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She wanted to kiss him, just once, for all the risks that he’d taken, for being her friend in this crisis and asking nothing in return. Even if it was just a kiss goodbye, though, it was a bad idea.
Jacob may have thought that, too, because he looked at her for a long moment, then smiled, turned, and walked out of the door.
With his departure Elena felt as if he had switched off all the lights, but she could still see the whole shabby room very clearly. It was tired, and everything in it was old. Still, it was perfectly clean, it had its own toilet and wash basin, and there was a lock on the door. That was all she needed.
She must sleep. Tomorrow she had to go back to the embassy. Without papers, she could not leave Germany, no matter how different she looked.
* * *
—
In the morning, it took a moment for memory to clear. Then she remembered where she was and, far more urgently, that she must have papers, very soon. It would only take being stopped once and asked for them, and she would be caught.
At the book-burning, she had seen the face of madness. If she had caught the image in any of the photographs, it would show the world in a way no words could.
Elena ate a breakfast of black bread with a little jam, and a hot cup of coffee, then took her bag and left.
She was not far from the embassy, but it was still a good half-hour’s walk. There were no cheap lodgings, the kind that asked no questions, in an area like this. She was hungry. The black bread had not answered her need at all. Was the man who sold the Reibekuchen still somewhere around here? Surely she could smell it? The little grated potato and onion cakes, with applesauce beside them. She could all but taste it now. It couldn’t be far away!
She didn’t want to ask anybody. Not that there were many people around. It was too early for much business. But not knowing such a thing would mark her as a stranger.
It took her another five minutes, but she had managed to buy herself two potato cakes on a cardboard plate, with a good dollop of applesauce, when she became aware of a man watching her. He was taller than she, but not by much. He was fair-skinned, blue-eyed, but his hair seemed of no particular color. The only thing noticeable about him was a certain grace in the way he stood. It seemed so natural, he was probably unaware of it himself. He did not fidget at all, as many people do. And he was certainly watching her.
She felt self-conscious, and suddenly afraid again. Why was he watching her? Did he think he recognized her, even though she had changed her appearance?
She should avoid him. Well-brought-up young women did not speak to strangers in the street.
“Are they any good?” he asked, gesturing toward the Reibekuchen stand.
“Excellent,” she replied in German, of course. “And the apple is nicely tart.”
He was still looking at her. “Did you see the fire last night?” he asked conversationally.
“Yes, for a while. I think it went on almost till morning.” She took another mouthful of crisp hot potato and a little applesauce, trying to be casual, but eating it now almost without tasting.
“Who were they?” he asked, taking a step a little closer to her. “Who set fire to the books,” he added.
Should she answer? She might draw attention to herself if she was needlessly rude. She would look afraid, and that was dangerous. The innocent don’t run away. “A lot of them seemed to be students,” she replied, watching as he bought himself two Reibekuchen and a good portion of the applesauce. “At least, they were that age, early twenties, and dressed as students do,” she went on.
“Students of what, I wonder.” He allowed his feelings of disgust to show through for a moment, then hid them again. “Philosophy, perhaps?” His eyes were bleak.
“Hardly!” she said too quickly. She saw the humor in his face and knew she had let slip her opinion of the book-burners.
“Perhaps you’re a student of philosophy? You watch them and deduce their beliefs,” he suggested.
She wanted to tell him that what she deduced was fear, and a sense of unbelonging. They lashed out at what they did not understand, in the same spirit people will smash what they cannot have. “Was I wrong?” she said instead.
He put his hands in his pockets. It was a casual gesture, but it made him seem at ease, as if they were friends. Did he do it on purpose? “I doubt it,” he replied. “A philosophy spoken of, no matter how elegant and articulate the words, is seldom as powerful as one acted on.”
She was startled. He had spoken in English as naturally as if it was his native tongue. Had she given herself away? Developed an English accent in German since she had left Berlin? That was a mistake! Why had Jacob not told her? Warned her, at least?
As if he had understood, the man spoke again. “We can continue in German, if you prefer. It would be less conspicuous, and perhaps we should not stand here too long or we will be noticed. I can see the anger and grief in your face, and maybe you can see it in mine.”
She looked at him steadily. He had said it as an invitation, and to ignore it would have been a rebuff. But why on earth would she not rebuff him? He was a complete stranger. She did not want to discuss any subject of depth with him. It would be so easy to say something negative, and any criticism of Hitler at all was dangerous. And yet the intelligence in his eyes, the humor, pleased her. In some way it reminded her of good memories, long discussions with Lucas, and with Mike. Laughter that was always comfortable. But now that was dangerous, too. “Yes, I can, German is fine,” she admitted reluctantly, because she must have raised suspicion in waiting so long to answer. Or was everybody suspicious these days?
A group of young men sauntered past them, arm in arm, laughing. One of them turned back and called something at her over his shoulder. It was in German, naturally, but she did not understand.
She saw the anger in the face of the man beside her. She had not yet learned his name, but she was certain he was English.
