“Miss Sheila Matthews?” he asked, and listened intently for any sound of life in the flat. His excuse for this visit was on the tip of his quick tongue.
“There is no one here.”
He looked relieved, bowed again, said “Hefner!” as he bowed. “Are you ready, Fräulein Braun?”
“Yes.” Preparations to go out certainly became very simple when you had to wear your coat indoors.
In the bright light of the street, he frowned at her coat and her shoes. He didn’t seem to enjoy walking beside her. He hurried her into the car which he had left innocently around the corner. Sheila’s smile disconcerted him. He was probably ashamed of being ashamed at accompanying a poorly clad German. He certainly had his own ideas of the comforts a German should have, even when imitating a bombed-out Pole. Anyway, he didn’t speak during the short ride in the car, and Sheila had decided to ask no questions and to offer no conversation. She wondered what shop could be open to sell clothes. All the buying she had seen recently had taken place from hawkers’ trays. She marvelled that the route into town which she knew so well, and had always considered rather long, should in reality be so short.
She concealed her surprise when the car stopped in an alley, at the delivery entrance to one of the large shops which yesterday she had noticed was among those boarded-up. It still appeared to be in that category, for the noise of workmen’s hammers clattered spasmodically into the street. But at this side entrance, there was a guard. As soon as Hefner had produced a ticket with the proper shape and colour, the guard swung the heavy door open, they entered quickly, the door closed firmly behind them. Aladdin in his precious cave could not have been more blinded than Sheila.
The strangeness of the bright electric lights at first dazzled her, and then as her eyes became accustomed to the glare she saw that her first unbelievable impressions were really true. Behind the boarded windows, the long counters were heaped with merchandise. Perplexed shop assistants were helping an array of uniforms to make their purchases. Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe, Gestapo uniforms jostled each other and the few Germans in civilian clothes; all madly buying; all talking at once; all using elbows and stretching hands freely. Yards of cloth, underwear, perfume, blouses, hats, dresses—it didn’t matter what they bought, as long as they found something. The only impulse was to buy and buy; the urge to spend, to acquire, was on. There was plenty of occupation money. With this arrangement, even the most expensive articles were practically given away free. Why bother with the farce of worthless notes at all? Sheila thought bitterly. She noticed with some embarrassment that there were only nine women in sight (apart from the Volksdeutsche behind the counters) and these were definitely camp followers: streamlined, chromium-plated camp followers with elegant hair and shoes and voluptuous fur jackets, but still camp followers, who would share in the loot in return for favours rendered. Sheila remembered a phrase of Steve’s. On the receiving end:...we’ve been on the receiving end. And now, here she was on the opposite side. She had seen what it was like to be defeated by the Germans; now, she was seeing the other side of the picture. Herr Hefner didn’t seem to notice what little zest she had for choosing new clothes.
Perhaps that was because he himself seemed to enjoy arranging what she should buy. “Something which would be smart enough for a secretary, and yet not too outstanding for your Polish friends to live with,” was his judgment.
“Yes,” Sheila said, looking at his extremely expensive suit and delicate tie. Herr Hefner had his own rules for himself, it would seem. The only thing that surprised him was her moderation. He looked at the heavy brown coat, the grey wool suit, the brown wool sweater, the simple grey felt, the brown shoes and warm gloves.
“Are you sure that’s all?” he asked with a puzzled frown.
“On my first month’s salary, yes. Secretaries don’t earn so much, you know. Besides, I have some other things to buy.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Herr Hefner agreed with a smile, looking in the direction of the underwear department. “Over here, I think.”
Sheila didn’t move. “Later,” she said sweetly. “But first I must buy something for the people with whom I am living.”
He frowned again. “Is that necessary, Fräulein Braun?”
“They would accept my new prosperity more naturally, if I did buy them something.” She saw by his face that she had won her point.
“Not in this department then,” he said. “These clothes are wool. We’ll find cheaper things.”
Sheila concealed her disappointment with an effort. When you are hungry, you always felt twice as thwarted, it seemed. She followed him to the other side of the shop where fewer officers and more private soldiers were selecting clothes for those at home. She chose the warmest black dress she could find for Madame Aleksander, and a thick sweater for Casimir. She tried to buy a heavy scarf for each of them too, but Herr Hefner would have none of that. “You’ve bought more than enough for them,” he said. “This is unusual, Fräulein Braun.” He still looked undecided, as if he were calculating what Hofmeyer would have to say to such unnecessary expense.
“They are so cheap,” Sheila said, and left the department before he thought better of his acquiescence. She led the way through a crowd of soldiers buying silk and lace underwear. Hefner was beside her, much to her surprise. “You’ll need some of this, I suppose,” he said, watching a tall, lean soldier holding up a peach satin nightdress in front of him with a critical eye.
Sheila said, “I shall have a cold winter if I live with the Poles. I’ll need warmer things than that.”
As she chose the heavier, plainer silks (she was not Spartan enough to choose the dull and depressing cottons), Herr Hefner was saying, “I admire your restraint. I suppose it is necessary.”
“I must live my job, after all, Herr Hefner,” she replied, and that satisfied him completely. “Now, I’m going to wear some of these things, and the rest can be parcelled.” She headed determinedly for a possible fitting room, evading two Luftwaffe men who were measuring silk stockings along their own legs. Herr Hefner hovered outside the cubicle. It was an extraordinary thing, Sheila thought as she changed her old clothes for new, that no one in the building had looked around him and burst out laughing. She had never seen so many little groups of people all so intent on their own little purposes, and yet all coming under, one large theme: loot. Breughel, she decided, could have filled one of his enormous canvases with them. He would have enjoyed their petty preoccupations and painted them into one sweeping satire. Here in this corner, would be the two airmen measuring stockings. Here the soldier with the nightdress in front of him. Here the three Gestapo men stretching girdles to see if the rubber was good. (They ought to know a lot about rubber with their experience in clubs.) Here the two officers each with an armful of perfume bottles and bath salts. Here the lacquered blonde with her hand held under the lace and ninon bed-jacket. And behind the hundred little groups would be the ragged outline of a murdered city, a pyramid of bones, and a mad woman wandering.
Herr Hefner looked at her critically when she at last left the fitting room. His impatience vanished. He looked surprised, pleased. “Good,” he said.
“I think you chose the right things.” That pleased him still more. And she added one more drop to his cup of self esteem by saying, “I must tell Herr Hofmeyer how very efficient you have been.”
He lost all the stiffness he had shown in the car. He was now far from ashamed at being seen with her. In his relief, he became effusive.
“Now, what about a cocktail? And you needed a good meal, too. I remember that. Why don’t you have an early lunch with me now at the Europejski? The best people go there. And it has a corner left for Poles, so we will be safe if any of our Polish friends see us enter the restaurant.”
“Splendid,” Sheila said, and hoped she was enthusiastic. “What about letting Mr. Hofmeyer know where we are going, in case something urgent turns up for us to do?”
“Good. I’ll ’phone, while you coll
ect the packages.”
Sheila bought two woollen scarves in the more expensive department. They were much superior, softer, warmer, than those she had first tried to buy. They were neatly included in her parcel by the time Hefner had returned from the telephone booth. He arrived in time to watch the last knot of string being securely tied, and remarked pleasantly, “They take a long time to get packages together these days. But I expect many of these girls are new to this job.”
Sheila agreed with a bright smile. The two hidden scarves were her own small triumph. She would have smiled at anything Herr Hefner said at this moment.
They lunched well, except that Sheila found she couldn’t eat so much after all. She spent the latter half of the meal in sipping a glass of weak tea, avoiding the sight of Herr Hefner’s excellent appetite as tactfully as she could. She found herself longing for the cold draughts of Steve’s rooms. The warmth and noise of the restaurant, instead of being as exciting as she had imagined, only made her feel still more sick. Remember in future, she told herself, whenever you think you are missing bright lights and laughing voices and interesting food, that these things aren’t the fun they used to be. It was all relative: if you weren’t free, a palace for a house would be less bearable than a poor cottage where friends could be together. Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
Mr. Hefner did most of the talking, which consisted mainly of questions. Sheila had to pretend to be quite unguarded, while her mind quickly analysed each harmless remark to find how deep the bog was before she could venture one foot in it. The only way to cross safely was to scatter some conversational bracken leaves over the treacherous surface, and in this way she gave the appearance of having evaded not one question, without having given any particular answer. Hefner wanted the details of the Warsaw siege (he had just arrived from Danzig) and the only difficulty there was that she had to remember she was supposed to have enjoyed every minute of it. Hefner talked about Munich, where he had once spent a year at the Geopolitical School. That was answered by lots of chatter about Aunt Thelma, about pleasant days at Nymphenburg, with its charming Dutch kitchen in the hunting lodge where Amalie and her ladies had liked to cook for the King and his court, about the Dachau Museum with its walled garden and thin brown pears and its view of the Bavarian Alps and the Zugspitze.
“Dachau...” mused Hefner. “That’s become a very interesting place in the last few years. But of course it’s been some time since you were there, hasn’t it? Why didn’t you ever go back?”
“Money,” she explained with a sad smile. “And when I had saved enough for a trip to the Continent, my aunt was in Switzerland and Mr. Hofmeyer met me. He persuaded me to go back to London, to continue, to wait. He had plans for me.”
She watched Hefner, but she must have said approximately the right things, for the clever look in his eyes was gone and he was genuinely sympathetic. He became quite sentimental. “The lives of our German brothers and sisters who must work in foreign countries are indeed sad,” he said.
“But necessary.”
“Of course, very necessary. We have a second army in them. Their rewards will be high. Don’t worry, Fräulein Braun. You will enjoy the benefits fully, some day. Only have patience for a little longer.”
“It won’t be long, now?”
“Absolutely not. Another six months at the most, if peace isn’t negotiated before then. Our Führer has promised that. He is never wrong.”
What, never? Well, hardly ever, Sheila thought: and watched, with relief and rising hope, the white head and lined face which had just entered the restaurant Mr. Hofmeyer had not misinterpreted her telephone message, after all. He walked towards them as if by accident as if he were merely looking for a table.
Quietly he motioned Hefner to sit again, and pulled over a vacant chair from the next table.
He looked at Sheila and said, “Well, you didn’t waste your time, I see.”
“That was due to Herr Hefner. He was very helpful, and very kind.”
Hefner beamed. “It was a pleasure, Fräulein Braun.”
Hofmeyer ordered an elaborate meal and said casually to Hefner: “Don’t wait for me. Dittmar said he wanted to see you at his office.”
Hefner rose abruptly, his face already obedient at the name of Dittmar. He said to Sheila, “I hope we meet again, soon. You like dancing?”
“Yes, when I have time.”
“Good. I’ll ’phone you, if I may?” He bowed to each of them in turn, and hurried away.
In a low voice, Sheila said, “I thought he was your young man, not Dittmar’s.”
Hofmeyer was very absorbed in measuring salt and pepper. “He serves us both. Dittmar was in conference with me this morning when you ’phoned. It was he who suggested Hefner should accompany you this morning.” His voice dropped. “I’ve been worried ever since. Hefner is a very percipient young man. But I see you did well. I could tell that from his manner.”
He ate with remarkable speed. “I see that I’ve been left with the bill to pay, however,” he said dryly as he called for the waiter. “Hefner will be a rich man, some day.” Then he looked at the large package which Sheila was pulling out from underneath the table. “We can’t walk far with that,” he said.
“But I’d like a short walk. I need fresh air. It is too hot in here.”
Hofmeyer paused in counting his change. “So?” he said slowly. He lifted the package and carried it towards the street without any more delay.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked as he turned in the direction of his office.
“Herr Hefner was too dignified to carry that parcel. He’s quite the most graceful snob I have ever met.”
“In the restaurant you were very serious for a moment. I knew you must want to see me when you ’phoned. But is it as bad as the way you looked when you said you needed a walk?”
She told him quickly about Casimir. “And I am sure there’s a dictaphone. There were too many workmen pottering about the flat yesterday with no obvious results to show for their labours. Where would that dictaphone be?”
“Anywhere. It’s a small thing. Probably linked up with the telephone.”
“Then our words would be heard as soon as they are spoken?”
“Yes. All telephones are operated by Germans, now.”
“Then Casimir could be arrested at any moment?”
“When we think it’s worth our while to arrest him. We’ve plenty of more important people to arrest. He will be on the black list for treatment as soon as we have the time. That may be tomorrow or next week. Today we are busy.” He paused and then said still more gravely, “Edward Korytowski was arrested at dawn this morning.”
Sheila turned white. She was going to be sick. She halted and leaned for a moment against a bullet-scarred doorway. The attack of nausea passed.
“For what reason?” For the meeting in his apartment? her eyes asked anxiously.
“Professors are being arrested. That’s the only reason.”
“What will happen to him? To the others? Most of them were too old for military service.”
“He is being sent to Dachau.” A very interesting place, Hefner had said. In spite of the midday sun striking through her new wool clothes, Sheila shivered. The pavement under her feet lost its even surface for the next few steps. Uncle Edward. Dachau.
“Polish culture must be destroyed,” Hofmeyer said in a hard voice. “The orders were issued yesterday. No Polish universities, or colleges, or high schools. No Polish libraries, newspapers, priests, law courts or radio. The great silence has begun.”
Sheila couldn’t speak. She stared unseeing at the buildings in front of her.
“As for Casimir, either Department Fourteen will help him to leave Warsaw at once, or perhaps we could find some use for him with Number Thirty-one.”
Sheila forced herself to pay attention. Those who still could be saved must be thought of first. “Thirty-one,” she said. Casimir would rather be with t
hose who helped the guerrillas than be sent out of Poland. “He’s so alone,” she added.
“As soon as you get back to the flat, send him away at once. To Warecka Street, Number 15. They will hide him until we can make arrangements for him. He seems a brave boy, this Casimir.”
Sheila nodded. “Worth helping,” she said. When Poland was free again she would need all her Casimirs. “Shall we ever see him, again?” she asked.
“No. And better keep the dog with you. Don’t let it follow him. It could give him away. You understand?”
She nodded wearily.
“We shall soon be at the office. It was better not to take a long walk today. I am bringing you back here to discuss the problem of Korytów, so that this journey here together will seem natural.”
Something in his tone aroused her. “Is Dittmar suspicious?” she asked quickly.
“He trusts nobody. There are too many gambling for power to let us be generous and trustful with each other. Don’t worry. The dictaphones and tapped ’phones are merely part of the Nazi methods. They like blackmail. They don’t expect state secrets: they are content with an ill-chosen friendship or a hidden love affair or an unadvised opinion to give them a hold over their fellow spies. Dittmar thinks he is clever: he watches me because I’m a serious rival; he watches you because some day he may want to use you against me. That’s all. Besides, I watch Herr Dittmar just as carefully.” Herr Hofmeyer smiled, as he transferred the weight of the parcel from one arm to another. I, too, have enough influence to have dictaphones installed, he seemed to say.
“I still think he doesn’t accept me,” Sheila said. “He cannot forgive me the fact that I escaped and Elzbieta didn’t. He’s possessive. Her death was an injury directed at him.”
“He accepts you slightly more since Captain Streit approved of you yesterday morning.”
While Still We Live Page 28