Kathleen Creighton - The Top Gun's Return

They had to change trains in Wiesbaden and again in Frankfurt, where they boarded an express train which stopped only in the major cities-Bonn, Cologne, then Düsseldorf. Jessie would have liked to disembark in Cologne long enough to see the cathedral, which was literally across the street from the Hauptbahnhof , but didn't suggest it. They had no way of knowing how long it might be before the next train to Düsseldorf, but more than that, she knew that for Tristan this wasn't a sight-seeing trip. And so she had to be content with breathtaking glimpses from the railway bridge across the Rhine.

More than once, as the train sped through a countryside just awakening to spring, Jess thought wistfully of how different it might be if this had been a sight-seeing trip, the trip she and Tris had planned, once upon a time. It would be the honeymoon they'd never had, he'd told her then. They'd visit the country of his parents' birth, and then, just for themselves, perhaps…Paris. She tried to imagine herself and Tris poring over maps together, pointing out sights to each other along the way, strolling hand in hand along riverbanks and through the narrow brick-paved streets of ancient cities.

Instead, she sat gazing out the windows of the train while Tristan, isolated in that dark world he retreated to so often now, did the same, his shadowed eyes fixed on faraway things she could never see and barely imagine.

At first she tried to make conversation, comments about the passing sights, telling him about things this or that reminded her of, things she'd seen and done during the years he'd been gone. He listened, polite but strained, and she could tell that behind his fixed and crooked smile his own thoughts were nagging impatiently, like an ill-mannered child demanding his mother's attention. When her words began to sound like chatter to her own ears, she gave up and left him to brood in peace.

Maybe it was because she was feeling isolated and bleak, the way she'd felt that day, but she found herself remembering her lunch with Lieutenant Commander Rees.

Mrs. Bauer, it sounds to me like your husband might be looking for that strength…Looking to find the extra stuff that's gonna get him through this.

Maybe, she thought, he'll find whatever it is he's looking for here. And then we can go home.

It was late afternoon when they arrived in Düsseldorf's Old Town. A cold drizzle was falling, glazing the brick-paved streets, muting the colors of the spring flowers in upstairs windowboxes and keeping most shoppers and sightseers indoors. Jessie had noticed, however, during the taxicab ride from the train station, that the modern downtown shopping streets were crowded, and though she had seen jackets and coats few umbrellas were evident; apparently native Düsseldorfers, like New Yorkers, were stoic and accepting of such minor inconveniences as bad weather.

They'd again packed sandwiches to eat on the train, but Tristan was hungry, as usual, so their first stop in Old Town was at one of its many pubs. Jessie would have loved to sit at one of the tables outside on the street-there was no car traffic allowed in Old Town-but because of the weather they had to settle for the cozy Old World charm of brick and dark wood indoors. Seated at a tiny wooden table set on a rough plank floor, they ate German bratwurst and drank glasses of Altbier , the strong dark beer that Tristan had told her was mother's milk to Düsseldorfers, and the drink of choice for most visitors to Old Town. Jessie, never all that fond of beer and mindful of her recent wine-drinking episode, sipped her one glassful slowly. She noticed that the waitress kept replacing Tris's glass as soon as he'd emptied it, keeping track with a pencil mark on the edge of the cardboard coaster as was apparently the custom.

"When my mom was a little girl," Tris said, relaxed after the third glass of beer and a huge meal of bratwurst, sauerkraut and dark dry bread, "she told me-and that was before the war, of course, so she'd have been pretty small-she told me her grandfather used to send her to the pub every morning to fetch his mug of beer. One of those big mugs, you know, with the lid? What do they call 'em…steins? She'd carry the stein down to the pub and knock on the door-the kind that are divided in half-and the owner would open the top half and take the stein and fill it up and hand it down to her, and back she'd go."

"She grew up right here, then? In Old Town?" Jessie thought it would be a little like growing up in Disney World.

He nodded. "I don't know where, though. 'Old Town' is actually pretty new. It was mostly destroyed during the war-it's all been rebuilt. The house my mother lived in isn't here anymore." Bleak again, he signaled the waitress for their check.

Outside, they discovered the drizzle had stopped. The sky was clearing from the west, and the lowering sun painted the tiled roofs and arched and decorated facades of Old Town's buildings a warm and lovely gold, like honey. Since Tristan had retreated into his brooding isolation and Jessie was sure he wouldn't notice, anyway, she rubber-necked shamelessly as they strolled though the darkening streets, now and then making unconscious little murmuring sounds of appreciation. A sundial high on a pink-gabled facade…bells of different sizes mounted on another-was that a glockenspiel, she wondered?-a black musician seated on an upturned suitcase, playing a guitar for a circle of enchanted children…an open-air market with stalls filled with tulips and hyacinths, and fat asparagus stalks in shades of cream, yellow, purple and green.

They paused for a while to watch barges and white cruise ships churn up and down the Rhine. The sun went down in a golden blaze, promising a fair tomorrow. Lights winked on and the streets of Old Town filled with music, laughter and people. All kinds of people: frumpy tourists, families with small children, lean young people wearing black leather and spiky purple hair. With his back to the river, Tristan leaned against a rope barricade and watched them all in dark and brooding silence.

With so much happy revelry all around her, Jessie tried her best to think of a way to brighten his mood-something she couldn't recall ever having had to do much of before. The Tris she'd known hadn't been prone to the blues. Finally, bravely, knowing what must be on his mind, she gave a cheerful sigh and ventured, "This must have been a wonderful place to grow up in."

He snorted. "Before the war, maybe. Don't imagine it was much fun once the bombing started." He took her elbow and they started back toward the now-crowded streets, moving slowly, and for the first time all day he was leaning on his cane again.

The tables outside the pubs and taverns had gone from empty to standing room only as if by magic. They snagged the first available table they came to, a temporary slip on the shores of a slow-moving river of people. Almost immediately a waitress appeared with the customary coasters, and before Jessie could say otherwise, Tris had ordered glasses of Altbier for both of them. Once again, she sipped hers carefully and refused a second one, while the number of marks on the edges of Tris's coaster grew steadily. A jolly woman wearing a chef's hat and apron came around selling giant soft pretzels from a basket lined with a red-checked cloth. Tris bought them each one and slathered them with mustard-another Düsseldorf specialty, he told her. Though she wasn't a bit hungry, Jessie had to admit it was delicious.

Once again, mellowed by food and Altbier , Tris began to relax. After the third glass, Jessie saw him settle back and the tension visibly drain from his body, though the shadows in his face seemed no less bleak. After a while, gazing at the passing crowd and turning his glass 'round and 'round on its coaster, he quietly picked up where he'd left off beside the river.