Chapter 14 #2
Once the tub was filled, Jelka beckoned him into the water.
They had been naked together only in the darkness of the rented room.
Ozzie felt shy as he undid his belt buckle.
He turned his back to her as he let his pants fall to the floor.
Jelka made space for him and then relaxed her head against his chest as the warm water surrounded them. Ozzie sighed.
Her cigarette burned in the ashtray that sat in the windowsill. Just outside he could see clouds parting.
“You make me feel good,” she whispered, turning her face to kiss his chin.
“What do you want to be once Germany is restored?” Ozzie laced his fingers with hers under the water.
“Well, I was not so good in school. My mother said, ‘You are not good in school. You are good for work.’ So I got a job at a women’s boutique.”
“Will you do that again?”
“The shop was destroyed by the bombs.”
“What would you like to do instead?”
Jelka picked up her cigarette, took a puff, and exhaled slowly; a few ashes fell in the water. “To stop being afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Everything. You do not know what it was like.”
Ozzie felt her shiver against him. “Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“If I start talking, I will never stop. Just hold me.”
Ozzie wrapped his arms around her. “You’re safe now. You’re with me.”
She turned her body in the water until they were eye to eye.
“Promise?”
Ozzie nodded. “Promise.”
After their bath, Ozzie convinced Jelka to take him to one of the few museums that had not been destroyed, but she was antsy and uninterested as they walked the halls and Ozzie studied the paintings and artifacts.
After a walk along the river, they had dinner at a Turkish restaurant and then visited a private club that her cousin had told her about.
The lights were low, the music American, the shots of alcohol cheap, and Ozzie and Jelka drank, danced, and then stumbled back to the apartment.
When Ozzie woke up, Jelka stood in the small kitchen, dressed in a short housecoat. Her lips were still stained with the crimson lipstick she’d worn the night before.
“Osborne. We need bread. Would you go to the bakery?”
As Ozzie dressed in trousers and a pullover, his hangover parked itself at the back of his head, the promise to his mother long forgotten.
Jelka had pointed out the bakery and shops on their walk the day before, but Ozzie decided to take the long way around for a bit of exercise and fresh air.
When he passed a small café, he stopped to see if they had any newspapers written in English.
The small storefront smelled like butter and baked pastries mixed with the aroma of strong coffee.
At the register, he flipped through the newspapers on the stand, disappointed to see that they were all in German.
“Philips?” He heard his name and turned.
“Clara?” he replied timidly.
She grinned at him, tossing a few loose strands of long hair from her face. “What are you doing here?”
He walked over to her table by the window, and she enveloped him in an affectionate embrace. She smelled like the talcum powder that he remembered she’d worn on the ship when she had nursed him back to health. That time felt like ages ago.
“I had a few days off, so I’m doing a little exploring.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“What have you seen so far?”
“Just got in yesterday, so not much. Where are you stationed?” He took the seat at the table across from her.
“A few kilometers from here, over at Rhein-Main. It’s been a real learning experience on patience and persistence. That’s the best way I can describe it.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please,” he said, knowing that Jelka would be waiting for him but unable to pass up the chance to connect with Clara.
“Ein Kaffee bitte,” she ordered from the waiter.
“I’m impressed.”
“I have found that when you try to speak the language, they treat you better.” She pursed her lips.
Then her face rearranged itself. “It’s just been hard.
The army won’t give me permission to work on white patients.
As if my degrees only work for one race.
When there are no Negro patients, I’m stuck doing other things.
Like cleaning and cooking, and it’s frustrating. ”
Ozzie knew the feeling well.
“And it’s not even coming from the Germans. They could care less about our stupid American Jim Crow laws. It’s our own government. Intent on treating me like I’m stupid.”
“It’s the same for me,” Ozzie confessed, telling Clara how he’d aced the aptitude test and still hadn’t been placed in the Intelligence unit. “I spend most of my days with my head underneath a car.”
“Are you homesick?”
“Sometimes.”
“I miss my family terribly,” Clara continued. “My sister had a baby girl, and she’ll be darn near a year before I get to lay eyes on her.” She sipped her coffee. “Where are Morgan and Thornton? You guys still together?”
“Morgan is stationed with me in Mannheim, Thornton is training in Kitzingen. Hopefully, he’ll join us soon.”
Ozzie’s eyes shifted to the wall clock over Clara’s head. More time had passed than he’d realized. “I better go.” He downed the rest of his coffee.
“Who are you traveling with? Anyone I know?”
“A friend’s cousin is putting me up.”
Clara’s gaze bored into him, and then she sighed. “They got you too?”
“Who?”
“You’re with one of those Veronikas, then,” she said with bite.
Ozzie had heard the German women with Negro soldiers called many things.
Veronika was a new one. But it wasn’t hard to ascertain what Clara meant by the way her shoulders slumped.
She was clearly disappointed in Ozzie for playing on the other side.
“She’s a friend,” he said hoarsely, not sure why he felt the need to explain to her.
“You know what’s funny?” Clara squinted at him, her eyes now slightly red.
“White men want white women. Negro men want white women. Black women are left out here to navigate on our own. In the slight chance that a white man does look my way, it’s with lust. Or it’s to get me a-scrubbing and a-cooking,” she said flatly.
“Clara,” he started, but she cut him off.
“I’m not asking for your pity, Ozzie. Just telling it like it is.”
Her words dug deep into his skin. He had never thought about Clara or any of the Negro woman stationed in Germany and what it was like for them here.
Ozzie searched for words to comfort her, but Clara stood with her navy coat in her arms. Ozzie reached for it and then held it open so she could slip into it.
He fluffed her hair for her around her collar, then he reached for her right hand and brought it to his mouth for a short kiss.
“If you find yourself in Mannheim, I’m at Sullivan.”
“Be careful, Ozzie. Not everyone out here can be trusted. Not even the chick you’re with.”
When Ozzie opened the apartment’s door, Jelka was sitting on the floor between the sofa and armchair, rolled in the fetal position and shaking like a reed in a storm.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” He squatted before her. Jelka kept rocking back and forth, muttering something in German that he could not understand.
“Jelka.” He took hold of her shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”
“What took you so long?” Her face was streaked with running mascara.
“I ran into an old friend.”
“I thought they took you.”
“Who?”
“They kill everyone.” Her voice was shrill, and her eyes were wild and frantic.
“I’m right here.”
“Men leave and they do not return.” She cried harder.
It was the same thing Rita had said to him when she broke up with him, and his stomach sank. Ozzie took the edge of his sleeve and wiped her face. “Talk to me.”
Jelka was quiet, rocking back and forth. “My brothers. I have lost two. They left for the war and never returned.”
Ozzie hadn’t known. He reached for her hands.
Jelka allowed Ozzie to help her to the sofa.
“When you didn’t come back, it was like it was happening to me all over again.”
Ozzie pulled her to his chest and shushed her. “You don’t have to worry about me. I will always come back.” He looked up at the ceiling and frowned. His words felt untrue.