My Life Among the Apes by Cary Fagan Page B

was doing it for the benefit of the young man.
    â€œI was worried that you would get lost. This is my friend Paul.”
    The young man had risen and now took Bernie’s hand. “I am glad to meet you. I hope you don’t mind my coming.”
    â€œOf course not. I like young people.” What a stupid thing to say. Was he a friend of Sarah’s or a boyfriend?
    He had some trouble manoeuvring the case under the table. Sarah said, “Is that a violin?”
    â€œI bought it this afternoon. It’s for Brent.”
    â€œYou bought a violin for Brent?”
    â€œDon’t you know that he’s taking lessons?”
    â€œMay we see it?” Paul asked.
    â€œSure. Do you play?”
    â€œIn school I played the cello. My uncle is quite a good violinist. He plays in a string quartet in Potsdam.”
    Bernie had brought the case up and laid it on his lap. He undid the latches and opened the top. Paul whistled softly. “It’s very beautiful,” he said.
    â€œZeyde, Brent is
seven
years old. Aunt Maureen is forcing him to take lessons. He wants to play hockey. And it’s full size — it’s too big for him.”
    Bernie shut the case and closed the latches. “He’ll grow into it,” he said gruffly, pushing the case back under the table. The waiter came and he immediately ordered a tea. Sarah and Paul ordered beers. He said to Paul, “Were you born in Berlin?”
    â€œNo, in the country, a small village.”
    â€œAnd both your parents were German?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd your grandparents? They were here, in the thirties, the forties?”
    He hadn’t meant to sound quite so aggressive; perhaps he was annoyed at Sarah for her skepticism about the violin. Paul said, “Perhaps you are asking if they were in the war. My maternal grandfather was in the navy. He helped to sink two British ships. My paternal grandfather was in the infantry. He was shot by a Russian soldier and lost his leg.”
    â€œIs that what you’re asking, Zeyde?”
    â€œThe service is very slow here,” Bernie said.
    Their drinks came. Sarah looked angry, although he’d hardly done anything wrong. He could hear Ida’s sighing voice:
Well, are you happy with your performance this evening? Do you think it makes you look clever?
The only one who didn’t seem out of sorts was Paul, who asked Bernie about what he had seen and done in Berlin. He felt a sudden gratitude to the young man.
    â€œSuch a nice violin,” Paul said, as Bernie was counting out money for the bill. “Maybe you will learn to play it.”
    â€œIt’s a little late for that,” Bernie said. “Arthritis. Besides, I don’t know a thing about music. I never had the ear for it.”
    They got up. Sarah said, almost reluctantly, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
    â€œI’m going to that concentration camp north of Berlin.” Paul said, “I don’t think Jews should visit the camps. I think only Germans should go.”
    â€œZeyde, maybe it’s not a good idea.”
    â€œI was almost fifteen years old when I first heard about them. We saw pictures in the newspapers.”
    â€œI offer to go with you,” Paul said.
    â€œPaul, stop it.”
    â€œStop what? If your grandfather wants to go to Sachsenhausen, perhaps it’s better I go with him. It’s confusing to get there. Very tiring by the time you leave. I will come, Bernie.”
    â€œThat is very kind of you.”
    â€œWell, I’m definitely not doing this,” Sarah said.
    â€œI didn’t mean to cause an argument.”
    â€œThere is no argument. What time shall I come to the hotel?”
    â€œNine o’clock suits me.”
    â€œOkay, good.”
    Outside, they stood in the light cast by the café. Bernie took a breath, wondering what to say to ease the grim expression on Sarah’s face. But all he managed was “It