by Murray Pura
“Caroline did years ago when she and Buchanan talked about getting married. Charles hasn’t forgotten. He brought it up during one of the fights about going to Berlin. ‘He’s my father…you’re not my father…I have a right to go wherever my real father goes.’ Stalks around the house and brags about meeting up with his dad in Berlin and being introduced to Hitler and the Nazi stunt pilot at the Games. That sort of rubbish.”
“Oh, Kipp, I’m so sorry. How miserable that must be. One can only hope Charles will see Lord Tanner for who he truly is and be repulsed.”
“I do hope that. But Buchanan will be on his best behavior with such a large audience.”
They watched Ben put the Spitfire into a spin.
“Who is the Nazi stunt pilot?” asked Victoria.
“Didn’t I tell you? The trip to Berlin gets better all the time, dear sister. The pilot’s our nemesis from the Great War, Wolfgang von Zeltner.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not. It’s shaping up to be quite the show at the Eleventh Olympiad, on the track and off. I just don’t know who’s going to win all the medals, us or them.”
The Spitfire went into a steep dive, finally leveled out, and blasted over their heads again.
August, 1936
XI Olympiad, Berlin Olympic Stadium
“Well done!” cried Ben Whitecross as the American runner Jesse Owens ascended to the top of the podium. “That makes three gold medals. Herr Hitler will have to tear down all his swastikas now.”
Kipp stood and applauded beside him. “He won’t tear down anything. He’ll just refuse to shake the hand of a black man.”
“He isn’t shaking anyone’s hand anymore. Your father was telling me the Olympic Committee warned Hitler he had to shake the hands of all the medalists, not just German ones. He refused, and now he doesn’t shake anyone’s hand. After all, you never know which athlete is going to be a Jew.”
Kipp looked down the row to see Lord Tanner and Charles still in their seats. Matthew was up and clapping along with his cousins Ramsay and Tim and Owen and Colm. He saw his father frown at Lord Tanner and Charles, but the pair ignored everyone.
Caroline glanced at Charles, closed her eyes, and then made up her mind to clap even louder and even waved a handkerchief as blue as her eyes.
“I wish God would take that man out of my life forever,” she said to Kipp in a low voice. “He is an absolute pestilence. I’m certain he will convince Charles to move in with him.”
“He can’t force the issue without going to the courts,” replied Kipp. “And a son born out of wedlock would be a scandal laid against his name.”
“And ours.”
“I’m sure if he could devise a plan of laying it all at our door he would do it, but he can’t. So nothing will happen.”
“He can turn Charles against us.”
“I’m sure that’s his intention.”
“How will we be able to stop that?”
“Arguing with Charles won’t help the matter. He’ll just continue to dig in his heels. We shall have to take the route the Good Book advises. ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: for thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the LORD shall reward thee.’ ”
Caroline pouted. “I am not in the mood to be loving toward Tanner Buchanan. Or toward Charles Danforth right now for that matter.”
“ ‘A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.’ ”
“Listen to you,” snapped Caroline, sitting down as the applause and cheering came to an end. “Are you to rival Jeremy as the family vicar?”
“Somebody has to say it. Otherwise it will be pistols at dawn in a day or two, love.”
Caroline’s face was set in sharp, dark lines. “I wish it would be pistols at dawn and that you’d put a silver bullet right through his wicked heart.”
Hotel suite, Berlin
“William!” Lady Preston paused before sipping from her cup of tea. “You must stop this pacing. It’s driving me to distraction. Robbie has written to say he and Shannon and Patricia are perfectly all right.”
Lord Preston held up a folded newspaper and covered his left eye with his hand. “I don’t like what I’m reading here, Elizabeth. Another uprising in Jerusalem, the brutality of the civil war in Spain…”
“William, do calm yourself. I wish you’d never put your hands on an English language paper. What is wrong with your eye?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my eye. I got a bit of dust in it at the stadium. Our navy is evacuating British tourists from Madrid and coastal resorts in Spain. Not just tourists of course but British citizens working in Spain as well. That’s something, at least. The rest of the time I feel the navy is aiding and abetting Franco and the fascists in Spain, Elizabeth. I do wish our government would stop appeasing the fascist element every time they meet up with it.”
“Keep on that line and soon enough they will have you lumped in with poor Winston. If that happens you might as well both take up residence on some desert island for all the good you’ll do in Parliament. No one listens to Winston and soon no one will listen to you.”
“They jolly well should start listening to Winston. The Nazis will be up to all sorts of mischief once the Olympics are over. They’re already filling the skies with their planes and the sea with their ships.”
Lady Preston poured fresh tea into her cup. “If your line of reasoning is correct, we’ll curry favor with Hitler just as we have with Mussolini and Franco. So what’s the point of wagging your finger at Prime Minister Baldwin? He’ll simply turn his back on you.”
“My heavens, we already are currying favor with Herr Hitler. Why, we even let some of their Luftwaffe chaps poke around our aircraft factories back home. And I’m certain the Reichstag is not backing the Jews when it comes to Palestine, yet we say nothing to them about it.”
She leaned back in her seat. “You’re getting much too excited, William. The grandchildren are having a marvelous time here. Don’t spoil it for them.”
Lord Preston continued to read the newspaper, his hand still over his eye. “Hm? Spoil it for them? Charles doesn’t look too badly off. The next thing you know he’ll be trying to grow some hair on his upper lip.”
Lady Preston made a face. “Don’t talk rot. It’s not as bad as all of that. Our family is having a splendid visit to Berlin. It’s not like it was five or six years ago. Herr Hitler got rid of those nasty Brownshirts, didn’t he? So I say bravo for him and his Third Reich.”
Just down the hall in another set of rooms, Charles was laughing and telling Kipp and Caroline and Matthew about meeting Hermann Goering, Wolfgang von Zeltner, and other Nazi celebrities.
“Herr Goering was an ace during the war and he introduced me to von Zeltner, who was also an ace, and Ernst Udet, who shot down almost as many planes as Richthofen.” Charles tugged an empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “They autographed this for me.”
“Kipp was also an ace in the war,” Caroline said quietly. “For the British side.”
“They didn’t know him, but they knew Uncle Benjamin. And sides don’t matter. They said that.”
Kipp looked up at him from his chair. “So did you go up with one of them?”
“I went up with von Zeltner in his stunt plane and then I flew with Herr Udet in his. Both were absolutely brilliant.”
“They both took you up?” asked Kipp, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, they treat Dad like a prince or something. ‘Lord Tanner’ this and ‘Lord Tanner’ that. I’m going to meet Herr Hitler this evening.”
“The family is dining together this evening,” Caroline reminded him. “Your grandmother and grandfather are taking everyone to a fine restaurant on the river.”
Charles shook his head. “I’ll have to bow out, I’m afraid. There will be plenty of opportunities to dine with the family in the future but few to dine with Adolf Hitler. Unless I attend school he
re in the fall.”
“Attend school here?” Caroline’s eyes flared. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“My father—he has so many connections.”
“Your father is my husband, Kipp Danforth. He has been the only father you’ve known. And no one has discussed you taking a year’s schooling in Berlin.”
“I could even finish here. And then enroll at a German university.”
“It’s out of the question, Charles.”
“If I want to, mother, you must let me. It’s true I love you very much. But there comes a time when a man is called upon to be a man.”
“Who has been filling your head with such nonsense? You’re just fifteen.”
“I’m old enough to know what I want.”
“You don’t have the language skills to attend school in Berlin.”
“Father would get me a tutor.”
Caroline’s face darkened. “What have you two been doing? Hatching schemes behind my back?”
“We only began to discuss this today and yesterday.”
“I won’t permit it.”
Charles’s eyes began to burn. “I’ll do as I wish. I’m not a child.”
Caroline turned on Kipp. “Don’t you have anything to say? He’s your son as well as mine.”
Kipp gazed at Charles until the young man glanced away.
“Apparently not.” Kipp nodded with his chin. “What’s that sticking out of your pocket, Charles?”
“What?” Charles looked down. “It’s nothing. A gift from Herr Goering. You wouldn’t understand.”
“It looks like one of those armbands.”
“Oh, Charles,” groaned Caroline. “Not a Nazi armband.”
His face flamed. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. Don’t worry. I won’t wear it around the house. It’s a keepsake. Nothing more.” He stuffed it farther into his pocket.
“The Hitler Youth are marching tonight,” said Kipp. “Do you plan to join them?”
Charles glared but did not reply.
That evening Lord Preston kept an appointment with Baron von Isenburg at a sidewalk table in front of the hotel. The baron was wearing his black SS uniform.
“Are you sure you want to meet out in the open like this?” asked Lord Preston, taking a chair.
“It’s the best way, believe me,” responded the baron. “They expect to see us together. The intention is I recruit you as a good friend of the Third Reich, one who will look to our interests in the British Parliament. If we were to meet in secret, the Gestapo would be suspicious.”
“So what game are you playing now?”
“The same game I was playing before. Pretending to be a Nazi. Pretending to be SS. All the while looking for an opportunity to overthrow this regime.”
“You had me fooled. You had all of us fooled.”
“I’m sorry to have stung so many with my actions. But everyone had to be convinced or it wouldn’t have worked.”
“What you’re doing is high treason.”
“As high as it gets.”
A waiter came to their table.
“Coffee,” said the baron. “William?”
“Yes, that would be fine. And a sweet roll, please.”
The baron folded his hands on the tabletop. “When next you write to Albrecht, you must advise him to speak with less venom about the Third Reich. He can be critical but not inflammatory. If he does not tone it down you can be sure Berlin will begin to pressure Swiss authorities.”
“To do what?”
“Who knows? Throw him in jail. Deport him.”
“Switzerland has always prided itself on its democracy and neutrality.”
“Of course. But they see what is developing on their doorstep even if the rest of the world ignores it—a war machine. Who knows? Despite the estimate of a million casualties, Herr Hitler may decide an invasion of Swiss territory is worth the risk. Certainly some officials in Bern will be thinking along those lines. So if Berlin complains about Hartmann’s books and public speaking and rattles its saber a bit, Albrecht will be asked and then ordered to cancel all speaking engagements and book publications. They will muzzle him.”
Lord Preston frowned. “If he disobeys—”
“As I said, if he disobeys they’ll throw him in prison. Or out of the country.”
“Out of the country isn’t so bad, is it? He can bring his family to England.”
“So long as war hasn’t broken out in Europe. If it has, the journey to England will be hazardous. Once German troops are out in force, the SS will be with them. Should Albrecht be spotted he will be arrested and returned to Germany for trial.”
“In which case they will hang him.”
“If he is lucky.”
The coffee arrived and a sweet roll for Lord Preston.
“I will certainly write him.” Lord Preston poured cream into his coffee. “I shall let him know what’s afoot. Whether I’ll have any success in persuading him to quiet down, well, it’s doubtful.” He leaned back and drank from his cup as traffic whizzed past. “Speaking of quieting things down, what has become of your daughter?”
The baron shrugged. “Eva is a daughter in name only. She despises me for locking her up in that castle and discrediting everything she tells others about my activities. She screams that I have put the Jews ahead of her, that vermin matter more to me than my own child.” He looked at his cup of coffee but didn’t drink it. “Of course she is partly right. We still get Jews out of the country who are at risk. We still have safe houses. But she matters as much to me as they do. It’s just that I know how to help them. But her.…I don’t know how to help.”
Blaring trumpets and loud drums momentarily halted their conversation. A column of young men, four abreast, in white shirts and shorts, swastika armbands on their sleeves, were marching along a street beside the hotel. The baron turned in his seat to watch, and Lord Preston craned his neck. There was no singing or chanting. They marched with a force and a strength, it seemed to Lord Preston, that needed no other voice than the harsh stamping of their feet.
“William.” The baron pointed. “It’s strange. That tall fellow there looks like one of your grandsons.”
At one in the morning the table was still there, as well as the chairs. Nothing had been stacked, and waiters continued to serve the men and women who drank and smoked by candlelight on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Cars moved past, headlights slicing at the night.
Kipp came through the front doors and sat at the table. Five minutes later a man with a walking stick made his way along the sidewalk and joined him.
“Another gold medal for Owens today,” the man said by way of opening the conversation. “Astonishing.”
“Do you mean astonishing, Buchanan, or do you mean astonishing for a black man?”
Buchanan laughed. “Well, he wouldn’t have pulled it off but for our Nazi athlete Luz Long giving him advice about the long jump, would he?”
“Our athlete?”
A waiter came and lit the candle at their table. Both ordered coffee. Buchanan opened a silver cigarette case and offered it to Kipp, who shook his head. Buchanan took a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it with a silver lighter with an eagle engraved on its side.
“The British Union of Fascists failed to put anyone in Parliament in last year’s election,” Buchanan said. “Sir Oswald has big plans for thirty-six and thirty-seven. Good things are happening even across the sea in Canada and America. But I don’t think much will come of any of it if Germany doesn’t remain strong. Should Germany continue to go from strength to strength, other nations will adopt fascist ways in due course. Especially with the good things happening under Mussolini’s leadership in Italy and Franco’s in Spain. All this to say I have decided to relocate. I’ve been offered a post with Goebbels, the Minister of Propaganda. I shall be making radio broadcasts starting in October.”
“You’re going to live in Berlin?”
“That’s right.”
Buchanan drew in on his cigarette. “She likes Berlin.”
“She didn’t accompany you here.”
“She is visiting family in America.”
The waiter set down their coffees as well as a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher of cream. Buchanan put three teaspoons of sugar into his cup and stirred, the spoon making a clicking sound. Kipp brought his coffee toward him but did nothing with it.
“Look here, Lord Tanner,” Kipp blurted. “You can live on the moon with your marching bands and swastikas for all I care. But I want my son back in England where he belongs.”
Buchanan drank, set down his coffee, and drew in on his cigarette till the tip was bright red. “Your son? I’m his father, Danforth. You’ve been no more than a wet nurse all these years. I’m grateful, of course, but now he and I have a lot of catching up to do. He will be enrolled in a fine school in Berlin this fall and go on to Humboldt University a few years after that.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Be Charles’s father? I’ve been denied that role long enough. You can take it up with the courts here in Berlin if you wish. But I don’t think you will get far. They’re Nazi courts, after all, and I am an aide to Joseph Goebbels while you…well, you are no more than an Englishman with decidedly anti-fascist tendencies.”
“The British courts—”
“Come, Danforth, do you seriously think Britain will have a row with Germany over a custody case? Even if it is Lord Preston’s grandson? And do you really want the scandal between your wife and myself to run the length and breadth of Britain?”
“I didn’t meet with you to mix it up and come to blows. I’m here to ask you to stop what you’re doing and consider Caroline’s feelings—and Charles’s future.”
“It’s time I consider my own feelings, Danforth. And really, it’s up to Charles, isn’t it? Ask him yourself. ‘Charles, do you want to be in England with your mother or in Berlin with your father?’ After tonight’s march along the boulevard and the opportunity to meet Adolf Hitler, I believe I can predict what his response will be.”