'Ought to be hanged!' trumpeted the man who had been molesting Marlene. 'Turn her in to the police!' shouted someone else.
I have to get out of here, thought Marlene — how many times in her life had she told herself that? She took a deep breath and jumped from the moving tram. The hedge between the tracks and the pavement cushioned her fall. She picked herself up and ran as she used to run in Rubenstrasse, when you had to be first to the corner to get a bit of bread from the Salvation Army's barrow. She'd been eight then. She noticed her breath coming faster and her legs moving more slowly. She was thirty-three now.
When she saw the cemetery gate she put on a final spurt. She came to a halt in the middle of a company of mourners beside an open grave, and smiled apologetically at the pastor. She had nearly knocked him into it. The man of God bowed his head with Christian forgiveness, and continued his sermon.
For the moment, she was safe from her pursuers. But now what? She considered her position. Suppose they went on looking for her, and ended up finding her? She'd have to offer long explanations. She didn't need to explain anything in Paris. A call to Capitaine de Bertin would be enough. But you can't do that to Franz, an inner voice told her.
The pastor was holding the Bible before him in both hands, praising the character of the dear departed, while Marlene looked around. She seemed to be in the clear. The word Fiihrer kept coming up in the priest's address. 'One of our very best… always on the alert, ready to make decisions… always keeping his eye open for signals… now let us pray. ' But Fiihrer, of course, her confused mind registered, meant all sorts of other things, including a train driver, and this was a train driver's funeral. As the mourners left the cemetery an old gentleman, taking her for one of the party, shook her hand with fervour. 'One of the best engine drivers we ever had.'
Marlene shook his hand vigorously in return. 'He was indeed. Listen, how do I get back from here to Onkel Tom?' She was given a long description, with many alternatives, and chose the simplest.
There was a letter waiting for her at home. The postal service had been running again for the last few days. When she saw the sturdy handwriting on the envelope she uttered a cry of joy. She tore it open, took out the sheet of lined paper, and read:
Dear Fraulein Lene
I found your message and now I am answering it. So we are both still alive, which is more than can be said for many. I was a soldier in the war in Denmark, except that it wasn't really a war there, which was fine by me, I had quite enough of war with the first one. After a few weeks as prisoners they let us go, and now I'm in Berlin again, in Ruhleben, I'm working as a driver for the British. I will come and see you on Sunday. Is four o'clock all right for you?
With warm regards
Franz Giese
She laughed and wept, because he was alive and coming to see her on Sunday, and he was the only person she really knew, none of the others counted. She thought of the haulage business with the three-wheeled van, and maybe a bigger truck later. It's going to be all right, she thought.
'Good news?' asked Gisela on Saturday as they were getting into their lilac taffeta dresses and fixing the horrible bows in their hair.
'Very good,' Marlene beamed. 'He's coming tomorrow afternoon. Do me a favour? Ask Rita to take my shift.'
'OK, lover.' Gisela had picked that up from Mae West.
'Corporal Pringle doesn't have to know that I'm playing hooky on Sunday.'
'Don't you worry. He's got eyes only for Detlev and the new knitting pattern.'
Marlene put the sling of the refreshments tray around her shoulders. This was her turn for the centre aisle, which meant twice the work, because she had to show the audience in on both sides, left and right. She put up with a couple of pinches. Nothing could trouble her today.
A tall, lanky captain bought two bags of popcorn and gave one to the woman with him. Marlene showed them to their seats. The captain thanked her with a smile, which his companion didn't seem to like at all. Don't worry, I'm not aiming to take him away from you, thought Marlene in high spirits.
She had pocketed a chocolate bar from her tray. It would buy her a couple of briquettes from the fuel merchant who supplied the shopping street and the cinema. She put them in the bathroom stove late on Sunday morning, and soon it was bubbling comfortably away. The Camay soap came from the cinema toilets. It smelled divine and foamed wonderfully.
A bottle of sparkling wine was cooling under running water. It had cost most of her half of a CARE parcel, but would go very well with the army ration of canned bacon. She had wrapped the bacon around prunes from an earlier distribution. Crackers and peanuts completed the luxurious tidbits.
She put on Madame Schiaparelli's diaphanous underwear and the expensive silk stockings. She'd quite forgotten that she had a good figure and long, slender legs. The high-heeled shoes set them off beautifully. The elegant Printemps dress was as good as new. Parisian chic in Onkel Toms Hiitte. How Franz would stare!
The clock showed four on the dot when he knocked. With every step to the door, her anticipation grew. She slowly opened it. He had a pot of geraniums under his arm, and swallowed with embarrassment.
'So there you are.'
'Good day, Fraulein Lene,' he said stiffly. 'How are you?'
'Fine, thanks. Now, let's forget the formalities. Come on in.'
He put the pot of geraniums down. 'Pretty place here.'
'Yours in Schoneberg was prettier. Well, we can make up for all that. We're still young, aren't we?' She poured the sparkling wine. 'Cheers, Franz.'
'Cheers, Lene.' His awkwardness was melting away. He sat down. 'I still can't believe the two of us are here.'
'The three of us.' She pointed at the rutting stag over the chest of drawers. He looked at the picture as if he were seeing it for the first time. She drank in the sight of him. He had rounded out a little, and it suited him. The dimple in his chin was slightly deeper. His hairline had receded a bit. His brown eyes were the same as ever. They bent a calm and honest gaze on the world.
'It's been a while, hasn't it,' she said.
'You came to me because you wanted to get away from that man Fredie, and I took you to the Pension Wolke. That's the last time I saw you.' He bent his head. 'But I told them where you were. It was cowardly of me, but I was scared. It's a funny thing, I never understood why they suddenly left me alone. Most people would have ended up in a camp. Did they leave you alone too?'
'Of course,' she lied. 'We were both lucky, that's what.' She moved to face him. 'Stand up, Franz, and kiss me properly at last.' She pulled him up by his dyed British uniform tunic until their faces were very close. Then they were just a man and a woman, and everything was clear between them.
He was large, and hard. Her moistness made him a supple messenger of love. The afternoon wasn't enough for him, or the evening either. They didn't talk much as they rested in between times, probably because there was too much to say.
Just before ten he got dressed, so as not to miss the last U-Bahn train before curfew. She took one of the flickering candles off the chest of drawers. 'So you don't fall down the stairs.' They said no elaborate goodbyes. He'd be back tomorrow.
And then we'll talk about the future,' he promised.
'The future,' she repeated, because at last she had one.
Elated, she went into the bathroom. The stove was still warm. The fine spray of the shower set off an indescribably sensuous tingling of her skin. She directed the hand-held jet on her mount of Venus, and came to climax at once. It was like the full stop to a wonderful first chapter.