“Maybe you have,” said Bondi. “Maybe you just didn’t get the joke.”
“Maybe I didn’t,” Judit said. She gathered her things and dressed. “I do believe you, Joseph. What choice do I have? But if he’s there—” She hesitated, and then added, “When I meet him, I want to ask him certain things directly. About the years after the war. And what happened when he went to Stalin’s funeral. He’s an important witness.”
“That’s up to you,” Bondi said. “I hear he’s more than ready to field questions. He’s a lonely old man.”
5
THESE days, Judit was never sure what time it was. There was something animal about her habits now, eating when she was hungry, sleeping when she felt the need, traveling to that room in Johannstadt when her body told her it was necessary. Most often, she arrived there first, but she never had to wait for long. She’d look out the window at the milling black-hat schoolgirls who would cross to buy an ice cream at the dairy restaurant. She’d doze on the bed, and sometimes flip through the shelf of Yiddish books—mostly devotional material, but also a few surprises like a volume of poetry by Peretz Markish, a tattered German-Yiddish dictionary, and a notebook where someone had practiced writing Hebrew characters in neat columns like a schoolboy. The man who ran the restaurant must have had a system for contacting Bondi because he’d be there soon enough and lay his own heavy coat next to her new cashmere one. Then he would undress her.
No one in the office commented on Judit’s midday disappearances, not even Sammy Gluck, but when she returned by taxi one afternoon, Mr. Rosenblatt rushed towards her. He laid a hand on her arm.
“You’re needed out back right away.” He was out of breath. “There’s a car—a driver’s been waiting for two hours, a big Volvo.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Judit said. “I have work to do.” Then she took another look at the poor man’s face and said, “Well, what does he want?”
“They want to take you to lunch,” said Mr. Rosenblatt. It was three o’clock.
“I’ve had lunch.”
“Mrs. Klemmer. Judi. Just humor me,” Mr. Rosenblatt said. “Go around the back. Then you’ll understand.” He pretty much dragged her to the side of the building, and there was the car he’d described, a black Volvo with tinted windows and a government license plate, sitting in the space intended for delivery trucks. Its motor was running, and its hazard lights were on. Mr. Rosenblatt whispered to her, “Two hours, it’s been like that. Can you imagine the waste of fuel?” Judit broke away and approached, and as she did, the back window rolled silently down. She recognized a shape more than a face, but knew it was Professor Lehmann.
The identity was confirmed when Lehmann’s voice emerged. “Well? Where were you, child? At playtime?”
From the depths, a bass voice, faintly recognizable. “She’s a player? Good!”
The driver stepped out, and with blank-faced efficiency, opened the door for Judit. She looked back over her shoulder at Mr. Rosenblatt, who watched with awe and relief, and then she steeled herself and got inside. The interior was so smoky and chaotic that her first instinct was to get right out again.
Then she was drawn towards something all the more smoky, perfumed and damp. Anna Lehmann was giving her a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek. Judit pulled back and caught her breath.
The cabin of the car was enormous. Two long, plush seats faced each other, and a table in the center was covered with ashtrays, bowls of candy and their wrappers, and a lot of opened envelopes and scattered papers. Lehmann took up most of one seat, and once Judit recovered from that kiss, she addressed her.
“You clean up very well, dear,” Lehmann said. “Good thing, too. You know, appearances do matter, in surprising ways.” Lehmann drew her own hand to her breast, which was encased in a thick boiled-wool cloak secured by a pearl brooch. “I let Helena dress me these days.” In case Judit hadn’t followed, she said, “The prime minister, of course.”
By now, the car was moving, but Judit felt compelled to say, “Professor, I have to get upstairs. The final cut is due next week, and I can’t afford the time right now—”
“That didn’t stop you earlier, young lady,” Lehmann said. She pushed the clutter out of the way and reached for Judit’s hand. “So,” she said. “Relax. Work can always wait. When you’re my age, you realize there’s time enough in life for both business and pleasure.”
“Where are we going?” Judit asked.
“Fish restaurant,” the other passenger said, and then she realized he was next to her on the other end of the enormous seat, a very old man whose battered face was topped by an elaborate gray pompadour that looked shellacked. He was nattily dressed, and he balanced a cane between his knees. “Best restaurant in the country. Missed lunch hour, but that’s no problem. They’ll do something up specially. Don’t worry about the wait, kid. Always plenty to talk about with Anna, as you know.”
“You two haven’t been introduced,” Lehmann said. Judit realized who the man was and felt yet another impulse to jump out of the car. “Anton Steinsaltz, Judit Klemmer, née Ginsberg, editor of the anniversary documentary, and, I’m proud to say, my former student.”
Steinsaltz grinned. His teeth were strong and yellow. His eyes looked young and crafty in his ancient face. “I’ll bet you were the teacher’s pet.”
“Oh, stop it!” Lehmann said, and she reached across the table to give him a playful slap. Through the open window, Judit would see the familiar landmarks—the bridge, the Yenidze, the very outskirts of Dresden. She genuinely did have work to do, piles of it, and her body was still smarting and reverberating in all kinds of ways from her time with Bondi, which made her feel even more displaced and vulnerable. Worse, Steinsaltz seemed to smell the sex on her like catnip, and he leaned deliberately over her to roll the window up.
“More privacy,” he said. “And of course, the glass is bulletproof.”
“Oh, who’d shoot you, you old pussycat!” Professor Lehmann said.
Watching Anna Lehmann flirt with Anton Steinsaltz caused Judit pain, but she suppressed it. Judit asked her, “When did you get back from Moscow?”
“Gracious, child, weeks ago. Of course, I would have paid you a visit sooner, but Helena had other plans for me, you understand. I had to take a look at the proofs of that book. She’s quite pedantic, really, wanted every source checked again and again so we could present full documentation. It was all terribly tedious. But it’s a beautiful book, isn’t it?”
“A historic document,” Steinsaltz said, with some formality.
“The important thing,” Lehmann said, “is that it’s beautiful. And the film will be beautiful as well, both startling and beautiful. As I said, appearances do matter, Anton. That’s why we have Ginsberg on the project.” As though to forestall misinterpretation, she added, “I mean because you have a fantastic visual sense, dear. And yes, I know, it’s Klemmer now, isn’t it.” She settled back into her seat, and the gray of her cloak melted into the upholstery. “Tragedy. Well that’s beautiful too, tragedy, if you’ll forgive my saying so. I think you will.”
The fish restaurant turned out to be thirty kilometers north of the city, on the Elbe, a hideous flying saucer of a place that Judit suspected was chosen because no one would think to find them there, though when the Volvo pulled in, the door was immediately opened by a valet, who gave Judit a gloved hand and helped her out. Then the valet stood by as two men struggled with Lehmann before at last readying Steinsaltz for his wheelchair.
“Sorry for the floorshow,” Steinsaltz said for Judit’s benefit. “I think I’ve grown old, my dear.”