Pavel & I (40 page)

‘When? Tell the nitwit to spit it out, or we'll pay him another visit.'

‘
Wie schnell?
'

‘
Heute noch. Ist aber nicht umsonst.
'

‘Today. He says they can get her today. He says they want something in return.'

‘Money? How much?'

‘
Wieviel
?'

‘
Dreihundert Dollar. In bar.
'

‘Three hundred dollars in cash.'

The Colonel sneered. ‘Tell him no problem. I'll send someone over to stuff it up his tight little rump. He just make sure he gets Sonia. And the film. Tell him if next time he calls he doesn't have either, he might as well save us the trouble and jump out the window. It'll be easier that way.'

I translated this best I could. I couldn't remember the word for ‘jump', nor the one for ‘rump', but the boy assured me he understood perfectly and rang off. I replaced the receiver with great care and turned back to the Colonel. He stood there in the centre of the room, stood naked, the cigar in his hand and smoke curling from between fat lips. I had rarely seen him this pleased.

‘Well, what do you know? One goes, breaks a few bones, not thinking twice about it, and a few days later life throws you a line. Must be what those Hindus mean by Karma. What goes around, etcetera.'

He scratched his stomach and shook water off one leg.

‘Make yourself useful, Peterson, and lay out some fresh clothes for me. And fix me some sandwiches. With mustard. I'm starving. You wouldn't believe the pigswill they serve up back home.'

‘Paulchen here.'

‘Do you have it?'

‘Fräulein Sonia?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm so glad you called. Right on cue, too. Yeah, we got it. Pricey, but it'll do just fine.'

‘It's the right size?'

‘You gave us some film, remember? Yeah, it's the right size. Where do I drop it off?'

‘I'll come and fetch it. It better not be garbage.'

‘We'll be here. Come as soon as you can.'

Sonia hung up and ran a hand over her face. The past few days had not been easy. The boy's fever had refused to surrender entirely. Every few hours it would flare up and bathe his cheeks crimson. Whenever he felt better, he whined to be let out into the street and hatched childish plans of how they would go rescue Pavel, ‘infiltrate' the Colonel's ‘compound', ‘take out' Fosko's ‘stooges'. Then he'd go back to shivers, drenching the sheets in sweat. She wondered where she'd heard it said that a child's sweat did not smell. The boy's reeked like gone-off milk. She wrapped cold compresses around his ankles and played him Glenn Miller. He asked her once whether she prayed; folded his hands together when she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and mimed devotion. Perhaps he worried for his life in his childish way.

She said she didn't. Pray.

‘I don't either,' he told her. ‘All it is, is superstition.'

For some reason he seemed disappointed when she made no move to disagree.

Twice she considered leaving him. Leaving Pavel, too, and disappearing into the western outskirts of the American sector. She would pay somebody to share their flat until she had arranged for a travel pass out of the city. With luck she might make it to Munich. She'd never been, but she'd seen postcards. Munich looked nice. Full of GIs, of course, but nice.

The second time around, she went so far as to pack a bag while the boy was asleep. She packed money, whatever was left, and her
underwear. As she stood there, zipping shut her small suitcase, it came to her that she packed like a prostitute: cash and work clothes. She slipped out without leaving a note and climbed on a tram headed for Teltow. For two hours she walked around the suburb, looking for a friendly face she might ask for lodgings; found one in the elderly owner of a corner shop, who sold chocolates under the counter, and inner tubes for bicycles. She made up her mind to ask her; queued for some fifteen minutes, her question on her tongue, then bought chocolates instead, and pre-war cocoa powder for the boy. When she returned to Franzi's place, he hadn't even woken; lay senseless upon the bed, the blankets in a pile around his feet. She pulled them back up and told herself she should have stayed out longer; long enough for him to miss her. The monkey, by contrast, seemed ecstatic to see her. It even took a break from its methodical destruction of the living-roomsofa and clambered over to sniff at her ankles. She pushed it aside with one tired heel.

Sonia unpacked the bag, fetched water from the pump and set to scrubbing the floor. The water half frozen in the bucket; hands numb to the wrist. Afterwards the floorboards proved as slippery as sheet ice. When the boy finally woke around nightfall, he demanded to go out for a walk. It was the only time she cursed him to his face. It had darkened then, turned savage in his anger.

Now, it was looking at her expectantly.

‘Paulchen has found one?' Anders asked.

‘Yes. Finally.'

‘How's Pavel doing?'

‘I have no idea. As far as I know Fosko's still out of town. I made inquiries. I doubt they would hurt him while he's away.'

‘What happens now?'

‘I go over there and pick up the projector. Then, we have a look at the film and figure out what all this fuss has been about. And then –'

‘What?'

‘I don't know. I'll think of something.'

She gathered up her coat and handbag, made sure she had all the money and jewellery she'd promised Paulchen. The monkey was chattering, and she stroked it absent-mindedly, noting how matted its fur was, crusted with food and worse.

‘I'll go,' the boy blurted out all of a sudden.

‘No.'

‘I'll go.'

‘You're sick.'

‘I feel better. And I want to see Paulchen. Make it up with him.'

‘Then we both go.'

‘What if it's a trap?'

‘What do you mean, a trap?'

‘What if Paulchen tries to hold you. Sell you out to Fosko or something. He wouldn't sell me out.'

‘Why not? You stole his gun, didn't you?'

‘Thieves' honour,' he said and winked at her theatrically. ‘I'll pay up and bring back the projector. And then we go get Pavel.'

They squabbled a while longer, but in the end she agreed. She gave him the money and valuables, made him repeat how much they owed Paulchen. Wrote out Franzi's phone number on a piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket in case he got into trouble. She cautioned him to try the projector on the inch of film she had already passed on to Paulchen, and not to disclose their whereabouts.

‘Above all, keep warm. It's murder out there.'

The boy promised and she draped an extra shawl around his neck and head. His ugly little mug was alive with excitement as he ran out the door. ‘Good luck!' she called after him and watched him run down the length of street until he was swallowed up by the dark of late afternoon.

Then Sonia sat down and picked through the motives of why she had let him go instead of herself.

‘It might be a trap,' she mused aloud.

‘If it's a trap, better him than me.'

She said it twice, to see how it sat with her, said it to the dresser's mirror, her mouth shaping words that ran afoul of her stomach.

I served the Colonel a late lunch up in his office, tying a starched napkin around his thick throat and pouring him a glass of mineral water. He peeled the boiled egg with great fastidiousness, depositing its shell in an ashtray, then sprinkled it with salt; buttered three slices of toast and covered them with corned beef and mustard. At any other time it might have been a pleasure to watch him at his table. That afternoon, however, I could barely stand the thousand details of his culinary ritual, and winced whenever he smacked his lips over some titbit or other. I stuck around long enough to ascertain that he did not want for any ingredient, then quickly excused myself, and returned to the basement.

As I climbed down the stairs and slipped out of my coat, my agitation must have been ill concealed. I moved my desk next to the cage, set up the chessboard, but rather than taking his customary place across from me on the corner of his mattress, Pavel stood and faced me squarely.

‘He's come back, hasn't he?'

‘Who?'

‘Fosko. He's been away, and now he's back. Don't look at me so surprised. I can tell he's back. It's written all over your face.'

‘Pavel,' I said, and inched closer to his cage. ‘You have to tell me what you know about the microfilm. If you don't –'

‘I understand.'

We stood not a foot apart, my eye in his. Once again I remarked how delicate his features were.

‘Where is Sonia?'

‘She's been hiding. Ever since we picked you up. I think she has the film.'

‘Does Fosko know where she is?'

‘No.'

‘You swear?'

‘I swear.'

‘If he finds her, you will tell me, won't you, Peterson?' I was silent.

‘Promise me, Peterson. Promise you'll tell.'

‘Okay,' I said. ‘Now, how about you play white for a change? Play for pennies? We can settle up when you're out and flush.'

We played without enthusiasm. I promised him some hot buttered rolls for his tea.

It can't have been easy for him. Nine days gone and no news about Sonia or the boy, just the two of us talking, and a chessboard full of slaughtered pawns. Time had stopped as far as he was concerned; he could count off the days or measure their passing by the length of his stubble, but these acts did not reference any reality beyond the cellar's walls. All he could do with time was pass it. Talk took care of that: the pleasure of making speeches. Even this was soured by the constant fear of giving away too much of himself. Just about anything might have slipped out somewhere along the line; slipped out not because it had to, the irrepressible cry of the heart, but simply because it was there. Words feeding away at his memory, like carrion birds, leaving him with the mere bones of things, skeletal outlines of a past he no longer recognised as his own. All traded for a handful of truths, about Sonia and Boyd and the crooked Herr Söldmann, that answered to his curiosity but were powerless to change the fact of his imprisonment.

All this changed that day. Fosko returned, and time started anew. It energised him; a jolt of fear, and he looked to me for help. A savage look, half plea, half threat, though his voice remained level.

For the time being I resolved to keep his door securely locked.