He heard the click of the door as Lena left the bathroom, and he walked over to the window, turning out the light behind him. Nothing. Wittenbergplatz was quiet. He looked up and down the street, eyes in two directions. Maybe Frau Hinkel was wrong about that too. But U-boats kept moving. His cards were lucky. Pariserstrasse was rubble, in a day this flat would be gone, but Lena was still here, brushing out her hair probably, sitting on the bed in her nightgown, waiting for him. He looked around in the dark. Just rooms.
In the bathroom he brushed his teeth, then washed off the day’s layer of grime, coming alive with the water. She’d be wearing the prewar silk, a sentimental choice for their last night here, straps hanging loose on her shoulders. Maybe already packing, ready to go somewhere new. But when he opened the door, he saw her lying on the bed in the dim lamplight, curled up like one of the children, eyes closed. A long day. He stood for a moment looking at her face, damp from the heat, but not the fever of those days when he’d kept watch. A few of her things had been folded in a neat pile. Life in a suitcase, the last thing she wanted, but she’d said it. He turned off the light, undressed, and slipped quietly onto his side of the bed, trying not to wake her, thinking of that first night, when they hadn’t made love either, just lay together. He turned on his side and she stirred.
“Jacob,” she said, only half awake. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Go to sleep.”
“No, I wanted-”
“Ssh.” He smoothed her forehead, whispering. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow. We’ll go to the lakes.” Like a bedtime promise to a child.
“A boat,” she murmured vaguely, not really following, still drowsy. “All right.” A pause. “Thank you for everything,” she said, oddly polite.
“Any time,” he said, smiling at her words.
In the quiet he thought she had drifted off, but she moved closer, facing him, eyes now open. She put her hand on his cheek. “Do you know something? I’ve never loved you as much as I did tonight.”
“When was that, exactly?” he said softly. “So I can do it again.”
“Don’t joke,” she said, leaning her head into his. She stroked his cheek. “Never so much. When you read to him. I saw how it would have been. If nothing had happened.”
He saw her eyes in the basement again, not tired, brimming with something else, a sadness out of reach, hanging in the air between them like rubble dust.
“Sleep,” he said. He moved his hand up to close her eyes, but she took it in hers.
“Let me see it again,” she said, tracing. “Yes, there.” Satisfied, her eyes closing finally. Contents — Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
Brian had been as good as his word. Jake’s name was listed at the Grunewald yacht club and the boat was his for a signature.
“He said you’d be by,” the British soldier said at the marina landing. “I’ll have Roger bring it round for you. Know how to handle a sail?” Jake nodded. “ ‘Course, she’s only a sunny. Nothing to it. Still, we like to ask. Some of the lads-” He jerked his head toward the terrace cafe, where soldiers sat drinking beer under a row of flapping Union Jacks, one table in kilts, still in parade dress. “Wait here, I won’t be a sec.”
Lena was standing with her face to the sun, oblivious to everything but the day. There was a breeze off the lake, fresh, not even a trace of the city’s smell.
The boat was a small single-masted sailboat scarcely big enough for two, with a toylike tiller and oars. It bobbed unsteadily when Jake stepped in, so that he planted his feet apart and held the dock piling before he reached for Lena’s hand, but she grinned at his concern, slipping off her shoes and leaping in, surefooted, her skirt blowing up in the breeze. Half the terrace seemed to be watching, heads tilted to catch her legs.
“Sit first,” she said to Jake, in control, then pushed the boat off.
“Watch the current,” the soldier said. “It’s not really a lake, you know. People forget.”
Lena nodded, stretching the sail out along the jib, an old hand. They began moving on the water.
“I didn’t know you were a sailor,” Jake said, watching her tie the sail rope.
“I’m from Hamburg. Everyone knows boats there.” She looked around, theatrically sniffing the air. “My father liked it. In the summer we used to go to the sea. Always, every summer. He would take me out with him because my brother was too small.”
“You have a brother?”
“He was killed. In the army,” she said, matter-of-fact.
“I didn’t know.”
“Yes, Peter. The same name.”
“Were there others?”
“No, just him and my parents. There’s no one left now from that life. Except Emil.” She shrugged and lifted her head again. “Pull to your left, we have to bring it around. My god, what a day. So hot.” Deliberately pushing them away from shore.
