While the Music Played

by Nathaniel Lande

  I crouched next to him. “What happened to you?”

  Before Andrej could answer, he trembled and began dripping with sweat. “Where’s Ava?” he asked.

  “She went into the village. Don’t worry, she’ll be back soon. Had to get some things.”

  “How long will she be?”

  I took a cold towel and wiped the soldier’s face. My hand shook slightly, and my mind was racing.

  He looked briefly uncertain and then let out one barely audible word: “Resistance.”

  “What you’re doing is serious, I’m sure of that … and secret.”

  Just by being there I was complicit in whatever it was. Some instinct told me that I had to stay, I had to tend to this man, and he was Ava’s brother, so what alternative was there than to remain with him and help in whatever way I could? There was no going back. And I had to know what happened to him.

  His leg was in a makeshift splint. And it was badly broken causing him excruciating pain. I mopped his brow and he responded to the gesture with a pained smile.

  “We got him,” he said. “We killed the son of a bitch.”

  His words stopped me cold. What was he saying?

  Over the next few days, he slipped in and out of consciousness, but by the fourth morning, a healthier color had returned to Andrej’s face. Ava began to breathe a bit easier.

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. Surely, you want your bed back?”

  Andrej was propped up reading a book.

  I smiled. “You need it more than me; I’m fine on the sofa. But now, can you tell me what happened to you?”

  “I was part of the Resistance, Max. We assassinated a Nazi general.”

  “What?”

  “I can only tell you what took place during the mission.”

  I knew that I was now moving ever more decisively in the direction I had chosen for myself, no longer just an observer—a journalist, but something different, something more active. “Tell me as much as you can.”

  “I know I can trust you. Ava tells me you’re a good man. Someone should know what happened—someone must tell the story. Outside Wannsee, a small town near Berlin, there’s a villa where the Germans planned the final solution, a plan to eliminate the entire Jewish population in Europe. It was one man, General Heydrich, who directed the meeting.”

  The world briefly stopped and my mind was immediately racing in so many directions at once.

  “I’ll tell you all I know. I committed the file to memory; it’s part of my training. The general was the chief executor of a plan that he had nurtured for years, one that had come to be accepted by the Nazi leadership to solve the Jewish question.”

  The Jewish question? Now someone had told me straight out.

  “A way to get rid of all Jews. Even ones who are only part Jewish. Eliminate every one of them from all of Europe. The final solution.”

  My head was spinning and I fought my body’s urge to run, to throw up. I had to focus, I had to think clearly and understand everything. “How do you know this?”

  “I was part of a group that planned the assassination and I trained in London for an undercover operation known as Anthropoid—just a part of the Pink Tulip plan.”

  Pink Tulip? That was what the PT abbreviation stood for in my messages to Raggle. This was overwhelming. At that moment I knew that I was already involved in all of this.

  “So, you assassinated General Heydrich? You see … I know him. I know who he is.”

  “I’ve told you too much.”

  “No, please. Tell me more. You have nothing to worry about from me. I promise.”

  “We had an inside operative, a friend of Heydrich who arranged to collect paintings. They were hidden away in the countryside. The paintings had been requisitioned for the German leadership, especially for General Hermann Göring, Hitler’s vice-chancellor. He is a serious collector of art. All of this was planned by intelligence in London. On the way, we blew up the bastard’s car. That was our final solution.”

  I could hardly say anything. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Heydrich’s death. We had spoken in a friendly way about our shared love of music. I couldn’t quite make sense of it all. He had been murdered in cold blood. But he had been part of something so terrible.

  Andrej continued, as if relieved to share the whole story: “He had a specific route, and an open car, so we tossed a grenade as he passed. Except for me getting wounded, it went off exactly as planned. But there was a German captain, Viktor something, who ran over and tried to help him. I suppose he thought that he was worth saving.”

  I felt my heart skip a beat, but I gathered myself and tried to sound calm: “Viktor? Are you sure that was his name?”

  “The general called out to him, ‘Viktor, help me.’ The captain held Heydrich in his arms as he died.”

  Viktor, help me!

  I was shocked at how directly and calmly I spoke. But it was absolutely clear to me. I didn’t hesitate because I knew that what I was saying was honest, was true: “I appreciate everything you’ve told me. Andrej, you’re a hero.”

  Then Andrej just vanished. That evening after dinner, the Brankas listened to a radio that was forbidden inside the camp and was tuned to Radio Prague, which confirmed that some days earlier, Czech Resistance fighters had carried out a top priority mission to kill Reinhard Heydrich during his commute in his open-top Mercedes. I was struck by the macabre thought that it was the same Mercedes that had brought me to Terezín. The announcer reported that the men, who had tossed hand grenades, mortally wounding Heydrich and his chauffeur, hid in a nearby church. Three were killed in the priory after a gun battle with the SS. One escaped.

  Ava and Fritz exchanged worried glances. I knew now and forever which side I was on, but found myself left with a burning question, Whose side is Poppy on?

  I sat in the Brankas’ kitchen with Ava, Fritz, and Freidle, listening to the report of Heydrich’s funeral on a beige German Bakelite radio with a standing slim antenna. Freidle surprised us with an outburst. “Heydrich’s death will be avenged! The SS will take retribution in the name of the Reichsprotektor.”

  I was sure to keep my gaze fixed on the table, to avoid making eye contact with Ava or Fritz. I was suddenly and urgently aware how just one tiny slip could change everything forever.

  The announcer’s voice was suitably grave, and I leaned closer to the radio so that I didn’t miss a word.

  “Today, June 4, 1942, Heydrich’s body has come home to Berlin for the last time. It is a silent and somber occasion, honoring our great general. A hero has fallen. Flowers and wreaths cover the Chancellery. Drums roll in a military ceremony parading through the streets of the city. Thousands weep. The Führer and Reichsmarschall Göring pay their respects to his wife, Lina, with their young sons and daughters standing by her side.”

  The general I met at the opera, the man who was friends with my father, was dead. But I had come to understand a simple fact: It was clear to me that the man who loved music and the Reichsprotektor were two very different people. Once again, I was struggling to comprehend Poppy’s position and his loyalty to Heydrich.

  TRANSPORTS!

  I shared my worries with David after sneaking over to visit him at the barracks. It was close to midnight, and I had taken great care not to be seen. David was looking thinner now, as was Sophie. Thanks to the Brankas’ generosity, at any opportunity, I smuggled some extra food to them. I could only hurt thinking how it must feel to be hungry. They never complained—their rations were never nearly enough, nor the snacks when we were together at the Brankas’. Every day, I felt the darkness and the hunger closing in on them. It was as if they were slowly disappearing, slowly receding from me like an outgoing tide.

  “Where have you been, Max, under a rock?” David asked. “We’re all in danger. The Nazis will make us pay for Hey
drich’s death.”

  “David, why didn’t you spell it out for me when I first got here? Is it because I’m German and not Jewish?”

  “I tried to, Max,” David said desperately. “It’s difficult being Jewish, because we don’t have all the answers. That’s part of the design. If we had the answers, we wouldn’t be philosophers or poets. We think we understand God. We understand nothing. What I do understand, Max, is that your father is a captain in the German army. He was a close friend of Heydrich’s. He’s working for Hitler, for God’s sake! Will your beloved Poppy have me killed?”

  Stunned, I leaned over to David and whispered, “Don’t you ever say that about Poppy. He saved your parents from certain death. He promised to take care of you. He would gladly die before he saw anything happen to you.”

  “Are you really so sure, Max? Are you? I’m a Jew. Do you know what that means now? It means we’re enemies of the German state—every one of us. How can you be sure of your father anymore?”

  “Because I am a part of him with everything I am.”

  Was I shouting? David just looked at me in sadness and anger.

  Even as I was arguing with David, I struggled with my own conflicted feelings. I had to be right about Poppy—I couldn’t bear the alternative. But there was so much I didn’t know, didn’t understand. As I gathered my thoughts, we were interrupted by yelling outside. We peeked through the window and saw people lined up in the shadows with backpacks, tool kits, and canteens. Rows of people were moving out of the gate, their pathway lined with torches stuck in the ground. SS men loomed between the torches. Desperate voices echoed throughout the streets long after they were out of sight.

  There was a man standing in the background, wearing a black overcoat, taking notes, watching, I whispered, “There he is!”

  “Who?”

  “The man in the black overcoat.”

  “He’s the gestapo, Max,” David hissed.

  “What does he do?”

  “He keeps an account.”

  Was he the same man I had seen back in Prague? At last I realized it made no difference.

  “Is he a reporter? One of us?”

  “No. No, Max, he’s one of them.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “His name isn’t important. They may as well have no names.”

  “Does he kill people?”

  “He causes misery and suffering. The SS does his dirty work.”

  “How?”

  “Transports. Labor camps, mass killings. That’s it, Max. Sophie, Hans, me … there’s no telling who’s next.”

  Transports.

  “Poppy will keep us safe, don’t worry.”

  I struggled to believe this myself. A part of me no longer did.

  “Forget it. The clock is ticking, Max.”

  David’s voice was bitter.

  “I have to tell Freidle.”

  “Don’t you think Freidle knows? What do you think this place is, Max? I don’t want to end up next in that line. We can’t report a damn thing. Does anyone know what’s happening here? Is the same happening all over?” The truth of his words practically stopped my breath. The Nazi machine was a vast spider’s web, entangling all of us. There was nothing we could do to stop what was happening in front of our eyes.

  Maybe there was at least one thing I could do. I had to get word to Sam Raggle.

  For Sunshine:

  People are being taken away, disappearing in transports to God knows where. Conditions here are now even worse, even more overcrowded. There is not enough food and not enough medicine. People are dying, starving. We won’t all make it. I wonder if any of us will now. The man in the black overcoat is everywhere. It’s dark and frightening and you must help us. Please tell the world.

  PT

  For months after Heydrich’s assassination, the SS swarmed the camp by night like fireflies. Winter came again, a new year bloomed, and they continued to take people in alarming numbers. I was determined to find out exactly what was going on and, seeing a light burning late one evening, I went across to Freidle’s office.

  “Where are they going?”

  He shuffled some papers on his desk, then impatiently looked up at me as if my questions were an inconvenience. “Who, Max?”

  “All of the people who leave by train … the transports.”

  “Work camps to the east, Max. There’s a monthly allotment that has to be met, ordered by the SS. Over four million of our troops have invaded the Soviet Union. There’s a war being waged right across Europe. Workers are needed in the east. It’s a simple matter of logistics, Max, and nothing for you to worry about. Nothing but bureaucracy, really, shifting the workforce to where it’s urgently needed to support the cause in which we all believe.”

  Not all of us.

  The general scraped his chair forward, landing with a thud, then delicately tapped his fingers. Freidle spoke with assurance. And what was it all about? Was it really something relatively innocent? Or was it just that I was desperate for every single verified fact? I had seen frightened newcomers marching to the administration building to be deloused. Maybe Terezín had been hell all along, and I just hadn’t realized it. I had been selective. I felt like kicking myself. Was I seeing only what I wanted to see? I heard David’s words about mass killings ringing in my head.

  Freidle continued, “It’s not easy, Max. I’m losing control since General Heydrich was assassinated. I’m not getting the supplies I need, and we’re too crowded. I promise you, Max, I’m doing the best I can. We must keep morale high. Only the strong survive. Survival is a choice.”

  “Do we really get to choose? And does Poppy know about all this?”

  The commandant stared at me. “You’re a good German, Max. Your father is a good man. Jews are enemies of the Third Reich. It doesn’t matter where they are being sent. It doesn’t matter if they ever come back. In fact, better if they don’t. They are our enemies.”

  There it was, as clear as daylight. I’d been willing Freidle to be different. But that was the boy I had been, the child I could no longer be. Here was the truth, clear and unmistakable. I couldn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t remain silent: “Really? Can that be true? How could they be enemies?”

  “Max, be sensible. See things as they are. Reassure yourself with the fact that you aren’t included. You’re not a Jew. Forget about them, they have nothing to do with you.”

  Heydrich and now Freidle? The goodness that I had seen in them, the kindness, the sophistication, it was all a big lie that I had told myself over and over again. Now I had to be really clear about the questions that were in front of me. What if the deep whispers really were true? What if the transports really were a one-way trip for Jews? What could I do? What could I accomplish? I had to think of Sophie and David and Hans. I had to find a way to protect my friends, to protect the people I deeply loved. That was my resolution, one I would never change.

  I gave a nod and left the office.

  At night, the whole atmosphere of the camp was quiet. No voices, no clatter, no wailing siren, no tinny announcements from loudspeakers, no footfalls on the cobblestone streets. I was on my way to Ava’s, when someone jerked my collar, pulling me off my feet.

  I was slammed downward, my knees crushed against the cold ground. The air was pushed from my lungs. A man glared down at me, the man in the long black overcoat. Pulling me up, he dragged me behind a tree and thrust his finger into my chest. “I’ve got my eye on you, Mueller. I’m watching.”

  I tried to catch my breath, fighting the spreading panic. “What do you want?”

  “Your Jewish friends.”

  “Do you know who my father is?”

  “You little bastard, you think you have special privileges because you’re German and because of your father? People like you are undermining our efforts—you and the Jews. We know
what you’re doing. We know about the green box.”

  “Green box?”

  “The milkman has been arrested. We have a home for spies.”

  The Little Fortress!

  “You don’t have any proof. Who I am and what I do is none of your business.”

  “It is my business. And here’s proof.”

  He slapped me across the face, hard.

  “Don’t hit me again.”

  Then with a strength I never knew I had, I pushed him away, and ran as hard and as far away as I could but I couldn’t run fast enough. He caught up with me and threw me to the ground, kicking me again and again. Then without saying a word he turned and walked away.

  I made my way to Ava’s. Falling in the front door, I limped up the stairs. She was on the top landing. She frowned and touched my bruised cheek. “Max, what’s wrong? Who hit you?”

  “Some Gestapo monster.”

  Ava’s lips tightened.

  “He told me to stay away from my Jewish friends, he said that I was a collaborator. I wanted to fight back and kick him as hard as I could.”

  Ava’s face turned white.

  “A collaborator? What does he know?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry. It’s just my friends that he’s worried about, the company I keep.”

  “Be careful, Max,” she said, applying ice to my face. “I’m glad you ran away. It showed much more courage. You could be shot if you had not.”

  “I have to do something. I don’t know what, but something … for my friends. Surely you understand this better than anyone, Ava. I was trying to get information out, but that’s not possible anymore. There must be a way to make a difference.”

  Poppy, Sam Raggle.

  “I have understanding of our secrets, Max, but be careful. They can do anything they want. Just watch with awareness. It’s all you can do.”

  A shadow followed me, and it wasn’t my own. Before, I had felt a threat hanging over my world—a sense that danger was lurking just out of my line of vision. It was present but I couldn’t quite make out what it was—a menace that I couldn’t quite describe, something nameless and shapeless. Now it was coming ever more sharply into focus and I was beginning to know precisely what I was afraid of.