Herbert’s expression gradually changed to one of brooding. He seemed to be dwelling on a deep inner hurt. His eyes narrowed, as if he had been cornered by beams of electric light. Christine knew that he felt intense disgust for men-at-arms in general, but for untidy soldiers in particular. His pacifism was certainly real — little Bert was not allowed to have any military toys. His look may have meant that even to a pacifist soldiers are supposed to seem like soldiers; they should salute smartly, stare you frankly in the face, keep their shoes shined and their hair trimmed. The Norwegian turned his mouth down, as though soldiering were very different where he came from. He exchanged a glance with Herbert — it was the first that Herbert returned. The woman in the corner opened her little eyes, shook her head, and said “Chck chck,” marveling that such spectacles were allowed.
The principal of Carol Ann’s school had good ideas for raising money. One was the sale of crosses for one ninety-eight. Black crosses with the words HE DIED FOR YOU in white. Meant to be hung on a bedroom wall, the first thing a child would see in the morning. Character building. First of all my cousin did not want any cross in the house. Then he said he wouldn’t mind having just the one so long as nobody said “crucifix.” He couldn’t stand that word — too Catholic. Then his wife said she didn’t want a black cross because the black didn’t match anything in the room. Everything in Carol Ann’s bedroom was powder blue and white. My cousin then said he did not want to see a cross with any person on it. Once you accept a cross with a person on it, they’re in, he said, meaning the Catholics. My cousin was stricter than your average Lutheran. His wife said what about a white cross with powder-blue lettering? My cousin was really worked up; he said, “Over my dead body will a black cross called a crucifix and with any person on it enter my home.” Finally Carol Ann got a white cross with no person on it and no words to read. It cost a little more, two forty-nine, on account of the white paint. The principal of that school had good ideas but went too far sometimes, though his aim was just to make people better Christians. The school earned quite a lot on the sale of the crosses, which went toward buying a dishwasher cut-rate from the Flushing factory. All the children were good Christians and the principal strove to make some better.
They were all tired now and beginning to look despondent. Luckily the next station stop was a pretty one, with gingerbread buildings and baskets of petunias hanging everywhere. The woman stirred and smiled to herself, as if reminded of all the charming places she had ever lived in during the past. The Norwegian leaped to his feet. “Good luck,” said Herbert. He had given up trying to find water, toilets, food.
My cousin-in-law never understood the television. She’d say, “Are they the good ones or the bad ones?” We’d say this one’s bad, that one’s good. She would say, “Then why are they dressed the same way?” If the bad and the good had the same kind of suits on she couldn’t follow.
“Read something about Bruno,” said little Bert. “Read about Bruno not doing as he’s told.”
“ ‘The fact was that Bruno could not always tell right from wrong,’ ” read Christine severely. “ ‘When he was in Paris he whistled and called to other people’s dogs. He did not know that it is not polite to call other people’s dogs, even in a friendly way. He ate everything with his fingers. He put his fingers in the pickle jar.’ ”
“Careful. Our housekeeper does that,” said Herbert.
“Read about Bruno’s sisters and brothers,” said little Bert. “What did they do?”
“ ‘Bruno had five brothers. All five were named Georg. But Georg was pronounced five different ways in the family, so there was no mistake. They were called the Yursh, the Shorsh, the Goysh …’ ”
“Christine, please,” said Herbert. “It’s silly. The child is not an idiot.”
“But, Herbert, it happens to be true! All five brothers had five different godfathers named George, so they were each called Georg. Is there a law against it?”
He searched and said, “No.”
“Well then. ‘The Goysh, the Jairsh …’ ”
“Don’t confuse him,” said Herbert.
“Oh, God, Herbert, you are the one confused. My father knew them. They existed. Only one survived the war, the Yursh. He was already old when I met him. He might be dead now.”
“Well, all that is confusing for children,” said Herbert.
“You’re not reading,” little Bert complained, but just then the Norwegian came back carrying an ice-cream cone. Little Bert took it without saying thank you and at once began eating in the most disgusting manner, licking up the melting edges, pushing the ice down inside the cone, and biting off the end.
“Herbert,” said Christine. “Please make him stop. Make him eat properly.”
“Eat properly,” said Herbert, smiling.
Conscious of so many adult eyes on him, little Bert began to lark about with the ice cream and make a fool of himself, at which everyone except Herbert looked the other way.
There was a plan to save some German cities, those with interesting old monuments. The plan was to put Jews in the attics of all the houses. The Allies would never have dropped a bomb. What a difference it might have made. Later we learned this plan had been sabotaged by the President of the USA. Too bad. It could have saved many famous old statues and quite a few lives.
“Now, little Bert,” said Herbert, trying to clean the child’s sticky face with a handkerchief, “we shall be leaving this train about two minutes from now. Another nice train will then take us to a place called Pegnitz. Pegnitz is a railway junction. This means that from Pegnitz there are any number of trains to take us home.”
Little Bert could not have been listening carefully, for he said, “Are we home now?”
“No, but it is almost like being home, because we know where we’re going.”
“That’s not the same as being home,” said little Bert. He turned swiftly from Herbert and his eyes grew wide and amazed as the pregnant Army wife, holding a wall for support, moved past their door. He looked at Christine and opened his mouth, but before he could ask anything loud and embarrassing, their conductor came in with new information: They must not wander too far away from the station during the stopover. They would soon see that they were just a few feet from a barbed-wire frontier, where someone had been shot to death only a week ago. They must pay close attention to signs and warnings concerning hostile police guards, guns, soldiers, dogs, land mines. Although this was good mushroom country, it was not really safe. Someone had been blown up not long ago while reaching for Cantharellus cibarius. The train to Pegnitz would be an unscheduled emergency transport for stranded passengers (theirs was not the only train to have been diverted), and this new transport might turn up at any moment. They were not to worry about their luggage: The conductor would look after everything. The train might arrive at any time, either five minutes or half an hour from now. All danger from the fires was over, the jolly conductor added. His hair was as shiny as leather and he bounded from one foot to the other as he gave the good news.
Herbert took down the woman’s suitcase. She stuffed all her plastic bags and leftover food into the WINES OF GERMANY carryall. I came back to Germany to bury my poor husband and look after his grave. Very rare for me to miss a day at the grave. I had to go and see about some investments. Otherwise I’m at the grave every morning with a watering can.