Wunderland(93)

To Ilse, he looks as bewildered as a young child, the way her grandfather looked last year as he began to forget even the face and name of his own wife. “That your Kennkarte was lost in a lake,” she repeats loudly, encouragingly.

He looks at her and his eyes narrow, as though he’s trying to place a once-familiar face. Please don’t say my name, she prays.

He licks his lips, clears his throat. “Yes,” he says, in a weak, shaky voice. “In the lake.”

Ilse exhales silently in relief.

Max still looks uncertain. Stepping closer, he leans in and whispers to her. “You’re sure about this, aren’t you? You could end up in a camp if you’re wrong.”

Ilse’s mouth goes dry. She hadn’t thought about that part, any more than she’d thought about what she was doing when she ran into the group. But she makes herself nod. “I’m absolutely positive.” Her pulse racing, she turns back to Jock. “Why don’t you go find some real Jews to arrest. I hear there are plenty of them on this block.”

The stormtrooper scowls, his thick fingers twitching on the blade’s handle. For a moment Ilse fears he’s going to challenge her again. But he doesn’t, instead shoving his knife back into its holster and tucking it into his belt.

“All right,” he tells the group gruffly. “Let’s go.”

“Scheisse.” The boy holding Franz releases him, though not before giving him a small shove. Deprived of his cane, Renate’s brother staggers and falls before slowly climbing to his feet. As the thugs drift away, Renate’s mother gives a small sob; she flings her arms around her husband. “Are you all right? My God. Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” Renate’s father mumbles.

“It’s not nothing. Come inside. If you need stitches we’ll need to call Doktor Strauss.” Pulling his arm over her shoulders and smearing her own blouse with blood in the process, Renate’s mother leads her husband slowly back into the house, though not before giving Ilse another look that feels so loaded she might as well have shot it out of a rifle.

A moment later she and her husband are slowly taking the steps together as Ilse stares at the ground.

“Well,” says Max. “That was interesting.”

She looks up again, startled: she’d almost forgotten he was still here. “It makes no sense to spend our energies on the wrong people,” she says, as diffidently as she can manage. “It just takes away from the mission.”

He shrugs. “Do you still need a ride home?”

The thought of a ride is intensely tempting; her legs are still trembling so much from exhaustion and relief that merely walking to the U-Bahn from here seems daunting. Still, she shakes her head. “I should stay here and make sure they don’t lodge a complaint. That would cause more unnecessary paperwork for everyone.” Though what she’s really thinking is that if he drives her to her house, he’ll know her address, and once he has that, it’s a quick step to finding out her real name. Of course, if he asks Kai about her at any point the ruse will be up just as quickly. For now, though, Ilse is too drained to think that possibility through.

“All right,” he says. He hovers awkwardly for a moment. “Is it all right if I call you tomorrow?”

“Call me?” She blinks up at him.

He clears his throat, flushing slightly. “Just in case you need more information. For your story.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right.” A bizarre urge to laugh sweeps her; she has to struggle to keep her face straight. “I’ll call you,” she manages. “We don’t have a phone at the moment.”

“I’ll give you my number.”

She nods, silently retrieving her notebook and pen and handing them over to him, waiting as he scrawls the digits. As he hands the book back he gives her the stiffly formal salute. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler,” she responds.

As he walks briskly back to his bike she watches him go, uncomfortably aware of Franz’s and Renate’s eyes on her. There is nothing between us, she wants to tell them. But of course, that isn’t true. Not at all. The smashing and the burning, the bloodying and the brick-throwing: it’s all bigger than anything she’s experienced in her life, including the unpleasant hours spent in Hauptsturmführer Wainer’s flabby arms in Dam-Gro?er. And it will always be there between them, she realizes numbly. No matter what happens from here. Or what he thinks her name is.

For an instant she wishes she’d accepted the offer of a ride; it would be so much easier to simply roar off in a cloud of smoke. But she makes herself turn back toward her former friends.

“That was extraordinary.”

Standing next to Renate, Franz leans on his cane as he stares at her. There is a strange look on his face, as though he’s trying to read her face in the distance, or in rain.

Ilse looks away. “It was nothing,” she says, stiffly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You just saved my father’s life. And very possibly put yourself in real danger.”

She shrugs, though at danger her heart skitters within her rib cage. She drops her gaze to her notebook. “They’ll be back, you know.”

“I know.” He holds her gaze for a moment as the BMW’s engine starts up at the curb with a cough. “Thank you,” he says, simply.