shoes, but Bundt reached past him and yanked the cart up, freeing its wheels.
“See?” he said.
Frank nodded, breathing through his teeth. He and Bundt were so close now he could count the individual hairs in Bundt’s eyebrows.
“If you run,” Bundt gestured at the soldiers patrolling the hospital yard to stop deserters, the snow-punched fields beyond. “How far you must go?”
The warmth in his voice caught Frank by surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Bundt hung his head, smiling blandly.
Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. Shoes , he thought, but he couldn’t say it.
Bundt continued to smile. “You are just waiting for the real time.”
“The what?”
“The real time,” Bundt repeated. “For to see your family again, right? You have sons? I have sons.”
Blood pounded in Frank’s ears. He grabbed the tub of piss.
“Threaten me, and I’ll report you,” he heard himself say. Then he staggered away from Bundt and hauled it to the edge of the concrete pit, pouring the contents onto the yellowish-red crust below. Six meters square and almost three meters deep, the walls of the cistern were dark with stains, but it never seemed to fill. A meter down jutted a ledge where the last war’s soldiers must have rested their feet. The last war. His father’s war, lost, lost badly, plunging Germany into a shame so deep Frank remembered the odor of it, like rotten potatoes, permeating his childhood.
He threw the tub down and filled it with an ashy, white armload, then dumped the contents in the cistern. Something flickered acrossthe broken crust. A gray animal, furtive and delicate. He watched until it vanished. When he looked up again, Bundt was already halfway toward the ward, towing his bloodstained cart behind him.
Just before Christmas the year before, Susi had announced she was pregnant again. They were sitting beside their tree, beside the creamy candles that had not yet been lit, after the two boys had gone to bed.
“You need another son,” she’d said, smiling. “It’s the right time.”
“The right time,” Frank had repeated, shaking his head.
“It is,” she’d assured him. In the dim light, her eyes looked lustrous. He’d known her all his life. In kindergarten she and Frank had built a house together with blocks, and in the Leisestunde , when the children were supposed to be absolutely silent and listen to the birds outside, he’d made faces to get her to laugh. She was the girl he’d followed home one day, without understanding why, and had hung on her gate until she came out to speak with him.
But she was different now, too, a mother, a commander of boys. And their precious domestic life was a small fire in a world of shadows.
Unable to put words to the mix of pleasure and dread he’d felt, Frank had kissed her. Their lips locked and pulled apart with habitual efficiency. He wished he’d kissed her harder.
“I’m happy,” said Susi.
Frank reached out and righted a candle that had tipped. He and Susi had both been so careful since Ani’s birth, when she’d lost so much blood she’d fainted. He’d almost stopped making love to her altogether, although sometimes in his sleep he would wake with them already entwined, his body tense with lust.
The pregnancy had indeed made Susi happy, and the boys, too. It hadn’t occurred to Frank until he saw Hans and Ani that spring cuddledaround their mother’s growing belly that they had all wanted something to look forward to, and the boys and their mother were already pulling together for when he’d be called away. Part of him wanted to be called. The fall of Stalingrad, the grim reports from France made it certain. All the fathers were gone or going, and it was time to join them. To do his duty instead of rotting in a safe corner of the Fatherland.
And yet still he drove to his office in the spa’s grove of yellow buildings, and checked the throat of a man who choked on a fish
“See?” he said.
Frank nodded, breathing through his teeth. He and Bundt were so close now he could count the individual hairs in Bundt’s eyebrows.
“If you run,” Bundt gestured at the soldiers patrolling the hospital yard to stop deserters, the snow-punched fields beyond. “How far you must go?”
The warmth in his voice caught Frank by surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Bundt hung his head, smiling blandly.
Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. Shoes , he thought, but he couldn’t say it.
Bundt continued to smile. “You are just waiting for the real time.”
“The what?”
“The real time,” Bundt repeated. “For to see your family again, right? You have sons? I have sons.”
Blood pounded in Frank’s ears. He grabbed the tub of piss.
“Threaten me, and I’ll report you,” he heard himself say. Then he staggered away from Bundt and hauled it to the edge of the concrete pit, pouring the contents onto the yellowish-red crust below. Six meters square and almost three meters deep, the walls of the cistern were dark with stains, but it never seemed to fill. A meter down jutted a ledge where the last war’s soldiers must have rested their feet. The last war. His father’s war, lost, lost badly, plunging Germany into a shame so deep Frank remembered the odor of it, like rotten potatoes, permeating his childhood.
He threw the tub down and filled it with an ashy, white armload, then dumped the contents in the cistern. Something flickered acrossthe broken crust. A gray animal, furtive and delicate. He watched until it vanished. When he looked up again, Bundt was already halfway toward the ward, towing his bloodstained cart behind him.
Just before Christmas the year before, Susi had announced she was pregnant again. They were sitting beside their tree, beside the creamy candles that had not yet been lit, after the two boys had gone to bed.
“You need another son,” she’d said, smiling. “It’s the right time.”
“The right time,” Frank had repeated, shaking his head.
“It is,” she’d assured him. In the dim light, her eyes looked lustrous. He’d known her all his life. In kindergarten she and Frank had built a house together with blocks, and in the Leisestunde , when the children were supposed to be absolutely silent and listen to the birds outside, he’d made faces to get her to laugh. She was the girl he’d followed home one day, without understanding why, and had hung on her gate until she came out to speak with him.
But she was different now, too, a mother, a commander of boys. And their precious domestic life was a small fire in a world of shadows.
Unable to put words to the mix of pleasure and dread he’d felt, Frank had kissed her. Their lips locked and pulled apart with habitual efficiency. He wished he’d kissed her harder.
“I’m happy,” said Susi.
Frank reached out and righted a candle that had tipped. He and Susi had both been so careful since Ani’s birth, when she’d lost so much blood she’d fainted. He’d almost stopped making love to her altogether, although sometimes in his sleep he would wake with them already entwined, his body tense with lust.
The pregnancy had indeed made Susi happy, and the boys, too. It hadn’t occurred to Frank until he saw Hans and Ani that spring cuddledaround their mother’s growing belly that they had all wanted something to look forward to, and the boys and their mother were already pulling together for when he’d be called away. Part of him wanted to be called. The fall of Stalingrad, the grim reports from France made it certain. All the fathers were gone or going, and it was time to join them. To do his duty instead of rotting in a safe corner of the Fatherland.
And yet still he drove to his office in the spa’s grove of yellow buildings, and checked the throat of a man who choked on a fish
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