"It must be your decision."
"But what about Vebekka, doesn't she have a say in this matter?"
Franks stared at his shoes. "Your wife has no memory of what occurred in that room, none whatsoever. As her husband, it must be your decision."
"But what if she goes crazy... as you said, if you open up this trauma, and she cannot face it, then what?"
Franks still refused to look up. "Then she will continue as she has done. There will be sane periods, insane periods, spasmodic logic, violent moods. Who knows what will happen? All we know is that she has, in your own words, grown steadily worse. She has attacked your daughter, you, your sons..."
The baron pinched his nose, looked again at Helen, wanting, needing confirmation — anything to assist his decision — but she turned away.
"What time would you like to see her tomorrow?"
Franks nodded. "Good, you have made the right decision. Let's say nine, to have an early start."
Vebekka felt better than she had for a long time, even though she had taken no drugs for two, almost three days. She wanted to eat out, go to some of the clubs, and Louis agreed. But first Vebekka said they should go to the hotel to check whether there were any messages. Perhaps she would call Sasha. Then, after dinner, they would decide where to go. Louis was exhausted, had no desire to go to clubs; neither did Helen, but she giggled good-naturedly. The patient was full of energy, having slept most of the day! Helen suggested to Vebekka that maybe she should rest, take care of herself, but in reply all she got was a pinch on the cheek.
"Don't be such a fuddy-duddy, Helen. If my darling husband is too tired, then you and I will go; some of the Berlin clubs are the most famous in the world."
There were letters and two packages for the baron at the hotel desk. Helen went up in the elevator with Vebekka, but returned to her own suite for a shower. Louis read more material pertaining to his wife's background: names of schoolgirls who could be contacted, schoolteachers... He knocked on Helen's door and entered with the papers.
Helen read over the letters, and then asked if the newspapers had arrived, and the baron nodded; they would have to look through them. Helen had already decided that she would see what else she could find out about Rosa Goldberg, née Muller. The baron asked Helen if they should dine in the suite or in the restaurant. She said she would prefer the restaurant. He booked a table for eight-thirty and returned to his room to shower and change. He heard Vebekka on the telephone talking to Sasha, and called out to send his love. He said they would be dining in the hotel restaurant at eight-thirty.
Shortly before eight Louis went to see if Vebekka was ready, but she was not in her room. She had changed; the clothes she had been wearing were on the bed. He called down to reception to see if she had gone ahead to the restaurant, but she was not there. Helen came in and they searched the suite. Helen spoke to Hilda, who said she had helped Vebekka to dress and presumed she had gone to the restaurant.
The manager signaled to the baron as soon as he saw him get off the elevator. He gestured to the main foyer. "The baroness has just left."
The baron went pale. "Did she say where she was going?"
"No, Baron, I think she took a cab from the taxi stand outside, would you like me to inquire?"
The baron shook his head, gripped Helen by the elbow and guided her through the revolving door. He was angry and swore under his breath. As they stepped onto the red carpet, he curtly questioned the doorman, who told him that he had just missed the baroness.
"Do you know where she went?"
The doorman looked puzzled and ran to the taxi stand, signaling for the baron to join him by a waiting cab. The driver popped his head out.
"She asked to be driven around to some clubs, I heard her say. We can catch them... no problem."
The baron turned back to the hotel, and Helen hurried after him. "Louis, what are you doing? Don't you want to go after her?"
"I have been going after her all my life. She can do what she wants. I am hungry, I want to eat."
Helen hesitated; she knew that in spite of his words, Louis was very distressed. The baron went halfway toward the dining room before he stopped. "Perhaps I should return to the suite, have something sent up. I'll wait half an hour and if she has not returned I'll contact the police."
The walked to the elevator. Louis rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Why? Dear God, why is she doing this? I don't understand. She seemed so full of energy and... I had hope."
Vebekka sat in the back of the taxi feeling like a truant schoolgirl. She wore her dark glasses, her sable cape, and a pale green cashmere top with matching slacks. She had taken great care in applying her makeup: thick eye shadow and a dark foundation. Her lips were outlined in a bright, unflattering crimson. This was makeup from her special box, makeup she used only on special occasions. She lit a cigarette and as she dropped the lighter back into her bag, realized she had no money. She tapped the glass.
"I have no money. Can you give me some?"
He stopped the car, turned back to her. "You want to go to the hotel? Yes? Get money? Yes?"
She shook her head. "No, you pay for me, okay? I am borrowing from you."
The driver turned and hit the wheel with his hand. "You must have cash! Cash only, understand?"
Vebekka opened her bag, took out her solid gold lighter. "Take this, gold... good gold."
The driver looked first at the lighter, then back at Vebekka, and put the car in gear with a broad smile. "Okay. Where you want to go?"
Vebekka looked from the window. "Clubs... take me to some clubs."
Chapter 13
Torsen's eyes were becoming bloodshot reading the screens; he had been at it for hours and still had not traced the Jeczawitzes' marriage certificate. Many of the files were incomplete, and the further back he went, the worse they were.
Torsen looked up as the woman in charge of the records department gestured to her watch. She wanted to leave. "The building is empty, Inspector, and the watchman has to lock up the main gates before nine."
He began to collect his belongings. She came to stand by his side. "You still have four more files on the Js... will you come back tomorrow?"
Torsen nodded. She promised to have the files ready for him.
"Not knowing the year this man was married it is very difficult, especially in the fifties, there were so many refugees, so many homeless people, you know the cost of the Nazi dictatorship."
They walked to the door, and she sighed as she turned off the overhead lights. "There were four million inhabitants, more, and you know how many were left? Only two million. This city was devastated, there were corpses everywhere, burned-out tanks... You are too young to remember, but the survivors were mostly children, old men and old women, making homes amidst the rubble, in cellars, in old bunkers..."
They walked toward the main exit. On the way she stopped at a coat closet. "There was something so frightening about the terrible emptiness in the city; even the survivors crept about — no one believed it was over. I lost my father, my brothers, my family home — all my possessions..."
Torsen waited while she collected her coat and hat and told the watchman to lock up. He took her arm, and they walked slowly across the courtyard.
"I began working here after the war, nearly all my life, recording marriages, births, and trying to trace the dead. The worst was trying to put the papers in order. You see the building had caught fire, there was nothing left. In those days the main priority was to find food, everything was scarce, and without documents people could not get food coupons. The black market trade flourished, there were forged documents galore, endless confusion. It still goes on. People from all over the world are trying to trace their relatives, they come back year after year to find out about a son, a daughter... It is impossible, but we do what we can; that is all we can do."