Blaz raised his head and looked through the door to his desk. His letter was still there, waiting for him in the drawer. He wondered what he could write that would communicate how he felt. He thought of what he could say to make her feel better. Her last letter had indicated a possible pregnancy, but that had been more than a month ago. If she was indeed expecting, he would have heard by now. It wasn’t her fault. The first two pregnancies had been miscarriages and the third had been a girl. Cora. She was a beautiful girl, but too quiet. Blaz appreciated reserved children, but he worried about Cora. She was alert and did well enough in school. But her ability to communicate was limited at best. She was nearly four before she spoke directly to anyone but her mother. When she did speak it was usually too soft to hear.
Even now at five she barely said a word to him. He knew she was different with Giselle. Giselle. What to say to a far away and disappointed wife? They had both been hoping for a son for so long. Every year that passed made it seem less likely. Cora was lacking and although one could say she looked very much like her beautiful mother, she did not smile the same. The thought gave him an idea. He could tell his wife how much he loved her smile. Perhaps that would cheer her, if she needed it.
He turned off the water and began to soap himself, preparing what to write. When he had it all planned out, he rinsed and got out of the tub, pulling the plug as he stood up. He went to the mirror and looked at his face. He was not the picture of Aryan perfection, but handsome. His hair was too dark and his brow too pronounced. But he had crystalline blue eyes. His men seemed intimidated by his stare, but he softened it for Giselle. She had often said it was his eyes that finally won her over.
Their courtship had been a struggle. Instigated but then just as abruptly dismissed by their fathers, Blaz and Giselle had continued to see one another in secret for years, even as she began university and Blaz took a job with a furniture company. He had always planned to be an educated man, but if he was to have any hope of convincing Giselle’s family to let them marry he had to be prove himself a good provider. It was in their fourth year of clandestine meetings that her father found them out. Giselle had not done as well as she had hoped. She struggled with some of her more demanding courses and was not as close to graduating as she should have been. When her father ransacked her room to find clues as to why she was failing, he found love notes. He was furious, believing that her struggles at school were because of Blaz. In his estimation Blaz was consuming all her time and attention and would eventually convince her to give up her education and run away with him. Fearing they were already planning to marry, or soon would be, he sent her away to Austria to live with a cousin. But Blaz continued to write to her. Another four years went by. Giselle finally completed her schooling and took a position in a dress shop when her father finally allowed her to come home. Blaz’ longsuffering interest seemed to prove that their relationship was not one of manipulation, but sincere devotion. Blaz had proven his loyalty to Giselle, but could not marry her until he proved his loyalty to his country. He must become a military man.
With the struggling economy, Blaz argued that it would be better for him to start a career. After delivering furniture for so long and carrying such beautiful pieces day after day he had decided he’d like to be a craftsman himself. Carpentry might suit him. Giselle’s father agreed that carpentry was an honest living, but that their country was still in perilous times. Good men were needed and if Blaz was a good man, would he really ignore Germany’s call to action? The only real difficulty was that he could hardly provide properly for a family on a foot soldier’s salary. So Giselle’s father called in a favor. In his mind, it was time to speed things along before it was too late to have the children he had been so afraid of Giselle having before. So he wrote to a friend from the party to make room for Blaz in an Officers Training Program. Blaz refused the position. He wanted to please Giselle’s parents and be a good provider, but he wanted to do it on his own merits no matter how long it took. Giselle pleaded with him. As a compromise he joined the smallest, but most efficient group he could, the Schutzstaffel, known as the SS. At the time the SS were a small band of enthusiasts who had little to do but pass out Nazi party fliers and newspapers. Blaz father had encouraged him to join the SA instead, but the Sturmabteilung, or brown shirts, as they were called, were little more than drunken bullies throwing their unearned weight around the streets of Germany. They were a larger group and far more powerful, but it wasn’t power Blaz was after. The SS were small, organized and intelligent. He could serve his country and still make time to apprentice somewhere. It was exactly what he needed to prove to Giselle’s family the kind of honorable, proud man he was.
It went well enough for a while. He trained and ran drills with the SS during the day and nights when he didn’t have meetings he helped his previous employer make tables and chairs. The plan was to advance into making more complicated pieces, but a year after Blaz joined, the SS became a force much more powerful and demanding than anything he had expected. The SA had become uncontrollable, its members fighting in the streets and using their force on good citizens. Adolf Hitler, now Chancellor of Germany, ordered the SS to eradicate the troublesome SA. Suddenly, there was no time for anything but that. The only good thing was that as part of the strong and powerful SS, Blaz was finally considered worthy to marry Giselle.
He had planned to propose the night of her parent’s anniversary party. He had arranged with her father to offer a toast wherein he would ask for Giselle to be his bride. But when the time came, something else came with it. It was July 2, 1934, the end of what was to be called the Night of Long Knives. Blaz was summoned to be part of the execution of almost a hundred SA troops and the arrest of hundreds more. Giselle and her parents spent their anniversary huddled around the radio with their friends, listening with pride and trepidation to history in the making of which their future son in law was a part.
The next morning, much earlier than can fairly be called morning, tiny pebbles found their way to Giselle’s window. Standing in the garden was Blaz, still sweaty with a small gash in his cheek and another much larger one on his right palm. But he didn’t care. In that moment he felt stronger than he had his whole life. Years of yielding to others, waiting for his turn had led to that time, that minute. All his fear and hesitation were washed away in the glory of the morning. It was what his father and Giselle’s father and so many others had tried to explain to him, the power that came with protecting something. He was a man. He had a cause.
Ignoring the propriety of the calm neighborhood he shouted to her, “Marry me! Marry me today! Right now!” Her father could hardly refuse a soon to be decorated hero. They used the decorations from the abandoned anniversary party and married an hour later with only their parents and a few friends. Later she would bandage his wounds and kiss him and tell him how proud she was to be the wife of such a man. The smile she had when she called herself “wife” was the one he would always love.
He looked down at his hand where the scar still stared at him, bold and white. It was a symbol of what had brought them together. Such a small thing represented so much, all the years of fighting and struggle. Every new experience was tied to this scar, like a small trail leading off his palm out into the world, to a grand adventure.
He knew there was little time left to sleep. He would have to be up early for roll call. He found his watch and wound it carefully, the gold engraving bright in his hand. He twisted the knob, recalling what Giselle had written on the note that came with the beautiful watch:
With all my heart
It was the phrase they had used since their wedding night. They had lain in bed watching out the window as the clouds moved past the stars and repeated their vows. When Giselle said “I do” he had lifted his head and asked, Do you? And she answered, With all my heart.
It had become the hallmark of their marriage. Whenever a question was asked, if the answer was yes it would inevitably be followed by With all my heart.
Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?
With all my heart.
Do you like this dress?
With all my heart.
Are you going to smoke that in here?
With all my heart.
It was their way of being in love, creating sentiment in unsentimental situations. And of course, it was always said in the truly sentimental times as well. When Cora was born, as Giselle had passed her to Blaz, she asked, You will love her won’t you? Blaz had nodded and replied, With all my heart.
He meant it, even if she wasn’t a son.
CHAPTER TWO
October 1941
Cora
Cora’s doll was not the one she had wanted originally. Just before her birthday, she had been walking in town with her mother and spotted the most beautiful doll she had ever seen. It had dark brown eyes and long, chocolate hair. Her dress was blue, thick and velvet with white lace trim. Cora had gasped and tugged on her mother, begging and pleading to have the dolly. When her birthday arrived and she was handed the box from the toy store she could hardly believe it. But inside was a different doll. She was pretty, but her dress was plainer and she had blue eyes and blonde hair.
“But, mummy, it’s not the same doll,” she had whined.
“I know, darling, but this one is better. See, she looks like a Rhine maiden. Isn’t she lovely?”
Cora had lied and said that she was the prettiest doll she’d ever seen. The doll must have been very expensive and she knew better than to complain. She thanked her mother dutifully and learned to love her doll.
She sat at the kitchen table, trying in vain to untangle the knotted hair. The curls had already been bounced and brushed to the point of fraying and breaking. But Cora was determined to braid it the way her mother braided hers. It was a lovely kitchen, the reason her parents had chosen the house. But they had made a few changes to it. When they moved in, there was already furniture, linens, dishes and even paintings. There were flowers in the vases, mirrors on the wall, a piano, a library full of books and every other comfort. Cora had wondered at first if someone had already set up the house for them, unpacked their things. But as Cora had gone from room to room she only found the unfamiliar. She didn’t mind, though. It was like Christmas, and she had all sorts of new toys to play with and secrets to unlock.
The front of the house looked down on the street, its red brick bold against the green grass of the lawn and the purple violets under the windows. Inside was a small entryway of brown tile that ended with a cut glass door and windows from floor to ceiling. Cora thought it was rather like being in a fish tank when she stood in there. There was a swinging door to the right that led to the dining room and through there the kitchen. On the left was the parlor that stretched almost to the back of the house. But there was also a small water closet and a sitting room for her mother. On the other side of the downstairs hall was a large open space where her mother said they would have parties. Across from the front door was a staircase to the second floor. At the top of the stairs on the left was the master bedroom and next to that was a closet, a study and a small guest room. The opposite side had Cora’s nursery room, a bath room and the larger guest room. Cora took great pleasure in going from room to room, surveying the variety of floors and windows. No two rooms were alike. And there were apple trees, lovely and tall that grew all along the back yard and ended on the edge of the woods. Cora’s father had loved that. Cora listened as he told Giselle how he had grown up in a house on the edge of a forest. Cora imagined her father as a boy and couldn’t wait to have her own adventures under the cover of the trees.
The house itself changed a bit at a time; became their home. Giselle would have people over and they would walk through the house pointing at windows and carpets, light fixtures and walls. Every day there was more of what her mother called swatches. Cora loved playing with the small squares of paper and fabric that her mother would spread on the table. She’d point to one and tell Cora it was going to be for the bedroom. Then she’d point to another and say it was for the sitting room.
Her father had been busy reading the newspaper the day Giselle had placed swatches for the kitchen in front of him. He had tried to ignore her, but she snatched his paper away playfully. Cora had almost laughed but stifled it, not sure if her father would be angry.
“My darling,” he had said, “Your taste is exquisite and I trust you completely. Now give me back my paper.”
“Are you always going to be this uncooperative when it comes to making decisions about our home?”
“With all my heart.”
Cora had heard them use that expression on an almost daily basis. She knew it was something sweet, something special from before she was born. But they never said it to her. In a way it made her feel excluded. She imagined their hearts being so filled up with each other that there was no room left for her. She wouldn’t have minded so much, but her mother was her only friend. The girls at school didn’t pay any attention to her and the only other children in the neighborhood were boys or toddlers. Cora couldn’t remember any of her friends from before they moved. It had been rather rushed; her father had taken a new position, something very important at a camp near Linz. Cora wasn’t sure where that was, but she knew it was too far from Vienna for her father to live at home while working at the camp. She asked if she could see it, but her mother said it wasn’t the kind of job where she would have fun. The good thing about living in Vienna was that it was where her mother had lived for a while when she was younger. She took Cora to her old university and to the dress shop where she worked with Zelda.
Cora sat at the table with her doll, swinging her stockinged feet and thought the doll looked quite like Aunt Zelda. Cora knew she wasn’t really her aunt, but she was such good friends with her mother and she loved Cora. Whenever she came to the house she would call out, “Where’s my girl?” Cora would run to meet her and be gathered up in a hug that smelled of violets. She had taught Cora a song that she and Giselle had learned as girls.
Cora started humming the tune as she twisted her dolls hair, her attempt at braiding it only knotting the hair further. Giselle had her back to Cora, cutting up vegetables for dinner. She joined her daughter humming. This, at least, was something special Cora was allowed to share. The door swung silently open and Blaz tiptoed into the kitchen. He was home for the weekend, but had taken the afternoon to visit a friend. Cora smiled hopefully, her little legs stopping mid swing as her father crept past her. He reached slowly toward Giselle, hands outstretched.
“Take your boots off,” Giselle chided suddenly.
“How did you know I was here?” He pouted. “I didn’t make a sound.”
“Oh, you’re not as clever as you think you are. Did you bring Claus back with you?”
“No, he’s going back tonight. He said he felt guilty taking me away from my family.”
“Claus is family,” Giselle reminded him.
“I tried to tell him that. Just as well, though. I’m too tired to entertain tonight.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. Supper is almost ready and I need you to do something before we eat. Cora found some mice today.”
Blaz frowned. “Where?”
“Under the sink. There’s a nest there.”
“Why didn’t you get rid of them?”
“I’ve been busy cooking. Besides, you explain these things so much better than I do.”
“What’s to explain? Get rid of them. I’m going to wash up.” He started to leave.
“Blaz,” she whispered, clutching his arm, “Cora wants to keep them.”
For the first time since he’d been home he looked at Cora. Just looking at her the way he did made Cora feel small and ashamed. She’d wanted him to notice her when he first came in but now she wished she could disappear.
“Alright,” he said. “Put them in a pot and I’ll take them outside.”
He watched Giselle reach for a small copper saucepot and turned back to his daughte
r.
“Cora, look at me. Why do you want to play with the disgusting mice?”
Her eyes were hopeful and fearful at the same time. She shrugged her shoulders, not meeting his eyes. Instead she stared at the buttons on his shirt.
She could tell he didn’t want to talk to her. He was like the racehorses she had seen when they went to the track after her father was promoted, huffing and anxious.
“Do you know they carry diseases? Did you know they could get us all very sick? They get into our food and contaminate it. They leave droppings. They bring in lice and plagues and have more mice babies. If we leave them alone there will be so many of them that we won’t be able to live here anymore. Do you want that? Do you want vermin to take over our beautiful home that your mother has worked so hard to make for us?”
Cora pulled her doll out from under her chin and buried her face in its tangled hair.
“Do you understand why we can’t have them here?” He pressed. She nodded slowly, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. She wanted to cry, not just because of the mice but because her father was angry with her and she hated herself when he was angry with her.
“Do you understand why we have to get rid of them?” Cora looked up at him, her eyes brimming and her lips pressed tight.
Blaz swore aloud, but held his breath back with a look from Giselle.
“Cora, it isn’t pleasant. I don’t want to do it. But if I have to choose between their family and mine, I will always choose mine. There are only a few now and you may not be able to understand why they are dangerous, but I am older and I know better. They will destroy our home. And what if other people left them to thrive? They would take over the city. Oh, but they’re only mice, some would say. One mouse, a hundred mice, even a thousand mice in a city this big may be harmless. But imagine them breeding and growing unchecked for a decade. Imagine millions and millions of mice running in the streets and crawling on you in your sleep. Spreading diseases and contaminating everything. Extermination is the only choice.”
Beneath the Universe Page 2