The Train Was On Time Part 3

"Boy, can you ever sleep!" said Willi, now cheerfully collecting his belongings. "Can you ever sleep! I never saw anything like it. The train stopped twice. You nearly had to do sentry duty, but I told the corporal you were sick and he let you go on sleeping. Time to get up!" The car was empty, and the blond fellow was already standing outside with his Luftwaffe rucksack and his suitcase.

It felt very odd to be walking along a platform in the main station of Lvov....

It was eleven o'clock, almost midday, and Andreas felt famished. But the thought of the sausage disgusted him. b.u.t.ter and bread and something hot! It's ages since I had a hot meal, I'd like something hot to eat. Funny, he thought, as he followed Willi and the blond fellow, my first thought in Lvov is that I'd like a hot meal. Fourteen or fifteen hours before your death you feel you've got to have a hot meal. He laughed, and this made the other two turn around and look at him in surprise, but he avoided their eyes and blushed. There was the barrier, there stood a sentry in a steel helmet, as at every station in Europe, and the sentry said to Andreas, because he was the last of the three: "Waiting-room to the left, for the use of enlisted men too."

Once past the barrier Willi became almost aggressive. There he stood, in the middle of the station, lighted a cigarette, and mimicked in a loud voice: "Waiting-room for the use of enlisted men to the left! That's what they'd like, to herd us cattle into the barn they've fixed up for us." They looked at him in alarm, but he laughed. "Just leave it to me, boys. Lvov's right up my alley. Waiting-room for the use of enlisted men! There are bars in this place, restaurants," he clicked his tongue, "as good as any in Europe," and he repeated sarcastically, "as any in Europe."

His face was already beginning to look somewhat unshaven again, he seemed to have a tremendously strong growth of beard. It was the same face as before, very sad and desperate.

Without a word he preceded the others through the exit, crossed, still without a word, a big crowded square, and very quickly they found themselves in a dark narrow side street; a car was standing at the corner, a ramshackle old taxi, and, as in a dream, it turned out Willi knew the driver. "Stani," he shouted, and again as in a dream a sleepy-eyed, grubby old Pole hoisted himself in the driver's seat and recognized Willi with a grin. Willi mentioned some Polish name, and the next moment they were sitting in the taxi with their luggage, driving through Lvov. The streets were the same as in any big city anywhere in the world. Wide, elegant streets, streets that had seen better days, sad streets with faded yellow facades and looking dead and deserted. People, people, and Stani drove very fast...as in a dream: all Lvov seemed to belong to Willi. They drove along a very wide avenue, an avenue like anywhere else in the world yet definitely a Polish avenue, and Stani came to a stop. He was given a bill, fifty marks as Andreas saw, and with a grin Stani helped them set their luggage on the sidewalk; it was all done in a few seconds, and in another few seconds they found themselves striding through a neglected front garden and entering a very long, musty hallway of a house whose facade seemed to be crumbling away. A house dating from the days of the old Hapsburg Empire. Andreas instantly recognized its aura of former Austrian Imperial grandeur; perhaps a high-ranking officer had lived here, long ago in the days of the waltz, or a senior civil servant. This was an old Austrian mansion, they could be found everywhere, all through the Balkans, in Hungary and Yugoslavia, and of course in Galicia too. All this flashed through his mind in the brief second it took to enter the long, dark, musty hallway.

But then with a happy smile Willi opened a soiled white door, very high and wide, and there was a restaurant with comfortable chairs, and attractively set tables with flowers on them, autumn flowers, thought Andreas, the kind you see on graves, and he thought: This will be my last meal before my execution. Willi led them over to an alcove that could be curtained off, and there were more comfortable chairs and an attractively set table, and it was all like a dream. Wasn't I standing a minute ago under a signboard with letters on it in black and white: Lvov?

Waiter! A smart Polish waiter wearing shiny shoes, shaved to perfection and grinning, only his jacket was a bit soiled. They all grin here, thought Andreas. The waiter's jacket was a bit soiled, but never mind, his shoes were like a grand duke's and he was shaved like a G.o.d...highly polished black shoes....

"Georg," said Willi, "these gentlemen would like a wash and a shave." It sounded like an order. No, it was an order. Andreas had to laugh as he followed the grinning waiter. He felt as if he had been invited to the home of a genteel grandmother or a genteel uncle, and Uncle had said: Unshaven or unwashed children may not come to table....

The washroom was s.p.a.cious, clean. Georg brought hot water. "Perhaps the gentlemen would like some toilet soap, excellent quality, fifteen marks." "Bring it," said Andreas with a laugh, "Papa will pay for everything."

Georg brought the soap and repeated with a grin: "Papa will pay." The blond fellow had a wash too; they stripped to the waist, soaped themselves, dried themselves voluptuously, their arms and all over their yellowish-white, unaired soldiers' skin. It's lucky I brought along my socks, thought Andreas, I'll wash my feet too, and I can put on my clean socks.

Socks must be very expensive here, and why should I leave the socks in my pack? I'm sure the partisans have socks. He washed his feet and laughed at the blond fellow, who looked very astonished. The blond fellow really was in a daze.

It feels great to have a smooth chin again, as smooth as a Pole's, and I'm only sorry that tomorrow morning I'll have stubble on it again, thought Andreas. The blond fellow did not need to shave, he had only a trace of down on his upper lip. Andreas wondered for the first time how old the blond fellow might be, as he drew on his nice clean shirt, with a proper civilian collar so he could leave off that stupid army neckband; a blue shirt that had once been quite dark but was now sky-blue. He b.u.t.toned it up and drew on his tunic, his shabby gray tunic with the wound badge. Perhaps the badge was made in this fellow's patriotic-flag factory, he thought. Oh yes, he had meant to figure out the blond fellow's age. He has no beard, of course, but Paul had no beard either, and Paul is twenty-six. This fellow might be seventeen or he might be forty, he has a strange face, I expect he's twenty. Besides, he's already a private first cla.s.s, he must have been serving for more than a year or almost two. Twenty-twenty-one, Andreas figured. All right. Tunic on, collar done up, it really felt great to be clean.

No thanks, they could find their way back to the alcove alone. By this time a few officers, whom they had to salute, were sitting in the restaurant. That was awful, having to salute, saluting was terrible, and it was a relief to be back in the shelter of the alcove.

"That's how I like to see you, boys," said Willi. Willi was drinking wine and smoking a cigar. The table had already been set with various plates, forks, knives, and spoons.

Georg waited on them silently. First came a soup. Bouillon, Andreas thought. He prayed softly, a long prayer; the others had already begun their soup, and he was still praying, and it was odd that they did not comment.

After the soup came some sort of potato salad, just a tiny portion. With it an aperitif. Like in France. Then came a series of meat dishes. First some meat patties...then something very peculiar-looking. "And what is this?" Willi asked majestically, but he laughed as he said it.

"That?" Georg grinned. "That's pork heart...very good pork heart...." Then came a cutlet, a good juicy cutlet. A real "last meal," thought Andreas, just right for a condemned man, and he was shocked to find how good it all tasted. It's disgraceful, he thought. I ought to be praying, praying, spending the whole day somewhere on my knees, and here I am eating pork heart.... It's disgraceful. Next came vegetables, the first vegetables, peas. Then finally some potatoes. And then more meat, something resembling a goulash, a very tasty goulash. More vegetables, and a salad. Finally something green. And wine with everything; Willi poured, very majestically, laughing as he did so.

"We'll blow the whole mortgage today, long live the Lvov mortgage!" They drank a toast to the Lvov mortgage.

A whole series of desserts. Like in France, Andreas thought. First some creamy pudding, with real eggs in it. Then a piece of cake with hot vanilla sauce. With this they had more wine, poured by Willi, a very sweet wine. Then came something very small, a tiny object lying on a white plate. It was something with chocolate icing, puff pastry with chocolate icing and cream inside, real cream. Pity it's so small, thought Andreas. No one said a word, the blond fellow was still in a daze, it was frightening to see his face, he kept his mouth open and chewed and ate and drank. And finally there actually came some cheese. Why d.a.m.n it all, exactly like in France, cheese and bread, and that was it. Cheese closes the stomach, thought Andreas; they drank white wine with it, white wine from France...Sauternes....

My G.o.d, hadn't he drunk Sauternes in Le Treport on a terrace overlooking the sea, Sauternes, delicious as milk, fire, and honey, Sauternes in Le Treport on a terrace overlooking the sea on a summer evening, and hadn't those beloved eyes been with him that evening, almost as close as all those years ago in Amiens? Sauternes in Le Treport. It was the same wine. He had a good memory for tastes. Sauternes in Le Treport, and she had been close to him with mouth and hair and her eyes, the wine makes all this possible, and it's good to eat bread and cheese with white wine....

"Well, boys," said Willi, in the best of spirits, "did you enjoy your meal?" Yes, they had really enjoyed it, they felt very content.

They had not overeaten. You must drink wine with your meal, it's wonderful. Andreas prayed...you must say grace after a meal, and he prayed for a long time-while the others leaned back in their chairs and smoked, Andreas propped his elbows on the table and prayed....

Life is beautiful, he thought, it was beautiful. Twelve hours before my death I have to find out that life is beautiful, and it's too late. I've been ungrateful, I've denied the existence of human happiness. And life was beautiful. He turned red with humiliation, red with fear, red with remorse. I really did deny the existence of human happiness, and life was beautiful. I've had an unhappy life...a wasted life as they say, I've suffered every instant from this ghastly uniform, and they've nattered my ears off, and they made me shed blood on their battlefields, real blood it was, three times I was wounded on the field of so-called honor, outside Amiens, and down at Tiraspol, and then in Nikopol, and I've seen nothing but dirt and blood and s.h.i.t and smelled nothing but filth...and misery...heard nothing but obscenities, and for a mere tenth of a second I was allowed to know true human love, the love of man and woman, which surely must be beautiful, for a mere tenth of a second, and twelve hours or eleven hours before my death I have to find out that life was beautiful. I drank Sauternes...on a terrace above Le Treport by the sea, and in Cayeux, in Cayeux I also drank Sauternes, also on a summer evening, and my beloved was with me...and in Paris I used to spend hours at those sidewalk cafes soaking up some other glorious golden wine. I know for sure my beloved was with me, and I didn't need to comb through forty million people to find happiness. I thought I had forgotten nothing, I had forgotten everything...everything...and this meal was wonderful.... And the pork heart and the cheese, and the wine that gave me the power to remember that life is beautiful...twelve hours, or eleven hours, to go....

Last of all he thought once more about the Jews of Cernauti, then he remembered the Jews of Lvov, and the Jews of Stanislav and Kolomyya, the cannon down there in the Sivash marshes. And the man who had said: Those are precisely the advantages of the 37 ant.i.tank weapon.... And that poor ugly shivering wh.o.r.e in Paris whom he had pushed away in the night....

"Come on, mate, have another drink!" said Willi roughly, and Andreas raised his head and drank. There was still some wine left, the bottle was standing in the ice bucket; he emptied his gla.s.s and Willi refilled it.

All this is happening in Lvov, everything I'm doing here, he thought, in a mansion of the old Hapsburg Empire, in an old dilapidated Imperial mansion, in one of the great rooms of this house where they used to entertain on a grand scale, give glamorous b.a.l.l.s where they danced the waltz, at least-he counted under his breath-at least twenty-eight years ago, no, twenty-nine, twenty-nine years ago there was no war yet. Twenty-nine years ago all this was still Austria...then it was Poland...then it was Russia...and now, now it's all Greater Germany. They used to have b.a.l.l.s...they danced the waltz, wonderful waltzes, and they would smile at one another and dance...and outdoors, in the big garden that must be behind the house, in that big garden they would kiss, the lieutenants and the girls...and maybe the majors and the wives, and the host, he must have been a colonel or a general and he pretended not to see what was going on...or maybe he was a very senior civil servant or some such thing...maybe....

"Come on, mate, have another drink!" Yes, he'd like some more wine...time is running out, he thought, I wonder what time it is. It was eleven, or eleven-fifteen, when we left the station, by now it must be two or three o'clock...twelve more hours, no, more than that. The train doesn't leave till five, and then I've got till...soon. That Soon was all blurred again now. Forty miles beyond Lvov, it won't be more than that. Forty miles, that'll be an hour and a half by train, that would make it six-thirty, it'll be light by then. All of a sudden, just as he was raising his gla.s.s to his lips, he knew it would never be light again. Thirty miles...an hour or three quarters of an hour before the first hint of dawn. No, it'll still be dark, there'll be no dawn! That's it! That's it exactly! Five forty-five, and tomorrow is already Sunday, and tomorrow Paul begins his new week, and all this week Paul has the six o'clock ma.s.s. I shall die as Paul is mounting the steps to the altar. That's absolutely certain, when he starts reciting the antiphons without an altar boy. He once told me that you can't count on altar boys nowadays. When Paul is reciting the antiphons between Lvov and...he must look and see which place is thirty miles beyond Lvov. He must get hold of the map. He glanced up and saw that the blond fellow was still dozing in his chair; he was tired, he had had sentry duty. Willi was awake and smiling happily, Willi was drunk, and the map was in the other man's pocket. But there was plenty of time. More than twelve hours, fifteen hours to go...in these fifteen hours he had to see to a lot of things. Say my prayers, say my prayers, no more sleep...whatever happened, no more sleep, and I'm glad I'm so sure now. Willi also knows he's going to die, and the blond fellow is ready to die too, their lives are over; it will soon be full, the hourgla.s.s is nearly full, and death has only a few, a very few, more grains of sand to add.

"Well, boys," said Willi, "sorry, but it's time we were moving. Nice here, wasn't it?" He nudged the blond fellow, who woke up. He was still dreaming, his face was all dreams, and his eyes no longer had that nasty slimy look; there was something childlike about them, and that might have been because he had had a real dream, had been genuinely happy. Happiness washes away many things, just as suffering washes away many things.

"Because now," said Willi, "now we have to go to the rubber-stamp place. But I'm not giving anything away yet!" He was rather hurt that n.o.body asked him; he beckoned to Georg and paid something over four hundred marks. The tip was a princely one. "And a taxi," said Willi. They picked up their luggage, buckled their belts, put on their caps, and went out past the officers, past the civilians, and past the ones in the brown uniforms. And there was much amazement in the eyes of the officers and of the ones in the brown uniforms. And it was just like in every bar in Europe, in French bars, Hungarian, Rumanian, Russian, and Yugoslav bars, and Czech and Dutch and Belgian and Norwegian and Italian and Luxembourg bars: the same buckling of belts and putting on of caps and saluting at the door, as if one were leaving a temple inhabited by very stern G.o.ds.

And they left the Imperial mansion, the Imperial driveway, and Andreas cast one more glance at that crumbling facade, the waltz facade, before they got into the taxi...and were off.

"Now," said Willi, "now we're going to the rubber-stamp place, they open at five."

"May I have another look at the map?" Andreas asked the blond fellow, but before the latter could pull the map out of his Luftwaffe pack they were stopping again. They had driven only a short distance along the wide brooding Imperial avenue. Beyond lay open country and a few villas, and the house they had stopped at was a Polish house. The roof was flattish, the facade a dirty yellow, and the narrow tall windows were closed with shutters reminiscent of France, shutters with very narrow slits, very flimsy-looking, painted gray. It was a Polish house, this rubber-stamp place, and something told Andreas immediately that it was a brothel. The whole ground floor was hidden by a thick beech hedge, and as they walked through the front garden he saw that the groundfloor windows were not shuttered....

He saw russet-colored curtains, dirty russet-colored, almost dark brown with a touch of red. "You can get any stamp in the world here," said Willi with a laugh. "You just have to know the ropes and be firm." They stood with their luggage outside the front door after Willi had pulled the bell, and it was some time before they heard any sound in the silent, mysterious house. Andreas was sure they were being watched. They were watched for a long time, so long that Willi began to get uneasy. "d.a.m.n it all," he said peevishly, "they don't have to hide anything from me. They hide everything suspicious, see, when someone they don't know comes to the door." But at that moment the door opened, and an oldish woman came toward Willi with outstretched arms and a fulsome smile.

"I almost didn't recognize you," she said in welcoming tones. "Come in! And these," she said, indicating Andreas and the other man, "these are two young friends of yours," she shook her head disapprovingly, "two very, very young friends for our house."

All three men went inside and set down their luggage in an alcove in the hall.

"We need our pa.s.ses stamped for the train tomorrow morning at five, the courier train, you know the one I mean."

The woman looked doubtfully at the two younger men. She was a bit nervous. Her graying hair was a wig, you could tell. Her narrow, sharp-featured face with the gray, indeterminate eyes was made up, very discreetly made up. She was wearing a smart dress patterned in red and black, closed at the neck so as not to show her skin, that faded neck-skin, like the skin of a fowl She ought to wear a high closed collar, Andreas thought, a general's collar.

"Very well," said the woman, with some hesitation, "and...anything else?"

"Maybe a drink, and I'd like a girl, how about you fellows?"

"No," said Andreas, "no girl."

The blond fellow flushed and was sweating with fear. It must be terrible for him, Andreas thought, maybe it would help him to have a girl.

Suddenly Andreas heard music. It was a s.n.a.t.c.h of music, the merest shred. Somewhere a door had been opened to a room where there must be a radio, and in the half-second that the door was open he heard a few s.n.a.t.c.hes of music, like someone searching along a radio panel for the right station...jazz...marching songs...a resounding voice and a bit of Schubert...Schubert...Schubert.... Now the door was shut again, but Andreas felt as if someone had thrust a knife into his heart and opened a secret floodgate: he turned pale, swayed, and leaned against the wall. Music...a s.n.a.t.c.h of Schubert...I'd give ten years of my life to hear a whole Schubert song again, but all I've got is twelve and three-quarter hours, it must be five o'clock by now.

"How about you," asked the oldish woman, whose mouth was horrible. He could see that now, it was a narrow, cramped slot of a mouth, a mouth that was only interested in money, a moneybox mouth. "How about you," asked the woman, alarmed, "don't you want anything?"

"Music," stammered Andreas, "do you sell music here too?" She looked at him in bewilderment, hesitated. No doubt there was nothing she had not sold. Rubber stamps and girls and pistols-that mouth was a mouth that dealt in everything, but she didn't know whether it was possible to sell music.

"I..." she said, embarra.s.sed, "music...but of course." It's always a good idea to start with yes. You can always say no later. If you say no right off, your chances of doing business are nil.

Andreas had straightened up again. "Will you sell me some music?"

"Not without a girl," smiled the woman.

Andreas threw Willi an agonized look. He didn't know what it would cost. Music and and a girl, and strangely enough Willi understood that look at once. "Remember the mortgage, my lad," he cried, "long live the Lvov mortgage! It's all ours!" a girl, and strangely enough Willi understood that look at once. "Remember the mortgage, my lad," he cried, "long live the Lvov mortgage! It's all ours!"

"All right," Andreas said to the woman, "I'll take some music and a girl." The door was opened by three girls who stood laughing in the hall, they had been listening to the negotiations, two were brunettes and one was a redhead. The redhead, who had recognized Willi and flung her arms around his neck, called out to the oldish woman: "Why don't you sell him the 'opera singer'?" The two brunettes laughed, and one of them appropriated the blond fellow and laid a hand on his arm. He gave a sob at her touch, buckled at the knees like a straw, and the brunette had to grab him and hold on to him, whispering: "Don't be scared, dearie, there's no need to be scared!"

Actually it was a good thing the blond fellow was sobbing; Andreas wanted to weep too, the waters behind the floodgate were pressing forward to where the wall had been pierced. At last I'll be able to cry, but I'm not going to cry in front of this slot of a mouth that's only interested in money. Maybe I'll cry when I'm with the "opera singer."

"That's right," said the remaining brunette pertly. "If he wants music, send him the opera singer." She turned away, and Andreas, still leaning against the wall, could hear the door being opened again, and again his ear caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of music, but it wasn't Schubert...it was something by Liszt...Liszt was beautiful too...and Liszt could make me cry, he thought, I haven't cried for three and a half years.

The blond fellow was leaning against his brunette like a child, his head resting on her breast; he was weeping, and this weeping was good. No more Sivash marshes in these tears, no more terror, and yet much pain, much pain. And the redhead, who had a good-natured face, said to Willi, whose arm was clasped around her waist: "Buy him the opera singer, he's a sweetie, I think he's a real sweetie with his music." She blew Andreas a kiss: "He's young and a real sweetie, you old rascal, and you must buy him the opera singer and a piano...."

"The mortgage, the whole Lvov mortgage is ours!" Willi shouted.

The oldish woman led Andreas up the stairs and along a corridor, past many closed doors, into a room furnished with some easy chairs, a couch, and a piano.

"This is a little bar for special occasions," she said. "The price is six hundred a night, and the opera singer-that's a nickname, of course-the opera singer costs two hundred and fifty a night, not including refreshments."

Andreas staggered over to one of the armchairs, nodded, waved her away, and was glad to see the woman go. He heard her call out in the corridor: "Olina...Olina...."

I ought to have rented just the piano, thought Andreas, just the piano, but then he shuddered at the idea of being in this house at all. In despair he dashed to the window and flung back the curtain. Outside it was still light. Why this artificial darkness, it's the last day I'll ever see, why draw the curtains over it? The sun was still above a hill and shining with gentle warmth into gardens lying behind handsome villas, shining on the roofs of the villas. It's time they harvested the apples, Andreas thought, it's the end of September, the apples must be ripe here too. And in Cherka.s.sy another pocket has been closed, and the pickpockets will manage it somehow. Everything's being managed, everything's being managed, and here I sit by a window in a brothel, in the "rubber-stamp house," with only twelve more hours to live, twelve and a half hours, and I ought to be praying, praying, on my knees, but I'm powerless against this floodgate that's been opened, pierced open by the dagger that was thrust into me downstairs in the hall: music. And it's just as well I'm not going to spend the whole night alone with this piano. I'd go crazy, a piano especially. A piano. It's a good thing Olina is coming, the "opera singer." The map! I forgot the map, he thought. I forgot to ask the blond fellow for it; I just have to know what lies thirty miles beyond Lvov...I just have to...it can't be Stanislav, not even Stanislav, I won't even get as far as Stanislav. Between Lvov and Cernauti...how certain I was at first about Cernauti! At first I would have been ready to bet I'd get to see Cernauti, a suburb of Cernauti...only another thirty miles now...another twelve hours....

He swung round in alarm at a very soft sound, as of a cat slipping into the room. The opera singer was standing by the door, which she had closed softly behind her. She was small and very slight, with fine, delicate features, and her golden, very beautiful hair was tied loosely back on the crown of her head. There were red slippers on her feet, and she wore a pale-green dress. As soon as their eyes met her hand went to her shoulder, as though to undo her dress then and there....

"No!" cried Andreas, and instantly regretted letting fly at her like that. I've already bawled out one of them, he thought, and I'll never be able to wipe that out. The opera singer looked at him less offended than surprised. The strange note of anguish in his voice had caught her ear. "No," said Andreas more gently, "don't."

He moved toward her, stepped back, sat down, stood up again, and added: "Is it all right to call you by your first name?"

"Yes," she said, very low. "My name is Olina."

"I know," he said. "Mine's Andreas."

She sat down in the armchair he gestured toward and gave him a puzzled, almost apprehensive look. He walked to the door and turned the key in the lock. Sitting beside her he studied her profile. She had a finely drawn nose, neither round nor pointed, a Fragonard nose, he thought, and a Fragonard mouth too. She looked wanton in a way, but she could just as easily be innocent, as innocently wanton as those Fragonard shepherdesses, but she had a Polish face, the nape of her neck was Polish, supple, elemental.

He was glad he had brought cigarettes. But he was out of matches. She quickly got up, opened a closet that was crammed with bottles and boxes, and took out some matches. Before handing them to him she wrote something down on a sheet of paper lying in the closet. "I have to note down everything," she said, her voice still low, "even these."

They smoked and looked out into the golden countryside with the gardens of Lvov behind the villas.

"You used to be an opera singer?" asked Andreas.

"No," she said, "they just call me that because I studied music. They think if you've studied music you must be an opera singer."

"So you can't sing?"

"Oh yes I can, but I didn't study singing, I just sing...like that, you know."

"And what did you study?"

"The piano," she said quietly, "I wanted to be a pianist."

How strange, thought Andreas, I wanted to be a pianist too. A stab of pain constricted his heart. I wanted to be a pianist, it was the dream of my life. I could play quite nicely, really, quite well, but school hung around my neck like a leaden weight. School prevented me. First I had to finish school. Everyone in Germany first has to finish school. You can't do a thing without a high-school diploma. First I had to finish school, and by the time I'd done that it was 1939, and I had to join the labor service, and by the time I was through with that the war had started; that was four and a half years ago and I haven't touched a piano since. I wanted to be a pianist. I dreamed about it, just as much as other people dream of becoming school princ.i.p.als. But I wanted to be a pianist, and I loved the piano more than anything else in the world, but nothing came of it. First school, then labor service, and by that time they'd started a war, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.... The pain was suffocating him, and he had never felt as wretched in his life. It'll do me good to suffer. Perhaps that'll help me to be forgiven for sitting here in a brothel in Lvov beside the opera singer who costs two hundred and fifty for a whole night without matches and without piano, the piano that costs six hundred. Perhaps I'll be forgiven for all that because this pain is numbing me, paralyzing me, because she said the words "pianist" and "piano." It's excruciating, this pain, it's like an acrid poison in my throat and it's sliding farther and farther down, through my gullet and into my stomach and spreading all through my body. Half an hour ago I was still happy because I'd drunk Sauternes, because I remembered the terrace above Le Treport where the eyes had been very close to me, and where I played the piano to them, to those eyes, in my imagination, and now I'm consumed with agony, sitting in this brothel beside this lovely girl whom the entire great-and-glorious German Wehrmacht would envy me. And I'm glad I'm suffering, I'm glad I'm almost pa.s.sing out with pain, I'm happy to be suffering, suffering so excruciatingly, because then I may hope to be forgiven everything, forgiven for not praying, praying, praying, not spending my last twelve hours on my knees praying. But where could I kneel? Nowhere on earth could I kneel in peace. I'll tell Olina to keep watch at the door, and I'll get Willi to pay six hundred marks for the piano, and two hundred and fifty marks for the beautiful opera singer without matches, and I'll buy Olina a bottle of wine so she won't get bored....

"What's the matter?" Olina asked. There was surprise in her gentle voice since he had cried no.

He looked at her, and it was wonderful to see her eyes. Gray, very gentle, sad eyes. He must give her an answer.

"Nothing," he said; and then suddenly he asked, and it was a tremendous effort to force the few words out of his mouth through the poison of his pain: "Did you finish your music studies?"

"No," she said shortly, and he saw it would be cruel to question her. She tossed her cigarette into the large metal ashtray that she had placed on the floor between their two armchairs, and asked, her voice low and gentle again: "Shall I tell you about it?"

"Yes," he said, not daring to look at her, for those gray eyes, that were perfectly calm, scared him.

"All right." But she did not begin. She was looking at the floor; he was aware when she raised her head, then she asked suddenly: "How old are you?"

"In February I would be twenty-four," he said quietly.

"In February you would be twenty-four. Would be...won't you be?"

He looked at her, astonished. What a sensitive ear she had! And all at once he knew he would tell her about it, her alone. She was the only person who was to know everything, that he was going to die, tomorrow morning, just before six, or just after six, in....

"Oh well," he said, "it's just a manner of speaking. What's the place called," he asked suddenly, "that lies thirty miles beyond Lvov toward...toward Cernauti?"

Her astonishment was growing. "Stryy," she said.

Stryy? What a strange name, Andreas thought, I must have overlooked it on the map. For G.o.d's sake, I must pray for the Jews of Stryy too. Let's hope there are still some Jews in Stryy...Stryy...so that's where it will be, he would die just this side of Stryy...not even Stanislav, not even Kolomyya, and a long long way this side of Cernauti. Stryy! That was it! Maybe it wasn't even on that map of Willi's....

"So you'll be twenty-four in February," said Olina. "Funny, so will I." He looked at her. She smiled. "So will I," she repeated. "I was born February 12, 1920."

They looked at each other for a long time, a very long time, and their eyes sank into one another's, and then Olina leaned toward him, and because the chairs were too far apart she rose, moved toward him, and made as if to put her arms around him, but he turned aside. "No," he said quietly, "not that, don't be angry with me, later...I'll explain.... My...my birthday's February 15."

She lit another cigarette, he was glad he hadn't offended her. She was smiling. She was thinking, after all he's hired the room and me for the whole night. And it's only six o'clock, not even quite six....

"You were going to tell me about it," said Andreas.

"Yes," she said. "We're the same age, I like that. I'm three days older than you. I expect I'm your sister...." She laughed. "Maybe I really am your sister."

"Please tell me about it."

"I am," she said, "I am telling you. In Warsaw I studied at the Conservatory of Music. You wanted to hear about my studies, didn't you?"

"Yes!"

"Do you know Warsaw?"

"No."

"Well then. Here we go. Warsaw is a big city, a beautiful city, and the Conservatory was in a house like this one. Only the garden was bigger, much bigger. During recess we could stroll in that lovely big garden and flirt. They told me I was very talented. I took piano. I would rather have played only the harpsichord at first, but no one taught that, so I had to take piano. For my entrance test I had to play a short, simple little Beethoven sonata. That was tricky. It's so easy to make a mess of those simple little things, or one plays them too emotionally. It's very difficult to play those simple things. It was Beethoven, you know, but a very early Beethoven, almost cla.s.sical in style, almost like Haydn. A very subtle piece for an entrance test, d'you see?"

"Yes," said Andreas, and he could sense that soon he was going to cry.

"Good. I pa.s.sed, with Very Good. I studied and played till...let's see...till the war started. That's right, it was the fall of 'thirty-nine, two years; I learned a lot and flirted a lot. I always did like kissing and all that, you know. I could play Liszt quite well by that time, and Tchaikovsky. But I could never really play Bach properly. I would have liked to play Bach. And I could play Chopin quite well too. Fine. Then came the war.... Oh yes, and there was a garden behind the Conservatory, a wonderful garden, with benches and arbors, and sometimes we had parties, and there would be music and dancing in the garden. Once we had a Mozart evening, a wonderful Mozart evening.... Mozart was another one I could already play quite well. Well, then came the war!"

She broke off abruptly, and Andreas turned questioning eyes on her. She looked angry. The hair seemed to bristle above that Fragonard forehead.

"For G.o.d's sake," she burst out, "do what the others all do with me. This is ridiculous!"