Joseph Kanon - A Good German

“You ever see this guy?”

“What are you, an MP?”

“You see him?”

He glanced at the picture. “Not that I know of. You get people in and out here. After a while, they all look alike. What did he do?”

“Anybody takes a file, they sign it out, right?”

“Nobody takes files out of here. Can’t.”

“Teitel does.”

“No, he brings them in. Nothing goes out unless you brought it in the first place. Not while I’m on duty, anyway.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s all I needed.”

The guard began to pull the open book back.

“Wait a minute,” Jake said, his eye caught by a florid signature. A few names down, Breimer, a rounded B. And underneath, Shaeffer. Where they’d gone that evening.

“Anything wrong?”

Jake shook his head, then closed the book. “I don’t know.”

Outside he stood for a moment, struck by the lights, just as he had when he’d walked into Liz’s picture. Shaeffer had been here that day too. Two visits.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Lena said in the jeep.

“Yes, he was here. I was right.”

“And the files?”

“Tomorrow. Come on, we’ll go home. You got some sun.”

She looked down at her skin, red under the floodlights.

“Yes, you were right about that too,” she said with an edge.

“What’s the matter?” Jake said as the jeep started down the hill.

“Nothing. They’re so important, the files?”

“Tully thought so. He was here-I knew it.”

“More numbers, for Emil’s weapons. That’s what’s in themnumbers?”

“Not according to Shaeffer.”

“But Emil came for them. That’s what the policeman thinks. Not for me.”

“Maybe he came for both.”

“To make more weapons? The war was finished.”

“To trade. That’s what they have, the scientists-numbers to trade.”

“For what?”

Jake shrugged. “Their future.”

“To make weapons for someone else,” Lena said.

Jake turned left at the bottom of the hill, then jogged right toward the woods.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see how it worked. How long it took.”

“What?”

“To dump the body.”

She said nothing, hunching into herself the way she had the last time in the woods, shivering from the rain. The Grunewald was dark, nothing visible beyond the arc of their headlights and a small patch of moon reflecting on Krumme Lanke. No one in the road, the thick trees hiding whoever might be there, small bands of DPs looking for shelter. No one to see them either. The body could have been slumped over like a drunk. Easy. Anywhere along here, not the center with its guards and lights; here, in the dark. Or on the beach itself. In minutes they were there, the water rippling with moonlight. The last thing Tully might have seen.

Danny had a shrewd eye for real estate. His building, an art nouveau block on one of the side streets off Savignyplatz, had once been elegant and would always be well located. The flat was on the first floor, its door wedged open by a suitcase and some pillowcases stuffed with clothes, last minute packing.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” the girl said when she saw them. Almost pretty, with ankle-strap heels and lipstick, an annoyed expression twisting her face. “He said by ten. Vultures.” This to herself as she flung a skirt into the last bag.

“I’m sorry,” Lena said, embarrassed.

“Ha.”

Lena turned away and leaned against the wall to wait, not looking at Jake. Halfway down the hall a man carrying a rucksack was coming out of another flat. He squinted and then, recognizing them, walked over and took off his hat.

“Hello again. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, the doctor.”

“Yes. Rosen. You’re well?”

Lena nodded. “I never had the chance to thank you.”

He waved this off, then turned to Jake, the same old eyes in the young face. He glanced down at the suitcases.

“She’s living here?”

“Just for a while.”

Rosen looked again at Lena. “No recurrences? The medicine worked? No fever?”

“No,” she said with a polite smile, “just sunburn. What do I do for that?”

He lifted a scolding finger. “Wear a hat.”

The girl was glaring at them from the doorway. “Here,” she said, handing Jake the key.

“Take care. It’s good to see you again,” Rosen said to Lena, leaving. “Don’t get too much sun.” He nodded at the girl. “Marie,” he said, then shuffled away.

“So you’re the new girl. An American to pay-very nice for you. You already know Rosen?”

“He took care of me when I was ill.”

The girl made a face. “That Jew? I won’t let him touch me. Not there, with Jew hands.”

“He saved my life,” Lena said.

“Did he? Very nice for you.” She grabbed up one of the bags. “Jews. If it wasn’t for them—”

Jake carried their cases through the door to get away.

“I’m sorry to put you out,” Lena said, following him.

“Go to hell.”

The flat had the disarray of leave-taking, everything angled slightly out of place. In the next room he could see an unmade bed and a wardrobe with the door left open. A scarf had been draped over a lampshade, turning the light a dim red. “Nice girl,” he said.

Lena walked over to the lamp and lifted the scarf, then sank into the easy chair next to it, as if seeing the room had exhausted her.

“There were lots like her.” She lighted a cigarette. “She thinks I’m a whore. Is that what this place is?”

“It’s a flat. No one will bother you.” He glanced out at the street then drew the curtains.

She smiled wryly, staring at the cigarette. “My mother was right. She said if I came to Berlin I’d end up like that.”

“I’ll find someplace else if you don’t like it.”

She looked around the room. “No, it’s a good size.”

“It’ll seem better after we clean it up. You won’t even know she was here.”

“Jew hands,” she said moodily. “There was a girl like that at school. Not even a Nazi, a girl. How do you clean that away?” She drew on the cigarette again, her hand shaking a little. “You know, after the Russians came, they made us see films. Of the camps. Germans, they said, this is what was done in your name. Imagine, they did it for me. So now what? It’s my fault too? All that business.”

“Nobody says that.”

“Yes. The Germans did it, everyone says that. And, you know, somebody did. Somebody did those things.” She looked up. “Somebody made the weapons-maybe it’s worse. German people. Even my brother. He came on leave, just before- You know what he said? That terrible things were being done there, in Russia, and no one must ever know. And I thought, what things would Peter do? A boy like that. Now I’m glad I don’t know. I don’t have to think about that. Whatever he did.”

“Maybe he didn’t do them,” Jake said quietly. He sat down next to her. “Lena, what’s this about?”

She put out the cigarette, still agitated, pushing it around the ashtray. “I don’t want to know what Emil did either. To think of him that way. I don’t want to know what’s in the files. His numbers. Maybe it’s terrible what they were doing, making weapons, but he was my husband. You know, when he came to Berlin, I thought I was saving him. Go, I told him, before it’s too late. I said it for him. Now you’re—”

“Now I’m what?”

“Making him a criminal. For working in the war. So did my brother. So did everybody, even your policeman. Who knows what they did? In my name. Sometimes I think I don’t want to be German anymore. Isn’t that terrible? Not wanting to be who you are. I don’t want to know what they did.“