this conversation that’s throwing me so off-kilter.
“I’m sorry if I’m—I’m really not crazy,” I tell him.
“So you said. I just prefer to keep to myself.”
“Because I know I was odd the first day we met, and if you’re afraid of me, then—”
“My family had stables,” he interrupts. “All right? That’s how I know horses. At our summer house, where we would go on holidays. I took riding lessons, and the groundskeeper used to let me drive the wagon when he did chores.” He turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Happy? I’m not afraid of you or worried about you. I don’t think you’re going to tear off your clothes and run screaming down the road or do something else insane. My family had stables, and I used to help the groundskeeper.”
This is the first interaction I can remember having in months where someone didn’t ask if I was okay. That’s what was confusing to me. That’s what made me feel strange and off-kilter. Josef is responding to my prying questions as though they’re legitimately prying questions, not like they’re symptoms that my brain isn’t working.
Josef is not acting like I’m something that needs to be worried about.
Mentally, I fill in the blanks of what he’s just said. The “house” where he went on holidays must be a grand estate. Only the wealthiest families would keep stables and employ groundskeepers. And his family had a house in the city, too.
“The summer house sounds nice,” I say.
“It was nice. Summer was my favorite time of the year.”
“Why don’t you—” I start to ask.
“Why don’t I what?”
Why don’t you go home, is what I was about to say. Nazis didn’t burn down estates. They occupied them and preserved them; they loved the art. Josef could have tried to go home. But there’s such a defensiveness in his response that I back off without finishing my sentence. “Why don’t you like to eat with other people in the dining hall?”
He shrugs. “I told you. I just prefer to keep to myself. Not all of us in Foehrenwald hope to make new friends. Some of us are trying to leave as soon as we can. Like you. You’re going to get your brother, and then you’ll probably want to go back home and try to run your family’s factory.”
I bite the inside of my lip to hide a smile. I didn’t tell him about my family’s factory; he must have asked Chaim or Mrs. Yost.
“Look for him,” I correct.
“What?”
“You said we were going to get my brother. But I’m going with you to look for him.”
“You don’t know that he’s at the Kloster Indersdorf?”
“I have reason to believe it’s a logical place to start looking for him.”
“Then I hope he’s there,” Josef says. “And that he wants to be found.”
The last half of his sentence catches me off guard. “Why wouldn’t he want to be found?”
Josef keeps his eyes on the road. “Lots of reasons. He could have painful memories of before the war. He could want to start completely over. He could decide that’s easier to do if he’s not around you.”
The back of my neck bristles. I shift a little on the wooden bench. “Of course he wants to be found. He’s a little boy.”
Josef presses his lips together.
“Josef, of course he wants to be found,” I repeat. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Have you at least thought about it?”
“Thought about whether my brother might not want to see me? No, I haven’t, Josef. I don’t think it’s a thing most people would consider.”
“Suit yourself.”
“And I don’t think I want to continue this conversation.”
“Okay,” he says again. “I just—”
“I said, I don’t think I want to continue this conversation,” I spit. “He was a little boy. He still is.”
“Not all people want to be found.”
I can’t tell what is infuriating me more now—what Josef is saying or the even tone he’s saying it in. The fact that he isn’t even looking at me. The fact that he’s just said horrible things to me but pauses now to click something softly to the horses.
“You’re an ass, Josef.” He winces but glances over only for the briefest second before returning to the road. “Look at me, Josef. You’re an ass. You’re such an expert on what people want? The day I met you, you were attacking a man.”
Still, he doesn’t respond, his mouth set in a firm line.
How could I have been so stupid before? Bathing in Josef’s curtness because it reminded me