Chapter 46 Moving Up to Corned Beef #3
“My father told me,” I said, “back in January—how long ago that seems! I was a different person then. A much younger person. Well, he said this. I have it by heart, because I wrote it down afterwards. ‘You must create a little distance, a free space in your mind where ideas can be held up to the light, examined, and weighed against a ruthless reality, which has no partisan leaning. Independence of mind is one’s most valuable possession.’”
“He must have been an extraordinary man,” Joe said quietly.
“Yes,” I said, fighting back the tears. “He was. We talked sometimes, he and Mother and I, about the war. Not a great deal, for it wasn’t safe—I was young enough to slip up too easily and say what I shouldn’t—but he had that, always.
An independent mind and an uprightness of character that wouldn’t allow him to take the easy way out, even to himself. ”
“You must miss him so much,” Joe said.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“And you still haven’t told me,” Joe said, “where I’ve gone wrong. What’s the argument against what I’ve said?”
I said, taking my time to think, “I suppose it depends what the charges are. Which parts of what the Nazis did are seen as … as extraordinary, as outside the bounds. Because, yes, bombing civilians seems wrong to me, but the Americans and British so destroyed Dresden, and not just once. They came back again and again. Now, the entire Altstadt, the old city, is gone. All those beautiful places, constructed with such care—gone. Churches. Hospitals. Everything. They killed so many people, too. Innocent people. Refugees. Children. Babies. I cannot describe to you how bad it was. And the atom bombs in Japan, too—how can one justify the atom bombs?”
Joe rolled over onto his back, put his hands behind his head, and looked at the sky.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s the tricky part.
What’s a war crime, and what’s just war?
I suppose that’s what this trial is meant to answer.
I won’t be the one finding the answers; I’m just an interpreter. But as a Jew—”
“And not only as a Jew,” I said firmly. “As a human being, many acts of the Nazis were reprehensible. There must be a line where one can say, ‘This was wrong.’ But the German people, you know, aren’t going to like it.”
Joe laughed. “No, I don’t expect they will. But what do you think?”
“I think,” I said, “that I must wait and see before I decide.” The day was cooling, and I bestirred myself and began to gather up the remains of our picnic. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good conversationalist.”
“You’re a terrific conversationalist,” Joe said. “Exactly the kind I like. And hey—aren’t you going to ask me what I brought you?”
“I’m dying to,” I said with a smile, “but I don’t want to appear greedy. Did you find the soap? And Dr. Müller’s toilet paper?”
This time, Joe laughed out loud. “Who knew that the way to a girl’s heart is through soap?
Or toilet paper, for that matter, because I brought some for you, too.
I did find your soap—both kinds—and the cold cream.
The books, too. Those, London did have. I’m looking forward to our book discussion group. ”
“Really?” I asked, teasing a little now. “Just you, me, and an old German scholar?”
“Really,” Joe said. “Absolutely. Hey—it’s a chance to see you, and to get to know you better. Maybe you can’t tell—I’ve been mighty subtle about it—but I like you quite a bit.”
I was sure my smile was nothing but foolish. “I may have been slightly more subtle than you,” I said, “but I hope you know that I like you quite a bit, too.”
“Well, that’s good,” Joe said, and we looked at each other like that, smiling. I wished he’d touch my hand again as he had in the hotel, but I didn’t know how to make him want to.
“I’m not very good at this courtship business,” I said. “If that’s what it is.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Joe said. “I guess your parents didn’t teach you that, huh?”
“Theirs was an arranged marriage. It was common with—in the society to which they belonged. They loved each other very much, but the love came after the wedding, for they didn’t know each other before. They were from different states entirely, in fact.”
I held my breath—that was coming dangerously close to the truth—but Joe didn’t press. He said, “Well, we’ll work our way up to it, I guess. On that note—” He rummaged in the rucksack. “I won’t bore you with the toilet paper. I’ll pull out the big guns instead. So to speak.”
He passed me two parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Two squashy parcels. I didn’t say anything, just eased the first one open.
It was a dress. Green, with flowers, and belted neatly at the waist. The second parcel held another dress, yellow with purple flowers, this time with a tie at the back and buttons all down the front.
“They’re beautiful,” I said. “Truly. They’re so very … so very beautiful.”
“From Switzerland,” Joe said. “I guessed at the size. Rayon, because that’s what they had, but I liked how it sort of … flows. It’s feminine, I thought. I figured you could wear them with an apron at the counter.”
“I’ll save them for that,” I said, “and wear these terrible trousers for baking.”
“Wait,” he said, “you’re the baker?”
“But of course. With Frau Adelberg’s arm, how else could we manage? I’m very lucky to have such a skill. Otherwise—” I shrugged. “Unless I could get a job with your Army, I’d be in a sad state. And as I don’t know typing or shorthand, I fear I’d make a very deficient secretary.”
“Yes,” Joe said, his eyes gleaming with amusement, “I imagine that would make things difficult.”
“I am excellent, however, at baking,” I said. “Or at least thoroughly adequate, though I long to try my hand at more varieties. Did you find the yeast? Please say yes. How I’ve wished for yeast!”
He said, “You’re an easy woman to please, then, because I did bring you yeast, and a bag of sugar, too, from the base, even though you didn’t ask. I lived through the rest of my war on the smell of that bread. I’d like to try it for myself.”
“Then,” I said, “I’ll give you a loaf when we get back, and you can share it with your friends. You have so much lovely food, but good German bread—even if it is potato bread—may be a bit of a treat still, I hope.”
“It’ll definitely be a treat,” Joe said. “And so is spending time with you.”