by Michael Dean
Glaser lumbered unevenly towards her round the table. Magda screamed and tried to hide behind her mother again, but Glaser caught her by the wrist, pulled her half off-balance and slapped her round the face.
‘Wash your mouth out,’ he yelled. ‘You dirty girl!’
Magda screamed, cried and buried her head in her mother’s coat. Kaspar looked bewildered. They all knew Magda went to BdM meetings, but he hadn’t seen the uniform before, either. His reaction was much the same as Glaser’s. Lotte was breathing heavily. She glanced furiously at the onlookers – Rinner was still standing, as if part of a tableau, the von Hesserts were looking at the ceiling.
She turned to her husband. ‘Gerhard,’ she said, ‘as God is my judge, I swear, if you hit one of the children ever again, I will leave this home and take them with me.’
Glaser made a guttural noise, something between a grunt and a croak. He looked at his hand, as if it had acted independently of him. The only sound in the room was Magda sobbing into her mother’s coat.
‘I ... perhaps I ... acted in haste ...’ Glaser said finally. ‘But why wasn’t I told about this camp?’
Lotte’s eyes, usually soft, were still burning. ‘Gerhard, for heaven’s sake. The girl has been talking about nothing else for weeks. Listen to the children, once in a while. Hmmm?’
‘He does listen,’ Kaspar said. ‘Sometimes. If he likes the subject.’
Everybody ignored him.
‘You’re not going to stop me,’ Magda shouted at Glaser. ‘We’ve got a tennis competition, movement to music, military nursing, air-raid protection. And we’ve got wood craft and drill, just like the boys. For the first time, in the Third Reich, girls too are being given equal freedom to their male compter ... counterparts and an equal chance to have fun.’
Glaser looked stunned. ‘Where is she getting this stuff?’ he said, appealing to Lotte, in genuine bewilderment.
Rinner finally broke in. ‘Look I ... I really must be off. Goodbye, Gerhard, Herr von Hessert, Fräulein von Hessert,’ he said hastily. On the way out he murmured ‘Goodbye, Frau Glaser’ to Lotte. She ignored him.
‘We’re leaving, too,’ Ello said.
‘No, wait ...’ Rudi looked at Magda with open sympathy. He was perturbed, even distraught, on her behalf. ‘Magda ...’
‘Did you not hear me? I said ... Come along, Rudi.’ Very much the older sister, she seized him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Rudi took his bundle of papers; the von Hesserts made to leave.
And then Kaspar blurted out what came into his head, without thinking: ‘Magda,’ he said. ‘Did you hear Herr Rinner say where he was staying? And, in fact, how much of the conversation did you hear?’
Chapter Three
At a booth at Prague Main Station, Rüdiger von Hessert pointed to and purchased a bottle of the local hooch. He read the name on the label – Borovichka – then stuck it in the top of his leather travelling bag. Outside it was cold, damp and blustery. He took a taxi to the Hotel Julis, where he was paying his own bill.
The Julis turned out to be a pseudo art deco wedding cake of a place. But he was welcomed effusively enough. A blond flunkey, blue-uniformed as a boy hussar, carried his bag up to his suite. This was a gloomy and chilly tomb, even when he finally managed to turn the wheel which clankingly activated the huge radiators.
In the bathroom, he poured himself half a tooth-mug full of the hooch, then went back to the lounge and flopped out in a floral armchair. The drink had the colour and consistency of loose phlegm, but tasted marvellous and warmed him through. What was that taste? Juniper? He took a couple more slugs. As he drank, he defiantly rubbed his brilliantined hair all over the antimacassar. How bizarre to be here. He owed it all to his Uncle Dolf.
When he was still in short trousers, he and Ello had unearthed a copy of Spamer’s Encyclopaedia, in a forgotten corner of the library at home. They bore it off excitedly to the nursery. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, under the shadow of the huge rocking horse, they flipped over the pages. Within half an hour they had located around half of everything Uncle Dolf had ever told them. They howled with laughter as each fresh item of his information was tracked down to its source. Rudi had nearly made himself sick, laughing. Ello had held his head.
The hooch was kicking in. At the thought of Ello, Rudi grew rigid with tension. When Ello had gone off to the theatre in Gärtnerplatz with Hitler, then back to his apartment, Rudi had been up all night, pacing around frantically. Eventually, he swallowed everything in the bathroom cabinet and passed out on the floor. If that vile creature has his way with her, Rudi thought, taking a huge gulp of the Czech drink, he would kill himself or kill Hitler, or both.
He was shivering; his arms and legs had pins and needles and ached. Jumping up, he made his way back into the bathroom. The bath was the size, shape and colour of a horse trough. The water was yellow and tepid, but he felt better once he had wallowed in it for a while.
A languorous dressing followed – in fresh silk underwear, crisp pale-blue shirt, lemon tie. Plenty of eau de Cologne was applied. His blue blazer and grey flannels were irretrievably creased from the journey, but never mind. These people were socialists, weren’t they? They shouldn’t mind a few creases.
He threw everything out of the travelling bag onto the bed, except Rinner’s manuscript. Winding a scarf round his throat, he gathered himself, standing stock still, eyes closed. Downstairs, he got the frock-coated concierge to call him a taxi. He had the address on a piece of paper, though he needn’t have worried. The driver spoke German, as everybody here seemed to. It was early evening by the time the taxi drew up at the address.
A matronly female intercepted him in the wood-panelled vestibule of the building, while he was still working out where to go. Indeed, he was wondering if these people had perhaps gone home, it was so late.
‘Would you, by any chance, be Herr von Hessert?’ asked the matron. Her German was faultless, but heavily accented.
‘Indeed, I am.’
The matron smiled. ‘I am Mrs Lukacskova. I am the Senior Secretary to Herr Wels. You are very welcome. I saw you out of the window, arriving by taxi. We have been waiting for you.’ There was just a hint of reproach.
Rudi pulled a boyish face of apology. She laughed.
Mrs Lukacskova led him into an ancient lift, barely big enough for the two of them. She shut two lots of gates and it jerked and rumbled its way up to the second floor. She led him to a ribbed-glass door, marked Verlagshaus Graphia in black lettering. In the cluttered outer office, to his utter amazement, there was a burst of applause from half a dozen people, as he came in.
‘Here he is!’ cried the delighted Mrs Lukacskova, holding tightly to Rudi’s arm, as if to prevent a last-minute escape.
She steered him to the tiny, grey-faced figure of Otto Wels. Rudi recognised the Social Democrat leader from newspaper photographs.
‘You are our first guest from Germany, Herr von Hessert,’ a beaming Wels told him, taking the travelling bag, pumping his hand. ‘Welcome, welcome. What can I get you? Coffee? Beer is good here, though not as good as your Bavarian beer, naturally.’
This standard joke from a Berliner brought a dutiful laugh from the two typists and the rest of the Social Democrats, all excitedly gathered round him. Mrs Lukacskova pulled Rudi round until he was facing her. She had grey hair in a bun. When Rudi was a child, he and Ello had played a card game called Happy Families. You had to collect a family of various animals. Mrs Lukacskova was like the mother in all of them.
She looked hard into his eyes. He knew what she had spotted. A shrewdness came into her face. ‘I’ll make him some tea,’ she said. ‘That’s as good as anything for him.’
Everyone introduced themselves in a frantic rush, with complete disregard for rank and standing. One of the typists was called Martina. She gave him a sweet smile, which he gallantly returned. The grey-haired, intellectual, Jewish-looking fellow turned out to be Friedrich Stampfer, who he had vaguely heard of as a figur
e on the Left. There were two other old boys whose names he didn’t catch. The only one obviously under forty, a tubby little chap with round, tortoiseshell glasses, introduced himself as Erich Ollenhauer.
They went off to one of the two offices, which had decent Adler typewriters, a small printing press and a banda machine. There were papers all over the place. He was steered to a chair and served chamomile tea. The typists disappeared. The Social Democrats were drinking Pilsner beer, except Ollenhauer, who had a coffee.
Wels sat behind his desk, the others drew up chairs or perched themselves on desktops. They were all casually dressed – open-neck shirts, pullovers, plus-fours. One of the old boys was even wearing a pair of spectacularly vulgar two-tone salesman’s shoes, in cream and tan.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Wels said abstractedly, and looked at Rinner’s Green Report, which they had fished out of his travelling bag without asking him. Wels turned the pages rapidly, head down, a smile slowly spreading across his face. ‘Our friend Rinner has excelled himself, Friedrich,’ he murmured to Stampfer. He looked up. ‘Herr von Hessert, please give our warmest greetings and our congratulations to Rinner, on your return.’
‘Happy to,’ Rudi said, appreciating the sobering effects of the chamomile tea, while at the same time wishing he could have had some champagne.
‘What did you make of Rinner’s report?’ Stampfer asked him, his eyes boring at Rudi.
They all looked at him, wide-eyed with interest at his reaction. Rudi had meant to read it on the train, but had fallen asleep. ‘Very good,’ he said.
‘Let us quickly show you what we have for you, to take back to what used to be Germany,’ said Wels.
Mrs Lukacskova appeared on cue, carrying a plastic workers’ suitcase. As she put it down next to Rudi, the contrast between the case and Rudi’s expensive clothes was obvious to everybody. Mrs Lukacskova looked questioningly at Wels.
‘You won’t be carrying the case for long,’ Wels said. ‘When you travel back tomorrow, you will give it to a contact. We’ll give you the details later.’ His manner was becoming brusque, because of the mistake with the suitcase.
Stampfer, however, was still smiling. ‘Soon, we will be producing a newspaper here,’ he told Rudi. ‘It will be called Neue Vorwärts. As the name implies, it will carry on where our old newspaper, Vorwärts, left off.’ Stampfer beamed proudly; the newspaper clearly very much his baby. ‘We’re not quite ready yet. Perhaps you will come and visit us again, Herr von Hessert?’
Rudi smiled warmly at Stampfer. These brave old boys. They had been hounded out of their homes and their country. Yet here they were, burning with enthusiasm, making plans, for all the world as if they were students running some club or society back in Munich – the Chess Club, say, or the Chamber Music Society. Rudi couldn’t give a damn about politics, Social Democrat or any other flavour, but he could cheerfully have hugged the lot of them.
‘Yes, Herr Stampfer,’ he said. ‘If I can be of service, I will be most happy to come here again.’
Stampfer beamed. So did Wels. He unlocked the workers’ case and pulled out sample leaflets. Rudi looked at one. Wels was certainly right to be proud of it. It was well-produced and in a small format, so it could be smuggled into the Reich more easily. The heading wrung a smile from him. It was ‘Germany Awaken’ – the Social Democrats had pinched the Nazi slogan.
Rudi read on:
Wilhelm II once said, there is only one ruler in the kingdom, and that is me. And the whole world laughed. Now Adolf Hitler says there is only one ruler in the kingdom, and that is me. And nobody laughs any more. Adolf Hider now possesses a power which no German king, or even a Russian czar, has ever possessed. Germany is now the most complete despotism in the world.
‘Bravo!’ Rudi said.
‘Your train leaves at 8.55 tomorrow morning, Herr von Hessert,’ Ollenhauer chipped in. His buttoned-up jacket was gaping, as it stretched tight over his tummy. He looked less at ease than the others. ‘When you board, please walk through until you find the Mitropa restaurant car. An attendant in the car will be on the lookout for the case. He will approach you when he sees it. Give the case to him. He will keep it safe, and return it to you, when you reach Munich Hauptbahnhof.’
Rudi nodded. ‘Sounds pretty straightforward to me, Herr Ollenhauer.’
‘As you leave the platform,’ Wels took over. ‘Rinner will meet you. He will relieve you of the case. You won’t have it for long. No, no.’
‘Say hello to Munich for me,’ Stampfer said, without a trace of self-pity.
Rudi nodded again. Then came the invitation he had been dreading.
‘My wife, Toni, and I will be delighted to welcome you to our necessarily modest home this evening, Herr von Hessert,’ Wels announced. ‘Toni has killed the fatted calf, so please let nothing pass your lips from now until then. The others have promised to put in an appearance ...’ He smiled at Stampfer, who smiled back. They were all beaming. ‘I hope it is not ungallant of me to reveal that one of our young helpers, Martina, has been preparing herself for this evening for some time ...’ All the Social Democrats laughed. ‘In fact,’ Wels added, with heavy roguishness, ‘when she finally saw you, I believe preparations intensified.’
‘Enough!’ Stampfer laughed. ‘That really is ungallant, Otto!’
Rudi took a deep breath, hating himself. ‘I would love to, normally,’ he said firmly. ‘But I’m afraid I have taken a chill, from draughts on the train. I really must rest in the hotel this evening. These things can pass to the lungs, you know.’
There was a silence. Then Wels said. ‘Never mind. Never mind. That is your final decision, is it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Yes. Well, never mind.’ Wels nodded to himself. ‘We are truly grateful, Herr von Hessert. More than words can say.’
‘Herr Wels, let me tell you this,’ Rudi said, looking the frail figure in the eye, ‘I hate Adolf Hitler with every fibre of my being. It is I who should thank you, for giving me this opportunity.’
To Rudi’s mortification, this brought another round of applause, and some knuckle-banging on the desks, led by Wels. One of the old boys hugged him, bending over him awkwardly, smelling of old man. Somebody else shook his hand. Stampfer was close to tears. Even Ollenhauer looked moved.
*
That evening, as the Social Democrats began their festivities at Wels’ flat without him, Rudi took a taxi to an address he had been given before he left. It turned out to be a converted warehouse in a dock area, right on the Voltava.
He paid at the door and went in. Raucous jazz music boomed out, played by a quintet of negroes on a makeshift stage. Couples were dancing on the small dance floor, or kissing in corners – some wore dresses and make-up, some evening clothes, some workers’ overalls. There was an MC in a smoking jacket, just preparing to make an announcement. Rudi made his way to the bar. A blond came up to him. He said something in Czech.
‘You speak German?’ Rudi said.
‘Sure. You new here, darling?’
Rudi gave him the once-over. He was a worker; smelled of oil. But not bad – not bad at all. ‘You got a place we can go?’
‘Sure. You want to tell me your name?’
‘Not particularly.’
Chapter Four
There was, Inspector Forster reflected sourly, nothing English about the Englischer Garten. His jaundiced eye took in the steep slopes of unkempt parkland; his face falling into the sneer which was all that was left of his smile these days. And he doubted there was anything Chinese about the Chinese Tower. His eye traversed six tapering tiers of pagoda-shaped roofing. But at least they had put a beer garden at the foot of it – a decent authentically German beer garden.
Forster sipped his beer, shutting out the cries of the children at the tables around him. He turned his face into the wind as it whistled across the open parkland, ruffling the overlong grass. This was one of Hitler’s favourite views; from the Chinese Tower looking toward the Monoptero
s. He had ordered the trees blocking the sweep of the view to be chopped down.
Forster thought back to his early view of the Nazis. He had seen von Epp in the flesh, in the spring of 1928. He had revisited the family farm in Memmingen, on holiday. With his parents and sisters, all in their Sunday best, he had gone along to an open-air election rally addressed by the Count. There must have been three thousand people there – a festive atmosphere. Before the meeting began, a stunt pilot from Munich looped the loop, then dropped Nazi leaflets from the air, to the amused delight of the crowd.
Von Epp was a good speaker. He had a microphone – you could hear him perfectly even in the far corners of the field. The neighbours Forster had grown up with, smallholders and shopkeepers, loved it, cheering and clapping him. Von Epp said he was the son of a painter. He had joined the Nazis because he was attracted to their idea of the Racial Community, a homogeneous group of racially pure people. It would restore national unity, destroyed by class hatred and class struggle.
Also, the Nazis represented the fighting spirit of the German front, applied to politics. That got a roar of delight. The Nazis had the firmest will, he said, the greatest awareness of the danger Germany faced. And their rough elements were understandable because they had youthfulness.
He received an ovation at the end. Ursula, the younger of the Forster sisters, threw May flowers up to him. Forster cheered with all the others. After the von Epp rally, he began to take the Nazis seriously. And now? Now he was not so sure.
The sun went in, dipping behind the Chinese Tower. Elsperger was late. Forster’s sour mood curdled further. SS-Captain Anton Elsperger appeared just as Forster tilted his head back to drain the last quarter of his beer. He was hurrying from the direction of the Monopteros – a temple-building which wasn’t Greek, in the same way the Chinese Tower wasn’t Chinese, and the whole park wasn’t English. He was in uniform. Forster had made it clear that he should come in civvies.