don’t really know if I should.”
“Of course you should! No question,” Miriam insisted. “A trauma like that could destroy a woman’s whole life. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. When I worked in Wiesbaden at the Fritz Bauer Institute and the Center Against Expulsions, I heard about the terrible fates of women in the eastern provinces after World War Two. The things these women lived through were unspeakable. And most of them never talked about what happened to them. It destroyed them emotionally.”
Pia was watching her friend attentively. Miriam had changed a lot. There was no trace of the carefree, superficial girl from a privileged family. Twenty years was a long time.
“What sort of institute is it that you work for?” she inquired.
“It’s a center for studying and documenting the history and effect of the Holocaust, connected to the university,” Miriam explained. “I give lectures there, organize exhibitions, and so on. Pretty crazy, don’t you think? Earlier, I always thought I’d own a disco or compete in show jumping.” Miriam giggled. “Can you imagine how shocked our teachers would be if they knew we’d both turned out to be so respectable?”
“Especially since they always prophesied that someday we’d both wind up in the gutter, at the very least,” Pia said with a grin. She ordered two more glasses of champagne.
“What’s the deal with Christoph?” Miriam asked. “Is it serious?”
“I think so,” replied Pia.
“He must really be in love.” Miriam winked at her and leaned forward. “He can’t take his eyes off you.”
Pia instantly felt the butterflies in her stomach again. The champagne arrived, and they clinked glasses one more time. Pia told her about Birkenhof and her animals.
“Where are you living now?” she inquired. “Here in Frankfurt?”
Miriam nodded. “Yes. In my grandmother’s house.”
For someone who didn’t know Miriam’s family background, that would not have sounded impressive, but Pia knew better. Miriam’s grandmother Charlotte Horowitz was the grande dame of the cream of Frankfurt society. Her “house” was a magnificent old villa on a gigantic estate in the Holzhausen district, which brought tears of avarice to the eyes of every real estate speculator. A thought suddenly occurred to Pia.
“Tell me, Miri,” she said to her friend, “does the name David Josua Goldberg mean anything to you?”
Miriam gave her a puzzled look.
“Of course it does,” she said. “Jossi Goldberg is one of Oma’s oldest friends. His family has supported projects in the Jewish community in Frankfurt for decades. Why do you ask?”
“Just because,” Pia said evasively as she saw the curiosity in her friend’s eyes. “At the moment, I can’t say any more.”
“Police business?”
“Something like that. I’m sorry.”
“No biggie.” Miriam raised her glass again and smiled. “To our reunion after such a long time. I’m so happy!”
“Me, too.” Pia grinned. “If you want, come and visit me. We could go for a ride, the way we used to.”
Christoph came over to them at the cocktail table. The nonchalance with which he put his arm around Pia’s waist made her heart leap with joy. Henning had never done anything like that. He regarded tender touches in public as a “tasteless display of a primitive pride of ownership” and awkwardly avoided them. Pia didn’t share his opinion. The three of them drank another round of champagne, and then another. Pia told the story of her outing to the maternity-wear department at H&M, and they laughed so hard, they cried. It was half past midnight before she knew it, and Pia said she hadn’t had such a relaxing and fun time in ages. Henning would have wanted to go home by ten o’clock, or else return to the institute. Or he would have become engrossed in some important conversation in a corner of the room, having automatically excluded her. This time, it was different. In Pia’s secret
“Of course you should! No question,” Miriam insisted. “A trauma like that could destroy a woman’s whole life. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. When I worked in Wiesbaden at the Fritz Bauer Institute and the Center Against Expulsions, I heard about the terrible fates of women in the eastern provinces after World War Two. The things these women lived through were unspeakable. And most of them never talked about what happened to them. It destroyed them emotionally.”
Pia was watching her friend attentively. Miriam had changed a lot. There was no trace of the carefree, superficial girl from a privileged family. Twenty years was a long time.
“What sort of institute is it that you work for?” she inquired.
“It’s a center for studying and documenting the history and effect of the Holocaust, connected to the university,” Miriam explained. “I give lectures there, organize exhibitions, and so on. Pretty crazy, don’t you think? Earlier, I always thought I’d own a disco or compete in show jumping.” Miriam giggled. “Can you imagine how shocked our teachers would be if they knew we’d both turned out to be so respectable?”
“Especially since they always prophesied that someday we’d both wind up in the gutter, at the very least,” Pia said with a grin. She ordered two more glasses of champagne.
“What’s the deal with Christoph?” Miriam asked. “Is it serious?”
“I think so,” replied Pia.
“He must really be in love.” Miriam winked at her and leaned forward. “He can’t take his eyes off you.”
Pia instantly felt the butterflies in her stomach again. The champagne arrived, and they clinked glasses one more time. Pia told her about Birkenhof and her animals.
“Where are you living now?” she inquired. “Here in Frankfurt?”
Miriam nodded. “Yes. In my grandmother’s house.”
For someone who didn’t know Miriam’s family background, that would not have sounded impressive, but Pia knew better. Miriam’s grandmother Charlotte Horowitz was the grande dame of the cream of Frankfurt society. Her “house” was a magnificent old villa on a gigantic estate in the Holzhausen district, which brought tears of avarice to the eyes of every real estate speculator. A thought suddenly occurred to Pia.
“Tell me, Miri,” she said to her friend, “does the name David Josua Goldberg mean anything to you?”
Miriam gave her a puzzled look.
“Of course it does,” she said. “Jossi Goldberg is one of Oma’s oldest friends. His family has supported projects in the Jewish community in Frankfurt for decades. Why do you ask?”
“Just because,” Pia said evasively as she saw the curiosity in her friend’s eyes. “At the moment, I can’t say any more.”
“Police business?”
“Something like that. I’m sorry.”
“No biggie.” Miriam raised her glass again and smiled. “To our reunion after such a long time. I’m so happy!”
“Me, too.” Pia grinned. “If you want, come and visit me. We could go for a ride, the way we used to.”
Christoph came over to them at the cocktail table. The nonchalance with which he put his arm around Pia’s waist made her heart leap with joy. Henning had never done anything like that. He regarded tender touches in public as a “tasteless display of a primitive pride of ownership” and awkwardly avoided them. Pia didn’t share his opinion. The three of them drank another round of champagne, and then another. Pia told the story of her outing to the maternity-wear department at H&M, and they laughed so hard, they cried. It was half past midnight before she knew it, and Pia said she hadn’t had such a relaxing and fun time in ages. Henning would have wanted to go home by ten o’clock, or else return to the institute. Or he would have become engrossed in some important conversation in a corner of the room, having automatically excluded her. This time, it was different. In Pia’s secret
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