Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(81)
Oskar circles the room with his hands behind his back, cock of the walk. It’s such a clear imitation of Herr Jaeger that it would be funny if there weren’t stakes involved. He’s a little too observant, surveying the room like he’s filing a report.
“What use is a painting?” Oskar sneers, glancing over at the students’ work. “What purpose does it serve?”
Egon doesn’t look up from his sketch. “People need beauty. They need meaning.”
“They can find meaning in serving the fatherland.” Oskar ventures over to the tarp where Karl has been repairing the photoengraving machine. “What are you working on, Karl?”
Karl’s fingers tremble. He drops a screw and pats the floor for it. Oskar comes to help him and steps on the loose floorboard, which squeaks. Oskar frowns down at his shoe.
“Oskar!” Hanna jumps up, putting on a bright smile that to anyone other than Sophie would pass for genuine. “I need fresh air. Will you go walking with me?”
“But it’s raining.”
“Then we’ll have to share my umbrella.”
Oskar beams. “It will clear soon enough, ja? Rain always does.”
They leave the garret, and soon Hanna’s and Oskar’s voices drift up from the street. Egon abandons his drawing and goes to the window, looking out. Only then does Sophie see that his sketch isn’t of wildflowers; it’s of Hanna.
It should’ve been obvious to Sophie much earlier that Egon is in love with Hanna. The evidence is there in every brushstroke: The shine to her eyes. The romantic flush on her cheeks. The slight tilt of a shy smile Sophie doesn’t recognize, probably because it is reserved only for Egon. The way he says her name, softly, like the start of a hopeful but uncertain prayer. Sophie is grateful that someone else sees the whole kaleidoscope of Hanna, thankful that Egon sees her not as some wild, tempting creature to be pursued and domesticated, a trophy that would lose its shine over the years and dull to a forgotten knickknack on a high shelf, but a force as indelible as an oak. And if there is any jealousy it is this: that she must share Hanna.
* * *
Sophie knows she shouldn’t follow them but she can’t stop herself. She’s worried; Oskar is not to be trusted. Hanna leads Oskar down by the lake to the tall reeds. Sophie follows from a safe distance. Oskar is crowing about his accomplishments in the Hitler Youth under Herr Jaeger’s eye while shyly glancing at Hanna to see if she’s impressed. “He said I could win the marksmanship medal! I could have my picture in the newspaper!” They stop at the river. Sophie hides behind a tree, listening.
“They say you are close with that artist,” Oskar says.
“Sophie and I pose for him. If that’s what you call close. Honestly, Oskar, if you’re going to believe every bit of gossip you hear…” Hanna trails off, letting her annoyance speak for her.
“I don’t like you spending so much time in that moldy attic. It isn’t good for you. Fresh air is what builds strong bodies. Herr Jaeger doesn’t like it, either.”
Hanna’s breezy irritation is gone. The mask slips. She looks like a cornered rabbit and Sophie feels suddenly afraid.
“What do you mean?”
“I shouldn’t tell you but … Herr Jaeger wonders what is going on up there. He’s asked me about you and Karl and the others. Of course I told him that you and Karl are faithful Germans. Leon’s okay. It’s not his fault he’s half-Polish and an intellectual. And Sophie, well, she’s never been quite right in the head. Harmless, though her father was a communist, you know.”
Pacifist, Sophie silently corrects him. He can’t even get his accusations right. She doesn’t want to hear the rest but she can’t leave without exposing herself now.
Oskar’s eyes narrow. “But Egon. He’s not from here. A stranger. Herr Jaeger doesn’t trust him. He says there is something suspect about his story, something he’s hiding.”
Hanna manages a dismissive laugh. “Don’t be silly! Egon has a position with the Ministry!”
“I don’t trust him. Artists are degenerates and subversives by nature.”
“Isn’t our Führer an artist?” Hanna says with perfect innocence.
“That’s different. You must be careful, Hanna.”
“What else does Herr Jaeger … think?” Hanna asks. Sophie can tell by the uncharacteristic halt in her voice that she is worried.
“Oh, I can’t say. But rest assured nothing escapes him. He is very sharp.” Oskar takes her hand in his. “But you have nothing to worry about, Hanna. I will look after you always. I love you. And even though you don’t show it, I know you love me.”
Poor fatherless, rudderless Oskar, a boat blowing in any wind that would have him. A loon calls from the shore. The mournful sound hangs in the air, a haunting.
Hanna leans her head on Oskar’s shoulder with determination. “Do you remember walking here before?” She gazes up at him through her lashes. The actress. When Oskar leans in, she shuts her eyes and lets him kiss her.
“Like I said, you shouldn’t listen to idle gossip. The only thing happening in the attic is painting. Posing is so boring. Honestly, I’m mostly there to keep Sophie company.”
“Poor Miss Lonelyhearts. Is she still pining for a tree? Ah, I made a joke!”