The Good German Read Online Free PDF

decayed teeth, inadequate attempts at scale. He had run out of words.
    personalize it. Not the thousands, just one. She’d be here. It wasn’t too much to hope for, one survivor. He looked again at the garden. Near a shed in the back, a gray-haired woman was hanging wet clothes over an improvised line of rope. A hausfrau .
    “But what are you going to do?” he’d said. “Come with me. I’ll arrange it. I’ll get you out.”
    “Out,” she said, dismissing it, the word itself improbable. Then she shook her head. “No, it’s better.” She’d been sitting at her dressing table, still in her slip, perfectly made-up again, her nails red. “I’ll be a hausfrau ,” she’d said almost casually, putting on lipstick. “A good German hausfrau .” She lowered her eyes. “Not this, all the lies.”
    “They’re not lies,” he’d said, putting his hands on her shoulders.
    She looked up at his face in the mirror. “The lies to him.”
    Down below, the gray-haired woman had spotted him in the window. She hesitated, then nodded in a servant’s bow and picked up the wicker basket. He watched her cross the muddy yard. Personalize it. What had her war been like? Maybe she’d been one of the faithful, shouting her lungs out at the Sportpalast, now doing laundry for the enemy. Or maybe just a hausfrau , lucky to be alive. He crossed over to the bed, dropping his shirt. What did it matter either way? Losers’ stories. Back home they’d want the glamour of the conference, Truman horse-trading with Stalin, the great world they’d won, not the rubble and the people in the Tiergarten with the future knocked out of them.
    He took off the rest of his clothes and wrapped a towel around his waist. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, and he opened the door to a rush of steam and a surprised yelp.
    “Oh.”
    Liz was in the tub, her breasts barely clearing the soapy water, wet hair swept back from her face.
    “Don’t you knock?”
    “Sorry, I—” he said, but he didn’t move, watching her slide down into the tub, covering herself, her flesh as pink as the vanity ruffle.
    “Have a good look?”
    “Sorry,” he said again, embarrassed. A soft woman’s body, without the uniform and gun holster, now hanging on a peg.
    “Never mind,” she said, smiling, a veteran of shared tents and field latrines. “Just keep your towel on. I’ll be out in a sec.”
    She plunged her head into the water to rinse, then smoothed her hair back and reached for a towel.
    “You going to turn around, or do you want the floor show too?”
    He turned his back to her as she stepped out. A splash of water and a rustling of cloth, the sounds themselves intimate.
    “I suppose I should take it as a compliment,” she said, wrapping herself in a robe. “You never noticed before.”
    “Sure I did,” he said, his back to her.
    “Uh-huh.” He could hear the water running down the drain in gulps. “Okay, decent.”
    She was in a silk wrapper, toweling her hair. He looked at her, then cocked his head like the young GI at the Chancellery.
    “How about I buy you a drink later?”
    “With my clothes on? Can’t. I’m busy.”
    “That was fast. Not young Ron?”
    She grinned. “I wouldn’t have the strength.” She fixed the towel around her head in a turban. “Just business. Have to see a man about a duck. I’ll take a rain check, though.” She nodded at the tub. “Better run your water. It takes a while.” She gathered her things slowly from the stool, then sat down.
    “Are you staying?”
    “Jake? Tell me something. That business this afternoon—who was she?”
    “Why a she?”
    “Because it was. What’s the story? You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”
    “No story,” he said, turning on the taps. “She went back to her husband.”
    “Oh,” she said, “that kind of story. She left you?”
    “I left Berlin. Dr. Goebbels’ request. There was an attitude problem.”
    “I’ll bet. When was this?”
    ‘