Levi's War

by Julie Thomas

  Eventually he thrust his gloved hands deep into his coat pockets and trudged off towards the street they had called home. The house looked the same as ever from the outside, graceful and solid. It had seven bedrooms, large formal rooms and a warm, welcoming kitchen. Oh how he longed to be back in that kitchen, sitting at the table, drinking coffee with his parents and listening to his siblings squabble! Just seeing the familiar shape of the place was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

  If they were still there they’d be returning from Shul soon, in a tight group, hurrying to get away from the anti-Semitic sentiment that emanated from the government and ruled the city. Levi was horrified by how far this hatred had spread and how intense it had become in his absence. Every day he saw examples, from Hitler Youth to soldiers and Nazi party officials, from the SS storm troopers to ordinary people who felt they had free rein to swear at, and spit upon, the Jews who ventured out onto the streets. On one occasion he’d witnessed soldiers who wanted to cut off the ear locks of male Orthodox Jews. The people who’d been their neighbours for years had happily supplied the scissors. It took every ounce of self-control to stay silent and pretend to be one of the persecutors, a kind of hell he hadn’t been adequately prepared to suffer.

  He stood across the road, his coat collar turned up and his cap pulled low over his eyes. But no one came in or out of the house. He was sorely tempted to walk up to the front door and knock. He could say he was looking for someone if a person other than his family . . . but what if they were still there? It would break his mother’s heart to see him in this uniform. The words of the men who’d recruited him rang in his ears. If he could find them, if they were still in Berlin—

  Suddenly the large front door swung open. Levi took a sharp breath. A man in an army uniform stepped out and put his cap on. His jacket was covered in braid and medals, he was a high-ranking officer. A plump woman came to the door and kissed him on the cheek. They lived there. In his house. He was unprepared for the fury that rose up from deep within, a bitterness he could taste in his mouth, swiftly followed by the horror of what this meant. If his family were not here, where were they? It was more than he could bear, so he turned and walked back towards the tram stop.

  He’d thought about visiting Maria Weiss, the gentile woman who’d taken him and Simon in on the night of the Kristallnacht. Maybe she would know something. If his family had been tossed out they could very well have gone to Maria for help. But it was too dangerous, for them both. She knew him to be a Jew and he knew her to be a sympathiser, and that simple knowledge could get them both shot.

  As he walked, with his eyes downcast and his fists clenched in his pockets, he prayed for his family. Surely G-d would keep them safe until this hell was over and they could all be reunited again? Maybe the house was gone and with it all the possessions, but nothing mattered more than life and that they could start again. He thanked G-d for the jewellery waiting in Mr Dickenson’s bank vault in London. His papa’s foresight would mean there was something left to help them get back on their feet. No wonder there’d been no response to his letters.

  Why had he not tried harder to contact them and persuade Papa to bring them to London? What had happened to them while he’d been safe and enjoying his London life? The questions came thick and fast, and they made him feel sick. Guilt, grief, fear and helplessness. His mind was a swirling muddle as he sat impassively on the tram, careful to give nothing away.

  Berlin, February 1941

  Levi was still processing the knowledge that his family had disappeared, and that it was too dangerous to try to track them down, when Joseph Goebbels paid a visit to his office. He was deep in the translation of an article on the siege of the city of Tobruk in Libya.

  ‘Hauptmann Schneider.’

  Levi looked up, saw who it was and jumped to his feet. ‘Heil Hitler, Reich Minister.’

  Goebbels returned the salute. ‘Heil Hitler, Hauptmann. I have news. Tomorrow night you are to play at a gathering at my house which will be attended by the Führer himself.’

  Levi felt his stomach heave. ‘Thank you, Reich Minister. I feel deeply honoured.’

  Goebbels nodded. ‘He is looking forward to hearing you. A car will call for you at 6 pm. Be ready.’

  ‘Yes, Reich Minister.’

  But the man had already turned and walked away. Levi slumped down onto his chair. It was as his handlers had said, his piano skills had given him access to the highest ranks of the Nazi party. Now it was up to him to exploit this situation and work himself into a position where he could learn important information. Or, he could just play the piano.

  Levi had spent the intervening hours preparing himself mentally for this moment. He knew what he had to portray, and he knew what he would probably feel. His training would do the rest. He was standing beside the piano when the group walked in. Hitler was in the centre, wearing a brown jacket with an iron cross embroidered on the left pocket and a red arm band with a swastika in a white circle above his elbow. He was surrounded by men in uniform. Levi carried the image of the man burned into his brain, medium height, slight build, dark hair parted on the side and the rectangular moustache on the top lip.

  Hitler walked straight up to him. Levi saluted.

  ‘Heil Hitler, Mein Führer!’

  Hitler stared at him for a full minute. ‘It is good to finally meet you, Hauptmann Schneider. I have heard much about your piano playing.’

  The eyes were large and intensely blue, a clear blue, and they held Levi’s gaze. Everything seemed to stop, everyone seemed to be waiting for him to respond. He was held by those eyes. Finally he gave a small bow.

  ‘I am deeply honoured, Mein Führer, and I hope I live up to your expectations.’

  Hitler waved towards the chairs in rows facing the piano. ‘We will keep you from the keyboard no longer,’ he said, and walked over to a seat in the centre of the room. The rest of the crowd followed and when he had settled, they sat down.

  Levi started with Fantasia for Piano in F Sharp Minor by Wagner. It was a melancholy piece, filled with strident chords, and went for nearly fifteen minutes. At the end Hitler stood and applauded, so everyone else followed suit. Levi wasn’t sure what to do, but felt he should acknowledge the response. He rose and gave a small bow.

  Then for dramatic effect he went into Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and from there straight into the andante of Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21, lush and melodic.

  Once again the Führer responded with a standing ovation and the crowd followed his lead. Levi bowed again.

  ‘Is there anything in particular you would like me to play, Mein Führer?’ Levi asked.

  Hitler smiled. ‘I am fond of “Song to the Evening Star” from Tannhäuser, Isolde’s “Liebestod”, and one always loves to hear “The Ride of the Valkyries”. You know, I first heard Richard Wagner when I was twelve years old and I went to a production of Lohengrin in Linz. I was in the standing-room section of the theatre and I stood for the whole production. I was captivated. The man was a genius and he believed in the Volk. He understood the evil of the Jew.’

  Levi nodded. ‘I can play those pieces for you, Mein Führer, and also perhaps “Elsa’s Bridal Procession”?’

  Hitler beamed. ‘You have pleased me exceedingly, Hauptmann Schneider.’

  Levi caught the expression on the face of Goebbels as he sat back down. It was one of euphoria, almost ecstasy, at the fact that he had provided his Führer with someone who had pleased him exceedingly. Levi closed his mind to his furious thoughts and concentrated on playing the music. The long hours during his training had paid off and he could let the music flow from his fingers as if it were Chopin or Beethoven. One after another the Wagner compositions Hitler had requested filled the room. At the end of the set there was another standing ovation.

  Hitler turned to Goebbels. ‘I want the Hauptmann available to play for me whenever I require him,’ he said.

  ‘Of course Mein Führer, he will be on standby twenty-four hours
a day.’

  Hitler nodded. ‘And increase his wages.’

  ‘Of course, Mein Führer.’

  Hitler walked up to Levi and extended his hand. It felt soft, but the handshake was firm enough. ‘Thank you, Hauptmann. You are a credit to the Volk, and your talent is a symbol of the purity of your race.’

  Levi supressed a smile and looked into the hypnotic blue eyes. ‘Thank you, Mein Führer. I shall never forget your words.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Hitler turned and walked from the room, followed by the rest of his entourage.

  Three hours later Levi was under the shower in his bathroom. He had a scrubbing brush in his hand and was rubbing his body with vigour. Somehow the hot water helped to wash away his guilt and disgust.

  ‘Forgive me, Papa,’ he whispered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Berlin

  March 1941

  Levi’s dead drop — for any information he wanted to send back to London — was a club on the Friedrichstrasse. He went there regularly with a group of men his own age, some from the propaganda ministry and some from the Luftwaffe. It was a dimly lit, smoky room with a bar, a dance floor and a small stage for bands to play live music.

  If he had anything to report he went to the bar and ordered a straight whisky on the rocks, with five blocks of ice. Then exactly twenty minutes later he would excuse himself from the table of laughing men, several with women on their knees, all enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke. He would go to the men’s room and take the last stall in the row. The back wall of the cubicles was brick, and the fourth brick from the cistern was loose. He would pull it out, place his package behind it and replace the brick. Then he’d use the toilet, flush, wash his hands and return to the table.

  By March 1941 he’d used the drop twice, once before Christmas and once after. The second time he’d told his handlers about his new close friend. SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik von Engel, the nephew of Count Engel, was the kind of colleague that Werner would cultivate, a man with an important job and a strong sense of party loyalty. More importantly, Erik was delighted by the work his boss, Himmler, was doing and his tongue could be loosened after a couple of steins of beer. Most specifically, Erik told Levi about his role in Poland in 1939.

  ‘The Einsatzgruppen was such an efficient force,’ he said. ‘You know, the documentation says we eliminated sixty-five thousand undesirables. Now they call us death squads.’

  Levi raised an eyebrow. ‘Define undesirables,’ he said.

  Erik shrugged. ‘Intellectuals, communists, Jews. We shot a lot of Jews. But some we rounded up and put into ghettos. Many wouldn’t walk, so we dragged them along the ground. If they stumbled we hit them with rifle butts or kicked them. And they stood at the edge of pits, their hands in the air, and we shot them and covered their bodies with lime. Children were torn from their mothers and they screamed at the top of their lungs.’

  Suddenly his face lost some of its colour and his eyes seemed empty. He looked away. ‘I can still hear that terrible screaming, at night when I try to sleep. And the shouting of the guards, the gunfire, the dogs barking, such a conflagration of noise.’

  Levi said nothing. But the flash of humanity surprised him, even touched him. He wondered how Erik would respond if Levi offered the opinion that he should listen to his conscience, that all human beings were the same, that they felt the same terror and shame. That a Jew was no more an undesirable than Erik was. But that was a viewpoint Levi would hold; Werner would not. Erik pulled himself up and leaned forward. ‘I’ve got a special new job, Werner.’

  Levi feigned nonchalance. ‘I still pity you not working in propaganda,’ he said. ‘We shape the attitudes of the people. We determine what they read in the papers, what they hear on the radio, the films they see.’

  Erik snorted. ‘That’s nothing. Reichsführer Himmler is brilliant. He has commissioned a whole plan for the East. It will take us a year of work just on the plan, but it will mean all the Baltic states and the Ukraine and Poland, they will all be resettled by Germans. Ten million Germans!’

  ‘What about the people who currently live there?’ Levi asked causally.

  ‘Oh we’ll send them further east, use them for slave labour, or starve them, whatever. They don’t matter. It’ll take twenty years, but just imagine, Werner, a group of countries that extends the German border over six hundred miles east! When he is ready to put it to the Führer he says that it will be met with much rejoicing. And I am going to be part of it!’

  Levi decided this was information his handlers would want to hear so he visited the club, ordered his whisky and made the drop. Erik was in the group who were out socialising together, and Levi gave him an extra big smile as he sat down again. Three hours later they stumbled out into the spring night air. Some of the men had their arms around the shoulders of women who made their living sleeping with the officers. They shouted their goodbyes to each other and went their separate ways.

  The evening was clear and crisp, so Levi decided he would walk down to the river and stroll its banks for a while. The streets were almost empty apart from soldiers and men in Nazi uniforms. During the daylight hours he often saw people combing the city for discarded food, and he knew that in the winter they’d be looking for wood to burn as fuel. A strong part of him wished he could take the unwanted food from his lodgings, which was sent to a pig farm in the country, and distribute it to the hungry on the streets, but he knew it was impossible. Behaviour such as that would bring unwanted attention and undermine his cover.

  A young woman on a bicycle passed him, her head down and her feet pumping the pedals. He noticed the basket was full of sheets of paper. Was she out plastering the city walls with resistance posters, he wondered? The Gestapo were on the lookout for such individuals. Should he stop her, warn her, tell her not to be so stupid and to leave the resistance to those who could do something concrete to oppose this regime? Too late. He watched her disappearing figure and hoped she would stay safe.

  He ambled on. There was a bright moon and the buildings and trees were clearly visible. The River Spree gleamed silver in the moonlight. He turned a corner to walk back towards town and almost bumped into a group of four soldiers, their arms around each other’s shoulders, staggering back to their beds.

  They hurriedly disentangled themselves, stepped aside and saluted. He returned the salute and was about to move off.

  ‘Levi? Is that you? You’re a Hauptmann?’

  He froze. He swung round and recognised Rolf. The years fell away and he saw the eager childish face beaming at him, brown eyes glistening with mischief and hair sticking up on end. This grown-up version was horrified and confused. It was Levi’s worst nightmare, someone who knew him.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, you have me confused with someone else. I am Hauptmann Werner Schneider,’ he said briskly.

  ‘What? Who? I’m . . . I’m sorry, I thought you were —’

  The others pulled him away. Levi stood stock still and gazed at them as they disappeared up a street. When they were out of view he put his head down and walked briskly back along the river bank. The panic subsided, replaced by a quiet certainty. It was a huge city, with thousands of soldiers, the chances of running into Rolf again were negligible.

  Ten minutes later a hand pulled hard at his jacket.

  ‘Levi? It is you, isn’t it?’

  He turned. Rolf was on his own. Levi’s heart sank. He smiled warmly at the man and opened his arms for a bear hug. Relief flooded over Rolf’s face. They embraced. Levi pulled the flick-knife from his trouser pocket and in one swift movement he cut Rolf’s throat. There was a short strangled cry, then the body slumped against him and he dropped it to the pavement. He knelt and took the watch from Rolf’s wrist and the wallet from his uniform pocket and hurled them both into the river. Without looking back he dissolved into the shadows cast by the buildings and sprinted home.

  His feet pounded the cobblestones and his breath came in ragged gasps.
Somewhere deep in his stomach he could feel the vomit starting to rise. Acid flooded his mouth and he stopped long enough to empty his stomach onto the pavement beside a building. His hands trembled as he supported himself against the cold stone.

  My G-d, what have I become? What have I done? This is a possibility I was trained for, but what am I? No better than Himmler and his death squads who have no respect for human life. Once again his stomach heaved and he coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Rolf was like a brother to me once. We planned our futures, we would go to university together, raise our families and be life-long friends. What was his crime? Nothing. He recognised an old friend and for that he had to die. Tears sprung from his eyes as he pulled himself away and continued to run. He needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and this evil deed.

  How will I live with this? Was it Werner who did this thing, or was it Levi? Can I even tell the difference anymore?

  Berlin, November 1941

  On 7 November, Levi was awoken by the sound of bombs exploding as they hit the ground. The sudden jangle of air-raid sirens pierced through the other noises and he leaped from his bed and pulled on his uniform. His freezing fingers wouldn’t push the buttons through the holes and he cursed as he tugged on his huge winter coat.

  The nearest shelter was a short jog down the road. His fellow officers were running with him, in various stages of undress.

  ‘Damn the English,’ one of them muttered as he drew level with Levi, ‘damn them to hell.’

  The shelter was cold, musty and very crowded. Babies were crying and people spoke in hushed whispers as the thuds continued above. Eventually the all-clear sounded and they went back to their beds. There was practically no damage to buildings in his area, but Levi could imagine the reaction of the Führer. He would want revenge.

  Berlin, December 1941

  ‘I shall eliminate the Soviet Union as a military power and exterminate the scourge on civilisation that is communism. I shall open up vast tracts of land for the German people where they can live in freedom and prosperity. And we will mine the ground that is so rich in natural resources, it shall all belong to the Third Reich.’