He grimaced. You could ask that kind of question about a lot of things you saw every day. Sometimes-usually-not knowing was better. He shook his head. That wasn't right. You needed to know. Heinz Buckliger was dead on target there. But ignorance could be easier for your peace of mind.
Ducking into Ulbricht's toy store banished such gloomy reflections. If you couldn't be happy in Ulbricht's, you were probably dead. Dolls, stuffed animals, brightly colored children's books, football and basketball and archery sets, toy soldiers and sailors and panzers and U-boats and fighter planes (Landser Sepp was the counterpart of Vicki for boys, and came with enough materiel to conquer Belgium), all waited for your money. Loud, cheerful music made you want to smile-and to part with your Reichsmarks.
There. He'd been told to get that one: a New Orleans Vicki, dressed in lace and satin and looking as if she'd just stepped out of Gone with the Wind. (That had been one of Hitler's favorite movies. It still got rereleased every few years. Susanna loved to go to it and make fun of the dubbing.) Heinrich grabbed for the package.
A woman's hand closed on it at the same time as his.
Annoyed, he looked up from the doll to see who else wanted it-only to discover Erika Dorsch, also annoyed, also looking up from the doll for what had to be the same reason. They stared at each other and started to laugh. "For my sister Leonore's girl," Erika said.
"For my goddaughter," Heinrich said. "Is there another one like it in the bin?"
"Let's see." Erika had to dig a little, but she found one. She handed it to him. "Here."
"Oh, good," he said. "Now we won't have to go to court, the way those two women did a few months ago when the craze was at its craziest. The judge should have played Solomon and cut the doll in half, if you ask me."
"Ja." Erika cocked her head to one side, studying him. "If we're not going to court, whereshall we go?"
"I was going to pay for this and head back to the office," Heinrich answered. "It's been busy."
"It can't bethat busy, if dear Willi takes Ilse out so often," Erika said. "And shouldn't you pay him back for the extra work you get stuck with when he does?"
Pay him back how?Heinrich wondered. He was afraid Erika would tell him-or show him. He had to be afraid of so many things. That this should be one of them struck him as most unfair. "It's not so bad," he said.
That didn't satisfy Erika, either. He might have known it wouldn't. "You're too easygoing for your own good," she said. "You let people push you around, do things to you-everybody but me."
"Ha," Heinrich said in a distinctly hollow voice. "Ha, ha. What would you do to me?"
She kissed him, right there in front of the bin of Vicki dolls. She made a good, thorough job of it, too. Behind Heinrich, somebody coughed. His ears felt ready to catch fire. But so did the rest of him, in a different way. The only way he could have kept from kissing her back and tightening his arms around her was to die on the spot.
"There," she said, breaking the kiss as abruptly as she'd started it. "See you later. Enjoy your work." She went off toward a cashier, that New Orleans Vicki still in her hand.
Heinrich stared after her. A man with a white Hitler mustache-probably a grandfather shopping for a grand-daughter-winked at him. "You lucky dog. If Ulbricht's sold dolls like that, I'd buy myself one in a minute," he said, and cackled at his own wit like a laying hen.
"Lucky. Right," Heinrich said dazedly. The old man thought that was pretty funny, too. Still cackling, he went on toward a display of stuffed kittens.
Heinrich fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. He rubbed at his mouth. He could still taste the sweetness of Erika's lipstick-and of her lips. The handkerchief came away stained the same bright pink Erika had been wearing. To make sure he'd got it all, Heinrich went into a men's room and checked in the mirror. A good thing he did, too-he'd missed a large, incriminating spot. A few more dabs got rid of it.
He started out of the men's room, then stopped. The stained handkerchief went into the wastebin full of crumpled paper towels. Explaining how he'd lost it-a blank look and "I don't know"-would be easier than telling Lise how it had got those telltale stains on it. Anything would be easier than that.
He paid for the Vicki and went out onto the Kurfurstendamm to flag a cab for the ride back to Oberkommando der Wehrmacht headquarters. A taxi pulled up. The driver hopped out and opened the rear door for him. "Here you go, sir," he said.
"Thanks." Heinrich slid in. The cabby zoomed away from the curb. Heinrich looked down at the Ulbricht's sack on his knees. He'd paid for the doll, all right.
Alicia Gimpel peered out the window. "Here she comes," she hissed suddenly, and ducked back out of sight like a sniper who had to stay hidden to stay alive. She waved importantly to the other girls gathered in the living room. "Quiet, everybody!"
She needed to say it three times before they paid any attention to her. They finally did, just when Anna Stutzman and her mother came up the walk toward the front door. Anna's mother rang the bell. Alicia and her mother answered it. Francesca and Roxane stood behind them in the entrance hall. That was all right. Anna could see Alicia's little sisters. They lived here, after all. And it was quiet-pretty quiet, anyhow-in the living room.
"Hello, there," Alicia's mother said, opening the door. "How are you today? Heavens, Anna, you're getting so big!"
"I'm barely keeping up with Alicia," Anna said. That was true, but Alicia showed signs that she would be very tall when she grew up. Anna didn't.
"What does being twelve feel like?" Alicia asked after they hugged.
"Like being eleven, but one more," Anna answered. They both laughed. Alicia hadn't found out what being eleven was like till a few weeks before.
"Come in, come in, come in," her mother said. Alicia thought Francesca and Roxane would ruin things then, because they made some of the most ridiculous faces she'd ever seen. But Anna didn't seem to notice anything wrong. Maybe she thought Alicia's sisters were always ridiculous. Alicia often did.
Francesca and Roxane raced back into the living room. That should have been a giveaway, too, but somehow it wasn't. Alicia and Anna and their mothers followed more slowly. Anna was saying, "Have you seen the new singers in the-"
"Surprise!" yelled a dozen girls. "Surprise!" Alicia echoed, grinning from ear to ear. It had worked! In spite of everything, it had worked.
The look on Anna's face was worth a hundred Reichsmarks. "You didn't!" she said to Alicia. "I'll get you for this."
"I did, too," Alicia answered, and the other didn't bother her one bit.
Anna rounded on her mother. "You must have known," she accused.
"Who, me?" Frau Stutzman said. That made everybody laugh again.
Before long, it stopped being a surprise party and just turned into a birthday party. Alicia didn't know all of Anna's friends very well. Some of them lived near Anna, while others were in her class at school. They seemed nice enough. They put up with Alicia's little sisters. Some of them would have little sisters or brothers of their own. Alicia would have got mad if they'd teased Francesca or Roxane. That washer job. As far as she could tell, none of the other girls shared the secret she and Anna did. That made the two of them special-or she thought it did, anyhow. How could she know for sure? She couldn't.
It also made Francesca and Roxane special. They didn't know it yet, though, and they wouldn't be too happy when they found out. Alicia shook her head. This whole business still seemed very strange.
But then, in the midst of games and songs and cake and ice cream and "genuine American hot dogs" from a stand that had opened up a few blocks away (they tasted like any other frankfurters to Alicia), she forgot all about the secret. When she'd first learned it, she hadn't thought she would ever be able to do that.