Wayfaring Stranger: A Novel

Wayfaring Stranger: A Novel by James Lee Burke Page B

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Authors: James Lee Burke
in peacetime. Paris, I mean. French ladies love a liberator. You have to fly the flag, though.”
    “I’m hoping I won’t be here much longer.”
    “I just approved your nomination for the Silver Star. We were a little slow on the paperwork. That’ll give you three Hearts and the Bronze and Silver Star.”
    “Silver Star for what?”
    “Gallantry in action at the Ardennes. You might think about going into politics when you get home. Or insurance. You know I run an agency in San Antonio, don’t you?”
    “I don’t remember a lot of what happened at the Ardennes.”
    “Others do. That’s what counts. For a promising young fellow like yourself, it won’t hurt to have the right cachet.”
    I couldn’t track what he was saying. Maybe that was because his gaze never really focused on me. While he talked, his eyes were constantly roaming around the room. He dragged up a chair and sat down. “Are you listening?”
    “I was never keen on politics,” I said.
    “That’s because you’re a warrior.” He was holding a manila folder on his thigh. His gaze followed a nurse. “We had some times, didn’t we? You should come to Paris and enjoy the fruits of victory.”
    “It’s a long drive down here, Major. I appreciate your coming.”
    “I thought we’d be in the Pacific now. Frankly, I was looking forward to it. You know Japs can’t pronounce the ‘l’ sound, right? One of them starts hollering out in the dark, ‘Hey, Joe, I’m hit! Help me!’ Then one of our guys hollers ‘lollapalooza’ or ‘Little Lulu.’ If the Jap doesn’t yell ‘Lily lollipop,’ he gets hosed with a flamethrower. The marines are still burning them out of caves on Iwo.” His eyes steadied and looked into mine. “You knew a camp survivor named Rosita Lowenstein?”
    “I was in hiding with her.”
    “Hold on a minute. You were not in ‘hiding’ with her. You saved her life.”
    “Sergeant Hershel Pine and I saved her life. She helped us save ours, too, at least when she could. The people who hid us didn’t speak English. Rosita did all the talking for us.”
    “Yeah, that’s all in the file. But you know her, right? We’re talking about the same person? Rosita Lowenstein? A Spanish Jewess?”
    I didn’t answer him. He opened the manila folder and removed several sheets of paper and read the top one to himself. “You don’t need this kind of trouble, partner.”
    “Where is she?”
    “That’s not important. Some people think our next war is going to be with the Russkies. Some people think we’d have been better off allying with the Germans in 1940 and attacking Russia. Not everybody in the camps was there because they were Jews.”
    “I’m not following you,” I said.
    “Did she indicate to you that she might be a Communist?”
    “She said she didn’t have any use for Communists.”
    “According to both British and American intelligence, her father was a Communist representative in the Spanish parliament.”
    “So what?”
    “She’s related to Rosa Luxemburg.”
    I looked at him, my face empty, my eyes flat.
    “You don’t know who that is?”
    “Not offhand,” I lied.
    “She was a German Communist known as Red Rosa. A bunch of brownshirts beat her to death and threw her body in a river. Red Rosa’s mother was named Löwenstein. That girl you toted for miles probably gave you TB. Don’t let her mess you up twice, son.”
    “Do you know where she is?”
    “At a displaced persons camp not far from Nancy. She’s probably trying to get to Palestine. That’s how the Brits became interested in her.”
    “How can I contact her?”
    The major replaced the sheaf of papers in the manila folder and rolled the folder into a cone. He tapped me on the chest with it. “They’ll make mincemeat of you, boy. There’s justification for their actions, too. We didn’t fight a war in two theaters so Red spies could infest our system and use our constitutional guarantees to destroy us. These people are

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