Necessary Lies(85)

“’There is nothing here for you,’ William said, ‘Let’s go.’ He was getting impatient, edgy. Fanned his face and frowned. This was an old quarrel over what should be remembered and what should be forgotten. When we got down to the terrace, we found out that we couldn’t leave right away. We had to wait for the bus we were registered for. There were too many visitors, the driver explained, they had to keep order.

“’He is right,’ William said, before I had the time to say anything.

“In Berchtesgaden it was raining again, and there were no mountains to be seen, but we decided to go for a walk. On the way we passed a small cemetery. Climbed the low steps and walked by the ivy-covered graves, by long rows of names underneath pale oval photographs with smiling, hopeful faces. Gefallen 7.7. 1944 bei Stalino, 1943 bei Kursk, im Osten. I’m just checking the collective pulse, I told him. Someone has to watch all the time.

“William said, ’Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same thing. St. Paul said that to the Romans. An old priest from around here told me that once.’

’The Church has its own sins to mind,’ I snapped. ‘They were not exactly without blame.’ I hated when he took on a tone like that.

“The rain had stopped and we could see a giant rainbow over the mountains, touching the Eagle’s Nest. Eerie, I thought. The shops in Berchtesgaden were closed, but we peeked inside, at the felt hats, the full Bavarian skirts, puffed sleeves, embroidered woollen vests. That’s what I want, I said, pointing at a dark green hat with a feather. And you will wear this one, I pointed hat with a Gamsbart, a sign of a hunter.

“There was a small Biergarten where we took a seat on the wooden chairs under a tree and ordered beer. William was playing with the beer coaster, spinning it on the side. An old man with flaming red cheeks, a few yellowed teeth, a crew cut of grey hair walked in and sat down at an empty table. ‘ Grüss Gott,’ he chatted us up.

“‘Grüss Gott,’ I said. Asked him about hunting, the weather. I made William buy us a round of beer. I listened to the band, nodded my head in the rhythm of the music.

“‘My name is Kurt Macht,’ the man said.

“‘Ursula Herrlich,’ I said. ‘My friend from Breslau,’ I introduced William. He was staring at the plastic tablecloth, at a swarm of red ladybugs on a white background.

“Herr Macht took a deep breath. ‘Ah! Breslau! Such a beautiful city. It’s all lost, now. Damn Commies.’ He leaned forward, ‘But nobody is blaming them!’

“The Schnapps woman passed by with a small wooden barrel hanging over her neck. She poured the yellow Schnapps into a tin decanter and offered it to William who drank it all in one gulp. She wiped the decanter with a linen cloth and poured another drink for Herr Macht.

“‘You don’t believe a word they say do you? You are too young to remember. Wasn’t the way they tell you it was,’ Herr Macht went on. ‘There would be a different song, if we had won.’ He nodded his head, staring into the distance.

“‘There is too much dirt on this earth, son. Someone has to clean it up.’

“This is when William turned to me and said that he was leaving. He said it in English.

That did it. Herr Macht, red faced, filled with beer, stood up, shaking on his legs. He stared at William, chewing his words, picking them up carefully. ‘Traitors like you should be shot,’ he said at last, and then he spit. The blob of spit landed at William’s feet. ‘Put against the wall and shot.’

I laughed. ‘See,’ I said. ‘I’m right after all. The shit is still here.’

“William took me by the hand and dragged me out of the Biergarten, before I had the time to say anything else. ‘Why don’t you say something, William?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you think I’m right?’ He let go of my hand and walked away. ‘Why don’t you quote your priest, now?’ I shouted after him. By the time I got to the hotel he was gone. He didn’t even leave a note.

Ursula is fanning her face with a napkin. Her cheeks are flushed.

“But he called you in December,” Anna says. “Quite a few times. I found the bill.”

“Yes,” Ursula says, smiling. “We were good at reconciliations. Most of the time. He liked to forgive me. It made him feel good. But I never saw him again.”

She raises to gather the plates, rinse them under the tap before placing them in the dishwasher. Anna scrapes the leftover tahini dip back into the plastic container, covers the rest of the dishes with a plastic wrap. She hands the ceramic bowls to Ursula and they work together, in silence, clearing the kitchen table, wiping its surface, putting things back in the fridge.

“He was better off with you,” Ursula says when they are finished. “With you he didn’t have to fight. Or forgive.”

Anna doesn’t say anything, but she is no longer fooled by her own magnanimity. She knows that it is only because William is dead that she can be here and listen to Ursula. It is only because William can never come here again, touch either of them, make love to them, that she can even consider liking Ursula, thinking that this woman who moves with such assurance is anything but a rival.

“How did it happen?” Ursula asks. She means the last moments of William’s life, the part of the story she must have wondered about. Julia didn’t know enough, then, to answer her questions. “Did he suffer much? Did he know what was happening?”