As Time Goes By by Michael Walsh Read Free Book Online Page B

than my feelings. Even my feelings for Rich ard Blaine. What did the happiness of two people mat ter when the lives of millions were at stake?"
    A look of ineffable sadness crossed her mother's face. "You are speaking not of your husband," she ob served, "but of his work. They are not the same thing."
    Ilsa had never made that distinction before. "Yes," she admitted, "his work. I fell in love with his work long before I met him. When we did meet, I could not believe that a great man like him could possibly love an inexperienced girl like me. He was doing heroic deeds for his country, and what was I doing? Studying languages."
    Inghild considered her next words carefully. "I have not had the honor of meeting either of these two gentle men, Ilsa. What is it that you love about each of them?"
    Ilsa told her. That Victor had taught her what love was: love of country, love of principle, love of free dom, love of one's fellow human beings. That every thing she ever was or had become had been because of him. That he was an easy man to love, and Ilsa had thought she loved him.
    "What about the other man? Richard Blaine?"
    Ilsa told her mother that Rick was everything Victor was not. That he was cynical where Victor was earnest; misanthropic where Victor was selfless. That he spoke crisply, and when necessary, he acted brutally. That he mocked where Victor praised, scoffed where Victor extolled. That even in his dinner jacket he carried with him an aura of violence. That he was a hard man to love, but that she knew she loved him.
    Rick had also taught her what love was, another kind of love: a carnal, physical, all-embracing love that made her cry out with desire and joy. With Victor she was one of a multitude; with Rick the multitude van ished and she was the only woman in the world.
    "Which man do you love more?"
    Wasn't it obvious? Ilsa threw herself into her moth er's arms, sobbing on her breast. Inghild stroked her daughter's hair fondly and whispered to her in the same soothing tones she had used when Ilsa was a child.
    "I love Victor, Mother. Whatever he and his work demand, I am ready to give, including myself. What greater love can a woman have?"
    "And Rick?"
    "I love Rick, too. He makes me feel like a woman. When we are together, his kisses overwhelm my senses, drive all other thoughts from my mind, make me want to be with him forever. What greater love can there be?"
    Inghild clutched her daughter tightly. "I haven't seen you in two years, and I can only begin to imagine what you have been going through. But I know my daughter. I know that she is strong and honest, and that she would never do anything but what was right. Besides, I think you have already made your choice."
    "I thought I had, too." Ilsa raised her head, and with her free hand, Inghild brushed away her daughter's tears. "Until Casablanca, when I saw Rick again. Rick was the one who got the letters of transit for me and Victor. He saved our lives." She told Inghild the story of their three days in Morocco, of meeting Rick again, of his bitterness, of the renewal of their love, and of his sacrifice at the airport.
    "You want me to tell you what you should do," said Inghild, and Ilsa nodded. "I won't."
    Ilsa's face fell. "Why not, Mother?" she pleaded.
    "Because I can't. This is your life, Ilsa, not mine. Whatever you decide, my blessing goes with you. All I can say is this: Look in your heart. The answer lies there."
    It did. To love Rick would be to betray both her mar riage vows and the Resistance itself. Rick said he stuck his neck out for nobody. She would show him: she would stick her neck out for everybody—for Victor, for Europe. Even for Rick Blaine, whether he liked it or not.

 
     
    C HAPTER S IX

    New York, June 1931
     
    Yitzik Baline, whom everybody called Rick, met Lois Horowitz on his way downtown to buy a knish for his mother. He met Solomon Horowitz on his way back uptown to deliver Lois to her father.
    He was riding the Second Avenue el down