The Boxer by Jurek Becker Read Free Book Online

blurred attraction, like a fever, that comes fast and leaves fast. Caused, for example, by the understandable need for a woman. Or had Paula suddenly appeared in a new light in the car, clearer, and more lovable?
    “That’s hard to say. The truth is that I thought about her for the first time during this journey. And how nice she had seemed since the very first day; you can already tell that it never occurred to me to mistrust her. Otherwise why do you think I left her the key?”
    T he contemplation of Paula lasted to the border. (From Aron’s account one can conclude that, when picturing his life with Paula, he had only her in mind, never himself. By this I mean that he imagined, according to his desires, how she would behave in a certain situation and never thought of how he would act.) Then the car stopped for the first time; there were Russian soldiers outside and a barrier. Clifford had fallen asleep. A soldier walked up to the car, the driver rolled down the window and showed him a green paper. Careful looks around the interior of the car, which made Aron uneasy — he had no papers that gave him the right to cross the border, only Paula’s promise to take care of it. Yet the soldier gave a satisfied sign to move forward, the barrier rose, and the journey continued. Not a word was spoken.
    Aron knew this much, that he was now in a different zone, which one, however, he didn’t know. After a bumpy bend, Clifford woke up, rubbed his eyes, and started talking, but he immediately interrupted himself because it occurred to him that Aron didn’t understand. Aron didn’t want to sink any further into his thoughts and wouldn’t be blessed by a nap — he wasn’t tired, merely hungry. All that was left was the landscape. At this stage, he would not have been averse to a little conversation. A chat about God and the world — it would make time pass faster — yet how to communicate with Clifford? German aside, Aron spoke Yiddish and a passable Russian because his mother was born in Petersburg and had taught him the language while he was still an obedient child. It occurred to him that Clifford could be Jewish, a possibility not to be excluded in the case of a Rescue man — perhaps Paula was Jewish? He made an attempt, without success. Clifford smiled at him and didn’t understand, yet now he also appeared to be thinking of a way to establish communication. After a couple of strained seconds he said in Russian, “Do you speak Russian perhaps?”
    At Aron’s amazed expression, Clifford almost died laughing. Aron asked, “Where did you learn Russian?”
    “What do you mean, where? I learned it. And you?”
    They exchanged facts about themselves. Aron discovered that Clifford hadn’t mastered this language by chance; it was because Rescue needed a man who knew Russian. It was inevitable, now and then, to have negotiations and correspondence with Soviet departments. “It can’t hurt at the border either,” Clifford said.
    “We’ve passed it already.”
    Clifford looked out the window, exchanged a couple of words with the driver; they had actually passed the border. After the initial surprise about their knowledge of the language, it turned out that they didn’t really know what to do with it. A flowing conversation did not develop, only single observations thrown in — the scenery, the extent of destruction, the Germans, Clifford complained about his illnesses. The only appreciable advantage for Aron in this new situation was that he was given a box of cookies when he told Clifford that he had skipped his breakfast that morning.
    In the afternoon they left the highway and turned into a forest road. Aron asked if they had arrived. Not yet, Clifford said. On their way to Munich they always had to stop for gas at this place; it was an American garrison. Driving past, Aron saw soldiers sitting in a field, in a circle, with some young women among them. He wouldn’t have noticed the group if the driver hadn’t