by Bodie Thoene
Mark broke free and charged out the door, clattering down the stairs as quietly as an army on the march.
Jacob stared angrily after him, then brushed the dust from his clothes and followed.
Lori came last, closing the door behind her. She stood at the head of the stairs and listened to the hollow echo of their retreating footsteps. A knot of apprehension formed in her stomach. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She did not want to go down into the emptiness of the church. Mama was not there. James had been taken away. Papa was arrested. And Lori was alone. It did not matter that Mark and Jacob were downstairs; she was still alone.
A wave of dizziness hit her as the reality of it all sank in. She would walk down the steps into the auditorium where Papa preached and Mama played the piano and Jamie fidgeted in the pew with his friends . . . but they would not be there.
Lori sat down on the top step and stared at her shoes. It occurred to her that she had not had her shoes off since yesterday morning, just before breakfast, when they had all eaten together and talked about ordinary things. Papa had gone off to his study to work on his sermon. Mama and Lori had done the dishes. Jamie had prowled around outside through the fallen autumn leaves in search of a pocketknife he had lost. Only yesterday?
“Lori?” Jacob stood at the bottom of the stairs. His hand was on the banister as if he wanted to come up. His face reflected concern. “They have all gone.” Then, “Are you all right?”
She bit her lip and shook her head slowly. “No . . . I . . . I am not all right.”
He climbed the stairs and sat down below her. “We are safe here for now.”
“I was hoping this was all a terrible dream. While we were inside the bellows, I could not quite believe they came and took Mama and Jamie . . . the rest.”
He reached up and patted her awkwardly on the arm, as though consoling a teammate after losing a game of soccer. “All night last night I kept thinking I would wake up. I wanted to wake up.” He gestured toward the light. “And now it is morning.”
“Oh, Jacob, what will we do?” She rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes against the light.
He exhaled loudly and cleared his throat, trying to force away the sadness in his own voice. “First, we should eat something. I’m hungry.”
Lori looked up at him in disbelief. Everyone was taken away. Only the three of them were left in this place, and all Jacob Kalner could think about was his stomach. “Eat?”
“Breakfast.”
“But where—”
“I sent Mark to look for the communion bread. Do they keep the wine in the same place?”
***
Alfie’s stomach rumbled. It was long past time for lunch. He was hungry, and he thought about mealtimes in the ward. He remembered the way he had fed Werner with a spoon and Werner had told him funny stories between bites. Werner was gone now, and that fact made Alfie more sad than hungry. Maybe even if he had food he would not be able to eat it. He decided not to pay attention to the pain in his stomach. The hurting in his heart was much worse.
People still milled about everywhere in the streets of Berlin. Some came to look and not steal. Their faces were sad, too, Alfie noticed. Some of them would look and shake their heads and then look away. Maybe some of those sad-eyed people had friends like Werner who had been taken away in the night.
Alfir walked slowly along with the crowds. Glass crunched beneath his shoes and he was worried the glass might cut his new shoes. He followed a man in a business suit who wore a hat like Papa used to wear. The man said over and over, “My God, we are animals! Animals!”
A lady in a brown coat stood beside him. She shook her head and said, “Not even animals would do such a thing.”
Alfie thought she was probably right. He liked animals. He had a dog once, and she was nicer to Alfie than anyone. Her name was Sally, and she thought Alfie was smart and wonderful. But that was a long time ago, before Mama died and they took him to the hospital.
If the lady in the brown coat had asked him, he would have told her that dogs were very much nicer than people. But she did not ask, and so Alfie followed the man and the lady for a long time through the wrecked parts of Berlin. After a while they came to an apartment building and went in through the front door, and Alfie was alone again.
He peered through the glass of the door and watched them get into a lift. He wished he could have told them about his dog and Mama and Werner.
The rumble of a car engine pulled him around. A green police car drove by him with men in a cage in the backseat. “They are Jews,” Alfie said aloud. He said what he knew was true so he would not forget it. “Jews they are taking. And boys who cannot walk, like Werner. And boys who cannot talk, like Heinrich and Dieter. And boys who are dumbheads, like me. Just like Jews.” He frowned. “And nice people like Frau Helen and Jamie. People who love Jesus. They are taking them with the Jews.”
Pastor Ibsen had once promised that he would help Alfie get out of the ward. He had not been able to help. Alfie had been sad, but he did not blame the pastor. Now Alfie wondered who would help Pastor and Frau Ibsen? Where were the police taking Jamie and the others? It was a sad day in Berlin.
Alfie began to walk again, past houses and apartments he did not recognize. Alfie was not sure where he was. Mostly the street was quiet. Everyone must be tired from smashing things all night, he thought.
Alfie’s stomach began to hurt too bad to ignore. Up ahead was a wide street. A traffic policeman was directing cars to turn because the street was blocked. The man wore a uniform and white gloves. His eyes were stern and sad. He blew the whistle in his mouth and waved for some taxis and cars to stop and others to go. Alfie watched him for a while and then made his decision. Everyone was arrested. Everyone Alfie wanted to see was gone. It was best, he reasoned, if maybe he got arrested, too. What was the use of anything, after all, if there was no one to be with?
Alfie waited until the policeman signaled for people to walk across the street. He hurried to reach the policeman first.
“Bitte,” Alfie said, showing manners as Mama said he must.
“Ja?” The policeman did not look as if he wanted to talk.
“I need to be arrested.”
The policeman stared at him with the whistle hanging on his lip. “Arrested?”
Alfie nodded. “I stole these clothes last night.”
The policeman blinked at him as if he did not hear. Horns began to honk. The policeman waved cars through while Alfie stood quietly beside him. Then the policeman whistled and more people crossed the street.
“Nobody will miss those clothes, boy,” the policeman said. “Most of Germany would be in prison if it mattered.”
“But everyone is arrested.”
Crowds brushed past them as they talked.
“Are you a Jew, then? I’ve got nothing against Jews. I was standing on this corner before Hitler, and I have nothing to do with that. Go home, boy; go home to Mama until this thing passes. Don’t speak to another police officer. That’s my advice. Now get going!”
Alfie did not argue. It was not polite to argue with a police officer. He nodded his head with a jerk and hurried to the opposite sidewalk.
“Home to Mama,” he repeated. The policeman did not understand anything at all. Alfie raised his eyes for some sign of the smoke from the Jewish synagogue beside New Church. A thin black smudge floated overhead and then to the east. Alfie followed it back a different way than he had come. Some streets were not damaged; in others, everything was ruined. In front of a smashed grocery store, broken tins of crackers were scattered everywhere. Alfie kicked a tin with his toe and a wrapped packet of crackers fell out. Alfie picked it up and put it in his pocket. He would eat it later, when he was home with Mama.
***
Wolf seemed lost in thought as he sipped his coffee at the breakfast table. This was the sort of mood that always before had commanded silence from Lucy. But she was no longer afraid of him, and so she spoke anyway.
“I did not take a cab home last night.” She announced her disobedience confidently.
His blue eyes flashed anger, “I told you—”
“I wanted to see.” She shrugged. “And so I walked. No one would hurt me, anyway.” She reached up and pulled back the curtain, revealing the smoke that tarnished the sky above Vienna. “So you spent the night Jew bashing. Was it fun?”
He answered her with a black look. “A waste. Not that I care for the life of one Jew, but the destruction of property—”
“I saw for myself. Better to hand it over intact.”
Wolf appraised her with surprise. He did not imagine that she had a brain in her head to form any opinions at all.
“Orders came from the top,” he said with dissatisfaction.
She buttered her toast with real butter. “All this over one German diplomat?” she asked, enjoying the freedom to question him.
He answered truthfully, suddenly opening up in a way he never had before. “It was all arranged ahead of time. This was Hitler’s answer to the Armistice Day celebrations of the democracies. France and Britain have their big parades to celebrate the defeat of Germany, and Germany smashes the Jews who, according to Hitler, caused us to lose the war. It is a game with him. A way to let the little men wield power against those who are more helpless than they.” He stopped and eyed her quizzically. “Do you understand?”
She nodded and smiled. She understood perfectly about people wielding their power against the weak. She had not understood before last night, but now it was very clear. “And this place?” She swept a hand around the kitchen. “Where did it come from?”
She had never asked before. In all these months she had simply accepted the apartment and furnishings as though Wolf had handpicked it all just for her.
“Where do you think?”
“A Jew? Or a political prisoner?” Genuinely curious, she had spent hours considering the tasteful decorating of the flat. The delicate furnishings and petit point chair seats indicated a woman’s touch.
“A Jewess. A musician, I hear. A friend of mine at the Gestapo knew it was vacant and managed to hold it. I owe him a favor now.” He seemed amused that he was only now telling her this.
“What is his name?” she asked boldly.
He frowned. This frank questioning was unlike Lucy. She had always been so timid with him before. “What does it matter?”
“I would like to send him a note of appreciation, Wolf. Tell him what magnificent taste he has. And how we have enjoyed this place.” She poured coffee into his cup. “It is always a good idea to cultivate the Gestapo, ja?”
He laughed in amazement at the new Lucy. “Pregnancy is good for you, my little cow. It sharpens your wits.”
“Then maybe you should call me your little fox instead.”
At this Wolf laughed again. “The English would call us a pair—Wolf and vixen, eh?”
“I like this place. I would like to stay here as long as possible, until I have to go to Lebensborn. I would rather be free to walk about Vienna and go to work. Peasant stock, you know, unlike your soft-handed aristocratic women. I enjoy work. I cannot imagine sitting around a resort with a clique of fat, gossiping mistresses doing needlepoint until the baby comes.”
Wolf found himself enjoying this side of Lucy. He eyed her for a moment and then agreed to her request with a shrug. “If you prefer. But I insist you see the doctor there regularly. The Lebensborn obstetrician is the best, of course. The clinic was taken over from two Jewish doctors after the Anschluss. You may change your mind about staying there after you see it.”
“It is not just Vienna I would miss, Wolf.” She touched his hand and smiled the reflection of his most charming smile.
His gaze swept over her and then back to her face. “I stayed away too long,” he said, his interest renewed. “I was bored. Now I see it was wrong of me.”
Lucy, no longer the beggar she had been, intrigued Wolf. He had taught her the game, and she intended to play it without conscience.
“I’ll stay here, then.” She decided the matter without further discussion. “You have a key to this place. It would be quite unpleasant for you if I was locked away behind the gates of your little SS farm and you could not visit when you liked.”
He considered that inconvenience and then agreed. “Then you should stay here as long as you like.” He was not really thinking of her, but his own appetites. Yesterday Lucy would have seen it differently, but overnight she had become a realist.
“It is cold,” she said. “I will need another coat. Something to keep me warm this winter. Fox fur would be appropriate. After last night there should be some very nice ones without owners, I would think.”
He shrugged in acquiescence. She was right. “For the baby,” he said.
“No. For me. The fox will keep me warm, and I will keep the baby warm. But first you must bring the fox.”
He frowned slightly. As if he had heard another whisper from her heart, he said, “Remember who you belong to.”
“Why, to you, of course, my Wolf. You do not want me to look inferior to the women of other officers.”
He grunted and continued to stare thoughtfully at her. “And remember who the child belongs to.”
She did not lower her eyes from his, but looked at him with amusement, as though she could not understand what he was getting at. “The Führer?” she asked coyly.
He clouded at her joke. “It would not be wise for you to make plans—”
She looked at him with scorn. “You know me better than that, Wolf.”
He shrugged again, content with her answer. She had silenced his doubts. A woman like Lucy could not see past the next hour, he reasoned, let alone leave him.
“Well, then. We will enjoy ourselves for now, my little fox.”
***
Reichsmarschall Herman Göring’s angry face flushed with emotion beneath the rouge he had carelessly applied before this morning’s meeting.
“I wish you had just killed Jews instead of destroying so many valuables!” he said bitterly to Reinhard Heydrich, who had come to the meeting as a representative of Gestapo Chief Himmler.
Heydrich raised his long narrow head defensively. “Plenty of Jews were killed. And there will be more!”
The stenographer took notes furiously, hardly glancing up at Heydrich. The large beaked nose of the iron-willed Ayran was still raised proudly, his blond hair slicked back, every hair in place. The SS uniform remained impeccable in spite of a long night’s work directing the attacks against Jews and the arrest of over seventy thousand men. His thin lips turned slightly downward as Minister of Propaganda Goebbels spoke up in defense of the violence.
“The attack on Ernst vom Rath is perceived as an attack on the entire German nation. Therefore every Jew must pay.”
Göring’s eyes bulged. He slammed his fist on the table and shouted. “The synagogues demolished, yes! Jews arrested and held for fines, yes! But don’t you see? If a Jewish shop is totally destroyed and its goods thrown out into the street and burned, it is not the Jews who suffer the damage; it is the German insurance companies! Furthermore, the goods that are being destroyed are consumer goods, belonging to the people! In the future, when demonstrations against the Jews are held, they must be directed so they do not hurt us, us, us!” Göring emphasized each word by pounding his meaty fist on the conference table to the new German Air Ministry.
Silence descended as the dozen men before him sat in deep thought. Insurance companies. No one had thought of that as they destroyed millions of marks worth of plate glass.
Göring sat back and focused on his thumbs. The entire episode had not turned out as he had expected. Theo Lindheim had slipped away through the tumult of the riots without even being stopped or questioned. Someone would pay for that oversight. Apprehending Lindheim had been the responsibility of the Gestapo. Theo might have been worth millions to the Reich treasury in ransom. Now that opportunity had been lost, and Jewish goods, which should have s
imply been confiscated as the owners were hauled away, smoldered in the ashes.
He looked sharply at Heydrich and Goebbels, who seemed pleased with the excesses of Kristal Nacht. After all, it had given the Jews a certain vision of their future.
Herman Göring rested his hands on his fat paunch and eyed the committee that the Führer had appointed to settle the Jewish problem once and for all. “It was insane to clear out a whole warehouse of Jewish goods and burn the lot. German insurance companies will have to pay, and all those goods were things I need desperately for the economic plan. Whole bales of clothing.” Again he smashed his fist against the blacktop.
Goebbels, as thin and emaciated as Göring was fat, rubbed his hands together and grimaced slightly in thought. “Why not simply make a law?” Making laws always seemed to provide solutions to such matters as who would pay for what. “Why not simply exempt the insurance companies from having to pay?”
Göring considered the suggestion. A murmur of approval rippled around the table. “I am going to issue a decree,” he said, his anger finally giving way to practicality and the power he had to remove all obstacles. “And I am going to expect the support of all government agents in channeling the claims so that the German insurance companies will not suffer.”
From the far end of the table a small, timid-looking fellow raised his hand at that suggestion. He smiled nervously, his left eye twitching behind thick spectacles.
Göring waved a hand expansively at the little man. “For those of you who have not met him, this is the representative of the insurance industry, Herr Hildegard.” He sniffed impatiently as Hildegard opened his briefcase and removed a file folder, laboriously laying it out before him.
“This is a delicate situation,” Hildegard said sadly. “You see, many of the German companies have reinsured in foreign countries.”
“Explain this, please,” Göring said. “Most are soldiers and politicians. Explain the term to reinsure.”