The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [90]
Hella put her book on the table and said to Frau Saunders, “Finished. It was fine.”
Frau Saunders said, “I have others in the bedroom you haven't read. Go look at them.”
“Not tonight,” Hella said. She went to the window and stood beside Mosca, slipping her arm around his waist, under his T shirt They both stared out into the darkness, letting the tree-scented breeze blow against them. They could smell the vegetable gardens and the river which flowed beyond; the summer night air had only the slightest acrid taint of ruins. The full moon was screened by clouds and all around him in the quiet darkness Mosca could hear German voices and laughter from near-by houses. A radio tuned to a Bremen station was playing soft string music.
He had a sudden longing to go to the Rathskellar or the club, to shoot dice or drink with Eddie and Wolf.
“Oh, you are drinking so much beer,” Hella said. “I hope you can walk to bed.”
Mosca stroked her hair and said, “Don't worry about me, I'm all right”
She leaned against him. “I feel good tonight,” she said. “You-know what I'd like?” She said this softly so that Frau Saunders could not hear.
“What?” Mosca asked, and she smiled at him and reached up to kiss his mouth.
“You're sure it's all right?” he asked, speaking as softly as she. “It's only been a month.” Eddie Cassin had told him he should wait at least two months.
“I'm all right now,” she said, “don't worry about me. I. feel wonderful tonight, like an old family woman, as if we were together, oh, so many years.”
They stood there for a few moments longer, listening to the murmurings of the city and the night and then Mosca turned and said to Frau Saunders, “Good night.” He held the door of the living-room open so that Hella could wheel tiie carriage into the bedroom. When he followed her he checked the hall door to the apartment to make sure that it was locked.
eighteen
Mosca sat in flie shade thrown by a great, white-painted house, the requisitioned country club. Before him stretched the archery course with its blue- and red-circled targets, beside him Hella sat in a low, comfortable chair. On the wide lawn sat GIs, their wives, and baby carriages.
Over everything hung the peace of late Sunday afternoon. The evening had begun to fall a little quicker than usual, Mosca thought, autumn near, coming earlier this year. Scattered through the green of the lawn were patches of brown, and there was a reddish tinge in the leaves of the great elms that screened the golf course.
He saw Eddie Cassin coming toward them, skirting the archers. Eddie sat on the grass, tapped Hella's foot, and said, “Hello, baby.” Hella smiled down at him and kept reading Stars and Stripes, forming the words silently with her lips.
“I got a letter from my wife,” Eddie Cassin said. “She's not coming over.” He was silent for a few moments. “The final word,” he said, and smiled gravely, the delicate mouth twisting. “She's going to marry her boss. I told you she was screwing for him, Walter. I didn't even know anything then. Just pure intuition. How's that for intuition, Walter?”
Mosca could see that Eddie was well on his way to a big drunk. “What the hell, Eddie, you're not a family man.”
“I could be,” Eddie Cassin said. “I could toy.” He pointed to the cream-colored carriage which sat so prettily on its green carpet of grass, the blue woolen blanket peeping out of it “You're not a family man but you're trying.”
Mosca laughed. “I'm learning,” he said.
They sat in silence for a time. “How about coming to the Rathskellar tonight?” Eddie asked.
“No,” Mosca said. “We got some stuff in the house. Why don't you come over?”
“I have to keep moving.” Eddie got up. “I can't sit around your place all night.” He wandered away, moving between the archers and their targets. ”
Mosca lay back against Hella's legs, raised his face to the weak rays of a dying sun. He had forgotten to ask Eddie about the marriage papers. They were due now.
He thought about going home, about coming into his mother's house