A Song for Summer

had framed the story of burning Troy in the words of the soldier in the wooden horse returning home and trying to get someone to listen to him. A sort of Ancient Mariner whom no one heeded, except one small boy. Altenburg would have loved it, he was sure.

Benny as usual was doing his sums. He would stay for the gala and then leave for the States. Brigitta on her own was no use to him; maybe he could get her a short tour as a Lieder singer next year but that was the extent of it.

"All change next stop. All change at

St Polzen," said the guard, coming down the corridor. Why this obscure town had been chosen as an important railway junction, no one had ever discovered; certainly it wasn't for the facilities it offered to travellers.

"You'd think they could run a direct service to Vienna," grumbled Brigitta, and stood by while the men took down her hat boxes, her make-up case, her furs and portmanteau. Ufra, who travelled third class with the dog, put on her coat.

The train slowed down ... stopped. Ufra opened the carriage door and Puppchen leapt down, gave vent to a frenzy of barking, tugged the lead out of her hand and raced across the platform.

"For goodness sake--can't you control the wretched animal," scolded Brigitta, descending in her turn.

Her maid stood looking after the dog, now leaping up and down in front of a man sitting alone on a wooden bench.

"No," said Ufra. "As a matter of fact, I can't."

Marek had travelled overnight from Warsaw. He had seen Isaac off down river and now had broken the journey at this junction where he had left his father's car when he'd picked up the ambulance. He only had to go across the road,

fetch the car and drive to Pettelsdorf to pick up his things and say goodbye to his family. He had already taken his leave of Steiner --and of Hallendorf.

But he was tired now that the adventure was over, and for a moment he sat down on a bench in the sun.

There was a train to Hallendorf in twenty minutes--he could get on it and in three hours be there. Would she be serving supper at the hatch, her burnt curls hidden under her hygienic hat ... or leading her modest girls into the lake? Closing his eyes, he let the memories come: Ellen garnering gym shoes that first morning ... feeding Aniella on cornflowers ... taking a splinter out of Sabine's foot.

And then he was back in the sulphur-smelling garden at Kalun as she lifted her face for his kiss--and this now was not remembering, it was "being there". During those moments as he held her in his arms he had wondered if at last he need no longer envy his parents; if he too had found the supreme simplicity of a total and committed love. Leading her back to her room afterwards, putting the key in the lock for her, he had begun to speak--and then the neighbouring door had opened and Isaac had appeared, tied up in some ridiculous medical corset, and as Ellen went forward to help him, the moment had passed.

Marek had not answered Isaac's appeal by the river. He did not believe that self-sacrifice was a sound principle on which to base one's life. And yet ... As they had washed in the stream that first morning, Marek had seen the concentration camp mark branded on Isaac's arm. Was something special owed perhaps to such a man?

Ten minutes before the train came back ... he could still go. There was nearly a fortnight before he sailed; much could be sorted out in that time.

But now, on the other platform, a train was drawing in--not the one to Hallendorf, but the one from there.

How absurd that everyone had to change always in this uninteresting little town.

A carriage door opened. Marek heard the fierce yapping of a little dog and then the creature was upon him, leaping up, rolling over, wagging his tail in a paroxysm of welcome.

And after him, of course, came Brigitta, her arms thrown out.

"Marcus! Darling! But this is incredible! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

Staub came forward to shake hands, then Benny, much hampered by the antics of Puppchen, whose sole achievement seemed to be to remember Marcus for remarkable periods of time.

"It's a miracle!" said Briggita. "It's destiny, finding you. A portent. Now I know you'll come to Vienna and--

"'

"I'm sorry, Brigitta, but you're mistaken. I'm going home and then to America."

"But you can't! You can't! You tell him about the gala, Benny. Tell him about Feuerbach."

"It certainly seems to be bedlam there," said Benny. "If you could come even for a few days ..."

"I'm sorry," Marek repeated. Of the group surrounding him, he was the most pleased to see the little dog he had bestowed on Brigitta all those years ago: the dog and Ufra, for whom he had always felt respect.

"Well, at least, darling, come and have some coffee. Please. We've an hour to kill," begged Brigitta, who was convinced that no man could remain even a few minutes in her presence and not be persuaded to do what she wanted.

"All right, Brigitta." There were limits to churlishness. "We'll have a coffee for old times' sake."