A Murder in Auschwitz (Sampler)

by JC Stephenson

Berlin, 14th November 1929

  MANFRED Meyer sat on a green leather bench in the cool,

  walnut-panelled hallway of the Bauer & Bauer Criminal Lawyers office on Potsdamer Platz. A trickle of sweat ran down his back in spite of the temperature.

  He wore his whitest shirt with a dark tie, his good suit and shoes, and, after much deliberation, had his coat folded over his arm.

  Meyer couldn’t get comfortable. He crossed his legs and sat back. Then uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He stood up. Walked down the hall a short distance and examined one of the portraits hanging there.

  It was of an elderly gentleman in a black suit with snow-white hair and a kind face with a ruddy complexion. He was seated in an office which was wood-panelled, not unlike the hallway where Meyer now stood. The oil paint had stained over the years, and Meyer felt the urge to run a wet finger over the painting to bring up the original colours.

  “Herr Meyer?”

  The voice startled Meyer from his examination of the picture. He turned and saw a tall, middle-aged man half hidden by the doorway next to the bench he had been sitting on.

  “Yes. Yes, I am Herr Meyer,” he replied and started to make his way towards the man.

  The man stood to one side and indicated with his arm that Meyer should enter the room.

  “Please come in, Herr Meyer, and take a seat. Herr Bauer will see you forthwith.”

  Meyer followed the man’s instructions and entered a windowless,

  high-ceilinged room with a large door on the back wall and another, slightly smaller, door behind a beautifully carved desk. He looked around but could not see a chair.

  The man followed Meyer in and shut the door behind him.

  “I am Herr Muller, Herr Bauer’s secretary,” he said as he took his seat behind the ornate desk. Muller then noticed that Meyer was still standing.

  “Please, Herr Meyer, sit. Herr Bauer will be with you soon,” and indicated with his hand a small wooden chair which Meyer had not noticed as it had been behind the open door.

  “Thank you,” replied Meyer, and sat down.

  Meyer decided that he should not go through the dance he performed on the bench outside and chose to sit with his legs together and his coat folded over his arms, resting on his knees.

  Meyer surveyed the room while Muller occupied himself with writing at the desk and occasionally stamping and moving paper from one pile to another. There were more portraits on the cream walls as well as a mahogany clock and two different sized metal filing cabinets in one corner.

  Occasionally, Muller would look up from his writing desk at Meyer, stroke his moustache and then continue with his work.

  After a few minutes the large door on the back wall opened and an amiable looking gentleman filled the doorframe.

  “Herr Meyer,” his voiced boomed. “How very pleasant to meet you.”

  Manfred Meyer stood up and walked over to shake the man’s hand.

  “Friedrich Bauer,” he announced, and took Meyer’s hand in a great paw. “Please come in.”

  Meyer followed Bauer into his office. It was opulent. Beautiful paintings hung on every wood-panelled wall, and the ceiling had deep, moulded cornices and an enormous rose, from which a chandelier hung, its electric lights sparkling in the crystals. In the centre of the room, an Indian carpet covered most of the dark floorboards on which sat a desk that was even larger and more ornate than Muller’s. So large in fact, that a telephone, various ornaments, piles of papers and books, a crystal water jug with glasses, an ashtray and an inkwell with pens which sat around the perimeter of the leather insert still left vast amounts of space available for work.

  Bauer made his way around the desk to take his place on the leather wing chair and indicated to Meyer to take a seat opposite on one of the much smaller but just as beautiful guest chairs.

  The large man held a handkerchief to his mouth, coughed, and cleared his throat.

  “Damn cough,” he apologised. “Can’t seem to shift it. Now Herr Meyer,” he continued, putting his handkerchief back in his pocket. “I have heard some very good things about you.”

  Meyer smiled. He had sat as carefully as he had done in Muller’s office; legs together, his coat folded over his arms and sitting on his knees. Meyer thought that this seemed the most respectful and attentive way to sit. Then he thought that he might be thinking too hard about his posture and not concentrating on the reason that he was in this office.

  “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?” asked Bauer.

  Meyer took a deep breath. This was it; his only chance.

  “Herr Bauer, first of all I would like to thank you greatly for allowing me this opportunity to see you and state my case for engaging in full employment with Bauer & Bauer. As I am sure you are aware, as you are in full possession of the facts of my visit to you today, let me please start by telling you about my personal position before moving on to my professional qualifications, experience, and requirements.”

  Meyer noticed that Bauer’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly and that he sat slightly forward in the wing chair. He was surprised and interested. Meyer realised that he had hit the correct note.

  “I live with my wife on Zehlendorf Strasse in an apartment overlooking the market. We have been married for a year and a month and she is expecting our first baby.

  “We moved to Berlin from Leipzig ten days ago with the express intention of myself gaining employment in a criminal defence lawyer firm, Bauer & Bauer being my preferred option.

  “I took my law exams at Leipzig University and have been an intern at Schubert’s Law Office for the past two years. I believe that Herr Schubert and yourself are well-acquainted. He has spoken very highly about Bauer & Bauer and encouraged me to seek employment with you.”

  Bauer gave a smile which showed nicotine stained teeth with a pipe hollow.

  “Yes, Franz Schubert and I are very well-acquainted. We passed through law school together.” He then chuckled and leaned even further forward in his chair and whispered, “There was the possibility of neither of us graduating. A story I may tell you some other time.” He leaned back in his wing chair and felt around in his pocket. Bauer produced a pipe and waved it at Meyer. “Do carry on Herr Meyer. Don’t mind me if I smoke.”

  “Yes, Herr Bauer. So I discussed this possibility with my wife and explained how I felt that Berlin would offer many more opportunities for a prospective criminal lawyer than Leipzig might.”

  Meyer watched as Bauer continued to fish around in his pockets until a pouch of tobacco was found.

  “And if Frau Meyer had not wished to move to Berlin? After all, she must have been heavily pregnant?” he asked, while now searching the table for something.

  “Then I would have persuaded her, Herr Bauer,” replied Meyer.

  He spotted what Bauer was looking for and leaned forward to pick up a brass pipe lighter and passed it to the large, grateful hand of the old man.

  There was a twinkle in Bauer’s eyes.

  “Persuade her? Do you think that would have been possible? Women, especially spouses, are so very difficult to persuade, don’t you think?”

  “Herr Bauer, my wife is the most intelligent woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I would not attempt to convince her of anything unless I truly believed it to be the case.”

  Bauer had tucked some tobacco into his pipe and was sucking the flame from his lighter into the bowl while puffing out smoke from the side of his mouth.

  “And if Frau Meyer wanted a new pair of shoes, do you think you could persuade her otherwise?”

  Meyer thought for a moment before replying.

  “If my wife required a new pair of shoes, I would not wish to dissuade her from the purchase.”

  The old man smiled but continued his questions.

  “Ah yes, but if there was no requirement. If it was a desire, would you be able to bring your powers of persuasion, such an important skill in a lawye
r, could you bring your persuasive powers to the fore and convince her that she does not require the shoes?”

  Again Meyer paused before answering.

  “Herr Bauer, as she is my wife and I have promised to give her all she requires and desires in our life together, I would never attempt to dissuade her from such an inconsequential purchase or convince her otherwise. However, I am certain that I could persuade any other woman in Berlin that a purchase of unrequired shoes would be entirely unnecessary due to any number of factors which would include fashion, sensibility due to the time of year and possible poor quality of the product. But my main argument would be that I had seen such a pair of shoes on one of her friends.”

  Bauer smiled. He waved his pipe around before clamping it between his teeth and asking Meyer to continue.

  Meyer paused. He realised that he had lost his train of thought. He had tried to give his case to Bauer as if in a court of law and, mid-way, this amiable old man had broken his concentration through a series of questions about shoes and the search for a lighter for his pipe.

  “Do carry on Herr Meyer, please,” he said, while producing larger and larger amounts of smoke.

  Meyer stumbled for words as he tried to pick up from where he had been interrupted.

  The old man took the pipe from his mouth and gave Meyer a wide smile and scratched the yellowed whiskers around his mouth.

  “Herr Meyer, you certainly talk like a lawyer. But...,” he trailed off and stared into the bowl of his pipe before letting his eyes rest back on Meyer again.

  “But your train of thought was broken quite easily by the use of some very simple courtroom techniques. The distraction of the finding and lighting of the pipe while I moved the questions away from your main theme but included some of your own elements so that you wouldn’t notice me make your train jump the tracks. I then continued down my own track, taking you with me until your train became derailed completely.”

  Meyer felt his stomach turn over. He had blown it. He had practised his resume in his own mind so often, along with how he would be able to prove his worth to this firm.

  Bauer continued. “And this is something you only learn through experience. You were able to formulate an argument about a subject and discuss it and answer questions until you found a final solution which satisfied me.

  “My old friend Franz Schubert also telephoned me to tell me that I was to look after you and give you a job. Even if it was to deliver the mail. But after meeting you and having our little game this afternoon, I can see that you will make a very able lawyer one day.

  “This is Thursday, which will give you three precious days to spend with your expectant wife before you start work here at 8.30 precisely on Monday morning.”

  Meyer jumped from his seat. “Herr Bauer, thank you. Thank you very much for this opportunity.”

  The old man stood up, put his lit pipe in his pocket, and held out his great paw of a hand, which Meyer took and vigorously shook while nervously glancing at Bauer’s smouldering jacket.

  “Herr Meyer, wear the suit you’re wearing today and visit Herr Muller first thing. You will be working with Herr Deschler, who requires an assistant.”

  Meyer had heard of Deschler. He had been reading in the papers about an ongoing murder trial he was involved in. It was occasionally making front pages. Meyer thanked Bauer again, turned, and left through Muller’s office, politely bidding him goodbye. He forced himself not to break into a run as he walked down the walnut hall. Meyer couldn’t wait to tell his wife Klara the good news, and a smile spread across his face as he descended the grand staircase and left the building into the winter sun shining down on Potsdamer Platz.

  Under different circumstances, he would have walked home in the low afternoon sun, but he wanted to tell his wife the good news as soon as possible.

  He found a tram stop and scanned the timetable for the tram which passed close to Zehlendorf Strasse. The 14A took him to within two or three minutes of his apartment and, after checking his wrist watch, he saw that is was due in seven minutes.

  Manfred Meyer checked his pockets for change and found the twenty pfennigs he would need for the journey. He checked his watch again and was dismayed to see that it was still seven minutes until the next tram.

  He thought about how happy Klara would be when he told her the news that he would have a real paying job with an excellent law firm and fantastic opportunities for his, her, and the soon-to-be-born baby’s future. He realised he hadn’t even asked about money when he was with Herr Bauer. No matter, as long as there was enough to pay their rent and look after his wife and baby, that would be all he would need.

  He watched as a green tram turned into Potsdamer Platz, sparks showering from the overhead wires, wheels squeaking on the steel rails. This terrifying dragon was going to be taking him home. He climbed aboard, took a seat, and paid the conductor his fare.

  Twenty minutes later Manfred Meyer stepped from the creaking old bone-shaker and made his way down Zehlendorf Strasse towards his apartment at a quick march. He smiled at the paper seller outside the stair door to his apartment, the newspapers still full of news of the great crash on Wall Street in America but also about the upcoming Berlin Municipal Elections. There were election posters from all the various parties all over the city. On a bill poster bollard next to the paper seller, some new posters had been recently added by the German National People’s Party, the Communists, and the National Socialist Workers Party, all advocating change and smashing corruption.

  Meyer used his key in the main door and ran up the stairs to the second floor, clinging on to the ornate bannister as he went. He found his apartment door ajar.

  “Klara?” he shouted through the door, before pushing it fully open. Inside, he was greeted by a middle-aged woman that he had never seen before, wearing a white full length apron.

  “Herr Meyer?” she asked.

  “Yes, where is Klara? Is everything alright?”

  Meyer tried to look beyond the woman, whose full figure barred his entrance into the apartment.

  “Herr Meyer, please calm down. Everything is as it should be. I am Birgit Dietrich, and I am a midwife at the Berlin Charite Hospital. I am a friend of your neighbour, Frau Fischer, and luck would have it that I was visiting her.”

  Frau Dietrich gave a huge smile.

  “Herr Meyer, congratulations. You have two beautiful, healthy baby girls.”

  Meyer could feel tears of joy prick his eyes. He could see into their bedroom but only the bottom of the bed was visible. Someone was moving around in the room.

  The midwife followed his gaze. “Frau Fischer is just cleaning up. She is a retired nurse herself, of course, and you should be able to see your wife and babies in a few moments. Please wait here,” she said firmly as she returned to the bedroom.

  Meyer stood frozen to the spot. He could hear low voices in the room and then a tiny cry; a scrap of life making itself heard in the world.

  “My God,” he whispered to himself. “Twins.”