Wunderland(77)
“He’s Superman’s archenemy, obviously.”
“Superman? What’s that?”
He gawked at her. “You don’t know Superman? The American superhero?”
“I’m not American, am I?” Miffed, she tossed a pebble after his stick. “So how do you know about him?”
He shrugged. “An Ami soldier my dad treated gave me a stack of Action Comics before he went back home. They’re in English, but I still understand most of it.”
From the direction of the little schoolhouse came the silvered tinkling of Frau Klepf’s triangle. Somewhat to her surprise, Ava realized she was disappointed to hear it. She wanted, she realized, to keep on talking to this odd but strangely familiar-feeling boy.
“He’s the strongest man in the world,” Ulrich continued, pulling himself to his feet as Ava repocketed her sketchbook. “Though he’s not really a man, because he’s from the planet Krypton. He can lift trains off the ground. And fly.”
“That’s impressive.” Ava stood as well, brushing the dust and dirt from the backs of her bare legs. “Are his wings like bird wings or butterflies’?”
“He’s not a fairy.” Ulrich Bergen looked indignant. “He doesn’t need wings.”
“Then how does he fly?”
“He just does.” They’d fallen into step together the same way they’d fallen into their conversation: with perfect ease and comfort. As though they walked this precise path together every single day. “The comic books explain it,” he went on. “I’ll bring a few in tomorrow if you promise not to touch them. They’re pretty old. But they’re still really good.”
Tomorrow. The word and its unspoken promise were unexpectedly thrilling. What he was saying, she realized, was that they would talk again tomorrow. That it was a plan. What he was saying was that he liked being with her.
“I promise,” she said, beaming.
* * *
Back in the classroom Frau Klepf stood before her desk, a wax paper bag in her hands and a stack of thin paper pamphlets before her. “In a few moments,” she told them, “I will hand out the history textbooks that have been approved for our use for the time being. But before that, I’ve a very special surprise for you all. Abbi’s father has given everyone a special first-day-of-school treat: a whole Mozartkugel!”
Abbi Schumer preened as the room filled with an impressed hum, and Ava wondered what it would be like to be her. Not only to have a father, but a father with the world’s best job (a candy shop!) and the desire to secure his daughter’s social well-being.
“Please note,” said Frau Klepf, lifting her voice again to be heard over the excited whispers, “that I will normally not be permitting eating during classtime. But given Herr Schumer’s extraordinary generosity, I am willing to make an exception just this once. Yes, Ernst?”
“Aren’t textbooks still books? Those don’t look like books.” The pudgy boy in the front row pointed a pudgy finger.
“Ja,” said the teacher. “They are what we have instead of books for the time being. The occu—” She broke off, seemingly to correct herself. “The government is still working on new textbooks for everyone. In the interim they’ve given us these to start with.”
“Why do we need new textbooks? What was wrong with the old ones?”
“I’m afraid that as I’m not in the government myself I can’t answer that,” Frau Klepf said, tightening her lips. “Now. Who still wants a sweet?”
A forest of childish arms shot up across the room; the teacher began making her way through them. Before she’d finished the first row Ava’s mouth was watering, for Ilse relegated candy into the same category she did new toys and shoes and the pretty tin paint sets Ava constantly coveted: all things we don’t need requiring money we don’t have. So beyond the occasional festival candy apple and twice-yearly birthday cakes (about which Ilse was improbably insistent), the only sweetness Ava could regularly count on was the jam on her morning toast. As a result, she craved sweets now almost as much as she had in her orphanage days: an obsessive, gut-level yearning exceeded only by her craving to know the truth about her father. Now she could almost taste the buttery richness of the almond paste in sweet alliance with hazelnut cream, bonded together by their shiny cap of dark chocolate.
When she finally had the foil-wrapped treat in her palm she tried her best to savor it. Peeling the glimmering wrapping away slowly, she folded it with exquisite care and saved it to inhale wistfully later. She nibbled first one side of the bonbon, then the other, shutting her eyes after each taste so as to better savor every rich and glorious note. Around her the classroom fell into a contented lull broken only by the cheerful crinklings of wrappers unwrapping and occasional, breathy sighs of contentment.
Then a newly familiar voice broke the silence. “I thought you said we each get one.”
Ava opened her eyes to see Ulrich from the courtyard frowning down at his desk, on top of which lay not one untouched Mozartkugel, but two. Standing over him was Frau Klepf.
“I did,” the teacher said, smiling uncomfortably. Somewhat counterintuitively (at least to Ava), she looked like a child caught at the candy jar. “But as it turns out we had an extra piece. I thought that perhaps you might like to have it.”