B004U2USMY EBOK (22 page)

Men were snapping at each other, some close
to blows.

“You bastard, move over.”

“Move yourself, you French faggot,” the
soldier snapped.

“Shut up, both of you!”

And then there came a point where the
basement held as much as it could fit but there were still men on
the stairs, trying to get down. Cursing, screaming back and forth,
and a fistfight near the stairs from people trying to get down and
men trying not to get crushed. Someone knocked out the light and
they were plunged into darkness. More shouts and curses.

Gabriela felt like a mouse in the coils of
Colonel Hoekman’s snake. Every time she breathed in, the bodies
crushed her tighter until she was gasping for air. Alfonse shoved
and snarled to try to clear men off her, but his efforts were
useless. And then at last came a horrible thump and the ground
shook. A deathly silence fell over the men.

“I’d hoped to meet you in a dark, sweaty
place,” Alfonse whispered in her ear. “But I was counting on more
privacy.”

The light came back on. It illuminated dozens
of terrified faces.

Another thump and shake. And another, harder.
The floor seemed to lift up. It would have thrown them from their
feet, but they were packed too tightly. Men screamed.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

The bombs came in rapid succession. She
expected every explosion to be the last.

It was quiet again. She braced herself for
the next attack. Only gradually did it dawn on the group that the
bombers had passed and they were still alive.

Men shouted their relief. A fresh crush as
some fought to free themselves from their claustrophobic tomb and
others were too afraid to leave the shelter so soon. It took a few
minutes to sort itself out.

Above ground, Gabriela, Helmut, and Alfonse
found each other near Helmut’s car.

Surprisingly, the rail yard was largely
intact. A bomb had detonated on the tracks, leaving a tangle of
tracks and signals, and one of the outbuildings burned crisply.
But most of the bombs had fallen errant on the cow field to the
north. Smoking craters pockmarked the field and the hedgerow was
burning. There was a cow on the tracks that looked like it had
just lain down on its side to take a nap, but it must have flown a
good fifty meters through the air. The cow appeared to be the only
casualty of the attack.

There was a tremor to Alfonse’s hand as he
lit a Gauloise. “That was an exciting day of work.”

“Heil Hitler,” Helmut said in a flat voice.

“
Vive la France,
” Gabriela offered.

“Shall we retire to my hotel?” Alfonse asked.
“I have a bottle of
crème de cassis
and I get the feeling
we could all go for a drink.”

Meanwhile, the common soldiers and workers
didn’t have that same luxury. They were already working at the
wrecked tracks. Already cleaning debris, securing the perimeter
against
maquis
attacks. There would be hours of
back-breaking labor before they could rest.

“You two go on ahead,” Helmut said. “I’ll
meet you later.”

#

Alfonse mellowed after a couple of drinks.
“The only thing killed was a cow, can you believe that? All of us
squealing like girls and those stupid Brits were bombing a cow
pasture.”

It was warm enough to enjoy the terrace and
the glow of the black current-flavored
crème de cassis
as
it went down. Gabriela was well into her second glass before she
stopped hearing the
thump, thump, thump
of bombs repeating
in her head.

The waiter of the hotel restaurant arrived in
a black jacket with a white shirt and a cravate tied in a bow. He
explained a few of the available dishes and their prices, then
added in an apologetic tone, “And you will need one meal coupon
for the young lady if she orders separately. There have been. . .
inquiries
about our adherence to the current rationing program.”

“Fine, no problem,” Alfonse said. “Last time
I was here you had this excellent plate with shrimp in garlic
butter sauce. Is that still available?”

“We do have shrimp, but. . .
desoleé,
monsieur
, the butter is a problem. We only have margarine
tonight.”

“Margarine?” Alfonse grunted. “May as well
cook it in melted candle wax. Well, forget the shrimp, then. How
about cheese, you still have that?”

“Yes, of course. We have an excellent
selection.”

“Fine, fine, bring me that. Just a plate of
whatever.”

The man returned a few minutes later with a
plate of cheeses. Alfonse said nothing, but eyed the cheese tray
with a scowl as the waiter left. “This is a goaty selection. You
like goat cheese?”

“Some, if it’s not too strong.”

“Helmut loves the stuff, we can save it for
him. The stinkier the better. So, how is it working for my
friend?”

She shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

“He just needs to relax more. I mean, you saw
me, I know how to get it done when it’s time. But when the crisis
passes, you’ve got to let it go. Relax, enjoy life. He shouldn’t
be down there breaking his back on the heavy lifting. That’s why
the army drafts privates.”

“Maybe that’s his own way of relaxing,” she
said. “If he keeps busy, he’ll forget faster.”

“He relaxes by working? Hah.” Alfonse shook
his head. “No, that’s not it. Not it at all.”

“Then maybe he wants to make sure it gets
done right.”

“Again, you’re wrong. I’ll tell you what it
is. It’s his messed up marriage, that’s the problem. That wife of
his. . .oh, there he is.”

Helmut came through the terrace doors. He’d
mostly cleaned up his face, but there was a smudge of soot over
his right eyebrow. Gabriela picked up a napkin. “Here, you’ve got
something above your. . .yes, right there.” She stood, rubbed at
the spot, mostly got it out.

Helmut took a seat. “That Dutch engineer is a
genius. He’ll have those tracks repaired by morning.” He took the
glass Alfonse offered, drank.

“We were just talking about you,” Alfonse
said.

Helmet fingered a hole in his suit, which had
taken a beating. It was torn, muddy, and splotched with oil.
“Discussing my impeccable sense of style?”

“I was telling Gaby about your wife. God,
she’s a beauty. Do you have a picture?”

Helmut reached into his jacket pocket and
removed a billfold, handed her a small photo. The woman was very
beautiful, severe looking, with light hair pulled into a bun at
the back.

“About what you’d expect from this handsome
wolf,” Alfonse said. “Pick the most beautiful girl and seduce
her.”

“She’s very pretty,” Gabriela said. “What’s
her name?”

“Thank you, her name is Loise.”

“Did you know Helmut almost married some
French peasant? It’s true. Black hair, hazel eyes, beautiful
breasts.” Alfonse held his hands in front of his chest and
pantomimed a generous bounce. He grinned and held up a hand as if
to stop Helmut’s anger. “Not that I ever saw them, but you could
imagine.”

“What happened?” she asked.

Helmut shrugged. “The war happened.”

“Excuse me for saying,” Alfonse said, “but
you know, I’ve already had a couple. I talk too much when I drink.
Which is often. I think you should have taken the Frenchy with the
big
busen
. Not the ice princess.”

“Alfonse,” Gabriela said.

“It’s true. That French girl—what was her
name? Come on, what was it?”

“Marie-Élise.”

Alfonse snapped his fingers. “Yes, that was
it. Marie-Élise. She was alive, she loved everything about life.
Okay, Loise is a smart woman. She’s got a clever tongue, she can
match wits. The peasant girl, I don’t know. Maybe she’s a
dummkopf
,
but I know I’ll take the simple, but passionate girl.” Alfonse
tweaked Gabriela’s cheek. “If she’s beautiful naked, like Gaby,
and always horny, so much the better.”

Helmut got up as if to leave. There was
something in his eyes that looked like pain.

Alfonse grabbed his arm. “Oh, come on,
Helmut, don’t go. I’m a little drunk already, you know how I get.”

Helmut sat back down, finished his drink, and
held it up for Alfonse to refill. The pained look faded, or
perhaps was masked.

Gabriela looked back and forth between the
two men, wondering. “How did you two become friends?”

“Flatmates at Oxford,” Alfonse said.

“You studied in England?”

“That’s right, we’re college mates,” Alfonse
said. “And the rowing team. We formed a coxless pair. We were
good, right Helmut?”

“We were good.”

“Remember that race against the so-called
Cambridge Invincibles? They had style, you’ve got to give them
that. They sent an ornate letter with Gothic letters in the post
claiming they were going to give us the old Viking blood eagle,
then eat our still-beating hearts. God, that fired us up, I’ll
tell you. We had those cocky bastards by a full length going into
the last fifty meters. Then came the premature celebration.”

“What do you mean, premature?” she asked
Alfonse.

A half-smile crossed Helmut’s face. “He means
he stood up and gave some sort of Viking cheer as we approached
the line.”

“I didn’t need to row,” Alfonse said. “All we
had to do was coast across the line.”

“Soon as he stood up, he unbalanced the boat
and over we went. So there we were, in our whites, clinging to our
boat, hats floating down the river. Three meters from the finish.
I’ll never forget the smirk on the Invincibles’ faces as they slid
past us. Or Alfonse’s hangdog expression, for that matter.”

“Oh, god, you’ll never let me live that one
down.”

“Me?” Helmut said. “You’ve told that story
ten times for every time I mention it.”

“Good times, I tell you, good times.”

“Immature times.”

“Ah, we had fun,” Alfonse said. “You know,
Gaby, we both speak perfect English. They came to me a few years
ago, asked me if I wanted to infiltrate the UK as a spy. I told
them espionage was not really my thing. It’s true, I would’ve made
a piss-poor spy. I don’t like danger.”

“And you talk too much,” Helmut said.

“And I talk too much. Cheers to that.”
Alfonse tipped back his glass. “You’d never know it from that grim
look plastered to his face, but Helmut was quite the ladies man at
the university.”

“Oh, I believe it. He’s a handsome man.”

“Those English girls swooned over him.”

“Come on, don’t exaggerate,” Helmut said.

“There were dozens,” Alfonse said. “Couldn’t
take a walk without making every girl in the park blush and giggle
and stare.”

Gabriela gave Helmut a teasing smile. “Is
this true?”

Helmut snorted. “Hardly. In four years, I
remember all of two girls. A girl who wanted me to take her home
with me to Bavaria so she could escape her father’s farm in
Sussex. Then there was that earl’s daughter, from Scotland. She
was, uhm, big-boned.”

“Goddamned Amazon, you mean,” Alfonse said.
“Remember that time you played tennis? And she caught you one in
the beak with a forehand smash? Blood everywhere. Like a
slaughtered turkey.”

“I swear, her whole family was like that,”
Helmut said. “I visited her estate in Scotland and the friendly
croquet games turned into the Second Battle of Bannockburn. Broken
mallets, shouting and cursing, fist fights. And that was just the
ladies match.”

“Shame we’re enemies with the Brits, now,”
Alfonse said. “We had some good times, made a lot of friends. It’s
unnatural for the Germanic peoples to be at each others’ throats.
Why should Britain and America be allied with Slavs? And who are
our allies? The bloody Japs and the Italians. Tell me, does that
make sense?”

“Your voice is awfully loud,” Helmut said.
“Maybe we should talk about something else.”

Alfonse leaned forward and spoke in a
conspiratorial tone, still too loud. “I’ll tell you something
else. When’s that bastard Hoekman going back to Germany?”

“We’re stuck with him for awhile,” Helmut
said.

“That other night, that was horrible. When he
pulled on his gloves?” Alfonse let out a nervous-sounding chuckle.
“I half expected him to say, ’We have ways of making you talk,
Herr
Ostermann.’”

“So watch yourself,” Helmut said. “Keep your
paperwork in order. The Wehrmacht can only protect you so far when
the Gestapo is involved.”

“Hmm, well we’ll see about that. General Dorf
has pull in Berlin, too. He’ll cover for me.”

“Maybe, but Hoekman has two things General
Dorf doesn’t. One, he’s impressed the hell out of Heinrich
Himmler. Two, he’s on the side of justice.”

“Justice,” Alfonse sneered. “Fascist bastards
will piss on your face and tell you it’s raining. Cut off your
hand and send you a bill for the surgery.”

“But it is justice, isn’t it,” Helmut said.

“You’re not actually taking Colonel Hoekman’s
side,” Gabriela said. “Are you?”

“God, no. Men like that have turned Germany
into a perverted nightmare. But if you take Hoekman’s general
assumption about what is good and right for the Fatherland—and
I’ll be damned if most Germans don’t seem to agree—then everything
the colonel is doing is right and proper.”

“I was at his house once, in Prussia,”
Alfonse said. “You listen to his accent, you can tell he was born
to working parents, but you’d never know it by his house.”

“Is it big?” Gabriela asked.

“Used to belong to a Baron von Something or
Other. Hoekman isn’t married. Can you imagine a girl marrying him?
And his parties are dreadfully dull, tedious. With what he’s got,
you’d expect him to fill the place with paintings and statues.
Half those places look like a bloody museum.”

“Like a
French
museum,” she said.
“Which is not a coincidence.”

“Well yeah, whatever. Not that Hoekman
doesn’t have taste, he doesn’t bother to try. He has a more
unusual collection.”