With Fearful Bravery by Lynne Kositsky

Author:Lynne Kositsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2014-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Two nights later, after going to bed early, I rise when both New Oma and Lotty appear to be asleep. New Oma is certainly sleeping, as she’s lying on her back with both eyes shut and her mouth open, snoring, and Lotty is breathing easily, with an occasional snort. I slip into trousers and a black sweater, much too big, that I traded for a little food from the café, but carry my shoes in my hand, though there’s really no reason to muffle my footsteps. The room is a cacophony of the high cries and low moans of those dreaming, and a snoring cantata in C major performed by many of the other refugees.

A small torch, bought on the street, lights my way. As I leave our little cubicle, Lotty turns over and sits up. “Where you going so late, Freda?”

“Work.”

“Don’t be s-silly. You never go to work in the middle of the night. You go much, much, earlier. And you’re not wearing the right clothes. ”

“All right. If it’s any of your business, Fräulein Nosy, I’m really going to meet Yoshi at a midnight party in the International Settlement. We have things to talk about.”

“What things?”

“Adult things.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Of course not.”

Lotty sighs. “Good! I love Yoshi. I want to m-marry him when I grow up. He does card tricks and brings me sweeties. Let me come too!”

“Not in a million years. Face the wall and go back to sleep.” I hear her protest feebly before she lowers her head and turns back over.

“Spoilsport,” she hisses. But I know her well enough. She’ll be fast asleep in a moment or two, Mimi, whom she’s decided not to defenestrate, clutched in her paw.

I pull on my shoes and meet Izo outside the heim as arranged earlier today. We are standing in a small circle of light that is radiating from the torch. So that we aren’t apprehended and questioned, I click it off. As my eyes become accustomed to the dark, I see that Izo’s wearing a long skirt and high heels, as she recently promised — or rather warned — she would. She is spilling out of her blouse, which is too tight. Her lipstick is a red-blue gash in the gibbous moon’s crescent. “I’m here,” she pants, her weight compromising her need to hurry. “Where are we meeting Yoshi?”

“We’re not meeting him anywhere unless and until you change your outfit. It’s not a soirée we’re engaged in, but a secret mission. Your shoes are the worst, clacking along the street. If you don’t wear your flats, they’ll give us all away. And for God’s sake wash that crap off your face. ”

“You use it often enough,” she pouts as, stung by my words, she begins to argue. She is going to tread in Mata Hari’s footsteps. She is going to become the most famous female spy ever. She is going to rescue us all from the tyranny of the Japanese and the Nazis. She can do whatever she wants to.

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