The Third Reich

SEPTEMBER 3

I accompanied Ingeborg to the station; for half an hour we sat on a bench waiting for the arrival of the train to Cerbère. We hardly said a thing. Wandering around on the platform were crowds of tourists whose vacations were almost over and who still fought for a place in the sun. Only the elderly sat on benches in the shade. Between those who were leaving and me an abyss yawned. Ingeborg, however, didn’t strike me as out of place on that crowded train. We wasted our last few minutes giving directions: many people didn’t know where to go and the station employees hardly offered much guidance. People are like sheep. After showing one or two the exact spot to catch the train (not difficult to figure out, after all: there are only four tracks), we were accosted by German and English tourists wanting to check their information with us. From the train window Ingeborg asked whether she’d see me soon in Stuttgart. Very soon, I said. The face that Ingeborg made, a slight pursing of the lips and a quiver of the tip of the nose, suggested she didn’t believe me. I don’t care!

Until the last moment I thought she’d stay. No, that’s not true, I always knew that nothing could stop her. Her work and her independence come first, not to mention that after Hanna’s call all she could think about was leaving. So it wasn’t a happy farewell. And it surprised more than one person, Frau Else first among them, though maybe what surprised Frau Else was my decision to stay. To be perfectly honest, Ingeborg herself was the first to be surprised.

What was the exact moment when I knew she would leave?

Yesterday, as she was talking to Hanna, everything fell into place. Everything became clear and irrevocable. (But we didn’t discuss it at all.)

This morning I paid her bill, hers alone, and carried down her suitcases. I didn’t want to make a scene or have it look as if she were running away. I was an idiot. I suppose the receptionist hurried off to give the news to Frau Else. It was still early when I ate lunch at the chapel. From the lookout point, the beach appeared to be deserted. Deserted compared to previous days, I mean. Again I ate rabbit stew and drank a bottle of Rioja. I think I didn’t want to go back to the hotel. The restaurant was almost empty, except for some businessmen who were celebrating something at two tables pushed together in the middle of the room. They were from Gerona and they were telling jokes in Catalan that their wives hardly bothered to acknowledge. As Conrad says: meetings are no place for girlfriends. The atmosphere was deadly; they all seemed as dazed as me. I took a nap in the car, at a cove near town that I thought I remembered from vacations with my parents. I woke up sweating and not the least bit drunk.

In the afternoon I visited the manager of the Costa Brava, Mr. Pere, and assured him that he could find me at the Del Mar if he needed me for anything. We exchanged pleasantries and I left. Then I was at Navy Headquarters, where no one could give me any information about Charly. The woman I saw first didn’t even know what I was talking about. Luckily there was an official there who was familiar with the case and everything was cleared up. No news. Efforts were continuing. Patience. In the courtyard a small crowd gathered. A boy from the Red Cross of the Sea said they were the relatives of a new drowning victim. For a while I stayed there, sitting on the stairs, until I decided to go back to the hotel. I had a massive headache. At the Del Mar I searched in vain for Frau Else. No one could tell me where she was. The door to the hallway that leads to the laundry room was locked. I know there’s another way to get there, but I couldn’t find it.

The room was a wreck: the bed was unmade and my clothes were scattered all over the floor. Several Third Reich counters had fallen too. It would’ve made the most sense if I had packed my bags and left. But I called down to the reception desk and asked them to tidy the room. Soon the girl I’d met before appeared, the same one who’d tried to find a table for me. A good omen. I sat down in a corner and told her to clean everything up. In a minute the room was neat and bright (easy enough to achieve the latter: all it required was opening the curtains). When she’d finished she gave me an angelic smile. Satisfied, I found one thousand pesetas for her. She’s a smart girl: the fallen counters were lined up beside the board. Not a single one was missing.

The rest of the afternoon, until it got dark, I spent on the beach with El Quemado, talking about my games.