The End of Innocence Read Free

That is the way of things. But there is also something equal to loss that you must not forget. There is an irrepressible renewal of life that we can no more stop than blot out the sun. This is a good and encouraging thought.
    â€œWrite me if you go to war and tell me what you see. That’s all for today.” And with that the class was dismissed.
    * * *
    Wils opened the heavy green door of Hollis Hall and dutifully walked up four flights of steps to Professor Copeland’s suite. He knocked on a door that still bore the arms of King George III. Copeland, his necktie loosened at the collar, opened the door.
    â€œBrandl. Glad I saw you in class. We need to talk.”
    â€œYes, Professor. And I need your advice on something as well.”
    â€œMost students do.” The professor ushered Wils inside.
    The smell of stale ash permeated the room. The clouds cast shadows into the sitting area around the fireplace. Rings on the ceiling above the glass oil lamps testified to Copeland’s refusal of electricity for his apartment. The furniture—a worn sofa and chairs—bore the marks of years of students’ visits. A pitcher of water and a scotch decanter stood on a low table, an empty glass beside them.
    Across the room by the corner windows, Copeland had placed a large desk and two wooden chairs. Copeland walked behind the desk, piled high with news articles, books, and folders, and pointed Wils to a particularly weathered chair in front of him, in which rested a stack of yellowing papers, weighted by a human skull of all things. Copeland had walked by it as if it were a used coffee cup.
    â€œOne of ours?” asked Brandl, as he moved the skull and papers respectfully to the desk.
    The severe exterior of Copeland’s face cracked into a smile. “No. I’m researching Puritans. They kept skulls around. Reminded them to get on with it. Not dawdle. Fleeting life and all.”
    â€œOh yes. ‘Why grin, you hollow skull—’”
    â€œPlease keep your Faust to yourself, Wils. But I do need to speak to you on that subject.”
    â€œ Faust ?”
    â€œNo, death,” said Copeland. His lips tightened as he seemed to be weighing his words carefully. His face lacked any color or warmth now. “Well, more about life before death.”
    â€œMine?” asked Wils.
    â€œNo. Maximilian von Steiger’s life before his death.”
    â€œWhat the devil? Max…he, he just left for the war. He’s dead?”
    Copeland leaned toward him across the desk. “Yes, Maximilian von Steiger is dead. And no, he didn’t leave. Not in the corporeal sense. All ocean liners bound for Germany have been temporarily held, pending the end of the conflict in Europe.”
    Wils’s eyes met Copeland’s. “What do you mean?”
    â€œSteiger was found dead in his room.”
    â€œFever?”
    â€œNoose.”
    Wils’s eyes stung. His lips parted, but no sound came out. “You are sure?”
    As Copeland nodded, Wils suddenly felt nauseous, his collar too tight. He had known Max nearly all his life. They lived near each other back in Prussia; they attended the same church and went to the same schools. Their mothers were even good friends. Wils loosened his tie.
    â€œMay I have some water, please, Professor?” Wils finally asked in a raspy voice. As Copeland turned his back to him, Wils took a deep breath, pulled out a linen handkerchief, and cleaned the fog from his spectacles.
    The professor walked over to a nearby table and poured a glass of water. “How well did you know Max?” he asked, handing the glass to Wils.
    He took the tumbler and held it tight, trying to still his shaking hand. “We met at church in Prussia when we were in the nursery. I’ve known him forever.”
    â€œDid you know anything about any gaming debts that he’d incurred?”
    Debts? “No.”
    â€œDo you think that gaming debts were the