I grabbed my luggage and pulled out my wallet and papers. I dressed quickly, layering several changes of clothes under my greatcoat. I shoved the remaining clothes into the dumbwaiter, pushed the empty luggage under the bed, and locked and chained the door to the hallway. I yanked the phone wire out of the wall. When I opened the window, the night air hit me coldly in the face, but I forced myself through the narrow window onto the fire escape. Few lights were on in the hotel windows. Night sounds swarmed around me as I crept down the metal stairs, dropping the last few feet to the sidewalk. I stood a moment against the building, watching the street. No one was around.
I made my way to my car, unlocked it, but I didn't turn on the lights until I was far from the hotel, until I was speeding away as fast as I could. No, that wasn't running away. That was saving myself. Anyone else would have done the same. We have to watch out for ourselves. No one else will.
"Can you do something for me?" I said to Dieter.
"Of course. Anything. What do you want?"
"Cyanide."
"Cyanide? Zyklon B?"
"No, not for them. Cyanide tablets."
"For the girl?"
"No."
"Just shoot her," said Dieter. "It'll be quicker."
"Not for the girl. For me."
"You're not serious, Max. What on earth for?"
"I don't think I can bear what's going to come after."
"You can bear it, Max. We all can."
I shook my head. Dieter emptied the wine bottle, then drained his glass.
"Will you?"
"Max."
"Dieter, I've never asked anything of you before."
"You're just stressed, Max, with Hans' illness. And the probation. And the Front moving so close."
"It's not those things."
"I'm not surprised you feel this way. I don't know what I'd do if they used the file on me. But it won't be as bad as you think. It never is."
"You don't understand. You're not listening."
"It won't be that bad, Max. You'll get through it. We all will."
"Can you get them for me? From your cousin?"
"There are other ways."
"Three should be enough."
"Max, we'll get through this."
"Listen. Can you get me at least three?"
"Why don't you go to South America?" said Dieter. "That's what everyone else is going to do."
"Listen. This is important. Are you listening to me?" said Ilse. "Are you?"
"Yes, yes," said Marta, wiping Hans' face and lifting him from the bath. "Get into the tub."
"First, listen."
"Get into the tub."
"Listen."
Marta frowned as she wrapped Hans in the heavy towel and handed him to me.
"What?" she said. "What is it now?"
"Is this soap Jew-soap?" said Ilse.
"Is it what?" said Marta.
"Is it Jew-soap?"
"Jew-soap? No Jew's been in my bathroom to use my soap."
"No," said Ilse. "Is it Jew-soap? Is it the soap made from the dead Jews?"
"Max, what's she talking about?"
"I never heard it before," I said.
I shifted Hans so my shirt wouldn't get wet. He bounced up and down in my arms. Ilse stood, naked, her hands on her hips, next to the bath.
"I don't know where she gets these ideas," I said.
"Who told you such a thing?" said Marta.
"The housekeeper."
"When?"
"This morning, when she was mopping," said Ilse. "She said..."
"That housekeeper has to go, Max."
"She's a good housekeeper."
"I don't like her around the children."
"Ilse probably misunderstood what she was saying."
"No, I didn't. She said..."
"I want a housekeeper who's not an inmate."
"What did she say about the soap, Ilse?"
"She said the fat from the dead Jews was being boiled into soap."
"Oh, my God, Max. That's it. I want that Jew out of my house."
"She's not a Jew. She's a Pole."
"I don't care what she is."
"And then she said..."
"I want a housekeeper from Berlin."
"You know that's not possible. I'll get another girl in her place."
"Not an inmate."
"Who else am I supposed to get?"
"Not an inmate. I've had enough of them."
"I'll take care of it."
"Not a Jew."
"I said I'll take care of it."
"But is this Jew-soap or not?" said Ilse.
Chapter Four
"We have something that needs to be taken care of, sir," said the hotel manager.
"Yes?" I said. "If it's about the bill..."
"Oh, no, sir, not about the bill," he said. "That's been taken care of, just as you said. It's about a gentleman, sir."
"A gentleman?"
"A gentleman has been inquiring after you, sir. A rather, shall we say, 'unsavory gentleman'."
"Unsavory?"
"Not our kind at all, sir," said the hotel manager.
"Looking for me?"
"Most persistently. He's been in every few hours for the past several days. He keeps asking the desk clerk if you're still registered."
"Is he here now?"
"He was just asking after you again, sir. He's at the desk."
"Fine," I said, standing. "Let's take care of it now."
The manager nodded, walking briskly beside me to the lobby. No one was at the desk. The manager approached the clerk and spoke to him. The clerk pointed to the door of the dining room. The manager said something else. The clerk shook his head. Several young guests, dressed in white, came in from the tennis courts. Laughing and poking each other with their racquets, they went into the dining room. The manager came back over to me.
"He seems to have left, Mr. Hoffmann. Apparently, he looked into the dining room after I went in to speak with you, then he left. I apologize if I erred in coming to you while he was here."
"Thank you for telling me about him," I said, looking out the wide glass doors that fronted the busy street.
"The clerk says he left in a hurry."
"It doesn't matter. I was checking out this morning anyway."
"I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Hoffmann; I hope there's no problem."
"Business."
"Oh, that's fine, sir. We hope you've enjoyed your stay with us. If you're ever in this area again..."
"Of course, your hotel will be my first choice," I said, and he smiled. "Send a boy up to my room for the luggage. My business is rather urgent. I'd better hurry."
"We're never hurried. It's always very leisurely," said Dieter. "This last time, most of us stayed till four in the morning."
"He spent that entire time with you?"
"Yes," said Dieter. "He was very generous with his time. And in a very good humor. Very entertaining."
"Ilse, go ask Mommy to bring us another bottle of wine," I said, and she ran toward the house.
A few moments later, Ilse came running back to us.
"Mommy's already coming," she said.
Marta came down the path through the garden and handed me the bottle and corkscrew.
"I anticipated your asking," she said.
Dieter picked Hans up from his blanket on the grass. Ilse plucked flowers and made tiny bouquets for each of her dolls, sitting in a row in the grass. I twisted the cork free from the wine bottle as Dieter sat Hans on his lap. Hans fingered Dieter's uniform buttons, and cooed at his medals. I laid the cork on the table as I handed Marta the bottle. After she filled our glasses with wine, she cut the plum cake.
"I've never thought of him as entertaining," I said.
"Oh, yes, he told all sorts of amusing anecdotes," said Dieter, dangling his Iron Cross in front of Hans. "Especially after the film."
"What film did you watch?" said Marta.
"Oh, some American thing, a
comedy," said Dieter. "I was more interested in what he was saying."
"Yes," I said, "so would I have been."
Ilse leaned against my legs and spilled handfuls of Saint-John's-Wort in my lap.
"Oh, what pretty flowers," said Marta.
"Look, Daddy," said Ilse.
"A most fascinating man," said Dieter, while Hans grasped the shining cross. "Quite charming. Quite impressive."
Marta put another piece of cake on Dieter's plate.
"Look, Daddy," said Ilse.
"Daddy, didn't Ilse bring you lovely flowers?" said Marta.
"Beautiful," I said, patting Ilse on the head. "Beautiful flowers from my beautiful little girl."
"I wouldn't mind at all if I ended up like him," said Dieter.
"He has the requisite hardness," I said.
"Yes," said Dieter. "He has heart."
"Uncle Dieter," said Marta, lifting Hans from his lap, "Ilse's brought you some flowers, too."
"Thank you, sweetheart," said Dieter.
"This is Angel... Angel... ," said Ilse.
"Angelica," said Marta.
"Angelica," said Ilse.
"How pretty," said Dieter as Marta took the Iron Cross from Hans' mouth and wiped it with her apron.
"See, Daddy?" said Ilse.
"Pretty."
"He said, 'We should have no pity for those destined to perish'," said Dieter, smiling up at Marta when she handed him his medal. "What an incredible man he is."
"I hope one day to meet him personally," I said, "and spend time with him, as you have."
"Yes," said Dieter. "It's quite a moving experience."
"They are destined to perish," I said. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Kommandant," said the guards.
"Apparently, you don't. It's rumored that you continue to maintain friendly relations with them."
The guards gathered before me in my office stared rigidly ahead, their hands fixed on their weapons, their legs stiff. Their faces were round, and unshaved. Two of them had missing uniform buttons. One smelled distinctly of alcohol. I flipped through the papers in my hands.
"Three of you have been reprimanded before."
They said nothing.
"This is a most unsatisfactory situation."
My adjutant took the papers when I held out the folder. I'd dealt with this kind so many times before: narrow eyes, narrow wallets, narrow minds. Conscripts probably. I shook my head as I paced in front of the guards.
"I understand that the temptation is strong," I said, my baton in my hand as I walked. "These are wealthy prisoners of the state. But we must be strong."
They nodded their empty heads.
"We must rise above our ordinary human selves. We must be greater than we seem."
They nodded again.
"If this behavior continues, I shall be forced to assume that you are incapable of understanding the most elementary principles of National Socialism."
A few of them glanced at me. The one who stank of liquor wiped his mouth and nose with the back of his bare hand.
"I would be forced to regard your behavior as disrespectful to the measures of the state."
Several of them blinked as they stared at the windows. The drunken guard's eyes drifted closed, then jerked open. He swayed slightly on his feet. After I returned to my desk, my adjutant closed the folder over the papers he held.
"If this behavior continues, I'll have to take you into Protective Custody. Temporarily. For educational purposes. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Kommandant," said the guards in unison.
"Dismissed."
"Kommandant. Kommandant," said the girl. "Kommandant."
I ran down the stairs to my office.
"Kommandant," said the girl. "Kommandant."
"What's going on here?" I said as I entered the office area.
My adjutant saluted me. Two guards held the girl by the arms. My adjutant picked up some papers from his desk. The guards tightened their grip on the girl. She winced as she struggled against them.
"Josef, what's this about?" I said. "Release her."
After the guards released the girl, she ran over and crouched behind me. The guards stood at attention. My adjutant held something out to me.
"I was just trying to carry out your orders, sir."
"What are you doing with the girl?"
"As I said, sir."
"What's this?"
"It was on my desk this morning, sir, marked 'Priority'."
The girl crept toward my office door, huddling near its frame.
"I assumed you put it there, sir."
Release for Annihilation
of Life Without Value.
On this date.
By my hand.
Kommandant.
"What is this? I didn't issue this order."
"It's dated, sir. And stamped."
"It's not signed."
"You never sign them."
"It's unsigned." I held the paper in front of his face. "There's no signature. Do you see a signature?"
"No, sir."
"Since when do these releases go through without my signature?"
"There are rarely any signatures, sir."
"That is inefficiency," I said, crushing the page. "From now on, these orders require my signature."
"All of them?"
"Yes."
"Even if they're dated and stamped?"
"Even if they're written out entirely in my handwriting. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"I won't have this camp running without my direct supervision."
"No, sir."
"Dismissed."
The guards saluted. They turned, and left for the camp's yard through the back door. I passed the adjutant and thrust open my office door. The girl rushed inside. No, it was more than just trying to disrupt or subvert the operation of the camp. Someone was trying to destroy me. To destroy my character. My reputation. If I'd failed at the camp, nothing could have saved me. I kept a tighter rein on the camp's business after that. I closed my office door, locked it, put the key in my pants pocket. I buttoned my jacket.
"What shall I do about the order, sir?"
I held out my hand. My adjutant reached into the wire basket on the corner of his desk and pulled out the carbons. After he handed them to me, I realigned them with the crumpled original. I tore the order in half. In quarters. I tossed the fragments into the wastebasket.
"What order?"
"Do you want Daddy to give you an order, Ilse?" said Marta.
"I want to read the story one more time."
"Max," said Marta, "do something with the children."
"Hans wants me to read it again, too. Don't you, Hans?"
"Book," said Hans.
"Max, I can't do anything with them."
"Daddy wants to hear it one more time, too," said Ilse.
Hans squealed and slapped the book's cover.
"Max, it's past the children's bedtime. They were playing outside in the snow all day. They're so tired, they're being disagreeable. Tell them to go to bed."
"No. Tell us to read the story again."
"Book," said Hans as he pulled at it, trying to turn its pages.
"Max, what's wrong with you tonight? You're not listening."
"Please, Mommy. Daddy wants us to read the story again."
"Max, what's wrong? Are you all right? What did you do to your hand?"
"Please, Mommy, please."
"All right, Ilse," said Marta with a loud sigh. "But this is absolutely the last time."
"Yes," said Ilse, nodding.
"Then it's straight up to bed," said Marta.
"Yes," said Ilse, and Hans nodded.
Listen, the boys are singing a song!
Listen to the sound of the drums!
Marta stared at me, her sewing in her lap. I sat with my legs stretched out, my chin on my chest. Beneath its white gauze bandages, my hand throbbed. The fire spat, throwing spark
s against the screen.
"What's wrong with you, Max? And what happened to your hand?"
I closed my eyes, and lifted my glass. Hans clapped as Ilse turned the page.
Look at the boys, marching in step,
Marching in rows of three.
Look at the boys, saluting the flag.
Saluting our beloved Führer.
Listen, the boys are singing their song!
Listen to the sound of the drums!
The Cognac burned its way down my throat. The fire was warm.
Look at the boys: handsome and brave!
Listen to the sound of the drums!
"What's wrong? Why aren't you going with us, Max?"
I opened the bureau drawer and took out my shirts.
"We've been over this, Marta."
"It's her, isn't it? It is."
"Don't be ridiculous. Is that all you ever think about?"
"Why aren't you coming with us?" said Marta.
"I'll join you later. I've told you that already."
I placed the folded shirts into my open suitcase. Marta stood at the foot of the bed, watching me as I opened another bureau drawer. She twisted a damp handkerchief. She'd been crying, and her eyes were red and swollen. I closed the bureau and went to the closet.
"It's her. I know it is," said Marta. "You'll never see me or the children again."
"Marta, you're my wife. You're the mother of my children."
"She's a Jew. Why are you going to her?"
"I never said..."
"She hates you."
I stood there, my uniform in my hand. Marta crumpled her handkerchief into a ball. She looked me in the face.
"She hates you, Max."
"I know that."
"Then why aren't you coming with us?"
"I'm telling you this for the last time, Marta. You and the children will go first..."
The Kommandant's Mistress Page 5