THE NEXT MORNING Adam found Katja’s tent closed and was about to head for the water, when he noticed a large pair of flip-flops out in front.
“Katja?” He heard a soft clearing of the throat. “Katja, are you in there?”
A hand or an elbow made a bulge in the tent roof—something rustled, and the zipper went down just far enough for her head to fit through.
“Hi. How late is it?”
“Half past ten.”
“Just a sec.” She vanished. Adam tried to see through the opening but caught only a quick glimpse of her naked shoulders. She kept her voice low. Adam stepped away just in time, as Katja, in a T-shirt and skirt, untwisted herself out of the tent. She stretched and made a sound somewhere between a yawn and a crow. The sky was blue, just a few clouds that looked more like white smoke drifting above the lake.
“Found your pills, did you?” Adam asked.
Katja pulled the straw hat out of the tent and put it on. “It was a late night. How’d it go?”
Adam shrugged. “Nothing special. And at this end?”
“Everybody wants to leave, almost everybody, but they don’t talk about it. Anyway, it’s like one big family.”
“Want to have coffee? My treat. I looked after five kids yesterday evening, up at the front, they’re from Ulm—five Westmarks an hour. And for the whole week.”
“I don’t get it.”
“For a Westmark they’ll give you twenty-five forints, sometimes more.”
“I mean these Ulmers, they don’t even know you. And they leave you alone with their kids?”
“They’re real easy.”
“ ‘Easy’? That’s English, isn’t it?”
“Yep, they say ‘easy’ a lot. I don’t have to do a thing. The kids were already asleep, but just in case they wake up, I have to be there.”
“But they don’t know you.”
“We went swimming and had supper together.”
“And how are the rest managing? Are they all baby-sitting too?”
“No idea. We’ll just stick around here for as long as we can, and then—”
“Who’s we?”
“Everybody. Some of them have been here since June. They’re waiting to see what happens. And if they can’t manage here, they want to move to a Pioneer camp named Zánka, the Maltese Charity is there too. Tomorrow or the day after I can give you your money back.”
“No rush. The cans and the tank are full. I’ll get home on that.”
“You want to go back?”
“Why not?”
“And your wife?”
“I’ll take her along.”
“You’ll take her along?”
“Sure, what else?”
“So you’ve made up?”
“Almost.”
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“I thought I might be able to persuade you.”
“You’ve already persuaded one guy.” Adam pointed a thumb at the tent.
“You mean Susanne? We wouldn’t let her drive, she was already tanked.”
“Those are a woman’s flip-flops?”
“Her flip-flops?”
“Must be one giant of a lady.”
They lined up at the kiosk.
“And how did it go with the Hungarian girl?”
“Pepi isn’t even there, but her mother keeps loading up the table, last night, this morning, and as I drove off she was back in the kitchen. The others even have their lunch there.”
“The bad company plus the cousin?”
“He spent half an hour on the john this morning and then fumigated himself. The whole house stinks of Mister Superbrain’s perfume and poop.”
“Is he a superbrain?”
“A researcher of some sort, even gives courses at the university.”
“Is he waiting it out too?”
“Not really. He’s gonna have to leave in a few days. Tomorrow they want to drive to the border, to the place where the others went across.”
“They can forget it, nobody’s getting across there now.”
“He thinks the Hungarians will look the other way.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“He claims to have heard it on the radio, that was all he could talk about last night.”
“About what?”
“About some woman who got across. ‘Is this Austria?’ she asked. The Austrians thought she was crazy. ‘No, it’s the moon,’ they told her. And she starts screaming and jumping around like she really was nuts.”
“I would have done the same,” Katja said.
“Our turn.”
Adam carried the tray with the yogurt cups and the coffee to the same table beside the low wall where they had sat the day before.
“Think maybe the two kissin’ cousins will cut and run too?”
“Now wouldn’t that be something.”
“They keep telling stories like that here. You have no idea where you’ll end up, in Austria or a Stasi hotel.”
“Oh, get over it. Just try to enjoy a nice vacation here.”
“You’ll laugh, but part of me wouldn’t mind that at all,” Katja said.
“That’s not how you sound.”
“It really is bizarre, isn’t it?”
“I’m just trying to enjoy a nice vacation here too.”
Katja burst into laughter. “I thought that’s why you’re here!”
“How am I supposed to enjoy my vacation when I’m constantly having to assist ‘deserters of the republic’ in word and deed?”
“Prost!” Katja said and raised her yogurt cup.
“We forgot spoons.”
“Don’t need them.” Katja put the yogurt to her lips and drank. Then she said, “Vacation. Here’s to vacation!”
“It’s almost as good as the West, isn’t it?”
“I’ll tell you something, Adam. We’ll meet again on the other side, in Vienna or Berlin or Tokyo—I’ll bet you anything on it.”
“I don’t think so. I truly don’t think so.”
Katja extended a hand to him.
“Come on. Let’s shake on it.”
“Cut the crap. I’m not a betting man.”
“Come on, don’t be chicken. It’s not for money. But I’m damn sure we will.”
Adam shook his head. “Like I said, a lot of crap.” But he shook hands.
Katja kept a firm grasp on his hand. “Prost!” she said, raising her yogurt again.
“Prost!” Adam said. They looked each other in the eye and drank. Even after the cups were drained, she didn’t let go of Adam’s hand, and instead bent forward, laying her left hand on his, as if about to share a secret with him.