Anyway, now I’m very upset so they’re not asking questions, just telling me everything’s all right.”
“Good. So they don’t suspect?”
“Me? No. They suspect him. They’re not sure of what. But when Ivan says he’s probably sleeping it off somewhere they just look at him, like a fool. Oh, and they asked me, how did he say good-bye, what did he say? And I said he didn’t say anything, he just kissed me here.” She touched the back of her head. “He didn’t want to wake me. He was so quiet when he left. So we’re all right, do you think?”
“So far. But they’ll come again. You have to be ready for that.”
“Again?”
“You were the last person to see him. So where did he go? If he’s hiding somewhere, the most likely person to be helping him is you. Unless he’s afraid they’ll tail you, so he’s safer on his own. But they’ll watch you. You have to be careful.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“So I don’t see you?”
“Only like this.”
She looked over at him. “You think it’s so easy, once you start? That’s how it is with you? Like a switch. On. Off.”
He looked away, not answering.
They went in through a small stage door to a hangarlike space, busy with carpenters and gaffers shouting to each other as they positioned lights overhead. Against the wall were giant newspaper presses made of wood and painted plaster.
“So, the V?lkischer Beobachter,” Irene said. “They worked from photographs. The dimensions are accurate.”
“You can see through the paint,” Alex said. A set patched together with rationed materials.
“But the camera can’t. Look over there. The way it’s painted, the lines. On film, the depth comes out—not canvas, loading docks. You can make the camera see what you want it to see.” She glanced around the soundstage. “You know, when it was bombed here it was the only time I thought, that’s it, that’s the end. The set was just a silly room, for one of the mountain pictures, antlers and copper pots, stupid. And then it was bombed and I wanted to cry. A set like that. Well, that’s all we were making then, Heidi pictures. And Kolberg. Months and months of Kolberg.
“Propaganda.”
“Oh, propaganda. By then who was listening? Zarah Leander and her pilot? What’s the harm? Think what was going on out there.” She nodded to the door, the real world, then looked up at him. “I don’t want to lose this. Now that Sasha’s gone. I don’t know if Matthias can protect—” She stopped, then put her hand on his arm. “They say Dymshits wanted you to come—a personal invitation. He’d do it for you, a favor, and I’d be safe.” She hesitated, toying with it. “You’ll be Sasha now.”
He said nothing, taking this in.
“Isn’t it funny. To be together again. After all these years. I never thought—”
“I’ve moved Erich, by the way. Somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
He shook his head. “You can’t see him. You’d lead them right to him.”
She looked down. “So. This is what it’s going to be like?”