“And now here again,” Mutter said, nodding, pointedly not offering his hand. “With Erich.”
“He’s sick,” Alex said plainly. “He needs you to examine him. See what’s wrong.”
“Why didn’t he go to the hospital? We’re not supposed to-”
“He lost his papers,” Alex said, looking at him.
“Lost or never had? Elsbeth said he was released but I haven’t heard they’re doing that. If he’s here illegally, you know it’s against the law to-”
Alex stared at him, his head swimming. The kind of unforgiving precise face that might have been at his parents’ selection. Able to work, over here. The others, there.
“Really, Gustav-” Elsbeth began.
“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 Französischer 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 Französischer Friedhof, yes?” he said to Elsbeth, who nodded quickly, grateful.
“Such morbid thoughts,” Gustav said, looking at her, really asking something else.
“No, I was fond of Fritz. I’d like to pay my respects.”
Gustav had nothing to say to this, just another stern look at Elsbeth, and Alex saw, in one awful second, that all the bullying, the righteous will that used to exorcise itself in rallies now had nowhere to go and had become domestic, Elsbeth’s grief a sign of weakness, something to be overcome.
Erich sat down next to Elsbeth. “Cake. My God, I haven’t seen cake-”
“So?” Elsbeth said, fussing over Erich, touching him. “And what does Gustav say? You’re all right?”
“I’m not dying yet,” Erich said, a forced casualness. “So it’s better than I expected. Can I have some-”
“Come with me,” Gustav said to Alex.
They went into Gustav’s consulting office, a desk and a console dispensary, health posters on the walls, food groups and the circulatory system.
“He’s not dying yet. But he will be. Unless he can get treatment.”
“For what?”
“A guess only? I need to see X-rays to be sure. We don’t have such equipment here.” He looked around the spare office. “I can listen with this,” he said, touching a stethoscope, “but I can’t take X-rays, so I can’t say for sure. Maybe simple pneumonia-which is never simple, of course. Or cancer. It’s possible. But more likely, tuberculosis. A feeling only, but tuberculosis takes its time, and he hasn’t been well for months.” He paused, hesitant. “He is also maybe a little erratic in his mind, I think. Maybe just the fever, maybe- It was common with soldiers. Especially on the eastern front. But that-that’s something you heal yourself. A question of time. The lungs are the problem now. So.”