Armageddon - Leon Uris

It was cozy and dreamy. Hilde cuddled close to Scott and lay her head on his shoulder.

For Scott Davidson, the long-awaited, long-denied sign was being given. World flyer and past master of the moment of woman’s surrender; triumph was close at hand. He allowed Hilde to loll in her joy, let her approach the delicate moment. He must do nothing to deter her own train of thought. He became deliberately passive.

Hilde’s inner conflict began the moment she decided to go away with Scott. She began to realize that she deliberately invited temptation in the hopes of having him. She remembered so many things now. The voices, the sounds, the smells. Scott was American. He was a big man and he smelled good. He was clean, like they were.

“Honey, we’d better turn in,” he whispered. “We have a long drive tomorrow. I’ll see you to your door,” he said in pure Virginian.

He turned her lock.

“Good night, Scott. It has been a most beautiful day.”

“Good night, honey,” he said boyishly.

Hilde took his hand and brought him into her room. Scott, like a little child, allowed himself to be led. Hildegaard’s embrace had none of the calculation or sophistication of a trained lover. She was crazy with desire.

Scott knew her eruption had to come from the liberation of long-imprisoned emotions. Careful, he said to himself, careful, Scott. He handled her with deliberate slowness ... and then they were at the bedside.

Even in this mad moment Hilde longed to cry out, “I love you, Scott,” but she could not do it. She writhed with passion, fearing that her declaration would be a sign of weakness.

She almost cried in desperation, begging him to assure her that he loved her. But Scott gave no word. They lay, side by side, like a pair of animals unable to declare love.

As suddenly as Hilde’s passion rose, it collapsed. She rebelled at his touch. They lay stiffly, awkwardly, dumbfounded, silent.

Hilde spoke first ... a harsh whisper to ask him to leave. Scott did not like men who either pleaded with women or tried to manhandle them. Even at the brink, a man has to keep his pride. He had guessed wrong before ... he guessed wrong again.

Scott left her without a scene, got into his car, returned to Princess Allee, and drank himself into a stupor. Near dawn the German owner called for the American Constabulary, which established that the captain belonged at the Four Seasons and returned him to the hotel.

Scott’s fingers felt the big, soft down pillow. It took a long time for him to fight his eyes open. The room was in shadow light from an opening in the drapes. He sat up, ever so slowly, held still until the thumping in his head beat more quietly, and smacked his lips to get rid of the foul taste.

The fire in the fireplace was nearly out. Scott moaned and shivered to the window, pulled the drapes open. The Landau River flowed below him. “Christ, where am I?” The Four Seasons Hotel ... Rombaden ... Hilde! Ugh! The marble floor of the bathroom chilled his feet. He dunked his head in the water basin, examined himself in the mirror.

Hilde!

Hilde was packed and waited in the lobby for a taxi to take her to the train station in the city across the river. Scott Davidson approached with that damned boyish innocence with no trace of anger.

“I guess we should sit and talk,” he said.

“I don’t want a scene.”

“Only women make scenes,” he said. “Besides, I’m a sick man. Hilde, sit down. The one thing you should know is that, come hell or high water, I’m a gentleman.”

She walked to the fireplace and edged onto a couch. “You are a clever man, Captain. I would suppose that your memoirs should rank with the greatest.”

“Hilde, I don’t get it. You know what I am and you went away with me ...”

“Stop it,” she demanded. “It is true that I love you and I need you. And I do thank you for arousing feelings in me I did not know I possessed. Scott, you are a fighter pilot by instinct. Your life is only for the moment of the kill.”

“Then take me for what I am.”

“For you, Scott, the kill is the beginning of the end. For me, love is going to be the beginning of the beginning.”

The hall porter came and told Hilde a taxi was waiting. Scott said she would be ready in a few moments.

“If it will give you any consolation,” she said, “this trip was my fault. It was unforgivable of me to put a little boy in a candy store and tell him not to touch.”

Scott felt a need for a few light, face-saving remarks. “See you around.”

“You are never to call on me again,” she said firmly.

Scott saluted, grinned. “If you knew what you were missing, you’d cut your throat.”

“My dear Scott ... so would you.”

Hilde left. Scott watched her disappear. As the cab drove off he seemed to remember faintly the tear-filled voice of his wife telling him that someday he would crash and it would be monumental; for when Scott Davidson got dumped a hundred people whose hearts he had broken would be standing on the side lines and cheering.

Nick Papas prepared the dining-room table for a payday card game. The captain came in.

“What the hell you doing back?”

“Phased out.”

“Finished?”

“Kaput. That’s baseball.”

“You still care for her?”

“Hell no.”

“It’s just as well,” Nick said. “Pour yourself a belt and sit down because I’ve got some poop for you. Remember Chuck Ames?”

“Airways, Philippines.”

“That’s right. Saw him last night in Frankfurt. He’s just been transferred here from Berlin. Anyhow, he’s been in Berlin from the first day of occupation.”

“So?”

“He was here a couple weeks ago looking for housing and all that crap. He was at the Scala Club and he saw you there with Hilde.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“He took off. Tell you why. He had met Hilde in Berlin over a year ago. Only then, her name was Hilde Diehl, and she worked in a joint called Paris Cabaret. Scott, them damned women fool you every time ... she was a hooker.”

Chapter Thirty-five

A MAID LED GERD to his Uncle Ulrich’s study. He was surprised by the austerity in which the Oberburgermeister of Berlin lived, although it was in keeping with his political image with the people.

The idealists such as his uncle were necessary for that transition period Germany was going through to keep the occupation authorities content. Soon enough, Gerd thought, the German people would look to the new generation of businessmen such as himself who were rebuilding Germany from its ashes. The Ulrich Falkensteins would pass on and no one would replace them.

Ernestine entered. “Hello, Gerd, won’t you sit down?” He made himself comfortable, lit an Ami cigarette. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” he said tersely. “It would please us if you paid us a visit.”

“I see.”

“It is Father’s idea and I agree. We should try to become a family again.”

“I am sorry,” she said. “I will never go to your home so long as Hilde is not welcome.”

“Erna, we must begin again somewhere. You will find a number of changes in Father’s attitude.”

Ernestine had met her mother secretly from time to time and learned that her father was in poor health. In their visits her mother had spent most of the time echoing Father’s views about the cruelty of fate. Yet, this was a good moment. Ernestine had always desired a reunion and the first move had come from her father.

“Our parents,” Gerd said, “must accustom themselves to a new generation which rebels at the kind of obedience we were forced to give. Having Frau Kirchner as Oberburgermeister of Berlin came as a prelude of drastic changes in the German society.”