what means, and the significance. News traveled fast in the countryside, helped along by the enemy tom-toms. The significance was that the villages were fundamentally unprotected, abandoned by their own army and forgotten by the Americans. Villages were burning all over the country. Not that there were any disturbances in the capital. Nor grief, to the extent that grief could be identified.
Harry watched a scuffle, two teenage boys pushing each other around. There was so much movement and noise that it took Harry a moment to understand what was in front of his eyes. The freighter had taken the berth of the hospital ship. The ship was gone. He hurried to the edge of the quay but there was no sign of it upstream or down. Harry stood there wondering if somehow the ship was tethered at another berth. That was unlikely. Impossible, really, because of the size of her. He remained a few minutes longer and then asked one of the policemen what happened to the German hospital ship. It took him three tries to make himself understood, and finally the policeman shook his head and said, Di-di, gone, gone away. When Harry asked where, the policeman shrugged. Harry thanked him and hurried to the restaurant but Sieglinde was not there and had left no message. Harry sat at an outside table under the awning and ordered a drink. In fifteen minutes he ordered another and by nine p.m. he had ordered three more, all the time watching the street. He pretended nonchalance, a lone American drinking gin in a rough part of town. He saw no Americans or other foreigners. Local girls came up to him offering companionship but when he shook his head they left him alone, muttering what sounded like a curse. It had been some time since he had sat alone at a restaurant table, chain-smoking cigarettes, ill at ease, with the expression of an insomniac counting sheep. The street grew quiet, only a few furtive strollers here and there. They kept to the shadows.
You want girl?
A face was at his elbow. Harry said, No.
Nice girl. Young girl.
No, Harry said again.
Ten-dollar girl.
Go away, Harry said.
You give me money.
Harry gave him some money and the pimp went away.
In due course Harry paid the bill, hailed a cab, and returned to his villa. She was not there either, but he had not expected she would be. He sat uncomfortably in the silk-string hammock and imagined her at the rail of the hospital ship watching the countryside disappear to port. The ship would be ablaze with light although the moon was full. All hands on deck drinking and saying goodbye to the war. Goodbye and good luck. Goodbye and good riddance. The open ocean would be but a few nautical miles distant. The night was warm. He pictured Sieglinde sitting with the captain, inquiring about the route home. How many days? Were there any ports of call?
He went inside and made a gin and tonic, peeking into the living room to see if she were somehow at the piano. She was not at the piano. He wondered if it was something he said, some ill-judged remark that irritated her. Infuriated her. Harry went back to the hammock and sat quietly sipping his drink, at a loss to explain her disappearance. He reached for a cigarette but the pack was empty and he crumpled it and threw it away. He imagined her at the shipâs rail, looking skyward, counting stars. Harry looked up and found what he thought was the Little Dipper but might have been mistaken. He was all in. His eyes were filled with gin. He had no idea of the time but supposed it was near midnight. In the darkness he could not read his wristwatch. He had no certain idea of the vesselâs immediate destination. Sooner or later she would put in at Hamburg and there Sieglinde would remain, unless she jumped ship at an earlier port. She was a resourceful woman and would get on one way or another. She hated Hamburg, though. Probably she would find an earlier port, Singapore or Columbo. Who the hell would want to visit Columbo? As she said, she was not
Harry watched a scuffle, two teenage boys pushing each other around. There was so much movement and noise that it took Harry a moment to understand what was in front of his eyes. The freighter had taken the berth of the hospital ship. The ship was gone. He hurried to the edge of the quay but there was no sign of it upstream or down. Harry stood there wondering if somehow the ship was tethered at another berth. That was unlikely. Impossible, really, because of the size of her. He remained a few minutes longer and then asked one of the policemen what happened to the German hospital ship. It took him three tries to make himself understood, and finally the policeman shook his head and said, Di-di, gone, gone away. When Harry asked where, the policeman shrugged. Harry thanked him and hurried to the restaurant but Sieglinde was not there and had left no message. Harry sat at an outside table under the awning and ordered a drink. In fifteen minutes he ordered another and by nine p.m. he had ordered three more, all the time watching the street. He pretended nonchalance, a lone American drinking gin in a rough part of town. He saw no Americans or other foreigners. Local girls came up to him offering companionship but when he shook his head they left him alone, muttering what sounded like a curse. It had been some time since he had sat alone at a restaurant table, chain-smoking cigarettes, ill at ease, with the expression of an insomniac counting sheep. The street grew quiet, only a few furtive strollers here and there. They kept to the shadows.
You want girl?
A face was at his elbow. Harry said, No.
Nice girl. Young girl.
No, Harry said again.
Ten-dollar girl.
Go away, Harry said.
You give me money.
Harry gave him some money and the pimp went away.
In due course Harry paid the bill, hailed a cab, and returned to his villa. She was not there either, but he had not expected she would be. He sat uncomfortably in the silk-string hammock and imagined her at the rail of the hospital ship watching the countryside disappear to port. The ship would be ablaze with light although the moon was full. All hands on deck drinking and saying goodbye to the war. Goodbye and good luck. Goodbye and good riddance. The open ocean would be but a few nautical miles distant. The night was warm. He pictured Sieglinde sitting with the captain, inquiring about the route home. How many days? Were there any ports of call?
He went inside and made a gin and tonic, peeking into the living room to see if she were somehow at the piano. She was not at the piano. He wondered if it was something he said, some ill-judged remark that irritated her. Infuriated her. Harry went back to the hammock and sat quietly sipping his drink, at a loss to explain her disappearance. He reached for a cigarette but the pack was empty and he crumpled it and threw it away. He imagined her at the shipâs rail, looking skyward, counting stars. Harry looked up and found what he thought was the Little Dipper but might have been mistaken. He was all in. His eyes were filled with gin. He had no idea of the time but supposed it was near midnight. In the darkness he could not read his wristwatch. He had no certain idea of the vesselâs immediate destination. Sooner or later she would put in at Hamburg and there Sieglinde would remain, unless she jumped ship at an earlier port. She was a resourceful woman and would get on one way or another. She hated Hamburg, though. Probably she would find an earlier port, Singapore or Columbo. Who the hell would want to visit Columbo? As she said, she was not
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