214
DAVID JACKSON
Doug: Christ! I was down to my last five marks. So I took my
sack out in the English Gardens.
Bill: The what?
Doug: This big park the other side of Munich. Dark as hell,
take anything you want out there. Not a cop in a kilo–
meter.
Hank: Now where?
Doug (on a note of formality): My mother and father are at
the Konigshof. They came
in
yesterday. How about you
guys coming to lunch?
Bill:
Free? Yes.
Looking over at them, appreciatively, Nicolas gave a loud
laugh. But as he was not noticed he subsided and, finally, having
finished his beer to the last drop, paid, left. That square article
on the city had been confirmed in one point, The English Gar–
dens. Meanwhile he made off toward the toilets. Any criminolo–
gist will tell you that public lavatories and parks provide fertile
grounds for his species of study. They had often provided
Nicolas with his "connections." Many an hour he had haunted
one or the other in major cities in the United States, in Mexico
City, Venice. A line from a long Manas poem proclaimed:
I'll tell you this, Unclesam, R.R. station johns have been
better pals to me than the Travelers' Aid.
It was not yet ten o'clock and the toilets were empty. Philo–
sophically, Nicolas turned away. No sense loitering when he
knew what to check next. Nevertheless, Munich's worth had
been damaged by a small part. It was becoming Square, in hi
mind, and it would soon stand for all of Germany.
Outside the tall exit was a man in a green uniform with
white belt, cap, and gloves. Nicolas went up to him:
"The English Gardens?"
"Bittel"
The policeman studied
him.
"The English Gardens," Nicolas repeated, slowly, louder.
"Ah! Englischer Garten!"
Understanding was followed
by
another long look and the question:
"Griechischl"
