The Road to Liberation: Trials and Triumphs of WWII

by Marion Kummerow

  “How are you?” he asked. “This is Gustav. We’re swimmates.”

  Gustav had bleached-blond eyelashes, and he was looking at Magda with an intent amusement. “I think,” he said, “your left cheek is…sunburned?”

  Magda walked away. Walter called after her. The boys caught up, one on either side.

  “Where are you going?” Walter asked.

  She pointed to the ice cream seller.

  “Gustav doesn’t come from the best of families.” He punched Gustav’s arm. They whispered behind her as she took her place in line for the ice cream.

  “Let me buy you the ice cream,” Gustav said.

  Walter stepped up close to her. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “I heard,” she said, “that you’re doing a lot of swim training…in Ploskovice.” She could not bring herself to say, “at the Napola.” She still could not believe he was attending the Nazi elite school.

  “You heard?” Walter asked. “Really?”

  “Aleš said so.”

  “Aleš. Yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder. She knew it. Walter had seen them. “My trainer is talking about the Olympics.”

  “Hey.” Gustav shoved in. “Why don’t you invite your girlfriend to the dance tonight?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Workers were transporting wood planks across the bridge to the small island where the summerhouse was.

  Before Walter could say anything, Magda shook her head. “I’ve got to get back to Eliška this afternoon.”

  “But Eliška goes to bed early,” Walter said. “Come afterward.”

  Magda looked down. He’d left shortly after that day in the stable, right after he’d told her the Napola had recruited him. The swim coach had found that Germany needed a swimmer like Walter. And this way, Walter had explained in response to her aversion, he might avoid conscription—at least for a while.

  It was her turn. She stepped up to the counter and ordered three ice creams, two chocolates and one strawberry. She held the Reichsmark out to the seller.

  Watler said, “Let me pay.” His bathing suit was damp, and he emanated a coolness from the lake water. He had no money on him.

  The seller held out the first two ice creams.

  “Sure, okay. Go ahead.” Magda folded Renata’s Reichsmark back into her fist.

  Walter patted his hips and his sides. “Damn. Gustav, go get my money. Better yet, you’re the one who offered to pay, so go get your money.”

  Gustav smirked, rolled his eyes, and jogged back toward the beach.

  Strawberry ice cream dripped onto Magda’s thumb. She shoved the money over the counter and took the last ice cream cone. “By the time he comes back, they’ll all have melted.”

  “I’ll take the other cones,” Walter said. “Bring them to Renata and Aleš.”

  “So you did recognize me right away.” She thrust the cones at him and stalked across the grass.

  “Come tonight,” he called. “You never came to say goodbye on my last day.”

  She stopped. He looked genuinely contrite. She really had wanted to say goodbye. Nobody had had to tell her that he’d waited. She had watched him wait. But what would a future Olympian want with her anyway, except for cruel entertainment, like now?

  Gustav was already returning, and Magda indicated the other two cones.

  “Give those to me before they melt. Keep that boy away from Aleš.” She forced a laugh. “The mood he’s in, he’ll call Renata a Viking or something, and then there’ll be a fight.”

  “Ha! You’re probably right.”

  She took the two ice creams from him. “See you around.”

  “I’ll be at this lake waiting,” he called behind her. “Even if takes all summer. Come on, Magda. What’s one dance?”

  Magda licked the strawberry ice cream off her knuckle. She did not turn around. Summer is almost over, anyway, Walter. But yes, what was one dance? That was what her mother would say. And Renata.

  Later, when she walked back to the villa, Renata and Aleš were so distant that Magda did not ask them to come to the summerhouse with her. The couple had argued, and Magda thought it was because of the stupid ice cream or maybe the money, but later she figured that hadn’t been it. As they followed behind her, they spoke in hushed tones, Renata hissing more than speaking. Magda ignored them. Getting involved in some sort of catfight with those two was like jumping off a bridge into a fast river. There was no way out.

  Renata and Aleš were so involved in their discussions that they did not see what Magda did. A black sedan was parked at the edge of the drive, as if it had not wanted to pull up to the front of the house. She watched Aleš and Renata argue their way through the service entrance, but Magda walked to the corner of the house. As she had feared, it was an SS vehicle. Two flags were stuck on either end of the front end, hanging limply in the sultry summer air. A driver leaned lazily against the front hood, looking toward the fountain or the pool beyond that.

  There was the familiar click of the front door. The driver straightened and strode to the passenger side of the car and pulled it open. Magda stepped back but could not prevent herself from peeking around the corner. A black-uniformed Nazi officer stepped out and turned around, and Dr. Tauber followed. They shook hands before the car.

  “Herr Obergruppenführer,” Dr. Tauber said. “Thank you very much for coming. I do hope I have been able to reassure you somewhat. Please give my regards to Walter.”

  The Obergruppenführer nodded noncommittally. “Thank you, Doctor. I will see you next month then.” He looked up and around the house admiringly. “You’re quite secluded up here in these woods.”

  Dr. Tauber opened his arms. “And still, you found me.”

  Strained chuckles.

  The officer snapped a salute. Dr. Tauber raised his arm. Magda ducked behind the house.

  After putting Eliška to bed and after things had quieted down at the house, Magda put on the one good dress she had. She stood in front of the mirror, checking her figure. Jana was right. She was at risk of becoming plump if she was not careful. She’d inherited the lack of height from her father’s side, but also the best of his personality. She had her mother’s lush hair and full lips. If it were not for the huge mark on her face, Magda would not be hideous to look at, and might even try to flirt with the boys more. As it was, she avoided drawing any extra attention to herself.

  Piano music was coming from the drawing room. Magda peeked in. Dr. Tauber was reading a book on the chaise lounge. Frau Tauber was at the piano and still had her day dress on. Magda cleared her throat.

  Dr. Tauber lowered his book. “Magda. Going out?” He sounded distant.

  Frau Tauber paused over the keys. “Are you going to the lake?”

  “If I may.”

  “Of course,” Frau Tauber said. “You should take the bicycle.” The sheet music whispered as she turned the pages.

  Dr. Tauber smiled absently and went back to reading.

  Magda hesitated. They had both been spending a lot more time at home than was customary. Dr. Tauber now only went to the hospital on Tuesdays, seeing his patients mostly at the house, and even the number of patients had dwindled. And Frau Tauber had canceled their summer holiday. When Magda had returned from the lake, Jana had told her that the Taubers had declined dinner. It was unusual, but Renata and Aleš were so unapproachable, Magda hadn’t asked them whether they knew who the SS officer might have been, what might be wrong. She had to go to the source. Just ask.

  “Is everything all right?” Dr. Tauber’s expression was curious. “Why should it not be?”

  It was the tone. It was the way he and Frau Tauber nodded in unison that left Magda uneasy.

  From the old carriage house, she wheeled out the bicycle and pedaled to the lake. She heard the music long before she reached the little cabins that dotted the shore of Žernosecké Lake. It was going on nine o’clock, and it was just light enough that she could see the island was full of people. She left the bicycle against a tree trunk near
the beach and crossed the bridge. A group of people laughed loudly, and she heard bottles clinking together. At the sight of the dancers on the floor, Magda stopped.

  She understood what she had seen in the drawing room that evening. It was no wonder the Taubers had shut themselves in. The villa—she realized—had become a protected refuge from the world’s recent developments. In the few times that she had gone into Litoměřice—something she avoided if she could—Magda had felt the effects, had recognized the impacts of Bohemia’s occupation. The flags, the uniformed soldiers, the rifles, the dwindling supplies in the shops and bakeries, the prisoners. These were, on the surface, easily attributable. What made the air hard to breathe was suspicion, fear, and pure terror.

  Here, on the island, the dance floor was packed with soldiers and uniformed police dancing with women in stockings and high heels, skirts and blouses, dresses of every color, and, Magda noted, some not quite for the season but it must have been the best dress the girl had. And they were dancing beneath a beautiful summer sky and a forest of red, white, and black banners. Whereas on the beach everyone had looked the same—sunbathers, swimmers, people and families enjoying the summer weather—on the island at night, Magda could identify who was who: who the Germans were, who the collaborators were, and who people like her were—people simply trying to get on with their lives. But everyone on this island was dressed in some form of either complacency or compliance. Just by being here. Herself included.

  “Hey.”

  She whirled around. Walter was dressed in a uniform.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Want to dance?” He held out his hand.

  The black jacket. The red armband. The swastika.

  She had asked herself what one dance could mean. She had not expected this answer, yet still she took his hand. She wanted to know who the SS officer at the villa had been. And Walter would know.

  The band played a fast polka, and people spun drunkenly around. As Walter led her toward the bumping and jarring crowd, Magda spotted Aleš and a couple of other men in civilian clothing milling near a drinks and sausage stand. She wanted to go to Aleš, to tell him to take her home, to make sure she got there. Magda was about to pull out of Walter’s grip, when Renata appeared from behind the stand. She went to Aleš, they kissed, and he put a drink in her hand.

  Numb, Magda took her position before Walter. He started, and she stumbled a little. He excused himself, and she stared mutely at his left shoulder, the lapel, the shiny buttons of his uniform jacket, the leather strap. In the spins, she caught sight of Renata and Aleš watching her, and she now knew what the argument had been about. Aleš had been trying to spare her this. This was what had upset him. Walter Fenkart was now one of Hitler’s obedient elite.

  The polka came to an abrupt halt. She started to pull away, but Walter drew her closer to him as soon as the music began again, a slower song she did not recognize. Somewhere behind her, young men’s voices rose, singing a German folk song. Walter led her to the music. She was aware of his every touch, his hand on her waist, the pressure, the hand that held hers, the hand that pressed her closer to him. She felt his hips brush slightly against hers. She tried to put some distance between them, but he bent down and whispered something into her ear. She could not make out what he said, but she felt shivers up and down her back. He pulled away then and turned her. Magda tried to smile, tried to look as if she were enjoying herself. She reminded herself he was what she wanted.

  “Something wrong?” he murmured as he drew her back in. “Why don’t you laugh? You should laugh more, Magda.”

  She swallowed. “There was a man at the house today. Someone who knows you?”

  Walter pulled back and frowned. “A man?”

  “An SS officer.”

  His face brightened and he grinned. “That’s Doctor Obergruppenführer. Yes, he runs the Napola.”

  “And what was he…looking for?”

  “Looking for? No, I recommended him to Dr. Tauber. He has a”—he pulled in closer—“problem. I referred him to Dr. Tauber.”

  “Oh.” Magda replayed the scene in her head. It made sense, but that feeling of dread did not dissipate.

  Walter pulled away and looked as if he were confirming he’d answered her question to her satisfaction. “Can you smile now?”

  “I didn’t know you were…that you were so good that…” She stopped, and he had to as well. She waved a hand in front of his uniform, from his shoulders to his shoes. “What does your father say about all this?”

  He frowned. “About what? About us?”

  But he was lying again. He knew exactly what she was referring to.

  “He did not agree to it, but I managed to convince him.” He looked nonplussed. “Look, I come from a family of farmers. None of us have ever had the chance at a higher education. I might have started working. I might have gone straight into the Wehrmacht. But I didn’t. I got accepted into a program where I can still learn something and make something of myself. I’m a good swimmer, Magda. And I don’t want to go to war. You understand? Can you not just believe that this is what I have to do? Like you?”

  “What do you mean, like me?” Her throat tightened.

  “Hide. You’re hiding.”

  Across the dance floor, someone called Walter’s name. Magda twisted around. It was Gustav, dancing with a girl, steering her toward them.

  Walter’s thin lips brushed along the right side of Magda’s neck, and his mouth came up, close to hers. Magda held her breath.

  “Come with me,” he murmured. “Let’s get away from all this.”

  “Where?”

  He broke away from her and yanked her off the floor. No. Yes. OK. Magda stayed on Walter’s heels as he hurried down the slope and to the far end of the island. They slowed when they reached the water, his hand still holding hers. There was a small hut. Magda smelled fish.

  Walter stopped behind the fish cleaning house and sighed. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. It was a long way back to the bridge, to the mainland, to the bicycle.

  Walter pulled something out of his trouser pocket. A flask. He unscrewed it, offered it to her. She smelled the alcohol and made a face. He took a pull.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “I thought you liked me.”

  She did. She had. The night the Germans marched into the Russian territories, Magda had met Walter at midnight. He had kissed her that evening. They had sat on the far side of the swimming pool and talked. And then he kissed her.

  Magda thought about her brothers, how quickly it had all turned. “Won’t they send you to the front at some point, Walter? If not as a common soldier, then as SS or something? I mean, that’s what the Napola’s for, right? To shape you into Nazi officers?”

  Walter screwed the top back on and put the flask back into his trousers. “When the time comes, either way I’ll have to go.”

  She could feel him gazing at her through the falling darkness. Crickets chirped in the tall grass around them. Something splashed in the lake. A fish. A duck.

  “I really like you, Magda. You don’t say much, but I know that you think a lot. I know you…see things.”

  He moved closer, and she slid away along the wall. He tried again. This time she held her ground. His hand reached out to her face, and he lifted her chin to him.

  “What will become of you, Walter?”

  “What will become of any of us?” He kissed her, first tentatively, as if checking. His lips were cool, soft. There was a whiff of the alcohol—the plum of Becherovka. He kissed her again, and this time she kissed back. He led her arms around his waist, and they moved against the wall of the fish house, his hips against hers. Her back arched, and she ached everywhere.

  His lips moved down her neck.

  “I can’t,” she moaned.

  “I’ll teach you how.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” She pushed at him.

  She could see his teeth in the sliver of moonlight and felt h
is hands inching their way up her skirt, his fingers pressing along her thighs. When he reached the hem of her underwear, one finger traced the fringe. She bit her bottom lip. He kissed her again, this time his hand easing beneath the fabric of her underthings, another hand on her breasts. Then he was unbuttoning his coat, fumbling with the belt buckle. She stood, as if pinned to the wall, watching it all. She shook her head, but her body would not cooperate, would not take her away from here. When he was back at her, her body betrayed her again. His hand covered her mouth.

  “It’ll be over soon,” he promised.

  He was right. He was buttoning himself back up, as Magda waded into the lake. Minutes had passed. Not hours. Simply minutes.

  Two flashlights sliced through the darkness in their direction. Magda hurried, the dress sticking to her wet legs.

  Walter was composed again just as the beams of light discovered him.

  “There you are.” Gustav’s jeering voice. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

  Another boy, whom Magda could not see, laughed. “Looks like we just missed it.”

  She held her breath, outside the circle of light and hidden by the reeds.

  “Come on,” Walter said. “Let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”

  After they left, Magda came out of the water. She waited against the fish house, the iron smell of blood in the air. She wanted nothing more than to run to her mother. Her mother had been wrong. Magda needed to tell her that. There was nothing courageous about love.

  4

  September 1941

  As Magda dressed Eliška for breakfast, the telephone rang several times downstairs. She stepped out of the room to see whether anyone would answer, just as the ringing stopped. When Magda led the girl out of her bedroom, she found Ruth Tauber standing at the banister in her morning gown. She twisted a strand of pearls around one finger, the other hand resting on the wrought iron banister. Her hair was done up in a scarf, a few strands dangling over her forehead.

  Magda was about to ask whether she needed something, when the muffled sound of a car crunched to a stop on the gravel drive. A moment later, the front door flew open. Magda and Frau Tauber leaned over the banister. In the foyer, Dr. Tauber stripped his coat off, flung it onto the coat hook, and tossed his hat on the wooden bench where his patients normally waited for him. He stalked down the corridor and disappeared just before another door slammed. His office.