It wasn’t to be borne. Losing her and the Mayrs, being alone here all summer, with only my distracted father, who was too lost in his own misery to notice mine. I put my head down on the piano and cried.
FINALLY, ONE EVENING at dinner, Grete told us that Hermann had seen Frau Doktor Mayr arrive that afternoon with one of her children on a stretcher. I looked up at her, my fork poised halfway to my mouth. “Who was on the stretcher?”
“Your friend,” she answered. “The handsome one.”
I jumped up, ready to race to Christian’s side, but my father’s calm voice stopped me.
“Sit down, Sally,” he said gently. “No one would welcome you at this hour.”
“What’s happened?” I said. “And where’s everyone else?”
“Tomorrow we’ll find out soon enough. You’ll have to live through one more night,” said Daddy, spooning up his soup. “It sounds as though our friends have had as trying a year as we have.”
“She didn’t write you about coming, did she, Daddy?” I asked him. “Didn’t she usually write you and ask about your summer plans? But this year she didn’t?”
“You’re right, my dear. She didn’t. I hadn’t noticed,” he added, falling silent, his spoon motionless in his soup. I turned away. I couldn’t help him. I just couldn’t.
The next morning the news about the Mayrs was all over town and Grete passed it on to me as soon as she came back from marketing. The Mayr household had been overwhelmed with tragedy over the past few months. First, Kurt, just sixteen, had been killed in a riot in Berlin, fighting for a small, radical political party called the National Socialists. Then, one after another, all of the members of the family still living at home had been stricken with flu. The same kind of flu that had swept through the world after the war, coming back to touch those it had missed.
“And Christian, Grete? What do they say about Christian?”
“He is with Frau Doktor here,” said Grete, handing me some tomatoes to lay out on the sill. “He was very, very ill. In fact, Frau Doktor Mayr told Herta that he had nearly died. They were not going to come this year, because of the sickness and also money problems, but she decided that the lake would make her son well again.”
Hearing that, it was all I could do not to run right around to them. Christian was sick; he had almost died. What if he had died and I had never seen him again? My heart reeled at the idea of losing him. Not him, too.
And Lisa. How she must be suffering, having lost Kurt and now fighting to keep Christian alive. The news of their financial problems, as usual, made no impression on me.
Unsure of whether I would be a help or a bother, I finally decided a note was the way to let Lisa Mayr know I was here and I wanted to help. I sent it via Grete, who passed it on to the Mayrs’ housekeeper. Then all I could do was wait some more.
Finally, a note came for me from Lisa Mayr asking me to come by that afternoon around teatime. Would I? Would I! I don’t think she could have kept me away much longer.
LISA MAYR HAD changed more in the one year since I had seen her than in all the other years together. She had cut her braids off, and her hair was threaded with gray. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and she moved slowly, like an old woman. It shocked me, making real all I had heard about the troubles the Mayrs had gone through.
I hugged her, and we stood for several minutes, our arms around each other. When she pulled back from me, I saw that she had tears in her eyes.
“You have grown so, Sally,” she said, her hands holding my shoulders. “No more the hoyden, huh?”
“I’m so sorry about everything,” I said, wanting her to know, wanting to share whatever I could.
She put her hand on my cheek. “I know, lovie,” she said, “I know. And you and your father, how are you?”
I shrugged, not wanting to talk about us.
“The loss of your beautiful mother must be unbearable, yes? Oh, my poor little dear, what a tragedy. What a dreadful year. What a dreadful year.” And she hugged me again, rocking me in her arms, and I felt better than I had in months.
“You were sick too,” I said, worried about her. She looked tired, run down.
“I was, but already, after only three days here, I feel so much better. And now, seeing you, that is a good, strong tonic.”
“And Christian?” I said, afraid to ask after him, yet needing to.
“Christian, God willing, will be fine. He improves daily, although the trip was harder on him than I imagined it would be. I will take you up to see him, but first, I must warn you: he is very weak and you must be careful not to tire him. This time, you can only stay a moment.”
I looked up the stairs, frightened at what I would find. Lisa put a hand on my shoulder. “Come, my dear, we’ll go up.”
Lisa stopped outside Christian’s bedroom door, pushed it open, and called softly, “Darling, look who’s come to visit you.” She turned back to me and stepped aside. “Go on, dear.”
Slowly, I walked past her into the dimly lighted room. All I could see was the still figure on the narrow bed under the curtained windows. I stood at the foot. It was a boy’s bed, painted green with yellow trim. Long ago, Christian, Kurt, and I had all carved our initials on the headboard, and there they still were, worn into the wood above Christian’s head. I let myself look at him. He was so thin and he lay so still that I feared he had died. I turned to his mother.
“He looks better, doesn’t he,” she said, with eyes only for her son.
“Yes, Lisa,” I said, willing life into Christian’s motionlessness. I’ll do anything, I thought, praying to his closed face. If you die, your mother will die, and I—God only knows what would happen to me. I became aware of my own body, my strength and youth, the miracle of my breath and blood. I’ll make him well, I promised.
By the next afternoon, Christian was able to stay awake long enough for me to greet him. Again, I stood in the doorway of his room. His breathing was noisier than it had been the day before, and that worried me. Not knowing if he was awake, I tiptoed into the room and stood at the side of his bed, unsure of what I should do. There was a sour smell and the window next to the bed had been opened a crack, but no breeze came in to stir the curtains.
Christian turned his head and, seeing me, smiled. Quickly, I knelt beside the bed.
“Hello, Sally,” he said in English, his voice thin.
“How are you? Are you all right?” I whispered, afraid to startle him. Could speaking loudly tire him?
“Better,” he said. “It’s nice to see you.” His face looked much older, the strain of his illness and the unhappy events of his family’s year showing up in the dark circles under his eyes and his thinness.
“And you too. Oh, Christian, I was afraid you wouldn’t come, then when you did and I heard about Kurt and you, I thought you . . .” I stopped, afraid of overpowering him with my babble, my tears welling up.
He pulled his arm out from under the covers and laid his hand on mine. I lowered my cheek against his long fingers. They felt very warm.
When I looked up, he was asleep again. I stood, my knees aching from kneeling on the hardwood floor. His mother had said sleep was good for him. Feeling protective, I gently replaced his arm under the covers. This was my chance, and I leaned over to kiss him. I think I had a certain Saturday Evening Post cover of a battlefield nurse and a wounded, dying soldier in mind.
For a moment, I hesitated, then, daringly, I kissed him on his mouth. I had never done so and I was intrigued by the softness of his lips. I considered doing it again, but in that instant, as I hovered over him, he opened his bright-blue eyes and looked straight into mine. His eyes were clear and warm as summer air.
I turned beet-red, but he—he smiled. A very small smile that barely touched the corners of his mouth. There was something in that smile that I did not understand, and in a panic I fled the room.
LESS THAN TWO weeks later, Christian was helped down the stairs to sit on the porch. He lay on a wicker chaise longue, cover
ed with a light blanket. I stood waiting, my hands behind my back, holding a surprise. When his mother and Herta left, he raised his head and smiled at me.
“God,” he said, “I want a cigarette.”
“Christian!” I was shocked. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“All the fellows do,” he said in an offhand manner. “What do you have there?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“What? Another kiss?”
“No,” I said, swatting his shoulder.
“Oww,” he protested. “Remember, I’m not well. You have to be kind to me.”
“I have been. Waiting hand and foot on you.” And, laughing, I held my hand out, offering him the orange.
His eyes widened as he reached for it. “Where did you get it? I haven’t seen one in—in years.” He held it to his nose. “Hmmm. Smells great. Thank you, Sally.”
“Do you want me to peel it?” I asked. He nodded and I took the orange from him and sat on a chair close to him. The pungent smell filled the porch when I broke into the fruit. I handed him a section at a time to eat until he waved me off.
“I can’t,” he said, “I’m too full.”
I looked at how much of the fruit was left, remembering when he could have devoured two of them in a flash, and again I was sharply reminded how sick he had been.
“I’ll take it to Herta for you,” I said, getting up in a hurry, not wanting him to see my tears. It frightened me so much to think how close he had been to death.
He began to mend quickly after that day, his youth and the calm, nurturing atmosphere surrounding him doing their good work. I came every day, happy to spend time with Lisa, too.
IT WAS A very hot summer and I wanted to swim. The water was cold, but if I stayed away from the deep water, it was bearable. Lisa was reluctant to allow Christian in, but he and I convinced her, and as the days stayed hot and dry, she agreed. We would take a late-morning swim along the shore below the Mayrs’ house, then come out and lie on the warm grass in the sun. We would talk then, lying next to each other.
I remember how quiet the lake was that summer in the heat, the evergreens so incongruous, the shining water turning gold. I even remember our bathing costumes, his one of those old-fashioned navy suits with a top, and mine a heavy knit red one with a belt clasped with two small seashells. It was scratchy in the heat and took forever to dry. I hated that suit, but I wouldn’t have missed one of our swims for anything.
Christian grew healthier almost in front of my eyes, taking on that lovely, toasty color he did when he tanned.
I told him my feelings about Mama’s death and he talked about Kurt. When he talked about his brother, he told me, for the first time, about the National Socialists and their charismatic, energetic leader, Adolf Hitler. Kurt had taken Christian to a student meeting at the university in Berlin, and both boys had been impressed by Hitler’s speech.
“Even if I do go to university—” he began one morning, lying on his stomach, his hands folded under his head.
“If?” I interrupted him. College had always been one of the things we talked about doing.
“I’m not sure. Why should I? There is no guarantee that there will be a job for me when I come out. And everything is changing anyway. The old ways are dying. Nobody cares about an old-fashioned education. Perhaps the Communists will finally have their way and take over. Perhaps the Kaiser will return, but one thing is certain: things will not remain as they are. And what am I to do? Beg in the streets? March? Join a Freikorps? I don’t want to be a storm trooper. I told Kurt that.”
“You could emigrate,” I suggested. “To Canada. The States. Your English is almost decent enough,” I added, unable to resist the dig.
“Better than your German,” he said automatically. “I’ve thought of it, but I’m a German, for better or worse. I don’t want to go somewhere else. Well, maybe for a visit. . . I’d love to see Texas, be on the prairie.
“But I am smart, I think. Ambitious. I could do something, something great for Germany if only they will let me. I should be able to do something other than speak mediocre English.”
“It’s better than mediocre.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Maybe the army,” I said, trying to be helpful, and was astonished by the vehemence of his answer.
“Never,” he cried. “That pack of useless aristocratic Prussian lackeys.”
“You’re a Prussian, aren’t you? Well, weren’t you born in Berlin? That makes you a Prussian.”
“Makes you one too,” he snapped back. “Oh, you know what I mean.” He stood and walked to the lake and sat on a stone step, his legs in the water.
I propped up my head on my hand to watch him. “What would you do, if you could do anything?”
He thought for a long time and when he answered, he didn’t turn to face me. “I’ve got one idea, but you must promise not to tell anyone. Ever?”
“Of course,” I said, crawling over the grass to sit next to him.
“Okay.” I had taught him the phrase years ago and he used it even when speaking in German. “I don’t want to be a professor, like our dads. But I would like to travel. I also don’t want to be in the military. But I think I’d like to live in all kinds of places, like you have. So maybe I could be a diplomat. Well, what do you think? Is that stupid?”
“No, it’s not.” I was feeling proud of him. “You can serve your country and travel too.”
“Oh, it’s useless. And I can’t even join the army. Your stupid treaty has made that impossible.”
“You’ll think of something. But I think you shouldn’t give up on college. Maybe you’ll find what you want to do there,” I added hopefully.
He just snorted and without another word ran into the water and swam away.
Late in August, we swam out to a little platform together, and lying next to me in the sun, he talked again about the Nazis, telling me how three years ago they had tried to take over the government in Bavaria and how Hitler had gone to jail.
“My father says they’re all thugs. He disapproves of them and was very upset with Kurt. But at least they tried to do something.”
“Was Kurt a Nazi?”
“Yes. Although Father didn’t know how deeply involved he was until after Kurt was dead. The Nazis gave Kurt and the other fellows who died during the same riot a big funeral with a torchlight procession and my father refused to go. We got into a huge argument.” Christian dropped his head onto his hands and stayed that way for some time, his face hidden from me. “What’s going to happen to me?” he muttered.
I stared across the lake for a while, then reached down, cupped some water in my hand and flicked it onto his back.
He howled and grabbed at me. “That’s cold!”
I rolled away. “You were getting a sunburn,” I protested, as he scrambled after me. I sat up, to stand up, but he got me from behind, putting his arms around me, his legs on either side of me, holding me tight against him.
“Come on, Christian. Let me go.”
“Maybe,” he said and rubbed his chin against my shoulder.
“Stop it.” I tried wiggling to free myself, enjoying the contact between us, but extremely nervous about it.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you go—if you give me another kiss.”
“No,” I squealed, wiggling in his arms. “Never!”
“Come on, you’ll like it.”
“I will not.”
“Okay.” And he began to tickle me. I hate being tickled to this day, and I fought like crazy to get away from him. Finally, worn out by flailing around and laughter, we both took a rest.
“I thought you were supposed to be sick.”
“I’m not anymore.” And he let go of me. “Why don’t you move?” he asked when I didn’t.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” I answered, amazed at my own courage. Talk was as far as I could go and I could only wait for him to take the next step. He did—bending his head down to mine and
finally, he kissed me.
The buzzing of the insects in the grass, the quiet lap of the water against the bank, and the bright hot sunshine are all mixed up in my memory of how he felt and smelled, his hot smooth skin, the damp wool of his suit. I think I must have squeezed my eyes tightly closed because I thought I had gone blind, that the kissing and the sun had blasted away my eyesight.
THE DANCE
CAREFULLY, I LIFTED the tissue-wrapped bundle out of the deep bottom drawer of my steamer trunk and laid it on my bed. Even more carefully, I unpeeled the tissue, layer by layer, until the dress was uncovered. A pale-pink satin slip to go under a drift of even paler petals of chiffon, with one satin-covered button at the back of the neck. It was the most beautiful dress I had ever owned. I reached back into the drawer for the shoes, also pale-pink satin, with small mother-of-pearl buckles. As I laid the shoes next to the dress on the tissue paper, I wondered if I could ever live up to such a lovely ensemble.
It was my first dancing dress to wear to my first dance on the last evening of the summer. Christian and I were going together and I wanted everything to be perfect.
That evening, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror and considered my reflection critically. I was pleased. The color of the dress suited me and the style made me look slimmer and taller than I was. I had gathered my hair into a bow at the nape of my neck, brushing the end into fat curls. It almost frightened me to see how pretty I looked, and I turned quickly to go downstairs.
My father came into the hall as I came down the stairs. He looked at me for a long moment, then said, “What’d you do to your hair?” Immediately, my hand flew to my head. “It looks nice, Sally,” he said and smiled at me as his hand reached toward me, brushing my shoulder, trying to touch me, yet unable to do so.
Christian arrived exactly on time. He was in a dinner jacket, his hair combed back from his forehead. He was very polite to my father and, even more strangely, to me. It made me terribly nervous.
The Last Innocent Hour Page 14