The Serpent's Egg

by JJ Toner

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you, you must carry that at all times? As a member of the Party and an official of the Reich you should be fully aware of your duties. You would be well advised to familiarize yourself completely with the laws of the Reich.” He handed back Max’s papers. “You may go.”

  Chapter 5

  June 1938

  Max left Gestapo headquarters grumbling under his breath. He still had most of the afternoon free, so he took a tram to the Brauhaus in Kurfürstenstrasss and bought himself a fortifying liter of Helles before making his way to Madam Krauss’s home.

  He knocked on the door and waited. Madam Krauss opened it a crack. “You don’t have an appointment. What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry, Madam. I need your help.”

  She let him in, but he had to wait in the front parlor for 30 minutes while she dealt with an existing client.

  The front parlor was stuffed with furniture, old and heavy, like an antique shop. There was a bookcase full of dusty leather-bound books, a sideboard of Black Forest oak and various armchairs and sofas that nobody ever sat on. He stood with an ear pressed to the door. All he could hear was mumbling voices, Madam Krauss’s and another, deeper voice. He couldn’t catch anything that was said.

  The parlor door opened and Madam Krauss came in, carrying a silver tray with tea and Danish pastries. She set the tray on a table.

  “You remember me, Madam?”

  “Of course. Anna Weber’s sweetheart.”

  “Our Marriage Application was rejected by the Gestapo today. You will recall you offered to help us.”

  “I offered to do what I could. Tell me what happened with the Gestapo.

  “I asked if they would make an exception for us. They refused.”

  “Anna’s a Mischling?”

  He hated the word, but passed no comment on it. “A quarter. Two grandparents on her mother’s side were Jewish.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m 25.”

  “I assume you’ve done your national service?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not with the Wehrmacht. What do you do?”

  “I have a government job.”

  “And are you happy in your job?”

  He shrugged. “As content as the next man, I suppose.”

  “Are you a Party member?”

  “Of course. Every government worker must carry a Party card.”

  “What does Anna do?”

  “She’s a waitress in the food court at the KaDeWe department store.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s 24. Will you be able to help us?”

  She poured the tea and handed him a cup.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  Max thought he had. “Madam?”

  “Tell me how you feel about working for the Nazis.”

  What a loaded question! To avoid answering and give himself time to frame a suitable reply, Max stuffed his mouth with apple pastry.

  She fixed him with her gaze. “Well?”

  He swallowed. “Can I be frank, Madam?”

  “Everything you tell me is in strict confidence, child.”

  “The truth is I would never have joined the Party if I could have avoided it. I hate everything they stand for.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I can see you are a young man who thinks for himself.”

  Madam Krauss raised her cup to her lips with a poised pinkie. “Far too many of our young people follow the Party line, these days, don’t you think?”

  Max took another bite of his pastry. If she was going to continue skirting subversion like this he might have to reach for a second one. He nodded. With a mouth full of pastry he was freed from the obligation to agree verbally.

  “I thought so. I knew from the moment I saw you. I said to myself, here is a young man of independent thought, a man of conviction, who doesn’t follow the crowd, a man of principle, who says what he believes and believes what he says.” Max swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. What he had in mind was to introduce a note of moderation, but before he could say anything, his host continued to gild the lily. “A man of action. A true patriot who can be relied on to follow his own conscience. Am I right?”

  Max shook his head.

  “This is no time for modesty. Your young lady must be proud of you. And you make such a happy couple.”

  “Thank you. Madam.”

  “More tea? Help yourself to another pastry.”

  “No thank you, Madam.” Get on with it, woman!

  She laughed. “When I was your age nothing would keep me from the pastry dish.”

  He suppressed an unkind rejoinder. “Will you help us, Madam?”

  “You have the documents?”

  Max gave her the two Ariernachweise.

  “And my fee?”

  Max handed over 100 Reichsmarks, a month’s wages.

  Her face cracked into a sort of smile. “I will be happy to pass these to a friend who will be able to help.”

  Max took a deep breath. “Thank you, Madam. When can we expect a result?”

  “I would give it a week, perhaps two. Expect a visit from someone within the next two weeks.”

  #

  When Max told Anna about his visit to the Gestapo office, and the outcome, she dropped one of her mother’s precious cups. The willow pattern porcelain shattered on contact with the kitchen floor. “Oh Max-Christian, what did you do that for? Now that door has been firmly closed.”

  He helped her tidy up the shattered porcelain. “It was always closed, Anna. Maybe we have to accept that we will never marry. Our union is forbidden under Reich law.”

  “We agreed to do nothing and wait. You should have talked it over with me first. Now the Gestapo are aware of us, anything might happen.”

  He reached out for her. “Like what?”

  She flapped at him to keep him off. “I don’t know. I could lose my job at the department store. You could be kicked out of the ministry. The Gestapo might alert the Brownshirts and they could come and beat us. I don’t know.”

  He managed to put an arm around her waist. “Don’t give up so easily, Anna. I also went to see Madam Krauss.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. “You paid her fee? But you said you never would. You said she was a confidence trickster.”

  “I know what I said, Anna. But I gave her the money and she’s agreed to help us. She said we should hear something in about two weeks.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “She asked me a lot of questions. I think she won’t do anything to help Nazis or Nazi sympathizers.”

  “She suspects you of sympathizing with the Nazis?”

  Max loved her in all her moods, but she was at her most attractive when she was angry, nostrils flared, blue eyes blazing, blond hair scattered about her face, and her fingers arched like talons.

  “No, but she knows I’m a Party member.”

  “Only because you have to be.”

  “I think that’s what she wanted to check out.”

  Anna’s mood switched from anger to concern. Her brow furrowed. “What else did she say?”

  “She decided I was a man of action, someone who thinks for himself.”

  She snorted. “And she claims to be psychic!”

  “And someone who can’t keep his hands from the pastries.”

  “She said that?”

  “What she said was that she couldn’t resist pastries when she was young.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It shows.”

  He laughed. “I had the same thought.”

  “You didn’t say anything! Tell me you didn’t insult the woman in her own home.”

  “Of course not. I was very well behaved. We sipped tea in her front parlor. She said she would do her best, but she made no promises.”

  Anna stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Max.” He kissed her. She responded eagerly. “I’m sure Madam Krauss will find a way.”
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  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Don’t you remember, she foretold that I will achieve justice with my tenacity and with the help of a wise old woman.”

  “She said you’d have to break something first.”

  Anna’s hand covered her mouth. “The cup!”

  Chapter 6

  June 1938

  While Max and Anna were sleeping in their studio apartment in Kolonnenstrasss, the Anti-Nazi Resistance was busy in a secret location in a fashionable district in the west of the city. Adam Kuckhoff was putting the finishing touches to the editorial section of their latest leaflet. He handed it to Arvid Harnack who re-read the entire leaflet. A single broadsheet, it described several of the latest atrocities committed by the Nazi Brownshirts in the streets of Berlin and other German cities. The main article, written by Adam under the pseudonym ‘Grock’, warned of an approaching war in Europe.

  Adam was 51, Arvid a mere stripling of 37, although Adam thought the age difference was not so obvious as he had a strong head of hair while Arvid’s was receding fast.

  Adam’s editorial ended with a rallying cry. Arvid read it aloud. “Rise Up! Rise Up! Take a stand against the NSDAP regime. ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.’ Edmund Burke (1729-1797).” He scratched his balding head. “Don’t you think we should reverse those sentences, Adam? And ‘Nazi regime’ might be better than ‘NSDAP regime.’”

  Adam took the sheet from him. “You’re right, my friend. Best to end with the call to action. Rise Up! Rise Up! Take a stand against the Nazis. I’ll draft it again.”

  Adam was the creative member of the team, an experienced journalist with two novels to his name. Arvid, on the other hand, held a senior position in the Ministry of Economics. He was as intelligent as anyone Adam had ever met, but really, he was nothing more than a glorified civil servant.

  Adam was happy to make the small changes. He had many friends in the theatre – playwrights, directors and actors – who would take umbrage if anyone interfered with their work, but compromise was the secret to successful collaboration, and this was Arvid’s show, after all.

  Adam greeted the world with an open, smiling countenance, unlike Arvid, whose neutral look always incorporated a permanent frown. Arvid’s wife, Mildred, often mirrored her husband’s earnest, concerned look, and Adam shared a private joke with his wife, Greta, that, without his spectacles and pipe, Arvid would be indistinguishable from Mildred. It was a tad cruel, but it carried a grain of truth, for Arvid and Mildred were like two sides of a coin. They dressed alike, and Mildred had an irritating habit of finishing Arvid’s sentences.

  Adam handed the final version of the leaflet to Arvid who checked the editorial for the last time. “I like it. Our most explicit leaflet yet. We must do a double print run.”

  “Good sentiment, Adam, but where are we going to get enough paper for that? We barely have enough for a normal run.”

  Mildred Harnack came in from the kitchen carrying the precious Hectograph plate cleared of ink and gelatin, ready to receive the new master. “Leave that to me, gentlemen. Herr Goebbels’ office won’t miss another couple of reams.”

  Arvid shook his head. “You’ve been pushing your luck as it is. I won’t ask you for any more paper this month.”

  Adam held his tongue. Mildred Harnack had a history of depression. She had only recently returned from America where she’d undergone treatment. He wouldn’t ask Arvid to put any more pressure on his wife.

  “You can go home now, Adam. I’ll work on the master plate overnight.” Arvid rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. It had been a long night.

  Adam reached for his jacket. “I’ll get back in the morning early to give you a hand with the print run.” He shook hands with Arvid before slipping out through the back door.

  “Give my best to Greta and the baby,” said Mildred.

  It was dark outside, and windy, but mercifully the rain had eased. Adam headed east. Mildred was a rock. Weighed down with worries about the failing health of her mother in the United States and her own insidious depression, she still had time to consider others.

  #

  Baby Ule was exercising his lungs on Greta’s shoulder.

  Adam barely had time to take off his coat before Greta was barking orders at him. “Get me a towel. He’s dribbling all over my blouse. Check the bottle. It should be warm enough now. And find me a fresh diaper.”

  Adam did as he was told. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been screaming the place down for about thirty minutes. What kept you?”

  “We finalized a broadsheet.” There was too much noise to say any more. He checked the temperature of the milk on the back of his hand, as she’d taught him to, and passed it to her.

  Greta offered it to the baby and the screaming stopped abruptly.

  Adam shook his head in amazement. “He must have been hungry.”

  “He can’t have been hungry. I fed him an hour ago.”

  “He seems to have a healthy appetite.”

  Greta rolled her eyes. “He should be sleeping. Look at him.”

  Ule’s eyes were wide open, watching Greta, listening to every word.

  #

  Later, they lay together in bed and shared a cigarette.

  “You’re more energetic than you look, old man.”

  “Thanks. You’re not too sluggish yourself.”

  She laughed. Adam melted at the sound. He framed his next statement with care. “We have a new source.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You’ll laugh when I tell you, but I think she will have a lot to give us.”

  “Her? A female? Who is she?”

  “Her name is Frau Krauss. I’d like you to visit her as soon as you can.”

  “Where is she based? One of the big ministries?”

  “Not officially.”

  She propped herself on an elbow to look at him. “Enough of the mystery. Who is this Frau Krauss?”

  “Her professional name is Madam Krauss. She’s a psychic, a fortune-teller and a palmist.”

  Greta nearly dropped her cigarette on his chest. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “It’s no joke.”

  “Are we really that desperate?”

  “Don’t dismiss the idea, Greta. Madam Krauss’s clients come from every level of government, the Wehrmacht, perhaps even the Gestapo. You’d be surprised how many of our leaders are superstitious enough to share their plans with a fortune-teller. I am convinced she will be a treasure trove of useful intelligence.”

  “Arvid has gone along with this?”

  “Indeed. Mildred found her. You know how superstitious Mildred is.”

  Chapter 7

  June 1938

  Max took an Autobus the 110 km to his family home in the medieval town of Lutherstadt Wittenberg, recently renamed in honor of its most distinguished 16th Century resident.

  The Noack family residence was situated at the edge of town, a terraced house built over two centuries earlier that still retained many of its original leaded windows. His mother lived alone. She followed a strict routine that permitted Max just four visits per year. This was his second scheduled visit of the year.

  He had a key, but in deference to his mother, he knocked on the door and waited. She opened the door, then turned on her heels without a word and went back inside. He followed her into the front parlor and found her sitting on the sofa reading a book.

  “Hello, Mother, how are you?”

  No answer.

  “Are you all right? Is everything all right?”

  She waved a hand at him. “Listen to this. ‘Peoples deprived of democracy have to suffer dictators for which they carry no blame. Societies with a free vote get the rulers they deserve.’ What do you think of that?”

  “Very insightful, Mother. What are you reading?”

  She set the book aside. “Sit. Tell me what your life has been like since I last saw you.”

 
He moved to join her on the sofa.

  “Not here. Sit over there.” She pointed to the upright piano. Max pulled out the piano stool and perched on it.

  He told her about Anna’s determination to get married and their visit to Madam Krauss. At the mention of a fortune-teller, Frau Noack launched into a long story about how a visit to a fortune-teller had changed her life. At least the story had some connection to the conversation.

  That story came to a halt half-told. And then she answered his original question. “I’m well. The town council keeps me busy, and my mind active. Is that the only suit you have? You know they finally agreed to rename the town.”

  “I heard that, yes. I have another suit for work.”

  He stopped by a Brauhaus for a quick beer before taking the autobus back to Berlin. She had offered him neither food nor drink. She would give him anything he asked for, of course, but it would never occur to her to offer. His visit had lasted less than an hour. Nothing of substance was discussed. And no emotions were displayed. A childhood memory bubbled up. He’d fallen from his bicycle, grazed his knees. His mother’s reaction: “Big boys don’t cry.” His childhood was peppered with small incidents like that. Displays of emotion were strictly taboo in that house.

  Chapter 8

  June 1938

  The distance from Adam and Greta’s apartment to Kurfürstenstrasss was a little over two kilometers. Greta was happy to push Ule there in his pram. The weather was fine and the exercise would do her good. Since giving birth in January, she was having difficulty getting back to her ideal weight.

  She made two stops along the way at the houses of friends, taking the pram inside on each occasion. At each stop, she extracted a few copies of the latest leaflet from their hiding place in a secret compartment in the base of Ule’s pram, and handed them over. Her friends were eager to read the uncensored news and some to help with further distribution.

  Upon her arrival at Kurfürstenstrasss, she took a table outside the Brauhaus, ordered a half-glass of Helles beer, and observed a succession of Madam Krauss’s visitors come and go. Several of her visitors wore uniforms. It seemed Arvid was right. This woman could be a source of valuable intelligence.