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= Woman in the Moon =

Mona Lisa Novel, or: Nocturne in Paris

by John Argo

Page 15.

“Is there any way to find out more about where our Dad worked, what he did, where he lived, that sort of thing?”

“When was this?”

“In the 1970s. He returned home in 1981.”

Towns shook his head. “I’ve been here since 1980. Not sure our paths ever crossed. But I’ll tell you what. There are some clubs here, nostalgia things, you know? A lot of us have fond memories of when this whole part of Germany was crawling with U.S. and Allied service people and civilians. We got along pretty well with the Germans, with the usual few exceptions here and there.”

Verlorenau, said a voice in Hannah’s head. She spoke up. “I just remembered something. I think he mentioned once that he lived in a village up in the mountains, by the name of Verlorenau.

“I just remembered the same thing,” Rob said. It was almost as if a ghostly voice had whispered in his inner ear.

“That gives me something to work with,” Towns said. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be happy to do a little research for you at no charge. Always glad to help out an old comrade, even if he’s gone and I’m helping his children.”

“Oh that would be so wonderful,” Hannah said.

“Thank you,” Rob chimed in.

They made a detour along the river, saw the bridge where so many famous people had walked over the centuries, and the Philosophers’ Walk across the river in the forest. Just beyond the university end of the city, modern-looking castle ruins stood so beautifully and tragically on the hills above. Towns related a lot of information he’d gleaned over the years.

The university, founded just before 1400, played a central role in the destructive wars of religion that racked Europe for at least two centuries. Martin Luther, the German priest who launched the Reformation, came here in 1518 after proclaiming his 95 Theses against the existing Church in 1517.

The upper castle was destroyed in a gunpowder explosion in 1537, but the lower palace served as a ducal stronghold until it, too, was demolished in a series of wars about the usual struggles for power and wealth, using the peasants as cannon fodder, typically sending thousands upon thousands of villagers and commoners to their deaths on some pretense related to religion (the Protestant-Catholic divide being a volatile and rich source of combustible energy for that purpose).

Ultimately, it was always a power grab by one oligarchic or aristocratic (same thing; just different funny hats) faction against another. Rob, the political philosopher, had a field day discussing these matters with Towns, who had no reason to disagree. He had served in a lost cause of his own, the Vietnam War, for which he could offer no more logical explanation than for the beautiful carcass of history lying on the hilltops above Heidelberg.

Peter Towns left the siblings on excellent terms around four p.m., with instructions to explore the picturesque main street with its many shops, restaurants, and bars as evening fell and nightlife began.

As Rob and Hannah were having a traditional dinner of Bratwurst, Sauerkraut, and potato dumplings in a tangy beef sauce, Hannah’s phone warbled and she answered.

It was Towns. “I found something for you. I hope this helps. There is a retired sergeant major by the name of Jack Rinconi, used to work as a records honcho in Schwetzingen. That’s a town nearby where we had theater-level personnel services and actions. If you were stationed in USAREUR, chances were good that your file at some point passed through Schwetzingen. Rinconi lives in a little village called Ödendorf just down the road and downhill from Verlorenau. I can hook you up with him, and that’s about the best I think I can do.”

“That’s wonderful,” Hannah said over the phone and over the din of voices and diners in the crowded little Gaststätte (roughly, ‘guest place’ or restaurant).

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