Аннетте Хесс - The German House

They fell silent. Jürgen sensed there was more Ludwig wanted to say. He waited. Ludwig cleared his throat and did not look at him.

“Yes, well, my back issues. They’re from the war.”

“An injury?” Jürgen asked politely.

“I served in the field kitchen. On the Western Front. Just so you know.” Eva’s father polished off the rest of his cognac. Jürgen was slightly perplexed. He didn’t sense that Ludwig Bruhns had just lied.

Pow pow pow! Stefan had released his tank. It made a tremendous racket struggling over the rug, as though the pile were eastern marshlands. It ran over one soldier figurine after the other.

“Young man! Take it into the hallway!”

But Stefan had eyes only for Jürgen, who feared children’s directness. Then he remembered Eva’s advice, to win over her brother.

“Can you show me your tank, Stefan?”

Stefan stood up and handed Jürgen his tin toy.

“It’s almost two times bigger than Thomas Preisgau’s,” he said.

“Thomas is his best friend,” Ludwig explained, pouring more cognac.

Jürgen admired the tank with due care. Stefan snatched up a figurine from the floor. “Look, I painted this one. It’s a Yank! A Negro!”

Jürgen glanced at the small plastic soldier with the painted face Stefan was holding out for him. It was blood red. Jürgen closed his eyes, but the image remained.

“And I’m getting an air rifle from Father Christmas!”

“An air rifle,” Jürgen repeated absently. He took a long draft from his glass. The memory would fade in a moment.

Ludwig drew Stefan close. “You don’t know that for certain, little one.” Stefan squirmed loose.

“I always get everything I ask for.”

Ludwig looked at Jürgen apologetically. “It’s true, I’m afraid. The boy is spoiled rotten. My wife and I, well, we certainly weren’t expecting anything to come after the girls.”

The telephone rang in the hallway. Stefan reached it first and flatly recited his lines: “Bruhns family residence, Stefan Bruhns speaking. Who’s there, please?” Stefan listened, then called out, “Eva, it’s Herr Körting! For you!” Eva came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, and took the receiver. “Herr Körting? And when? Immediately? But we’re all here—”

Eva was interrupted. She listened and looked through the open door at the two men sitting at the table. They look quite comfortable with each other already , she thought. Then Eva spoke into the phone, “Yes, all right. I’ll come in.” She hung up.

“I’m so sorry, Jürgen, but that was my boss. I have to go to work!”

Her mother emerged from the kitchen with the coffee tray.

“On Advent Sunday?”

“Apparently it’s urgent. There’s a trial date scheduled for next week.”

“Well, it’s like I always say, you can’t mix duty with pleasure.” Ludwig got to his feet. Jürgen stood too. “But you stay here! You’ve still got to try this cake!”

“It’s made with real butter. A whole pound!” Edith added.

“And you haven’t even seen my room yet!”

Jürgen escorted Eva into the hallway. She had changed and now wore her modest business suit. Jürgen helped her into her pale checked wool coat and murmured in comic desperation, “You planned this as a test, didn’t you? You want to leave me alone with your family and see how I fare.”

“They don’t bite.”

“Your father’s got those bloodshot eyes.”

“That’s from his pain medication. I’ll be back in an hour. I’m sure it has to do with that suit for damages. Those faulty engine parts from Poland.”

“Should I drive you?”

“Someone’s picking me up.”

“I’m coming with you. If you’re not careful, you could end up compromised.”

Eva pulled on her deerskin gloves, Jürgen’s gift to her on Saint Nicholas Day.

“The only client who’s ever compromised me is you.”

They looked at each other. Jürgen moved in for a kiss. Eva pulled him into the corner beside the coatrack, where her parents couldn’t see them. They embraced, smiled, kissed. Eva felt Jürgen’s arousal, saw in his eyes, that he desired her. Loved her? Eva stepped out of the embrace. “Would you ask him today, please?”

Jürgen did not respond.

Eva left the apartment, and Jürgen headed back into the living room. There the Bruhnses sat at the coffee table, like actors waiting onstage for their prompt.

“We’re not at all dangerous, Herr Schoormann.”

“Totally harmless, Herr Schooormann.”

“Except for Purzel. He bites sometimes,” Stefan called from the rug.

“Well, let’s get a taste of that cake.”

Jürgen returned to the warmth of the living room.

Eva came out of the house. It was already getting dark outside. The snow cover glowed soft blue. Circles of amber lay beneath the streetlights. A large vehicle, its engine running, stood in the middle of the street. The driver, a young man, impatiently beckoned to Eva. She climbed into the front passenger seat. It smelled of cigarette smoke and peppermint in the car. The young man was chewing gum. He was not wearing a hat, nor did he shake Eva’s hand. He just nodded curtly: “David Miller.” Then he stepped on the gas. He wasn’t a good driver—too fast—and routinely shifted gears either too late or too soon. Eva didn’t have a license, but she could tell he was not familiar with this vehicle. He was a bad driver in other ways too. The car repeatedly fishtailed. Eva studied the young man out the corner of her eye. He had thick reddish hair a little too long in the back, freckles, fine, pale eyelashes, and slender hands that gave off a strangely innocent impression.

It was evident Herr Miller had no interest in conversation. As they drove in silence toward the city center, the lights grew brighter and more colorful, with a particular tendency toward red. The lower section of Berger Strasse featured several such establishments. Suzi’s or Mokka Bar. Eva thought of Jürgen, who had by now returned to the table, sat, and eaten the Frankfurt Crown Cake she’d baked, barely tasting a thing. Because without question, he was nervously debating whether he could ask of his family that they accept hers, and whether he wanted to spend the rest of his life together with her.

The law offices were in a tall building on one of the city’s main streets. David Miller stepped into a small elevator alongside Eva. The doors shut automatically twice. Double doors. David pressed the eight, then looked at the ceiling, as if expecting something. Eva also looked up, at a screwed-shut hatch with countless little holes. A ventilation duct. She suddenly felt confined. Her heart pounded faster, and her mouth went dry. David looked at Eva. Looked down, although he wasn’t much taller than she. He felt uncomfortably close. His eyes were strange.

“What was your name?”

“Eva Bruhns.”

The elevator stopped with a jolt, and for a moment Eva feared they’d gotten stuck. But the doors opened. They stepped out, took a left, and rang at a heavy glass door. An office girl in green trotted up from the other side and let them in. Eva and the girl swiftly looked each other over. Same age, similar figure. The girl had dark hair and bad skin, but her eyes were a clear gray.

Eva and David followed the girl down a long corridor. As they walked, Eva scrutinized the girl’s tight suit and the folds that formed on her rear with every step. The heels on her black pumps were brazenly high. She’d probably bought them at Hertie’s. What sounded like sobbing could be heard from a room at the end of the hallway, but the closer they came, the softer the noise grew. It was silent when they finally reached the door. Perhaps Eva had simply imagined the cries.