Chapter 51 The Pieces Scatter
THE PIECES SCATTER
He had the most enormous smile on his face as he came through the door.
Then he saw Joe. Who was in uniform.
We were all still on our feet. I was still holding Matti, too, who was silent. Scared, I thought. When had he last seen his father? Did he even remember him?
I said, “Good evening, Herr Adelberg. Welcome home. And Merry Christmas.” My voice trailed off toward the end, because he wasn’t looking at me, and he wasn’t looking at Matti.
He was looking at Joe. Then his gaze fell on the two packages of nylons, which were right there on the end table.
And the gold chain around his wife’s neck.
His mouth was a thin, hard line when he said to Joe, “Out. Out of my house.”
“Wait,” Frau Adelberg said. “I can explain.”
He turned on her, and she took a step back. And he said nothing.
Joe didn’t say anything, either. He walked out of the room, passing within a few inches of Herr Adelberg, took his coat from the hook, and headed for the stairs. I was right behind him.
He turned at the bottom and said, “I’ll meet you at the Professor’s the day after tomorrow.”
“But—” I tried to say. “But—”
“Nothing we can do about it now,” he said. “We’ll see where we are in a few days.”
I took his hand and said, “Wait. Please.”
His face softened, and his hand came up to touch my cheek. “It’ll be all right. If it isn’t—” He frowned into the distance. “Is there a hotel? Someplace you can go?”
“You must know there isn’t.” I was a balloon with all my air let out. “Do you think—” I had to swallow. “You don’t think he’ll turn me out?”
“How can he,” Joe said, “after everything you’ve done? Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. And anyway—I’ll fix this. I have a plan.”
A shadow fell over us, and Herr Adelberg stood at the top of the stairs. “I told you to get out,” he said.
Joe said, still somehow so calm, “I’m just going.” He didn’t touch me again, and he didn’t kiss me goodbye. He just left, and I stood with my palm against the closed door, the bitter cold seeping in around it like icy fingers, and didn’t turn.
Herr Adelberg said, “I meant both of you.”
I turned then. I had to. I summoned all the self-possession I could muster and said, “I’m afraid I have nowhere else to go. Surely Frau Adelberg has told you about me in her letters. I’ve been here so long—months and months now. I’m Daisy. The baker.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at me some more as if I was making no sense whatsoever. Then he went back into the apartment and closed the door.
I tried to think of what to do. I couldn’t come up with anything, though, except to climb the stairs again.
What would I do if he’d locked the apartment door?
All those baggage counters and barns and cellars where I’d slept seemed a lifetime ago.
Part of me knew I could do it again—if I could get my coat and a blanket, at least—but the rest of me was all but screaming inside, resisting every thought of turning back into a refugee.
The door opened under my hand, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Frau and Herr Adelberg were standing across from each other, Frau Adelberg’s arm across Matti’s shoulders, her face urgent as the words came out in a torrent.
I didn’t stop to listen or to explain. I went to my bedroom, closed the door, sat on the bed, and tried to breathe.
What was going to happen now?
And would anybody even eat my Streuselkuchen?
I woke at three-thirty the next morning, as always, in the freezing dark.
I remembered first that it was Christmas morning and I didn’t have to bake, but could go back to sleep instead.
That it would be Christmas Mass this morning, and as beautiful as the church could manage in these hard times. Then I remembered the night before.
I’d hoped Frau Adelberg would come tell me what was happening.
That she’d reassure me, or at least let me know where I stood.
I’d heard nothing, though, so eventually, I’d crept out to use the bathroom, then climbed into bed and read my book, trying to dive into the pages and escape.
At least it wasn’t Brideshead Revisited anymore, but A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which was wonderful.
Even it, though, couldn’t possibly distract me enough, for I wasn’t a child anymore, and I had no confidence, as children do, that somebody else would handle the harder parts of life.
I was responsible for myself, and I knew it.
I kept reading anyway, though. I couldn’t think what else to do.
Eventually, I fell asleep sitting up, with the light on and the book in my hands.
Now, I thought, I’ll bake Brotchen for breakfast, and got up to do it. Being helpful, being indispensable, had worked for me so far. Why wouldn’t it work now?
When I went down to the kitchen, though, somebody was already there.
Herr Adelberg turned in surprise when I came through the door, and I halted and said, “Oh! Good morning,” in a most tentative voice.
He sighed. It was a tired sort of sigh. “I don’t require help to bake the bread. Go upstairs.”
“But I—” I wasn’t sure how to go on.
“My wife gave you a home,” he said. “You’ve been here eight months, though, and the war is long over. Time to find a home of your own, don’t you think?”
Did I want to crawl away like a whipped puppy? Of course I did. Something stronger in me, though, refused. I said, “Haven’t you noticed her arm?”
“Her arm?” He looked confused.
“Yes,” I said. “Her left arm was broken and mended poorly. It needs an operation to reset it correctly, but she can’t get one, not with the state the hospitals are in now. She could barely bake bread at all. Did she tell you that?”
“And yet here is the bakery,” he said. “Good as ever. She’s clearly able to bake enough for that. I’ll thank you for helping her, but—”
How I wished for Joe’s calm! For my father’s icy command!
I had neither, but I did have a strong sense of justice.
I said, “I’ve baked the bread. I’ve been up every morning at three-thirty, ever since I got here, to do it.
I’ve bought the flour, too, and the fuel oil and the wheat and the rye berries, not to mention any meat we’ve had.
I sold my family’s priceless heirloom to supply this place.
To help myself, yes, and also to help your family when you couldn’t. ”
“I was fighting for my country!” he said, his cheeks darkening. “Do you think I didn’t want to be here?”
“Do you think I did?” I was really angry now.
“My family died, too. My house burned. I wandered for months. I’ve been grateful to have a place to stay.
Of course I have. Grateful for work to do, too.
But far from being fairly paid for that work, I’ve paid to do it!
If you have flour now, it’s because I bought it.
If you have customers, it’s because I served them.
I don’t resent that. It was a trade, and I made it voluntarily.
I do resent you acting as if I’m a … a parasite. ”
“And the American?” His arms were crossed now, his brows drawn together.
I took a deep, deep breath. I counted to ten. I remembered my father. I said, “Can we have a cup of tea and sit down to discuss this? It’s Christmas morning, and you’re home from war. Surely we can talk about this without anger.” Another breath, and I added, “Please.” How galling was that “please”!
It took a moment, but I finally got a reluctant nod, and when our hands were wrapped around hot cups of tea—peppermint again, not sharing the real stuff, because that saintly, I was not—I said, “You didn’t know about me.”
“No,” he said. “She told me there had been some refugees. Jewish refugees. But that they’d gone to a camp.” He made a face, and the hot blood was in my cheeks again.
“Yes,” I said. “I came with them. Dr. Becker was our family’s doctor. He’s an eminent man. A good man.”
“And endangering my family.”
Another of those deep breaths. I was seventeen today, and it was going to take all the maturity I could conjure up to have this conversation.
“No,” I said. “By the time we came, the Americans were nearly here. There was no danger to your family. But your wife, to her credit, didn’t seem to consider that.
She gave us tea and preserves and cheese for our bread when we were starving and thirsty, and offered us shelter before she even knew how well I could bake.
I’ve tried my best to repay her. I believe I’ve done so. ”
“And when you rescued an enemy soldier,” Herr Adelberg said. “Was that also for the benefit of my family?”
“Well, yes,” I said coolly, “as it turned out. Joe’s brought us supplies we couldn’t have got otherwise—coffee, sugar, powdered milk and eggs, white flour, even toilet paper.
So many things. My money has bought much more, and the bicycle to carry it all home.
I realize I can’t stay here if you don’t want me, but I won’t crawl away in shame, either, or pretend that I’ve done something wrong. ”
“Your parents are dead,” Herr Adelberg said.
“Yes.” I didn’t say more, for what was there to say?
“Would they be proud of you?” he said. “Being with an American?”
“Oh, he’s more than an American,” I said. “He’s also a Jew. And a good man. What of your guards there in England? Were they all cruel?”
He dropped his gaze. “No. Not all. But my wife says, about this trial—”
“Yes,” I said, “Joe’s working on the trial.
You’ll see, when you read about it, how you were lied to, what was done in your name.
Don’t you want the people who did it, who got your son killed and got you locked up away from your family, for the sake of nothing but their own arrogance and ambition, to pay for what they’ve done? ”
“Don’t you want the people who bombed your home to pay?” Herr Adelberg raised his hands, then dropped them. “We’ll never agree. If my son had come home with a Russian girl—”
“If a Russian girl had saved your son’s life?
” He shrugged, and I said, “It’s not so easy.
Not nearly as easy as we’ve been taught, as everybody’s taught.
Here we are now, surviving because the Americans must feed us.
How well do you imagine that’s going in the Russian zone?
You wonder why I don’t go home now, I’m sure.
It’s because my home is in the Russian zone, and to go there, for me, means imprisonment or death. ”
He scoffed a little. “Nothing so dramatic, surely.”
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly that dramatic.” I rose, then, for my tea was gone. “I’m going to the church, and then I’m going to make a plan. Can you allow that?”
He looked down at his cup, then up at me. “I can’t feed another mouth,” he said. “Not one I don’t need, that’s not my family.”
“I know,” I said. “I know.”
By the time I reached the gate to the Americans’ camp, I was half frozen. My hands were blocks of ice inside my woolen mittens, and my toes and face felt frostbitten. I practically fell off my bicycle as the guard, his rifle held ready in both hands, said, “U.S. Army. Eintritt verboten.”
This again. I said, “I need to see Staff Sergeant Joe Stark.”
“You’re English,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. Lying on Christmas, after going to Mass! “But a German citizen now. Here are my papers.” I handed them over, then decided to add, “Please don’t turn me away. It’s Christmas, and I’m very cold. Please call for Staff Sergeant Stark.”