Privacy in the Wayback Seat
27 April 2009, 3:51 p.m.
49° 10' 6.46" N, 8° 34' 15.58" E
After the cell phone call, the one Lambert says was from Matilda, things had calmed down for a while—if “calm” is the word for a minivan where everyone is wide awake and being careful not to say a darn thing. But now, as we pass the towns of Forst and Hambrücken, emotions erupt again in the wayback seat. In the mirror, I can see Bruno trying to talk to Bertha, more like just trying to listen. She's yelling about something, and he’s dodging her anger, leaning back, leaning in, taking her verbal blows like a boxing coach.
“What language is that?” I ask Lambert. “Is it Piedmontese? She’s from Turin, right?”
I have no idea what Piedmontese sounds like, but I’m pretty sure there is such a language—Primo Levi talked about it in his books. I figure it’s a good guess...
“It’s Latin,” says Lambert.
“Latin?” I say. “It doesn’t sound like Latin... Maybe Occitan? Or do you guys call it langue d’oc?”
“It’s Latin,” says Lambert. “Somewhat vulgar. The way the Savoys speak Latin, when they’re angry.”
“Interesting,” I say. “Savoyard Latin.”
“How would you know what Latin sounds like,” says Lambert.
It doesn’t sound like a question, so I don’t answer.
Now Bertha is saying something in a new tone: sharp, decisive. Then silence. I catch a glimpse of dejection on Bruno’s face, and then the mirror fills with his lumbering body as he climbs forward into the empty middle seat.
“What happened?” I say.
“The duke needs more room,” says Bruno.
“Conrad?” I say. “How could he need more room? He’s sleeping! In a kindersitz!”
“All I know is that his mother says he needs more room,” says Bruno. “Privacy. A little privacy. Get it?”
“Okay, okay. So was that Matilda? Matilda of Canossa? On the phone?”
Lambert gives a snort, like he’s upset that I’m asking Bruno, when he already told me.
“That was her alright,” says Bruno. “Her military high horse the Contessa.”
“Well, what did she say? How did she get Bertha so upset?”
“Hold on…” says Bruno, turning toward the back. “There’s something… ”
“What is it?” I say. The autobahn starts curving off to the left, so I’ve gotta keep my eyes on the road. “What’s going on?”
“She’s opening her phone... now she’s calling… Huh. Just one number… ”
“Speed dial?” I say. “It must be someone—”
“Save it,” says Bruno. “Lemme listen.”
Next episode: The Chest of “Nazi” Papers
(available when published)
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