by Marc Levy
As soon as he rejoined Julia, he led her across the lawn, and they sat at the foot of the enormous tree she had shown him.
“Want to hear something funny? I myself took a nap or two under this tree during my time in Germany. It was my favorite spot. Every time I got even a few hours of leave, I came here with a book and watched the girls pass by, one after the next. You and I were both in the same place, around the same age, only separated by a few small decades. Along with the skyscraper in Montreal, that makes two places where we now have shared memories. I’m glad.”
“This is where Thomas and I always came,” said Julia.
“I’m beginning to like this guy more and more.”
An elephant could be heard trumpeting in the distance. The Berlin Zoo was at the edge of the park, just a few yards behind them.
Anthony got up and gestured for his daughter to join him.
“When you were a little girl, you hated the zoo. You didn’t like that the animals were in cages. Back then, you dreamed of becoming a veterinarian. You’ve probably forgotten, but for your sixth birthday, I gave you a big stuffed otter, if I remember correctly. I must have picked the wrong one off the shelf, because she was always sick. You spent all of your time trying to make her better.”
“Are you trying to say I have you to thank for creating Tilly?”
“Of course not! Childhood experiences don’t mean a thing once you’re an adult. At least, I sure hope not, given all the things you accuse me of.”
Anthony admitted that he felt his strength fading at an alarming rate. The time had come to return to the hotel. They took a taxi.
Back at the hotel, Julia stepped out of the elevator, and Anthony bid her good night, then continued onward to the top floor.
Julia lay in bed for a long while, scrolling through the numbers on the screen of her cell phone. She decided to call Adam again, but when it went straight to voicemail, she hung up and called Stanley.
“So? Have you got news for me?” asked her friend.
“Not yet. I just got here.”
“What, did you travel by rickshaw?”
“We drove from Paris. It’s a long story.”
“You miss me?” he asked.
“No, not at all. Why do you think I’m calling, dummy?”
Stanley told Julia he had walked past her apartment on his way home from work. It wasn’t really on his way, but his feet had unconsciously led him to the corner of Horatio and Greenwich.
“It’s a sad place when you’re not around.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“By the way, I ran into your neighbor with the shoe store.”
“Mr. Zimoure? Did you talk to him?”
“In fact, I did. He was standing outside and waved at me. I waved back.”
“I leave you alone for a few days, and already you’re associating with the most unsavory characters.”
“You know, he’s really not all that bad.”
“Stanley, are you trying to tell me something?”
“And what might that be, baby-doll?”
“I know you, Stanley. You meeting somebody and not immediately disliking them is enough to make me suspicious. A ‘not all that bad’ rating for Zimoure makes me think I should take the first flight home.”
“Do it! But you need a better excuse than that. We said hello to each other, and that was all. Oh, also? Adam stopped by to see me.”
“The two of you are becoming inseparable.”
“He’s just lonely. It’s not my fault he lives two blocks from my store. And in case you’re still interested, he isn’t holding up very well. Dropping by my place is not the most promising sign. He misses you, Julia. He’s worried, and I think you’ve given him good reason to be.”
“Honestly, Stanley. It’s not like that at all. I swear. In fact, it’s the total opposite.”
“You don’t have to swear to me, just listen to what I’m trying to say.”
“Of course, I’m listening,” she replied, unfazed.
“You’re driving me crazy is what you’re doing. Do you even know where this mysterious journey is supposed to end?”
“No,” Julia murmured.
“Well, then how can you possibly expect Adam to not be losing it? I have to go now. It’s seven, and I have a dinner to get ready for.”
“With whom?”
“And might I ask: with whom did you dine tonight, young lady?”
“I ate alone.”
“Every time you lie? I get a rash. I’m going to hang up now. Call me tomorrow. Kisses.”
Julia didn’t have time to respond before she heard a click and knew the conversation was over. She could just picture Stanley, walking off, probably toward his walk-in closet.
A ringing sound awoke Julia from her slumber. She stretched to pick up the phone but heard only a dial tone. She got up and made it halfway across the room before realizing she was naked. She picked up the bathrobe she had abandoned at the foot of her bed the night before and scrambled to slip into it on her way to the door.
A waiter was hovering patiently outside in the hall. When Julia opened the door, he pushed in a room service cart with a hefty continental breakfast and two soft-boiled eggs.
“I didn’t order anything,” she said as the young man began setting up her breakfast on the coffee table.
“Three-and-a-half-minute eggs. Isn’t that you?”
“Well . . . yes,” replied Julia, ruffling her hair.
“That’s what Mr. Walsh told us.”
“But I’m not hungry,” she added, watching the waiter cut the tops off the eggs with surgical precision.
“Mr. Walsh also told us you would say you weren’t hungry. One last thing—he says to meet him in the front lobby at eight o’clock. That’s in roughly thirty-seven minutes,” he said, consulting his watch. “Have a lovely day, Miss Walsh. You certainly lucked out with this weather. You should have a very pleasant stay in Berlin.”
The waiter left Julia staring in disbelief.
She looked at the spread of orange juice, cereal, and fresh bread laid out on the table—nothing was missing. She made up her mind to skip breakfast nonetheless and started to walk to the bathroom before she turned and plopped down on the sofa, dipping a finger into an egg for a taste. Within moments, she had eaten nearly everything.
After a quick shower, she hurried to get dressed. She pulled on a pair of shoes while blow-drying her hair at the same time, hopping around on one foot. She left her room at precisely eight o’clock.
Anthony was waiting for her near the reception desk.
“You’re late!” he said as she stepped out of the elevator.
“Barely,” she said, throwing him a skeptical look.
“Three and a half minutes late. You like your arrivals the same way you like your eggs, I see. Well, let’s get a move on. We have a meeting in half an hour, and with the traffic, we’ll barely make it.”
“Where and with whom do we have a meeting?”
“At the headquarters of the German press syndicate. I thought we covered that. Have to start somewhere!”
Anthony walked through the revolving door and hailed a taxi.
“And just how did we get this appointment?” she asked, taking a seat next to him in the back of the tan Mercedes.
“I called first thing this morning, while you were still asleep.”
“You speak German?”
“One of my many technological miracles. Fifteen languages wired in, and that’s just on the prototype! However, the German could also be from the years I spent stationed here, unless you’ve already forgotten that. I still remember enough of the basics to be understood, at the very least, when needed. And how rusty is your German?”
“I can’t remember a single word.”
The taxi made its way down Stülerstrasse, then took a left through the park. The giant linden tree cast a long shadow across the lush grass.
The car hugged the banks of the Sp
ree. On both sides of the river, the recently built-up area was brimming with showy buildings, each more modern than the last, in a contest for most transparent edifice. Architecture for architecture’s sake—just one more sign of changing times. The sinister wall had once stood on the edge of the neighborhood they were driving through, and yet not a trace had been left behind. Before them now was an enormous structure that housed a conference center under an impressive glass frame. A little farther on, an even bigger complex sprawled over both sides of the river. Access to the building was through an airy white footbridge.
They entered and followed the signs to the offices of the press syndicate. A representative received them at the front desk. In more than adequate German, Anthony explained he was trying to get in contact with a certain Thomas Meyer.
“Regarding what subject?” asked the employee without looking up from his book.
“I have some very important information for Mr. Meyer, information which is only authorized to be communicated directly to the man himself,” replied Anthony in an even tone.
Since he seemed to have gotten the receptionist’s attention, Anthony added that he would be indebted to the syndicate if they provided an address where he could reach Mr. Meyer. Not his personal information, of course, just his work address.
The receptionist asked him to wait a moment and went to get his supervisor.
The assistant director arrived and led Anthony and Julia into his office. Comfortably installed on a couch below a wall-size photograph of their host holding a massive trophy fish, Anthony repeated the same speech word for word. The man sized Anthony up with a steady gaze.
“And what kind of information is this that you plan on passing along to Thomas Meyer?” he asked, stroking his mustache.
“I’m not at liberty to say, but rest assured that it’s essential he receive it directly from me,” Anthony promised sincerely.
“I don’t recall any major articles written by a person of that name,” the assistant director said, his voice full of doubt.
“Well, what if I told you all that was about to change? That is, if you help us find him.”
“And what role does your companion play in this scenario?” asked the assistant director, pivoting his desk chair to face the window.
Anthony turned to Julia, who had not uttered a single word since their arrival.
“None whatsoever. Miss Julia is my assistant.”
“I’m afraid I’m not authorized to provide any information about members of our association,” said the assistant director as he rose to his feet.
Anthony stood, approached him, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I have information for Thomas Meyer, and for him alone,” he insisted, his voice full of authority. “What I have to say could change his life for the better. I refuse to believe that a competent administrator such as yourself would want to obstruct the spectacular career advancement of one of the very members he claims to serve. If that’s the case, that’s just the type of scandalous behavior I wouldn’t think twice about exposing to the public.”
Again, the man rubbed his mustache and sat back down. He tapped away at his keyboard and then turned his computer screen toward Anthony.
“See for yourself. There’s no one by the name of Thomas Meyer in our database. I’m very sorry. I’m afraid that if he’s not listed here, it means he doesn’t have a press card, and you won’t find him in the directory of affiliated journalists either. But feel free to check for yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my work. If there’s nobody besides this ‘Mr. Meyer’ who can receive your precious information, I’ll kindly ask that you leave me to my duties.”
Anthony rose and motioned for Julia to follow him. He warmly thanked the administrator for his valuable time and they left the building.
“You were probably right,” he grumbled, walking back along the sidewalk. He then summarized the exchange for her.
“Your assistant?” asked Julia with a smirk.
“Don’t give me that look. I had to come up with something.”
“‘Miss Julia.’ What next?”
Anthony hailed a taxi coming down the other side of the street.
“As I was saying, maybe you were right. Perhaps your Thomas has found a new line of work.”
“I doubt it. Being a journalist was more than a job for Thomas—it was his calling. I can’t imagine him doing anything else.”
“You’d be surprised! Remind me again the name of that depressing street where the two of you lived?” he asked his daughter.
“Comeniusplatz. It’s behind Karl Marx Avenue.”
“Of course it is!”
“What does that mean, ‘of course’?”
“Oh, nothing. It just brings back so many fond memories, doesn’t it?”
Anthony gave the taxi driver the address.
They crossed the city. There were no more checkpoints, no traces of the wall, nothing to serve as a reminder of where the West had ended and the East had begun. They drove past the Television Tower, a sculptural ball atop an arrow that pointed skyward. The farther they drove, the more they could tell how much the city around them had changed. When they arrived at their destination, Julia recognized nothing of the neighborhood where she had once lived. Everything looked so different, her memories could have been from another lifetime.
“It was in these magnificent surroundings that you experienced the most beautiful moments of your young life?” Anthony asked sarcastically. “I must admit, it does have a certain charm . . .”
“That’s enough!” shouted Julia.
Anthony looked surprised by his daughter’s sudden outburst.
“Easy now, dear, I’m only—”
“Just be quiet. Please.”
The old buildings and houses that had once stood on the street were gone, replaced by recently constructed apartment blocks. Nothing from Julia’s memories remained, apart from the main square.
She walked to the building marked number 2, where a fragile house with a green door used to stand, with an old wooden staircase inside that led to the second floor. Julia used to help Thomas’s grandmother make it up the last few steps. She closed her eyes and remembered the house. The odor of wax when she went near the dresser. The drapes that were always pulled, allowing a few shafts of light through but protecting the interior from prying eyes. The table in the dining room covered with an ancient oilcloth and surrounded by three chairs. The threadbare sofa stretched out across from an old black-and-white television. Thomas’s grandmother had not turned it on once since it had begun broadcasting only news that the government wanted people to hear. And just behind, the thin divider that separated the living room from their bedroom, before they’d found their own apartment. How many times had Thomas nearly suffocated her with a pillow in an attempt to muffle her laughter at his clumsy groping hands?
“Your hair was much longer back then,” said Anthony, pulling Julia from her daydream.
“What?” she asked, turning around.
“When you were eighteen, your hair was much longer.”
Anthony’s gaze swept across the city’s horizon. “There’s not much left, is there?”
“There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing,” she stammered.
“Come on, let’s sit down. You’re pale. Take a moment, regain your strength.”
They took a seat on a bench, just beside a patch of grass that had been yellowed by the repeated passage of children’s feet.
Julia was silent. Anthony lifted his arm as though he meant to put it around her, but he only made it as far as the back of the bench, where he awkwardly rested his hand.
“There used to be other houses here, you know. They needed paint, and they were falling down, but they were cozy on the inside. It was, well—”
“Better in your mind’s eye? That’s often the way it is with memories,” said Anthony soothingly. “It’s like a strange artist, memory. It alters colors, erases the dull bits, and leaves on
ly the pretty lines, the most enchanting curves of one’s life.”
“At the end of the street, where that god-awful library is now, there was a little café. It was the seediest place I’ve ever been to in my life. The room was painted a muddy gray, lit with fluorescent lights, and the Formica tables and booths were shoved up against the walls. But we had such good times there. We were so happy. All you could get was vodka and watered-down beer. I used to help out the owner when the place got busy. I’d put on an apron and wait tables. It was there, just right over there.” Julia pointed to the library that had replaced the café.
Anthony cleared his throat.
“One question. Are you sure it wasn’t on the other side of the street? Because I see a little hellhole that seems to match your description to a tee.”
Julia turned to look, and sure enough, on the corner of the street opposite the modern library, a neon sign flickered on and off in front of an old, run-down bar.
Julia stood up abruptly, and Anthony followed her. She started down the street, moving faster and faster, before finally breaking into a run. By the end of the seemingly endless stretch, she was racing at top speed. Gasping for breath, she pushed open the bar door and went inside.
The room had been repainted, and two ceiling lamps had replaced the fluorescent tubes, but the Formica tables were still there, actually giving the place a pleasant retro vibe. A white-haired man stood behind the unchanged bar. He seemed to recognize Julia.
A single customer sat reading a newspaper at the end of the bar, with his back turned. Julia walked up to him, barely breathing, her heart pounding faster with each step.
“Thomas?”
16.
Rome.
The embattled head of the Italian government had just handed in his resignation. The press conference over, he submitted to the demands of the photographers one last time. Hundreds of flashbulbs burst, lighting up the stage. At the back of the conference room, a man leaned against a radiator and packed up his equipment.