“How was your dinner?” Vyborg asked Anna.
“Very good.”
“And the wine?”
“That too, very good.”
Leaning across his wife, the Renault director said to the major, “What did you think of our presentation, in Paris? You were with the purchasing delegation, as I recall.”
“Yes, I was,” said the major. “A strong field trial, I thought. Of course, the ground was dry.”
“Yes, one’s always at the mercy of the weather.”
“As are we,” the major said. “Our infamous roads, you know.”
“It’s very difficult for us,” the major’s wife said. “In this country, we stay home in the bad seasons.”
“That’s changing, is it not?” the director said.
“True,” Vyborg said. “We’re paving some of the roads, but it’s a long process.”
“Better roads in Germany,” the director said, a tease in his voice.
“So I’m told,” the major said. “We hope we don’t have to find that out for ourselves.”
“It’s something they’ve been making bets on,” Vyborg said, “our young tank captains and lieutenants. How many hours to Berlin.”
“To be encouraged, I guess, that sort of spirit,” said the major. “But much better if everyone stays on their side of the frontier.”
“Quite a number of people think the Germans might not,” the director said. “What then?”
On stage, Marko had finished with the red balls, but then, to his surprise, he discovered that his assistant had swallowed a canary, greedy girl. This produced a scattering of applause from the audience and a chirp from the canary. Marko, with a flourish, then wheeled a coffinlike box into the spotlight. The assistant’s eyes widened: oh no, not this.
“I believe she’s to be sawn in half,” Mercier said.
“She does seem pretty frightened,” Anna said. “Acting, I hope.”
Vyborg’s wife laughed. “A new assistant for every performance.”
The director’s wife said, “I’ve heard they do that with birds, sacrifice one for each trick.”
“No, really?” Mercier said.
“It’s true, I’ve heard the same thing,” the major’s wife said.
“As I was saying”-the director’s voice was quiet but firm-“what then? You’ll need all the armoured forces you can deploy.”
“Of course you’re right, monsieur,” the major said, “but our resources are limited. Germany’s industry recovered from the war faster than ours, and they outnumber us in tanks by thirty to one.”
Mercier recalled Jourdain’s meeting at the embassy. “Twenty-five to one,” he’d said, unless Mercier’s memory was failing him, but he didn’t think it was.
“We know Poland isn’t a rich country,” the director said, “but that’s what banks are for.”
The major’s assent was a grim nod. Rather gently he said, “They do expect to be paid back.”
“Of course. But I’ll tell you something, they won’t be so finicky about it if German divisions come across your border.”
“They’ll regret it if they do,” Vyborg’s wife said. “They may overwhelm us, at first, but in time they’ll be sorry. And, while we’re working on that here, they’ll have the French army coming across their other border.”
“That could,” the director said, “take a few weeks, you know. In all fairness. Apologies to Colonel Mercier.”
“You needn’t,” Mercier said. “It took us time to organize ourselves in 1914, and it will again.” No, we’re not coming, we’re going to sit on the Maginot Line.
“I suspect Hitler knows that,” the director said.
Marko’s assistant had now climbed into the coffin, bare feet protruding from one end, head from the other. With a lethal-looking saw in hand, Marko bent over the box and, on the side away from the audience, began to cut. The blade was obviously set between two metal bands that circled the coffin, but the progress of the saw was loud and realistic. Suddenly, the girl squeaked with real terror. Had the trick gone wrong? From the audience, a chorus of gasps. The director’s wife raised her hand to her mouth and said, “Good heavens!”
The magician returned to work, sawing away, while the assistant raised her head and peered over the edge of the coffin. Finally, Marko raised the saw, turned to the audience and then, the grand finale, separated the box. The audience applauded, and the magician wheeled the two halves of his assistant offstage.
“False feet,” Vyborg said.
“Or a second assistant, curled up in the other half,” Anna said.
“And you’ll notice,” said the director’s wife, triumphantly, “not a speck of sawdust.”
The magician was followed by a chanteuse, who sang romantic songs, then three bearded acrobats in saggy tights who turned somersaults through a fiery hoop. Each time they landed they shouted “Hup!” and the Adria’s floor shook. Then a trio-saxophone, drums, and guitar-appeared and began to play dance music. Vyborg stood and offered a hand to his wife, the director and the major followed his example. Mercier was the last to stand. “Shall we?” he said to Anna, his voice tentative, it wasn’t really obligatory.
If I must. “I think we should.”
A slow foxtrot. Mercier, stiff and mechanical, had never advanced much beyond lessons taken as a ten-year-old, girls and boys in white gloves. Anna was not much better, but they managed, going round and round in their private square to the slow beat. Mercier, his arm circled lightly about her, found her back firm, then soft above the hips. And the way she moved, lithe and supple beneath the thin silk of her dress, more than interesting-his arm wanting, almost by itself, to tighten around her waist. As she danced, she smiled up at him, her perfume intense. Was the smile complicit? Knowing? Inviting? He wanted it to be, and smiled back at her. Finally she said, returning to polite conversation, “That man from Renault is something of a bully.”
“Titles and prerogatives aside, he’s a merchant. Selling his wares.”
“Still …” Anna said. The bridge of the song was slow. Anna’s hand, slightly damp, tightened on his. “You’d think he’d be more, oh, subtle about it.”
“Yes, but the major held his own,” Mercier said. As they turned, a woman behind Anna took a dramatic step backward, bumping against her and forcing her forward, so that she and Mercier were pressed together. “Sorry,” she said, “I’m not very good at this.” After a moment, she moved away.
“Nor am I,” he said.
She looked up at him; she did have lovely eyes, he thought, green eyes. “Oh well,” she said, laughing, “something I never expected, this evening.”
“Not so bad?” Mercier smiled hopefully.
“No,” she said. “Not so bad.”
The song ended, they returned to the table.
Driving back after midnight, Anna had another cigarette, and this time Mercier joined her. They were silent, having talked themselves out during the evening, simply sat and watched the streets go by, a few lights on in the darkened city. As the Buick rolled up to the street door, she said, “You needn’t see me upstairs.”
“You’re sure?” he said, reaching for the door handle. He assumed that fiance Maxim would be up and waiting.
“I am. Thank you, colonel. An evening to remember.”
“It’s for me to thank you, Mademoiselle Szarbek.” And me to remember.
Marek opened the door. Anna left the car, then turned and waved goodby. When she was safely inside, they drove away.
23 October.
In Glogau, a wet morning, a cold front had arrived with the dawn and strands of white mist rose from the river. In the center of the city, not far from the railroad bridge, a toy shop occupied the street floor of the brick building at 35 Heimerstrasse, its windows crowded with trains and dolls and soldiers. A local institution, the toy shop, it had stood there for years, closing only briefly, when the Jewish owner abruptly left the city, then reopening in a day or two, the glass in the windows replaced by the new owner, and the shop again selling toys as it always had.