She stared at him., not believing he could be serious, not believing he would joke about such a thing. “Walk?” He smiled. “It’s been done before.” She saw that he meant it, and she was angry with him. “As I recall, Moses never made it.,’ “Perhaps I will be able to hitch a ride.” “It’s crazy!” “Haven’t I always been a little crazyrt “Yes!” she shouted. Suddenly her anger collapsed. “Yes, you’ve always been a little crazy, and I should know better than to try to change your mind.” “I will pray to God to preserve you. You will have a chance here-you’re young and beautiful, and maybe they won’t know you’re Jewish. But me, a useless old man muttering Hebrew prayers . . . me they would send to a camp where I would surely die. It is always better to live. You said that.” She tried to persuade him to stay with her, for one night at least, but he would not. She gave him a sweater, and a scarf, and all the cash she had in the house, and told him that if he waited a day she could get more money from the bank, and buy him a good coat; but he was in a hurry. She cried, and dried her eyes, and cried again. When he left she looked out of her window and saw him walking along the street, an old man going up out of Egypt and into the wilderness, foHowing in the footsteps of the Children of Israel. There was something of the old man left: his orthodoxy had mellowed, but he still had a will of iron. He disappeared into the crowd, and she left the window. When she thought of his courage, she knew she could not run out on VandanL
“She’s an intriguing girl,” Wolff said. “I can’t quite figure her out.” He was sitting on the bed, watching Sonja get dressed. “She’s a little jumpy. When I told her we were going on a picnic she acted quite scared, said she hardly knew me, as if she needed a chaperone.” “With you, she did,” Sonja said. “And yet she can be very earthy and direct.” “Just bring her home to me. I’ll figure her out.” “It bothers me.” Wolff frowned. He was thinking aloud. “Somebody tried to jump into the taxi with us.” THE KEY TO REBECCA 205
“A beggar.” “No, be was a European.” “A European beggar.” Sonja stopped brushing her hair to look at Wolff in the mirror. “This town is full of crazy people, you know that. Listen, if you have second thoughts, just picture her writhing on that bed with you and me on eitheT side of her.” Wolff grinned. It was an appealing picture, but not an irreaistible one: it was Sonja’s fantasy, not his. His instinct told him to lay low now, and not to make dates with anyone. But Sonja was going to insist-and he still needed her. Sonja said: “And when am I going to contact Kemel? He must know by now that you’re living here.” Wolff sighed. Another date; another claim on him; another danger; also, another person whose protection he needed. “Call him tonight from the club. I’m not in a rush for this meeting, but we’ve got to keep him sweet.” “Okay.” She was ready, and her taxi was waiting. “Make a date with Elene.” She went out. She was not in his power the way she had once been, Wolff realized. The walls you build to protect you also close you in. Could he afford to defy her? If there had been a clear and immediate danger, yes. But all he had was a vague nervousness, an intuitive inclination to keep his head down. And Sonja might be crazy enough to betray him if she really got angry. He was obliged to choose the lesser danger. He got up from the bed, found a paper and a pen and sat down to write a note to Elene. 17
The message came the day after Elene’s father left for Jerusalem. A small boy came to the door with an envelope. Elene tipped him and read the letter. It was short. “My dear Elene, let us meet at the Oasis Restaurant at eight o’clock next Thursday. I eagerly look forward to it. Fondly, Alex Wolff.” Unlike his speech, his writing had a stiffness which seemed German-but perhaps it was her imagination. Thursday~that was the day after tomorrow. She did not know whether to be elated or scared. Her first thought was to telephone Vandam; then she hesitated. She had become intensely curious about Vandam. She knew so little about him. What did he do when he was not catching spies? Did he listen to music, collect stamps, shoot duck? Was he interested in poetry or architecture or antique rugs? What was his home like? With whom did he live? What color were his pajamas? She wanted to patch up their quarrel, and she wanted to a” where he lived. She had an excuse to contact him now, but instead of telephoning she would go to his home. She decided to change her dress, then she decided to take a bath first then she decided to wash her hair as well. Sitting in the bath she thought about which dress to wear. She recalled the occasions she had seen Vandam, and tried to remember which clothes she had worn. He had never seen the pale pink one with puffed shoulders and buttons all down the front: that was very pretty. She put on a little perfume, then the silk underwear Johnnie had given her, which always made her feel so feminine. Her short hair was dry already, and she sat in front of 206 THE KEY TO REBECCA 207