by Julie Thomas
He’d been home a week when he got a call from Erik’s father, Karl von Engel.
‘Hauptmann Schneider, how are you? How’s the arm?’
Levi was surprised to hear from him. ‘Healing nicely, thank you, sir,’ he said.
‘Good to hear. My wife and I wondered if you’d like to come and visit us for a few days. Have some good Munich rest.’
Levi hesitated. Were they disgraced by the actions of their son? What would Reich Minister Goebbels have to say about the idea?
‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll have to ask permission. Can I call you back?’ he answered.
‘Of course.’
Still the nightmare persisted. He became afraid of sleep. He was judged and found guilty every time he fell from fitful wakefulness into uncomfortable sleep. How could he have done that? What part of his training had kicked in and allowed him to react with such instinct? No matter how hard he tried to rationalise the act by reminding himself that he had stayed true to his assumed identity, he couldn’t get past the fact that he had saved the life of that loathsome creature.
When he felt safe enough in his environment he wrote out a long report on his time at the Berghof, the conversations he’d overheard and been part of, and set off for the club. There was some bomb damage to buildings in the area but he was relieved to see that the club was still intact.
The smoky atmosphere, with women sitting at the bar and officers seated at tables playing cards and listening to the band, reminded him of nights spent here with Erik. That thought pulled him up. He often wondered if his friend was still alive, and, if he was, what his living conditions were like. Even those secret thoughts felt dangerous, and he tried to dismiss them. But still Erik’s fate nagged at him, an anxiety, a grief he couldn’t admit to, a pain he tried to bury but which surfaced all the same. He shook his head, as if to banish the flood of memories, and went to the bar where he was immediately confronted by a new barman.
‘Where’s Paul?’ he asked.
The man shrugged. ‘No idea. They needed a new barman and I applied. About two months ago. What’s your poison?’
He’d turned away and was pouring a drink for the customer beside Levi.
‘I’ll have a whisky on the rocks, with five pieces of ice,’ Levi said.
The barman stopped what he was doing for a second and looked at him closely. ‘Are you Hauptmann Schneider by any chance?’ he asked quietly.
Levi smiled at him. ‘Yes, I am.’
The barman put the drink down in front of the other patron.
‘Glad to see you back, Hauptmann Schneider, we’ve been expecting you. The drink is on the house for a hero.’
Levi nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He nursed his drink for exactly twenty minutes then went to the men’s room. The stall at the end was occupied so he left and returned five minutes later to find it empty. The brick was still loose but he had to wiggle it hard to get it to pop out. He left his roll of paper behind it, made sure the brick was firmly in place, flushed the toilet and stepped out to wash his hands.
‘Hauptmann Schneider?’ The voice behind him echoed in the tiled room. Levi felt a sudden jolt of fear but turned and smiled. It was a man in a black leather coat and jackboots. Gestapo.
‘Yes,’ he said as calmly as he could.
The man extended his arm. ‘How are you? My name is Stabsmusikmeister Wilhelm Weber. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate what you did. You are quite famous.’
Levi shook the hand. ‘Thank you. Tell me, what rank is a Stabsmusikmeister?’ he asked, curiosity getting the better of his fear.
‘It’s a special rank created by the Führer. I am one of the music experts in charge of the instruments we commandeer from the conquered peoples and the Jews.’
Levi was nodding when a thought struck him. Was it a man such as this who had looted his parents’ house? Did he know what had happened to the family, and the violins? If so, Levi couldn’t ask him directly. But maybe the man had an ego.
‘I would love to hear about some of your finds. I am a pianist,’ he said.
The man gave a small bow. ‘And I would love to tell you, but my group is about to leave so it will have to be another time. I wanted to express my appreciation of your bravery in the face of danger to our Führer.’
With that he turned and left. Levi wanted to slump against the wall. His heart was thudding so fast he couldn’t catch his breath. He felt like he was back sprinting over the moors and he sensed a sudden nauseous tug from the depths of his stomach. He couldn’t follow the man and ask him what he knew without blowing his cover and, probably, losing his life. The sense of helplessness was almost overwhelming.
Three days later he received a telephone call at his desk.
‘Is that Hauptmann Schneider?’ an unfamiliar, yet somehow recognisable, voice asked.
‘Yes, I am Werner Schneider,’ he answered cautiously.
‘My name is Wilhelm Weber; we met the other night. I was wondering if you would like to see something. I’ve been looking through a shipment from Paris and I have something I think would interest you very much.’
Levi’s instinct was finely honed. If he could engage Weber’s interest and ask about stringed instruments, who knows what he might find out?
‘If it’s musical, I’m always interested,’ he said.
‘Excellent. I will send a staff car for you tomorrow at noon.’
The car took him to a warehouse on the Oranienburger Strasse. Weber met him outside and ushered him in and up a flight of stairs.
‘This is the headquarters of the Sonderstab Musik,’ he explained. The door opened onto a large area full of half-unpacked crates. Harpsichords, spinel’s, zithers, violas, violins, cellos, flutes and many other instruments lay exposed to the air. His eyes came to rest on a Flemish double virginal, with two keyboards and magnificently decorated panels. He recognised it instantly; it had stood in the corner of the music room of his house where the golden engraving could sparkle in the setting sun. Now it was covered in dust.
His heart beat so loud he was afraid the men in the room would hear it. They’d stopped what they were doing and were saluting Weber. He ignored them. Levi felt numb, no training had prepared him for this moment. He wanted to launch himself at the weasel standing beside him and shove him up against the wall. To do what? Demand to know where the rest of their property was? Weber was urging him over to one corner.
‘These are some of the crates from occupied countries. In crate number fifty-six, from a villa on the outskirts of Paris owned by Wanda Landowska, we found this!’
Weber pulled a blanket off an upright piano made of rippled mahogany. There was a row of lattice inlay above the keyboard and beading around the keys. It was obviously old.
‘Landowska?’ Levi asked.
Weber nodded.
‘Half-Polish, half-French harpsichordist —’
‘I know who she is.’
‘Come, sit, play,’ Weber insisted.
The piano was out of tune and the sound was shallow and sharp. Levi looked up at Weber, an unspoken question on his lips. Weber beamed.
‘Chopin! In 1838 he and Sand, his lover, went to Majorca to escape the cold of Paris and he wrote the Preludes on this piano. When they went to the monastery at Valldemossa in the hills behind Padua, he took this piano with him. It was made by Juan Pauza, one of the most famous piano-makers in history — his name is on it — but we don’t know exactly when.’
Levi sat down and let him hands move over the keys. ‘I can tell you a story about Prelude Number Fifteen,’ he said, ‘Chopin said that he imagined himself dead, but floating on water, and the notes came like drops of rain falling on him.’
‘We will get it tuned and then you can play it for the Führer,’ Weber said.
Levi frowned. ‘Beautiful though it is, I think the Steinway will always have a better sound. What happened to Madame Landowska?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Weber sounded unintereste
d.
‘I’ve seen a photograph of her, at this piano, taken in Berlin in 1913. She is also a well-known pianist,’ Levi added. He glanced around the room and shook his head. ‘What an amazing collection! Where do they all come from?’
Weber’s chest seemed to swell with pride. ‘Some from Poland and some from France and some from here in Germany, the property of people who should not own such things. Now they are the property of the Third Reich. I’m sure the Führer has told you about his plan to open a music museum in Linz in Austria after the Great Victory. Perhaps you are part of his plan. I haven’t heard you play, but I am told you are quite talented.’
Levi stood up. ‘I have a brother who plays the violin, he’s still young but he is very keen. I would love to be able to write to him and tell him about some of the violins I’ve seen,’ he said.
Weber nodded. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Hauptmann. We have had instruments made by Nicola and Andrea Amati and Antonio Stradivarius, Pietro Guarneri and Giuseppe Guadagnini through here. Next time we seize a masterpiece I will let you know.’
That same week Levi received an invitation to play at the von Engels’ home in Wannsee. He was surprised to note that none of the Nazi top brass were there; in fact, it was a small gathering of only twelve friends.
‘I’m afraid we are out of favour’, the countess said, as she watched him practise on the Steinway. He looked up at her. The light seemed to have gone out of her brilliant blue eyes, and he could see strain lines on her face.
‘Why would you say that, Countess?’ he asked.
She smiled at him. ‘Dear Hauptmann, one of the reasons I like you so much is because you seem so guileless. I know you were a friend of my nephew. You may not be aware . . . We, we don’t speak of him. Himmler was deeply offended by his crime and does not socialise with us anymore. My husband also promoted the sons of two of our friends to the Führer. They were given units to command at Stalingrad, but their men were starving and they both ended up surrendering to the Soviets. Adolf was furious and decided to blame my husband.’
She looked over through the open doors, at the group assembling, ready to go in to dinner. ‘It doesn’t pay to take sides in Berlin, Hauptmann — remember that. It is so easy to choose badly and the consequences can be disastrous. I remember the time when we laughed and listened to your music and believed we would rule the world.’
She turned back to him and he couldn’t read her expression.
‘The days when we were all sane,’ she said.
London, 1945
Levi looked into the camera.
‘At this point I want to break from my story and make a comment or two. I will never forget that day, and I am still convinced that Weber had seen, or even still has, our violins. He was the kind of person who would keep something that valuable as a personal insurance policy against Germany losing the war. Then he would need a way to escape from Berlin to another life, and a precious instrument could fund that. Seeing that double virginal made me more determined to survive than anything else that had happened. I hold the desire to reclaim our property close to my heart, and I pray that the day will come when I can do that.
‘Secondly, I was at the Berghof when Germany lost the battle for Stalingrad, and I watched Hitler frame the propaganda around that with Reich Minister Goebbels. Surprisingly to me, they made no attempt to hide how great a disaster it was. They compared Stalingrad to great cities and battles from the worlds of Ancient Greece and Rome, and used words that made it sound like a patriotic, heroic struggle.
‘Over three hundred thousand German men died in that siege, and Hitler and Goebbels turned it into some giant sacrifice to save the Western World from communism. I can see now that the emotion they stirred up distracted the attention of the people from the fact that Germany was slowly losing the war on all fronts. They used the radio, the newspapers and films to persuade the public that they had to make sacrifices like the VI Army had in Stalingrad. I listened to the birth of this idea of “total war” without realising what suffering it meant to my countrymen. I was enveloped by the ravings of mad men.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Munich
July 1943
Levi couldn’t fly to Munich. It took him two days by train because of the detours caused by the bombing of the rail lines. When he arrived, it was dark and he was exhausted and thirsty. The von Engels were as pleased to see him as he was to see them.
‘You poor boy,’ Elsa said as she took his case from his left hand, ‘are you hungry?’
Levi smiled at her. ‘I had a pretzel in Bamberg, but that was a long time ago,’ he said.
She led him into the kitchen and sat him at the table. It reminded him of home, warm, cheerful and with a lingering smell of good cooking. After a bowl of pork-and-lentil soup, some crusty bread and a stein of beer, he felt revived.
‘Have you heard anything from Erik?’ he asked.
She was at the bench with her back to him. ‘Karl will talk to you about Erik, but I think you need a good night’s sleep first.’
The bed was soft and comfortable, and for the first time in a long time he slept without dreaming. He woke to the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee. He dressed in a shirt and trousers, happy not to have to get into uniform. His right arm was still a bit stiff but had become stronger, and he decided against the sling.
Karl looked up from his breakfast as Levi walked in. ‘How did you sleep, son?’ he asked.
Levi nodded as he sat down where Elsa indicated. ‘Very well, thank you — it is a wonderful bed.’
‘Good. When you’ve eaten, I have something to show you,’ Karl said as he stood. ‘I’ll be in my study, bring him through,’ he said to his wife.
Levi enjoyed the eggs, kaiserfleisch, cheese and toast.
‘We have our own hens, a cow for milk, pigs, and I bake our bread,’ Elsa said as she gave him second helpings, ‘so the food shortages don’t really worry us. We barter with friends for other meats, and we grow our vegetables. I couldn’t live in the city now, not with the planes dropping bombs and the queues for food. We are much safer here.’
Levi nodded. He hadn’t picked her for a country wife, but she seemed to have settled into her life with Karl. Her blonde curls were scraped back into a bun, and her beautiful features were not adorned with any makeup. Her clothes were handmade and plain. She seemed happier than many of the women he’d met in Berlin, including her sister-in-law, the countess.
‘It is hard to see people scavenging for scraps of food. I want to help them, but that’s not allowed. Our rations are less than they were when I first arrived in Berlin. And we have to be careful with water,’ he told her.
She shook her head, and he got the feeling she was holding back what she really wanted to say.
‘Well you can have a nice hot bath later if that is something you’d like. Soak for as long as you want! I’ll take you through to Karl if you’ve finished.’
Levi wiped his mouth on the napkin, rose and followed her down the long hall and into the study.
Karl sat at his desk, papers all around him. He laid down his fountain pen as his wife opened the door and ushered Levi in.
‘Ah, Werner. Come in, sit.’
Levi sat on the one chair that did not have a mountain of papers or books on it.
‘Forgive my untidiness, I am not a desk man. I was trained to run a ship, and maybe, if my leg ever heals properly, I can get back to it,’ Karl said.
Levi smiled. ‘Your desk resembles mine, sir. I have newspapers piled all over the room,’ he replied.
Karl’s expression suddenly became serious, and Levi could see lights of anger flashing in his dark eyes. ‘Did you hear what happened to my son?’ he asked.
Levi hesitated, then gave a tight nod of his head. ‘Yes, news filtered through to the Berghof, only because Fraulein Braun knew that he was a friend of mine and she knows your brother and the countess.’
Karl let his head droop for a moment, then he raised it again.
‘I want to show you something, Hauptmann, but I am concerned that you will betray us to the Gestapo. Your feat at the Berghof is well known, and it is said that you are a favourite of the Führer. I want to trust you, but my brain is saying it is too dangerous.’
Levi felt a wave of pity. If you only knew, he thought to himself. He looked straight into the anguished eyes. ‘Whatever the secret is, you can trust me. I remain very fond of your son, he was a good friend to me.’
Karl waited for a full moment, searching Levi’s face, looking for the answer he craved. Finally he got to his feet and turned towards the closed French doors.
‘Follow me,’ he said gruffly.
Levi was surprised, but he followed the older man, who limped out the doors and across the massive yard towards a barn. Karl stopped at the entrance and whistled. Then he waited for sixty seconds and whistled again. The mound of hay at the back of the barn rustled, and a head slowly raised itself from the pile of straw.
‘Erik!’
Levi rushed forward. Erik tumbled down to the ground and the two men embraced. The sudden rush of joy and relief that engulfed Levi surprised him. He realised he’d resigned himself to never seeing Erik again, and yet, here he was. The need to touch the fragile figure before him, to reinforce what his eyes were telling him by immersing himself in the sensual experience of his lover, was so strong it nearly swept him off his feet. He stroked Erik’s cheek with one hand and blinked against his own tears.
‘How . . . why . . . what did you manage?’ Levi asked, directing his comment at Karl.
‘We smuggled him out. I still had some friends who knew people, and my brother has some sway. It is best that you don’t know the details, but he has been here a month, sleeping in the hay and eating Elsa’s cooking.’
Levi stood back and looked at his friend. His head had been shaved more than once and the blond hair was starting to grow back, a spiky shadow across the skull. His blue eyes were still sunken and surrounded by circles of bruised skin. He had some colour in his cheeks, but nothing like the beautiful complexion which Levi remembered, and his body was grotesquely thin. His arms and legs had lost all their muscle, and his father’s shirt hung on his emaciated frame. He had a scar at his temple from a blow that had split the skin, and was missing quite a few teeth.