Adolf pulled up his shirt and turned to show Ilsa the bandage. “My first dueling scar. My last as well, I hope.”
“You must tell me all about it, so I can tell Clotilde,” said Ilsa. “I know she hopes she can thank you in person, someday.”
“Clotilde? Oh, the girl in the alley. Strange, I never even knew her name.”
“Yet you fought a duel for her.” In the dim light, Adolf could just make out Ilsa’s ironic smile.
“It was more than that.”
“I know.”
“How is she?”
“Far better than she’d be without your intervention, Adolf. It’s always hard for the lower classes, but when fear walks, it’s much worse.”
“I almost killed a man today, Ilsa. Maybe I should have.”
Ilsa shook her head. “That wasn’t why you met him on the field today. Why let him bring you down to his level?”
Adolf relaxed a little. He’d been hoping she would say something like that.
“Shall we discuss what the Jews had to say on the subject? As long as you’re here?”
“I’d love to,” said Adolf. “But you know how we always lose track of time, once we get going. Maybe I could borrow some books. I really just wanted to see you—and know that you’re all right.” Ilsa smiled reassuringly, but Adolf thought of Clotilde, and heard again the voice in his head: it could have been Ilsa.
She went to her desk and picked up a stack of books by the knot of the twine that held them together. “Here’s a portion of what the Jews had to say about fighting. Since you asked.”
Adolf glanced sharply at Ilsa, even as he eagerly took the books. How did she always know what he was going to do or think or need before he did?
“Oh, and there’s one more.” She began hunting around her desk, finally locating an open book buried beneath her mending. “Since Hanukkah was such a success, I thought you might like to try another Jewish holiday. There’s one coming up that looks really great. It’s called Purim. See what you think.”
Adolf sighed. “A celebration sounds like just what we need. The headmaster’s been encouraging parties almost as much as duels: anything to ease tensions and boost morale. We could probably hold it in the Student Activity Center without anyone even noticing.” He looked down at the book Ilsa had given him, not willing to admit how hungry he was for ritual; for anything that would separate him from Josef Heydrich—and from Helmut Goebbels.
“It won’t be the kind of party the Party who runs the place has in mind for the center,” Ilsa said with a grin. “But fortunately, they won’t be there.”
“We hope,” said Adolf. “I just wish you could be there.”
“I’ll be there in spirit,” said Ilsa. “But to be honest, it’s not really my kind of celebration.”
His curiosity piqued, Adolf hurried back to his dorm to read the book, and get the preparations underway.
Two weeks later, Adolf stood in the doorway of the private party room in the Student Activity Center and surveyed the chaos inside.
Franz staggered over and handed him a noisemaker and a cup of something fermented. "Chag Purim Sameach!" he shouted over the din.
Heidi, too drunk to stand, reached up and pulled Adolf onto the sofa on which she was sprawled. "This was a great idea, Adolf!" she said, planting a reeking kiss on his mouth.
Adolf disentangled himself as gently as possible and stood up again. "Thanks," he said. "But this wasn't quite what I had in mind."
"Come on," said Franz. "Join in. Call it a spiritual duty."
"But everyone here is shit faced!" said Adolf.
"Of course we are," Klaus said, waving a tattered book. "Because we're good little Party members who always follow orders. And it says right here that we're supposed to drink until we can't tell if we're cursing Haman and blessing Mordecai--or doing it the other round away."
Adolf took the book from Klaus. "This is your Biology textbook."
"It is? I must need more to drink." Klaus wandered back to the punchbowl, which sat between two plates of homely little triangular pastries.
Adolf sighed. "I suppose a choral reading from the Book of Esther is pretty much out of the question?"
Frederick blew a noisemaker in Adolf's face. "Get with the program! It's Purim! We're commanded to rejoice! Stop being such a wet blanket, Adolf!"
At that moment, Heidi pulled Frederick onto the sofa with her. He made no effort to disentangle himself.
Franz, looking on, shook his head. "Really Adolf, you're far too serious for such a young man. Remind me to do something about it when I'm sober."
“I just hope everybody here sobers up before they venture outside!” he shouted at no one in particular. “At least enough to refrain from inviting the Gestapo to join us!”
Krista came by with a fifth of gin in each hand. “Hey, Karl, where do you want this? In the punch?”
Karl, wearing a ridiculous hat and plastic glasses with a rubber nose attached, took the liquor from Krista. “No. The punch is full of schnapps. This is for a game. Okay, everybody, this is what we’re going to do! Each player takes a shot of gin, and then says a sentence in Hebrew. If you flub it, you have to try again.”
“And also,” said Klaus, using the wall to remain upright, “when you’re finished, turn over your shot glass. Anything drips out, you gotta do it over again.”
Adolf went to the opposite side of the room, righted a toppled chair and sat down. He gazed at the cheap paper decorations on the walls, then down at the two hundred year old book in his hands. He turned the pages, past engraved illustrations of the ancient Persian capital; of the heroic Jewish queen as she defeated a plot against her people; of the villain Haman on the gallows.
Then he looked at his drunken friends. Karl left the game quite suddenly and ran to the adjoining bathroom to throw up. A few people made jokes about men who couldn’t hold their liquor, and the game continued.
Adolf wanted to leave. He thought about going to the Judenmuseum, but knew he shouldn’t push his luck—or hers—again so soon. So he sat and stared, growing more and more morose, and confused as to why.
“Is this all it is?” Adolf asked aloud. “Everything we’ve been doing for the past six months? The faith that millions of people thought was worth dying for? It’s just a dumb new excuse to get drunk?”
“I didn’t know you had started taking it so seriously.”
Startled, Adolf looked up. Krista, looking a bit green, stood before him—though none too steadily.
Adolf stood and hurried to get her a chair. She sat down carefully.
“Why aren’t you in the game?” Adolf asked.
“I started feeling sick. I’ve never been much of a drinker, and I decided I didn’t want to end up like Karl, over there. Or like Heidi, for that matter.”
“Sorry,” said Adolf, “but I’m not good company right now.”
“So I see. So when did you start taking this stuff seriously?”
“Good question. I’m not sure myself.”
“If it makes you feel any better, it’s sort of been growing on me, too. But if you don’t mind, can I give you a word of advice?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t make it public. This religion; this Judaism…it’s taking on a life of its own. To be safe, it’s best if it just stays a game; officially anyway.”
Adolf looked into Krista’s earnest face, and felt his spirits lift a little. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s good advice. And you’re a good friend.”
Krista actually blushed, bringing a little color back to her face. “I think I’ll go now,” she said.
“Would you mind sticking around for awhile? I’m going to read from the Book of Esther, and I could use an audience.”
Krista looked around. A fight had broken out between Karl and Frederic. Franz and Klaus were breaking it up. “You’re going to read it here? Now? The whole thing?”
“It isn’t very long. And you can read half if you like.”
“Thank
s, but I’ll just listen.”
Adolf opened the book and began to read. “’Now it came to pass in the days of Ahasuerus who reigned from India even unto Ethiopia over a hundred and seven and twenty provinces…”
They paused once early on for a debate over the circumstances that made Esther the Jewish queen of the ancient Persian empire.
“Let me get this straight,” Krista said, stopping Adolf in the middle of the second chapter. “This king orders his wife to appear naked before his drunken party guests. She refuses, so he has her killed. Then he has a beauty pageant that Esther happens to win, so he makes her the new queen—and the Jews think this is something to brag about?”
“It gets better,” Adolf said carefully, keeping an eye on Krista’s hands. They weren’t balled into fists yet, which was a good sign.
“I’m sure it does. I’d just like to make a case that the real hero of this story is Queen Vashti! She had the courage to stand up to that pig of husband—even if he was king! What does Esther do? Use sex to get her way?”
“No, she does more than that,” Adolf said, uncomfortably aware that beyond the use of her body and the influence of her cousin Mordecai, Esther wasn’t really in the book that much.
He went on reading, relating the story of the heroic Mordecai, who saved the king’s life, the jealous Haman who sought to destroy, not just Mordecai, but all his people, and how Haman used the king’s seal to send out an order to wipe out all the Jews of the empire on a given day. How Esther denounced Haman to the king, and how Mordecai convinced King Ahasuerus to send out a second decree, this time to the Jews of the empire, telling them to arm themselves and stand against those who would slay them.
Adolf reached the end of the saga, which described various great deeds of King Ahasuerus—with Mordecai as his right hand man. “’For Mordecai the Jew was next unto King Ahasuerus, and great among the Jews, and accepted of the multitude of his brethren, seeking the wealth of his people, and speaking peace to all his seed.’”
Adolf looked up and was startled to see that his audience had grown. Though not all were fully conscious, and few were comprehending very much, all attending party-goers were gathered in chairs or on the floor in front of Adolf.
“So that’s what this party is all about?” said Heidi. “We’re supposed to dress up and get drunk—because a bunch of people who were about to kill the Jews got killed by them instead?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Klaus, slugging down another cup of punch.
“I’ll admit it’s kind of morbid,” said Adolf. “Still, it was the first time in history that the Jews fought back—and won. I can see why they thought that was worth celebrating to excess.”
“Let’s hear it for excess!” said Frederic. He threw back his head to drink a toast, but ended up falling over backwards. Fortunately, he was sitting on the floor rather than in a chair.
“How could an idiot like that Ahas…Ahsarsass…whatever his name was, hang onto an empire?” Karl grumbled. “He never seemed to know who was sending out orders under his name! And the massacre of the Jews was supposed to happen in the twelfth month of the year! Esther blew the whistle on the plot in the third month! He had plenty of time. Why didn’t he just cancel the order?”
“He couldn’t,” said Krista. She picked up the book, and leafed through it carefully. “It says right here in chapter eight, ‘…for the writing which is written in the king’s name and sealed with the king’s ring, no man may recall.’”
Franz nodded thoughtfully. “So he righted one wrong—the annihilation of one group of subjects, by letting them kill—what was the number, Krista?”
She flipped another page and scanned the text. “Seventy-five thousand.”
“Depending on the number of Jews, not to mention which group provided more revenue…Yes, I’d say he was a typical king. Compared to some of our Illustrious Leaders lately—“
“I wonder,” said Adolf suddenly.
Franz’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Adolf seldom interrupted anyone. “What?”
“If there was something else he could have done. Karl’s right…”
“I am?”
“He is?” Karl turned to take a swing at the person who said that, but it turned out to be three different people. He settled for shoving Frederic, who had finally gotten up, back to the floor.
“I mean,” said Adolf, ignoring the interplay, “the king had a terrible situation, but several months to solve it. The decision he made was to save the Jews by sacrificing the people who were only following orders to kill them. Before they even attempted to carry out those orders. It really doesn’t seem fair. I wonder if there was another way.”
Heidi stood up, yawning. “Well, Adolf,” she said, clumsily patting his shoulder. “If there was another way, I’m sure you’d have thought of it. Come on, guys. I’d say the party’s over.”
People filed out, calling out slurred goodbyes, and congratulating each other on what a great idea it was to celebrate this Jewish holiday. No one, Adolf noticed, stopped to pick up garbage or straighten the room on their way out.
“You read with great power,” Franz said as Adolf and Krista began to gather up trash.
“Say that when you’re sober and I’ll believe you,” said Adolf.
“Someday I will. But my earlier opinion remains unchanged: you’re far too serious for such a young man.”
Adolf smiled and said nothing. From where he stood tonight, he could take that as a compliment.
CHAPTER 7
Eventually, things calmed down as they always did. Whatever conspiracy or threat the Party had been worried about had presumably been taken care of. By the middle of April, tension had eased considerably on campus and elsewhere, and now, most people were caught up in the spirit of celebration.
The One Hundred Twelfth Anniversary of the Birth of the First Führer would be celebrated on April 20th. Berlin, of course would be a major center, but not the largest. The Führer’s birthplace of Braunau Inn in Austria--now a shrine--would be where most of the movers and shakers gathered.
Adolf’s parents would be there, but not any of the children, nor Uncle Gustav. Adolf’s mother explained that tickets were harder to get this year, and Adolf would surely have more fun just staying in Berlin. He sensed a strain in his mother’s voice, and knew something was going on, but he couldn’t argue with her second statement.
School was closed for a whole week, and was nearly deserted, as everyone who had any place to go hurried to get there. Adolf was looking forward to spending the entire week at the Judenmuseum. With him would be Krista, who could not afford to travel home, and Ilsa, who had nowhere else to go.
The week began just as he hoped. Saturday morning, Adolf’s footsteps echoed in the deserted halls of the empty dormitory. Few professors had assigned work over the holiday, and Adolf had already finished what little there was. Taking only a knapsack full of books, he left campus, stopping at an expensive pastry shop, where he bought an impressive selection of breakfast rolls and breads. Then he went to a butcher for roasted beef, avoiding foods that had been blamed for several deaths lately, such as fish and pork. Seafood had become especially risky, as more and more toxins were washed into the oceans.
Adolf hadn’t really planned to miss all the festivities--had in fact hoped he could convince Ilsa to come with him to see the fireworks, or some of the parades. But he ended up spending the next four days at the Judenmuseum, leaving only to buy food, or return to his dorm to sleep. Then he gave up going back to sleep, deciding the floor of the museum would be more restful than the silent, empty dormitory.
Ilsa was not there when he showed up Wednesday morning with a pillow and blanket.
“Planning on moving in?” asked Krista, as she looked up from her sketch pad, her dark hair still damp from her morning shower.
“Why not? It looks like you already have. How do you get here so early? I walk you to your dorm every night, but you’re always here when I arrive in the morning.”<
br />
“I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s easier for me to just leave at first light. I can nap later if I need to.”
“What are you working on?” Adolf asked, reaching for the pad.
Krista pulled it away from Adolf, clutching it protectively. Then she sighed and turned it toward Adolf.
It was a sketch of Ilsa.
She was standing by a window--probably the single window in the front of the museum--staring outside with a far off gaze. Her blonde hair, fine features, and shapely limbs were all rendered with great skill.
“This is magnificent!” said Adolf. “Why were you reluctant to show it to me?”
Krista shrugged, but couldn’t make it look natural. “Oh, nothing. I just--” Then she burst into tears and ran to the bathroom.
“What did I say?” Adolf asked the sketch, wondering what was wrong with Krista.
Not her talent, that’s for sure. Adolf leafed through the tablet. There were landscapes from around campus, copies of illustrations from books, and portraits of everyone who came to the meetings. Even Adolf was there. He had to admit he was flattered--even though his big ears were a little too true to life, and his smile was goofy. Klaus, too, seemed to be drawn more for comic relief than beauty, but, come to think of it, Klaus really was comic relief.
Then Adolf came upon another page full of sketches of Ilsa. All of them were nude. Feeling like he had just placed his foot on what he thought was a step, only to fall down a shaft, Adolf could only stare. Why had Krista done these? How had she done these? From imagination or...
Adolf shook his head. That was unthinkable. And yet...people posed naked for artists all the time. But Ilsa? That didn’t seem like her style. Yet everything he knew about art and anatomy suggested that this was not the work of Krista’s imagination.
He remembered the joke she had made that first day they met in the museum, about only coming there to look at Ilsa. It had been a joke, hadn’t it?
The door flew open and Ilsa ran in, out of breath and flustered. The pad slid from Adolf’s fingers, scattering pages all over the floor.
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