by Therese Down
“Ah, but it doesn’t change the facts – she is the prettiest, and no wonder.”
Hedda smiled warmly at him. He had a handsome face and was very tall. But the dark shadow that had always seemed to haunt him, just below his skin, and which made his smiles disappear like sun behind clouds, was still there. This made him less superficially attractive, for his features were somehow strained, and his eyes often narrowed as if against pain. But he was interesting, she decided – his strangeness less irritating to her than when she was impatient and twenty.
“And are you married now? Do you have children?”
“I am married, yes. My wife is not here, though. She’s with her parents in Leipzig. We don’t have any children.”
“Were you in Denmark – or Norway? Somewhere else, perhaps?”
“Norway, yes.”
“My husband was there too – and in Denmark – with Flak Regiment Goering. Walter Gunther. Do you know him?”
“I have heard of Oberst Gunther, but I have not met him. I hear he is fearless. Even the SS officers talk about his courage. You must be proud.”
Hedda squinted, raised a hand to her brow against the sun and turned again in Agnette’s direction before turning back to Karl and speaking. “And you? You must be brave too, or you would not be here.”
“Ah, me. Well, they tell me I have a pretty good aim and am handy with an eighty-eight anti-aircraft gun. I brought down a few Norwegian planes. They have promoted me to Oberleutnant.”
“Congratulations, Karl.”
For answer, Karl nodded but he looked down, and his smile was more a short-lived grimace, which Hedda took for modesty. “I was a medical student before the war. I wanted to make a difference, in a real way, you know? But the war came and my studies had to stop.”
“Medicine? Why did I think you were an engineer?”
“Oh, I am – I mean, I already had an engineering degree. Looks like it might be put to good use by the SS, from a conversation I had a little earlier with Herr Goering.”
“Oh?” Hedda was amused at the lack of reverence implicit in Karl’s use of the simple, civilian title attributed to the Prussian Prime Minister and Reichsmarshall, Goering.
“Yes, it seems there is some sort of job for which I would be ideally suited – with the Waffen. Hygiene Division.”
“Hygiene Division? What can that be?”
There was a long pause before Karl answered, during which Hedda watched his bowed head with an expression of quizzical amusement, much like one she would adopt if Anselm said something indecipherable.
“Top secret. I myself need to find out more. I am not sure.”
“I see. You always were mysterious, Karl.”
“Mysterious?”
“Yes. You know, as if there is something you would like to say but can’t, or… I don’t know, as if you know something you can’t say. I suppose that is, in fact, the case now.” She laughed and added, “I am not meaning to be rude or teasing. I am glad you are doing well. I was just remembering that evening on the Friedrichstrasse – we went to see a jazz band.”
“Orchester James Kok.”
“Yes – that was it! I found you fascinating then – a bit confusing, though.” She laughed again.
Karl smiled. “You didn’t find me that fascinating. You couldn’t get out of the taxi quickly enough, as I recall.”
Hedda looked into his eyes. They were deep, rich brown and his lashes were very black. They were very different from Walter’s ice blue eyes. Not just in colour but in depth; in the evident capacity for feeling and the sensitivity against which they seemed constantly to squint.
“I was very young then, Karl.” The seriousness of her tone and the sudden sadness in her eyes indicated that it was not just the passage of time to which she referred. “Now, everything is different.” Then, after a moment: “Will you be a doctor when the war is over?”
“I hope so, yes. Although it is anyone’s guess when that might be. I’m not getting any younger either, you know.”
“Walter, my husband, seems to think it will all be over in a year.”
“Germany may win the war against France – the whole of Europe – in a year. Let us hope she will. But I do not think that it will be the end of the Führer’s plans for change in Germany.”
“What do you mean?”
Karl was again matter of fact. “I just meant that there will be a lot of rebuilding to do once we have won. I am not sure what role the SS will play. If any.”
Hedda nodded. “I think we should go back in now – there are speeches, I understand. And champagne.”
As they both began to walk back to the Jagdhalle, Hedda remembered more clearly than ever a similarly unconvincing response to a direct question she had posed to this man on an occasion in 1933, when, in civilian clothes and the back of a taxi, he had feigned disinterest in the probable fate of a young Jew who had been fighting with an SS officer in the Moka Efti jazz club.
When Karl and Hedda re-entered the Jagdhalle, everyone else was already seated and a hush was descending upon the room. At the top of the hall a head table had been placed and it was clear from the organizing of papers in his hand and the intimate, rushed communications Goering was bending to enable with a seated General Chief of Staff, that the Reichsmarshall was preparing to speak. Walter observed his wife’s entrance with the handsome, dark Oberleutnant, noted her brilliant smile as she whispered something to him before they parted, and was piqued by a surprisingly virulent jealousy. He had, though, little time to analyse its source or let her know his displeasure, for Goering addressed the assembly and all was quiet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my dearest comrades and my friends, this afternoon has, I trust, been as much of a pleasure for you as it has been for me and for my dear wife Emmy.” There were general murmurs of assent and a few well-wishers lifted their wine glasses to Goering and Emmy in appreciation. “I am aware, of course, that this afternoon is a family occasion. I look around the room and see a most radiant collection of beautiful women…” Goering paused for appreciative noises of concurrence from the men and modest giggles from the women. Several more glasses were raised in enthusiasm. “And it affirms in no small way that Germany is great. That her people are the most beautiful people God saw fit to make and that we have every reason – and every right – to wage war on all that is ugly and deviant and subversive of our great Aryan heritage and culture. We deserve – no, we demand – victory over those who would stand in the way of our rightful supremacy in Europe – indeed, in the world!”
Here there was pause for rapturous applause. The wine that had flowed freely since schnapps was served at midday had, in the intervening four hours, loosened tongues and rendered less Teutonic the general demeanour of the luncheon party. Many banged tables with the combined flats of their fingers, or raised cigars while whooping enthusiastically.
Goering calmed them instantly with a raised hand. “I stand before you now the proudest man on earth. Or perhaps I should defer in that to our beloved Führer!” There was more good-natured laughter. “I am not ashamed to boast that in the last seven years I have stood at the right hand of our most esteemed leader and, with him, have destroyed political subversion in Germany. My Gestapo have routed from our midst dissenters and conspirators; my marvellous Fallschirmjäger –” here, Goering spanned the room with an outstretched arm, following the arc of his arm with his eyes to indicate the assembled Fallschirmjäger men – “…have fought alongside the glorious SS…” Once more there was clapping and table banging and whooping. “… to bring victory in all of our campaigns to date. And now, my Luftwaffe, cream of all known flying fighting forces, is set to make permanent Germany’s victory over all of Europe. And all this, my friends, in a few short years!”
Shouts of “Heil Hitler!” and deafening applause and banging followed. Some of the women, smiling broadly, put their hands over their ears. Again, Goering, after a suitable time, raised a hand and all was silent. When he began speaking
again it was with a much lowered tone and great gravitas. “As I stand before you now, my brave and honoured comrades, beautiful and loyal ladies, Germany is no longer slave but is master of Europe. In the last few months alone we have conquered Czechoslovakia, Denmark, Norway, Poland, Belgium, Holland and even France! In the next few weeks, England too will kneel before us. Already she is broken and bowed, humiliated on the beaches of France. In a year from now, my brave friends, Germany will be established as the greatest empire the world has ever known!”
At this rousing crescendo, the room erupted. Officers as one leapt to their feet. Shouts of “Sieg heil!” became a chant, and the women, glowing and exchanging glances of feigned alarm or displays of feminine awkwardness, followed suit, while dozens of servants busied themselves with uncorking the champagne and filling the flutes in readiness for the climactic toast. Goering allowed the chanting to continue for twenty seconds or more, then raised both arms in the air to quell it. As soon as it was quiet enough, the general at his side urged a new chant, “Heil Goering!”, at which Goering faked demur and lowered his head, but was clearly delighted. Some of the officers exchanged uneasy or quizzical looks, but these were generally shrugged away in the bonhomie and near ecstasy of the moment. All recognized in the chant the commonly acknowledged ambition of the Führer’s Second.
At last, Goering silenced them again and bade everyone to raise their glasses before he concluded his speech. “But today, this afternoon, is particularly intended to honour the bravest of the brave – you gathered before me now – who distinguished yourselves in the pursuit of glory in the critical offensive against Denmark and Norway and in the taking of France and Belgium.” He raised his glass and proposed the toast, drank. The assembled guests responded.
Goering spoke again. “But we would do well to remember that many of our comrades did not come home, my friends, and it is now to them that I propose a toast and then one minute’s silence in respect for their sacrifice and that of their families. Gentlemen and ladies, I give you the absent heroes of the Weserubung offensive, and all those brave men who died throughout Europe this year to make Germany glorious once again.”
When this sobering toast was made and all had remained standing, heads lowered, during a minute’s silence, Goering again smiled and, raising his glass, said loudly, “And finally, I thank you from the depths of my heart and on behalf of your Führer and your country, and I toast your outstanding daring, honour and achievement on the battlefields of Scandinavia, Belgium, France, Poland. I know that soon many of you will be fighting again, in the skies above Britain, above Holland and on the ground in France, but you will prevail and the fight will be brief, for our victory is assured. Raise a glass now to victory and honour!”
Following the third toast there was more cheering, and Goering’s voice boomed above the noise that now there would be music and more wine and dancing. The Beethoven quartet was replaced by a Bavarian band, and Goering disappeared only to re-emerge within fifteen minutes in traditional Bavarian hunting attire. Huge, and glowing with pride and magnanimity, he circulated among his carousing guests with enormous gusto and irresistible bonhomie.
Walter escorted Hedda onto the dance floor, an ample space cleared of tables at the top of the Jagdhalle, and while they smiled and nodded greetings to fellow dancers during a Bavarian waltz, he asked her in as disinterested a tone as he could manage, “Who is the man with whom you came in after lunch?”
Hedda was surprised by her husband’s interest, for his disinterest in most things she did had been consistent almost since they married. “You mean Karl? Karl Muller?”
“If that is his name, yes. You seemed very friendly.”
Hedda pulled away from her husband enough to look into his face and study his eyes. He did not, however, alter the direction of his glance from somewhere above her head and to the right.
“Walter, are you really jealous? Is that why you want to know?”
“Don’t be absurd. I am just curious. Unless you are telling me there is a reason to feel more than curious, that is. That would be interesting.”
Hedda grew cold again. For a moment she had thought Walter’s concern was based on a measure of feeling he had concealed, and that perhaps he did care for her after all. Now she saw his interest for what it was: concern for appearances, his own ego and a possible dangerous slight on his ability to control and second-guess her behaviour. She was assailed by a sudden anger as she considered the undoubted infidelities indulged by Walter in the last few years and about which she was permitted to say precisely nothing – unless she wanted to invite verbal, and very possibly physical, abuse.
“For a moment there, Walter, I thought you gave a damn about me. Silly of me. Why would you, after all, when you can have any woman in Berlin?”
For answer, Walter said nothing, but Hedda felt his body stiffen and his grip upon her right hand as he led her around the floor became painful.
“Walter, you are hurting my hand,” she whispered through a forced smile. “This is ridiculous.”
“It is you who are ridiculous, Hedda, and I should have known you would spoil things – disgrace me as I am honoured. First of all you humiliate me by flirting yourself, and then you accuse me of consorting with people like you. I asked a civil question. I still do not have an answer, as far as I recall.”
“I will answer you, Walter, if you stop crushing my hand. Otherwise, I shall pretend to faint or something – I promise I shall – to get off this dance floor.”
Walter relaxed his grip and a few seconds elapsed while both composed themselves.
“His name is, as I have already said, Karl Muller. I knew him years ago when I was a girl. I had a couple of dates with him – it came to nothing. I do not think we even kissed. He is in the SS, recently promoted. Happy?”
“Delirious. Perhaps you wish to kiss Herr Muller under present circumstances, Hedda? Go on – make my humiliation complete. He is sitting over there, to your left, and seems quite interested in you. Why not ask him to dance?”
The music ceased and all turned towards the band to clap their appreciation. When Hedda turned back, Walter had already left the dance floor and was returning to their table. Hedda glanced briefly in Karl’s direction as she followed those wending their way back to seats, and she saw that Karl was indeed watching her progress.
When finally she found her seat, Walter was not there. Looking for him, Hedda eventually spied him at the back of the hall, talking to Goering. At that moment, the children were brought back to their parents, for the maids and nannies had finished their shift, and soon people would start to take their leave. A sleepy Anselm was delivered to Hedda’s arms, and Agnette, still smiling and excited, took her father’s chair and began to regale Hedda with stories of chases and activities that had engrossed her all afternoon and into the evening. Hedda barely listened, for she was watching Goering and her husband slowly make their way towards her table.
“Get up, Agnette, please.”
“Why?” The little girl was peeved at her mother’s inattention and concerned by the worried distraction of her tone.
“Because Papa and Herr Goering are coming this way and you have taken Papa’s seat. Now get up, there’s a good girl.”
Agnette huffily obliged, but not without remarking on how very fat Herr Goering was. Hedda had no time to respond to or reprove the rudeness, for the men were upon her.
“Frau Gunther! I hope you have enjoyed yourself today? How do you like Carinhall?”
“Oh, it is beautiful, Reichsmarschall Goering – we have all had a lovely time. Thank you so much.”
“Good, good. Someone is tired, I see.” Goering tousled Anselm’s hair, but the child just turned his face into his mother’s shoulder, his thumb in his mouth.
“Yes – he’s very sleepy.”
“And I should guess my own little poppet is asleep too. She is about this young man’s age, I should think.” Then he spied Agnette, standing desultorily by her mother’s side, p
laying with her fingers, frowning at them as if she were trying to work out how they moved. “And you, young lady – are you tired also?”
Agnette regarded Goering levelly and shook her head.
“Agnette, don’t be rude – speak when you are spoken to.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Frau Gunther. I know how children are! You know, I think children are the only people who can defeat me completely; one look from my little Edda and I am useless. But tell me, would you mind if I borrowed your husband for a while? There is something I wish to discuss with him.”
“No – of course not, Reichsmarschall Goering.”
“If you like, I could take that little man off your hands too – I think I have something which will wake him up.” Hedda turned her body so that Anselm’s face was before Goering’s and the latter bent to speak to him directly. “Would you like to see some spectacular model trains, young man, hmm?”
“Oh, Anselm!” Hedda encouraged her son to respond, manoeuvred him so that his hands were on her shoulders and she spoke to his eyes. “Would you like to go with Papa and Reichsmarschall Goering to see some choo-choo trains? Would you?” She smiled and widened her eyes in encouragement and Anselm nodded, started to push away from her in a bid to reach the floor.
“Splendid! Then we boys will adjourn to my model railway in the loft above us here, and if you like, I can show you girls some of my art collection on the way, but we don’t expect you to join us in the railway room. Agnette, is it?” The child nodded assent and cocked her head to one side to look up into Goering’s puffy, red face. “Do you like pretty pictures?” Agnette seemed to consider the question a moment, then raised her brows, pressed her lips together in a downwards pout and nodded her concession that yes, that could be pleasing. “Splendid! Then I have a treat for you and your lovely mama.”
The family followed Goering through the merrymakers, and many eyes watched them enviously. Goering led, holding Anselm’s hand. Hedda and Agnette followed, and Walter took up the rear, his uniform cap on once more, his eyes fixed on Goering’s movements as he bent and rose in conversation with his son. He could not have been prouder; that much was evident.