Alan Furst: Night Soldiers

There was something different about this one, Muriel thought. He had black hair set off by pale skin, and deep blue eyes over high cheekbones. Striking, she thought, if you liked that Slavic type. He walked slowly, with a slight limp, and once touched a place on his left side as though it hurt him. Wounded, she realized. Wounded in the war, and now coming home.

Or was it home? He appeared to be very nervous, stopping at the pier entrance and tugging at the jacket of the light gray suit he wore. With dark blue shirt and yellow tie he was clearly what Muriel would call a “greenhorn,” a newcomer, an immigrant. She could see it in his eyes-how he looked and looked, trying to take in everything at once, struck with fear and joy and excitement over finally setting foot in America. Well, she thought, he would learn what it was, he would find his place in it. They all had. When her father had come to Ellis Island from Latvia in 1902 he must have looked something like this. Overwhelmed, for the moment, as the dream turned into reality before his eyes.

The passenger in the gray suit never noticed the coffee and jelly doughnuts on the bridge table with the USO sign tacked to its edge. Estelle started to call out to him, but Muriel put a restraining hand on her arm, and for once in her life she had the sense to shut up. The moment was too private for intrusion. Let him be with his thoughts. For a few seconds Muriel shared his feelings, seeing it all for the first time, taking the first step along with him as he moved from the shadow of the pier.

Then, from across the street, a young woman appeared, climbing out of a cab and walking briskly toward the entrance to the pier. She had short, chestnut-colored hair and green eyes. Jewish, Muriel thought. Wearing a very good wool dress from-Saks? Lord amp; Taylor? Was she perhaps meeting this immigrant? Maybe he was not so alone and friendless as he appeared.

Her eyes searched the crowd, then the young man in the gray suit waved his hand and called out “Faye!” and her face lit up with pleasure. Muriel watched carefully as they approached each other and shook hands. So formal? she thought. All the way from God only knows where, by what means she could not even imagine, to be greeted by a handshake? She found herself vaguely disappointed and started to turn away.

But then, as they crossed toward the waiting taxicab, sidestepping the honking trucks and cars that filled the busy street that served the docks, she took his arm. There , Muriel thought, that’s better .