Max were following Konrad down the steps to his car and Konrad was saying, “You must remember to shake hands with the Germans, otherwise they think you despise them for having lost the War,” which seemed so eccentric that she thought she must have misheard until she caught Max’s eye and quickly looked away for fear of getting the giggles again.
She stared out of the window while Konrad drove and made various arrangements with Max – it was cold, but quite a nice day, she discovered – and did not really come to until she found herself sitting at a café table, with the smell of sausages and coffee all round her and Max saying, evidently for the second or third time, “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
He himself was polishing off a large plateful of frankfurters and fried potatoes, and there was a cup of coffee in front of her, so she drank some of that and smiled and shook her head.
“Konrad is going to ring the theatre from his office,” said Max, “so that they’ll be expecting us.”
“The theatre?”
“Where they’ve got the exhibition about Papa.”
“Of course.” She had forgotten all about it.
“It’s really over. Konrad thought they might even have begun to dismantle it. But the stuff should still be there, and Konrad it going to ring the caretaker to make sure he lets us in.”
He looked his normal self again, and she asked, “Are you feeling better now?”
He nodded, his mouth full of frankfurters. “Just reaction,” he said. “No food and not enough sleep.”
She felt very glad that they were going to see the exhibition together. Suddenly it seemed exactly the right thing to do. “It’ll be good to see something to do with Papa,” she said.
They had to travel on the
U-Bahn
to get there, but Konrad had explained the route to Max, and he had also given him a map. If you stayed on the train too long, it took you right out of the Western Sector into the Russian Zone and Anna, who considered this a very real danger, watched the stations anxiously and was standing by the doors, ready to get off, when they reached the one they wanted.
“They warn you before you ever get near the Russian Zone,” said Max as they climbed up the stairs to the street. “They have big notices at the previous station and announcers and loudspeakers. You couldn’t possibly go across by mistake.”
She nodded, but did not really believe him. Once, a few months after escaping from Germany, they had changed trains in Basle on their way to Paris with Papa, and they had discovered only at the very last minute that it was the wrong train.
“Do you remember in Basle,” she said, “when we nearly got a train that was going to Germany? We didn’t even have time to get the luggage off, and you shouted until someone threw it out to us.”
“Did I?” said Max, pleased with his past activity, but, as usual, he had forgotten it.
The theatre was in a busy, unfamiliar street, but then all the streets except the few round her old home and school were unfamiliar to her, thought Anna. There was some heavy bomb damage nearby, but the building itself had either escaped or had been carefully repaired.
They went up some stone steps to the entrance, knocked and waited. For a long time nothing happened. Then, through a glass panel in the door, they could see an old man coming slowly towards them across the gloom of the foyer. A key ground in the lock, the door opened, and he became clearly visible in the light from the street – very old, very bent, and with a long, grey face that did not look as though it ever went out.
“
Kommen Sie rein, kommen Sie rein
,” he said impatiently, rather like the witch, thought Anna, beckoning Hansel and Gretel into the gingerbread house, and he led them slowly across the thick red carpet of the foyer towards a curving staircase.
As he tottered ahead of them, he talked unceasingly. “Can’t put the lights on,” he said in his heavy Berlin accent. “Not in the
She stared out of the window while Konrad drove and made various arrangements with Max – it was cold, but quite a nice day, she discovered – and did not really come to until she found herself sitting at a café table, with the smell of sausages and coffee all round her and Max saying, evidently for the second or third time, “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
He himself was polishing off a large plateful of frankfurters and fried potatoes, and there was a cup of coffee in front of her, so she drank some of that and smiled and shook her head.
“Konrad is going to ring the theatre from his office,” said Max, “so that they’ll be expecting us.”
“The theatre?”
“Where they’ve got the exhibition about Papa.”
“Of course.” She had forgotten all about it.
“It’s really over. Konrad thought they might even have begun to dismantle it. But the stuff should still be there, and Konrad it going to ring the caretaker to make sure he lets us in.”
He looked his normal self again, and she asked, “Are you feeling better now?”
He nodded, his mouth full of frankfurters. “Just reaction,” he said. “No food and not enough sleep.”
She felt very glad that they were going to see the exhibition together. Suddenly it seemed exactly the right thing to do. “It’ll be good to see something to do with Papa,” she said.
They had to travel on the
U-Bahn
to get there, but Konrad had explained the route to Max, and he had also given him a map. If you stayed on the train too long, it took you right out of the Western Sector into the Russian Zone and Anna, who considered this a very real danger, watched the stations anxiously and was standing by the doors, ready to get off, when they reached the one they wanted.
“They warn you before you ever get near the Russian Zone,” said Max as they climbed up the stairs to the street. “They have big notices at the previous station and announcers and loudspeakers. You couldn’t possibly go across by mistake.”
She nodded, but did not really believe him. Once, a few months after escaping from Germany, they had changed trains in Basle on their way to Paris with Papa, and they had discovered only at the very last minute that it was the wrong train.
“Do you remember in Basle,” she said, “when we nearly got a train that was going to Germany? We didn’t even have time to get the luggage off, and you shouted until someone threw it out to us.”
“Did I?” said Max, pleased with his past activity, but, as usual, he had forgotten it.
The theatre was in a busy, unfamiliar street, but then all the streets except the few round her old home and school were unfamiliar to her, thought Anna. There was some heavy bomb damage nearby, but the building itself had either escaped or had been carefully repaired.
They went up some stone steps to the entrance, knocked and waited. For a long time nothing happened. Then, through a glass panel in the door, they could see an old man coming slowly towards them across the gloom of the foyer. A key ground in the lock, the door opened, and he became clearly visible in the light from the street – very old, very bent, and with a long, grey face that did not look as though it ever went out.
“
Kommen Sie rein, kommen Sie rein
,” he said impatiently, rather like the witch, thought Anna, beckoning Hansel and Gretel into the gingerbread house, and he led them slowly across the thick red carpet of the foyer towards a curving staircase.
As he tottered ahead of them, he talked unceasingly. “Can’t put the lights on,” he said in his heavy Berlin accent. “Not in the
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