Free Cafe Babanussa by Karen Hill Page A

Werner, wriggling underneath her, did the same with his pants.
    An hour or two later Ruby whispered in Werner’s ear. “Do you know why I like you?”
    â€œNo, why?”
    â€œBecause you are funny. But mainly I know that you have a big heart, a good heart. I always think of little oldFrau Menzer. Almost every night you’re out there helping her down the steps to the toilet. Or you’re cleaning up after the drunks who piss by her door. Very gracious and thoughtful.”
    â€œMy parents taught me well.”
    â€œI like you because you are articulate and intelligent and thoughtful.”
    Ruby cared a lot for Werner and she knew that he looked after her well, despite his foibles. But was it love? She couldn’t say for sure. Not yet. She would stick it out, though, and see how far and how long they could go.
    They spent much of their free time walking across town to weekend flea markets and checking out the plentiful all-day and all-night repertory cinemas where popcorn was replaced by beer and boisterous crowds. The crowd seemed to be there as much for the infamous Marlboro Man cigarette ads as for the movies. The ads played before each screening, and sometimes there was the Camel guy, too. One always seemed to be trying to best the other with new and ever more dangerous escapades. As the audience watched the Marlboro Man gallop across canyon floors, muscles always bulging and ten-gallon hat on tight, they whistled and howled and chortled loudly. Ruby was surprised at the intensity of their hilarity, but it was clear that to them this was merely yet another representation of American society—modern, macho cowboys hustling after the American Dream.
    The weeks flew by and became months, until suddenlyit was December. Ruby’s first Christmas Eve away from home was spent sloshing back a tall bottle of yeasty beer while watching flesh-eating zombies feast away in Night of the Living Dead . Christmas Day she wrote a long letter to her parents, telling them how much she was enjoying Berlin. She didn’t linger too much on the fact that the weather was so grey and depressing, or that she missed them. Then she took her collection of coins to the phone booth down the road and called them.
    â€œMom? Put Dad on the extension. Dad? Merry Christmas! I love you and I love Berlin, too. It’s fantastic here, so full of history. I’ve met a man. I think you’d like him. He’s very sweet.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful, Ruby,” said her mom.
    â€œWhen will you bring him here?” asked her dad.
    â€œWell, I don’t have money for more travelling just yet. I hope to find a job soon.”
    â€œWhat will you do there?” her father asked.
    â€œOh, there’s all kinds of odd jobs to be done. I’ll find something.”
    â€œI miss you, Ruby,” said her mom. “So does your dad.”
    â€œI miss you, too. I just wrote you a long letter. Write me back. Gotta go, my change is running out. Love you.”
    She hung up and was surprised to feel a tear trickle down her cheek. They were so far away and she missed them more than she had expected.
    Ruby’s German was quickly improving under the tutelage of her charming night school teacher, so she felt confidentenough to look for work. She had no official visa, so whatever she did would have to be paid for under the table. Scanning the ads in the city’s newspapers, she found the most common unskilled labour for women was cleaning houses or apartments. Within a few days she found a cleaning job.
    Her employer, a wiry woman of seventy-six with a voice as deep as Marlene Dietrich’s, lived in a grand old home in the southern reaches of the city, replete with an indoor winter garden, a library and a huge kitchen with a walk-in pantry. This was a Berlin full of old women, their men lost to the ravages of two wars, and Frau Herzog was no exception. Ruby could tell that she had been a beauty,