Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Not this.”

“Just like that,” Lasner said, opening his fingers. “The whole goddam world.”

Meaning it, Ben realized, the rest just something vague, east of Gower.

“I want the picture to come out. I want that.”

“There’s some problem with that?” Lasner said, suddenly alert.

“No, no. Bunny wants to give it a big release.” He paused. “Talk to him. He’d appreciate it, I think, coming from you. Personal.”

“Like you did.”

“You know what it means to me? That you asked?” He looked down. “I’ll probably regret it.”

Lasner leaned his head back into the pillow. “That’s what he said, too. Otto. When he took a powder. For Germany, yet. Christ, what a family. If he had stayed here, think where he’d be today.”

At Cedars, Ben thought, the odd transference happening again, listening to the oxygen. Thinking about his credits. Wondering.

Sol closed his eyes.

“I’d better go.”

“Stay a little,” Lasner said, reaching his hand out to anchor Ben’s. Don’t leave me.

Ben felt the hand, still warm but light, as if it were disappearing.

“Think about it,” Lasner said. “You don’t want to decide too quick. Something like this.”

“Okay,” Ben said. Both of them saving face.

He glanced out the window, feeling claustrophobic. Another hospital room. His mother had held on to him, too. Danny. Now SolOtto-whoever he was. One more loss. How many people could you lose before there was no one left?

He stayed like that for a while, watching Sol’s face, almost expecting the shallow breathing to stop, both of them at an end. You could hear the footsteps outside, rubber-soled, nurses answering calls. Just like the ones outside Danny’s room, Dieter waiting in the hall. Picturing it over and over in his head, making the final cut. Not all deaths are alike. Then even the footsteps stopped, the hospital asleep. How long should he stay? Fay would want to be here. He slid his hand out from under, a silent good-bye. Sol opened his eyes again.

“What do you want?” he said, still puzzled, a real question.

Ben stood there for a second, then patted Sol’s hand. “I want you to get some rest,” he said, because it was better not to say anything else.

War Bride would be over now so he headed straight to the Grove. The afterparty was even more lavish than the premiere, fake palm trees this time but an orchestra and passing trays of champagne glasses. Liesl was being photographed yet again, hundreds of pictures tonight alone. Primitive peoples thought one could rob the soul.

“I wonder what her mother would have said,” Ostermann said, making conversation, but stiff. “All this. Your own child. You’re well? I haven’t seen you since Dieter’s funeral.”

An endless afternoon in Pasadena, all the emigres, long tributes from faculty members, flowers from Continental. Henderson deep in the back, just to see who came.

“She’s a success,” Ben said, nodding toward the photographers.

“Maybe it takes her mind off things. It’s a difficult time for her. She was his favorite. Always spoiling her.”

Ben thought of her looking down, the gun still in her hand. Another thing that had never happened. The camera bolt loose in the rigging, nobody’s fault.

“I wish I’d known him better,” Ben said, a polite phrase, now surreal.

“I’ve been wondering-you don’t mind? When you asked me about the hospital. Daniel. Why did you want to know?”

Ben shrugged. “Loose ends. I was remembering that day, and then I couldn’t. Like a crossword you can’t finish. It bothered me, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Ostermann said, looking at him blankly, a translation he didn’t quite get.

“Don’t mention it to Liesl. I think it still upsets her, thinking about it.”

“Yes, but you know one has to be sensible. It was a mercy. So much brain damage. All the doctors said. He would have been-what? Who knows? But not himself.”

“Still. Her husband.”

“And your brother,” Ostermann said slowly, wanting to say something, then deciding to hold back instead. “Ah, Liesl.”

“Salka’s looking for you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

Ben could smell her perfume, something new. Her hair was shiny, lit up, and he thought of Paulette on the train, the same glow. Movie stars. She turned to face him, suddenly awkward.

“How have you been?”

“Congratulations,” he said, taking in the party.

“You moved from that place,” she said, ignoring this.

“I’m bunking in with Hal. Until the picture’s out. Then I’m going back,” he said, a decision just made, but clear, as if someone had turned on a light. “Work for the newsreel.”

“Back? To Germany?”

“Wherever they send me,” he said, suddenly filling up with it, the whole world east of Gower, where it wouldn’t matter what Polly thought, whether Minot held a grudge, if you knew things you shouldn’t know. Where everyone else lived.

“You’re leaving here?” Liesl said.

“The picture’s finished. There’s no reason to stay.”

“Maybe it’s better,” Ostermann said, then, self-conscious, began to back away. “Well, I’ll find Salka.”

“What did he mean?” Ben said, watching him go.

“He doesn’t understand. The newspaper, what you said about Daniel. How you could do it. I can’t explain. You know it’s one of those things we can’t talk about.”

“Danny was spying on him.”

“But to tell a newspaper-it’s confusing to him.”

“People always made excuses for Danny.”

“Maybe we all need that. Someone to make excuses.” She bit her lower lip. “Why are you leaving?”

“Too many people to avoid. It’s easier to get out of the way.”

She said nothing for a minute, taking this in. “You can’t even look at me anymore. I always thought, a secret, it makes people closer, but it’s the opposite. That’s all we’re going to see now, when we look at each other. What happened.”

“Let’s not talk about it. It didn’t happen, remember?”

“That’s why you never come to the house anymore?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me. After everything. The things I said in the office.” He looked over to her. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. But that doesn’t count for much, does it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. To think that. You must have-” He stopped, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Not about anything.”

He was still for a second then looked away, uncomfortable. “I have to go.”

“Not like this. Come with me a minute.” She began pulling him away from the club floor.

“The party’s for you.”

“For them. No one will notice. Come.”

They went down the side hall to the parking lot entrance. Outside, the same scent of orange trees, the row of palms outlined beyond the cars.

“We’ve been here before,” he said, the memory of it tangible.

“Yes. And then up with Dieter. And all the time he-” She broke off and reached up, putting her hand behind his neck.

“What are you doing?” he said, feeling her breath.

“We can’t leave it like this. I know you. Why you said those things. You know what I remember? You said, ‘Was any of it real?’ So bitter. You already knew the answer. But it’s wrong. It was real. I never lied to you.”

“You just pretended I was someone else. Maybe I did, too.”

She looked down. “Always the same. Always putting him there. He wasn’t.”

“You’re in love with him.”

“What a boy you are,” she said, moving her hand across the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “You think it’s like War Bride. Love forever. But how can it be like that? Nothing is like that. You know, when we first left home, left Germany, I thought it’s all finished for me, everything. But then Vienna. France. All right, it’s somewhere new. Not the same, but I can live here. I think it’s like that. Not the same. Another place. But you can live there for a while. And you don’t forget it, it’s something special to you, somewhere you lived.”