The Plum Tree

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  When Christine and her mother reached Herr Weiler’s root cellar in the side of the hill, a few storeowners were already inside, setting up benches and placing mattresses over the potato bins.

  “Grüss Gott, Frau Bölz and Christine,” Herr Weiler said in a loud voice. He was old and rotund, with a red face that was wide and flat. But he was always in good spirits, and setting up a bomb shelter was no exception. “You and your family are welcome here! There’s plenty of room! We think we can squeeze in quite a number of people, and no one should hide in their house cellars alone. At times like this, we need each other!”

  “Danke, Herr Weiler,” Mutti said, wringing her hands.

  Christine didn’t hear the rest of their exchange. Instead, she was looking toward the back of the shelter, at a piece of cloth that looked like it was starting to slip from its hiding place behind the last potato bin. Her eyes watered, staring at the dusty, wrinkled corner of her and Isaac’s red-and-white tablecloth.

  CHAPTER 10

  At dusk that evening, four armed SS yelled instructions from the road in front of Christine’s house. More soldiers shouted in the next street over. Bullhorns caused their voices to overlap and echo along the narrow avenues and stone houses, making their terse instructions hard to understand.

  “Achtung, citizens!” they barked. “Come out of your houses! It is verboten to remain in your rooms! You must attend the rally in the town square at precisely eight o’clock.”

  At seven-fifty, Christine and her family held each other’s hands and followed their fellow villagers into the town square, everyone looking around, wondering what they were about to see. When they arrived, shouting soldiers herded the throng of old people, women, and children into place behind the metal barriers until the entire populace stood shoulder to shoulder, filling every available space. Maria hooked arms with Oma and Opa, and Mutti picked up Karl, holding him on one hip. Christine lifted Heinrich onto her back, her arms hooked beneath his knees, piggyback style. They struggled to stay together, shoved and jostled by hundreds of confused people who couldn’t hear each other calling out to one another above the pounding of jackboots, drums, and military parade music. A sea of handheld torches cast flickering light on the gathering, while orange flames from two bonfires licked the sky, lighting up the red-and-white Nazi banners that covered the buildings behind the stage.

  Once they’d moved forward as far as they could, Christine’s racing heart did double-time as she read the pamphlet they’d each been handed when they entered the square. The black and yellow cover said: Wenn du dieses Zeichen siehst, “When you see this symbol,” above the yellow Star of David. Inside, page after page explained that the Jews had unleashed war on the German people and that the Wehrmacht would ensure that world Jewry’s terrible plan would never become reality. It went on to explain that Jewry was an organized criminality, and that the Jewish danger would only be eliminated when Jewry throughout the world had ceased to exist.

  “What is it?” Heinrich said in her ear.

  “It’s nothing,” Christine said. It’s a book full of lies, she thought. Nothing but Nazi lies.

  Her mother had the pamphlet folded in her hand, but she hadn’t looked at it yet, and Maria held hers, along with Oma’s and Opa’s, curled in her fist. Christine glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then twisted the hateful paper in her hands and let it fall to the ground, where she crushed it beneath her heel. She reached for her mother’s, but her hand froze when the music stopped, as if someone had seen what she’d done. She looked around, waiting for one of the soldiers to push his way through the crowd and take her away. But nothing happened. Then, a single toll from a heavy bell rang through the air.

  The throng stood in silence, listening to the massive bells of St. Michael’s chime the hour of eight o’clock, each tone echoing across the crowded square. After the last toll sounded, a military band began playing the “Horst-Wessel-Lied,” trumpets blaring, a chorus of men’s voices singing in strong, proud baritones. Thousands of black-helmeted soldiers carrying silver-tipped guns and Nazi flags goose-stepped into the plaza, making the cobblestones throb beneath Christine’s feet, like the hard thump-thump-thump of the planet’s pulse. In perfect precision, they lined up in front of the podium, their chins held high, their arms raised in salute. The tops of their helmets were at the same height, like row after row of identical tin soldiers. Christine wondered if they were a special unit, perfectly proportioned for an impressive display.

  Another dozen soldiers walked along the roped-off aisles between the crowds, arms held high in salute, making sure everyone in the audience did the same. Christine clenched her jaw and raised her arm. There was a commotion at the end of her line, and a woman screamed. Christine saw a soldier grab a man by the collar and drag him out of the crowd, a female hand clawing at his sleeve. She couldn’t be sure, but the dainty halo of gray braids on the woman’s head reminded her of poor, heartbroken Frau Schmidt from the café.

  After the last note of the Nazi anthem tapered off, four officers and another dozen soldiers in jodhpurs and high boots walked onto the platform. The clusters of medals on the officers’ chests reflected the flames of the bonfires, giving the illusion of thumping, bleeding hearts. They turned on their heels and raised their arms in salute, and then, a squat, hunched figure with a dark mustache walked onto center stage.

  “Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!” the throng shouted. The skin on Christine’s arms turned to gooseflesh. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. The man at the podium was Hitler. The crowd roared in a distorted drone that rose and fell like the howl of the wind in a wild storm. Hitler looked shorter than she’d imagined, and even from here, she could see his scowling mouth. The soldiers in the aisles clapped and shouted, encouraging everyone to follow along, their eyes scanning the masses for anyone who didn’t comply. As they made their way along the edge of the crowd, a sea of arms lowered and people applauded, standing on their tiptoes and craning their necks to get a better view of the Führer. Christine thought she heard jeers among the applause and hurrahs. Up on stage, Hitler lowered his head and put his fist over the center of his chest. Then, he stood, motionless, waiting for the crowd to quiet. Only when there was complete silence did he look up and begin to speak.

  “My German fellow countrymen and women, my comrades! Now the three great Have-Nots are united, and now we shall see who gains in this struggle, those who have nothing to lose, but everything to gain, or those who have everything to lose and nothing to gain. For what does England want to gain? What does America want to gain?” Hitler shook his fist in the air. “They have so much that they do not know what to do with what they have. We have never done anything to England or France. We have never done anything to America!” Hitler swung his arm over the people in the square. “Nevertheless now there is the declaration of war. Now you must, out of my whole history, understand me. I once said something that foreign countries did not understand. I said: If the war is inevitable, then I should rather be the one to conduct it, not because I thirst after this fame, on the contrary, I renounce that fame, which is in my eyes no fame at all. My fame, if providence preserves my life, will consist in works of peace, which I still intend to create. But I think that if destiny has already disposed that I can do what must be done according to the inscrutable will of fate, then I can at least just ask providence to entrust to me the burden of this war, to load it on me. I will bear it!” he shouted, pounding his fist on his chest.

  Christine had never been to the opera, but she imagined that this was how the tragedies would be played out. She looked around to examine the faces of those around her, wondering if anyone else could see Hitler’s malevolent soul coming through in his authoritarian words and exaggerated movements. Red and black shadows danced over the sea of upturned faces, making facial features indistinguishable. She had the unsettling image of a horde of lost souls standing at the gates of hell. Hitler went on.

  “I will shrink from no responsibil
ity. In every hour I will take this burden upon me. I will bear every duty, just as I have always borne them. I have the greatest authority among the populace. The people know me. They know that I had endless plans in those years before the war. They see everywhere the signs of works begun, and sometimes also the documents of completion. I know that the German people trust me. I am happy to know it. But the German people may be persuaded also of one thing, that the year 1918, as long as I live, will never return!” He looked toward the sky, then stood back from the podium and bowed his head, his gesturing hand held captive beneath his arm, as he listened to the crowd roar. Then he puffed out his chest and stepped forward, his fist above his head. “When the English and Americans attack our cities, we will raze their cities to the ground. When they drop three thousand kilograms of bombs, we will, in one raid, drop three hundred thousand! Now you, the citizens of Hessental, are being called up for service. . . .”

  Maria stared at Christine with wide eyes, and Heinrich’s arms stiffened around Christine’s neck. His legs clenched around her waist. She wished she could say something to comfort them, to tell them they didn’t need to worry about bombs, but reassuring words escaped her. Three thousand kilograms of bombs? In one raid? She thought of the wooden door on the root cellar, the few yards of tree-rooted earth between the top of the shelter and the open sky. How will we ever survive? She gripped Heinrich’s legs, suddenly light-headed and worried she might drop him.

  On stage, Hitler had changed the subject. “At every decision you make,” he said, “think, how would the Führer decide? Is this compatible with the National Socialist conscience of the German people? The Jewish youth waits for hours on end, spying on the unsuspicious German girl he plans to seduce. He wants to contaminate her blood and remove her from the bosom of her own people. The Jews hate the white race and want to lower its cultural level, so the Jew might dominate. Was there any filth or crime without one Jew involved in it? None but members of the nation shall be citizens of the state. None but those of German blood may be members of the nation. Thus the home front need not be warned, and the prayer of this priest of the devil, the wish that Europe may be punished with Bolshevism, will not be fulfilled, but rather that our prayer may be fulfilled. Lord God, give us the strength that we may retain our liberty for our children and our children’s children, not only for ourselves but also for the other peoples of Europe, for this is a war which we all wage, this time, not for our German people alone. It is a war for all of Europe and with it, in the long run, for all of mankind.”

  Christine felt her mother’s trembling hand slip into her own. She turned to look at her. Mutti’s eyes were glassy.

  “Can we go home now?” Karl said. “I don’t like it here.”

  Someone tapped Christine on the shoulder. At first, she ignored it, thinking it was Heinrich. But then, a strong hand gripped her arm, and she turned. The SS soldier towered above her, his face void of emotion. A rush of panic plowed through her chest. She glanced back at her mother, who was staring back at her, wide eyes in a pale face.

  “Fräulein?” the soldier said to Christine. “You are to come with me.”

  “Why?” she said, trying to read the soldier’s eyes beneath the dark shadow of his helmet. “What did I do?” Heinrich released his grip around her neck and slid down her back. Her mother gripped her arm with such force that she almost cried out.

  “You’ve been chosen for a special task,” he said. “You’ll be reunited with your family as soon as you’re finished.”

  Christine looked past him, down the line of spellbound people. Two more soldiers stood with a group of young women in the open aisle, most in Bund Deutscher Mädel uniforms, all of them blond.

  “But I . . .” Christine started.

  “It’s best to do as you’re told,” the soldier said. “Follow me.”

  Mutti’s hand fell away as Christine followed the black uniform through the crowd, the villagers stepping back to make room, their staring eyes filled with curiosity and pity. In the aisle, she recognized two girls from Maria’s school days, one from a farm on the edge of the village, another she’d seen at the train station picking up uniforms. The soldiers led the girls along the aisles toward the wall of military lined up in front of the stage.

  “What’s going on? Why did they choose us?” Christine asked the girl in front of her.

  “Don’t you know?” the girl said, her voice filled with excitement. “Look at us. We’re perfect examples of the Aryan race!”

  A soldier appeared beside them. “No talking!”

  On their way to the stage, Christine saw a flash of red hair on a girl standing on the other side of the rope. As she drew closer, the redhead turned, and Christine had a clear view of her face. It was Kate, smiling and waving a miniature flag. When Kate noticed the group of girls being led toward the Führer, her eyebrows lowered, and her face went dark. She crossed her arms and looked every girl up and down, as if to see why they had been selected instead of her. When she saw Christine, her face snapped forward, but not before Christine saw her mouth drop open.

  The soldiers lined the girls up in front of the stage, instructing them to stand up straight and smile, feet together and chin up. Christine was last in the row. Behind them, Hitler made another announcement.

  “The Aryan girls you see before me are pure treasures of the German state. You must keep them safe from the criminals looking to steal their German purity. They are the future mothers of the master race!”

  The throng applauded, and the soldiers snapped to attention and shouted, “Heil Hitler!” When the band started to play another military march, Hitler made his way down the stairs on the side of the stage, waving and smiling to his adoring crowd. The four decorated officers followed him. Starting on the other end of the line, Hitler shook each girl’s hand and touched her cheek. Christine’s pulse thumped in her neck, the flames of the bonfires so close it felt like they were singeing the back of her head. She searched the crowd for her family, but it was no use. From here, it was impossible to recognize a face among the masses.

  Now, Hitler was only three feet away. Christine couldn’t help staring at his pasty cheeks and wattle neck, wiggling like a bowl of clotted cream when he shook hands. His thin-lipped mouth reminded her of rolled herring as he made his way down the line, mumbling a repeated phrase to every girl. He looked nothing like he did on posters, where he had smooth skin and a broad chin. In every picture or photograph she’d ever seen, he looked six foot tall. But in person, he was the same height as the girls, with a narrow chest and rounded shoulders.

  Christine’s mouth went dry when Hitler moved in front of her and offered his hand. For a split second, she couldn’t move. His blue eyes locked with hers. She noticed that one of them was bigger than the other, as if the left half of his brain were bulging in its socket, pushing his eyeball out past its lid. His lip twitched, his glued-on smile faltering when she didn’t respond. Christine noticed one of the officers moving toward her, hands out, ready to whisk her away for her crime. Finally, she remembered what to do, and her arm shot out. Hitler grabbed her hand, his warm palm soggy against her skin. A nauseating jolt leapt though her body, and it was all she could do not to yank her hand away. When he reached up to touch her cheek, she tried not to flinch.

  “You are the essence of the German people,” he said, his sour breath filling her nostrils, like someone had opened a bag of rotten potatoes at her feet. “I want to personally extend an invitation to you to join our Lebensborn program. The Third Reich will spare no expense to help German girls fulfill their duty to expand the master race, along with the fine men of our SS. Make your fatherland proud. We fight this war for you. And we will win, of that you can be sure.”

  At first, Christine wanted nothing more than for Hitler to let go of her hand, but then she gripped his tighter, fighting the urge to yank him closer so she could spit into his face. He gazed at her, his eyes looking but not seeing, and finished his rehearsed greeting. When she refuse
d to let go, his muddy eyes cleared. He looked straight at her. You’ve ruined millions of people’s lives, she thought, staring at him. And I hope you pay. There’s a place for murderers. It’s called hell. Hitler’s shoulders went back, and his chin lifted, as if he’d heard her thoughts. A small sound escaped his lips, like the grunt of a burrowing animal. Then he laughed, shaking her hand with more energy.

  “I appreciate your admiration, Fräulein,” he said. “But I must be on my way. I’m an important man, you know.” He chuckled again and looked at the officer beside him, who laughed with him.

  Christine let go of Hitler’s hand and lowered her eyes. Behind him, the multitudes cheered. A black Mercedes-Benz convertible decorated with Nazi flags pulled up, and the driver got out and opened the door. Hitler smiled at the row of girls, then turned and climbed into the car. He stood in the passenger seat, his arm held high above the roaring crowd. After the car moved out of the square and disappeared down a narrow side street, an officer gestured that the girls were free to go. Christine hurried down the aisle to look for her family. The military band kept playing as the soldiers marched out of the square and the crowd dispersed. Christine saw Oma, Opa, Mutti, and Maria hurrying toward her, Karl and Heinrich in tow.

  “Are you all right?” Mutti said.

  “I’m fine,” Christine said. “I just want to go home.”

  Maria slipped her arm through Christine’s, and Karl reached for her right hand. She flinched and drew away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, and kept walking.

  Later, after everyone had gone to bed, Christine snuck down to the kitchen in her nightgown, wearing a wool sweater and a thick pair of socks. After the rally, a storm had blown in, making it feel like winter was starting all over again. Howling gusts rattled the shutters, and rain tapped against the windowpanes like icy fingernails. Christine lit a candle and set it near the sink, then went to the woodstove and felt the teakettle. It was still warm, but not warm enough. She opened the door to the oven and threw in another log, hoping to revive the dying fire, then rummaged in the cupboard for a stiff brush and bar of lye soap. After she found what she was looking for, she filled the sink with a few inches of water, then paced the room, waiting.