I had never been in such a place before. It occurred to me that if Otto had known I was there, he would’ve killed me — and for some reason, that was an exhilarating thought. The feeling of rebellion. A smile grew on my face as I looked about the club. It was dimly lit and filled with cigarette smoke — perhaps what one might call “dingy” — but there was an energy of excitement throughout that made up for it.

Most of the light came from the small stage where the band was playing. They were of a modest size, maybe fifteen musicians in all, but they were well rehearsed. Since I had become studied in my current music, thanks to Lukas’s nighttime BBC listenings, I was proud that I recognized the song they were playing. It was by Benny Goodman, who I had learned was pretty much musical royalty to the Swing Scene. Of course, since he was not only American but also a Jew, that meant the Party despised him and his very popular music. 

Lukas had told me that the propagandists had dubbed Goodman the “Pied Piper of New York”, and we both laughed about it. I imagined all us young folks as the children in the fairy tale being led astray by his magical clarinet playing. The only difference was we were happy to be led off the cliff in this version.

The band was very good at their recreation of Goodman’s songs, and I wondered how they had gotten their hands on the sheet music. Later I came to find out that the bandleader, Herr Siegfried, was something of a savant when it came to hearing notes, and he would transcribe the music himself for all the instruments of his band. A talent so wasted on the fact that he was stuck in a place like this. 

For a moment, the four of us stood and listened to the music. There was quite a crowd of people gathered around the area of the stage and the dance floor. Leah and Salomé wanted to get up there to see better, but the throng of people overwhelmed me, so I didn’t follow. It seemed as though Lukas felt the same way at the moment, so I just hung back with him.

When the song ended, Lukas turned to me. “Let’s go get ourselves a table while we still can.”

I nodded and followed him. There was an open table for four a little further back. I took a seat immediately to claim it, and Lukas made his way somewhere else.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, Lukas returned with four frosted mugs filled to the brim with golden, frothy beer. He set them down on the table and miraculously spilled nothing. He sat down, taking a mug for himself and pushing one to me. Clumsily, I caught it, a few drops landing on the table.

“Um … thanks,” I said hesitantly.

“I know you don’t smoke,” Lukas began, “but please tell me you’ve had a beer before. You’re no self-respecting German boy unless you have.”

I pulled the mug close, not wanting to seem like a ninny. “Of course I have. But … at like holidays and stuff. Not in public — in a bar!” 

“You’re so full of Catholic guilt.” Lukas chuckled and took a large sip. “You need to learn how to live your life a little.”

I sighed and couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He was no help to my desire not to give in to my impulses — but that night, I wasn’t helping myself much either. I took a sip of the beer, and it was as bitter and unpleasant as any other time I had tried it. At that moment, the band began to play a new song, this time one with a slower tempo. 

I looked over to where Leah stood with Salomé still watching the musicians. The dance floor was illuminated with a mirror ball that sent a scattering of fractured lights everywhere. In this light, I noticed that Leah’s deep blue dress had tiny sparkles of its own like many stars. She smiled at Salomé, tapped her feet, and swayed back and forth to the music. 

“You should ask her to dance…”

I turned to Lukas, dumfounded. “Huh?”

“Leah, you Dummkopf. She wants you to.”

My face went hot as I glanced back to where she was. At that exact moment, she was looking over her shoulder, and her eyes met mine. Flustered, I averted my gaze. 

“She — she does?” I stammered.

Lukas scoffed. “You’re terrible at reading body language, aren't you?” 

Of course, I was — I always had been. Probably because I just couldn’t assume what other people were thinking. Lukas, on the other hand, seemed to be an expert at such things. He leaned toward me, a smarmy grin plastered on his face. 

“Don’t be a Weichei,” he said. 

I glared. Sure, I had let Anton call me such names, but there was no way I would allow Lukas to get away with it. This time, I took a big gulp of beer from my mug. Its sourness made me wince, but its effervescence was oddly refreshing as I forced myself to swallow it. I stood up and made haste toward the dance floor. 

At first, there was determination in my chest, but the closer I got, it began to wither away until I was standing behind Leah, awkwardly scratching the back of my head. Luckily for me, she was outgoing, and when she noticed I was there, she had no problem acknowledging me. 

“Hey, Milo!” she said over the music.

“Leah!” My voiced cracked, and I began to stutter. “I was — um — I — ah — would you like to dance with me?”

She laughed, but it was in a genuine sort of way, not a mocking one. “Of course! I thought you’d never ask.”

“Really?”

She took me by the hand and led me out toward the dance floor. I must have looked so embarrassing then. All I could think about was how sweaty my hand was, how I barely knew how to dance, and how I’d never done anything remotely romantic with a girl before. But when we got up there on the floor, none of that mattered anymore …