'The point, dear, is that I never lend myself unless I'm offered a present.'

'I didn't know you were for sale.'

'Yes, you did,' she said calmly. 'I charged more than a common wh.o.r.e would charge; it just wasn't money.'

'Presents,' Ernst said bitterly.

'Exactly,' she said. 'Some men, they can't admit that they're buying it, so one asks them for presents. Little presents. Expensive presents. Ones with high resale value.'

'You're a mercenary wh.o.r.e.'

'No, Ernst, darling, I'm a survivor. I've learned not to depend on men for anything, so I take what I can from them. To save for a rainy day, darling which means when Berlin falls.'

'That's the talk of a traitor.'

'Are you going to report me, darling? After all, that's what you often said you were: no more than a policeman.'

The remark humiliated him, reminding him of his failures, but the thought that he might not have her this last time made him desire her all the more and forced him swallow his pride.

'I'm going away,' he said, despising the plaintive tone in his voice. 'I'm being posted away and don't know what will happen after that. I just thought...'

'One last time?'

'Yes,' he said, almost whispering. 'For old times sake, at least.'

'For old times sake,' she echoed sardonically.

'Yes,' he said, stepping toward her. He stopped directly in front of the worn sofa and gazed down at her swinging leg. It was exposed up to the thigh and it made him suck his breath in; then, when he raised his gaze, he saw her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrusting against the silk of the dressing gown, the skin above bare and marble-white. When he raised his gaze higher, he saw her sensual lips curved in a mocking smile.

'So you're going away,' she said, 'and leaving me to the tender mercies of the Allied troops or the Soviets and still you want your little pleasure for old times sake. Well, my dear, a girl has to survive and, when the city falls, will need more than her fading looks. So since we've always had a particular relationship, let's keep it that way... Which means that if I don't get my present, you won't have any fun.'

'I've been away for weeks,' he said, loathing the piteous tone in his voice and feeling his anger rising out of his humiliation. 'I've been worked night and day. I didn't have the opportunity to buy presents not even for my wife and children, let alone you.'

'You're separated from your wife and children.'

'I still see them and will this evening.'

'Well, perhaps they no longer expect presents, but I do, my dear.'

'I don't have one, Brigette. For G.o.d's sake, don't be '

But she stopped him short by leaning forward on the sofa, taking hold of his wrist and turning it over to examine his watch.

'A gold Rolex,' she said.

He jerked his hand away. 'If you think '

She leaned back on the sofa and stretched her arms along the back of it, simultaneously exposing her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s and swinging that long leg. 'A gold Rolex is worth a lot,' she said, smiling. 'And I still want my present.'

Ernst exploded, hardly knowing what he was doing. He grabbed her by the collar, jerked her to her feet, slapped her face, and threw her back down. He saw the torn dressing gown, a bared breast, blood on her lips, then bent over and slapped her again and dragged her onto the floor. She cursed and clawed at him, tried to roll away but failed, and writhed beneath him when he straddled her body and ripped the dressing gown off her.

He didn't feel l.u.s.t only violent, blinding rage but when the dressing gown was lying in shreds around her, he tried to force her legs open. She didn't scream, but she cursed him loudly, trying to jerk her wrists from his hands, and when finally he let go to hold her legs apart, she frantically tried hitting him with her fists.

Surprised, he released her thighs and took hold of her wrists again. He jerked her hands away from his face and, still straddling her and breathing in spasms, looked at her as she stopped writhing beneath him and glared fiercely at him. When she stopped struggling, when her body became motionless, he released her hands and rolled off her, then stood up and straightened his jacket, feeling foolish and beaten.

'The Soviets will know what to do with you,' he said with as much contempt as he could muster, looking down at her, where she still lay on the floor, too careful to move. 'Good luck, Brigette. You'll need it.'

He made a point of not slamming the door in anger when he left for the last time... but her mocking laughter pursued him.

The lines for the tramcars to Wannsee had been blown up in an air raid, so he took a taxi through the darkening light of the early evening, trying not to look out at the crippled children and old people who were clambering over the piles of rubble or exploring the charred ruins, hoping to find something they could barter for money or food.

Yes, Berlin was unrecognizable, the gaunt remainder of a lost dream. He was glad when the worst ruins disappeared from view and were replaced with the relatively less devastated areas overlooking the Havel River. Not that there were no ruins here, but they were fewer and more spread out, and he was even more relieved to find his inlaws' elegant old house still standing in its gardens overlooking the waters of the Wannsee. He asked the taxi driver to wait for him, then rang the doorbell.

Ingrid's mother answered the door, looking shockingly aged. Her hair was now completely gray and the skin of her handsome face, though tight on her cheekbones, was webbed with lines of tension and possibly hunger.

She stared in a confused manner at Ernst, then, recognizing him, murmured a greeting and pulled him into her arms. When they embraced, he kissed her cheek, which seemed cold, then followed her into the house. She walked ahead of him, her body heavy and ungainly, saying over her shoulder 'The children will be so glad to see you. How long has it been now?'

Noting that she hadn't included Ingrid in her first comment, Ernst said, 'About eighteen months. Maybe two years. I'm not sure. How have things been?'

'Not so good,' she said vaguely. 'All the air raids... food shortages... the anxiety... Ingrid!' she called out as she entered the living room. You have a visitor, dear!'

She stepped aside to let him enter, hugged him again impulsively as he pa.s.sed her, whispered, 'I think I'll leave you two alone,' then hurried away. Ernst stepped into the living room and saw Ingrid looking up from her armchair, an open newspaper lying across her lap, her face still exceptionally pretty, but drawn, as if sleep had eluded her.

'h.e.l.lo, Ingrid,' he said, crossing the room, which was, he noted, still filled with excellent furniture, international bricabrac, and the fine paintings that her father had collected before he died.

'What do you want?' she asked coldly. Startled, he stopped in front of her, looked down at her, then glanced at the sofa opposite. 'Can I sit down?'