Stardust(202)

“We can’t leave it like this. I know you. Why you said those things. You know what I remember? You said, ‘Was any of it real?’ So bitter. You already knew the answer. But it’s wrong. It was real. I never lied to you.”

“You just pretended I was someone else. Maybe I did, too.”

She looked down. “Always the same. Always putting him there. He wasn’t.”

“You’re in love with him.”

“What a boy you are,” she said, moving her hand across the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “You think it’s like War Bride. Love forever. But how can it be like that? Nothing is like that. You know, when we first left home, left Germany, I thought it’s all finished for me, everything. But then Vienna. France. All right, it’s somewhere new. Not the same, but I can live here. I think it’s like that. Not the same. Another place. But you can live there for a while. And you don’t forget it, it’s something special to you, somewhere you lived.”

He looked at her, silent, his skin alive with her again. “As long as it lasts.”

She smiled weakly, her hand moving to the side of his face. “It’s not enough for you? A place you can live? There was no one else there. Nobody was like you, the way it felt. It was different. When I was next to you, the way we used to lie there, it wasn’t somebody else. How could it be? It was you.”

“And now it isn’t.”

“No,” she said softly. “Not anymore.” She leaned into him, putting her head down.

“Liesl—”

“Just stay for a minute like this, like before.”

He felt her against him, as natural as his own skin, and for a second he was weightless, not holding on to anything, falling. All he would have to do was lift her head. Another second passed, suspended, then he leaned down, kissed her hair, and stepped back.

“It can’t be like before. Not now.”

She looked away, then nodded. “I know. I just don’t want to forget. The way it is now, that’s not how it always was. Maybe I want you to remember, too. Someday—I don’t know, we’ll be in a room somewhere.” Setting a scene, her voice caught up in it. “Years from now, an accident. And you see me. I want you to think, I used to live there once. It was nice.”

He stood for a minute, unable to move, in the scene with her. “I’ll remember,” he said finally.

She opened her mouth to speak and then stopped, out of lines. Instead she nodded, then kissed him lightly on the cheek, a good-bye. “Let’s not say any more, then,” she said.

“No,” he said, watching her turn and move to the door.

Secrets didn’t bring you closer. He thought of all the things he’d never say now, things only he would know. How he went over that day in the hospital in his mind, working out its choreography, who was where, until finally he thought he knew, and then asked Ostermann to make sure, that Dieter had always been with him, never alone. That only she had been in the room. That all deaths were not alike, that some secrets had to be kept. That she was the only place he’d ever lived.

He heard the band music through the door. No one would miss him. He drove to the Egyptian to catch the late showing. The picture had already started, so he slipped into a back row. A scene he’d already been in, Liesl looking up at him, luminous, catching all the light. “I don’t care,” she said, eyes darting, her face soft with love. She leaned forward to kiss the GI and the audience seemed to lean forward with her. No sound, not even a gum wrapper. “I don’t care.” Everyone in the scene now, wanting her. Thinking she was wonderful.





AUTHOR’S NOTE


STARDUST IS A work of fiction, not history, and readers familiar with the period will see that liberties, a few chronological, have been taken with events that inspired some of its scenes. Labor unrest in Hollywood actually began before the war was over, in early 1945, but reached its most violent stage in the fall, as in the street brawl here. An information film about the Nuremberg trials, That Justice Be Done, was released in October 1945, but no feature film about the death camps themselves was ever made or, so far as I know, contemplated. (A rough documentary compilation of captured newsreels about the camps, We Accuse, was released in May 1945.) Minot’s hearings are meant to be a premature trial run, a preview, of HUAC’s assault on Hollywood in 1947, but even in 1945 Representative Rankin had announced the committee’s intention to investigate Hollywood, “one of the most dangerous plots ever instigated for the overthrow of this government,” and California state senator Tenney’s fourteen thousand files had been compiled during the war and were certainly in place then. Jack Warner did indeed become a friendly witness but for reasons of his own, not those suggested here. No studio head, in fact, ever stood up to the committee. After a meeting in November 1947 at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, some fifty studio executives issued the anti-Communist Waldorf Statement, effectively starting a blacklist that would last for a decade. Sol Lasner’s principled stand here is imagined, something that might have happened in the movies.