“You were in a camp.”
She raised her eyes, still not really looking. “We all were. My husband, my sister. Everyone.”
“Are they—?”
She shook her head. “Now only me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She wrinkled her forehead, as if the words were not just inadequate but puzzling, irrelevant.
“I don’t know why. I was not so strong. Leon was stronger, for the work. But they took him. To the gas. I don’t know why. No reason. You survive, no reason. Or you don’t.”
“I knew you’d find each other,” Lasner said in English, genial, putting his hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“You speak English?” Ben asked her.
“A few words only.”
“But now that you’re here, you have to try. I tell her, if she gets every other word, she’s at least halfway there, right? You tell her about the picture?”
“Not yet.” Ben switched to German. “We’re making a documentary for the Army, about the camps.”
“You want to put this in a film?”
“So people will know. A record. Eisenhower ordered them to film it when we got there. He said no one would believe it otherwise. A kind of proof.”
“A proof.”
“That it happened.” He looked at her. “We don’t have to talk about this, if you’d rather not.”
“Put her in the picture. You can tell your story,” Lasner said.
“What would I say? I don’t know the reason for any of it.” She reached down to the coffee table for another cigarette.
“You ought to go easy on those things.”
“I’m sorry. For me it’s a luxury. A whole cigarette.”
“I didn’t mean— I just meant for your health. Your life is a gift now.”
She stared at him, saying nothing until, slightly flustered, he changed the subject.
“You know who this is?” He nodded at Ben. “Otto Kohler’s kid.”
Now her eyes did move, suddenly alert, as if she’d heard another voice.
“Otto’s? But—”
“You knew my father?”
“Otto,” she said, the flat tone now a little agitated. “There was a boy, yes. But I don’t understand. You’re not—”
“My brother. I was in England.”
“Your brother. Taller,” she said, measuring. “What happened to him?”
“He’s dead.”
She drew on the cigarette and looked down. “Yes. Of course he would be dead.” Her voice flat again. When she looked back up at him her eyes had retreated behind their blank wall. “So now this,” she said aloud, but to herself. “Otto’s son.”
“I knew you two would have lots to talk about,” Lasner said in English.
She turned to him, hesitating, translating in her head, then looked back at Ben, an almost wry expression on her lips.
“Yes, much to talk about,” she said and then, suddenly skittish, “Excuse me.”
She left before either of them could say anything. Lasner raised his eyebrows.
“So I was wrong?”
“She’s grateful to you, you know,” Ben said, an instinctive peacemaker. “It’s just maybe too much for her.” He opened his hand to the party. “So soon.”
“You know what I think? Honest to God? I think Hitler won that one. I don’t think she’s here anymore.”
“How did she know my father?”
“She was in pictures over there. They all knew each other. By that time, there’s only one studio.” He paused, taking a puff on his cigar. “She was a looker when she was young. What the hell, Fay’s cousin.” He looked down at the cigar. “Not now. To do that to someone—” He broke off, looking up at Ben. “Well, see if you can get her to talk a little. So she doesn’t just sit there at dinner. Picking. Ask her about Otto.”
“You think they were—”
“Christ, I don’t know. I never thought. Otto? I wouldn’t be surprised. You think that’s what spooked her with you? Like seeing the kid walk in on you when you’re— Oh, there goes Jack. Watch, he’s going to take on Congress.”
Ben followed him, intending to split off and not intrude, but the loose group around Minot seemed open to anyone passing by. Both Minot and Warner were used to audiences—even talking to each other, they were playing to the cluster around them, a public conversation. Ben noticed that they were already “Ken” and “Jack.”
“I’ll tell you what I see,” Jack said. “I see the goddam union s at my throat and now this thing hanging over my head. Ready to chop. Consent decree. Whatever the hell that actually means. Except trouble. I look around, I see trouble. Here we are, knocking our brains out trying to make pictures and everybody wants a piece.”