Joseph Kanon - Stardust

“You know I was twelve before I saw the ocean?” Ostermann said to Ben. They were walking with Dieter, the others straggling behind. “Fifty years ago. More now. The Nordsee. Absolutely gray. Freezing. Rocks for beaches. But my father had paid for the week, so we had to stay.” He made a mock shudder at the memory.

“So, something else good here,” Dieter said, indicating the white sand.

“Yes, but shallow. You have to walk far before you can swim. That’s why they build the piers.” He nodded to the amusement pier farther down the beach. “Me, I prefer lakes. Of course, it’s what I knew. The Wannsee. Anyway, Liesl’s the swimmer, not me. From a child, always in the water.”

“Yes. She loves the pool,” Ben said, seeing her gliding underwater, parting her legs. Everyone thinks it would be easy in the water, but it’s not. Preferring a chaise.

He looked over at Ostermann, suddenly embarrassed. Change the subject.

“She told me about Die Verfuhrung, ” he said. “I’ve never read it. Is it in a collection?”

“No, alone. Quieros did it in Holland. A small edition. It was not so popular, you know. Not even the emigres liked it. Anti-German. Me, anti-German.”

“It’s a German failing,” Dieter said. “Thin skin.”

Kanon, Joseph

Stardust

“And thick boots,” Ostermann said. “A wonderful combination. Anyway, no one read it. I thought they might buy it for the title,” he said, teasing. “They would think it’s something else. But no one did.”

“You always write about Germany,” Dieter said. “Everybody knows that. And this time-be fair-a fatal flaw in the blood, an insult.”

“No, not in the blood. That’s what the Nazis believed, things in the blood. Destiny. It wasn’t like that. A whole country seduced. Led into a dream. You have to make that happen.” He raised his finger, a classroom gesture. “But they have to want the dream. The master race. Imagine-to believe that. If it’s German, it’s better. Well, the French, too. Maybe everyone. Look at them here. ‘The Greatest Country in the World.’ What does that mean? Great how? But they believe it.”

“It’s not the same,” Dieter said. “What happened there was unique.”

“You think so? Well, let’s hope. It’s not so hard, you know. Give them something to be afraid of. Someone else. The process is the same.”

“Did Danny ever talk to you about this?” Ben said. “Liesl said he liked to talk to you.”

“About this?” Ostermann said, confused. “The story? He said it was different here.” He nodded to Dieter, a point. “He said they were already seduced. By the movies.”

“Ha,” Dieter said. “He was serious?”

Ostermann shrugged. “Well, an idea. To make talk. That was his world, not politics.”

“He never talked to you about politics?” Ben said.

“Maybe I talked enough for both of us,” Ostermann said wryly. “Of course you know he worked against the Nazis. To get people out of France. But I think that was for the adventure. He had that spirit. But here-”

“But someone told me last night he was a Communist. You’d think-”

“People are always saying such things now,” Dieter said. “Every day in the papers. How many could there be? Just for signing a petition.” A glance to Ostermann.

“No, the woman knew him. In Berlin. She said he worked for them.”

“In Berlin?” Ostermann said. “But he must have been a boy.”

“Old enough. He helped my father.”

“What woman?”

“Fay Lasner’s cousin. Genia. She was in the camps.”

“To survive that,” Dieter said, impressed. “Genia. A Polish name?”

“Originally. But she knew him in Berlin.”

“But saying such things at dinner. To accuse-”

“She wasn’t accusing him of anything. She was one, too.”

“And he never said anything to you?” Dieter said. “His brother? It’s her imagination, I think.”

“What did you think when you were eighteen?” Ostermann said gently, putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Do you remember? I was for the Kaiser. A young man’s ideas. Things change. Maybe he changed, too. A flirtation and then you want to put it behind you.”

“Especially now,” Dieter said. “The way things are. Even at the school. Checking on everybody. So strict. What do they think we write on the blackboards?” He nodded toward Ostermann. “Maybe you can help me persuade The Conscience of Germany to keep his conscience to himself a little. It’s not a good time to show these opinions.”

“When was the good time, ’thirty-three?”

Dieter gave Ben a see-what-I-mean? look, then turned to the water. “Look, it’s setting. At the end, so fast.”

“Do you know why?” Liesl said, coming up to them, slipping her arm through Dieter’s.

“Of course,” he said, affectionate. “When the horizon line-”

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m teasing. Of course you know everything. When are you going to show us the stars? I thought you were going to take us up the mountain.”

“You’re serious, you’re interested to go?” he said, including Ben. “Whenever you like. You have to stay overnight, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, turning to Ben, her eyes meeting his in code again. “I’ll pack something warm.” Smiling now, handing him a room key. He smiled back, then toward the sunset before anyone could notice, feeling the color in his face.

“You know, I don’t think it can be true,” Ostermann said quietly to Ben, reassuring again. “The ones I knew-they talked about it. They liked to tell you. For them it was-the truth. It explained everything. Children. Daniel wasn’t like that. More-elastic. Anyway, does it matter so much now, what he thought?”

“You’ve got a hell of a nerve. How would I know?”

Howard Stein pushed back from his desk, as if he’d been touched by a cattle prod.

“I thought you were in the Party. That’s what I heard.”

“What are you, working for that fuck Tenney? Or did the studio send you? Lasner doesn’t like the pickets? He wants to nail us this way?”

“It’s a simple question.”

“Get a subpoena, you might get an answer. That’s how it works now.” He looked across the desk. “You have any idea what you’re getting into with this?”

“I just want to know about Danny. Somebody told me he was. So, was he? It’s not a crime, last time I heard.”

“Yeah, and it’s a free country.”

“He was a friend of yours.”

“That doesn’t make him anything.” He looked up. “It doesn’t make me anything, either.” He kept looking at Ben, hesitating, then stood up, taking his hat off the stand, his manner deliberately lighter. “But I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, you want some stories for your scrapbook.” He jerked his head toward the door, more than a suggestion. “He could be a funny guy.”

Before Ben could say anything more, they were heading down the stairs and into the glare of the street. Stein’s office was over a car showroom on Wilshire, not far from the Tar Pits, and the closest diner was empty at this hour, still waiting for school groups.

“You think I’m crazy, maybe you’re right, but I think they got the office wired. You talk about stuff like this, the board starts lighting up. Don’t bother,” he said, catching Ben’s look. “I know. Paranoid. I even know how to spell it. But I’m still walking around. It never hurt anybody, be a little careful. You, either.” He nodded to the waitress to bring the coffee pot. “First of all, I’m not in the Party. I left the Party. That’s for you, all right? Not the water cooler. Just something you heard around.”

“So was he?”

“You want him to be? Everybody else is running away from this and you want to hand him a card?”