to look? We’ve got Rosa’s father to look for.’
‘We can look for Miriam while we look for him,’ Effi interjected. ‘We’ll be looking in the same places, won’t we?’
‘I was actually compiling a list this morning,’ Thomas said. ‘DP camps, of course – there’s probably twenty or more in and around Berlin, some big, some small. Some of the Jews are in camps of their own, but not all of them. It seems the Americans believe they deserve special treatment, while the British think separating them out is too reminiscent of the Nazis. The old hospital on Iranische Strasse where you and Rosa were held is one of them, and there are a couple of others. And then there are the old Jewish neighbourhoods. There are messages pinned wherever you look, telling where people have gone, or asking for news of others. Almost everyone seems to be looking for someone.’
‘We’ll start tomorrow,’ Effi said, looking at Russell. ‘I’ll go to Schlüterstrasse in the morning, and meet you both somewhere for lunch.’
‘Not me, I’m afraid,’ Thomas said. ‘I have another meeting with the Russians.’
‘How is business?’ Russell asked.
‘A nightmare,’ Thomas said cheerfully. ‘Living in the American zone, working in the Russian – it’s a recipe for trouble. The Russians brought me plenty of work right from the outset, but most of it was propaganda, which didn’t please the Americans. So they told the Russians that I had a suspect past, and that they’d be bringing me up before a Denazification tribunal. They haven’t yet, but they probably will.’
‘You’re joking,’ Effi said.
‘I wish I was. As you both know, I did cosy up to some pretty disgusting people during the war – it seemed the only way to protect our Jewish staff, not that it worked in the end. If it comes to it, I could probably find some Jewish survivors to testify on my behalf, but what a waste of time and energy that would be.’
And embarrassing, Russell thought. Thomas was not someone who liked to publicise his good deeds.
‘Business has become politics, I’m afraid,’ Thomas concluded. ‘But then I suppose it always was.’
‘How did the Russians reply to the Americans?’ Russell asked.
‘Oh, they wouldn’t care if I turned out to be Hitler’s long-lost brother. They shot all the Nazis they came across in the first few months, and then drew a line under it. Now all they care about is how useful anyone might be. It’s almost refreshing, especially when you see the contortions the Americans are going through. But I shouldn’t complain,’ he added with a sudden smile, ‘most Berliners are having a much worse time than I am. You know what the basic ration card is called? The death card, because it doesn’t give you enough calories to live on. That’s the one everyone in this house has, save me and Esther. I get more for running a business, and Esther for being a ‘Victim’. But we both put what we get in the house kitty, not that you’d think so from Frau Niebel’s attitude.’
‘Well, you’ll have two more for the pot now,’ Effi said.
‘And yours will be the most welcome,’ Thomas told her. ‘Artists get the highest-grade card, thanks to the Russians. What a strange people they are. Their soldiers rape half the women in the city, and then they sponsor an artistic renaissance.’
‘Different Russians,’ Russell told him. ‘Think Beethoven and the storm troopers.’
Thomas laughed. ‘I suppose so. Do you know much about your new film?’ he asked Effi.
‘Not a great deal. It seems well-meaning, which will make a change in itself. I’m hoping there’s a script waiting for me at Schlüterstrasse.’
‘And you’re back as a journalist?’ he asked Russell.
‘Yes. Sort of.’
‘The Soviets have come back with the bill?’
‘Yes, but we can talk about that some other time. Esther Rosenfeld isn’t here, is she?’
‘No, she spends her days at the hospital. She usually comes back here to
‘We can look for Miriam while we look for him,’ Effi interjected. ‘We’ll be looking in the same places, won’t we?’
‘I was actually compiling a list this morning,’ Thomas said. ‘DP camps, of course – there’s probably twenty or more in and around Berlin, some big, some small. Some of the Jews are in camps of their own, but not all of them. It seems the Americans believe they deserve special treatment, while the British think separating them out is too reminiscent of the Nazis. The old hospital on Iranische Strasse where you and Rosa were held is one of them, and there are a couple of others. And then there are the old Jewish neighbourhoods. There are messages pinned wherever you look, telling where people have gone, or asking for news of others. Almost everyone seems to be looking for someone.’
‘We’ll start tomorrow,’ Effi said, looking at Russell. ‘I’ll go to Schlüterstrasse in the morning, and meet you both somewhere for lunch.’
‘Not me, I’m afraid,’ Thomas said. ‘I have another meeting with the Russians.’
‘How is business?’ Russell asked.
‘A nightmare,’ Thomas said cheerfully. ‘Living in the American zone, working in the Russian – it’s a recipe for trouble. The Russians brought me plenty of work right from the outset, but most of it was propaganda, which didn’t please the Americans. So they told the Russians that I had a suspect past, and that they’d be bringing me up before a Denazification tribunal. They haven’t yet, but they probably will.’
‘You’re joking,’ Effi said.
‘I wish I was. As you both know, I did cosy up to some pretty disgusting people during the war – it seemed the only way to protect our Jewish staff, not that it worked in the end. If it comes to it, I could probably find some Jewish survivors to testify on my behalf, but what a waste of time and energy that would be.’
And embarrassing, Russell thought. Thomas was not someone who liked to publicise his good deeds.
‘Business has become politics, I’m afraid,’ Thomas concluded. ‘But then I suppose it always was.’
‘How did the Russians reply to the Americans?’ Russell asked.
‘Oh, they wouldn’t care if I turned out to be Hitler’s long-lost brother. They shot all the Nazis they came across in the first few months, and then drew a line under it. Now all they care about is how useful anyone might be. It’s almost refreshing, especially when you see the contortions the Americans are going through. But I shouldn’t complain,’ he added with a sudden smile, ‘most Berliners are having a much worse time than I am. You know what the basic ration card is called? The death card, because it doesn’t give you enough calories to live on. That’s the one everyone in this house has, save me and Esther. I get more for running a business, and Esther for being a ‘Victim’. But we both put what we get in the house kitty, not that you’d think so from Frau Niebel’s attitude.’
‘Well, you’ll have two more for the pot now,’ Effi said.
‘And yours will be the most welcome,’ Thomas told her. ‘Artists get the highest-grade card, thanks to the Russians. What a strange people they are. Their soldiers rape half the women in the city, and then they sponsor an artistic renaissance.’
‘Different Russians,’ Russell told him. ‘Think Beethoven and the storm troopers.’
Thomas laughed. ‘I suppose so. Do you know much about your new film?’ he asked Effi.
‘Not a great deal. It seems well-meaning, which will make a change in itself. I’m hoping there’s a script waiting for me at Schlüterstrasse.’
‘And you’re back as a journalist?’ he asked Russell.
‘Yes. Sort of.’
‘The Soviets have come back with the bill?’
‘Yes, but we can talk about that some other time. Esther Rosenfeld isn’t here, is she?’
‘No, she spends her days at the hospital. She usually comes back here to
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