From the Ashes

by Sandra Saidak

  Adolf turned his back on his confused followers and headed for the stairs.

  Elias blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re going?” the professor demanded.

  “Back on the air. To tell everyone it’s time for the killing to stop. If they don’t choose to stop, that’s their privilege, but they’re not going to do any more of it in my name.”

  “The station isn’t even secure yet, Adolf! How much good can you do if you’re dead?”

  “How much good can I do if I sit back and let blood-drunk savages solve my problems for me?” Adolf shot back. “Besides, what are the odds I’ll be alive in twelve months, even if we win the field today? You taught history, Professor, so tell me: what’s the average life span for a leader in my position?”

  “Not long, I’ll admit. But there is such a thing as maximizing the odds.”

  “You’re right!” said Adolf. “Everyone here is right! And if I just wait here until the shooting stops, I’ll have a much easier job!

  “All those in power, who might have posed a threat to my administration will be conveniently dead—and so will millions of people who didn’t pose a threat. The surviving population will be so small that this battered world’s resources might even be enough to feed them. We can avoid starvation and the need for War Crimes trials all at once!

  “And all I have to do to pull it off is sit back, nice and safe, while countless people kill and die in my name.

  “All I have to do is found our future on moral cowardice.

  “Does anyone in this room think I’m going to do that?”

  Adolf could hear his voice echoing from the walls and ceiling. Then there was silence. Ilsa was smiling. “You have to let him go, Professor,” she said. “Even if you really are the prophet Elijah, you can’t keep Adolf here, or he wouldn’t be the leader we need. And clearly, he is.” As her gaze swept the rest of the room she spoke softly. “Face it, people: you can’t build a world with Nazi tools, and expect it to turn out any differently than the one that Nazis already built.”

  Elias looked deeply thoughtful. “I’ll stand aside, Adolf, if you can answer one question. If we can, like you, somehow learn to forgive our enemies, who says they’re going to forgive us? If you let them live, how will you stop them from destroying everything we try to build?”

  “That’s two questions,” Adolf muttered. But he had the distinct impression that his first test of leadership was happening right now, in this bunker, before an audience of thirty judges, rather than two billion.

  He stared at Karl, wondering how many more like him would have to be sacrificed, before the new world could not be distinguished from the old one. Before a Hebrew letter branded into human flesh took on the same meaning as the armbands and tattoos of the world his grandparents had made.

  Then it hit him.

  “You!” Adolf pointed at Rolf. “Do you know the Hebrew scriptures as well as you know the alphabet?”

  “Uh, well, I think so.”

  “Then tell us please, how God handled the first case of murder in Torah.”

  “That was Cain, who killed his brother Abel,” said Rolf. “God banished him from his family.”

  “What else?” asked Adolf.

  “I don’t remember. The book says he got married—I always wondered to whom, since the only human beings on earth at the time were his parents and siblings.”

  “I wondered about that too,” said Ilsa. “But I believe Adolf is referring to the mark of Cain.” She knelt beside Karl, and gently traced a circle around the burned and tormented flesh that held the letter Ayin. Karl sighed, as if her touch was easing the pain. “When God banished him, Cain preferred death, claiming that any of his family who saw him would kill him anyway. So God put a mark on Cain, as a warning to any who saw him to let him be.”

  She looked up at Adolf. “When I first read that story I wondered if God was giving Cain a chance to find redemption. It seemed such an odd thing to me at the time, living, as I was, in a world where killing was such a casual thing; carried out for so many crimes.”

  Adolf knelt beside her, and kissed her hand. Then he stood and raised both Ilsa and Karl to their feet. “I hereby declare,” he said to those around him, “that any man or woman who actively supported the Reich, but wishes to atone for those actions or associations, and be part of the new world, will be given the chance to do so. This mark,” he pointed the Karl’s brand “will be theirs to wear for the rest of their lives—but will be universally understood to guard their lives. From all of us.”

  “And what about those who don’t want to atone?” asked Markus.

  “Those, I won’t prevent you from killing. But I won’t do any of it myself. And if I can find them a nice, deserted island somewhere where they can found their own colony, they can go there with my blessing.”

  Karl stared at Adolf like a drowning man pulled to shore after he’d already given up hope. “Are you serious?” he whispered.

  “If you want me to be your leader,” said Adolf, “then those are my terms. What say you all? Because if I can’t persuade thirty devoted bodyguards, I’m not even going to bother with the rest of the world.”

  It started slowly, with people nodding their heads, then rose to a low rumble as hands began to beat against hands, and feet against floor.

  “I think that’s a yes,” said Ilsa.

  Later that day, Adolf led the way back to the studio. As Hoffman had feared, the fighting was still heavy, but the booth where Adolf had made his earlier broadcast was secure and ready for him. Someone had removed Heydrich’s body. Adolf resumed his place behind the desk, then after a moment, shook his head, got up and moved to where Ilsa and Karl stood.

  “I’d like both of you to go on with me, if you would.”

  Karl looked first suspicious, then as if he might cry. Ilsa merely shook her head. “They want to hear from you, Adolf.”

  “They need to hear from us.”

  For the first time, Adolf saw the quiet pride of accomplishment in Ilsa’s blue eyes. “You first. Call us when you’re ready, and we’ll join you.”

  To Adolf’s surprise, it was Hoffman who went first before the cameras, motioning Adolf to wait a moment.

  “People of the world,” the professor said, “I would like to introduce to you Rabbi Adolf Goebbels.” He waved to Adolf, who stepped in front of the camera as if he had been born to it.

  There was no Divine voice in his head this time, but that was all right. This time, Adolf knew he could wing it.

  Book V

  EPILOGUE

  “’These are the words Moses spoke unto all Israel on this side of the Jordan…’ Hey, give me that!” Adolf tried to grab his book out of Markus’s hands.

  “Adolf,” said Markus patiently. “That was a great speech—but Moses already made it! For now, we need to come up with something modern.”

  “There are probably some parts you can quote,” said Anna.

  Markus shook his head. “This is an important speech. We’re celebrating one year of freedom from the Reich and we’re trying to sell the first free elections held anywhere on earth in over sixty years. You have to remember that not everyone on the planet is a practicing Jew.”

  “You wouldn’t know it from looking at the place!” Varina said as she shot a spitball at Leisl who was trying to take notes. Leisl retaliated, but Varina spun her wheelchair out of the way and ducked just in time. “Everyone wears a Hebrew letter or a Star of David around his neck. I keep hoping some guy will shave his beard, just to be different, but beards and curled sideburns are all the rage. No change in sight.”

  “Those are fads, not faith,” said Thoresten. “True, I think the majority of the population really is starting to practice Judaism, but plenty of people are walking the walk and talking the talk just so they can fit in.”

  “Well, come on,” said Leisl. “You can’t blame them for wanting to be on the winning side. And since Adolf’s new laws make religious worship just slightly more private
than going to the bathroom, we’ll never really know what anybody really believes.”

  A clerk appeared at Adolf’s shoulder. “Excuse me, Rabbi, but you wanted to know when the figures came in on the toxin levels in the Mediterranean?”

  Adolf took the sheaf of papers with a nod of thanks—which he instantly regretted, as pain shot through his neck and into his back.

  “Adolf, I’m sorry, but I think the speech comes first,” said Thoresten.

  “Fine! You write this one!”

  “You know that doesn’t work! The words have to be yours.”

  “Like everything else, Adolf,” said Varina. “Everything of value must come from your holy lips. Or purified brain. Or sacred ass. Or—“

  “Time for a break!” Adolf hadn’t intended to use his command voice, but his staff quailed. Even Varina busied herself with a stack of papers.

  “Good idea,” said Anna. “I’ll go fix you some lunch, Adolf.”

  “I’m not hungry.” But he knew that wouldn’t stop Anna. His head pounded and he wished, not for the first time this past year, that Rika had survived the war. She and so many others.

  And yet, as if in answer to his pain, gentle fingers began to massage his neck. They belonged to his sister, not the girl he’d been remembering, but he was grateful just the same.

  When she’d finished, Leisl sat down beside him. “I just wanted you to know,” she said, hesitation in her voice. “Uncle Gustav is coming over today. We’re going to visit the graves. Would you like to come along this time?”

  Adolf wished he could avoid this question, and so many other things as well. He shook his head. “I’m just not ready.”

  “You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything that happened, Adolf. You know what the Reich meant to Father. Dying with it was the only option for him. And dying with Father was the only option for Mother.”

  “I don’t blame myself anymore…for that.” A heavy silence descended, as it so often did now, between Adolf and Leisl. But what could he say? That she had been forced to become Heydrich’s mistress to keep her family alive? That her parents had died calling her a whore, and themselves childless. It had all been said. If Leisl could forgive them, why couldn’t Adolf?

  He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—when Ilsa appeared in the huge room. Adolf’s command headquarters were still located in what had been Berlin’s largest gymnasium. And before that, a long time ago, it had been a synagogue. Throughout the busy year he had steadfastly refused to find something more permanent, hoping to remind the world that he was only a regent. They would be electing a president or speaker or prime minister or something very soon.

  They’d better, thought Adolf. I can’t keep this up much longer.

  Ilsa glided toward him, and he saw the strangest smile on her face, and wondered what was going on. She hardly ever visited him in the middle of the day. Even at night it was hard to pull her away from her work.

  “How goes the struggle for equality among the Sisterhood?” he teased.

  For once, she didn’t rise to the bait. “Well enough to do without me for a while, I hope. I’ve just come from Hannah the Midwife. Guess what, Adolf? I’m pregnant.”

  “Very funny—“ he began. Then, like a lightning bolt from on high, realized she was serious.

  “Ilsa,” he said, trying to keep track of reality. “Does this midwife really know what she’s doing? Did you do any tests…”

  Ilsa carefully unfolded a piece of paper. “I saw a doctor, Adolf. Someone Hannah convinced me to trust.” Adolf whistled. For Ilsa to willingly submit to any kind of medical testing was a major event.

  “Take a look. It’s a picture of our baby.” Adolf took the paper Ilsa gave him and peered at it intently. Then he turned it over and tried again. All he saw were squiggles and blobs in black and white.

  “Here,” said Ilsa, turning it back to the way he had it originally. “It’s about nine weeks along. Here’s the head; this bony thing is the spinal column…”

  Adolf stared at the tadpole on the paper. “Ilsa? How is this possible?”

  “Are you sure you want me to explain it to you in front of your entire staff? You see, about two months ago, there was this night we actually had the apartment to ourselves, and—“

  “I mean,” Adolf said over the laughing and whistling of his staff, “How did we get to the page where the barren woman gets pregnant? I haven’t seen any angels lately, and you don’t look ninety years old to me.”

  “Not a day over seventy,” said Varina.

  His headache was gone. He stared at his wife. “We’re going to be parents?”

  “This is fantastic!” said Thoresten, as the news spread throughout headquarters. “This is exactly what we need!”

  “You want to use this in tomorrow’s speech?” asked Leisl.

  “Tomorrow, and the next day, and when the baby’s born and…Don’t you realize what this means? It’s the closure we’ve all been looking for! Ilsa, you didn’t have your tattoo removed did you? Good!” Thoresten grinned as Ilsa displayed her red bar code.

  Markus nodded, and continued Thoresten’s line of reasoning. “It’s the final proof that the Reich is dead; that overthrowing it was the right thing to do. To the faithful, it’s a miracle from God, and a blessing on our two so very popular leaders.”

  “And to the cynics,” said Thoresten, “it’s objective proof that the exalted Nazi Science and Medical Corps were all bullshit! That all the trust they gave the Party and its scientists was misplaced.”

  “Wow,” said Leisl. “What’s that going to do to the people who lost their jobs—lost their children? Or weren’t allowed to get married or got sent to labor camps—all on the basis of those medical tests?”

  There was an uneasy silence around the table. Adolf felt some of his joy diminishing. “Thoresten, find Karl and tell him to set up a meeting. We’ll need to beef up security in the Amalekite districts.”

  The young man was about to run off, but Ilsa grabbed him by one of his curled sideburns. “And tell him to get ready to find a new Head Rabbi. Adolf is about to take early retirement.” She fixed her husband with a frightening stare. “You will, won’t you? I’m not planning to raise this child alone.”

  “You won’t be. But I appreciate the seven months of warning. I always work best with a deadline.” Adolf hugged his wife, nearly lifting her off her feet. “Let’s get out of here! Let’s go for a walk! I’ve heard it’s beautiful outside!”

  “It is,” said Ilsa. “You really should see the city during daylight hours.”

  “Hey, Adolf!” Thoresten called as the leaders of the New Free World headed for the door. “If it’s a boy, will you name him Isaac?”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet!” Adolf called over his shoulder.

  Varina gagged on the sandwich Anna had just brought for Adolf. “I hope not! I certainly wouldn’t name a child after a jerk who favored one son over the other, then, when it really mattered, couldn’t tell them apart!”

  “Adolf, wait!” Anna was chasing after them with a glass of milk. “At least drink the milk! You know what the doctor said about your ulcers!” Adolf stopped for the milk.

  Shouts of “mazel tov” followed them out of the building.

  They stepped into the dazzling sunlight of a summer afternoon. Around them, people from all over the world worked to rebuild Germany. From where Adolf stood, Berlin looked like a giant patchwork quilt.

  As they reached the park, shouts of “Dirty Amalekite!” brought them up short. Three teenage boys were chasing a small party of construction workers, whose armbands signified they had been members of the higher echelons in the old regime. Since “higher echelons” had finally been defined as almost anyone above the status of factory foremen, it included a lot of people.

  One of the boys pulled back his arm to fling a stone. “Hey there!” called Adolf, freezing the boy with his tone. “Care to explain what you’re doing?”

  The la
d gulped when he saw Adolf, and his two friends shuffled back a few steps. “Sorry Rabbi,” said the one with the rock.

  “Don’t tell me; tell them!” Adolf pointed at the three men and two women who stood bunched together for mutual protection.

  For a moment, Adolf saw outrage in all three faces. They all shared the physical features created by early malnutrition and torture. They had probably been born in a slave labor camp. Still, Adolf held his ground.

  The boys mumbled half hearted apologies, then ran off to find what Adolf hoped would be more constructive play.

  “We have got to get rid of those armbands,” he told Ilsa.

  She took his arm and they proceeded into the park. “I’d think you’d be pleased that our people were finally willing to settle for armbands instead of branding. They have to display the Ayin mark. It’s the only thing keeping them alive.”

  “Doesn’t the fact that those people want to atone count for anything? They could be living in Argentina with all the ones who said it wasn’t their fault!” Of course, based on the latest intelligence reports, that colony wasn’t doing very well.

  “Or they could be dead,” said Ilsa. “That’s what a lot of people are saying. They can’t understand why so many Party members and collaborators are still alive.”

  “Aren’t twelve million suicides enough for them?” Adolf demanded.

  “At least it was suicide. You were so worried the tenth plague would be the slaying of the innocents, like last time.”

  Adolf thought about all the children who had died in the loving embrace of fanatical parents. “I’d call it a slight improvement,” he said.

  “The armbands can probably come off in a few years,” said Ilsa. “Although I must admit, I agree with Rabbi Simon that they should stay on until the tenth generation.” She grinned at Adolf, as if expecting another debate.

  But he only stopped and set an awkward hand on her belly, noticing now that it wasn’t quite as flat as it had been just a few weeks before. “Will their children be born any less innocent than ours?” he asked.