The Serpent's Egg

by JJ Toner

  Framzl removed his cap and wiped his forehead, revealing his widow’s peak. “Now we can talk. What do you have for me?”

  “I’m sorry, Herr Framzl, I haven’t discovered where the subversive leaflets are being printed.”

  “But you have joined the Red Orchestra?”

  “Yes, sir. I am a trusted member of the group. I expect to discover the printer location soon.”

  “You have the names of other members?”

  “Only the actress, Libertas.”

  Framzl frowned. “You were seen boarding a train with a man dressed in tweed.”

  “That was Frobisher, a distant cousin from London. I promised to show him the city of Cologne.”

  “You showed him the cathedral?”

  “Yes, he was most impressed. They have nothing like it in England.”

  “I believe the building started in the Thirteenth Century. Do you recall when it was completed?”

  “The foundation stone was laid in 1248, but the building wasn’t completed until 1880.”

  Framzl grunted. “Where is this Englishman now?”

  “He’s moved on. I believe his next stop was in Belgium and then Holland before returning to England on a ferry.”

  They drove him back to Halensee where they’d picked him up. Before they released him, Framzl gave Max a telephone number. “Ring me at this number the minute you discover where the printer is located.”

  #

  Max blamed the autobus for his extreme tardiness at work. The autobus was often unreliable, unlike the trams. The trams ran like clockwork.

  He unfolded the Reich Marriage Approval and glanced at it. Could the missing stamp and Framzl’s signature have been added magically by elves during the night like in one of the Grimm Brothers’ stories? No such luck! He hid the form in a drawer of his desk.

  As he worked his way through his daily chores he marveled at how light the Gestapo questioning had been, and how easily they swallowed the story about Cousin Frobisher. Anna could teach the Gestapo a thing or two about their interrogation methods!

  Working steadily through his pile of requisitions, he rang the railway company to arrange the transport of workers. As he worked an idea began to take shape in his head. Each requisition had been approved, stamped and signed by his boss. The RAD stamp looked identical to the stamp used by the Gestapo. He took out his identity card and compared them. There was no difference. Schnerpf guarded his stamp, keeping it under lock and key in his office – it was the one thing that elevated him above the workers in his department – but if Max could get his hands on it, he could stamp his incomplete Marriage Approval.

  Framzl’s signature was another matter. He would worry about that later.

  #

  During his lunch break, he took a tram to the Standesamt, the main registry office, in Schönstedtstrasss in the north Mitte, and booked a slot for 11:00 am on March 25.

  The registrar made an entry in his book. “You have your Marriage Authorization?”

  “It’s at home.”

  “Well, don’t forget to bring it with you on the day.”

  Next, Max took a tram to St. Angar’s Church. He found Vigo in the vestry doing a stock take of his candle supplies.

  “You know that I’m engaged to be married?”

  “To Anna Weber, yes, you mentioned that on the train.”

  “We’ve decided it’s time to get married. Could I book the church for our wedding on the last Saturday in March?”

  Vigo checked the calendar on the wall. “That should be all right.”

  “And can I ask you to conduct the ceremony?”

  Vigo beamed. “I would be honored, my friend. Do you have your Marriage Authorization?”

  “Not with me.”

  “You’ll need to give it to me by Saturday March 4 at the latest. The banns must be read three Sundays in a row before the ceremony.”

  #

  When he got home in the evening he told Anna that he’d reserved a slot at the registry office for the last Saturday in March, and spoken with Father Vigo.

  “Why so late?”

  “All the earlier Saturdays in March are unavailable…” A lie.

  Anna was not pleased, but she accepted the date. “You gave him the Authorization?”

  “Yes, he has it.” Another lie.

  “Talk to him again. Make sure he has us in his calendar for that date. Tell him he’ll have to start reading the banns on…” she consulted her wall calendar, “… Sunday March 5 at the latest. I don’t want anything to spoil our day.”

  Chapter 39

  February 1939

  Saturday February 4, Max was in the vestry in St. Angar’s Church getting dressed for his second solo delivery run. A young woman came into the church and called Father Vigo’s name. She seemed in distress.

  Vigo unlocked the file cabinet. “I have to attend to this parishioner. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Help yourself to the leaflets.”

  Max opened the drawers of the file cabinet searching for the parish records. He was hoping to find a folder containing green Marriage Authorization documents, but they weren’t there. He gave up the search. By the time Vigo returned he had the shirt and trousers on, and he was struggling with the clerical collar.

  Vigo laughed. He batted Max’s hands down. “It’s really not that difficult. Let me help you. Hold still.”

  While Vigo worked on the collar, Max said, “Where do you keep the parish records, the Register, the Marriage Authorizations and so on?”

  “We keep them safely under lock and key in the parish house. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered why you don’t keep them here in the file cabinet.”

  “Those are precious documents. They wouldn’t be safe in the vestry. We take the parish Register out for weddings and baptisms, and put them back under lock and key immediately afterwards.”

  The delivery run took just over an hour, leaving Max bathed in sweat. He had dropped the last of the leaflets and was approaching the church when a gray-haired Schupo, municipal policemen, approached him.

  “Good morning, Father,” said the old Schupo. “Where are you going?”

  Max hadn’t enough breath to reply. He pointed to the church and placed his identity card in the Schupo’s open palm.

  “Pastor Gunther Schlurr.” He rolled the R’s. “We haven’t seen you here before. You must be new.”

  “Yes, I’m fresh from the seminary.”

  “Where from?”

  “Wittenberg.”

  “I didn’t know there was a seminary in Wittenberg. And isn’t that Lutherstadt Wittenberg now?”

  “I still call it Wittenberg. I was born there.”

  The Schupo handed the identity card back. “Welcome to the district, Father. Father Zauffer will be pleased. I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

  Vigo laughed when he heard about the encounter. “That’s Gretzke. He’s a fixture in the area. Nothing moves around here that he doesn’t know about.”

  “Isn’t that going to cause problems? Won’t he expect to see me from time to time?”

  “Don’t worry about Gretzke. He’s as thick as a docker’s lunch.”

  #

  Every day for the next three weeks, Max stayed late at the office. Waiting until all the other workers had gone home, he took the signature on the receipt that Framzl had signed and tried to copy it using various pens. The signature was elaborate, and made with a calligrapher’s pen. He cursed his luck.

  He was hoping for a chance to use Schnerpf’s stamp, too, but no opportunity presented itself. Schnerpf was always most careful to lock the door whenever he left his office, even for trips to the bathroom.

  Each night, before leaving the office and going home, he destroyed all the scraps of paper containing his failed attempts at the elusive signature.

  #

  Preparations for the wedding occupied all of Anna’s spare time. The reception to be arranged, the flowers ordered, the cake,
the invitations, the photographer, the two witnesses. She converted the gown she’d worn at the embassy party into a wedding dress by the addition of some lace across the neck.

  She continually reminded Max of his responsibilities. “I hope you’ve ordered the rings. And have you chosen your witness yet? And have you decided what you’re going to wear?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, get on with it. There’s less than five weeks to go.”

  Lying in bed that night, listening to Anna’s rhythmical breathing, Max stared at the ceiling. Anna’s wedding preparations were moving forward with the momentum of a juggernaut, and god help anyone who got in the way. Desperately he searched for a way out of his dilemma. Maybe they could leave the country, get married in Belgium. Or he could go to Belgium on his own, simply disappear from Germany. Would anyone find him in Belgium? Probably. The Gestapo reach was long. He could break off the engagement, but he really wanted to marry Anna. Breaking it off so close to their wedding day would break her heart. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to look after her as a loving husband and live with her into their old age. But how was that ever going to happen without official approval?

  Anna lay beside Max, her eyes closed, breathing rhythmically, feigning sleep. Why has he not chosen a witness? Could he be having second thoughts? Maybe he doesn’t want to marry me. Why has he been acting strangely towards me for at least three weeks and why has he been coming home late from work every single evening? Could there be someone else in his life? Doesn’t he love me anymore?

  Two months have passed since my meeting with Jürgen, the Gestapo man, and I have given him nothing. How long will he wait before handing Max over to those men with the ax handles?

  Chapter 40

  February 1939

  On Tuesday February 28, Max finally gave up on finding the ideal opportunity to get his hands on Schnerpf’s rubber stamp. He would have to get the Marriage Authorization to Father Vigo by the end of the week or there wouldn’t be a wedding on March 25. He was going to have to make something happen, and fast!

  He waited until mid-afternoon when everyone in the building would be dozing at their desks, then he climbed the stairs to the top floor and pressed the red fire alarm button in the corridor. The fire claxon sounded. He hurried back to his own floor and ran up and down the corridor shouting “Fire!”

  The corridor filled with people. Everyone ran for the stairs. Schnerpf waddled past, his moustache twitching, shouting to his staff to leave the building in an orderly fashion. Max hid in the washroom. Once everyone was on the staircase on the way to the ground floor, he emerged and tried Schnerpf’s door. It was locked. He took a heavy ashtray from the desk of a colleague and used it to smash open Schnerpf’s office door. There was a fire in the building, after all. There could be someone trapped inside. Once inside, he searched for the precious stamp. It was not visible. He tried the drawers of Schnerpf’s desk. No sign of the stamp, but one desk drawer was locked. Using the heavy ashtray he bludgeoned the drawer until it opened and there he found the stamp sitting neatly on top of its inkpad.

  Quickly, he pulled the Marriage Approval form from his jacket, placed it on Schnerpf’s blotter and applied the Third Reich stamp to both white and green copies. Having accomplished his mission, he put the stamp back in the drawer. Then he placed Schnerpf’s wastebasket under his desk, stuffed it with papers, and used his father’s lighter to start a fire. Finally, he ran for the staircase and joined his colleagues out in the street.

  The fire brigade dealt with the emergency quickly. Schnerpf’s desk was badly singed and had to be replaced. Luckily, his precious rubber stamp survived.

  The following evening when all his colleagues had left the office, Max made a few more attempts at Framzl’s signature. It was hopeless. Neither his pen nor his penmanship was up to the task. If only he could ask Peter Riese, the professional forger, to do the work for him. Then he had a thought. He opened his wallet and pulled out the receipt that the first Gestapo official had given him when he first submitted his Marriage Application. It wasn’t going to be easy to copy, but at least this official had used a normal fountain pen. He practiced the new signature for an hour before taking a deep breath, placing a sheet of carbon paper between the white and green copies, and adding the signature to the document.

  He took a tram from the office to St. Angar’s Church and handed the green copy of the completed document to Vigo. Vigo ran his eye over it and locked it in his file cabinet.

  “You won’t forget to read the banns, Father?”

  “I won’t forget. The first reading will be on Sunday, after ten o’clock mass. I hope you’ve ordered the rings. They’re quite difficult to come by these days.”

  Max spent the next two lunch hours searching for wedding rings. He had no success until one jeweler suggested he try the antique dealers. None of the antique shops had anything remotely usable. Finally, he bought two old rings from a pawnbroker.

  When he showed them to Anna, she turned up her nose at them. “I was hoping for a matching pair, maybe even engraved. These are totally mismatched. One is thick and tarnished. Are you sure it’s even gold? The other one is thin as a wire. It looks very old. Where did you get them?”

  He made a miserable face and told her how difficult it was to find wedding rings in Berlin.

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Never mind, lover. I’d marry you even if all you could find me was a brass curtain ring.”

  Chapter 41

  March 1939

  Ten days before the wedding, Max still hadn’t found a witness. There was no one at work that he could ask, and his friends had all disappeared two years earlier when they learned that his live-in lover was a Mischling. He didn’t blame them. No one wanted to be associated with criminal behavior. Max’s liaison with Anna was borderline Blutschande – blood defilement – an indictable offence for which he could be sent to prison or one of the concentration camps.

  He asked Vigo what he should do and Vigo suggested asking Greta if she could think of someone. He wrote Greta’s telephone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Max.

  Max rang the number. When he explained why he was calling, she answered with a froggy voice. “Come and see me, Max.” She gave him her address.

  #

  Greta looked ill. Wrapped in a blanket, her nose and eyes streaming, she led him into the kitchen. “I’m sure Adam would be happy to be your witness. He’s not here. I’ll ask him for you when I see him this evening.”

  “Thank you, Frau Greta. Perhaps I should leave you in peace. You’re obviously not well enough for visitors.”

  “I’d like you to do me a favor,” she croaked. “There’s a family that I visit every week. David and Matilde Rosen and their daughter, Sophie. They are confined to their apartment. I bring them food and newspapers. I haven’t been able to visit them for a week. I’d like you to go in my place.”

  “Of course, Frau Greta. But why are they confined to their apartment?”

  “They are Jews. David has an antique shop – or he had. The Brownshirts have targeted him. They burned out his business on Kristallnacht. They attacked him and broke his arm. I’ve made up a parcel of food for them. Take it with you. And perhaps you could pick up a newspaper for them, too.”

  She gave Max the Rosens’ address and he left with the parcel.

  #

  Anna spotted the parcel as soon as he stepped through the apartment door. “What have you got there?”

  “It’s a food parcel. Frau Greta asked me to deliver it to a housebound family.”

  “Housebound?”

  “They are Jews who’ve been attacked by the Brownshirts. I thought we might go round there together after our supper. They live on Alvensleberstrasss. It’s not far.”

  Chapter 42

  March 1939

  Max knocked on the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “My name is Max Noack.”

  “And I’m Anna Weber. We have a parcel of
food for you.”

  “And some newspapers.”

  “Go away. Leave us alone.”

  Max looked at Anna for ideas to break the impasse.

  Anna knocked on the door again. “Frau Greta sent us.”

  They heard three bolts being drawn. The door opened slowly. Then it was fully opened. “Come in. Quickly.”

  They stepped inside and Matilde closed and bolted the door.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We can’t be too careful. The Brownshirts are making our lives impossible. Come in to the kitchen. I’m Matilde. You are Anna?”

  Anna held out her hand, and Matilde shook it. “This is my fiancé, Max.”

  “Welcome to our home.”

  Anna handed over the parcel. Matilde was prematurely gray. Her clothes were stained, her hair in need of the attentions of a hairdresser. Her shoes were down at the heel, her stockings laddered. She wore no makeup, not that makeup would have made much of an impression. She might have been able to disguise the wrinkles in her skin, but no amount of face cream could have hidden the bags under her eyes and the downturn of her mouth looked permanent.

  She swept a stray gray hair from her face and opened the parcel. There was meat and vegetables and fruit, and under the food a second small parcel containing a children’s reading book. “All this is from Greta, yes?”

  Max handed her two newspapers. “Yes. She said to apologize for not visiting last week. She has been sick. She asked us to deliver the parcel.”

  Matilde looked alarmed. Anna stepped forward. “It’s not serious. I’d say it’s no more than a heavy cold. I expect she’ll see you again next week.”

  A small face appeared at the kitchen door. Matilde waved and a young girl ran to her mother’s side. Anna thought she might be six or seven.