Child of the Journey by Janet Berliner, George Guthridge Page B

companion, and held the black monkey terrier against his huge chest, playing with the forelegs. "The other men have families, Sir. Me...I'm a loner, a sort of...clown."
    "Clown?"
    "Like Grog, Sir." Krayller puffed up his corpulent cheeks, as if expecting Erich to join him in Sch-ö-ö-n , the clown routine the real Grog had made famous. When Erich did not respond, Krayller said, somewhat awkwardly, "Always smiling--always alone." He quickly added, "Except for Grog Junior, here." He patted the terrier.
    "Fine, but don't let your generosity interfere with your regular duties," Erich said, ambling down the ramp that led to the garage underneath the mansion. "I don't want anyone falling asleep during drills."
    "No Sir. I'll sleep after I'm dead. Nothing to do then but lie around anyway," Krayller called after him. "Just so they bury me with my smile painted on--Sir."
    Until he pulled the chain of the dangling bulb, Erich was unsure why he had entered the garage, with its two rows of army and civilian vehicles lined up like troops awaiting inspection. Then he noticed Hawk, his bicycle since childhood, and thanked the impulse that had brought him down here. Someone--Konnie, perhaps--had washed the bike and polished its considerable chrome to a high shine.
    Sch-ö-ö-n, he thought. Beautiful.
    Pulling off his robe, he exchanged it and his empty glass for the military blouse he kept in his garage locker. Without thinking, he transferred the bracelet from the pocket of his robe to the pocket of his shirt. Then he snapped off the light and walked Hawk clear of the garage and up into the breaking dawn, aware that the feeling of oppression was draining from him.
    Some of the shepherds whined or whimpered pitifully when he unchained Taurus from her dog-run. Others performed a retinue of tricks or simply, shamelessly begged. To no avail. Tonight, he wanted no other companion than Taurus. He hooked up her leash and led dog and bike past Krayller's post.  
    Older than any of the other dogs by half a dozen years, Taurus lifted her head like a princess and pranced along, basking in her master's affections. The corporal saluted smartly, and Erich returned it left-handed, a bit of occasional military irreverence the men seemed to enjoy.
    Then he was off, dawn flooding the streets, Taurus's claws clicking against pavement as she trotted alongside. He rode slowly, both to savor the moment and in respect for the dysplasia that had invaded Taurus' hips and likely would eventually cripple her. She moved easily this morning; her pain seemed far away, no more than a dark cloud on a horizon. He opened his mind to her, exulting in her sense of smell and purpose. Her happiness at roaming and being beside him beat against his consciousness as colorfully as the wings of a lunar moth against a window screen. He was a boy again. He wondered if he had ever, really, grown up. Everyone else seemed so much older, so much more mature. Did they feel like boys, too, or was he the only one who felt forever boy, his dog beside him, clothespinned-on playing cards fluttering against his spokes?
    They went up the Kurfurstendamm and down Mauerstrasse. When they reached Ananas, to which he realized he had unconsciously been heading the whole time, he was inordinately thirsty--and hungry for human camaraderie. He chained the bike to a pole outside the nightclub and threaded the leash around the handlebars. Almost paradoxically, in contrast to its wilder, cabaret days, the place was now an officers' club and never closed.
    He glanced up at the spread-winged Nazi eagle on the marquee, remembering with nostalgic regret how the nightclub had once flown on wings of creativity and artistic verve. Once, when Miriam was the star; once, when Werner Fink's deadly humor was applauded even by those who feared its edge, and the likes of Bertoldt Brecht drank nightly at their regular tables.
    Once, when there was hope.
    Guard the bike , he mentally told Taurus, almost in afterthought as