" 'Good.'
"I took my hat.
" 'Josef,' he said.
"I turned around.
" 'How is it out there?' he asked. 'You know what I mean. Without . . . without everything . . .'
"'Without everything?' I answered. 'Yes, that's about it. Without everything. But not entirely. And how is it here? With everything except the one thing that counts?'
" 'Not so good,' he said. 'Not so good, Josef. But shiny on the surface.'
"I took the emptiest streets to the cathedral. It was not far. In Krahnstrasse a company of marching soldiers passed me. They were singing a song I did not know. On the Domplatz there were more soldiers. A little farther off, by the three crosses of the Little Church, a crowd had gathered—two or three hundred people, most of them in party uniform. I heard a voice and looked for the speaker; there wasn't one. Finally my eyes lit on a black loud-speaker propped up on a platform. It stood there under a light, naked and alone, an automaton, screaming about the right to reconquer every inch of German soil, the Greater Germany, revenge. The peace of the world, it roared, could be safeguarded in only one way: the world must do what Germany wanted. That was right and just.
"The wind had risen again, and the swaying branches cast their restless shadows on the faces, the howling machine, and the silent stone sculptures on the church wall behind them: Christ on the cross between the two thieves. The faces of the listeners were concentrated and transfigured. They believed what the automaton was screaming at them; in a strange state of hypnosis, they applauded this disembodied voice as if it were a human being. The scene struck me as typical of the sinister, demonic mob spirit of our times, of all the frightened, hysterical crowds who follow slogans. It makes no difference whether the slogans come from the right or the left, as long as they relieve the masses of the hard work of thinking and of the need to take responsibility.
"I hadn't expected to find so many people in the cathedral. Then I remembered that services were held every evening in May. For a moment I wondered whether a Protestant church mightn't be better; but I didn't know whether they were open in the evening. I squeezed into an empty pew near the entrance. There was a blaze of candles at the altar, but the rest of the church was dimly lighted, and it would not have been easy to recognize me.
"The priest moved about the altar in a cloud of incense and candlelight, surrounded by altar boys in red cassocks and white surplices, one of them swinging the steaming censer. I heard the organ and the singing, and it seemed to me that I was looking upon the same transfigured faces as outside, the same ecstatic sleepwalkers' eyes, full of unquestioning faith and yearning for security without responsibility. The atmosphere in the church was gentler, milder; but this religion, which tells us to love God and our neighbor, had not always been so mild: in long centuries of darkness it, too, had shed a great deal of blood. The moment it had ceased to be persecuted, it had begun to persecute in turn, with fire and sword and rack. Helen's brother had made that point when he spoke to me in the concentration camp: 'We have taken over the methods of your Church. Your Inquisition with its tortures in God's name taught us how to deal with enemies of the faith. Actually, we are not so cruel: it's only in special cases that we burn people alive.' I was hanging on a cross when he said that to me—that was one of their gentler ways of getting information out of prisoners.
"The priest at the altar raised the golden monstrance and blessed the congregation. I sat very still, but I felt as if I were floating in a tepid bath of incense, consolation, and light. Then the last hymn struck up: 'Be thou in this night my shield and my guard.' I had sung that as a child; in those days the darkness of night had frightened me—now it was the light that I feared.
"The people began to leave. I had another fifteen minutes to wait. I slid into a corner beside a great pillar that supported the vaulting.
"At that moment I saw Helen. I didn't recognize her at first, because I hadn't expected her here. Then when she had gone a few steps past me and reached a spot where the crowd had thinned out, I recognized her by the way she moved her shoulders in working her way forward. She didn't seem to touch anyone, but to glide in between people. Suddenly she was standing almost disengaged in the wide center aisle, against the candles and the blue-and-red darkness of the tall Romanesque windows. She looked small and slender and lost.
"I stood up, trying to catch her eye. I didn't dare to beckon. There were still too many people; it would have attracted attention. She's alive, was my first thought. She's not dead and she's not sick. In our situation, that's always the first thought. You're so surprised that something is still the same as before—that someone is still there.
"She hurried on to the choir. I slipped out of my pew and followed her. At the communion rail she stopped and turned around. She carefully examined the people still kneeling in the pews, then returned slowly down the aisle. I stood still. She was so sure of finding me in one of the pews that she passed right beside me, so close that we almost touched. I followed her. When she stopped again, I stopped right behind her. 'Helen,' I said. 'Don't turn around. Go outside. I'll follow you. We mustn't be seen here.'
"She quivered as if she had been struck, but she went on. Why on earth had she come here? We were in great danger of being recognized. But I myself hadn't known there would be so many people.
"I saw her walking along ahead of me; but all I felt was impatience to be out of the church as quickly as possible. She had on a black suit and a very small hat, and she held her head very erect and a little to the side, as though listening to my footsteps. I lagged a few steps behind, remaining just near enough to keep her in sight; I had learned by experience that you are often recognized simply because you are too close to someone else.
"She passed by the stone holy-water fonts and through the great portal. Then she turned left. Alongside the cathedral there was a broad walk paved with stone flags, barred off from the square by iron chains affixed to sandstone posts. She jumped over the chains, took a few steps into the darkness, stopped, and turned around. When I say that I felt in that moment that this was my life, my whole life walking ahead of me and apparently away from me, and then suddenly it turned back to me, that's another cliché, and it's both true and untrue. Just the same, I felt it, but that wasn't all I felt. I walked toward Helen, toward her dark figure, toward her pale face and her eyes and her mouth, and I left behind me everything that had been. The years during which we had not been together did not evaporate; they still existed, but they were something I had read about, not something I had experienced.
" 'Where have you come from?' Helen asked in a tone that was almost hostile, before I had reached her.
"'From France.' .
"'And they let you in?'
" 'No, I crossed the border illegally.'
"Those were almost the same questions that Martens had asked. 'Why?' she asked.
"'To see you.'
" 'You shouldn't have come.'
" 'I know. I said the same thing to myself day after day.'
" 'And why have you come?'
" 'If I knew that, I wouldn't be here.'
"I didn't dare to kiss her. She stood right in front of me, but so rigid I thought she might break if I touched her. I didn't know what she might be thinking, but I had seen her again, she was alive, and now I could go, or wait to see what would happen.
" 'You don't know?' she asked.
" 'I'll know tomorrow. Or next week. Or later.'
"I looked at her. What was there to know? Knowledge was a speck of foam dancing on top of a wave. Every gust of wind could blow it away; but the wave remained.
" 'You've come,' she said. Her face lost its rigidity and grew gentle. She came a step closer. I held her by the arms, and her hands were pressed against my chest as though to hold me at a distance. I had the feeling that we had stood a long while face to face and alone on the dark windy square; the street sounds seemed muffled, as though cut off from us by a glass wall. At the end of the square to the left
of me, about a hundred paces distant, lay the brightly lighted Stadttheater with its white steps, and for a moment, I remember, I was vaguely surprised that plays were still being shown and that the theater hadn't been turned into barracks or a prison.
"A group of people passed us. One of them laughed and some of them looked around at us. 'Come,' Helen whispered. 'We can't stay here.'
" 'Where can we go?'
" 'To your apartment.'
"I thought I must have heard wrong. 'Where?' I asked again.
" 'To your apartment. Where else?'
" 'Someone might recognize me on the stairs. Aren't the same people living in the house as before?'
" 'They won't see you.'
"'And the maid?'
"I'll give her the night off.'
" 'And tomorrow morning?'
"Helen looked at me. 'Have you come so far just to ask such questions?'
" 'I haven't come to be caught and sent to a concentration camp, Helen.'
"At last she smiled. 'Josef,' she said, 'you haven't changed. How did you ever get here?'
" 'I don't know myself,' I answered, and had to smile, too. I remembered how sometimes in the past she had taken the same tone in exasperation at my pedantry. That memory effaced the danger. 'But I'm here,' I said.
"She shook her head, and I saw that her eyes were filled with tears. 'Not yet,' she answered. 'Not yet. And now come along, or they really will arrest us; it looks as if I were making a scene.'
"We crossed the square. 'I can't come with you right away,' I said. 'You'll have to send the maid away first. I've taken a room in a hotel in Minister. No one knows me in Minister; my idea was to stay there.'
"She stopped still. 'For how long?'
" 'I don't know,' I answered. 'I've never been able to think ahead. All I knew was that I wanted to see you and that I'd have to go back some time.'
" 'Across the border?'
" 'Of course.'
"She bowed her head and went on. I reflected that I should now be very happy, but I didn't feel that way. It's only later that you really feel it. Now—now I know that I was happy.
" 'I've got to call Martens,' I said.
" 'You can call him from your apartment,' Helen replied. It gave me a jolt every time she said 'your apartment.' She was doing it on purpose. I didn't know why.
" 'I promised Martens to call him in an hour,' I said. 'That means now. If I don't call, he'll think something has gone wrong. He might do something foolish.'
" 'He knows I was going to meet you.'
"I looked at my watch. I ought to have called fifteen minutes before. 'I'll call him from the nearest cafe' I said. 'It will only take a second.'
" 'Goodness, Josef,' said Helen angrily, 'you really haven't changed. You're even more pedantic than you used to be.'
" 'Maybe so,' I said. 'But I know from experience what calamities can come from inattention to details. And I also know what it feels like to wait when there's danger in the air.' I took her arm. 'If I weren't pedantic, Helen, I wouldn't be alive.'
"She pressed my arm. 'I know,' she murmured. 'But don't you understand that I'm afraid something will happen if I leave you alone for one minute?'
"I felt all the warmth in the world. 'Nothing will happen, Helen.'
"She smiled and raised her pale face. 'Go telephone. But not in a cafe. There's a booth over there. They put it up while you were away. It's safer than a café.'
"I went into the glass booth. Helen stayed outside. I called Martens. The line was busy. I waited a little while and called again. The coin was returned with a tinkle. The line was still busy. I grew anxious. Through the glass I could see Helen pacing attentively back and forth. I motioned to her, but she didn't see me. She was watching the street but trying not to show it, sentinel and guardian angel in one, in a very becoming suit, as I now noticed. I also saw, as I waited, that she had on lipstick. In the yellow light it seemed almost black. I remembered that rouge and lipstick were frowned on in the new Germany.
"At the third attempt Martens answered. 'My wife was on the phone,' he said. 'For almost half an hour. I couldn't interrupt her.'
" 'Where is she now?'
" 'In the kitchen. I had to let her talk. You understand?'
"'Of course I do. Everything is all right. Thank you, Rudolf. Forget you saw me.'
"'Where are you?'
" 'In the street. Thank you, Rudolf. I don't need anything now. I've found what I was looking for. We're together.'
"I looked at Helen through the glass wall and wanted to hang up. 'Do you know where you'll stay?' Martens asked.
" I think so. Don't worry. Forget this evening; pretend you dreamt it.'
" 'If there's anything else I can do,' he said hesitantly, 'let me know. I was too surprised at first. You understand. . . ?'
"'Yes, Rudolf, I understand. If I need anything, I'll let you know.'
"'If you want to spend the night here ... we could talk. . . .'
"I smiled. 'We'll see. I've got to hang up now. . . .'
" 'Yes, of course,' he said quickly. 'Forgive me. I wish you the best of luck, Josef. I really do.'
'"Thank you, Rudolf.'
"I stepped out of the airless telephone booth. A gust of wind nearly blew my hat off. Helen rushed over to me. 'Come home now! You've infected me with your caution. I feel as if a hundred eyes were staring at us out of the darkness.'
" 'Have you still the same maid?'
" 'Lena? No, she was spying for my brother. He wanted to know if you wrote me. Or if I wrote you.'
" 'And the present one?'
" 'She's dumb and she doesn't care what I do. If I give her the weekend off, she'll be delighted. She won't think anything.'
" 'You haven't sent her away yet?'
"She smiled and was very beautiful. 'I had to make sure you were really here.'
" 'You've got to get rid of her before I come in,' I said. 'She mustn't see us. Couldn't we go somewhere else?'
" 'Where?'
"Where indeed? Helen laughed. 'Here we stand like two teen-agers, wondering where they can meet in secret because their parents think they're too young. Where can we go? To the Castle Park? It's closed at eight o'clock. Sit on a bench in the municipal gardens? A pastry shop? That would be dangerous.'
"She was right. These were the details that I had not foreseen—you never do. 'Yes,' I said. 'Here we stand like teenagers.'
"I looked at her. She was twenty-nine; but she hadn't changed. The five intervening years had slid off her like water
from a young seal. 'I came here like a teen-ager, too,' I said. 'All reason was against it. But I didn't think ahead. I didn't even know whether you were married to me or to somebody else.'
"She did not answer. Her brown hair shone in the light of the street lamp. 'I'll go ahead and send the girl away,' she said. 'But I hate leaving you alone in the street. You might disappear as suddenly as you came. Where will you go in the meantime?'
" 'Where you found me. In a church. I could go back to the cathedral. Churches are safe, Helen. I've become an expert on French, Swiss, and Italian churches and museums.'
" 'Come back in half an hour,' she whispered. 'Do you remember the windows of our apartment?'
"'Yes,'I said.
" 'If the corner window is open, the coast is clear and you can come up. If it's closed, wait until I open it.'
"I was reminded of my childhood, when I had played Indians with Martens. In those days the signal had been a light in the window; Old Shatterhand or Winnetou would be waiting down below. Did life repeat itself? Could anything really be repeated?
" 'Good,' I said, and began to walk away.
" 'Where are you going?'
" I'll see if St. Mary's is still open. If my memory doesn't deceive me, it's a fine example of Gothic architecture. Fve learned to appreciate those things.'
" 'Stop the nonsense,' she said. 'It's bad enough having to leave you alone.'
" 'Helen,' I answered, 'I've learned to take c
are of myself.'
"She shook her head. The bravery went out of her face. 'Not well enough,' she said. 'Not well enough. What will I do if you don't come back?'
" 'There's nothing you can do. Your telephone number's still the same, isn't it?'
" 'Yes.'
"I touched her shoulder. 'Helen,' I said. 'Everything will be all right.'
"She nodded. Til take you to St. Mary's. I want to be sure you get there.'
"We walked in silence. It was not far. Helen left me without a word. I looked after her as she crossed the old market place. She walked quickly without looking back.
The night in Lisbon Page 5