Leaving Berlin Read Free Page A

the geography of infidelity. He imagined the women passing in the lobby, eyeing each other, years of it now.
    “Of course a smaller room. Not like the great artist’s.” An ironic smile, used to servants’ quarters. “They’re going to give him a theater, you know. Isn’t it wonderful? All his plays, whatever he decides. We’re doing Mother Courage first. At the Deutsches Theater. He was hoping for the Schiff, but not yet, maybe later. But the Deutsches is good, the acoustics—”
    “Who’s playing Courage?”
    “Helene,” she said simply. Now finally Brecht’s star as well as his wife. Alex thought of the wasted years of exile, keeping house for him, ignoring the mistress, an actress without her language. “You’ll have to come to the theater. She’ll be pleased to see you again. You know Schulberg is here?” Wanting to gossip, California in common. She jerked her head. “In the army. Over in the West. Which is lucky for us. Food packages from the PX—he’s very generous.” Alex felt Martin shift position, uncomfortable. “Not for Bert, of course. They give him anything he wants. But for the cast, always hungry. So Helene gets food for them. Imagine what they would say if they knew they wereflying in food for Weigel?” She looked up at him, as if the thought had jogged her memory. “So tell me, what happened with the committee? Did you testify?”
    “No.”
    “But there was a subpoena?” Asking something else.
    Alex nodded.
    “So,” she said, taking in the lobby, his presence explained. “Then you can’t go back.” Something else remembered, glancing behind him. “Marjorie’s not with you?”
    Alex shook his head. “She’s getting a divorce.” He raised his hand. “We should have done it years ago.”
    “But what happens to Peter? The way you are with him—”
    “He’ll come visit,” Alex said, stopping her.
    “But he stays with her,” she said, not letting go.
    “Well, with the way things are—”
    “You like a fugitive, you mean. That’s what they want—hound us all like fugitives. Only Bert was too clever for them. Did you see? No one understood anything he said. Dummkopfs. And what? They thanked him for his testimony. Only he could do that. Outfox them.”
    “But he left anyway.” His bridges burning too. “So now we’re both here,” Alex said, looking at her.
    “We’re so happy to have our writers back,” Martin said before she could answer. “A wonderful thing, yes? To be in your own country. Your own language. Think what that means for a writer.”
    Ruth looked up at this, then retreated, like a timid animal poking its head through the bushes then skittering away, frightened by the scent in the air.
    “Yes, and here I am talking and you want to go to your room.” She put her hand on Alex’s arm. “So come see us.” But who exactly? Brecht and Ruth or all three? A hopeless tangle. She smiled shyly. “He’s happy here, you know. The theater. A German audience. That’s everything for him.” Her eyes shining a little now, an acolyte’s pleasure.The same look, oddly, he’d seen in Martin’s, both in thrall to some idea that seemed worth a sacrifice.
    “I will,” he said, then noticed the overnight bag at her feet. “But you’re going away?”
    “No, no, just to Leipzig. They want to put on Galileo . Bert doesn’t think they’re serious, but someone has to go. One day, two maybe. It’s all right, they keep my room for me here. You can’t make such arrangements by letter. You have to go.” So someone would.
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    The room, on the third floor, still had blackout curtains hanging heavily to the floor, and the bellboy, barely in his teens, made an elaborate show of drawing them, then demonstrating the light switches, the candle and matches, in case of power cuts. He nodded to the luggage rack with its single suitcase.
    “Are you expecting more bags?”
    “Not tonight. In a few days.” The rest of his life, sitting somewhere on a railway siding,