The Serpent's Egg

by JJ Toner

  Lulled by the motion of the pram, baby Ule had slept all the way there. He began to stir. Greta rocked the pram and he drifted off again.

  Observing a lull in the fortune-teller’s traffic Greta finished her drink and set off to Madam Krauss’s house. She knocked on the door. When there was no response, she pushed it. The door swung open. She backed into the house, pulling the pram inside.

  “Come in, come in,” called a voice from a room at the back of the house. “Leave the pram in the hall. Come to the back parlor.”

  Greta could see no one. She assumed Madam Krauss had an arrangement of hidden mirrors that allowed her to see into the hall. She checked Ule. The infant was sleeping peacefully.

  The back parlor was dimly lit, a log fire in the grate casting flickering shadows around the room. Madam Krauss sat behind a table wrapped in a dark shawl. She waved a spindly hand to invite Greta to take a seat at the table.

  “I have been expecting you. You are Frau Kuckhoff?” The voice, though cracked by age, carried authority.

  “Greta Kuckhoff, yes.”

  The old woman placed a deck of cards on the table. “Touch the cards, Greta. Shuffle them if you like.”

  “I’m not here for a reading, Madam. Adam said you might have some information…?”

  “I have a few snippets for you, but first, the reading. Shuffle the cards, child.”

  Greta shuffled the cards. Madam Krauss picked them up and dealt out the top five cards, arranging them in a cross on the table.

  #

  Greta thanked Madam Krauss for the reading. It was composed of generalities for the most part, but there were a few grains of truth mixed in that planted a seed of doubt in Greta’s skeptical mind. How did she know that Greta’s birth sign was Sagittarius, that Greta’s marriage to Adam was his third, and that his first two wives were sisters?

  Madam Krauss listed a number of her regular customers. There was a colonel from the First Cavalry Division, a high-ranking Kriegsmarine officer and a Luftwaffe major, both stationed in the office of the Supreme Command of the Wehrmacht, the OKW, in Bendlerstrasss. Her clients also numbered government workers from several ministries. A rich pool indeed!

  “These men and women tell you things about their work?”

  “Not usually, no. But if I can gain their trust they will often give me glimpses into their working lives, and sometimes if I’m lucky they may include sensitive military information.”

  A scream from the hallway signaled that Ule had woken. Greta ran to him. She picked him up and rocked him on her shoulder. He continued to cry. Greta took a bottle from the pram and asked Madam Krauss if she could heat it. The old woman directed Greta to the kitchen. While waiting for the bottle to heat Greta placed the baby on a blanket on the kitchen table and changed his diaper. Warm and clean and with a fresh bottle to suck on, Ule was soon content.

  Madam Krauss admired the boy. “He’s a big baby. He’ll make his mark some day.”

  A warm glow of pride filled Greta’s chest. “How can you tell? He’s only six months old.”

  “See the way he watches you while he sucks. That’s a sure sign of intelligence. And you and your husband are writers, are you not?”

  “Yes, My husband is a writer and a journalist. I’m a journalist.”

  “There you have it. A creative, intelligent child. He will make his mark, certain as night follows day.”

  Once Greta had settled Ule in his pram again, Madam Krauss offered her a sheet of paper containing several pieces of minor intelligence that she’d collected from her clients.

  Greta handed it back. “Never put anything in writing, Madam. Surely you realize how dangerous it is to write anything down. You must memorize anything you think might be of value and pass it to me by mouth.”

  “I’m not sure I can manage that. My memory’s not as good as it used to be.”

  “Practice makes perfect. You’ll soon get used to it. Now read me what you have there and I’ll commit it to memory.”

  Madam Krauss had little enough to offer. Most of it was petty gossip or uninformed speculation. Greta selected a few items and absorbed them. When she was happy that she had everything that might be of value to the network, Madam Krauss threw the paper into the fire and they watched it burn.

  Chapter 9

  June 1938

  Greta stood up and bid Madam Krauss goodbye.

  “Before you go, Greta, I have something else for you.” Madam Krauss handed over Max and Anna’s Ariernachweise. “These two young people want to get married, but they’ve been turned down by the Ethnic and Racial people. I believe you have friends that have helped others in similar situations. Can you help them?”

  Greta examined the documents. She could see why their marriage application had been turned down. The young woman was not fully Aryan. “What can you tell me about the couple?”

  “The girl is a waitress in the KaDeWe department store. The boy works for the government. I would say they are a devoted couple. Max-Christian is a young man with a mind of his own.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning he’s not a committed Party member. He could be useful to the network.”

  #

  Greta thanked the fortune-teller. She tucked the two Ariernachweise in the hidden compartment in Ule’s pram and set off in an easterly direction to deliver leaflets to two more of her friends.

  The second house was the last on her list. Frau Matilde Rosen gave her a warm hug in the hallway of her apartment. Alvensleberstrasss had once been an upmarket area of the city with apartments fit for a king. But, since the depression of the early 30’s, the district had fallen into decline.

  Greta wheeled Ule inside. Sophie, Matilde’s 7-year-old daughter, came bounding down the stairs, pigtails flying. She peered into the pram.

  “He’s sleeping.” Sophie made a long face.

  Greta laughed at Sophie’s expression. “He had an extra bottle of milk about an hour ago. He’ll probably sleep for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Matilde said, “And keep you awake half the night.”

  “Most likely.”

  Sophie pouted. “I want to play with him.”

  Her mama wagged a finger at her. “Well you can’t. If we wake him up he will be angry and scream the house down.”

  Sophie pouted some more. She frowned, and crossed her arms.

  Greta put an arm on Sophie’s shoulder. “I need to speak with your mama for a few minutes. Would you keep a watchful eye on Ule for me?”

  Sophie’s face broke into a smile. “I’ll read him a story from my book if you like.”

  Matilde nodded at her daughter. “That’s a good idea, Sophie, but be sure to keep your voice down. We don’t want to wake him, do we?”

  Sophie ran upstairs to fetch her book. Greta extracted the last leaflet from the pram’s secret compartment and handed it to Matilde.

  “I brought these for Sophie.” Greta gave Matilde two children’s reading books with colorful pictures. “I wasn’t sure how advanced she is. If they’re too childish for her I can bring something better on my next visit.”

  Greta and Matilde went into the kitchen where Matilde hid the leaflet in a jar marked ‘pasta.’ She put a kettle on. The Rosens’ apartment was always the last call on Greta’s route, and the two women usually shared a cup of tea.

  Matilde glanced through the books. “They look perfect. Thank you.”

  Greta said, “Sophie’s growing up fast.”

  Matilde smiled. “You’ve no idea. She’s a little madam. She reminds me so much of Pauletta at her age, it’s uncanny.”

  “How’s her reading coming along?”

  “Very well. The books you’ve given her have been a great help. Her father has been teaching her numbers, and I tell her stories about distant lands and peoples.”

  “That takes care of geography. What about history?”

  “She knows the history of her people going right back to the Exodus. That’s all I’ve covered so far.”

/>   Greta glanced around the kitchen. The cupboards looked bare. “I wondered if you’d like to visit me one of these days, Matilde. My apartment is not far. You could bring Sophie and she could spent an afternoon playing with Ule.”

  “Thank you, Greta, but I don’t feel safe on the streets anymore after what happened to David.”

  Greta braced herself for bad news. “Why, what happened?”

  “Someone painted Juden on the outside of the shop. David scrubbed it off. But then a couple of Brownshirt thugs came into the shop and threatened him. They said the next customer who came through the door would receive a beating. He had to close the shop.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “He came home, but then when he was half-way home they —”

  “Oh no, Matilde.”

  Matilde eyes filled. “They ambushed him. They beat him. Then they followed him. He was terrified of what they might do if they find out where we live. He had to go into the city to lose them in the crowds.”

  “Is he all right? Where is he?”

  “He’s upstairs, sleeping. He’s not badly injured, but he’s terrified that they’ll beat him again. They said they’d break his bones the next time. They could easily kill him. I’m not sure he’ll ever open the shop again.”

  “How will you live? Do you have savings?”

  Matilde shook her head. “We have a little put by. I don’t know what will become of us when that’s all gone.”

  “I will come by tomorrow with some food. Make a list of what you need.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that, Greta.”

  “Nonsense. Find a pen. Make a list.”

  As Greta was leaving, Matilde gave Sophie the new books. Sophie gave Greta a hug and thanked her. Ule was still sleeping.

  Chapter 10

  July 1938

  One thousand kilometers to the west, the War Office building in Whitehall was shrouded in mist. In a smoke-filled meeting room on the third floor, seven men sat around a table. These were the members of the Joint Forces Contingency Committee, their brief to consider and evaluate any and all threats to Britain and her empire. Six of those present were senior military advisors from the three arms of His Majesty’s Defense Forces. All six were of high rank, as indicated by the scrambled egg on their uniforms. The seventh man was dressed as a civilian, his understated double-breasted pinstripe a reminder to everyone in the room of his special status. This was the Assistant Director of Military Intelligence, Sidney Blenkinsop-Smythe, known to everyone as ‘B-S.’

  The meeting was drawing to a close, the participants gathering their papers together, the table littered with empty water jugs, half-empty glasses, and overflowing ashtrays.

  At the head of the table, Air Commodore Frank Scott, spoke in a stentorian tone. “Unless there’s any other business, Gentlemen…?”

  A Royal Navy Admiral slid one of the windows open to expel the foul air.

  “Shouldn’t we be discussing Hitler’s invasion of Austria? It seems to me that he’s far too big for his britches and if we don’t do something about the man soon we will have a full-scale war on our hands.” The speaker was the youngest man in the room, a colonel wearing a cap decorated with the dark tartan of the Black Watch (Royal Highlanders).

  The Air Commodore responded, “We are all aware of the fall of Austria, Colonel, but that is not a matter for discussion here. No doubt the Foreign Office will react to this news. Need I remind you, the focus of this committee is on possible future contingencies, not on military exigencies and certainly not on diplomacy?”

  B-S rose to his feet. “There is just one more item that I would like to raise, if I may, Air Commodore.”

  The Air Commodore ceded the floor to the Assistant Director of Military Intelligence with a wave of his fingers.

  “We have discussed ad nauseam the vexing questions of the United States and Japan. I think the committee should consider the likely disposition of the Soviets in the event of a war with Germany. The military might of that vast country should not be overlooked.”

  Air Commodore Scott looked at his watch, “We discussed this six months ago, B-S. Unless you have new intelligence to shed light on Stalin’s intentions…?”

  “We have reports of ongoing diplomatic activity between Ribbentrop’s Foreign Office and the Soviets, yes.”

  “Probably a lot of saber-rattling. Herr Hitler makes his intentions toward the Bolsheviks abundantly clear in his book, and the mutual animosity between Communism and Fascism has been well documented.”

  “I agree, sir, but in light of our terms of reference, I feel it would be prudent to consider what our response should be in the event of the various scenarios that might arise.”

  A red-faced general coughed. “If I might make a suggestion, Air Commodore, I believe we should consider two contingent scenarios. The first, a hostile action by the Soviets against the Germans and Stalin’s other east European neighbors, and second the reverse scenario of a military engagement by Hitler’s forces to the East. An examination of the possible downstream effects of those two scenarios could be illuminating to everyone around this table.”

  The Air Commodore gave the proposition a moment’s thought. “Very well, I shall include it on the agenda for next month. Assemble a small team, B-S, and prepare a brief report for the next meeting. Now, if there’s nothing else…”

  Chapter 11

  August 1938

  Saturday afternoon, August 6, Max and Anna were preparing to go to the grocery shop. There was a sharp rap on the apartment door.

  Max answered, “Who’s there?”

  “Madam Krauss sent me.” A woman’s voice.

  Anna took off her coat and patted her hair in front of the mirror that hung over the mantel. “This is it, Max.” She crossed herself. “Please God, let it be good news. Let her in.”

  Max slid the bolt and opened the door.

  The woman introduced herself as Greta – no surname – and explained that she needed some further details to help with their Marriage Application.

  Max offered her a seat in an armchair. He sat on the sofa. Anna perched beside him, hands in her lap.

  Greta started with a question. “Madam Krauss tells me you work for the Government, Max-Christian. Where do you work?”

  “Please call me Max, Frau Greta. I’m with the Reich Labor Service, the RAD. Anna works at the KaDeWe department store.”

  “In the food court,” said Anna.

  “What do you do in the Labor Service, Max?”

  “My job is to make arrangements with the railway company to move workers from building site to building site, wherever they’re needed around the Reich.”

  “By workers you mean…?”

  “Forced labor from the labor camps, mainly, and some engineers. There are big developments going on all over Germany, you know.”

  “How do you feel about your work?”

  Max shrugged. “It’s a job. Sometimes it can be a little overwhelming…”

  “Overwhelming in what way?”

  He reached for Anna’s hand. “I have to work extra hours sometimes, when we have to move large numbers of workers around the country.”

  “How do you feel about moving workers from one end of the country to the other against their will.”

  This was the same as Madam Krauss’s line of questioning. It was political dynamite. The Party line was clear. These workers were all criminals or undesirables of one sort or another. They had forfeited their right to choose by their anti-government infractions. His personal feelings on the matter were entirely another matter. In fact it could be argued that German citizens no longer had the freedom for personal opinions. Since the Enabling Act of 1933, the Reichstag was a single party assembly. All opposition had been outlawed. How did that leave any leeway for independent thought?

  Greta’s use of the term ‘against their will’ clearly suggested a dissenting point of view, but was she to be trusted? It could be an elaborate trap.

  M
ax steered a middle course. “Whenever I think about it, I have to feel sorry for those unfortunate people, but I try not to dwell on it. I hope to minimize their discomfort by doing my job as well as I can.”

  “How does that help?”

  “By reducing unnecessary delays between train journeys, scheduling water stops – that sort of thing.”

  “So you have some sympathy for those unfortunate souls?”

  There it was again – the nonconformist note.

  “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  Greta smiled at him warmly. “You sound to me like a thoughtful, caring individual. Your sympathetic feelings toward those workers do you much credit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Madam Krauss said you have no love for the Nazi Party. Is that right?”

  There it was again. These people had some sort of subversive agenda – no doubt about it. Max had no love for the Führer or the Party, but he had no intention of getting involved in subversion.

  “That is correct.” Given the effect that the Nuremberg Laws were having on their lives, it could be no surprise that he felt that way.

  Anna squeezed Max’s hand. “What does all this have to do with our marriage application, Frau Greta? Has anything been done about that?”

  “Yes, Anna, your papers are in the hands of the right people.”

  “What people are those?”

  “They are the people – friends of mine – who have the power to help.”

  Anna’s face was turning red, her eyes blazing. Max pulled his hand from Anna’s and stood up. “Where are our manners? We should offer our visitor a drink. We have Schnapps.”

  Greta waved an arm. “No thank you. I must get home.”