Anne Willis looked into the mirror and raised both arms. “Oh, God,” she groaned, staring at the expanding sweat stains. “I can’t wear this blouse.” She knew it was nerves, not the heat. The thermostat was set on 72 degrees. She hurried to the closet to find a sleeveless top, Hoping they wouldn’t ring the doorbell before she could change.

She found the blue one, the one that buttoned up the back. “It compliments your eyes,” Mama Willis had said. Fumbling with the satin buttons, Anne glanced again into the mirror, this time at her eyes. Ed had once told her they were “New Buick blue.” Silly. Knowing she didn’t have much time left, she nonetheless checked out the rest of her image. The New Buick blue eyes were still clear. No puffiness around the mouth and chin. No gray in the blond pageboy-cut hair, at least not yet. No extra weight, either, unless she counted the twenty-some years of loneliness. Funny, she thought, how hard it was to remember Ed any more.

She quietly cracked the door to Mama Willis’ room. Her mother-in-law was sleeping. Good. Anne walked into the living room which she had dusted and vacuumed twice already. There was nothing left to be done. She looked at her watch, wondering if all the stories about German people being so punctual were true. The watch told her it was exactly three P.M. When she heard the two car doors slam outside, she chuckled and decided the stories must be true. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

They were tall, as their father had been. Anne had expected that, but not their handsomeness. “Frau Willis? Good afternoon. I am Helmut. May I also present my twin sister, Helga?” His smile was less formal than his handshake. “Please, these are for you.”

She took the ceremonial flowers and smiled back. “Thank you. Thank you and do come on in. We could burn up out here. Won’t you sit down? I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you both.”

They all sat, and Anne continued, “I want you both to know how truly sorry I am about your father. Otto was a special person to me. Tell me, did you have a good trip? How do you like America so far?”

While they talked, he saying, “Wonderful. . . So big. . . So friendly.”

She saying, “This is true, but also very dirty. . . So hot, especially here in North Carolina. . . So difficult to understand the English that is spoken here. . .” Anne stole curious glances at them. Both wore shorts, sandals, and I Love NY tee shirts. Anne also noticed that the hair of Helga’s legs and armpits nearly matched that of her twin brother and it was obvious she wore no bra. Anne complimented them on their good English.

A few minutes later she realized that serving them iced tea was a mistake. Helmut thanked her and drank some, but Helga screwed up her face and said, “I am sorry. This is too sweet. Have you some Perrier, or perhaps beer?” The problem was partially solved with yesterday’s lemonade. Anne quickly decided Helga was a snob. You can tell one no matter where they come from. By contrast, her brother was charmingly diplomatic. “Never mind my sister,” he said, laughing. “She has not ever learned to enjoy anything sweet. So. This is the place where our father spent the last years of the war. He has told us later that he never was so happy to have to work so hard. But, I do not understand. This is not a farm.”

“It was back then, Anne replied. “Actually, this house was once way outside New Bern’s city limit. The town has grown a lot since your father was here. We sold all the land, except for this lot, after my husband’s death. He was killed in Vietnam.”

“We are very sorry, aren’t we, Helga?” Helmut said.

“He should not have been there,” his sister retorted. “No Americans should have had to die there. Vietnam was none of your affair.”

“Well,” Anne said, coloring a little, “It’s all in the past, just as your father’s war is. Otto was luckier than Ed, that’s all.”

Anne sipped her tea and thought back to when both had been alive; Ed Willis, the freckle-faced kid who pulled her hair on the school bus, and Otto Brendt, the Prisoner of War from Camp Battle.

New Bern, Rocky Mount, Willamston, and other Carolina towns had similar camps built on their outskirts during WWII. The prisoners were mainly German and Italian troops captured during the North Africa campaigns. Otto Brendt had been one of the thousands swept up after Rommel’s frantic retreat. Along with many others, he had wound up at Camp Battle, a P.O.W. compound built by the Neuse River near where Anne and Ed’s families had adjacent small farms.

“Camp Battle was very near here,” Anne said. “It’s a park now. I’d like to take you there. Show it to you. Also, I have kept a scrapbook of photographs and clippings, along with all of Otto’s letters. Why don’t I—”

“Why don’t you bring it tonight,” Helmut interrupted. “Helga and I would very much like to invite you for dinner. We have rooms at the Sheraton, and they have told us the restaurant there is very good. Will you come? Please? We wish to hear about everything. If Father were here, he would insist, nicht wahr, Helga?”

“Ja. Ist gut.”

“Well, I. . . Why, yes. Thank you. I’d be happy to. What time?”

Helmut flashed his incredible smile. “Let us begin early. There is so much to talk of. Seven?”
“Seven’s fine. I’ll just meet you in the lobby.”

“Excellent! Now we must go. Helga is anxious to go in the pool swimming. Thank you for the drink. It was refreshing, Frau Willis.” When he pronounced her name, it came out somewhere between Villis and Phyliss.

Anne returned his smile. “Please call me Anne. Your father always did.”

Helmut inclined his head. “Yes, of course. Anne. Well, goodbye then, Anne. Until tonight.”

“Wiedersehen,” said Helga.

Then they were gone.

Anne checked on Mama Willis. The old woman was still asleep. Anne hoped she wouldn’t wake up for another half hour, knowing that’s how long it would take to drive to Ernestine’s and back. She grabbed the car keys and ran out the back door to the carport, leaving the door unlocked. “Be home, ’Stine,” she silently prayed. “Please don’t be gone off somewhere this time.”

She needn’t have worried. Ernestine -- all two hundred pounds of her -- was molded into her armchair, watching the last few minutes of whatever scandal Oprah was airing. Anne had to wait for a commercial. Ten minutes later she was speeding back home, without her seat belt fastened, flushed, and talking to herself.

“You goose! You’re acting like a schoolgirl. He wasn’t flirting with you. They’ll both think you’re positively— what’s that word you read and had to look up? Oestrus. Means in heat. Horny. He has to be at least five or six years younger. Oh, but God, he’s good-looking. Thank you, ’Stine, for being home. Bless your blue-black face and your solid gold heart. I need you tonight. Can’t trust leaving Mama Willis with anybody else. Damn! Car’s nearly out of gas. Well, there’ll just have to be enough to get me to the hotel and back. No time left.”

She parked the car in the front yard and flew up the steps, looking at her watch. After five already. Damn!

Her mother-in-law had awakened. “That you Annie?”

“Yes, Mama Willis. Who else?” Kicking off her shoes.

“Can you bring me some icewater, honey?”

“Be right there.” Reaching for back buttons.

“You been out somewhere?”

“Over to ’Stine’s house for a minute.” Stubborn skirt zipper.

“Ernestine’s? What for?”

“She’s coming over to stay with you tonight.” Damn this zipper.

“Why? Where you goin’ ?”

“To the Sheraton for dinner with Otto’s twins.” Finally! Now the bra.

“Thought you were gonna bring me some icewater.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Pulling down half slip and panties together. Whole mess in a pile on the floor.

“They nice, the twins?”

“They’re beautiful. Just like Otto was.” Running to bathroom. Plugging tub, turning on water. To kitchen. Icewater.

“Here you are, Mama Willis.”

“Lord Jesus, Annie! You shouldn’t walk around the house naked like that. It’s. . . It’s. . . I don’t know what.”

“Sorry. I don’t have time to argue now. I have to get a bath and get dressed. ’Stine will be here in a few minutes. She’ll fix something for your supper. Maybe she’ll play scrabble with you later. Can I get you anything else before I get in the tub?”

“No, honey. This is fine. I hope Ernestine will wear some deodorant this time. Nigras need it bad in this heat. Especially the fat ones. You gonna be out late?”

“I may be. It’s time for the news. Why not turn your TV on. I have to get moving or I’ll be late.” She headed for the bathroom, but not before pouring two fingers of the Christmas brandy, which she drank straight down, neat. . .

Carrying the scrapbook, Anne walked into the hotel lobby. It was only the second time she had been there. Helmut was standing at the front desk, talking to one of the clerks. Anne waited for him to finish. When he turned and saw her, he smiled, said only, “Anne,” then kissed her hand, European fashion. She flushed again, aware that the clerks and others were watching. One, a young girl, was definitely rolling her eyes. “Good evening, Helmut. Um, where is Helga?”

He took her elbow and started toward the dining room. “I hope you will forgive my sister. She is not feeling well. She greets you and asks me to say that she may join us later. I think it may have something to do with the chemicals in the pool.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s hope she can come down later.”

“Yes, let us hope so. I have reserved our table for eight. Come. We shall have a drink in the lounge before, and you will tell me about yourself and of my Father’s adventures with you.”

They found a comfortable half-circle sofa and table. Helmut ordered champagne. “For a special occasion, kleine Anna. Oh, yes, I am aware that is how my Father called you. I hope you don’t mind if I do also.”

Anne’s heart rate was way up and she knew it. It’s criminal for a man to be so handsome, she thought, struggling to keep her voice even. “No, Helmut, I don’t mind a bit. You’re a lot like your Dad— I mean your Father.”

“Then may I say you are looking quite wonderful tonight. It is a lovely dress. Charming. Ach, listen! Do you know that music? It is my favorite American song. Do you know it?”

“Yes, I think it’s September Song. I’ve always liked it, too, especially when it’s sung by Frank Sinatra.”

Helmut grinned. “You see, we already have something nice in common. I believe we shall have a splendid evening. Also, it will be a good opportunity to practice the English I try very hard to teach my students at home, but I plan to listen more than talk. Is the wine to your taste?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, Helmut. I drink champagne so seldom, I couldn’t tell you if it’s good or terrible. This must be good, the way I’m pouring it down!”

He laughed, showing perfect teeth, their white contrasting with his tanned face. He took both her hands in his. “Father said many times what a pretty child you were. I wish he could have seen what a beautiful woman she has become.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “God, Helmut, I’m over fifty years old, and you are old enough to know better than to say such things. I don’t know which one of us should stop drinking this stuff, but you are sweet to say it anyway. Do you flatter old women in Germany like this?”

His face took on a more serious look. “You are not old, dear kleine Anna. You are a most handsome woman. Excuse me. I have embarrassed you. Come, show me your scrapbook. I want to see everything. Do you mind if I smoke? I love your American cigarettes. Will you have one with me?”

“Why not,” she said, hoisting the scrapbook to the table. He shook out two Salems. Reached over with his lighter. Reflexively, she cupped her own hand under his and immediately felt a kind of stabbing, deep inside her, like from a velvet icepick. She inhaled, blew out smoke, and began, “I met Otto in summer of 1944. I was six years old.”

Anne told Helmut how Otto and the other prisoners were given the option to work; picking beans or harvesting tobacco and corn, under minimum guard. They were even paid a few dollars. Told him how she, Ed, and the other farm children were frightened at first, but gradually became friendly with the new ‘farm hands’ who in turn were grateful for something to do and people to talk to. The war was never mentioned. Otto, who spoke fair English, made friends quickly with Anne, who brought him and the others cold water and occasional slices of homemade pie. Warm friendship developed. Soon, it was Uncle Otto and kleine Anna.

They drank more champagne and Anne showed him the scrapbook which contained photos of Otto and other prisoners, pictures and faded newspaper clippings of the wooden barracks and fenced-in compound. And, the letters Otto had begun writing to her after the war. Letters that came for each of her birthdays and every Christmas. She showed him the ring Otto had fashioned for her from a spoon. Helmut looked at it longer than he might have, holding her hand. Anne felt the velvet icepick stab again.

Over dinner, Helmut told Anne things she already knew, but hadn’t mentioned; how his mother had died giving birth, and how Otto had come home to find a devastated homeland— and three year-old twins he hadn’t known about. How he had somehow managed, eventually building a new life and a good business as a metalsmith.

They ate a little and drank red wine and Helmut held her hand. Anne told Helmut how she and Ed grew up and got married and didn’t have time to start a family before Ed went to Vietnam and Helmut told Anne how he and Helga grew up and went to the Uni and became teachers of English and French and never married and Anne knew she was slipping into an abyss.

They went back to the lounge for coffee and she told him how her own parents had died in the car wreck that had also left Mama Willis paralyized from the waist down and how the weeks of taking care of her mother-in-law after the accident had somehow stretched into years and he said how Otto had told them over and over about the horror of war, how he was never a Nazi and how kind to him the New Bern farmers were and how he had come to love kleine Anna and how he hoped the twins would visit her after his death.

Helmut ordered more wine and they held hands and they both cried a little and talked a lot more and Helmut drew her to him and she laid her head on his shoulder and cried some more and the Muzak tape, having come full circle, was playing September Song again and Helga appeared suddenly and they both stood and Helga, with black and certain hatred in her eyes, slapped Anne viciously and stalked out.

Helmut went after her, and Anne, stinging tears flowing, ran to the car and prayed there was enough gas to get home.

She didn’t remember the number of times she screamed, “Why?” and she didn’t remember how Ernestine got home or whether she went to sleep or simply passed out. What she did remember was taking the phone off the hook, and that she had left the scrapbook in the hotel lounge.

She went back the next day to get it. It was at the front desk, along with a small envelope addressed to her. She waited until she was in the parking lot to open it.

My dear Anne,

Words cannot express my sorrow, and my embarrassment. The actions of my sister were unpardonable, but you must try to understand, she believes Father always loved you more than her. Perhaps I have as well, or perhaps I would have. It is all too impossible. Please forgive us both.

H.B.

Anne got in the car, folded the note and slipped it inside the scrapbook. She looked at her watch, sighed, and turned the ignition key. It was past time for Mama Willis’ whirlpool bath.

Copyright © 2006 by Tom E. Lewis, All rights reserved.