When We Danced on Water (16 page)

Teodor followed him through the hallway and up the stairs, at a distance. The room was a bit musty, small but pleasant. His valise stood in a corner, and the bed had been turned down for him. An open door led out to a verandah, which Freddy instructed him to leave open to continue airing the stuffy room. He was cordial, controlled, and after these brief explanations he left Teodor alone.

Teodor removed his bathrobe and climbed into the low bed. It was comfortable, deep and plush. Cold night air from the verandah made him burrow under the heavy quilts, but this was something he had always loved to do, especially on winter evenings in Warsaw. His mother would come to kiss him good night and there ensued a mild game of hide-and-seek, as Teodor would tunnel deeper and deeper into the wilds of his bed. He thought about his mother now, and Margot and his father, too, what they might be doing, whether they were thinking of him. Too bad he had not really sent that telegram, they knew he was due to perform and were undoubtedly wondering how he had fared. And what about them? Did they know the German army was on its way toward them? Were they making preparations to pick up and leave?

He thought, too, about his new family, the Sonnenfelds, in Copenhagen. Little Bent would be asleep by now, the older children would have finished washing the dishes, their parents would be settled into their armchairs for a long evening of reading. Peter would be in their shared bedroom sketching airplanes in his notebook. And what about Sofie? Would she be dreaming of him now as he was of her? He wished he had kissed her full on the mouth that day in the dance studio.

Suddenly from the edge of wakefulness he leapt from the bed and ran to the door. He turned the lock, in absolute silence, and crept noiselessly back to bed. In no time he fell into a deep sleep.

It could have been minutes later, or hours, he did not know. He was aware first of the cold, but when he reached to pull the covers back into place he met with Freddy's head on his belly, his face turned away from him, toward his legs. Teodor gasped, and Freddy, who was kneeling on the floor, reached his left hand backward, caressing first Teodor's cheek, then his hair. They remained like this for several minutes, Teodor too frightened to move or protest. Presently Freddy raised his head from Teodor's belly, unbuttoned the boy's pajama tops and grazed his lips up and down his flat white stomach. Teodor could feel the tickle and scratch of whiskers. At the same time, Freddy's hand was gently probing his face, passing lightly over his eyes, brushing his forehead, a finger tapping delicately at his lips. When his other hand reached down into his pajama bottoms Teodor began to shudder, his whole body wracked by jolts large and small. Freddy removed that hand but continued stroking his face gently with the other, like a father comforting his son.

Freddy raised his head and for the first time looked at Teodor. “Are you hurt?” he asked quietly. “Are you suffering?”

Teodor hesitated briefly, then shook his head slowly from side to side. Indeed, he was neither of those, really, just terrified.

“Good,” Freddy said. “Relax.” He laid his head down again, and this time both hands were at work fondling and stroking Teodor's body. The boy did not resist when Freddy's fingers crept beneath the waistband of his pajamas, nor did he shake when the man took hold of his penis, which was now hard as a dancer's barre. Freddy rubbed his hands down the shaft two times, maybe three, when Teodor erupted and sat bolt upright, gasping and squirming.

Freddy pushed Teodor back down on his pillow, then climbed on top of him, releasing the sash on his bathrobe as he did. Teodor could feel his nakedness, the tautness of his body, the thrust of his penis as it pushed heavily back and forth in the small puddle on his belly. Teodor turned his head sideways to avoid Freddy's panting mouth; a drop of his saliva dripped into Teodor's ear and, with a deep moan, Freddy clutched the boy's shoulders and slammed his groin down hard. Teodor could feel the man's body relax, gradually, before he pushed himself up and off of him. Wordlessly Freddy retied the sash on his bathrobe, tossed a hand towel to Teodor, unbolted the lock on the door and closed it behind him silently.

In the morning Teodor roused himself with difficulty, confused. The door to the verandah was still open, bright sunlight deluging the room. When he sat up he thought he could see a small lake glistening through the thick trees at the back of the garden. He washed his face and his chest and stomach at the bathroom sink, and ran a wet cloth over his privates before dressing. Outside he could hear a train pulling into a station, but the inside of the house was, as the night before, silent. He found Cook pulling a tin of muffins from the oven. “Out in the garden,” she said brusquely.

Freddy was seated, in uniform, at a small table of glass and wrought iron, reading a newspaper. Several plates lay in front of him littered with scraps of food. He made a great show of welcome when Teodor approached. Cook was washing the muffin tin in the sink behind them, with one eye to the table in the garden.

“Well, good morning my young and sleepy friend,” he said, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. “In this house we are usually up bright and early on weekday mornings. Are you aware that this is not a holiday?” he said with a laugh to his voice. He winked at Teodor, causing Cook to frown.

“What time is it?” Teodor asked, taking a seat across from Freddy.

“Nearly nine o'clock, and I've got a mountain of work to do, so I will have to leave you now in the good care of my trusty staff.” He swilled down the last of his coffee as he stood from his chair. “Cook,” he called, “bring young Teo a breakfast fit for a growing young man who worked hard yesterday.” Another wink for Teodor. He was gone before Teodor could ask about departure.

The day passed slowly. Cook ignored him, and the chauffeur, an old uncle named Albert, was gone most of the day. Teodor would have liked to write a letter to his family or take a walk or read one of the books in Freddy's locked study, but all these required Cook's permission and assistance, so he contented himself, just barely, with exercises in the garden, some dancing in a corner of the salon, and hours of watching the occasional passerby from the second-floor balcony. Twice he dragged his valise down the stairs and set it by the front door, twice he lugged it back upstairs, worried that its presence might irk Cook. He was careful to avoid thinking about what had happened in his bed the night before, and by late afternoon was not entirely sure he had not dreamt it.

The light in the sky was nearly gone when Cook called Teodor to the kitchen. “The baron will be late, he says you're to take your supper alone right here.” A plate of sausages and potatoes lay steaming on the table. “I hope those Danes taught you to wash your own dishes,” she called over her shoulder as she let herself out the back door.

He ate carefully, slowly, but did not have the appetite to finish everything on his plate. He scraped the remainder into the rubbish bin and washed his dishes with caution, in hot water. Alone in the house now, he wished to pick up the phone and place a call, but to whom? Anyway, the only telephone was in Freddy's locked study.

Teodor meandered around the house a while longer, this time daring to enter Freddy's bedroom. He opened his closets and drawers and found racks and piles of the most beautiful sweaters and shirts and trousers and suits. He found cuff links and medals, he found photographs from Paris and London and a big gleaming city of skyscrapers, probably New York, but he could not be sure. He found a charcoal drawing of a young boy, yellowing at the edges, and by tilting the page this way and that Teodor thought he could see a young Freddy. In a drawer in the night table next to the bed, he found a stack of postcards, naked boys and girls frolicking in nature.
Licht-Luft-Leben
it said on the back of each one, Light-Air-Life. None of these fair and healthy children appeared to be Freddy.

The hour had grown quite late by the time he put everything back in its place and turned out the lights. He washed up and, before changing into Freddy's silk pajamas again, he ran his hand over the crotch and sniffed the fabric for signs of a scene he now barely believed had actually occurred. He checked the verandah door for a lock and bolt but there was none, so neither did he bother to lock the door to his room.

This time he was awake when Freddy staggered in. Teodor could see from his silhouette in the doorway that he was still in uniform, the square epaulets pointed at perfect right angles. Freddy flung his cap on the dresser, struggled to pull off his boots, and climbed in next to Teodor in his low, narrow bed. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes and his skin was damp with sweat. He lay motionless next to him for several minutes, his breathing slowing down by the minute until Teodor thought he might have fallen asleep.

But he had not fallen asleep, as Teodor, in his heart of hearts, knew. And any doubts he might still have been harboring about the previous night disappeared. By the time Freddy left his bed, Teodor lay curled in a tight ball, sore and raw, feeling stunned and ashamed and despoiled, under the heavy comforter.

Two more days and two more nights passed thus. On the fourth day in Freddy's house neither Cook nor the chauffeur was in residence. Teodor spent the morning rattling the garden gates, looking for a route of escape, then poking through drawers for a set of keys. He could not even gain access to the cellar, where he thought he might find a ladder tall enough to scale the gate of spears. After a lunch of bread and cheeses he stood at the edge of the garden trying to glimpse the train station he could hear off to the right. When a man or woman walked by, he searched their faces for sympathy to his plight, but found not one he dared signal for help.

Freddy pulled up at the gate, driving the Mercedes himself. “In the house,” he ordered Teodor, “I won't have you standing out here like some waif.” Once inside the front door Freddy grabbed hold of his waist from behind. But Teodor broke away and ran down the hallway, Freddy in close pursuit. He ran up the stairs but Freddy took them two at a time, overtaking the boy at the top landing. Freddy did not smell of alcohol this time, nor was he disheveled or threatening. He was rough with Teodor, tearing off his clothes with abandon. When he tried to enter him from behind, the boy began to whimper and Freddy stopped.

He lay down next to Teodor, who, though relieved at the reprieve, was now sobbing quietly. Freddy stroked his naked back, kissed his ear. He pulled the boy close and held him, but Teodor continued to cry. Freddy turned the boy's face to his own and kissed him on the mouth, running his tongue over Teodor's lips. Teodor stopped crying and felt himself kissing Freddy back, grateful for kisses instead of something worse. Freddy held him now in a tight embrace, kissing him deeply. Teodor put his arms around Freddy, pressing himself into the man. Frightened and confused, he nuzzled his cheek, his neck, while Freddy sang softly in his ear:

I call you sugar,

There's reason, too,

Your lips are honey,

I know that's true …

They can't make candy

As sweet as you

For you're pure sugar

Dear, through and through …

Then, almost as a coda, he whispered, “We're at war, Teo.” Teodor at first thought he was referring to the two of them. “All borders have been sealed and passage in and out of Germany is impossible right now.” He tried to pull away from Freddy. “I'll take care of you here until we can figure a way to get you back to Denmark.” Teodor's arms slackened their grip, but Freddy still clutched him tightly. “You're safe with me,” he said.

Chapter 27

“Y
ou're safe with me,” he repeats. He seems to be looking right through her.

Only when he stops speaking can she pull herself back to the present, to Tel Aviv. Their Berlins—hers and his—are separated by forty years and a war, but with this telling she finds herself back there, wandering. Martin, Hans-Peter, the wall. And now this Freddy. That city, that street, that villa: they are her story as well.

She staggers into the kitchen, returns with a pitcher of tap water and two glasses. She pours water into each, puts them on the table. He is still staring at the spot where she had been sitting.

She holds one glass in front of him, lifts one of his hands and then the other and curls them around it. Only then does he notice her.

“He told me I was safe with him,” he says, looking into her face. His magnificent eyes are asking her a question she cannot answer.

He does not drink from the glass of water.

She folds herself back into a corner of the sofa and waits for him to continue.

Chapter 28

F
or the first month, and the second and third, as he grew accustomed to his metamorphosis from Teodor to Teo, to his new, altered life, little changed in their routines. He made himself scarce during the days, wandering the wooded back garden, reading the art books Freddy set aside for him, writing in his journal. Freddy made a makeshift studio for him in the salon, complete with mirrors, a barre and a phonograph, and Teo did practice most days, but could not maintain the dancer's schedule he needed to keep in shape. He stayed clear of Cook and rarely ran into Albert.

Freddy was never home before dark, but always visited him in his bed at whatever hour he arrived. Quickly, Teo learned to absent himself from these situations, flying off in his mind to sunny afternoons in one dance studio or another or back to his fateful dance at the Staatsoper.

On occasion he found himself trying to explain this new life of his to Sofie; she would float before him, her face blankly impassive, as he told her that what was rightfully hers was being taken from him by force. And yet, he could not deny, to her or to himself, the terrible, bewildering arousal that Freddy provoked in him. After a while his shame was too great, so that when she came to him in daydreams or night dreams he had to push her away. Soon he could no longer recall what it had felt like to hold her in his arms.

Sunday became Teo's favorite day of the week, when Cook and Albert were off and Freddy was home. In the morning Freddy would spend hours showing him his newest acquisitions, works of art he had generously—he said—purchased for the Reich from departing Jews only too happy to rid themselves of unwanted baggage in exchange for much-needed cash. Freddy told him stories about the artists, how their lives crisscrossed their art, how it was the insane or the depraved or the debauched who produced the freshest, most startling work. He explained paint, he explained canvas, he explained light and shadow, perspective and palette, with extraordinary patience and boyish enthusiasm. He shared his secrets about how to judge a fake from the real thing, gave Teo books and articles to study. Teo saw Freddy was in love with the paintings, there was no other way to describe it. He found himself waiting with a conflicting sense of dread and guilty impatience for the moment when Freddy would turn that same proud, amorous gaze on him. Teo worked hard to remember his lessons, to prove a worthy pupil, and with time these oeuvres and their creators became his best friends, his companions through long, dreary days alone.

In good weather they might amble, after a languorous brunch in the enclosed garden, toward the edge of the property, to Freddy's tiny dock on the Halensee, the blue-black lake that lapped at their corner of Berlin. Here he would draw Teo: backed up against a mossy rock, or prone in the grass, or legs dangling in the inky water. Teo posed shirtless, or fully clothed, or in the nude when Freddy could be certain no neighbors were watching them from their own docks. Sometimes he dashed off sharp, angular pencil drawings and other times he lingered, using oil paints he would mix and mix until the soft hues were exactly as he desired. Once he used a huge canvas—the length of Teo's body—rendering him life-size, sprawled lazily among rows of pink cyclamen Freddy had planted especially for this purpose. At these times he doted on Teo, was his mentor, and the boy was enthralled almost to the point of forgetting the man's other, malevolent, side.

Teo never saw what Freddy did with those drawings and paintings, where he stored them, nor did he ever glimpse them again.

When it was too cold or dreary for drawing they would stay in the house, where Freddy would place a record on the phonograph for Teo to dance. Mostly he selected French or Russian composers, as romantic and airy as possible, and Teo would fit them with some routine he had once learned to other music. Sometimes he simply danced a Bournonville lesson, since Freddy would never know he was watching a Danish dance class, and it felt good to Teo to remember what he had been taught. Freddy was invariably enraptured, his hand often hiding much of his face: his teary eyes, his panting mouth. Later in the afternoon, if there was still enough light in the sky and if Freddy was not aroused, he might unlock the gates and drive Teo to the Tiergarten or Charlotten-Schlossgarten for a stroll, or to Café Kranzler or the Breitscheidplatz for coffee and a cream cake, safe in the knowledge that without the forged certificates and papers he had had prepared for the boy by a Jew living underground in the Kreuzberg district, Teo would never try to escape. In public, when he thought no one was looking, Freddy would rub his hand on the front of Teo's trousers or plant a sharp kiss on his lips. Once or twice they were nearly caught, but Freddy merely laughed off these close calls. Teo prayed these moments would end quickly and without incident.

Just before Christmas Freddy announced he would be going home to his family for the holidays. At first the plan was to leave Teo alone in Berlin, but this worried Freddy for reasons he did not share with Teo. And besides, he told him one evening in his study while making Teo stand naked in front of him as he drank and sketched and drank some more, he would go mad without touching the boy's smooth thighs, he would fall ill if he could not taste his lips every day.

In the week before their departure Teo saw more of Berlin than he had for all these long months. Freddy took him to buy clothing, had his hair cut and lightened. He took Teo to hear Hitler speak at a rally in the sports stadium, but he became excited groping Teo under a coat placed strategically over their laps and they left early, Freddy racing the car home and pouncing on Teo when they had barely gotten through the front door.

During that week Freddy brought home for Teo a thigh-length
Waffenrock
military coat with braided silver belt, piped
steingrau
trousers and a pair of white gloves. He taught him about his family's Christmas traditions and rituals, and coached him on the few remaining sounds he made that were not perfectly German in their enunciation. “Make your h's softer and all your other consonants harsher,” he scolded him. “You Poles sound like you're mashing your food when you talk.”

Two days before Christmas they left Berlin, both Freddy and Teo in full-dress uniform, the Mercedes piled high with gifts for his family and their own luggage.

They drove south past Leipzig, stopping twice at roadblocks at which Freddy instructed Teo to speak as little as possible. Each time, as their papers were being scrutinized nearby, Freddy rubbed his hand between Teo's thighs with one hand and squeezed his own member with the other while Teo gazed listlessly out the window, silently willing the guards to send them on their way quickly. Back on the road, Freddy opened the windows to the cold air, banging the steering wheel jubilantly, shout-singing an odd mixture of nursery rhymes and songs the enlisted men sang. He glanced at Teo during one particularly raunchy ditty and laughed. “So grave,
Liebchen
,” he said, tousling his hair. “We're having fun. Stop looking so serious!”

They stayed overnight at a small inn east of Regensburg, at the edge of the Bohemian Forest. While Freddy slept deeply atop a pile of down comforters, Teo threw open the wooden shutters and swallowed the cold air deep into his lungs. He heard music from somewhere in the village, something he had once danced to back in Poland, and thoughts of escape entered his head. Freddy had locked them in and pocketed the key, but perhaps he could climb out onto the low roof and jump to the terrace of another suite. In uniform and with exquisitely forged papers, he thought he might just get somewhere. He looked at Freddy sleeping innocently, glanced outside to the quiet village below. He lifted the poker from the fireplace, tested the sharpness of the tip; would it penetrate Freddy's temple, bore through his brain? Freddy stirred and Teo returned the poker to its place, choosing, instead, to strip to his underwear and dance to the music, unable to leap in that tiny German inn but following the dance through nonetheless, flying and twirling in his mind. His body ached to move to its fullest, to push through gravity to the other side of movement. But the walls and the roof and the furniture—and the man sleeping soundly on a bed of comforters—had caged him in. Eventually he dressed, curled up on a small sofa under a window, covered himself with a heavy curtain, and slept.

Teo was awakened by Freddy before dawn for a rough and numbing hour on a thick rug in front of a hot fire. In the small breakfast room below they were served eggs and sausages by the fat, smiling, innkeeper's wife, who praised their bravery and kept up a continuous rant about the Jews. Freddy found this highly amusing and goaded her into telling one venomous story after the next, tossing laughing winks all the while to his young companion.

By late morning they were climbing into the mountains. “Fresh air at last,” Freddy said with a smile. A while later he pointed to a snowy peak straight ahead of the car. “Look a bit down and to the right,” he instructed Teo. “That's Schloss Edelwald.” It was a fairy-tale castle of turrets and ramparts. Teo wondered where he would be sleeping.

Another hour passed as Freddy sped recklessly around bend after bend before they reached the castle. He tooted the horn loudly as they entered the cobblestone courtyard. A young boy, eight or nine, emerged first from the castle doorway, but a girl with a small bouquet of flowers clutched in her hand pushed past him and jumped into her father's arms. Presently, Freddy's wife and mother appeared with a toddler and several servants. Teo watched the boy, dressed in lederhosen and a Tyrolean jacket, as he stopped halfway to the car and stood waiting to be summoned, while his sister was still enjoying a big, hearty hug from her father.

Teo thought about his own sister, Margot, who would be ten now. He tried to imagine her taller and older than he had last seen her, but he could conjure no clear picture of her. Nor could he precisely remember his parents' faces. He sat watching this family's reunion from the car, his throat clogged with sadness.

Freddy embraced his plain wife perfunctorily, and made the baby cry when he wrenched him from his mother's arms. Teo stepped slowly from the car and marched across the courtyard past the curious children to the arched doorway. “Pleased to make your acquaintances, your ladyships,” he pronounced carefully, as Freddy had instructed him. “Heil Hitler,” responded Freddy's wife, and Teo was not certain whether this were not a reproach.

“Teo,” Freddy was shouting, “meet my son Leopold. Leo—Teo, Teo—Leo!” Freddy and his little girl laughed heartily at the silly rhyme. The boy eyed Teo with suspicion, his face grave, but he bowed politely.

Freddy had Teo assigned to a large circular room in the castle's highest turret, despite the protestations of the baronesses von Edelwald, who had planned for him to occupy a more central wing of the house. Freddy was adamant, however, insisting on the spectacular view for this guest who, he explained to the ladies, was from flat Schleswig-Holstein, up near the Danish border, and should take full advantage of the mountain view. More importantly, the stairs to the turret were accessible by a passage that lay hidden behind a bookcase in Freddy's study.

Here in the south, in his ancestral home, Freddy was bolder than ever. He visited Teo's bed every night full of mountain air and ardor. The weather in the valleys was particularly mild, so during the day he took the boy on drives to secluded forests where they hiked and picnicked and he could find more opportunities for reckless sex. If the children were permitted to accompany them, Freddy would tease them into a game of hide-and-seek in order to steal a few orgiastic moments with Teo, or send them on missions to find wildflowers or berries. Once, as Freddy smothered him in a field of purple and yellow loosestrife, Teo thought for one sickening moment that he spied Leopold glowering at them from behind a spindly birch.

Just after the new year, Freddy announced a family ski trip on a nearby mountain slope. The next morning they set out, with Freddy and Teo up front and the rest of the family in the back. A servant had driven up the mountain earlier with their ski equipment and food. By eleven o'clock they were on the slopes. The baroness stayed with the children on the easier slopes, while Freddy insisted that Teo join him on one of the higher slopes. “You'll learn to ski quickly when there's no way but down.”

After a brief lesson at the top of the mountain, Teo took to skiing with ease. Freddy brought him down the slope in stages. When they reached the bottom Freddy threw his arms around Teo and lifted him in the air. A few other skiers took note.

The next time, Freddy led Teo to the back side of the same mountain, a steeper run on the shaded side of the hill. Here it was colder, gray and bleak. Teo saw few skiers below them.

They skied quickly this time, Teo trying to keep pace with Freddy without tumbling dangerously. Several times Freddy got far ahead and Teo lost sight of him. He nearly ran into Freddy in a long arcing curve, surprised to find him waiting in a grove of three or four tall firs off to the side of the piste. From here, the lower hills were just barely visible. Teo thought he could see the baroness and the children skiing slowly down a nearby slope.

Freddy pulled him in close, their woolen snow jackets hissing as they slid together. He kissed Teo roughly on the mouth and plunged his tongue deep into his throat until he nearly choked. Teo's eyes were open, he could still see skiers on other hills careening silently down the slopes.

Freddy had his hands around Teo's neck now, mashing their faces together. He maneuvered his right ski between Teo's so that the boy's leg stood squarely against his groin, then leaned in to ensure that Teo would feel his hardness through bone and flesh, through lined gabardine ski pants and thick underwear. Freddy's eyes stayed closed as he rubbed himself slowly on Teo's leg, pulling the boy closer all the time and smothering him with kisses from his warm, pink mouth.

Freddy pushed Teo away from him, just slightly, and Teo thought this crazy moment on a ski slope in gray daylight was over and they could continue down the mountain. Freddy took a brief look around, then pushed Teo to his knees. With his right hand he unbuttoned his ski pants and fumbled through his underwear, while with his left he held on to Teo's hair, a tinted blond tuft caught neatly between his long, thin fingers.