of her trousers. She is humiliated to be carrying on in such a way—in front of Mr. Pfeffer, no less. For what has she expected, really? That after all this time Anna would suddenly confess everything, simply because she is confronted by somebody who shared her experience, somebody who was there? Well, yes, apparently. Part of Trudy—the girl still carried within her, puzzled and stubbornly persistent—has been hoping exactly that.
But as Trudy sits trying to calm her breathing, she also remembers what Rainer has said: Let the punishment fit the crime. Anna has taken the burden of silence upon herself. It is her decision not to speak of the things she has done, valiant or otherwise. It is in fact her prerogative as a hero. And in another way, whether she is a hero or not is immaterial. Each person has this choice to make about how to live with the past, this dignity, this inviolable right.
Mr. Pfeffer puts a kindly hand on Trudy’s shoulder. Trudy brings the handkerchief to her face. She wonders about him too, this man who gambled his life to help others. Perhaps his cavalier attitude about having done so is also not what it seems.
Better? Mr. Pfeffer asks.
Yes. Thank you.
Blow your nose, he commands.
Trudy laughs shakily and obeys.
There, Mr. Pfeffer says.
He stands and readjusts the cuffs of his trousers.
Now then, he says. Your mother has graciously extended an invitation to lunch, and I for one am going to accept. Won’t you?
He strides with purpose toward the kitchen, where, from the sound of it, Anna is stacking a tray with plates.
After a time, Trudy gets up, walks quietly through the dining room past Anna and Mr. Pfeffer, and goes upstairs to the bathroom. She looks in the mirror over the basin and sees a stranger: eyes wide and astonished, tears clinging to the lashes. She washes her face and comes back down to join the other two, sitting and unfolding her napkin without saying a word. The afternoon sun falls in mild rectangles on the tablecloth. Mr. Pfeffer compliments the chef, who demurs and smiles, her cheeks again flushing bright pink. The three discuss Anna’s views of what she hears on MPR, Trudy’s summer classes, the weather’s sudden change for the better. They eat the food that Anna has set before them: bratwurst and other sliced meats fanned on a platter, a sweet red cabbage salad, chilled cucumber soup. A dish of pickles. Bread.
62
AFTER LUNCH IS CLEARED FROM THE TABLE, ANNA SERVES iced coffee and tea and Sachertorte, over which she and Trudy and Mr. Pfeffer linger until well into the afternoon. By the time Mr. Pfeffer flips his watch open and exclaims at the hour, Anna is concealing yawns behind a napkin. She excuses herself to wash the dishes before retiring to her room for a rest, and at this announcement Mr. Pfeffer leaps up to help her pull back her chair. He thanks Anna profusely, again bowing low over her hand and then kissing it, and Trudy, watching, thinks that the rosiness of Anna’s cheeks has to do with reasons other than drowsy post-prandial contentment and the warmth of the day.
Once this elaborate ritual of leave-taking has been concluded, Trudy drives Mr. Pfeffer to Minnetonka. In the car he seems happy to sit and watch the suburbs pass, attempting no small talk except, as they are setting out, to praise Anna’s skills as a cook and to thank Trudy for her hospitality, comments that require no lengthy response. Trudy is grateful. She is tired now and empty, her face still tight from her earlier tears. She wants only to be alone and quiet, to sit and think and digest the events of the day.
So she says nothing until they reach Mr. Pfeffer’s house, and then she says simply, Thank you, Felix.
Mr. Pfeffer smiles at his house, its glass walls and gravity-defying angles, with sleepy satisfaction.
It has been my pleasure, he says. I so enjoyed making your mother’s acquaintance. Or, I should say, making it a second time.
Taking his suitjacket from the back of the seat, he drapes it over his arm and opens the door.
I’ll be in touch about finishing your interview, Trudy tells him as he climbs from the car.
Hmmmm? says Mr. Pfeffer. Ah, yes. Please do.
He walks away a few steps, then suddenly turns on his heel and comes back.
With your permission, he says, ducking to look at Trudy through the window, I should like to visit your mother again.
Trudy nods.
I think