Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [269]
Erna and Uncle Ulrich made him look good. In fact, he had ditched his old Nazi friends and joined the Democratic Party. It was good business.
“Mother and Father?” Erna asked.
“Both well. Father devotes full time to managing our Wilmersdorf Branch. And our sainted sister?”
“Hilde has made a full recovery, thank you.”
“She is in Wiesbaden, is she not?”
“Yes.”
Sean felt the stilted air between them, was sorry for Ernestine’s discomfort, and glad when Gerd turned the conversation to him.
“You have heard the news, Herr Oberst. Your people and the British landed nearly five thousand tons again today ... and in such weather. I never cease to marvel at it.”
“I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with the Airlift people. They are an extraordinary bunch.”
“I should say so. If you land much more coal, you’ll drive me out of business.”
Gerd was trying to be pleasant. It was a bad joke. He was reaping a fortune from the blockade by the manufacture and sale of an ersatz coal called Blockade Briquets composed of compressed sawdust, dried grass, and low-grade peat. It smoked and it stank, but it did burn after a fashion and was desperately sought to augment the home supply.
Gerd accepted a glass of champagne from Sean. Decent chap, he thought. Held it up to toast. “Prosit. May we never be enemies again.”
Sean did not answer.
“So here we are,” Gerd said, “former enemies sitting as friends in the Russian Sector.”
“In America we say that politics makes strange bedfellows.”
Gerd smarted from the insult. “Very strange bedfellows,” he said, looking directly at Erna.
Sean caught her pleading look and remembered his promise of restraint.
“Yesterday,” Gerd continued pensively, “your airplanes brought bombs. Today the crowds stand and watch Tempelhof with a holy vigil.” He deliberately offered Sean a very expensive cigar, lit his own. “I used to be an antiaircraft gunner. It is still strange for me to look up into the sky without trying to shoot you down.”
Sean flung the champagne from his glass into Gerd’s face.
“What the devil!”
“Gerd! His brother was a pilot.”
Gerd stiffened, waved his friends back. A small smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Forgive me, Herr Oberst.”
The zither player picked up a melody quickly.
“Let’s get out of here,” Sean said.
“Sean,” she said outside, “he did not know.”
But he did not hear. There was not another word exchanged until he stopped the car before her uncle’s flat.
“Good night. Please see yourself in.”
“I cannot let you go away like this.”
His fists clenched and his face contorted with rage and confusion. And he could hold it no longer. He buried his hands in his face ... lost ... alone. She tried to touch him but he became rigid.
“Oh God,” she cried, “I cannot stand it any longer. Please take me to your room ... please, Sean ... please.”
I will drink the bitterness from you ... I will give you love for every hour you have known hate ... I will overcome all of that in us that you despise ... my love is strong enough to do this ... yes, my love is strong enough.
German woman! I am making love to a German woman! Me! Me and that Nazi! In the dark blurs and whirls he could hear the roar of engines over the rooftop ... the static of the radio, its station off the air ... In an instant of realization he was being devoured with a desire to snap her neck ... and it was like no love he had ever known. The fury to love and to kill at the same instant transcended all things.
And then he lay in disgust at his weakness in a strength-ebbed silent oratory of self-condemnation.
Ernestine was tight beside him.
It is done, she thought. You are my man now, Sean.... You are my man.
Ernestine sat in the deep window frame as the daylight came. There was little to be seen outside; the fog swirled angrily close to the ground.
Overhead there was the unabated thunder of the engines on the first leg of the approach to Tempelhof. Ernestine walked back to the bed and brushed his hair with her fingers. There was sadness in his eyes.
“I did not know I could ever listen