You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2)

by Roberta Kagan

  “I’m all right.” Christa managed a smile and ran her hand over Katja’s head. “Why don’t you go and get your baby doll and we can give her a bottle? I’ll bet she’s hungry. I can tell. ”

  “I think you’re right. I’ll be right back. It is time for her dinner.”

  “Yes, it is…” Christa said, using all the effort she could muster to lift her body to sit up in bed. Even though she was tired, she would play with Katja. The child had no one else.

  The phone rang. Christa saw Katja jump at the loud sound. Something has terrified her. Oh Manfred, what did you do? Did you hit this little girl in my place? Please, God, let it not be true.

  Katja returned with her doll tucked under her arm.

  “You were right Mama. She told me she is very hungry.”

  “Well, let’s not keep her waiting then. Let’s feed her.”

  About a half hour later Manfred brought bread, cheese, and fruit to Christa and Katja on a tray, along with a tall decanter of water. He set it down in front of his wife.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so harsh with you,” Manfred said.

  “Thank you for bringing our dinner,” Christa answered, tears filling her eyes again. Sometimes Manfred would do something so kind, and it would touch her so deeply. Katja curled into her mother’s side.

  “I have excellent news. Goebbels called,” Manfred said.

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  “He wants me to come to Berlin. There is to be a meeting in Hitler’s bunker. I am invited. Maybe this curse is finally lifting. Maybe I will finally be forgiven. I am elated right now.”

  “When must you leave?”

  “Next week. I will have a Jewess here to help you with everything. I’ll see to it before I leave.”

  Chapter 60

  The new woman Manfred found to take Zofia’s place turned out to be nothing like Zofia. She was pretty enough, and he thought she would make a fine substitute for his needs, but Manfred could see that she just didn’t have the compassion for the child or his wife that Zofia had shown. In fact, if he’d had time before his trip to Berlin, he would have sent her off to the gas chamber and gotten another one. But he was in a hurry. His mind focused on Berlin and the meeting.

  Manfred packed carefully. In the morning he’d be on his way, perhaps this would turn out to be the road back to the life he’d cherished. What wouldn’t he give to be away from the camps? The smells of blood, feces, sickness, vomit, and death haunted him. The looks on the faces of the prisoners tormented him at night robbing him of his much-needed rest. Often he’d awaken feeling that he was face-to-face with God and forced to answer for his actions, his body bathed in sweat. Even so, the strange thing was that somehow, as much as he loathed the prisoners and all they stood for, he’d come to enjoy the power, to thrive on it: the knowledge that he was God to the poor souls who worked under his command. At any time, he might chose to end their lives. Or, should he feel benevolent, he might hand them a crust of bread. It was all in his hands. Ultimately, whether they lived or died depended upon little more than his mood. Sometimes the depth of his power could send him into a state of ecstasy. At other instances, all of the decisions forced upon him were nothing but annoyances. It was a strange mixture of emotions; he felt that was certain.

  “Behave yourself,” Manfred told the Jewess as he carried his luggage to the door. “If I return and my wife has any complaints about you, I will see to it that you are made to be very sorry. There will be a guard watching your every move, so I suggest you do as you’re told. Do you understand me?”

  The young woman nodded her head.

  Manfred lifted her chin, squeezing tightly to make his point. “Answer me when I talk to you.” His voice was soft and controlled, but the underlying threat was very present.

  “Yes, Arbeitsführer, I understand.” She said.

  “Good, then we should have no problems.”

  Manfred peered into Christa’s room. The sun had just begun to rise. Christa lay in bed, with Katja beside her, her arms wrapped around the child. Manfred gazed at the little one. How pretty she’d grown to be, her blonde curls lying across Christa’s arm, her thumb in her mouth. Such a beautiful child. Christa, on the other hand, was withering away. Manfred felt a pain in his chest as he looked at his wife. Once, they’d been so happy. Once, they’d been so in love. He wanted to go to her and leave her with a tender kiss, but something inside of him would not allow him to. He stood for several moments just gazing at the woman who still, somehow, after all they’d been through, held his heart in her hand. If only he could tell her. But, he could not let her know. Why? He could not forgive her father. He could not forgive her. There were no clear-cut answers, only a million questions. If, no not if, when she died, he knew he would be devastated; yet, she had no idea. Somewhere he’d lost himself.

  Manfred hung his head, then lifted his suitcase and headed outside, where the driver was waiting.

  Chapter 61

  Three days later, Manfred was on his way to meet with Goebbels at a pub a few blocks away from the office of the Ministry of Propaganda. Although he had a car at his disposal, Manfred chose to walk. He needed the time to sort out his thoughts. As he meandered down the familiar streets, the emptiness that constantly plagued him felt like a black hole growing deeper in the pit of his chest. Even though Christa was still his life, and the only woman he’d ever loved, he could not find a way forgive her. His resentment for her father, and the fact that she’d taken his side, had swallowed their marriage, leaving nothing but an empty shell. If only visions of her father’s execution didn’t come to mind every time he looked at her. If only he could take her in his arms the way he used to and tell her how much she meant to him. “Christa, Christa… It was all for you,” he found himself speaking aloud. “Everything was for you, and now I am buried. I’ve tasted power, and once I did, it became an addiction that I could not live without. Then, it was wonderful to find acceptance. I’d never had that as a boy, but Goebbels gave that to me. I became someone, someone important. Can’t you see, Christa? Your father stole that from me, and now every day I am fighting to regain what I’ve lost. Without the Party, I am nothing; I am no one. I am just the old Manfred: weak, helpless, pathetic. Nothing more than a small, uncoordinated little boy in the back of the room at the meeting of the Hitler Jugend, hearing the others laugh at me when they chose their teams, always knowing I would never be chosen. You know, at night, sometimes I awaken and I can still hear the laughter and teasing from the other children. Those boys, those naturally gifted athletes, would never have believed how far I’ve come. They would never have thought that Manfred Blau would be married to the beautiful and popular Christa Henkener. And how I loved you, Christa… How I still do…” Quickly he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. How silly for him to be walking alone, talking to himself and crying. He forced his shoulders back. He wore the uniform of the SS; he must look a fool, should anyone be watching.

  Still, his mind drifted to his wife. At any time, it could all end. Christa was dying, and he could not save her. When he considered her death, pangs of anxiety tore like the blade of a knife at his insides. I am going mad, he thought. I must get control of myself and quickly. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. I am so haunted, he thought, and then he thought about the upcoming meeting. What if this meeting meant the end of his work for the Nazi Party? Perhaps they meant to discharge him of his duties. One could never be sure where he stood, or what the Naz’s might do. The very idea terrified him. Had someone begun to realize that he was not the powerful man he pretended to be? Did they know he was a fake, that he was not really strong at all? In fact, every day he hid behind his uniform.

  Every day.

  The child… He thought about Katja. That child had never had the chance to touch his heart or to mean a great deal to him. It wasn’t Katja’s fault, but she’d arrived in their lives just as things had turned. When he’d agreed to adopt a baby, it had been more for
Christa and Himmler’s approval than for his own needs. Perhaps if things had gone differently, he might have come to care about the little girl. But as it stood, she was little more than a burden, and he had to stifle the desire to hit her when she interrupted his thoughts or his work. When Christa had been in the hospital, he’d been overwhelmed with worry and work, leaving him tense and unable to control himself. He’d beaten Katja. Then he felt terrible. Manfred knew that both his wife and child feared him, and it saddened him in many ways. In fact, he knew that all the prisoners took great care to stay clear of his flare-ups of anger. And then, there was that girl, that Jewess, Zofia. Those dark, brooding eyes of hers came to him in dreams, haunting and taunting him. She epitomized the guilt he felt for all he’d done to her people. But how could he feel so guilty, and yet still need the feeling of power that he held over the starving Jews who worked under him? When he thought of them, the smell of dirt and disease they brought to mind, the look of their sunken eyes and emaciated bodies sickened him. He longed to be away from the camp, away from them. And yet, if he were, he would never have that god-like feeling that burned within him when he decided who would live and who would die.

  As he approached the tavern, he took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Manfred!” Joseph Goebbels called to him from the back of the room. “Come over here. It’s been a very long time.”

  Manfred headed to the table where Goebbels sat.

  “Heil Hitler.”

  “Heil Hitler,” Goebbels said. “You’ve lost some weight, Manfred.”

  Manfred thought of how difficult the smells at the camp made it for him to eat.

  “Yes, I have. You’re looking well, sir,” Manfred lied. Dr. Goebbels looked strained. He’d always been skeletally thin, but now his clothes hung on him.

  “We have much to discuss, but not here. There are too many people around, and with times as they are, you just cannot be sure who you can trust. Let me pay this check and we can be on our way.”

  Dr. Goebbels left two reichmarks on the table and motioned for Manfred to follow him.

  “How have you been?” Goebbels asked as they walked.

  “I’ve managed.”

  “Dirty business, those camps.”

  “Yes.”

  “Unfortunately, they are necessary if we are ever to achieve our goals of a perfect Aryan world.”

  Manfred nodded, but he wondered how Joseph Goebbels would feel in his position, how the Minister of Propaganda would cope with the daily doses of death and disease he’d been forced to put up with. It was a nasty business.

  “Anyway, this meeting that we are going to attend is top secret. You must never reveal anything that is said here to anyone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Good. It took a great deal of convincing on my part to secure your invitation. There is still great mistrust for you in the Party.”

  “You realize that it was never me. It was my father-in-law. I had no idea.”

  “I know that. But the others…”

  “Yes, and no matter how hard I work for the Party, they never seem convinced.”

  “Things have become rather ugly. Party members are constantly looking for reasons to turn on each other. Manfred…we are losing the war.”

  “I know.” And even though he knew it, the reality of what Goebbels said hit him like a slap across the face. If Germany lost the war, what would become of him?

  They walked in silence for several moments. An automobile honked, as a driver yelled an obscenity out the window of his car at another driver who’d cut him off.

  “This meeting is about the Party’s plans for the future,” Goebbels said. “There was a meeting a couple of years ago. I’m sure you received the memo. Distasteful stuff… Like the Final Solution. That was the beginning of what we must discuss today.”

  “You are talking about the memo to step up the exterminations?”

  “Yes. We must try to complete this mission as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, I got the memo, and we have increased the gassings. The ovens are working at full capacity. Did you attend the meeting? The one concerning the Final Solution?”

  “No, I wasn’t invited,” Goebbels frowned. “I was told it was given by Heydrick. Took place somewhere in Wansee…”

  “It has certainly increased the work load at the camp. The guards complain about their additional hours.”

  “First you were at Treblinka, and now you are at Auschwitz?”

  “Yes. You heard what happened at Treblinka?’

  “Of course I heard. We were forced to close it down. Inmates got out of hand. It did not reflect well on you or the other officers in charge…losing control like that.”

  “Yes. I know. I am sorry,” Manfred turned away. Another catastrophe he was to be blamed for.

  “How is Auschwitz?”

  “It’s run well. I am in charge of work details. However, because of the elimination process, there are fewer and fewer prisoners available to work.”

  “Well, we must finish this Final Solution business before the end of the war.”

  “Is this what the meeting is about?” Manfred asked.

  “No. That has already been decided. Enough talk on the street. We will talk more when we arrive at our destination.” Goebbels seemed jumpy. He kept looking in all directions. Manfred worried that someone at this meeting might decide to rehash his father-in-law’s treason.

  Silently the two men walked down the dimly lit street. It was dusk. The sun had left the sky, and with it most of the light of day. Following Goebbels’ lead, they turned down Wilhelmstrabe and into the garden of the old Reich Chancellery Building. Manfred cast a side-glance at Goebbels. He could not imagine why they had entered a garden at night. Goebbels did not look back. He walked to the back of the building. Manfred followed. Then Goebbels looked around him.

  “Come,” Goebbels said to Manfred. “Follow me.”

  They entered the back of the old Reich Chancellery through a hidden door. A single light bulb lit the dark, damp room.

  Manfred followed Goebbels down a long metal staircase, their heels clanking as they went. It seemed like an endless walk. Manfred was frightened. Even though he trusted Goebbels as much as he could trust anyone in the Party, he could not be sure that his demise was not at hand.

  Twenty-eight feet below the garden of the old Reich building, they entered a series of rooms surrounded by thick concrete. The rooms were lit with lamps and well furnished. Other Party members walked through the rooms, greeting each other and drinking schnapps. It was actually a meeting and not his execution; Manfred had been worried. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Hitler’s secretary, a slender woman with dark, wavy hair greeted them.

  “Heil Hitler.”

  “Heil Hitler.”

  “Good evening, Dr. Goebbels. Would you gentlemen care for a drink?”

  “Yes. Would you like a drink Manfred?”

  “Yes, that would be very nice,” Manfred said. The alcohol would calm his nerves.

  “This is my old friend, Manfred Blau. Manfred, this is Truadl, our Füehrer’s secretary.”

  “I recall your name. Didn’t the Fuehrer attend your wedding?” the secretary asked.

  “Yes. You have quite a memory.”

  “I have to. It’s my job.” She smiled at him.

  The woman took a decanter of carved crystal off the shelf. The crystal sparkled in the light where a large swastika had been etched on the side. She poured them both a drink.

  “Make yourselves comfortable. The meeting will begin in a few minutes,” She said as she handed them the glasses. “Right over there, in the Fuehrer’s study.”

  “Thank you, Truadl,” Goebbels said.

  “Very nice to finally meet you,” Traudl said to Manfred.

  “Likewise,” Manfred smiled.

  “Come. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  It was warm in the un
derground bunker, very warm. The air was thick and stifling. Manfred felt the sweat beneath his uniform as Goebbels made introductions.

  “This is Dr. Claubrerg. He is doing some fascinating work with some of the subjects from the camp where you are working, Manfred.”

  “Heil Hitler. Nice to meet you, Dr. Clauberg.”

  “You work at Auschwitz?”

  “Yes, I am Manfred Blau, the Arbeitsführer.”

  “Very good. I have been composing a museum of sorts. You see, once the Jews are extinct, there will be little left to show our people what we were force to eliminate in order for the world to be as it should. So, I’ve put together a skeletal collection from Block 10 at Auschwitz. I have approximately 115 specimens. From the specimens, you can see for yourself why the Jews are an inferior race. If you are ever in the area, drop by. It’s on display at the university in Strasburg. Fascinating stuff, if I may say so myself.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Manfred said.

  “Yes. You see, the Jew’s have a different skull structure than the regular person. In fact they are not like us in any way.”

  “I am aware of this, although I’ve never seen an actual comparison of skulls,” Manfred said.

  “Do you think this is what makes them so cunning and dangerous?” Goebbels asked.

  “Possibly… They are that… Cunning and dangerous, I mean. They certainly cannot be trusted. I suppose the bottom line is that they are inferiors. ”

  “For certain,” Goebbels said.

  “The meeting is about to begin.” Traudl entered the room. “Gentlemen, please, if you would, make your way into the study and be seated.”

  “We will talk later… A pleasure to meet you, Manfred,” Dr. Clauberg said.

  A large oil painting of Fredrick the Great, framed in cherry wood, hung on the wall behind a well-constructed desk made from the same wood. A plush sofa, upholstered with fine embroidered fabric of green with gold trim, and matching chairs had been set up to accommodate the guests. An ashtray made from a human pelvis sat on the marble table, with cigars placed along the edges. Only a handful of men were present. As Hitler’s secretary clapped her hands to bring the meeting to order, the men took seats around the room.