Free In Times of Fading Light by Eugen Ruge Page B

them again, and said, “Nadyeshda Ivanovna, please sit down for a moment.”
    “Had breakfast already,” said Nadyeshda Ivanovna.
    “Please sit down for a moment,” Kurt repeated.
    Nadyeshda Ivanovna slowly shuffled around the table, perched on the edge of a chair, put the jar of pickles that she had brought in with her on the table, and clasped her sinewy, work-worn hands.
    “Nadyeshda Ivanovna,” said Kurt. “It’s like this: Sasha won’t be coming here for a while.”
    “Is he sick?” asked Nadyeshda Ivanovna.
    “No,” said Kurt. “Sasha is in the West.”
    Nadyeshda Ivanovna thought about that. “In America?”
    “No,” said Kurt. “Not in America, in the West. West Germany.”
    “I know,” said Nadyeshda Ivanovna. “West Germany, that’s in America.”
    Irina couldn’t take any more of this. “Sasha has gone,” she screamed. “Dead, you understand, he’s dead!”
    “Irina,” said Kurt in German. “You can’t say a thing like that!” And he told Nadyeshda Ivanovna, in Russian, “Sasha isn’t dead. Irina means he’s gone very far away. He won’t be coming here anymore.”
    “He’ll come to visit,” said Nadyeshda Ivanovna.
    “No,” said Kurt. “Not even to visit. I can’t tell you any more right now.” Nadyeshda Ivanovna slowly rose, shuffled back to her room. The door creaked as she closed it.

1959
    Infinite.
    Achim Schliepner said you can’t count to infinity.
    Dreaming of counting to infinity, Alexander lay on his little plank bed. He dreamed of being the first person ever to count to infinity. He knew how to count already. He counted and counted. Counted himself to dizzy heights, millions, trillions, trillibillions, a thousand million trillibillions ... and all of a sudden he’d arrived. He had reached infinity! Roars of applause. Now he was famous. He was standing in an open black Chaika, the legendary Soviet parade car, encrusted with huge quantities of chrome and with rear fins like rockets. The vehicle rolled slowly down the street, which was lined with people to left and right, like on the First of May, all of them holding little black, red, and gold flags and waving to him ...
    Then someone hit him on the head with a book. That was Frau Remschel, the kindergarten teacher, keeping watch on the children to make sure they were all asleep. Anyone not asleep got hit on the head with a book.
    Mama came to fetch him. Twilight was already gathering. Soon the man would be along to light the gas lamps.
    “Mama, when are we going to see Baba Nadya?”
    “Not for some time yet, Sashenka.”
    “Why does everything always take so long?”
    “Sashenka, you ought to be glad it takes so long. When you’re grown up everything suddenly happens very fast.”
    “Why?”
    “It just does. When you’re older, time goes faster.”
    An amazing discovery.
    Then they were at the co-op store. The co-op was about halfway home.
    It was a long way to go, particularly in the morning. The way home always seemed to him shorter. He wondered whether that was because, by afternoon, he was already a little bit older.
    “Do you want to come in with me?” asked Mama. “Or would you rather wait outside?”
    “Come in with you,” he said.
    You got milk in exchange for coupons at the co-op. The salesgirl filled your can with a big ladle. It always used to be Frau Blumert filling the milk cans. But Frau Blumert had been arrested. And he knew why: for selling milk to people without any coupons. That’s what Achim Schliepner had told him. Buying milk without coupons was strictly forbidden. So Alexander was horrified when he heard the new salesgirl saying, “Never mind, Frau Umnitzer, you can bring your coupon in tomorrow.”
    His mother was still searching her purse.
    “But I don’t want any milk,” said Alexander.
    “What did you say?”
    Horror had muted his voice. He could hardly get the words out.
    “I don’t want any milk,” he repeated quietly.
    His mother picked up her milk can.