few steps below.
They didn’t move.
“What the hell are you . . .”
He stopped abruptly. His mother was watching him from farther down the stairs.
“I’m disappointed in you, Jürgen,” she said icily. “We’ve gathered together the best of Munich in order to celebrate your birthday, and then you disappear in the middle of the party to mess around on the stairs with your friends.”
“But . . .”
“Enough. I want you all to go down at once and rejoin the guests. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Jürgen, humiliated in front of his friends for the second time that day. Gritting his teeth, he set off down the stairs.
That isn’t the only thing that will happen later. You’ll pay for this one, too, Paul.
6
“It’s good to see you again.”
Paul was concentrating on calming down and recovering his breath. It took him a few moments to comprehend where the voice was coming from. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the door, afraid that any moment Jürgen might fight his way through. But when he heard those words, Paul jumped to his feet.
“Eduard!”
Without realizing it, he’d gone into his elder cousin’s room, a place he hadn’t visited in months. It all looked the same as it had before Eduard left: an organized, tranquil space, but one that reflected its owner’s personality. There were posters on the wall, Eduard’s collection of rocks, and above all, books—books everywhere. Paul had already read most of them. Spy novels, Westerns, fantasies, books on philosophy and history . . . They occupied the bookcases, the desk, and even the floor beside the bed. Eduard had to rest the volume he was reading on the mattress in order to turn the pages with his only hand. A number of cushions were stacked under his body to allow him to sit up, and a sad smile floated on his pale face.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Paul. I couldn’t bear it.”
Paul looked him in the eye and understood that Eduard had been watching carefully for his reaction, and had found it strange when Paul hadn’t been surprised to see him like this.
“I’ve seen you before, Eduard. The day you came back.”
“So, how come you never visited me? I’ve seen almost no one but your mother since the day I got back. Your mother and my friends May, Salgari, Verne, and Dumas,” he said, raising the book he was reading so that Paul could see the title. It was The Count of Monte Cristo.
“They forbade me to come.”
Paul bowed his head, ashamed. Of course Brunhilda and his mother had forbidden him to see Eduard, but he could have at least tried. In truth, he had been afraid of seeing Eduard like this again, after the horrible experience of that afternoon when he had returned from the war. Eduard looked at him bitterly, no doubt aware of what Paul was thinking.
“I know how ashamed my mother is. Haven’t you noticed?” he said, gesturing toward a tray of cakes from the party that sat untouched. “It wouldn’t do to let my stumps spoil Jürgen’s birthday, so I wasn’t invited. How’s the party going, by the way?”
“There’s a band; people are drinking, talking about politics, and criticizing the military for losing a war we were winning.”
Eduard gave a snort.
“It’s easy to criticize from where they’re standing. What else are they saying?”
“Everyone’s talking about the Versailles negotiations. They’re pleased we’re rejecting the terms.”
“Damned fools,” said Eduard bitterly. “Since no one fired a shot on German soil, they can’t believe we’ve lost the war. Still, I suppose it’s always the same. Are you going to tell me who you were running away from?”
“The birthday boy.”
“Your mother’s told me you haven’t been getting along very well.”
Paul nodded.
“You haven’t touched the cakes.”
“I don’t need much food these days. There’s a lot less of me. Take them; go on, you look hungry. And come closer, I want to see you better. God, how
They didn’t move.
“What the hell are you . . .”
He stopped abruptly. His mother was watching him from farther down the stairs.
“I’m disappointed in you, Jürgen,” she said icily. “We’ve gathered together the best of Munich in order to celebrate your birthday, and then you disappear in the middle of the party to mess around on the stairs with your friends.”
“But . . .”
“Enough. I want you all to go down at once and rejoin the guests. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Jürgen, humiliated in front of his friends for the second time that day. Gritting his teeth, he set off down the stairs.
That isn’t the only thing that will happen later. You’ll pay for this one, too, Paul.
6
“It’s good to see you again.”
Paul was concentrating on calming down and recovering his breath. It took him a few moments to comprehend where the voice was coming from. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the door, afraid that any moment Jürgen might fight his way through. But when he heard those words, Paul jumped to his feet.
“Eduard!”
Without realizing it, he’d gone into his elder cousin’s room, a place he hadn’t visited in months. It all looked the same as it had before Eduard left: an organized, tranquil space, but one that reflected its owner’s personality. There were posters on the wall, Eduard’s collection of rocks, and above all, books—books everywhere. Paul had already read most of them. Spy novels, Westerns, fantasies, books on philosophy and history . . . They occupied the bookcases, the desk, and even the floor beside the bed. Eduard had to rest the volume he was reading on the mattress in order to turn the pages with his only hand. A number of cushions were stacked under his body to allow him to sit up, and a sad smile floated on his pale face.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Paul. I couldn’t bear it.”
Paul looked him in the eye and understood that Eduard had been watching carefully for his reaction, and had found it strange when Paul hadn’t been surprised to see him like this.
“I’ve seen you before, Eduard. The day you came back.”
“So, how come you never visited me? I’ve seen almost no one but your mother since the day I got back. Your mother and my friends May, Salgari, Verne, and Dumas,” he said, raising the book he was reading so that Paul could see the title. It was The Count of Monte Cristo.
“They forbade me to come.”
Paul bowed his head, ashamed. Of course Brunhilda and his mother had forbidden him to see Eduard, but he could have at least tried. In truth, he had been afraid of seeing Eduard like this again, after the horrible experience of that afternoon when he had returned from the war. Eduard looked at him bitterly, no doubt aware of what Paul was thinking.
“I know how ashamed my mother is. Haven’t you noticed?” he said, gesturing toward a tray of cakes from the party that sat untouched. “It wouldn’t do to let my stumps spoil Jürgen’s birthday, so I wasn’t invited. How’s the party going, by the way?”
“There’s a band; people are drinking, talking about politics, and criticizing the military for losing a war we were winning.”
Eduard gave a snort.
“It’s easy to criticize from where they’re standing. What else are they saying?”
“Everyone’s talking about the Versailles negotiations. They’re pleased we’re rejecting the terms.”
“Damned fools,” said Eduard bitterly. “Since no one fired a shot on German soil, they can’t believe we’ve lost the war. Still, I suppose it’s always the same. Are you going to tell me who you were running away from?”
“The birthday boy.”
“Your mother’s told me you haven’t been getting along very well.”
Paul nodded.
“You haven’t touched the cakes.”
“I don’t need much food these days. There’s a lot less of me. Take them; go on, you look hungry. And come closer, I want to see you better. God, how
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