THE TRUTH OF WHO WE ARE

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Chapter Six…continued

There was a strange silence hanging in the air. The waiter straightened up and asked Martin if the lady wanted something to eat.

“Croissant?” he asked, looking at her, and she nodded.

“Why did you do it, Annaliese? Why did you betray me?”

“Betray you?” she laughed. “I betrayed you? We were supposed to get married! Instead, you run away with another man?”

“I never ran away with him.”

“No? Well, you certainly weren’t with me, were you? Any chance I may have had of getting you into my bed went out the window the moment you met him. You wouldn’t sleep with me because you said you wanted to wait until our wedding night, and I agreed. What choice did I have, really? But did you never stop to ask yourself what your sleeping with him was doing to me? You never thought about it for a moment.”

He could see tears in the corner of her eyes, and he thought perhaps she was right. He never thought about her the way he thought about Dieter. From the very moment he saw the man and his mismatched eyes, he realized he was lost. She must have seen it in him. She must have known, and if not known, at least sensed it.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

“You’re sorry?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry there was ever a war; I’m sorry that I ever met him. It should have never happened the way it did. Maybe, if there hadn’t been a war, and maybe, if I’d never met him…maybe we might have had a chance? Maybe we would have been married, and you would have had all those children you so desperately wanted? And maybe, just maybe, we could have been happy, both of us living a shared lie. Both of us secretly knowing things weren’t right between us. And because of that, you would eventually take a lover, and then…so would I. A young boy I could mentor and throw in your face.”

“Oh Martin, has it come to this between us?”

The waiter came outside with a variety of croissants and put the plate on the table between them. He put two side-plates down, a cloth napkin, and two forks. He stood briefly and said nothing, looking at Annaliese and smiling.

“You know, if you bring me some cigarettes, it will give you another reason to come out here,” Martin said, and the man looked at him and nodded.

“He can’t possibly expect me to eat all of this,” she laughed, looking at the waiter as he walked away.

“I think you made an impression on him,” Martin pointed out.

“I did?”

“You’re still beautiful—more-so I’d say, and you know what they say about the French.”

She picked up a croissant and broke a piece off, looking at him as she bit into it. “Do you think I could ever give myself to another man after what happened to me?”

“You have to move beyond that—”

“Beyond that? How can you say that to me? To me? Knowing what happened. You don’t know what it’s like to have someone force themselves on you—”

“Yes. I do,” he said. “I do. More times than I care to remember. But I’ve learned something through it all. And do you know what that is?”

She shook her head.

“That life will still go on, whether you accept it, or not. You can let it defeat you and beat you down, or you can move on and grow away from it.”

“Grow? Are you going to tell me that I should learn to forgive my attackers?”

“No, no more than I could ever forgive mine. But every time I’d come back from an engagement and the guards would force the kapos on me, I knew that some day it would all be over, or maybe, if I was lucky enough, I would die. I dreamed that I would be one of the lucky ones. But it never happened, did it? The rapes continued. And then one day, it was over. And while the Russians swept through the city and raped both you and my mother, they rescued us; they beat the guards and the kapos to death, and we couldn’t even cheer because we’d been so desensitized. Is that the right word? Desensitized? It’s the only word that seems to fit. What I’m saying is, that you can learn to love again.”

“And what if I don’t want to? What then?”

“Then you’ll have made your choice much like I’ve made mine.”

“And what choice have you made?”

“To die alone, of course.”

  The waiter came out with a new package of cigarettes and pulled two out, offering one to Annaliese, and then to Martin. She took the cigarette and waited as the waiter pulled a large zippo out of his vest pocket and lit it, holding the flame close and looking down at Annaliese. Martin held his cigarette up, but the waiter put his zippo back in his pocket and went back into the bistro. Martin took his lighter out of his pocket.

“Do you really want to die alone?” she asked.

“Why not? Is it so hard to believe?”

She shook her head.

“Why are you here, Annaliese?” he asked. “Why are you out here in the morning, looking for me?”

“For Rudi.”

“Rudi?” he asked.

“There’s a piano competition coming up.”

“Piano?”

She nodded. “In Russia.”

“Oh my God! Russia?”

“Yes. I want you to tell me if he has a chance.”

“Why me?”

“I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“So you left West Germany and came to Paris hoping you’d find me, on the off-chance that I might listen to your son play the piano, and tell you whether or not he’s good enough to enter an international piano competition?”

“It does sound mad when you say it like that,” she smiled.

“And where’s your son now?”

“My son has a name. Remember? Rudi. And he’s back at the hotel,” she said. She picked up her purse, opened it, and pulled out a pair of beige gloves. She looked at him as she pulled them on. She was very methodical about it.

“And when do you want me to see him?”

“We’re leaving Paris in three days.”

“Do you have a piano?”

“A piano?”

“Alright. Do you have access to a piano?”

“I thought you might have one.”

“And why would you think that?”

“I thought, I mean, when you left Berlin, you said you were going to Paris. I went to the Conservatoire de Paris but they didn’t know where you were, or anything about you.”

“They wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Why?”

“They said I was a collaborator.”

“I had hoped you could listen to him at the Conservatoire,” she said, sounding defeated.

“I work in a club. There’s a piano there. I keep it well tuned, and the acoustics are good enough for our needs.”

“A club?”

“It won’t be open. No one will be there. Or, very few.”

“When?”

“Today. Three o’clock.” Martin wrote the address down on a piece of paper and gave it to her. “That gives you six hours to get him ready.”

She took the address and put it in her purse.

“I can’t promise you anything except my honesty. And Annaliese, I will be honest. How old is he?”

“Nine.”

“They won’t let him enter. He’s too young.”

“How old do you have to be?”

“Older than nine.”

“It’s not for another two years.”

“Then how do you know about it, if it’s in Russia, and it’s two years from now?”

“I learn things in my job.”

She stood up, and Martin stood up with her. She held out her hand and he shook it. The waiter came out and asked her if she needed anything else. She said no and smiled, and then paused before she recrossed the street and Martin muttered to himself: “Coward.”

He looked at the waiter watching her as she walked down the sidewalk, and smiled.

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