Christopher's Ghosts by Charles McCarry Page B

Perhaps his tormentors hoped that he would make an innocent mistake that would turn out to be a crime punishable by worse humiliations than he had already suffered. Whatever the explanation, it was better to assume that something was forbidden than to assume that it was not, so the doctor never touched the receiver unless he was sure that a Jew was on the line. It was Rima’s job to answer during office hours and make sure that this was the case before she called her father to the phone.
    Paul had expected it to take a couple of hours for the call to go through to Berlin. However, the Kaltenbach’s number rang almost immediately. On hearing her voice, Paul said, “Rima.”
    “My love. You are safely there?”
    “No broken bones. It was an easy drive. We hardly saw another car.”
    After a pause—for a moment Paul thought that the connection had been broken—Rima said, “I want to come to you, Paul.”
    “Here?”
    “Yes, I must. Tonight. On the eleven-forty train.”
    Paul didn’t hesitate. It was too late for hesitation. His curiosity was too great. Besides, he longed for her. And whoever was listening had heard enough. They should hear no more.
    “Of course,” he said. “I’ll be at the station to meet you.”
    “Your family will not be upset?”
    “They’ll understand. Take the train. What about your father?”
    “He doesn’t know. I’ll leave a note.”
    It was not love but deathly fear that Paul had heard in Rima’s voice. He felt what she was feeling as if he were the one who was afraid. But he was not afraid—not for himself, anyway. He had never in his short life been afraid—not of bullies even before he learned how to fight them, not even of Stutzer. His father said that he got this from his mother and her family—look at Paulus—but Paul had never seen hisfather show a sign of fear, either. Hubbard watched, he listened, he smiled. Then he wrote everything down and this act seemed to cure everything, even the instinct for self-preservation.
    When Hubbard and Paulus returned from their walk, they were silent and withdrawn, rare behavior for either of them. Paul had planned to tell the family his news one at a time, Hubbard first, Lori last, so as to give them the opportunity of consulting each other and making a decision. However, Hubbard and Paulus seemed determined to remain together, and Paul needed time to stop Rima if the answer was No. In that case he would take a train to Berlin. He would go to her.
    Paul told the two of them about his phone call. As usual, Paulus’s taut face showed nothing. Hubbard absorbed Paul’s words, then smiled—but faintly. Paulus let Hubbard, the father, ask the questions. There was only one.
    “This is the girl who helped you in the Tiergarten?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then of course she can come,” Hubbard said. “Paulus, is that agreeable?”
    “Certainly. Is she pretty, Paul?”
    “More than that, Uncle.”
    Paulus gave him a long look while his smile, beginning in his eyes, peeled off the expressionless mask that he had been wearing since his walk with Hubbard. More than pretty? More evidence that Paul, this splendid boy, was like his maternal grandfather, like Paulus himself, like all of his Prussian forebears. “Wunderbar!” Paulus said.
    Hubbard had similar manly feelings. He threw a heavy arm around Paul’s shoulders and squeezed. His eyes glowed. Paul could see that his father was imagining the meeting of Paul and Rima at the station—Paul waiting on the platform, Rima alighting from the train, their proper public hello, the longing in their eyes. Hubbard was not, however, imagining the watchers in the shadows. He saw no evil unless it tapped him on the chest.
        2
    It was well after midnight when Rima arrived at Schloss Berwick. Hilde greeted her at the door with a heart-chilling demonstration of old-fashioned good manners. She was kind but distant, hospitable but not welcoming. She spoke all the right words without uttering a kindly one.