Side by side, on their hands and knees, they peered downward into the damp gloom of the empty cistern. “Don’t they know this is here?” Romek asked.
Julia shook her head. “It’s not centered under this building, so I think it’s from an earlier building that was renovated down to ground level. I usually got into there from the house next door, the one they’re demolishing, then I’d crawl along until I was under this building.” She shined her flashlight into the cistern, illuminating a nondescript box in a dark corner. “See? There it is!”
Her partner nodded. “Do you think they’ll find it now that they’ve torn down the other house?”
Julia shrugged.“Maybe. They seem to be stopping at the foundation, but if they do find it, well, it’s just one of many.” She laughed lightly. “We plant two for every one they uncover. This whole city is full of our little weeds just waiting to grow!”
“And how many of our people do we lose keeping it that way?” Romek asked, apparently irked by her lack of seriousness.
Julia laughed again and looked down at the deterrent. “Oh, over the years they’ve been here, I’d say each one has cost us about three lives. Pretty expensive blackmail, isn’t it?”
“Especially since we haven’t really used them yet,” he said, shuddering and looking over his shoulder to the hole in the floor above them.
“Not really. Just a few samples to show we mean business.” Julia smiled at her companion’s nervousness and then said impishly, “Interestingly, this bomb hasn’t cost us anyone yet—so by the law of averages, it’s due, isn’t it?”
Romek looked at her in alarm and she laughed. “Don’t worry, if they find us here and drag us out, they won’t kill you right away. I’m sure they’ll manage to prolong your life for days, weeks even.”
“Shall we get to work?” he asked, deadpan.
Julia reached into her bag and extracted the cigarette case. She pried off the bottom and handed the metallic card to her companion. Then she lit a cigarette and lowered herself so that she was lounging on the floor next to the trapdoor, languidly holding the flashlight so that it illuminated the cistern. “Sure. You know what to do.”
Using a rope, Romek climbed down into the cistern and approached the bomb. He worked in silence with Julia occasionally offering advice and reminders. He installed the new detonator, checked and corrected some of the settings, recorded some data, cleaned the contacts, and replaced a bit of rotted wire. “Done,” he announced quietly.
“Shh!” Julia hissed as she switched off the light. They remained silently in the darkness, listening to the sound of someone opening the door to the room above them.
“Bugger,” Julia whispered, extinguishing her cigarette hurriedly.
“Who’s down there?” a voice called through the hole in the floor.
“It’s me. I’m checking a gas line,” Romek called out.
“In the dark?” A face stared blindly into the darkness.
Julia turned on the flashlight and shined it in the direction of the hole. “I’ve got a light,” her partner explained.
“Are you okay down there?” It sounded like one of the waiters rather than a security guard.
“Sure. Just doing my job. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Is that smoke? Are you smoking? I thought there was a gas leak!” the voice nearly shrieked.
“No, everything’s okay. Don’t worry,” Romek answered.
“All right. Make sure you put these boxes back—they’re in the way here.”
“Will do!”
As Romek made appropriate banging noises, Julia remained very still. The sounds from above indicated their visitor had left. They waited a moment, then Julia cautiously poked her head out the hole. She glanced around the room and then popped back under. “All clear,” she announced as she went to help Romek up the rope.
Back in the little cellar room, they replaced the floorboards, cleaned up the sawdust, and stacked the boxes on top of the hole they had made. “It’s going to have to do,” Julia announced. “We didn’t come prepared to build secret entrances, after all.”
Julia cleaned herself up and the two of them parted company. She climbed the stairs back to the main floor, wincing as she stepped into the glare of the hallway lights.
“What have you been up to?” a voice accused. “You’re not supposed to be down there.”
Julia cursed silently, stumbled, and fell into a drunken stupor on the floor. She heard the voice moan, “Oh, God, not another one,” as hands reached under her arms and lifted her up. She was half-carried, half-dragged to a lounge and laid out on one of the couches. Whoever had discovered her lost interest and walked away as soon as she was safely tucked onto the couch. Julia waited a few minutes, then blearily pried an eye open and scanned her surroundings. There were a few more besotted souls, several people conversing in a corner, and another two sitting in chairs smoking. She climbed unsteadily to her feet, made a quiet retching noise, and staggered to the door. Although her steps steadied the farther she got from the lounge, she maintained a rather drunken walk until she was several blocks from the club. There she stopped to light a cigarette and turn discreetly around to inspect the trail behind her. She was alone.
It was well past curfew and she knew she should move on quickly; nevertheless, she stood there for several moments deciding what to do. Shower first, change clothes, send Romek on his way, then Paris. With that decided, she headed back to her hotel.
The city looked even grittier than the last time. Julia felt a pang of sorrow and yearning for a place she had never known. Her father talked about Paris though he also did not remember it any more than he remembered what the smoldering ruin of Warsaw had once looked like. In both instances though, he had stories from his parents and he had passed on their impressions to his daughter. In the case of Warsaw, there was nothing to return to—it was gone, ruined, completely leveled, but with Paris there was still the shell of the city that her grandparents had loved. Beautiful, lively, welcoming, the City of Lights. Julia walked along its streets noting that the lights were a lot more red than the last time she had visited. Prostitutes paced and their clients prowled as Paris bowed to the needs of its masters. Having lost all political and economic power, it was now nothing more than the entertainment center for a hypocritical and sexually frustrated Reich.
Julia reached an intersection and consulted the hand-drawn map that she clutched in her fist. With only a bit of subterfuge, she had managed to ferret out Karl’s address, and with her standard German papers, it had not taken much to arrange a legitimate trip to the city as a tourist. Now came the hard part. She entered the hallway of the apartment block and ascended the steps without being stopped or questioned. She rapped lightly at the door of Karl’s apartment and waited.
Karl himself opened the door. He was dressed in a dark satin robe. His hair was still blond, still thick. His blue eyes were still clear, but he had gained weight and he was considerably less attractive than he had once been. “Yes?” he asked, eyeing Julia from head to toe.
Julia glanced past him into the apartment and saw that it was empty. She looked back at Karl and smiling enticingly said, “Don’t you recognize me?”
Karl frowned, stared at her a moment longer, than said, “Julia? My God, you look good!”
“So do you,” she lied. The lack of a servant worried her. Was Karl broke?
“Come in. What brings you to Paris?”
“I was visiting,” Julia explained as she took a seat on the couch, “and I spotted you walking. I’m afraid I followed you home that evening, but didn’t have the courage to knock at your door until now.”
Karl accepted the explanation without comment. He offered his guest a cognac, then poured one for himself.
“I’ve missed you,” Julia said, sipping her drink. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs up onto the cushion.
“You just disappeared from my life. What happened?”
“You know, you were married,
I was pregnant—there was no future in it.”
“Did you keep the baby?” Karl asked almost without interest. His eyes were fixed on Julia’s breasts.
“Yes. You have a son, a fine young man now.”
Karl nodded as if listening to a long speech.
“He’s missed having a father though,” Julia said, laying a foundation upon which she would build later. “It’s easy for a boy to get into trouble, especially at his age.”
“I’d soon put a stop to that,” Karl bragged. “You can’t be too soft on them. Got to beat sense into them, that’s what my father did, that’s what I’ve done. Uwe and Geerd, well, I didn’t spare the strap, and they’ve turned out to be real men.”
“Yes, well, without you around, I need something else, some—”
“Just look at that!” Karl interrupted to point excitedly at the television. “Our boy’s got one in on that nigger!”
“What are you watching?” Julia asked, turning her head to notice for the first time that the television was on. Two men, one white, one black, were boxing.
“Ach, a title fight. That’s our boy there beating the crap out of that Angolan. Those niggers might be strong, but they have no brains, no brains at all. Can’t think, so they can’t fight well.”
“Yes, of course.” Julia swirled her cognac and wondered how long she should wait to pick up the conversation.
“Would you like a cigarette?” Karl asked as he lit one for himself.
“How is it you’re lighting your own cigarettes?” Julia asked, glancing around the room for traces of another presence. “Is it the servant’s night off?”
“You know I prefer tied help,” Karl said, referring to his unwillingness to pay for waged labor. “One lump sum and you get a lease for months.” He gave Julia a cigarette and lit it for her.
“Ah, yes. Always the clever businessman!” Julia agreed, exhaling a stream of smoke heavenward. “But then, where is he, or is it she?”
“Back in Berlin. Elspeth shrieked when I said I wanted to bring the girl with me. Said she couldn’t do without help for two months, not with five kids at home.”
“You have five children now?”
“Seven, but Uwe went off to the SS and Geerd’s in the army.”
“Ah. Your sons are not only fine men, but true patriots, just like you. The Fatherland certainly appreciates such loyalty.”
“Tell that to the damn Labor Ministry,” Karl mumbled. He went to the side table and refilled his glass. “Here’s to getting what one deserves!” he toasted somewhat sourly.
“What’s the matter?” Julia asked, a look of sympathetic concern on her face. She moved her hand slowly up her thigh, absently pulling her skirt a few inches upward with it.
It took some time and some drinks to get the entire story out of Karl, but eventually he confided that one of the laborers he had leased from the governmenthad met with an unfortunate demise. The Labor Ministry had assessed a fine that had eaten into his salary and was only recently completely paid off. “The goddamned bastards! It’s not like it was a person. He was subhuman scum, from a race of pigs, what did they expect? These lesser beings, you’ve got to keep them disciplined and in line, but just make a little mistake and those bureaucrats are on your arse talking about replacement costs and lost services!”
“Oh, that is unfortunate!” Julia agreed with heartfelt sympathy, leaning her head against Karl’s chest as he sat next to her. “So how do you have a girl now?”
“A subordinate of mine loaned her to me for a few months. I’ve been tucking away some sums.” Karl’s arm was around her shoulder; his other hand reached up cautiously to finger the material of her dress just below the neckline. “I’m fed up with these bureaucrats—I’m going to purchase a contract, then they can’t harass me about my treatment of my own property!”
“Good idea!” Julia enthused, raising herself slightly so that Karl’s hand slipped down naturally to her breast. She quickly ran through the typical cost in fees and bribes for purchasing a lifetime contract on a forced laborer, then converted it to dollars at the preferential rate that Karl would be able to get using his position in government. It would be enough. It would be enough!
17
“IT’SMORE THAN ENOUGH!” Maria assured him with quite surprising civility. “Such gifts! No one has ever celebrated my birthday before! I didn’t even know it was in September until you read it in my papers!”
“There are some advantages to education,” Peter agreed quietly.
They sat on his bed, side by side, and sipped wine as she opened each little gift and squealed her delight. He accepted her thanks with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, but he did not feel particularly cheerful. Of all the days in the year, her birthday would have to be the same day that Allison had been murdered! He did not tell Maria about that and she did not detect his grim mood as he commemorated the sad fifth anniversary in lonely silence. In fact, she was sufficiently unaware of his frame of mind that she decided it was time to present him with a proposition.
“I have a wonderful surprise to give you in return,” she said while lighting one of the cigarettes he had acquired for her.
“What’s that?” he asked as he picked up and lit one of the cigarettes he had just given her.
“Hey!” Maria protested. “You gave those to me!”
Peter raised his eyebrows in contemptuous disbelief.
Maria decided not to push the point. She continued with her original intent. “There’s a new worker at the bakery—a French girl . . .”
“Uh-huh.” He had, by this time, acquired a habit of nodding and agreeing without really listening. He enjoyed the cigarette. It was his first in a long time— since one of his torturers had given him one. Maybe he could afford to start smoking again. Maybe Frau Reusch was sufficiently dependable that he would not be left readdicted and stranded without a supply.
“. . . I want you to break her in.”
That, at least, got his attention. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s not had a man yet. I told her you’d do it.”
“Are you nuts?”
“No, don’t worry, I won’t be jealous.”
He shook his head at her misinterpretation, but she did not notice, instead continuing unabated, “You’ll be perfect for the job.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he finally managed to say.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to sleep with a girl, and I doubt she wants to sleep with me.”
“Oh, she wants to—believe me!”
“How old is she?”
Maria hesitated. “Sixteen.”
“That’s too young.” He laughed with mild self-deprecation. “At least for me.”
“No, you’ve got to! She needs to be taught!”
“Why? Why not wait until she finds somebody she likes?” He wanted to say that sex should be more than fucking, but he realized how hollow that would sound given their relationship. He tried changing tack. “We’re not . . . ,” but he realized he could not think of any way to finish that phrase without sounding like some Nazi pamphlet denouncing the corrupt habits of Untermensch.
“Look—what are her alternatives? She’s going to be noticed by some man— or boy—sooner or later. Do you want her first experience, maybe her only experience, to be that?”
Peter lowered his head into his hands. Of course, a lifetime of rape. And it wasn’t even a crime. For a German woman to have sex with an inferior was criminal—possibly a death sentence for the inferior-race man, but for a German man to force sex on an inferior woman was nothing at all.
He looked up at Maria: Was her near addiction to mindless sex rather more an addiction to voluntary sex? Was it a reasonable compensation for the continuous threat of rape? It would explain why she had risked seducing the young boy at her previous employer’s—it gave her a measure of control over her fate: seduce him while he was still too young to coerce or force her into sex. Once again,
he found himself wishing that she had been more forthcoming in her thoughts about the world—but perhaps it was not a thought-out strategy on her part. Perhaps it was the instinctive response of a little girl who had been thrown into a terrifying and brutal world with nothing but her own determination to survive to guide her.
“All right,” he sighed, “let me meet her.”
Maria kissed him happily. “I knew you’d say yes, and I know you’ll be gentle and teach her well.”
“I only said I’d meet her,” he replied dejectedly.
The next night a slight young girl, her shift hanging loosely from her tiny form, awaited him at the newspaper display case. In the dim light, he could barely discern that the uniform was quite different from Maria’s. It was a gray pinafore dress over a simply cut, pale yellow blouse; it looked like a tasteless school uniform and was meant to indicate that she was an apprentice. So, they were instituting the rumored change: the apprenticeships were to start at a young age and require a tuition that could then be paid off via a lifetime of service—in other words, the system had not changed at all but the words had.
It was a step toward normalcy; during the years of perpetual war, forced labor conscription was no more barbaric than forced military obligations and could in fact be viewed as a sort of conscientious objection to soldiering, but now there was an acknowledgment that the world recognized this class of workers as nothing more than slaves, and this was the latest effort to combat that. There would still be criminal convictions and other reasons for the life-sentence forced labor, especially of adults, and all those who already wore gray-blue would probably continue to do so as they aged and died in their jobs, but now the ranks of the servant class would also be filled with these apprentices and indentured servants. It would dilute his number with different uniforms, different attitudes, and different rules; perhaps they would even gain some civil rights. It would also bring the Reich into line with all the other countries of the world where debt, rather than legal standing, kept people bound.
The Children's War Page 15