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Authors: Jacqueline Briskin
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in the world.”
Araminta, who was untying the satin ribbon, looked up.
“Advice? Wyatt, you can’t have coached the opposition. How dare you help these Jerries win even more medals!”
She laughed.
“Have you heard? Dear little Adolf is now one of our Katy’s close friends.”
Kathe flushed.
“We were invited to a reception at the Chancellery. He told me he was disappointed in my hundredmetre performance.”
Wyatt’s face was expressionless as he pulled a straight chair close to Araminta.
“Now, give your old cousin the straight dope,
“Minta. Dad’s been spreading the word that you were out with some Habsburg prince who races at Le Mans.”
Araminta laughed.
“Jiirgen’s a pilot, and his father’s a baronet that’s what Freiherr means, isn’t it, Katy? The true story is …
“
She launched into a vivacious bowdlerized report on the midnight prank
- or as much of it as she cared to disclose.
47
Kathe and Aubrey, who’d heard the story before, couldn’t control their laughter; and when she reached the part about driving home in a horse-drawn Bolle milk-wagon Wyatt laughed so loudly that the woman at the writing-table ostentatiously gathered together her postcards and departed. When Wyatt spoke to Kathe, he was cordial but removed, and she could hear a stilted note in her responses. Araminta kept a lively shuttlecock of conversation going during the tea and cream cakes.
Kathe glanced at her watch.
“Nearly five-thirty. I have to dash.”
Aubrey jumped to his feet.
“Let me get a taxi and take you back to Friesen-Haus.”
“A shuttle bus is stopping by for me.”
“I promised the guys to be back at the Olympic Village for a victory celebration,”
Wyatt said.
“OK if I grab a ride with you?”
Kathe gave him a startled glance before she nodded.
After they had disappeared in the bustling foyer, Aubrey continued to stare at the glass doors.
It was a beautiful late afternoon, warm, with a soft bronze haze of sunshine. Traffic was flowing in heavy streams between the great columns of the Brandenburg Gate and into the vast green vistas of the Tiergarten. The only way Kathe could keep herself from gazing at Wyatt was by focusing her attention on the Quadriga, the bronze equestrian statue that topped the Gate.
“What if you miss that bus?”
Wyatt asked.
“Impossible. The baroness”
“We’ll have a short stroll in the park, I’ll take you back to the dorm in a cab, and your guardian gaoler will never know the difference.”
“But”
“Why not try something new and different? Just do something without an argument, OK?”
He took her arm, leading her across the Pariser Platz towards the Brandenburg Gate.
IV
She hadn’t walked in the Tiergarten since the afternoon two years ago when she had come here with Anna Elzerman. That was the first time she’d seen the signs that forbade Jewish people to sit on benches. Trapped in shame, she had gripped her friend’s trembling hand and made an inner vow to forgo the park and its pleasures, including the zoo. Kingsmith’s was near by, on Unter den Linden, and her father sometimes invited her for an ice-cream at one of the park’s open-air cafes: she always suggested they go to Bauer’s or the Victoria Cafe instead. Not enjoying the park was a protest known only to her, a meaningless protest. Yet strolling at Wyatt’s side in the
48
shade of the tall trees along the newly broadened Charlottenburg Chaussee rechristened the EastWest Axis towards the distant golden Siegessaule, the statue of winged Victory, she couldn’t help staring guiltily at the benches with their paler rectangles. The signs had been removed before the Games.
Wyatt said:
“Maybe the chaperon will hear you played hooky. You’re not exactly incognito in that outfit.”
Preoccupied, she hadn’t realized that the cyclists and strolling pedestrians, the people rushing
Araminta, who was untying the satin ribbon, looked up.
“Advice? Wyatt, you can’t have coached the opposition. How dare you help these Jerries win even more medals!”
She laughed.
“Have you heard? Dear little Adolf is now one of our Katy’s close friends.”
Kathe flushed.
“We were invited to a reception at the Chancellery. He told me he was disappointed in my hundredmetre performance.”
Wyatt’s face was expressionless as he pulled a straight chair close to Araminta.
“Now, give your old cousin the straight dope,
“Minta. Dad’s been spreading the word that you were out with some Habsburg prince who races at Le Mans.”
Araminta laughed.
“Jiirgen’s a pilot, and his father’s a baronet that’s what Freiherr means, isn’t it, Katy? The true story is …
“
She launched into a vivacious bowdlerized report on the midnight prank
- or as much of it as she cared to disclose.
47
Kathe and Aubrey, who’d heard the story before, couldn’t control their laughter; and when she reached the part about driving home in a horse-drawn Bolle milk-wagon Wyatt laughed so loudly that the woman at the writing-table ostentatiously gathered together her postcards and departed. When Wyatt spoke to Kathe, he was cordial but removed, and she could hear a stilted note in her responses. Araminta kept a lively shuttlecock of conversation going during the tea and cream cakes.
Kathe glanced at her watch.
“Nearly five-thirty. I have to dash.”
Aubrey jumped to his feet.
“Let me get a taxi and take you back to Friesen-Haus.”
“A shuttle bus is stopping by for me.”
“I promised the guys to be back at the Olympic Village for a victory celebration,”
Wyatt said.
“OK if I grab a ride with you?”
Kathe gave him a startled glance before she nodded.
After they had disappeared in the bustling foyer, Aubrey continued to stare at the glass doors.
It was a beautiful late afternoon, warm, with a soft bronze haze of sunshine. Traffic was flowing in heavy streams between the great columns of the Brandenburg Gate and into the vast green vistas of the Tiergarten. The only way Kathe could keep herself from gazing at Wyatt was by focusing her attention on the Quadriga, the bronze equestrian statue that topped the Gate.
“What if you miss that bus?”
Wyatt asked.
“Impossible. The baroness”
“We’ll have a short stroll in the park, I’ll take you back to the dorm in a cab, and your guardian gaoler will never know the difference.”
“But”
“Why not try something new and different? Just do something without an argument, OK?”
He took her arm, leading her across the Pariser Platz towards the Brandenburg Gate.
IV
She hadn’t walked in the Tiergarten since the afternoon two years ago when she had come here with Anna Elzerman. That was the first time she’d seen the signs that forbade Jewish people to sit on benches. Trapped in shame, she had gripped her friend’s trembling hand and made an inner vow to forgo the park and its pleasures, including the zoo. Kingsmith’s was near by, on Unter den Linden, and her father sometimes invited her for an ice-cream at one of the park’s open-air cafes: she always suggested they go to Bauer’s or the Victoria Cafe instead. Not enjoying the park was a protest known only to her, a meaningless protest. Yet strolling at Wyatt’s side in the
48
shade of the tall trees along the newly broadened Charlottenburg Chaussee rechristened the EastWest Axis towards the distant golden Siegessaule, the statue of winged Victory, she couldn’t help staring guiltily at the benches with their paler rectangles. The signs had been removed before the Games.
Wyatt said:
“Maybe the chaperon will hear you played hooky. You’re not exactly incognito in that outfit.”
Preoccupied, she hadn’t realized that the cyclists and strolling pedestrians, the people rushing
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