"I'm tired enough to."
Elisabeth took off her shoes and placed them in front of the knapsack so they would not be stolen. She rolled up her stockings and put them in her pocket. Graeber pulled the blankets over her. "How's that?" he asked.
"Like a hotel."
He lay down beside her. "Are you sad because of your home?" he asked.
"No. I counted on losing that as soon as the first raids came. I was sad then. Everything since then has been borrowed time."
"That's right. But can one always live as logically as one thinks?"
"I don't know," she murmured on his shoulder. "Perhaps when one is without hope. But it's different now."
She went to sleep, breathing slowly and regularly. Graeber continued to lie awake for a while. He was thinking that sometimes in the field when the men had been talking about impossible wishes this had been one of them—to have a roof, a bed, a woman and a quiet night.
CHAPTER XXI
HE woke up. Cautious footsteps crunched over the rubble. He slipped noiselessly from under the covers. Elisabeth stirred and went on sleeping. Graeber peered under the canvas. It might be Pohlmann returning, but it might as easily be thieves or it might even be the Gestapo—they usually came at this hour. If it was the Gestapo he would have to try to intercept Pohlmann and keep him from returning to the house.
He saw two figure in front of him in the dark. As silently as possible he followed them. He was not wearing shoes. However, within a few yards he ran into a piece of wall so loose it toppled over at once. He crouched. One of the figures swung around. "Is someone there?" a voice asked. It was Pohlmann.
Graeber stood up. "It's me, Herr Pohlmann. Ernst Graeber."
"Graeber? What's happened?"
"Nothing. We were just bombed out and didn't know where to go. I thought perhaps you could put us up for a night or two."
"Who?"
"My wife and me. I was married a few days ago."
"Certainly, certainly." Pohlmann approached. His face glimmered very pale in the darkness. "Did you see me coming?"
Graeber hesitated a second. "Yes," he said then. There was no point in taking unnecessary precautions—not for Elisabeth nor for the man who was now lying somewhere in the ruins. "Yes," he repeated, "and you can trust me."
Pohlmann rubbed his forehead. "Certainly, that's sure." He stood undecided. "You saw I was not alone?"
"Yes."
Pohlmann seemed to have made up his mind. "Well—yes— come along. For the night, you said. There isn't too much room, but—first of all come away from here."
They went around the corner. "Everything's all right," Pohlmann said into the shadows.
A man detached himself from the ruins. Pohlmann unlocked the door and admitted Graeber and the man. Then he locked it from inside. "Where's your wife?" he asked.
"She's sleeping outside. We brought bedding along and put up a sort of tent."
Pohlmann stood motionless in the darkness. "I must tell you something, Graeber. It could be dangerous for you to be found here."
"I know that."
Pohlmann cleared his throat. "It's dangerous because .of me. I am under suspicion."
"I meant that."
"Did you mean it for your wife too?"
"Yes," Graeber said after a moment.
The other man had been standing completely silent behind Graeber. Now his breathing became audible. Pohlmann went ahead of them and when the door was shut and the curtains drawn he lighted a very smal' lamp. "There's no need to mention names," he said. "Better not to know them. Then there's nothing you can give away. Ernst and Josef will suffice."
He looked very exhausted. Josef was a man of about forty with a narrow, Jewish face. He seemed completely calm and he smiled at Graeber. Then he began to brush plaster dust off his clothes.
"It's no longer safe here," Pohlmann said, seating himr self. "Nevertheless Josef has to stay here tonight. The apartment where he was yesterday no longer exists. Tomorrow during the day wc must see what else we can find. It's no longer safe here, Josef. That's the only reason."
"I know," Josef replied. He had a deeper voice than one expected.
"And you, Ernst?" Pohlmann asked. "I am under suspicion, that you know—but do you know what it means to be found at this hour of the night in the house of someone who is under suspicion in company with someone who is wanted?"
"Yes."
"I think nothing will happen tonight. The city is in too much confusion. But one never knows. Do you want to take the risk?"
Graeber was silent. Pohlmann and Josef looked at him. "There's no risk for me," he said. "I have to go back into the field in a couple of days. But with my wife it's different. She has to go on living here. I hadn't thoueht of that."
"I didn't say it to get rid of you, Ernst."
"I know that."
"Can you manage to sleep outside?" Josef asked.
"Yes, we're protected from the rain."
"Then stay there. That way you'll have nothing to do with us. Early tomorrow bring your things here. That's what you principally wanted, isn't it? However, you can store them just as well in the Katharinenkirche. The sexton there allows it. He is an honorable man. Part of the church has been destroyed, but the underground vaults are still intact. Take your things there. Then you'll be free for the day to look for a -place to stay."
"I believe he's right, Ernst," Pohlmann said. "Josef knows about these things better than we do."
Graeber felt a sudden wave of affection for the weary old man who was again calling him by his first name as he had years ago. "I think so too," he replied. "I'm sorry I startled you."
"Come in early tomorrow morning if you need anything. Give two slow knocks, two quick ones. Don't knock loud; I'll hear you."
"Good. Thanks."
Graeber went back. Elisabeth was still sleeping. She only half awoke when he lay down and at once went back to sleep.
She woke up at six o'clock. A wagon was clattering by on the street. She stretched. "I slept marvelously," she said. "Just where are we?"
"On the Jahnplatz."
"Good. And where will we sleep tonight?"
"We'll see about that during the day."
She lay back. A band of cool morning brightness came in between the canvas and the overcoat. Birds were twittering. She pushed the coat to one side. Outside the early morning sky was yellow and luminous. "A gypsy's life," she said. "Full of adventures."
"Yes," Graeber said. "Let's look at it that way. I met Pohlmann last night. We can wake him up if we need anything."
"We don't need a thing. Do we still have coffee? We can cook here, or can't we?"
"I am sure it's forbidden, like everything else that's sensible. But what difference does that make? We are gypsies."
Elisabeth began to comb her hair. "Behind the house there's some clear rain water in a pot," Graeber said. "Just enough to do a little washing."
Elisabeth put on her jacket. "I'll go around. It's like being in the country. Water from the pump. Romantic is what they used to call it in earlier times, isn't it?"
Graeber laughed. "Even now—compared with the mud in Russia. Everything turns out to be comparative." He rolled up the bedding. Then he lighted the alcohol stove and put on the pot of water. Suddenly it occurred to him he had forgotten to look for Elisabeth's ration coupons in her room. She was just coming back from washing. Her face was clear and young. "Have you your coupons with you?" he asked.
"No. They were in the desk by the window. In the little compartment."
"Damn it, I forgot to take them. Why didn't I think of them? I had plenty of time."
"You thought of things that are more important. My golden dress for instance. We'll just put in a request for new coupons. It's nothing unusual for them to be burned."
"That may take forever. The end of the world wouldn't jog a German official out of his routine."
Eisabeth laughed. "I'll take an hour's leave from the factory and get them. The block warden
can give me a certificate to prove I was bombed out."
"You intend to go to the factory today?" Graeber asked. "I have to. Being bombed out is no excuse. It happens every day."
"I could set fire to that damn factory." 'So could I, but then they would only send me some place else where it might be even worse. I don't want to make ammunition."
"Why don't you simply stay away? How is anyone to know what happened to you yesterday? You might have been hurt saving your things."
"That's something I would have to prove. We have factory doctors and factory police. If they find out someone, has cheated there are penalties. Extra work, no vacation—and if that doesn't help, an educational course in patriotism in a concentration camp. Those who have been through that never stay away from work again."
Elisabeth took the hot water and poured it over the ersatz coffee powder in the top of the mess kit. "Don't forget I have just had two days' vacation," she said. "I can't make too many demands."
He knew she thought she must not on her father's account. She hoped in that way to be able to. help him. That was the noose around everyone's neck. "Those bandits!" he said. "What they have made of us!"
"Here's your coffee. And don't get angry. We have no time for that."
"That's just what makes me angry, Elisabeth." She nodded. "I know. We have so little time and nevertheless we can spend so little of it together. Your furlough is passing and most of it is squandered waiting. I ought to have more courage and stay away from the factory for as long as you are here."
"You have courage enough. And it's better to wait than to have nothing to wait for."
She kissed him and smiled. "You've been quick at learning to find the right words," she said. "Now I must go. Where shall we meet this evening?"
"Yes, where? There isn't any place now. We must start all over again. I'll come and get you at the factory."
"And if something happens—an attack or a street blockade?"
Graeber reflected. "I'll pack our things up and go to the Katharinenkirche. Let's make that our second meeting place."
"Is it open at night?"
"Why at night? You don't come back at night."
"One never knows. Once we had to sit in the cellar for six hours. The best thing would be if we had someone to leave a message with if worst comes to worst. Meeting places alone aren't enough any more."
"You mean if something happened to one of us?"
"Yes."
Graeber nodded. He had seen how easy it was to lose track of someone. "We can make it Pohlmann for today. No, that's not safe." He considered. "Binding," he said, suddenly relieved. "He's safe. I've shown you his house. Only he doesn't know we're married. But that doesn't matter. I'll go and tell him about it."
"Are you going there to rob him again?"
Graeber laughed. "I really didn't have that in mind. But we do need something to eat. So I'll become corrupt again."
"Shall we sleep here tonight?"
"I hope not. I have the whole day to find some place else."
Her face darkened for an instant. "Yes, you have. I must be off now."
"I'll pack up right away, leave our things with Pohlmann, and take you to the factory."
"There's no time for that now. I have to run. Goodby till this evening. Factory, Katharinenkirche, or at Binding's. What an interesting life!"
"To hell with an interesting life!" Graeber said.
He looked after her. She was walking rapidly across the square. The morning was clear and the sky now a clean, deep blue. Dew glistened like a silver net over the ruins. Elisabeth turned around and waved. Then she walked on quickly. Graeber loved the way she walked. She set her feet almost in front of each other as though she were walking along a wagon track. He had seen native women in Africa walk that way. She waved once more and disappeared between the houses at the end of the square. It's almost like the front, he thought. When you part, you never know whether you will meet again. To hell with this interesting life!
At eight o'clock Pohlmann came out. "I wanted to see whether you had anything to eat. I could let you have some bread—"
"Thanks, we have enough. May I leave the bedding and the bags with you while I go to the Katharinenkirche?"
"Of course."
Graeber carried the things inside. Josef was not to be seen. "It's possible that I won't be here when you come back," Pohlmann said. "Give two slow taps and two quick ones. Josef will hear you."
Graeber opened one of the bags. "It's like a gypsy's life," he said. "That's not what I expected."
Pohlmann smiled wearily. "Josef has been living it for three years. For several months he spent his nights on electric trains. Rode around all the time. During that time he could only sleep sitting up and only for a quarter of an hour at a time. It was before we had the air raids. Now it's no longer possible."
Graeber took a can of meat out of the bag and gave it to Pohlmann. "I can spare this. Give it to Josef."
"Meat? Don't you need it yourself?"
"No. Give it to him. People like him must survive. Otherwise what will happen when all this is over? What will happen anyhow? Is there enough left to start afresh?"
The old man was silent for a time. Then he walked over to the globe that stood in the corner and spun it. "Look here," he said. "This tiny piece of the world is Germany. You can almost cover it with your thumb. It's a very small part of the world."
"That may be. But from this small part we have conquered a large slice of the world."
"A slice yes. And conquered—but not convinced."
"Not yet. But what would have happened if we had been able to hold onto it? Ten years. Or twenty. Or fifty. Victories and successes are horribly effective persuaders. We have seen that in our own country."
"We were not victorious."
"That's no proof."
"It is a proof," Pohlmann said. "A very profound one." His hand with the thick veins continued to turn the globe. "The world," he said. "The world does not stand still. When one despairs for a time of his own country he must believe in the world. An eclipse is possible but not an enduring period of night. Not on this planet. One must not make things easier for oneself by simply giving way to despair."
He pushed the globe back. "You ask whether there's enough left to begin over again. The Church began with a few fishermen, a few of the faithful in the catacombs, and the survivors of the arenas of Rome."
"Yes. And the Nazis with a few jobless fanatics in a beer hall in Munich."
Pohlmann smiled. "You are right. But there has never been a tyranny that lasted. Humanity has not advanced in an even course. It has always been only by thrusts, jerks, relapses, and spasms. We were too arrogant; we thought we had already conquered our bloody past. Now we know that we dare not so much as took around for fear it will get hold of us again." He picked up his hat. "I must go."
"Here's your book about Switzerland," Graeber said. "It's rather the worse for rain. I lost it, but I found it again and recued it."
"You need not have rescued it. One doesn't have to rescue dreams." t
"On the contrary," Graeber said. "What else?"
"Faith. Dreams always reshape themselves."
"One hopes so. Otherwise you might as well hang yourself."
"How young you still are!" Pohlmann said. "But what am I saying? You really are still very young." He put on his overcoat. "Strange—I had always pictured youth differently—"
"So had I," Graeber said.
Josef had been correctly informed. The sexton of the Kath-arinenkirche took charge of their things. Graeber left his knapsack there. Then he went to the Housing Authority. It had been forced to move and was now located in the natural history room of a school. A stand with maps and a glass case with exhibits in alcohol were still there. The woman in charge had used some of the jars as paperweights. There were snakes, lizards, and frogs. In addition there was a stuffed squirrel with glass eyes and a nut between its paws. The woman clerk was a friendly, gray-haired person. "I
will note down your name for emergency quarters," she said. "Have you an address?"
"No."
"Then you must stop by from time to time and inquire."
"Is there any point in it?"
"Not the slightest. There are six thousand requests ahead of yours. It would be better to see what you can find for yourself."
He walked back to the Jahnplatz and knocked on Pohl-mann's door. No one answered. He waited a while. Then he went to Marienstrasse to see what was left there.
Elisabeth's house had burned down to the block warden's story. The fire department had been there. Water was still dripping from everything. Of Elisabeth's apartment nothing was left. The armchair that had been standing outside was gone, too. A pair of wet blue gloves lay in the gutter, that was all.