Madonna On the Bridge

by Bert C. Wouters

  “I am ready to serve,” Arie assured, having just joined the Dutch Military Intelligence Bureau.

  When he returned home from his meeting in Ternouw’s office, he found his father in a state of excitement. He had already received a phone call from van Lansfoort to discuss Arie’s assignment. They needed a particular location in the Ruhr Valley for Arie to undertake his espionage work. Eschelbach, situated in the Ruhr Region, was the city of choice for Arie’s spy work.

  Before Arie had a chance to talk to his father, van Lansfoort had already briefed him via telephone about his first spy mission in Germany. When Antonius asked why he was going to Eschelbach, the professor only mentioned that his sister lived in the Ruhr Region. When van Lansfoort explained that she could be trusted entirely, he left out the fact that she provided the locale for clandestine meetings of the German officers plotting to kill Hitler.

  The fact that she had been in a thriving practice as a leading prostitute in town, serving high-level German officers, he also left out of the conversation. Once a very attractive woman, age and a sagging figure had caused her business to fall dramatically, forcing her to switch from prostitution to a new profession. She became a foot care specialist, hanging a new shingle: PEDICURIST. Her former clientele stayed loyal and returned for foot treatments. Gertle was not shy in admitting, “If one has to start again, it may as well be at the bottom, the feet.” With the German officers in her pedicure salon, she remained on a first-name basis, amiable and pleasant as ever.

  On his way to Eschelbach, Arie reminded himself that he traveled under the alias of an insurance agent for van Lansfoort’s company. His instructions were clear: collect as much information as possible about troop concentrations and equipment on the border of Holland.

  Arie arrived in the late afternoon at Gertle’s in Eschelbach and was amused by the new Pedicure shingle, quickly realizing this was the perfect ruse to keep the Gestapo at bay. He pulled the chain to the doorbell, and a lively, middle-aged woman opened the door with a smile. She spread her arms to embrace Arie, as she had been expecting his arrival.

  Without uttering a word, she quickly led Arie through the hallway into the kitchen. As they walked through, Arie noticed the pedicure salon on the right, separated from the kitchen by a curtain. She offered him coffee and strudel, motioning for him to take his luggage upstairs. She whispered in his ear that she was finishing a pedicure on her last customer of the day. Arie sensed that she had a German officer in the salon. After depositing his travel bag upstairs, he decided to stay close to the pedicure salon to overhear their conversation.

  Gertle’s clients usually enjoyed a glass or two of Schnapps during their visits. It helped them relax and open up about more sensitive matters. They often shared their deepest secrets, military or personal, with Gertle. Today’s client was Colonel Hank Strössel, a highly-positioned officer at Krupp Werke. In a loud voice, he talked about the pressure put on him by the German Army to increase production of tanks, artillery pieces, and marine parts.

  “The SS is unreasonable,” he told her. “There is no way that I can meet the demands being made by Hitler. Unfortunately, this may put my promotion in jeopardy if I do not meet the quota.” He paused and then continued. “I may have a solution. Have you noticed how frequently the trains roll by at night?” he asked her.

  “Yes, the increased rail traffic keeps me awake,” Gertle replied. “At night, I see train after train, with lots of cattle cars …”

  “You must keep this between us. I have come up with a solution. I ordered an increase in the cattle cars transporting Jews from the concentration camps to the Krupp Werke. The German authorities put Jews to work assembling Panzer tanks. Jews should be grateful that we give them the opportunity to work towards their freedom. After all, the sign above the gates of the concentration camps makes that clear ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ (Work Will Set You Free). If they can read, they will understand the true meaning of the slogan: it is an elegant and mystical declaration of self-sacrifice in the form of labor, which brings a kind of spiritual freedom. This idea leaves an incredibly powerful impact on each prisoner,” he explained passionately.

  Unsure whether to go along with Strössel’s interpretation, Gertle did not dare challenge him. In Germany, very few people were true Nazis, but many enjoyed the return of German pride. They were too busy with their lives, leaving no time to care about the plight of the Jews. As a German, Gertle had no choice but to go along with the idea that Jews must pay the price in rebuilding Germany after WWI. Strössel looked at his feet, where Gertle was filing his big toenails.

  He abruptly changed the subject. “Shortly, I will be up for promotion. I will need to prove to my superiors that I deserve it. Only something spectacular will convince them that I deserve it.” He paused as he admired her masterful work on his gnarly toes.

  “I have been working on the development of the Biber mini-submarine manufactured at Krupp Werke under my direction,” he told her, getting more specific. “Germany has no port on the North Sea adequate to field test this new vessel. The engineers in the program have set their sights on a port on the North Sea, in Holland.” Gertle thought immediately of Arie. Gertle decided to tell Arie. Here was something Arie could bargain with. She offered Strössel another Schnapps. As she completed filing his toes and proceeded to polish them, she allowed him to down his drink.

  “Would you be interested in talking to someone about this?” Gertle asked him, not knowing whether Arie had any connections with the government in Holland. He put his glass on the little table next to his chair, raising his eyebrows with a skeptical look on his face.

  “Do you know someone?” he asked.

  “Let me fetch him from his room.” She pushed through the curtain to find Arie, telling him what he wanted and advising him to deliver on the deal. Arie was unsure what Strössel was expecting of him.

  “May I introduce Arie Habers?” Gertle asked, back in the salon. “He is in town on business.”

  Strössel felt the excitement building in him … this could be a stroke of luck. He repeated what he had told Gertle about the Biber submarines, carefully watching Arie’s face for a reaction. Arie remained stone calm, as he mulled over his response in his head. Gertle was no stranger on how to move conversations along smoothly. She poured another round of Schnapps, this time including Arie. If Arie played his cards right, he could benefit the Dutch Military. Arie took a deep breath and mustered the courage to bluff himself through this deal making.

  “Scheveningen in Holland is situated on the North Sea. The Dutch Government recently built new docking facilities, which may be of interest to you. The lighthouse covers an area of ten kilometers, with a light beam flashing at intervals of two and seven seconds, the only port on the North Sea with this unique feature. It may come in handy for your test maneuvers.” This information impressed the colonel.

  “This is exciting news!” he said. “What are the drawbacks of your facilities?” Arie moved closer to the colonel, looking at the footbath where the colonel’s feet were still soaking. The shallowness of the water in the tub gave Arie a quick idea about how to answer this tricky question.

  “The port of Scheveningen lies on shallow water, not suited for deep-sea marine traffic,” Arie said with a smile.

  “This should be no problem since we are testing mini-submarines in shallow water,” the colonel assured. Arie took a deep breath, problem overcome. They both looked at the shallow water in the foot tub and chuckled. It broke the tension between the two men. Strössel was not convinced of Arie’s authority to make such a deal.

  “Are you sure the Dutch will approve?”

  “There is no doubt in my mind that they will okay this deal,” Arie told him. Arie smelled success in his first endeavor as a spy. “I wonder if you could assist my company with our business expansion in Germany.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Looking the co
lonel straight in the eye, Arie explained, “I work for V.L. Insurance and Surety Company, Marine Casualty, as an insurance agent. In Europe, we are the only insurance carrier in the marine industry. My mission is to establish our company here in Germany.” Strössel became cautious, ever mindful of the prospect of his promotion. He let Arie continue.

  “My company has an interest in Krupp Werke. We only provide insurance to a small portion of the industry. The inventory sheet needs to be completed, to prepare a quote on the premium for an updated policy.” Strössel saw no difficulty with his request.

  “The head of engineering at Krupp is a close friend. I will set up a meeting for tomorrow,” he told Arie, who could not believe his good fortune.

  He and Strössel arrived the next morning at Krupp headquarters to meet with the manager of the Engineering Division. Both had a Schnapps headache. It all went okay until Arie pulled out the insurance questionnaire. The engineer insisted on obtaining approval from his superior. Strössel became impatient and demanded the engineer take action immediately, explaining the urgency of finding a testing site for the Biber submarine. He insisted that finding a seaport on the North Sea for the Biber experiments took precedence over his small demand for pre-approval. Strössel assumed the approval for this deal.

  “Admiral Raeder is insisting that we start testing immediately. We must make sure that the minis are up to our operational standards under seafaring conditions. We cannot wait any longer. Let’s complete the questionnaire and get on with the testing,” Strössel urged. When the engineer heard mention of Admiral Raeder, head of the German Navy, he dropped his demand and completed the form. Arie watched the engineer write the numbers on his form. He could hardly believe his eyes when the engineer provided exact data about armaments production at Krupp.

  When he returned to Gertle’s that afternoon, he took a few minutes to read the engineer’s report. He was amazed at the details he saw in the report. The daily production for Panzer tanks was two hundred and twenty-five; the numbers for production of heavy artillery, navy guns, and munitions were also astoundingly high. Here he saw with his own eyes the buildup of power of the German war machinery.

  Gertle was proud of her role in this intelligence caper, which had started in her pedicure salon. More so, she told Arie how proud she was of him for succeeding beyond the expectations of what only experienced intelligence agents could hope to achieve after months of surveillance. It was apparent to Arie that she had been involved in this type of operation before. She had something to celebrate his success: a meal of smoked eel, rye bread, and dark beer … a rarity for Arie. She unrolled the newspaper in which she had stored the eel, bought that morning from the fish cart. As Arie readied himself to gorge on this delicacy, Gertle put a damper on his enthusiasm.

  “Look how exhilarated you are with your exploit,” she exclaimed. “Do not let that go to your head … you will find yourself in deep trouble if you throw caution to the wind. Let me show you what I mean.” Taking Arie’s fish and placing it on a wooden block, with a hammer, she nailed a horseshoe nail through its eyeballs. With a knife, she circumcised the collar, grabbing the eel’s casing and tearing the skin free from the body with one rip, like taking off a wet glove.

  “I am showing what will happen to you if you become too adventuresome and brash,” she told him, pointing at the naked eel body. Arie looked at the eel and lost his appetite, leaving the table with nothing more than the image of a skinned spy. Upon his return home, Arie did not waste any time before visiting Colonel Ternouw. When they reviewed his intelligence data, they congratulated him on his accomplishment. Arie was the first Dutch intelligence agent to capture a detailed picture of the buildup of Germany’s war machine. If he succeeded in convincing his superiors to base the testing facility for the German mini-submarine in Scheveningen, he would have a double success story to his credit. His caper would allow them to research the Biber Submarine in the North Sea.

  Something else gnawed at him; he must tell his superiors about the use of Jews as forced laborers in the Krupp factories. In 1938, the use of forced labor was only a rumor. No confirmation existed until Arie detailed it in his intelligence report. Ternouw immediately informed Prince Bernhard. The next day, newspapers in Amsterdam, London, and New York carried the story about forced labor in Germany.

  In his final intelligence report, Arie failed to mention the “eel affair,” despite the memory loitering in his nightmares.

  Chapter 10

  Castle Lindendale

  Manus had received the most significant commission of his career with the Stations of the Cross in the open-air park behind his parish church. The space at his parents’ home was too small to store fourteen enormous granite blocks from which to carve the stations.

  This morning, he woke up late and went straight to his shop. He’d had a bad night’s sleep riddled with nightmares about where to find a larger space.

  Holding a cup of tea, he kicked open the door and surveyed the chaos. He could hardly believe the disarray he had created over the years. Broken clay models lay helter-skelter throughout the workshop, dust-covered and connected with spider webs. Spiders crawled aimlessly in search of food scraps. Manus was not particular about left behind food crumbs.

  Yesterday, he had managed to finish the death mask for the deceased Mrs. van Aalst, bronzing it with a high gloss. It was his best one so far. In the distance, he heard the church bells toll, summoning parishioners to her funeral. Just before 10 o’clock, he delivered the mask to the undertaker, who placed it on the lid of the coffin.

  He decided not to attend the funeral mass. Instead, he stuffed his pipe and set off for a long walk in search of an expanded room for his atelier. He hoped to take a long walk in the woods at the outskirts of town. The solitude cleared his cluttered mind, allowing him time and space to ruminate about life. His beret askance on his head, he turned onto Castle Lane, where weeds had overtaken the dirt path. The old tracks used years ago were barely visible. The trees on both sides gave the road an aura of aristocratic dignity. The only life in the woods was a raven, taking an angry swipe at his beret, hoping to distract him from finding a solution to his space problem.

  Suddenly, through the shadows of the trees, he saw the outline of an old castle. The three-stepped structure with capstones in the windows revealed its seventeenth-century architecture. The old brick walls reflected in the water of the moat surrounding the castle. He stopped at the ramshackle drawbridge, pondering whether to cross the broken boards. Unsure whether they were safe to walk on, he moved gingerly forward, sidestepping the broken pieces of wood.

  He hesitated. How could he afford an atelier in a castle? Above the entrance of the portico, a weathered sign announced the name: Castle Lindendale – 1677.

  He rang the clapper and heard the sound resonating throughout the castle proper. After a few minutes, he heard the shuffling sound of someone approaching. A senior woman opened the heavy wooden door with squeaky hinges. She was dressed in black and wore a white apron. With her plump appearance and smile, she came across as a friendly character.

  “Hello, young man,” she said. “Are you lost? I am Clara Habers. What is the purpose of your visit?” Manus was surprised that she went by the same name as his family. He was so nervous that he forgot to introduce himself. Not daring to look at her, he stumbled over his words.

  “I am a sculptor, and I was thinking … “ When she heard the word “sculptor,” she raised her hand and stopped him mid-sentence. She showed him into the courtyard paved with cobblestones. In the stable, Manus saw a horse munching on hay. In the back of the stable, he spotted an old carriage from the nineteenth century. The gold leaf patina had peeled off long ago. They stopped at the main entrance to the castle hall.

  With a sweeping gesture, she opened the massive oak doors and announced in an exaggerated manner, “You are entering the Hall of Knights.” Manus had read about old castles often having
formal halls like this one. He looked up at the tall ceiling, convinced the rafters were sturdy enough to hold the tackle required to lift the granite blocks from which he was going to carve the Stations of the Cross. Large paintings in dust-covered frames hung from the walls, displaying portraits of the previous owners. Manus stopped at the canvas with the nameplate Gustav Habers I – 1779-1830. Clara pointed to a distinct looking medal on the nameplate with a green national flag of a country unknown to Manus: Circassia. Manus could not take his eyes from the peculiar looking features of the face in the portrait. Judging by his attire, he surmised that he was of nobility. Clara looked Manus in the eye, turning away as she shook her head in disbelief, not uttering a word. He looked like her brother. Manus had eyes similar to the ones in the portrait.

  “I apologize, I never introduced myself. I am Manus Habers,” he said awkwardly. “I shall be going now … “ She looked at him intensely and stopped him.

  “You are the son of Antonius Habers, the famous painter of the Rembrandt Tulips, right?” she proclaimed in a firm voice, wagging her index finger at him.

  Manus nodded, wondering what this had to do with the portrait. Was it because her name was also Habers? After all, no one else in town had that name.

  “I wonder if I should be the one to talk about your family history,” she went on after a pause. “I have just come to realize that we are relatives. The reason you have not found out about your family provenance is simple. We live with a vow of silence never to talk about our family secret. I wonder if the time has come to speak the truth about Anna Petrovsky, my mother.” Clara kept talking.