The Other Side of Love (56 page)

Over my dead body, Aubrey thought, his eyes narrowed.

V

ťet on high ground above the Main river and the ruins of Frankfurt,

the massive seven-storey IG Farbenindustrie building had five regu—

ar’y spaced, jutting wings that contained over a thousand rooms.

e odds against such a vast structure surviving intact were so astro—

omical that jokes centred around supposed orders from Eisenhower

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to all bombardiers that he had an eye on it for USFET headquarters. Aubrey was one of the stream of uniformed men hurrying up the cement path that bisected the broad slope of lawn where German gardeners kneeled clipping the yellow autumn grass. Paratroopers stood guard, thin sunlight catching sparks on the nickel plate of their bayonets, highlighting their parachute-silk scarves and the white shoelaces that criss-crossed their boots. Aubrey’s papers were unquestioningly accepted. He asked directions for the office of Second Lieutenant Robby Lear, which whom he’d been communicating about Kathe.

Lear, with his pink cheeks and plushy brown crewcut, might just have graduated from high school.

“Jesus, what a night!”

he grinned, propping his shoes on the grey metal desk that nearly filled the cubicle.

“So you made it through the Russki zone. Find the German cousin?”

“Not a trace.”

“The other Captain Kingsmith - our guy, that is - called in yesterday with the same sad song; my nose tells me he’s been heavily reamed out. When he heard you were on the way to check in, he suggested I get photos from you so the local MPs could be on the lookout.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have a picture of her,”

Aubrey lied.

“No sweat. The way I see it, what are the odds she’d stick her nose anywhere near Ober Tappenburg?”

“Right you are. Actually I’m not here about her.”

Aubrey opened his briefcase for papers with Supreme Commander-in-Chief s letterheads.

“These are my orders.”

The young lieutenant thumbed through the sheaf, touching the signature: Dwight D. Eisenhower.

“Fact-finding mission, huh, sir?”

he said in an awed tone. Til have my sergeant give a jingle to the motor-pool and make the arrangements for a car.”

Then he relaxed, winking.

“A sedan with a big back seat for you and Miss Osmond.”

“I’d be most grateful for the largest seat you can spare. The lady’s a dragon with terrible breath.”

Aubrey paused while Lear guffawed, then went on casually:

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to scour about a bit for this German girl I knew up at Oxford. Married a doctor from around here, but damned if I can remember the bloke’s name. If you would arrange for me to have a glance at the ration-card registrations … ?”

“No problem. No problem at all. But talk about needles in a haystack! Millions of Krauts have crammed into Wiirttenberg-Baden and Greater Hessen, our Western District.”

“She was good sort and … well, you know how it is. We had a little fling. Maybe she needs help.”

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You bet your ass she does. Jesus! No food, no medical supplies no fuel, not a damn building intact for housing. What a fuckine jolly winter this is going to be.”

The lieutenant’s boyish brow creased briefly, then the white smile showed again.

“My sergeant’ll type up a request. °

“v

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7

A week later Kathe and Aubrey were eating lunch in Offenbach, a small leather-manufacturing town up the Main river some ten miles from Frankfurt. The cavernous, arched restaurant was almost empty - Americans could get far better food in their clubs, and the locals couldn’t afford to eat out. It was, of course, unheated. Kathe wore her overcoat draped over her shoulders. She had returned Novikov’s girlfriend’s clothes on their arrival in Frankfurt, when Aubrey had miraculously produced this prewar three-piece costume with Harrods labels. In the grey tweeds, a sweater of a meltingly pretty shade of powder blue and pearl beads, Kathe looked county English. The table of British officers kept darting her glances of homesick appreciation, while the pair of French civilians in the corner ogled her with straightforward admiring lust.

The Rippchen mit Sauerkraut was tasty enough despite the Argentine tinned corn beef that stood in for smoked pork chops, yet after a few listless mouthfuls Kathe handed her plate to Aubrey. After demurring that she ought to eat, he fell to with all the hunger of a recovering convalescent. Kathe gazed out at the rain-dappled river. On the opposite bank, a cape-swathed fisherwoman was reeling in her line to display a long strand of water weeds. Kathe sighed.

During the past week she herself had been fishing up useless weeds at the local Military Government headquarters within the circle of towns they had drawn around Frankfurt. They had found ration files for three Erichs born on 10 April 1940. The father of the first

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was a Lutheran minister executed for anti-Nazi activities, the next was a twin, and the third’s mother had told them that her husband save his life in France before the boy was born. Poor Willi never saw his only son. This morning in Offenbach, the last remaining town, they had combed the filing cabinets unsuccessfully.

“I didn’t realize how much I was counting on finding him here,”

Kathe said as if they had been carrying on a conversation.

Aubrey placed his knife and fork neatly across the top of his empty plate.

“Everybody in Germany has shifted around,”

he consoled.

Kathe, who until now had refused to discuss the possibility that Erich might not be in the area, clutched at the straw.

“You’re right! Naturally they’ve moved. What party bigwig would stay in a village where anybody who carried a grudge might turn him in? I’ll bet they’re back in Frankfurt.”

“They could be anywhere,”

he said, mentally kicking himself for raising her hopes. He himself had become more and more convinced that the little boy had been killed in a bombing raid or fallen prey to one of the routine childhood diseases that malnutrition made fatal.

“The Frankfurt files are the obvious place to begin.”

“Kathe, you can’t go back. By now every MP in the city will have a mimeographed picture of you.”

“Any photo’ll be from England and positively creaking with age.”

She was on her feet.

“Aubrey, do hurry up and pay. We can get going this afternoon.”

Still protesting, Aubrey followed her to the motor-pool Mercedes. He was inserting the ignition key as a black-painted Kiibelwagen the German equivalent of a jeep swerved into the wet courtyard.

Kathe made a sound halfway betweenwgasp and a grunt of pain. She was gaping at the pot-bellied American colonel and the short well-built German with smooth blond hair as they left the car and trotted across the rainswept cobbles.

“What’s wrong?”

Aubrey asked.

In a strangled tone, she whispered:

“It’s him … Groener.”

She reached for the Mercedes door-handle.

II

Aubrey leaned across the seat to grip her wrist.

“Stay where you are!”

Struggling to free herself, she hissed:

“He knows the parents”

surname!”

Sheltered by the peaked entry, Groener took his hands from the pockets of his well-tailored topcoat, spreading them in a gesture to indicate size. Aubrey hadn’t visualized him as vigorously handsome.

f..two men disappeared into the restaurant.

Kathe turned on Aubrey.

“Can’t you see? must confront him.”

Her eyes seemed flattened.

“He’s my only real chance to find my baby.”

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‘I couldn’t agree more. But use your head. What’s the obvious reason for an American officer to be fraternizing in this outpost?”

After a moment she said:

“A blackmarket deal.”

“Exactly. Groener’ll say anything to get rid of you. What we’ll do is sit tight until they come out, then follow until he’s alone.”

Her eyelids fluttered, then she nodded reluctantly.

He released her arm. Til park behind that hedge so we can’t be seen,”

he said.

“Kathe, if I’m to be of any help, you’ll need to tell me all about the gentleman.”

Under his questioning, she dredged up her memories of Groener. The other luncheoners left, then the staff. Aubrey neither flinched nor commiserated, and this enabled her to speak about the rape and those misleading spots of blood on the leather couch. The rain fell more softly. Finally Groener and the colonel came out, thrusting their heads forward as they hurried through the fine penetrating drizzle to the Kiibelwagen.

Aubrey stayed well behind the Kiibelwagen as Groener drove towards Frankfurt. Headquarters had its own generator. Because of the grey weather, the rows of windows blazed with lights so that the vast building seemed a celestial beacon floating above the wet ruins. In places the city’s destruction was so complete that there were no streets, and they bounced over depressions between hills of rubble. The road along the Main had been cleared, and here the Kiibelwagen sped along, halting briefly on the Mainkai near the pontoon bridge so the pot-bellied colonel could get out. Alone, Groener followed detour signs. The surviving hotels around the Hauptbahnhof - the main railway station - were used as billets, and the square in front of the terminal’s battered grandiose arches swarmed with American uniforms and khaki-painted vehicles. Kathe held her breath, expecting Groener to stop and conduct further business. Instead, he continued.

The cram of traffic swallowed up the jeep-like vehicle.

“We’ve lost him,”

she sighed.

Aubrey ignored her. Leaning forward, squinting beyond the windscreen wipers, he remained in the twin lines that bumped over mortar holes towards the Main river. The two large trucks immediately ahead of them turned. Once again she saw the Kiibelwagen. Weak with relief, she gazed out of the window. The rain had ceased, and the river seemed covered with a slick dark-grey varnish. Road signs, all in English, informed them that they were en route to Hochst, which was a manufacturing town. The highway carried a good deal of traffic, lessening the chances that Groener would be aware they were tailing him. At Hochst, Groener turned left at a pair of medieval half-timbered houses standing amid the devastation. In the empty ruins of the side-street, Aubrey fell further back.

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‘Look out!”

he cried, jamming on the brakes.

The Kiibelwagen had stopped. The headlights went out. They were too far away to see more than Groener’s outline in the dusk as he moved into the shadows of a large flatroofed building.

Aubrey unbuttoned his khaki overcoat to display a webbing belt and shoulder holster. The planes of his thin face showing prominently in the dusk. He checked his Webley service revolver. Kathe watched sombrely. At Ober Tappenburg she had heard boasts of husbands, sweethearts, brothers who were with the Werewolves, that underground organization of Nazis on the ready for an opportunity to bring back the New Order.

Allied Control Authority posters of concentrationcamp scenes were pasted across the cracked fireblackened brick walls. Every window was boarded up. In peacetime, Kathe would have considered the warehouse abandoned. Nowadays any premises still standing, no matter what the structural damage, was utilized.

Aubrey vaulted on to the dock, squatting to lend her a hand. They hurried past gargantuan doors used for unloading lorries. Aubrey knocked on a normal-sized door. There was no response.

Kathe hammered her fist on the splintering wood.

Finally a man’s voice shouted:

“We’re closed. Come back Monday.”

“I have geschafte mil your boss,”

Aubrey called in pidgin German.

The door creaked open. A tough-faced man with a growth of stubble peered through the gloom at them.

“What’s the trouble, Loock?”

Groener’s voice enquired from within.

“Herr Direktor, it’s an Englander, and Mrs got a blonde with him.”

Rapid footsteps sounded. It was impossible to see Groener, but he could see them.

“Kathe!”

he said in a shocked tone.

“Kathe?”

His voice took on a speculative note with his third repetition.

“Kathe.”

Facing her enemy at long last exhilarated her. Uncertainties dropped away. She felt immortal, strong.

“Yes, I’ve found you,”

she said.

“Loock,”

Groener said.

“Get yourself a beer.”

jWhat if you need help, Herr Schwagermann? I’m not thirsty.”

Take a piss, then. Do whatever you want. Just get out of here.”

Darting a sullen glance at the interlopers, the man jumped from the dock with the practised agility of a well-trained soldier. Aubrey took Kathe’s arm, and they went inside towards Groener’s voice.

W h”

IV

itnm the cavernous warehouse a faintly lit open door showed

sma11 room had been constructed of raw plywood. Other than

15 cube nothing could be seen. However, the heavy sweetness

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of dried figs that mingled with a tainted odour like spoiled meat indicated the storage of blackmarket food. Groener led the way to the makeshift office. Two candles stood on the cluttered worktable beside a telephone - civilian telephones were an unheard-of luxury in postwar Germany. In the shadows Kathe glimpsed a stack of flatfish boxes red-printed: Penicillin.