The Girl from Berlin--A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “You little bitch,” I heard Kleiner say, and he grabbed me from behind. He had me in a choke hold and I thought I would pass out, when suddenly we were flooded by the headlights of a black Mercedes that had pulled into the driveway. Kleiner and his men froze. The back door of the car opened, and a Wehrmacht colonel got out. The uniformed officer and his adjutant walked slowly up the driveway. “What’s going on here, Corporal?”

  Kleiner immediately snapped his heels and saluted. His two companions stood at attention, released my father and gave an exaggerated Hitler salute. Kleiner responded as calmly as he could. “It is nothing for you to be concerned about, Herr Oberst. I have the matter under control.”

  “What matter is that?”

  “These people are Jews, Herr Oberst. They have been denounced as enemies of the state. We are taking them to Sachsenhausen for questioning.”

  “To the concentration camp? Have they been assigned there? May I please see your orders?”

  “I … I have no specific orders, other than the desire to protect my fatherland from the treachery of Jews. They have been denounced by a concerned citizen and they need to be interrogated and I … I thought Sachsenhausen would be appropriate for that. It is the designated detention area for political prisoners.”

  “The man whose arms you were about to break, what treachery has he committed?”

  “Well, he has interfered with my questioning of his daughter, and he is a Jew who plays in the Philharmonic in violation of Dr. Goebbels’ directives. I am sorry, Herr Oberst, I only live to serve the Reich. I am going to take them all in for questioning, and we will see what else we can learn about their treachery.”

  “The girl, what threats does she pose to the fatherland?”

  Kleiner smiled. “Now there, Herr Oberst, I have direct knowledge. She flagrantly insulted me and General Heydrich and brought dishonor upon one of the highest officers in the realm. She continues to defy authority. She even assaulted me just before you arrived. She kicked me in the leg. I was trying to restrain her.”

  The colonel nodded. “I saw the restraint. The occasion at which she brought such dishonor, did that occur on the stage of the Berlin Junior Orchestra?”

  Kleiner’s face lost its color. This colonel hadn’t just stumbled along. He obviously knew who the players were and what had happened. “Why, yes, Herr Oberst. That is s-so.”

  The colonel walked to my father and brushed the dirt off his coat. “Herr Baumgarten, my apologies to you and your family. Maestro Furtwängler sent me with his regards. He said you might need assistance, and indeed he was correct. Are you quite all right?”

  My father nodded. “Yes, thank you, Colonel.”

  Then the colonel turned to me. “Fraulein Baumgarten, are you unharmed?”

  I nodded.

  “Sir, I was only doing what I’ve been trained to do,” Kleiner said weakly.

  “Corporal, who is your commanding officer?”

  “Oberstleutnant Martin.”

  “Are you telling me that he trains Wehrmacht soldiers to brutalize innocent people on the street?”

  “No, sir, I was just…”

  “Where is your unit?”

  “Stationed at Barracks sixteen, Herr Oberst.”

  The colonel pointed to the end of the driveway. “Go! Return to your unit. I shall contact Oberstleutnant Martin and have this incident noted in your file.”

  Kleiner’s jaw was quivering and his body was twitching. He turned and looked directly into my eyes. If looks could kill, I would have been slain on the spot. He spun around, saluted the colonel and walked away.

  “Again, my apologies, Herr Baumgarten,” the colonel said politely, “and may I say how much I enjoyed the Brahms this evening.” The colonel bowed and left.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Pienza, July 2017

  CATHERINE ROLLED OVER AND nudged Liam. “Do you hear it?” The bedroom was dark, but for a sliver of moonlight sneaking in through the shutters.

  “Hear what?”

  “Listen. Just be quiet and listen.”

  He sat up. “Listen to what?”

  “Shh. The music. The violin. Don’t tell me you can’t hear it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then you do hear it?”

  “No, but you told me not to tell you that.” Liam furrowed his brow and held his breath. Then he shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  Catherine quietly rose from the bed and walked to the window. She slowly opened the shutters and leaned out. After a moment, she returned. “It’s not coming from the outside. Someone in the house is playing the violin.”

  “It’s the middle of the night, Cat. If someone wants to play a violin so softly that I can’t even hear it, that’s really their business, don’t you think? Come back to bed.”

  She shook her head and put on her robe. “I’m going to see where that music is coming from.”

  She walked quietly toward the front of the house. A light shone under Gabi’s bedroom door. Catherine stood outside the door and listened. A beautiful gypsy melody could be faintly heard. Every once in a while, Gabi would talk to someone. A few minutes later, the light went out and the music ceased. Catherine returned to bed.

  “It came from Gabi’s room. Someone was playing the violin in her room.”

  “Someone? It was Gabi, right?”

  “The door was closed. I heard Gabi speak very quietly. In Italian. If I knew what she was saying, I’d tell you. If I were more schooled in the classics, I’d tell you what she was playing. You didn’t hear any of it because you don’t sleep, you hibernate. Something tells me that Ada was there.”

  “She’d be ninety-nine years old, Cat.”

  Catherine shrugged. “If that was her, I give her credit. She certainly has retained her talents.”

  “C’mon, Cat, there’s no way that ninety-nine-year-old Ada’s hiding in the house.”

  “Why do they keep it a secret? When I asked about the violin music the other day, everyone acted like I was nuts. Wind in the cedars!”

  “There are lots of secrets here. Can we talk about it in the morning? I’d like to go back to my hibernation.”

  * * *

  THE HIBERNATION DIDN’T LAST long. Catherine and Liam were abruptly awakened by the sound of a woman screaming. “Va via! Va via!”

  Liam jumped up. “That’s Gabi.” He slipped on his pants and dashed out of the room.

  In the courtyard in front of the veranda, Gabriella was yelling at a portly man in a cream-colored suit. She was waving her cane all around; her face was red and she was shaking in anger. Floria was trying to calm her.

  “What’s going on here?” Liam asked.

  “That’s Mr. Lenzini, the lawyer who is trying to evict us,” Floria said, pointing at the man who stood defiantly before them with his arms folded across his chest. “He came today with workers who want to dig in the vineyards.”

  “Does his court order give him the right to dig in the fields?”

  “Absolutely not. It only provides a date for us to move. Until then, it’s ours.”

  Liam nodded. “Okay, what’s Italian for ‘Get lost’?”

  “Va via works.”

  Liam turned to the stubby attorney who stood with his chin out, wearing a smug smile. “Va via, buddy. Take a hike. And take your diggers with you.”

  Lenzini curled his lip and stared at Liam as though he were a foul odor. “Scusami. Who are you?”

  “A friend of Signora Vincenzo. Now just turn around, take your work crew and leave.”

  Catherine came rushing up, waving a paper. “This court order doesn’t entitle you to exercise any rights of possession until September 10.”

  “And you, who are you?”

  “I’m Signora Vincenzo’s attorney.”

  “Another one? You’re American.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Lenzini reached in his suitcoat pocket, took out a business card and handed it to Catherine with a slight bow. “Well, I am Lorenzo
Lenzini. Avvocato. My client is VinCo, the owner of this land.” He waved his arm in circles. “All around you, it belongs to my client. VinCo only. Judge Riggioni of the provincial court declared my client to be the owner. Not Signora Vincenzo. Because he is gracious, he gave her sixty days to get herself and her belongings out of the villa. Adesso basta! Enough is enough.” He punctuated the final remark with a sharp nod of his head.

  “Show me in the order where it permits you to enter upon the premises in advance of the sixty days,” Catherine said.

  “There are no specific words, but they are not necessary. It is VinCo’s land.”

  “Your client obtained that court order in Signora Vincenzo’s absence,” Catherine responded. “And I am giving you fair notice that we intend to contest Judge Riggioni’s ruling. This time, you will not have a defendant in absentia. Possession is deferred until September, and maybe much longer. Now, please leave.”

  “Contest, contest all you wish, it will do you no good,” he responded with a shrug and a smile. “Today we do not seek possession, we only take soil samples. VinCo wants to be ready to farm the day Signora leaves.” Then he looked at Gabriella. “And she will leave. You can bet. On September 10 we say, Arrivaderci, Signora.”

  Catherine shook her head. “That remains to be seen. Until then, you have no right to be here. Please take your men and leave.”

  Lenzini looked over at the two workers he had brought with him and back to Catherine. He laughed loudly. “You’re an American. What do you think you can do in Italy?”

  Liam stepped forward. “She can cause you more trouble than you can imagine.”

  “Please,” Lenzini grunted. “No Americn woman lawyer is going to order Lenzini around in Italy. She has no power here. Zero. Now be a nice little girl and get out of my way.”

  “That’s it,” Liam said, taking two quick steps forward and thrusting his face into Lenzini’s. “Miss Lockhart is a respected professional, not some nice little girl. Understand? She is also my wife. If you insult her again, I will take that straw hat off your head and stuff it down your throat. Now take your diggers, get in your car and va via.”

  Lenzini held his ground and shook his head. “The signora may be an avvocato back in the United States, but here in Provincia Siena, she is nothing. She has no authority. No power. She cannot tell us to leave. She cannot do anything. She is nobody.” He turned to his workers and motioned for them to commence their work. “She has no power,” he said again, flipping his hand at Catherine as though he were brushing away a fly.

  “You must be dumber than you look,” Liam said. “I’ve asked you twice politely and you continue to insult my wife. You want to talk about power? Now you’re in my backyard.” Liam held up his fists. “See these? Toonder and Lightning. Raw power, and I’m about to let them loose. Now I’m telling you for the last time, get the hell off this land.”

  Lenzini seemed to grasp the situation. He took a step backward, uttered some phrases under his breath and turned to his workers. “Andiamo. Let’s go.” He started for his car, then stopped and pointed at Liam. “Nobody threatens Lenzini,” he yelled. “Not some female lawyer, not the stubborn signora and surely not some thug from America. I’ll be back, Mr. Toonder, this time with the polizia, and then we’ll see who has power.”

  When he had left, Catherine turned to Liam and smiled. “Nice work.”

  “Thug?” Liam said.

  “Maybe a little,” she said. “Just the right amount. And Toonder and Lightning? What was that all about?”

  Liam laughed. “In 1959, Floyd Patterson was the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world and he fought a Swede named Ingemar Johansson. Patterson was heavily favored, but Johansson knocked him down seven times in the sixth round and won the fight. When they asked Ingemar how he did it, he held up his fists and said ‘Toonder and Lightning.’ I’ve been waiting all my life to use that phrase.”

  Catherine put her arm around Liam as they walked back to the veranda. “I’d kinda like to see a little toonder-storm sometime. Do you suppose that could be arranged?”

  “Under the right circumstances, if the purse is sufficient.”

  Gabriella joined them on the veranda and Floria brought them breakfast. “Grazie mille. I knew my nephew was right about you two.” She cupped her hands on Liam’s face and gave him a big kiss.

  Catherine smiled. “You’re welcome, Aunt Gabi, but I wouldn’t be counting any chickens just yet. We have to stop this possession order.”

  “Aunt Gabi,” Liam said, “can I ask you a few simple questions?”

  Gabriella shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Does someone here play the violin?”

  Gabriella raised an eyebrow. “Did you hear one?”

  Liam shook his head. “Not me, but Catherine did. Can I ask: does Ada Baumgarten live here?”

  Gabriella tightened her lips. She looked at Catherine and shook her head. “Not now, please. Have you finished Ada’s story?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We will talk when you finish reading her story.”

  “But, Aunt Gabi…”

  “Ut.” She held her finger up and wagged it back and forth. “When you finish.” Gabi struggled to her feet and walked into the house.

  “What was that all about?” Liam asked Floria. “Why doesn’t she tell us about Ada now?”

  Floria pressed her lips. “She does not because she cannot. You saw her face. Believe me, she cannot. When a person has been through trauma, sometimes they do not talk about it. It is like a psychological block. She cannot open the door to a discussion about Ada.”

  “What trauma?”

  Floria shrugged. “I do not know the details or I would tell you. It is something in her childhood, maybe something to do with Ada, I don’t know. I do know that she is most upset by the present situation, this legal matter. She’s on the verge of losing her farm and I have never seen her so distraught. This farm means everything to her. That is why she wants you to read Ada’s story. It will speak for the signora. It will tell you the things that she cannot. I am sorry, but at this time, it’s the best we can do.” Floria smiled, picked up dishes from the veranda and walked into the house.

  Liam shook his head. “She needs to talk to us, no matter how difficult, Cat. We don’t have enough information to save her farm.”

  Catherine exhaled and lowered her voice. “Floria’s right, she can’t. You saw how she tensed up. As I’m coming to realize, Gabi’s life is entwined in Ada’s story. From the preface, we infer that Ada’s story is fraught with tragedies. I don’t yet know how that affects Gabi, but I’m sure it does. Floria tells us that Gabi is blocked from talking and I’m sure she’s right. You remember Lena Woodward? The story of Karolina’s twins? For many years she couldn’t talk about her life during the Holocaust. She couldn’t even tell her husband about the twins. It was only after her husband died that she forced herself to face her memories, and then only because she was desperate to find the twins.

  “During Lena’s case, we learned about what they call the ‘survivor’s syndrome’ or ‘concentration camp syndrome.’ Often, people who have endured such horrors suppress the memories and push them to the back of their consciousness. They have to get on with their lives, so they do not allow those painful memories to surface. Children of survivors often talk about a psychological disconnect. Their parents don’t discuss those years with the family. It’s the elephant in the room, but the door stays closed.”

  “But Cat, Lena was in the Holocaust. That’s why she had survivor’s syndrome.”

  “Ada was a Jewish girl in wartime Germany. I haven’t finished her story.”

  “I’m thinking that Gabi must be her daughter.”

  Catherine shrugged. “Daughter? Relative? Friend? Maybe it’s the legal case and the farm is the focal point after all. Gabi said she’s lived here all her life. Anyway, we’re not going to get the story from Gabi. At least, not yet.”

  Liam nodded. “Then you’ll have to dig it out
of Ada’s story.”

  “We will have to dig it out. I’m going to have a copy made. You have to start reading the story yourself, mister private investigator. There are answers buried in that story. Don’t leave the detective work to me.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Bologna, May 1937

  It was midmorning when my father drove Mama and me to the station for my trip to Bologna. The train from Berlin Hauptbahnhof to Bologna Centrale would take almost twenty hours, with a change of trains in Munich. I had only vacationed outside Germany twice, both times with my family—once to Vienna and once to Paris—both times when the Philharmonic was on tour. Back then I was young, on summer vacation and a tag-a-long. Now I was headed to the Teatro Comunale di Bologna to audition for my future, and my mother was my travel companion.

  Papa insisted that she accompany me to my audition. He felt that I would feel more secure, more confident. At least those were his expressed reasons. In truth, I think he had come to the realization that Mama needed to get out of Berlin for a while. Since the incident with Kleiner, her nerves were on edge. She was in a constant state of apprehension, waiting for the next shoe to fall.

  In my early childhood memories, I see Mama as a vivacious woman going all over town, shopping for shoes, meeting her friends for lunch, ordering centerpieces from the florist for her next dinner party. As far as I was concerned, she owned Berlin. Now she didn’t want to leave the house. The Nazis had terrorized her, they had brutalized her father and Kleiner was the last straw. He was around every corner, behind every tree. If it wasn’t him, it was some other Brownshirt or Gestapo agent or SS officer.

  “Besides,” as she said, “if I did leave the house, where would I go? The signs in the shop windows and cafés tell me that Jews aren’t welcome.” On those rare occasions that she ventured out, she’d go to a friend’s house, but only if my father drove her and picked her up. She had totally given up going to synagogue or to any of her women’s organizations. But now, we were on our way to Italy, and I was hoping her spirits would rebound.