Chapter 52 And Then There’s the Truth
AND THEN THERE’S THE TRUTH
I’d been cold riding here. After fifteen minutes of standing around, I was shaking all over.
What had I been thinking, coming here on Christmas?
I was only going to have to ride back again, and I honestly felt as if I’d fall off my bicycle if I did, my joints frozen solid.
The sentry was back in his guardhouse, his palms under his armpits for warmth, the sky was dull and empty, and the roads were barren of vehicles or pedestrians.
Even the air was motionless. I jumped up and down, kept my hands in my pockets, and told myself, You won’t freeze.
If Franz didn’t freeze in Siberia in this coat, neither will you.
You’re uncomfortable, that’s all. But I felt like I could freeze.
I was wearing my trousers, not a dress, but my legs were two numb, frozen sticks.
At last, a vehicle came down the road from the camp. A Jeep, with a driver and no passenger. It stopped at the barrier, and the sentry lifted it to let the Jeep through. And in the Jeep was Joe.
He was out of the car almost before it stopped moving. He didn’t say anything, just took one look at my shaking body and wrapped me up in his arms. When the shaking didn’t stop, he unbuttoned his coat and wrapped that around me, too.
“Th-thanks,” I managed to say. “S-sorry. I didn’t think it would t-take so long to f-find you.”
“The other guys were mostly at chapel,” he said. “Christmas, you know.”
I nodded against him. “I’ve been in the church since seven, but I couldn’t stay there all day. After I sat a while and thought and prayed, and then went to Mass … I realized I needed to come see you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Joe said. “We have to get you warmed up, though. Where can we go? It’s Christmas. There’s a brewery in Zirndorf, but it won’t be open today. I’m trying to think where …”
“The train station,” I said, “in Nuremberg. That would be the most likely. I have my bicycle. Can we …”
“We’ll throw it in the back,” he said, “and drive there. You’ll still be cold, but not for long.”
“Can you take the Jeep so far?” I asked.
“I can if I’m doing an urgent interview,” he said, and put my bicycle in the back of the Jeep.
“Oh,” I said, as he started the motor again and took off.
“You lied today, too, then. I told the sentry at the gate that I was English. I couldn’t think how else to see you.
” My teeth were chattering again, my bones aching with the cold.
Riding in an open car in near-zero temperatures isn’t for the faint of heart.
When we got to Nuremberg, the station was closed. Joe swore under his breath, and I said, “A church, then. Any church must be open on Christmas.”
The streets of the city center were as eerily empty as the road here had been.
The rubble had been cleared enough for the Jeep to pass, but that was all one could say for it; a mountain of debris still lined every street.
We passed some things that may once have been churches, but that was all.
At last, Joe said, “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.
Too much damage. Next idea?” Not sounding frustrated. Sounding deliberately calm.
“All I can think,” I said, “is to go to the professor’s. He’ll be there, unless he too is in church. I should have thought of that in the first place, but I suppose I didn’t want an audience.”
“And if he’s not there?” Joe said, not answering the second part of my sentence, or perhaps not registering it.
“Then,” I said, “I go to Mass again. With you. Are you allowed?”
“I imagine so,” Joe said. “The God’s the same, anyway. I’ll just skip the body and blood of Christ.”
I laughed. I wouldn’t have said it was possible, but Joe could always make me laugh. He turned the Jeep, and back west we went again. By this point, I couldn’t feel my hands, feet, or face, and he couldn’t be much warmer. No point commenting on it, though.
What a relief when Dr. Müller opened the door to us! He looked more stooped than ever today, and his skin had a gray tinge to it, but he invited us upstairs at once and made tea. He offered bread, too, which I took with thanks—I hadn’t eaten anything yet today—and Joe refused.
When we were seated at his little table, our hands wrapped around our teacups, I said, “I have a gift for you, Dr. Müller, but unfortunately, it’s back in my room.
” I was still shivering, even though it was warmer in here—not warm, but certainly above freezing—and I was still wearing my coat and mittens.
“Never mind,” Dr. Müller said. He looked between the two of us. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yes,” I said. “Although it’s also right. Herr Adelberg has come home.”
“Ah. And?”
I looked at my cup. “And he doesn’t want me to stay there anymore. He can bake, he says. Well, of course he can. He was always a baker, and his father before him. And he wants to be with his family again. I understand that, but …”
“Did you tell him,” Dr. Müller said, “how much you’ve done for them?”
“I’m afraid I told him most impolitely,” I said.
“Which didn’t help my case. Neither did seeing Joe at his table for Christmas dinner.
He got the wrong impression, I’m afraid.
And even when I corrected it …” I shrugged.
“There’s no getting around it. Joe is an American soldier, and I’ve definitely consorted with him. I understand that, too.”
“Then you must come stay with me,” Dr. Müller said, before pausing to cough again. “It isn’t proper, but I’m an old man. If there is gossip, I don’t think we need concern ourselves. It’s too ridiculous for that.”
“You have only two rooms.” That much, I’d realized the first time Joe and I had visited. His bed was tucked into a curtained alcove off the sitting room, and the tiny kitchen and a small closet for the toilet were the only other spaces. The bath, he shared with the rest of the floor.
“You can sleep on the floor of my sitting room,” he said. “We’ll find another blanket, and you can use your coat and mine.”
“I’ll need work, though,” I said. “Is there—is there work, Joe, for the Army, at the trials? Could I interpret, possibly? Translate?” He hesitated, and I said, “The captain still doesn’t trust me, then.”
“There’s a process,” Joe said. “Interviewing family, friends, all of that, to make sure the person’s sound. Looking at their records. They’re mostly bringing over Americans and Brits for the sensitive stuff, for obvious reasons. You’d have to prove you’re reliable. And anti-Nazi.”
“And I’m an unknown quantity,” I said. “With no family to interview, and no friends who’ve known me long.”
“Yes,” he said. “But it might be possible, if we take in all your documents and you answer some questions. Your life in Dresden, your family, your schooling, all of that. It’s worth a shot. But Daisy—there’s another answer.”
“There is? What?”
“You marry me, of course.” He was looking straight at me now, his voice urgent.
“There’s a new U.S. law coming out this week, the War Brides Act.
The captain told me. He thought I’d be interested, and he was right.
As long as I can get permission from my CO to marry—which is a bit of an obstacle, sure, for guys trying to marry Germans or Japanese, but I can’t imagine it’s insurmountable—we get married, and all these troubles are over. ”
“Oh,” I said faintly. “But—”
“What?” Joe asked. “Look, I know it hasn’t been long, but it hasn’t been short, either.
I met you eight months ago, and I’ve seen you almost every day for months now.
You’re—I’ve never met anyone so fine, that’s all.
This wasn’t how I was planning to say this, but I love you, and I want to marry you.
And you love me, too. I know you do. I couldn’t feel like this unless you loved me.
This is right, Daisy. If life is forcing our hand a little, so what? That doesn’t make it the wrong choice.”
Dr. Müller said nothing, just sat there. And I couldn’t think what to say.
“Whatever the problem is,” Joe said, “tell me. It’s going to take some time to get permission anyway, but at least we’ll have a plan. At least we’ll both know we have a future.”
I had to speak sometime. If there’d been no choice before, there was less than none now.
I’d known that; it was the reason I’d gone to see him in the first place.
“But you see,” I said, “there is a problem, and I don’t know how to get past it.
I don’t know if you’ll be able to get past it, either.
I feel … I feel so much for you, too, but I don’t know, do you see?
I don’t know if it’s right. I don’t know about love, or marriage, or …
And before you say any more, I need to tell you the truth.
Even to try to get that position with the Army, there may be a problem.
You see—” I took a breath, steeled myself, and went on.
“I have only one document—my Kennkarte—and it’s forged.
Supplying my real document might bring up a …
a problem. But maybe not, at least not for the Americans.
For you, I—I don’t know. Maybe if I explain, though … maybe I can explain.”
“Daisy,” Joe said. “I’m completely confused. Just tell me.”
Dr. Müller said, “Ah,” in the satisfied tone of somebody who thinks, “I thought so.”
I told Joe, “I came to see you today because I—because I—” I started shaking again and couldn’t stop. “Because I went to Mass and—”
“Hey,” Joe said. “Hey.” He put his arms around me, right there in front of Dr. Müller, and said, “Whatever it is, you can tell me. If your father was actually a Nazi, that doesn’t mean you are.”
I reared back. “No. No, it’s not that.” I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “But I’ve known you under false pretenses, and if you’re to help me any more than you already have, I need to tell the truth.”
Dr. Müller said, “Would you like me to leave you alone while you sort this out?”