by Gene Wilder
On the car ride home, Steining was deep in thought. He didn’t look at me or talk to me—which was very unlike him; he just stared out of his window. I finally asked, “Why did you want me to come with you, Viktor?”
He didn’t say anything for the longest time, as if he were trying to decide whether he should answer my question. The thought raced through my mind that he knew the truth about me—that I was pretending to be Harry Stroller, and that this was his way of saying that he knew but wasn’t sure what to do about it—how it might damage Germany, and his own reputation, to have been taken in by a simpleton from America. He finally spoke:
“It may sound strange to you ... but I don’t really have friends, Harry—not what I would call real friends. You turned out to be very different from the famous Harry Stroller I had imagined—much more human than all of my aristocrats and generals. I wanted you to come with me because I wanted a friend near me when I had to execute still another group of young cowards. Does that answer your question?”
I nodded yes and rode back to Karlsruhe deep in thought.
When Annie opened the door, she knew immediately that something was wrong. She hugged me and said, “Such worries I see in your face. Come in, dear.” She led me into her apartment. I sat at her small kitchen table, where a bottle of wine had already been opened. She poured a glass for me. I took a sip and said, “That’s just what I needed.”
“Do you know what you’re drinking?”
I took another sip, this time concentrating, as if I were one of those real wine experts. Then my face lit up. “sincere!”
“Yes. You are so smart. It’s one of Jamy’s last bottles, but he insisted.”
After I took a few more sips, Annie said, “What’s the matter? Are you not allowed to tell me?” She asked so sweetly that it almost brought tears to my eyes, I suppose because it reminded me of my mother, hugging and kissing me when I came home crying if the boys in the neighborhood had beaten me up.
I told Annie what I had seen that day. She stared at the kitchen table for the longest time, holding back her own tears. Then she got up with a big smile and told me to wait in the kitchen until she called for me. I had images of her coming out naked and taking me to bed, but I was wrong. I heard the bathtub running and after three or four minutes she called out, “Come in here, please!”
When I walked into her bathroom there were ten or twelve candles, all lit, resting on the wide edge of her large bathtub, which was filled with hot water. She helped me off with my uniform and into the tub. She hummed a pretty melody as she scrubbed my body with an enormous sponge that was filled with nice-smelling soap.
When my bath was over she wrapped a large towel around me and led me into the bedroom. “Lie down while I cook our dinner,” she said. She turned the lamp down and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up it was only because I heard Annie hollering from the kitchen, “Your dinner is ready, Signore.”
I walked into the kitchen. The little table was set with simple country pottery, blue-and-white cloth napkins, two wine glasses, and two water glasses. A bottle of red wine was open.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “the red wine is French. Not expensive, but honest. Do you like country wines?”
I had no idea what “country wines” were. I knew wine didn’t grow in the city, so I assumed it must come from the country, but I didn’t want to sound dumb, so I said, “Oh yes, they’re wonderful.”
Annie set a large bowl of spaghetti on the table. It was filled with bits of chicken, a little sausage, cauliflower, white beans, peas, and golden brown sauteed garlic. She also put a beautiful wooden bowl on the table that was stuffed with all kinds of lettuce. She said, “The salad is for later, with cheese—that way you’ll eat like a Frenchman.” When I told her that I had never seen a wooden bowl like the one the salad was in, she said it was made from an olive tree.
I ate like a man who had just been rescued from a desert island. I had three helpings of spaghetti. When I interrupted my gobbling and looked up, I could see that Annie was enjoying watching me eat.
“You like my cooking?”
“I like you—the cooking is okay. I’m just not very hungry today.”
I returned her smile. Then I said, “This country wine is about the best I’ve ever had.”
Annie said, “May I ask you a very serious question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you really like me so much more without my whore’s makeup?”
Careful... Careful... don’t hurt her. ... “You’re the same woman, Annie ... but now I can see how beautiful you are.”
“I’m not beautiful. I know that. But it fills my heart that you think I am.”
“Well, I don’t know what you think ‘beautiful’ means—I suppose everyone has a different idea. I think it’s something that’s half on the outside and half on the inside. Without all that makeup on your face—I can see the inside a little better. That doesn’t hurt your feelings, does it?”
“No, dear, it doesn’t,” and then she got up and sat on my lap. “Am I too heavy for you?”
“Never.”
“Is your name really Harry?”
Her question caught me so much by surprise that I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I wasn’t sure what to answer. I wanted to tell her everything, but what danger would I be putting both of us in if I told her the truth? ... I’m not Harry Stroller ... I’m not a spy ... I’m not German ... I’m an American soldier ... just a coward who ran away ... and can be clever once in a while.
Annie must have seen my quandary because she said, “It’s all right, dear—you don’t have to answer. I’m sorry.”
“No, I want to tell you all kinds of things, Annie, but what made you ask that question?”
“Well... you just don’t look like a ‘Harry.’”
I was dumbstruck. I wanted to laugh, but I held
it in.
“And that’s the only reason you asked?”
“Yes. Did that upset you, sweetheart?”
“No, not at all. To tell you the truth, I’ve had lots of names in the last few months. You can call me Harry, or Franz, or Paul... but I do like ‘sweetheart’ the best.”
“All right, sweetheart. Well, I didn’t know if you wanted to see me tomorrow, but—”
“Yes, I do.”
She smiled and gave me a hug. “I’m only asking because there’s going to be a small birthday party for one of Jamy’s daughters tomorrow night at the restaurant, and I promised weeks ago that I’d come. Today I was going to ask you to come with me, but then I thought your superiors might not like it if they knew you attended a party surrounded only by French people. Was I wrong?”
“No, you were right. Unfortunately. Well, I’ll just have to live through one night without you.”
After dinner we went back to her bed. I tried to make love, but couldn’t. I kept thinking about those young soldiers who were shot. Annie said, “That’s all right, dear—just rest.”
I fell asleep while I was hugging her.
Sometime after midnight Joseph drove me back to Colonel Steinig’s castle. I went to sleep again, somewhat at peace.
FIFTEEN
WHEN I SAW JOSEPH THE NEXT MORNING, I ASKED if he was going to be busy that night.
“Sir,” he said, “I have no obligation except to serve you.”
“Well, how would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
“Oh sir, I don’t think ...”
“Good! Don’t think! That’s best. I want you to take me to your favorite restaurant. I pay, but you choose the restaurant. Your favorite!”
“Oh sir, how can—”
“That’s an order. I’m a colonel; you’re a corporal.”
“Yes sir,” he said with a smile.
“And don’t wear a uniform,” I said.
That night Joseph picked me up at seven thirty and drove us to a small restaurant called The Heidelberg, which was near Karlsruhe’s theater district. I liked the
smell of the place as soon as we walked in: sauerkraut, sausages, and meats that were being slow roasted. It reminded me of one of the German restaurants in Milwaukee—the only thing missing was a piano, a violin, and a cello, playing Schubert.
I was wearing a light blue summer suit that “my tailor” fixed up for me, and Joseph looked very handsome in a tan summer suit. Without his corporal’s hat on, I could see his beautiful silver hair and his tired blue eyes.
There were two adjoining rooms in the restaurant, one larger and one that was quite private, with only four tables. I’m sure Joseph must have called ahead and requested this more private room. I spoke only German with Joseph. When the waiter came over, I asked Joseph what he was going to drink.
“Beer, sir.”
“Order me the same, whatever you’re having. And order dinner for me, too—whatever your favorite dishes are.”
Joseph told the waiter that he wanted two steins of Pils and kalbsaxe for two. When the waiter left, I turned to Joseph and spoke softly:
“Joseph, please don’t call me ‘sir’ while we’re here.”
“But I have to, sir.”
“I’ll make a bargain with you: How about if I call you ‘Joe’ and you call me ‘Harry?’” “I couldn’t do that, sir.”
“All right, I’ll call you Joe and you call me Herr Harry.”
Joseph laughed and said, “I just cannot do that, sir.”
“All right—this is my final offer: I’ll call you Joseph and you call me Herr Stroller—just for tonight. Is that a deal?”
He smiled and said, “Yes, Herr Stroller.”
A huge stein of beer was placed in front of me. The beer was wonderful—very much like a lager— but I had never tasted a beer this good in Milwaukee, even if that is where beer comes from. The kalbsaxe, which is a veal shank, was big enough for three or four hungry men. It was good enough to win a prize at the Wisconsin State Fair.
We didn’t talk about the war or politics when anyone was near, and then only in hushed tones, but I got the strong impression that Joseph was against the war and thought it was all because of ignorant politicians, French and German.
“Do you have a family, Joseph?”
“I sent them as far away from the front as I could. My cousin has a small farm outside of Magdeburg. I want them to be safe.”
“May I ask how old you are?”
“I’m sixty-three, Herr Stroller. I don’t know where all the years have gone ... they seem to have flown away, like pigeons.”
We had some coffee and strudel for dessert.
On the ride back to the castle, Joseph talked about his wife and children, and love, and then—whether it was because he was thinking of his wife, or thinking of Annie and me, or if it was because of all the beer he had drunk—he began to sing.
“Ich hab’ mein Herz in Heidelberg verloren,
In einer lauen Sommernacht,
Ich war verliebt bis uber beide Ohren...”
I burst out laughing. “What on earth did you just sing?
“I lost my heart in Heidelberg, on a warm summer night—it’s a drinking song.”
“No, I mean—that last line—I fell in love with my ears?”
Joseph laughed. “No, no—I fell in love over my ears.”
I sat back and said, “I fell in love ‘over my ears,’” quietly to myself.
When we arrived at Viktor’s castle, Joseph opened the car door for me.
“Good night, Joseph,” I said, “and thank you.”
“Good night, sir,” he answered.
After I went to bed I couldn’t fall asleep. I wouldn’t say it out loud, even to myself, but I was too happy to sleep. Of course, because I was happy, Wally and Murdock popped into my head. I allowed myself the luxury of shutting them out, at least for a little while, because I was sure they’d be glad for me. So go to sleep, Peachy. Go to sleep.
One night without her and I feel lost. That’s not logical. But if I were logical, would I be here? Think of something nice. Think of Annie. I’d like to be with her someplace where people would pass us by and I would nod hello and pretend that we were just ordinary people, holding hands as we walked.
SIXTEEN
I WOKE UP EARLY. WHEN I FINISHED MY BREAKFAST of farmer’s cheese, dark bread, and coffee, I called Annie and asked if she were free and would she like to take a walk with me in some pretty place, and did she know how much I missed her after not having seen her for such a long time. She said she knew of a nice place to walk, and “Thank you, sweetheart.” I knew she said “sweetheart” so often because I had told her that of all my names, “sweetheart” was my favorite.
Joseph dropped us off at the entrance to the Stadt-garten. It was a nice park, just on the edge of town. A branch of the river Lauter ran alongside it, and several couples were paddling their rented rowboats up and down this little tributary. Annie looked so pretty in what I imagined was one of her French dresses from years ago ... lavender and flowered with blue and pink. She also wore a little straw hat that had a small, rose-colored bow in the front. It was a sunny day, warm but not hot, and ideal for hand holding.
In the distance I saw a man and a woman coming toward us. I saw that the man was in uniform and that he and his lady were in their midthirties, but what I couldn’t see, until they were almost next to us, was that the soldier was a corporal and only had half of his right arm. As we passed each other the soldier raised his elbow smartly, as if he had forgotten that there wasn’t a hand attached, and he saluted me. I saluted back and nodded a hello to him. I instinctively stopped holding Annie’s hand.
Annie squeezed my arm. “I’m sorry—this isn’t what I expected when I suggested we walk in the Stadtgarten.”
“The crazy part is that he seemed so happy to salute me,” I said. “He should want to spit at me instead.”
“Please forgive me,” she said. “I thought this would be romantic.”
A young soldier, no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, was walking toward us with his girlfriend. When he saw me he grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and ran toward us so fast that his cap fell off. He made a half stop to pick up his cap and arrived in front of us with a huge smile. He quickly snapped to attention and gave me a smart salute. He was so proud to be one of us. When I returned his salute, he beamed. Without realizing how stupid it was, I said, “Be a good boy,” and they both ran off like little lambs, stumbling over each other.
A woman was pushing a four-wheel cart toward us, but there wasn’t a baby in this cart—it was a soldier, in his late twenties, who had lost both his legs. His back was propped up with pillows. The woman looked at me with such a poisonous smile that I thought for sure she was going to spit on me. The soldier, however, gave me a big smile and saluted smartly.
“Good day, Colonel,” he said. I would guess that he was proud that a colonel had stopped to say hello to him. I returned his salute and just as I was about to say something I thought would be cheerful, the woman—his wife I assumed—said, “It’s a wonderful day for walking, isn’t it Colonel?” Before I could answer she quickly pushed the cart past me. I didn’t blame her. If I were free to speak, I would have told her that I felt the same way.
When Annie saw how upset I was, she took my arm and pulled me away. “Come, dear, I want to show you something.”
She led me back toward the entrance to the park, and then along a dirt path that led to a large tent. An elderly ticket taker was sitting on a stool at the entrance to the tent.
“How much do I give him?” I asked.
“Twenty pfennig is fine for the two of us.”
“How much is that worth?”
“You can buy two eggs with it, or a loaf of bread,” she said. “Each year it’s worth less and less.”
“Does he get to keep the money?”
“Half of it. The other half goes to the actors.”
My heart jumped a beat. “What actors?”
“They’re very small actors, dear. Don’t be impatient—you’ll see.�
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I reached into my pocket and gave the old man a one-half mark coin and told him not to give me any change. His eyes lit up.
“Dank, mein Herr. Schoenen dank.”
As we started to push our way through the entrance flaps, I asked Annie how much half a mark was worth.
“A dozen eggs and a loaf of bread. It was very nice of you, sweetheart.”
When we were inside the tent I saw that a puppet show was in progress. I let out a small squeal, like a child seeing a Christmas toy. Annie started to giggle. “Didn’t I tell you the actors were small?”
The tent was filled with benches—the ones nearest to the stage were packed with children sitting with their mouths open in anticipation. Annie and I sat on a bench near the rear of the tent, along with the other adults. When the girl puppet, high in a little tower, started lowering her long, blonde hair down to the waiting prince, I realized that we were watching the fairy tale, “Rapunzel.”
“Do you know ‘Rapunzel’?” I whispered.
“I don’t remember anything except how frightened I was when my mother read it to me,” Annie whispered.
I knew the basic plot, but this German version we were watching was bizarre, because every time the handsome young prince tried to climb up Rapunzel’s hair to rescue her, Rapunzel bopped him on the head, and each time she bopped him, the children screamed with laughter. After a while, Annie and I couldn’t help laughing along with them. Pretty clever, I thought.
“Who are these actors?” I whispered.
“Both of them are women,” Annie whispered, “and they’re both the daughters of the old man you gave half a mark to. He also made the puppets and writes the stories.”
When this much-abbreviated version of “Rapunzel” was over, a curtain came down and the children applauded. On our way out I shook hands with the old man and congratulated him.
It was only 11:00 a.m. Annie suggested that we go back to her apartment and have a sandwich. When we were in her living room, Annie said, with a tiny smile, “Now tell me—what do you really feel like? I have liver sausage, some cold chicken, some spaghetti that you didn’t finish—”