By now Christine knew all this. Herbert, who knew nothing, had fixed upon the essence of it: The girl was ashamed of being thought German by other Germans.
Little Bert tugged at Christine, trying to tell her something. “Is there time?” she asked Herbert.
She saw him nod before a new wave of soldiers pushed him back. He’ll write a letter about that, she thought. Little Bert was very good about standing in the queue outside the door marked LADIES and neither giggled nor stared once inside. She found it curious that he had asked her and not his father; it was certainly the first time. When they came out Herbert was nowhere in sight; there were twice as many people as before milling about and protesting, and they saw the cultural group, quite red in the face now, the women clutching their furs as if the inhabitants of Pegnitz were bandits. Their leader had lost his spectacles and was barely recognizable without them. His eyes were small and blue, and he looked insane.
“A short wait. In there,” said the stationmaster, running past Christine with a long list of passengers’ names in his hand.
“We can sit down for a few minutes,” said Christine. “In any case, we could never find your father in this confusion.” She saw a place on a bench and squeezed little Bert in beside her. Nearly every inch of bench was occupied by women carrying luggage tied with string. A window on the side opposite the platform gave onto the freight yards.
“Read to me,” said little Bert.
She noticed that some of the women glanced at them with consternation, even disapproval. It was true that little Bert seemed spoiled and that his voice was often annoying to adults.
“I suppose we seem like a funny-looking pair,” she said to him. “Both of us filthy, and you with your bath sponge.”
“The ladies are funny too,” he said.
The women sat grouped by nationality — Polish, French, Greek, Russian, Dutch. Her eyes caught on the Frenchwomen, who were thin and restless, with cheeks flushed either by rouge or tuberculosis, and hair swept up and forward and frizzed with tongs. They were almost uniformly dressed in navy-blue suits and white blouses, and their shoes had thick wooden soles. Their glance was hostile, bright, and missed nothing.
But they are not dirty, she said to herself. No more than we are at this moment. I shall tell the truth about it, if I’m asked. Herbert hasn’t washed or shaved since yesterday. He brushed his teeth at Stuttgart, nothing more. As for little Bert …
“Whatever happens,” she said to little Bert swiftly, “we must not become separated. We must never leave each other. You must stop calling me ‘the lady’ when you speak to your father. Try to learn to say ‘Christine.’ ”
The child sighed, as he did sometimes when Herbert took too long to explain. “Read,” he said sleepily.
“I can’t remember a thing about Bruno.”
“Look in your book.”
“My mind is a blank.” Nevertheless she opened it near the beginning and read the first thing she came to: “ ‘Shame and remorse are generally mistaken for one another.’ It’s no good reading that.” She leaned against the child and felt his comforting breath on her arm.
“What happens then?” said little Bert after a pause. “That’s not what you were reading before.”
Their familiar bun-faced conductor now made an appearance. “Oh, thank God,” said Christine. “He’ll know about the train.” He had stopped just inside the door. He scowled at the waiting women and, being something of a comedian, did an excellent impersonation of someone throwing a silent tantrum. First he turned red and his eyes started, then all the color left his face and he could not part his lips, could only gesticulate. It was extremely clever and funny. Little Bert applauded and laughed, which drew the conductor’s attention. He walked over to them slowly with his thumbs in his belt and stopped a few inches away, rocking on his heels. Suddenly he prodded the bath sponge.
“What have you got there?” he asked. “Who said you could have it?”
“Don’t use that tone with the child,” said Christine. “Children don’t always understand games.”
“Yes, I do,” protested little Bert.
She was surprised to feel the panic — stronger than mere disapproval — that the other women were signaling now. She wondered if they weren’t simply pretending to take fright. It was so evident that he had no power! Why, even the little girls from the summer camp had not been taken in.
He retreated a step — to lend the distance authority required, perhaps — and cried, “Who told you to come here?”
“Please lower your voice,” she said. “We aren’t playing. We have every right to sit where we choose, and the child has a right to his toy.”
“Sponge,” said little Bert. “Not toy.”
The conductor leaned over them, his face so near that she could see specks of gold in his brown eyes. He said, “You won’t say bad things about me, will you?”
“To the Stationmaster? I’m not sure.”
“No, to anyone. If anyone asks.”
“You were rude a moment ago,” she reminded him.
“But I was kind on the train. I let you keep the window open when we went through the fire zone.” True enough, but had he really been kind? “You’ll testify for me, then?” he said. “If you are asked?”
“What about these passengers?” she said, meaning the other women. “You were making faces — scaring them. They’re still frightened.” Indeed, some of them looked positively ill with terror. However, now that Christine had shown him up he was unlikely to begin playing again; the game would have no point. “Perhaps you would like to find out about our train?” she said. “The child is quite tired.”
He waddled away, either because he was anxious to show he was still the harmless creature he had been on the train, or because she had alarmed him and he wanted to escape.
“Read, now,” said little Bert. “What happens?”
“I don’t know any more.”
“It’s in your book,” he said.
Dear Ken sorry I haven’t written sooner but you know how it is The girl was still searching for the bus to Pottenstein. Or perhaps she had given it up, couldn’t face the family, knew the letter was hopeless as evidence. It was faint and faded now — committed to a dull mind, to no real purpose. A mush like a mixture of snow and ashes surrounded the information. I suppose several people figure I squared up on you I don’t think you thought that I came to within a hair of getting busted and for all practical purposes I did get busted when I got to the airport I was still tripppping
I went to the rest room to change I didn’t have a poplin shirt or a tie it took me a long time to get myself together
I looked like something from woodstock with a uniform on do you remember the guy in munich who tried to get us to go to his car well, I met him in the rest room he had gotten scared about bringing it into the states so he was trying to get rid of it he was in bad shape too I processed out with him as I was
“Why aren’t you reading?” said little Bert. Only stubbornness still kept him awake.
“There’s too much interference,” she said. “I’m waiting for it to stop.”
going through the customs line there were three guys ahead of me they searched the first guy as if they thought he had a ton of smack they asked him to empty his pockets well, when I saw this the first thing I did was turn white, the second thing I did was fall out of line and look for a place to get rid of what I had on me the room was full of people I sat down on the convair belt that brought our bags into the room there I took it out of my pockets and put it under the belt, never to see it again I ran back and got in line