His Katja.
Her absence haunted him most days, and while he had managed to live with it, already this morning it felt unbearable. Ozzie knew he should have been in the bathroom ten minutes ago, but as he stared out the back window at the cloudy sky, he felt like a rudderless boat on a choppy sea. A soul sickness spread through Ozzie that hurt worse than being trampled by ten horses.
He searched for a recollection of a good moment with Katja, but all he kept picturing was her wailing bloody murder when he put her down on the rug so that he could leave the house with Jelka. Worse, he remembered hearing her crying as they had slipped into the taxi. It was like Katja had known something that Ozzie hadn’t. As if she had sensed it would be their last time together, and he felt remorseful that he had not been able to change their fate.
The clock ticked on the side of the bed. Ozzie needed to get going so that he wouldn’t be late for work. He dragged himself down the tiny hall but passed the bathroom for the middle bedroom. The room was so narrow that they used it only for storage. The closet with the wooden sliding door was all his, and he knelt on the shaggy carpet and slid out his army footlocker.
Inside, he opened the tin container with a German cottage hand-painted on the front. He sat on the floor with his legs stretched out in front of him and opened the box. Katja’s face smiled up at him. Ozzie took each picture out and lined them up in age order. There were thirty Polaroids in the box, and he let his time with Katja play in front of him like a picture show. He took in her sweet face, her heart-shaped mouth, and her voluminous hair, the ones when she started to get teeth. Then he held up the photo that Jelka had insisted they take together as a family, one of the few pictures in which Katja had not smiled.
“Ozzie? You ain’t left for work yet?” called Great-aunt Reese. “You know I like privacy when I’m in the bathroom.” He could hear her standing in the doorway to her bedroom. The hall was short, and even though she moved with a limp, it would take her only four or five steps to reach him. He swooped the photos up quickly, shoving them in the tin, and pushed his footlocker back into the closet just as she made it to the doorway.
“What you doin’ in here, anyway?”
“I was looking for a shirt.”
“On the floor?” She looked down at him.
“I couldn’t remember where I put it.”
“Well, I need to get in the bathroom. Got a doctor’s appointment at ten.”
“I’ll be quick.” Ozzie got up.
“Happy birthday,” Aunt Reese said.
“Thank you.”
Ozzie scrambled into the bathroom, and when he stared up at himself in the mirror, he hated what he saw. The only idea he had come up with to find his daughter was to place an ad in the classified section of the local newspaper in Mannheim, theMannheimer Morgen,with the hope that Jelka would see it. He didn’t like that he had kept such a big secret from Rita, but as time passed, he didn’t knowhow to tell her without looking like a complete loser. As he turned on the faucet, he heard the wordsdeadbeat, fraud, failureecho over the stream of water. Then the thought of a tall, stiff drink—promising him that with a few sips, it would make his hurt, pain, self-doubt, and shame all vanish—seized hold.
CHAPTER 45Washington, D.C., December 1965
SOPHIA
The photograph felt like cardboard between her fingertips. Even though the photo was in black and white, she could tell the hair that fell over her forehead was red in color. She traced her finger across her lips.
“This is me.” Sophia was shaking all over. “I found me,” she whispered, clutching the picture against her heart.
Mrs. Gathers reached over to pick up the files, and as she studied the papers, she rested her hand under her chin.
“Katja Durchdenwald,” Mrs. Gathers mumbled. “Yes, this makes sense. Now I remember the little girl with the red hair.”
“Katja?” Sophia said, breathless. “Is… that my real name?”
Mrs. Gathers nodded. “I believe so.” Then she flipped over one of the forms in the file and blurted, “Yes, I recall meeting your mother.”
Sophia couldn’t get enough air in her lungs when she sputtered, “My mother?”
The woman who sat across from her had met her mother. Even though this was what Sophia had searched for, it still felt surreal. Was it really happening?
“Tell me about her,” Sophia pleaded. “What was she like? Why did she give me away?”
Mrs. Gathers sighed, then looked up at the clock. “You’ve experienced a lot today, dear. Maybe it’s best that we stop here. I have already trodden on your parents’ toes, and my own children will be arriving from school any minute.”
“Please, Mrs. Gathers.” Sophia could hear the panic in her voice. “Just tell me what you remember. We’ve come this far. Just a few more minutes, please.”
“Let me take the chicken out of the oven.” Mrs. Gathers rose to her feet and then disappeared out the door.
Sophia picked up the file again. Her mother. She had found her mother. How long would it be before she could meet her in person? Was she still in Germany? How in heaven’s name would she get to Germany to reunite with her?
