The Sleepwalkers Read Free

“What are you doing now then? Besides raising the boys so superbly, I mean.”
    Sometimes he really found it hard to look at Ava, so similar was she to his lost wife. Same velvet skin. Same chestnut eyes. That long, sleek curve to her neck.
    “I’ve told you a dozen times. I have a part-time job.”
    “Yes. Sorry. Doing what, again?”
    “I’m a stringer, Willi. I send in reports about what’s going on at the university to one of the big Ullstein papers.”
    “That’s fascinating. You know my old war pal Fritz—”
    “Yes, I know, you goose. It’s Fritz I work for.”
    He noticed Ava’s bemused smirk.
How you live in your own little world,
it seemed to say.
    Vicki’d had such a natural air of glamour about her. Ten times a day Willi had looked at her and thought they ought to put that pose on a billboard in Potsdamer Platz. It was so perfect, so full of unconscious grace. Ava, he’d always thought, belonged more behind the camera than in front of it. Not that she was any less lovely, just endowed with a different elegance: that of keen intellect and artistry. It pleased him to know she was pursuing her writing. What she was doing with Fritz was another matter.
    “So then . . . how
are
things at the university?”
    The chestnut in her eyes quickly darkened. “Positively awful. A year ago I’d never have believed it. The whole student body’s stampeded to the Nazis. Anti-Nazi faculty are being boycotted. Jewish teachers and students get hate mail telling them to get out. It’s no different in the high schools. Erich hasn’t complained about it yet, but I’m the one who picks him up at
Volksschule
. Every week more students show up in Hitler Youth gear. I don’t know how much longer things will stay tolerable for him there.”
    Willi felt like a man on an ocean liner who suddenly finds water around his feet. “But . . . what are you suggesting, Ava?”
    “I don’t know.” She lifted one eyebrow just the way Vicki used to. “Maybe we’ll have to send him back to Young Judea, with Stefan.”
    “Erich.” Willi looked at his oldest son. “Are you having trouble at the
Volksschule
because you’re Jewish?”
    Erich turned white. He seemed about to say something, then stopped. He was not a child reticent with words.
    To Willi this said more than enough. “Can you finish the semester out?” he asked, alarmed. “It’s only, what . . . another two weeks?”
    Erich shook his head. “It’s not so bad,
Vati
. Really.”
    “Then over recess we’ll assess the situation and take appropriate action. How does that sound?”
    Erich nodded.
    Willi noticed him quickly rub away tears.
    After the main course Grandpa ordered the boys to go have a look at the dessert counters. “Take your time. Examine each one carefully before you choose,” Max instructed, knowing that dozens of creamy tarts and intricately layered cakes were on display.
    As soon as they were gone, the jovial smile dropped from his face. “Willi, listen to me.” His voice descended to a tremulous whisper. “I know you’re not involved in politics, that you are merely an Inspektor-Detektiv with the police. But you do serve the government, and I know you have friends. So I’m asking you, begging you really, if you have or ever get even the least hint of information as to what is going to happen . . . you will promise to let me know, won’t you? It’s just that all our money is tied up in the business. If something were to happen, well . . . I’m thinking of the boys. Their future. If the time has come to pull out, I want to know, before it’s too late.”
    “Pull out? What do you mean?”
    “Sell the firm. Liquidate my assets. Transfer them abroad.”
    “Why on earth would you do that?” Willi’s throat constricted. “Everyone’s in the same boat. England, France, even America, have all got just as many unemployed.”
    “But they haven’t got Nazis.” Max’s eyes widened. “What if, God forbid, those maniacs manage