Stardust(145)

“A political trial,” he said. “Now here.”

“No, it’s a hearing. Closed at first. It’s not the Nazis,” Ben said. “It would be a mistake to think that. To decide that way. It’s not camps or—”

“But a political trial all the same,” Kaltenbach said evenly. “I know what it means.”

“There’s no danger to you. You’re not being charged with anything. Not even being a Communist.”

“Just politically unreliable. So no work at the studios.”

“You’re not working there now,” Ostermann said. They were drinking coffee near the end of the pool terrace, the city below, lights coming on in the dusk.

“No, not for a long time,” Kaltenbach said. “Now longer.”

“I want you to understand,” Ben said. “If you leave, you won’t be able to come back. They’d make sure of that.”

“It’s not like before,” Ostermann said. “What choice did we have? Now there’s a choice. You can’t take this lightly.”

“That’s why you came over? To talk me out of it?”

“No. I talked to Anna in Mexico City. Seghers, you remember. It’s not easy to make a call there. An hour to get through. But I thought she would know somebody. Or somebody who—so, here’s an address in Tijuana. Who can help with arrangements. I said you’d be there tomorrow. If you go.”

“No, tonight,” Kaltenbach said firmly.

“Then I came to say good-bye,” Ostermann said. “If you’re sure.”

Kaltenbach turned away, too emotional to face him. “Look at it,” he said, nodding to the city. “A mirage. Maybe it’s the palm trees that suggest it. But sometimes I think there’s nothing really there. Blink—just sand again. Was I here? You and Dieter, all milk and honey, blue skies. But I wonder, even for you.”

“Almost ready?” Liesl said, coming out of the house. She had changed into cream-colored slacks and a blouse, resort wear. “Was it big enough?” She pointed to one of Danny’s old suitcases, now filled with Heinrich’s few changes of clothes.

Kaltenbach turned back to Ostermann. “I know it’s different there now.” He held his gaze for a second, a silent conversation, then stuck out his hand. “So good-bye, my friend.”

But Ostermann, tearing up, took him in his arms, a fierce hug, and Ben saw in his posture that he had done it before, one more leave-taking. When he finally pulled away, he took some money out of his pocket. “Here.”

“No,” Kaltenbach said, covering his hand.

“You’ll need it.”

Kaltenbach shook his head. “But Frau Schneider, my landlady. There’s rent owing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Keep my good name,” he said, smiling sadly. “I’ll pay you back.” A ritual phrase.

Ostermann took one of the bills from his hand. “Here. For cake at the Romanische.”

Kaltenbach took the money. “Mohnkuchen. Like nowhere else.” He touched Ostermann on the shoulder, starting to turn away, then stopped and looked at him again. “If you read that I’ve said something—something, you know, that doesn’t sound—you’ll know it’s not me, yes? You’ll remember that?”

“Of course.”

“Even if my name is attached. I may have to— But you know the books. They can’t change those. The rest, don’t listen. Just the books.”

“We should go,” Liesl said. “They look all right,” she said to Ben, now in Danny’s borrowed clothes. “How do you feel?”

“Ready. This all?” He lifted her bag.

“I have to be back. I’m in the scene.”

“They can shoot around you for one day.” He turned to Ostermann. “Have Iris call in sick for her. Doctor’s orders.”

“They won’t like that.”

“We can’t just drop him at the border. One day.”

They started across the terrace, then froze as the phone rang.

“Don’t answer,” Ben said. “That’ll be the hospital, wondering if I ended up here in my nightgown. What did you say at the nurses’ station?” he said to Liesl.

“That you were sleeping. I’d be back tomorrow.”

“Good. So I’m the only one missing. Walking around somewhere near Vine.”

“You’ll be in trouble for this?” Kaltenbach said.

“Not unless they catch us.”

They followed Ostermann’s car down the hill and stayed behind until he veered off with a small wave. Kaltenbach waved back, his eyes fixed on the featureless boulevard, a last look before it shimmered away. By the time they turned on Sepulveda, heading down the coast, he seemed to have lost interest, letting his head rest on the backseat, eyes closed, like someone on a long railroad trip.