A sad half-smile curved Ben’s lip. ‘Then I suggest you talk to Helene. Ask her what it isreallylike to be a German living in England after a bitter war. Do it now, without me being there.’ He stared at his hand gripping the door handle. ‘I think she will talk more freely if I’m not there.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Sam.
‘Sometimes, when I ask her how she is, I think her smile does not reach her eyes when she reassures me she is fine. I’m too much of a coward to ask again.’ He looked at Sam. ‘My father taught me that a man’s job is to make a happy, safe home for his wife and children. I’m afraid I’ll discover that in that respect I’ve failed.’
He was gone before Sam absorbed the warning. Great sacrifices, made in unequal proportions, could raise their heads like snapping serpents whenever there was a row or a family celebration that was so heavily weighted on one side. Could Sam live with that? Should Elsa?
Sam remained where he sat. He looked through the doorway leading towards the kitchen. He could not see Helene, but he could hear her stacking the dishes. He felt strange, as if he was at the portal of his future, as if the next few minutes had the power to change his life for ever. He hadn’t found Elsa yet, but that had not stopped him imagining their first meeting. Now he had learned it could become a reality. He almost felt too scared to step through the door. Perhaps the dream was better than the reality.
He shook himself. He was only gathering information, nothing more. He got up and went in search of Helene.
He found her at the kitchen sink washing a small stack of dirty plates. Sam felt a wave of shame rise up through him. How easily a man could be blind to such things. Belatedly he picked up a dirty plate from the table and brought it over to her,surprising her by his sudden appearance and making him feel even more inadequate in the role of domesticity.
‘Can I help?’
At first he wasn’t sure if she understood him, but then she passed him a tea towel and continued to wash up.
‘Your son, Michael, is a fine boy.’ Did she understand the nuance of the word ‘fine’? Why had he said ‘Michael’ like that? He mentally kicked himself.She knows the name of her own son! Fool!He selected a plate from the drainer. Lifting it caused the others to clatter noisily. Her eyes darted to them and only returned to her washing up when they finally settled.
Feeling all fingers and thumbs, he carefully dried the plate as he studied her. How could he broach such a personal subject that even her husband could not?
He cleared his throat, deciding to lay his cards on the table.I knew a...I know a...I once met a...
‘Elsa!’ he blurted out.
She paused and looked up at him, confused.
‘Her name was Elsa.’
‘Who?’
‘A German woman I can’t stop thinking about.’
She returned her attention to the sink, but the dirty dishes remained half submerged and untouched this time.
‘I met her during the war.’
‘You liked her?’
‘Very much.’
‘She liked you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Very much?’
‘Yes, I think very much.’
She began washing the dishes again, but this time slower, more gently, with circular motions that were hypnotic to watch.
‘You miss her?’
‘Very much.’
‘Then why are you not together?’
‘Because it wasn’t possible. And I didn’t know it could be possible — until now. Is it?’
