Joseph Kanon - A Good German

He sipped some. “Lots of valuable things on paper. IDs. Discharge papers. Get you an honorable, if you like. Fudged, but who’s to know? Of course, the Germans are the ones for paper.”

“ Persilscheins,” Jake said. “To wash away your sins.”

“That’s right. You might get two thousand for one of those, if it’s good. Sell a few more and—” He stopped, putting down the glass. “Hang on a minute. I’ll tell you what has been going around. Haven’t seen one myself, of course, but I did hear-very good prices, too.”

“What?”

“Camp letters. Character witnesses. Some Jewish bloke writes that so-and-so was in the camp with him, or so-and-so tried to keep him out of the camp. Best sort of persilschein — cleans the record up right away.”

“If it’s authentic.”

“Well, the writer is. Of course, most won’t do it, you can understand that. But if you really need the money-to get out of the country, say, something like that-well, what’s one letter?”

Jake stared at his glass, appalled. Exonerate your own murderer. Always something worse. “Christ,” he said, a sigh of disgust, almost inaudible under the noise of the band.

Danny shifted in his seat, uncomfortable again, as if Jake had thrown more money on the table.

“I don’t see it that way. You can’t hold a grudge in this life. I mean, look at me. Three years in that POW camp and it was hell, I can tell you. This’ll never be the same.” He touched his ear. “Deaf as a post. I picked that up there. But I picked up some German too, that’s the bright side, I didn’t know it would come in handy, and now that’s all over and done with and what’s the use of going on about it? You have to get on, that’s what I think.” For a wild moment, Jake heard Breimer’s voice, an unlikely echo.

“It was a different kind of camp,” Jake said.

“Let me tell you something, mate. When you spend three years POW, you tell me how different it was.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“That’s all right,” Danny said expansively. “No offense taken. Tell you the truth, I’m not much for camp letters myself. Stinks, really, after what they’ve been through. I mean, it’s not like they’re volunteering, you know what I mean? Need the money is what it is. Poor bleedersyou can see them here, they’ve still got those pj’s on, it tears you right up. So the letters-I won’t touch stuff like that. It’s taking advantage.“

Jake looked at him, the man with boys in Hitler Youth uniforms. “Can you find out who’s peddling them?”

“Why?”

An appointment with a Public Safety lawyer. Maybe a connection after all. He thought of Bernie’s office, stacked high with paper.

“A hunch. It’s not jewels-that doesn’t feel right. Let’s follow the paper trail.” He glanced at Danny’s dubious face. “I’d pay you, of course.”

“Tell you what. Friend of Gunther’s. I’d like to oblige, as far as it goes. Let me poke around a bit. No promises, mind. Anything turns up, I’ll set you a price. You can’t ask fairer than that, can you?”

“No.”

“Hello, Rog,” Danny said, looking up at a British private. “All set?”

“I’ve got the major outside.”

“Right. That’s you, darling,” he said to the blonde, who put down her napkin and took out a lipstick. “Just as you are, love. No sense doing your mouth, given where it’s going. Off you go.”

“ Wiedersehen,” she said politely to Jake, getting up and following the private.

“Safe home,” Danny called after her. “Choice goods, that one. Enjoys it. Sure you don’t want a go?”

“Can I ask you something? Why—” Jake said, then stopped, not sure how to ask it. “I mean, I thought all it took was a couple of cigarettes. So why—”

“Well, some gents are shy, like. That’s how it started. See, I’m not shy, so I was in a way to make a few introductions. Some appreciate that. The convenience. Officers, they don’t want to pick something up off the street. You don’t know what you’re getting, do you? A little surprise for the wife. Hello, what’s this? Nasty. It’s the hygiene, really. I’ve got a doctor checks them. Decent chap. Takes care of any accidents too, if you know what I mean. Of course, the girls prefer it- saves wear and tear, all that walking about.”

“Why only officers?”

Danny smiled. “Got the money, for a start. But, you know, it’s really the girls. All the same, aren’t they? Looking for love. And a ticket out. London, why not? Anywhere but here. Now, an enlisted man isn’t going to do that, is he? You need an officer.”

“And do they?”

“What? Take them home? Naw. Quick suck and a poke is what they like. Still, you never know. I always tell the girls, look on the bright side. There’s always a chance. Just put your heart and soul into it and maybe something will come of it.”

“And they believe you.”

Danny shrugged. “They’re not whores, see. Nice girls, some of them, temporaries. They’re just trying to get by. You have to give them something to hope for.”

“What do you tell the boys?”

“That’s just a side,” Danny said. He ran his hand over his slick hair, embarrassed again. “It takes all kinds.”

“Are they really Hitler Youth?”

“ ‘Course. Viktor, anyway. He’s Use’s brother.”

“Quite a family.”

“Well, you know, I think he was that way. The others, I don’t know. Bit reluctant at first. But they’re glad of the money, and who’s to know, really? Viktor finds them-friends of his. As I say, it’s just a side. Here, watch this one. He’s good, he is. Regular Benny Goodman.”

He pointed to the bandstand, where a clarinet player had stood up, licking his reed as he waited for the lead-in. When he started, he did play Goodman, “Memories of You,” the sad opening notes mellow as liquid. Another sound of home, the music so unexpectedly beautiful that it seemed a kind of reproach in the smoky room. On the dance floor couples drew closer, swaying instead of bouncing, as if the clarinet were charming them. The player swayed too, eyes closed, blotting out the bright, ugly room to let the music take him somewhere else.

“Everything seems to bring…” The music of romance, not good times and quick gropes, a song for girls looking for love. Jake watched them move dreamily on the floor, heads leaning on uniformed shoulders, giving themselves something to hope for. At the tables people had grown quieter, pretending to watch the solo but really drawn by something else, the world they’d known before Ronny’s, brought back, close enough to touch, by the sentimental notes. “… memories of you.” Even here. There was Lena’s dress, across the floor, the same deep blue, her going-out dress. He remembered the way she’d brush the back as she got up, a quick touch to smooth out the wrinkles, so that it clung to her afterward, moving with her. On the front there’d been a patch of glitter going up to the shoulder, little fingers of bright sequins, like a sprinkling of stars. But wool, too warm for a summer’s night in a crowded room, and this one had a wet patch showing between the shoulder blades, stretched over a girl too big for it, with blond hair piled on top of her head like Betty Grable. Still, the same deep blue.

When the band came in behind the clarinet, ending the solo, there was a restless stirring at the tables, a kind of relief to be out of the spell, back to just music.

“What did I tell you?” Danny said, his eyes shiny, but Jake continued to watch the dress, the damp spot now covered by an American soldier’s hand. Fragebogen. Message boards. Why not here, dancing at Ronny’s? But the waist was too thick, bulging over the belt.

Gunther was making his way steadily across the room, skirting the dancers. There was a sudden roar at the door as a large party swept in, looking for tables. “Memories of You” floated away.