“Perhaps, but you know where to find them.” He paused, rubbing his knees. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”
“It’s all right.”
“Are you worried about Fleck?” he asked.
“Not really. Besides, it’s worth it to make sure Vater has food.”
“I’ll make things right with Fleck,” Max said, hoping to hide the wane of confidence in his voice.
“We will.” She played the chord.
Max’s mind raced, searching for something to talk about, other than Fleck. “What type of music does Bruno like?”
Anna’s fingers slipped from the keys.
“Does he like classical music or does he prefer folk songs, like Norbie?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice hesitant.
“Oh,” Max said, feeling like he’d stumbled into a sensitive topic.
“It’s just that—” Anna took a deep breath. “Our courtship was brief, and with the war and having a mere two weeks of leave per year, we haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time listening to music.”
“I understand,” Max said. “You’ll have plenty of time after the war.”
“Ja,” she said, her voice soft.
“How did you meet?”
“I mended his broken arm while working as a nurse at the hospital.”
“And he was smitten with you,” he said.
“I guess so,” Anna said. “He stayed in Oldenburg during his recovery. We got to know each other and grew close.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Bruno is sweet,” she said. “He wrote me poems while he was recovering from his injury. It’s the reason we courted.”
Max smiled. “A poet.”
“Well, not exactly.” She paused, running a finger over a key. “He hasn’t written a poem in quite some time.”
“The front has a way of temporarily stealing one’s zest,” Max said, hoping to lift her spirits. “I’m sure you’ll receive enumerable poems and love letters after the war.”
“Danke, Max.”
“What else drew you to Bruno?”
She took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Am I being intrusive?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I was just thinking. He has many qualities that I wish I had.”
“Like what?”
“Confidence, competence, intelligence—”
