And I, Jacob thought, I know what I have to do. Sarah will never agree. All right. But I have one thing to do, just one, and then … well, who knows. Then we will marry and live happily ever after.
But first he … wait!
There he is. Halfway down Hauptstrasse, by the two G.I.s, going into the bookshop. Brown jacket and no hat. Glancing over his shoulder and up and down the street, Jacob didn’t see any of the Rat’s friends. Seeler was alone. Jacob pulled his hat lower over his brow and entered. There were two long, narrow passages between four tall rows of books stretching into the depths of the shop. They ended at a big glass door open onto a small garden with chairs and tables. A little café. It occurred to Jacob it must be a nice place to sit and read. Should come back with Sarah. As Seeler browsed along the shelves, Jacob stood near the cashier in the center of the store, leafing through a book. After five minutes it dawned on him what he was looking at: A Young Wife’s Guide to a Happy Marriage. He put it down and picked up a photo book on the 1936 Berlin Olympics.
Over the top, with his hat low, he saw Seeler strolling to the cash register. His hand trailed along the spines of the books as he glanced at their titles, he was almost stroking them, and occasionally he stopped to study the pages. His eyes didn’t flicker and search as if checking for victims, he didn’t have one hand on his thigh to reach down and pull out a whip from his boot, his mouth wasn’t set in a sneer. Instead, surrounded by rows of books, he looked as harmless as a schoolteacher. So ordinary. Apart from that stupid mustache.
But as Seeler approached and Jacob turned his back to him, Jacob’s skin crawled. The hair stood on his neck. Right now, if he wanted, if he had a knife, he could do it.
* * *
Sarah had stopped crying now, after Jacob had left. She lay exhausted on the bed. They had been fighting all morning, ever since they woke up. Going over the same ground, over and over. Jacob had said again that she didn’t know how to hate. He kept saying that. And she had said, “That’s right, I don’t know how to hate. And I don’t want to.
“But I do know how to love.” It was true, and she surprised herself. Jacob had asked her and she didn’t have an answer to the question: How could she go through all she had gone through, and still be so full of love? What, there were so many good Germans?
“No, of course not, even the quiet ones weren’t good, they didn’t care about anyone except themselves, they did anything to stay out of trouble. I know that,” she had said. “But if it was the other way around, would we have been so different?”
So it had gone, for hours. Sarah said, “I don’t love them. Of course not. I don’t condemn them, that’s all. The truth is, I just don’t care about them, that’s the difference between you and me. I just want to get on with the rest of my life and not have them ruin that, too. And not here, either. Somewhere else. With you.”
Jacob had tried to stop her, to get her to be quiet, to agree with her. But he couldn’t, just couldn’t, give up on Maxie, his friends, his oath to his dying brother. Part of him wanted to, yes, that was true. But how could he, and live with himself?
Around and around they went. About how he would do it. About how he would get caught. And what they would do to him. And to that, he had no answer. All he kept saying was “I have to do it. Now. Or it will be too late.”
It was hopeless. She felt like beating the poor little pillow. Whatever she said, he was as stubborn as an ass. And then the fool had wanted to make love. She had kicked him.
Lying on the bed, curled around the pillow, she knew only one thing for certain: She loved him as much as life itself and she would do anything, anything at all, to keep him.
And that is when the idea began to form. The mist was clearing. She sat up slowly, her jaw clenching, her mind racing. Yes. It’s possible. It could work. It must. She nodded faintly to herself and her face set in determination.
* * *
I could do it right now, Jacob thought, moving away from the cash desk, putting down one book, picking up another. But then what? His back to the cashier, he stayed close enough to overhear, Seeler was asking about a book, Jacob didn’t get the title. Something about Argentina. The salesman said he could order it. Jacob tilted his head closer to hear better.
“Can you have it here in three days?” Seeler asked.
“Yes, certainly, sir, we will have it here in two. We close at seven, if you can come just before then we will have it for you, or the next morning.”
“Friday afternoon it is, then. Thank you. I’ll come just before seven o’clock. You think you’ll have it by then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because I’ll be leaving the next day. That’s very kind. Thank you very much. Should I pay now or then?”
“Half now?”
Seeler handed over some notes, asked for a receipt, said good day, and walked out of the store.
He’s leaving on Saturday?
Automatically, Jacob followed. It was easy, following those ears in the crowd. He took the usual route. Ten minutes later, Seeler reached his favorite beer hall. Jacob saw him greet some friends, all young men about the same age. Probably all Nazis, he thought. As usual they laughed and chatted up the waitress and ordered beers. Shameless. And free. He could feel himself snarl. They’re getting away with it, all of them.
There must be thousands of them, tens of thousands, all over Germany.
That’s when the dark cloud he carried swirled into a vortex, like a tornado leaving calm in its wake, and his confusion cleared. He knew what he had to do.
He had decided.
He almost ran to the castle road, to the vendors with their military souvenirs, and looked through their collection of knives, laid out on wooden boards. There were short paratrooper knives with wooden handles. Long stabbing knives for trench warfare, close combat daggers and combat pocketknives that folded in half. He held a ribbed-handle boot knife and weighed it in his palm as if he knew what he was doing. Tried the same kind with a ring handle. And the more he looked and held and balanced, the more he realized there was no way on earth he could take such a thing and stick it in another human being.
He couldn’t bear the idea of piercing flesh and pushing up to the hilt into tissue and muscle and nerves, and he knew it wasn’t as if the Rat would just stand and take it. He’d scream and struggle and hit back. He saw them falling over, and even with a dagger in his heart he could imagine the Rat fighting for his life, getting the better of him. And how would he even know where the heart was? And how would he get in front of him and close enough? And if from behind, in the dark, where to stab him?
There was no way he could do it. Sarah was right. He wasn’t the kind.
He’d have to shoot him instead. But the noise. He’d have to be close or he’d miss. It would take at least two shots. Even if they were alone, people were always close by. Nowhere was private in Heidelberg, which was crawling with people. There were three or four times as many as the town normally held. He’d get caught.
Jacob walked away. There was only one thing for it. He’d have to find a metal club. And not tell Sarah another word. She’d already thrown away one knife.
THIRTY-ONE
Heidelberg,
June 11, 1945
Sarah strode the last fifty meters with pursed lips, a firm chin, and straight shoulders, her wooden heels clacking like knitting needles. She paused at the window to adjust her hair, fluffing up her shiny hazel curls that fell across her collar. Her gray woolen coat was open so that its mauve silk lining played off her mauve beret. She had chosen a new white crepe de chine blouse that was wavy and glossy and open to the second button, revealing a hint of cleavage and a string of pearls, which she now knew to be imitation but were almost as translucent and filmy as any from the ocean floor. She ran her hands down her pleated burgundy skirt, pressed her lips together, and with an index finger wiped away a tiny smudge of lipstick. With a deep breath she opened the door and entered the hotel, wafting with her the keenest aroma of
eau de cologne.
She walked straight through the dining room to reception at the end of the short corridor. “Hello, I’m looking for Frau Seeler, please?” she said to the rather dowdy woman perched on the stool behind the desk.
“Yes, good day. I am Frau Seeler.”
“Oh, good day, my name is Gertie Haas, and I’ve come about the job. I understand you are looking for a waitress? I’d like to apply for it. It is still free, I hope?”
“Yes, that’s right, we are looking. But it’s more than just a waitress. We all do a bit of everything here.” What a pretty, elegant girl, Frau Seeler was thinking, and so well spoken. She must come from a good family.
“Oh, I’d be happy to do anything at all, whatever you need. To be honest, I really need a job.”
And no airs and graces, no nose in the air. “It’s hard work, for fair pay, live in if you like with food and board, but of course the pay wouldn’t be quite so much in that case. It’s a long day but there’s a break in the afternoon.” She should ask her questions but her mind had strayed. What a nice pretty girl with such a pleasing, genuine smile and sparkling eyes. Just the girl to stop Hans from leaving; he’d like her. Who knows? As Sarah answered how much she would appreciate any opportunity both to work hard and to learn the hotel trade, which surely would be a growing field in the new Germany, what with all the Americans in town and the rebuilding in Mannheim and everywhere, Frau Seeler had already heard all she needed to hear: church bells. She smiled. And the cooing of babies. But hold on, Trudi, don’t get carried away.
“Well, dear, have you worked in a hotel before?”
It seemed that Gertie Haas was perfect. Although she had never worked in a hotel she had spent years waitressing in Berlin, she knew how to sew and darn, could cook a little and was very happy to learn more, and was used to long, hard hours, as she had grown up on a farm near Hanover. She even spoke a little English. Frau Seeler couldn’t wait to tell Wolfgang. It was so hard to get good help. Everyone wanted a job but nobody wanted to work, or if they did they were the wrong kind of person, foreigners or poorly spoken. She couldn’t have hoped for better than this young Gertie Haas.
Just as she was thinking of how to delay the pretty young girl until Hans came home, the door opened and there he was. He swayed by the door-frame for a moment, leaned against it, collected himself, surveyed the room, and with a quizzical look made his way to the bar.
He had had a few beers and chasers but knew he could hold his drink as well as the next man. It was mid-afternoon, after all. He aimed a kiss at his mother’s cheek and listed toward Gertie. “A kiss for the gracious lady,” he tried to say. “Polite thing to do, you know.”
After introductions, Frau Seeler said, “Hans, would you be so kind as to show Miss Haas…”
“Oh, please, call me Gerti.” He needs a shave.
“Of course, thank you, and you can call me Trudi. All right, Hans? Show Gertie around the hotel and then we can have a nice glass of wine and we can talk things over. All right, my dear?”
“That would be lovely.”
Over Sarah’s head, Hans raised an eyebrow to his mother. She nodded back with a smile.
Sarah tried to maintain her composure as she followed the Rat. It was too strange. His ears were just as Jacob had described, but otherwise … it was impossible to put this man in an SS uniform with jackboots and … and all the rest. She had come to hate, but he looked so … ordinary. His words were a bit slurred, he was clearly tired and must have been drinking. He smelled of beer and cigarettes.
They were in the dining room and he was telling her about the big ceramic stove. Its carved tiles were glazed green and blue and had been in the family for two hundred years. Like most of the antiques hanging from the ceiling or on the walls—musical instruments, hunting tools, kitchen utensils, and antlers and horns—it came from an earlier family restaurant that had to close because the building was so old it could have fallen down at any moment and had to be demolished. The first restaurant there had been in 1786 and the building itself was even older. There had been a students’ drinking club upstairs where they cleared the chairs, sprinkled sawdust, and fought duels. But those were the good old days. That’s all forbidden now.
The stairs were added with the new floors in 1912, just before the Great War, they’re narrow and they creak, be careful, and he stood aside so that she could go first.
As she mounted the stairs Sarah could feel the heat of her cheeks. She could feel his gaze through her clothes. Hating herself, she swayed upstairs and he followed four steps behind, and she knew his eyes never left her haunch. If he grabbed her bottom, what would she do?
“This is the first floor, five single rooms, I’ll show you one.” He knocked on the first door, and when there was no answer he turned a key in the lock and pushed the door open. “After you. Just so you can see what we have to offer.” She peered in and he put his hand against her back and gave a little push. “Nothing to be afraid of. See. Quite small but cozy.”
It was. A double bed with a fluffy white feather bed and two large white pillows, a carved wooden wardrobe, antique water jug in its glazed white bowl, a pretty Bavarian-style dressing table and chair. Sarah nodded. Simple and tasteful.
“It’s a nice view from the window,” Hans said, pointing.
“Oh, I’m sure, it’s a very nice room,” Sarah said, and backed out into the corridor.
“There are two shared bathrooms on this floor. Upstairs, three rooms share one bathroom and there are two suites with their own bathrooms. I’ll show you one of those.”
They turned at the mezzanine and again, as she climbed the stairs, she could feel Hans’s eyes boring into her bottom. Ever so gently she swung her hips.
“Suite nine,” he said. “This is where I’m staying for the time being. Let me show you, it’s our best room. I can even offer you a schnapps, the best.”
“Oh, no, thank you, I hardly drink and certainly not in the afternoon. And not just before I talk to your mother,” she laughed. “I’m hoping she’ll give me a job here.”
“Oh, I think you don’t have much to fear about that. Here, please, sit down, I’ll pour a small glass.”
Sarah sank into the soft sofa, and made herself smile.
He sat on the chair, poured himself a glass, said “Prost!” and drained it in one, filled it again, and half-filled a second glass, which he placed in front of Sarah. She looked around. “What a nice room,” she said, “and what a nice hotel.”
“You think?” Hans said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll drink to that,” and he drank again, banging the glass down on the table. It was closer than he thought.
He stood up and went to the window. “Good view of the street from here, not noisy at all. Very few cars.” He stood over the sofa. “I’m tired.”
Sarah looked up with a sweet smile. Their eyes met and hers widened just a touch. She saw his chest rise and fall, his trousers twitch.
She shot up. “Well, thank you, Hans, you’re so kind, I’d better go and talk to your mother.”
“No hurry, no hurry, she’ll be glad that we’re talking.” He fell down into the sofa and patted it. “Sit back down, we have time.”
“You’re sweet. But really, I should be getting along. Maybe another time…”
Hans took her hand and pulled her down. “This is another time.” He snorted and his head fell back against the high back. Sarah jumped up as if she’d had an electric shock. He lay back, his eyes were closing.
She bent down and kissed his cheek. “Hans, would you like to see me tomorrow?”
His eyes flickered wider and wider. Sarah’s face was centimeters from his. Her lips so close. He strained his neck toward her. “Yes, I would, here, will you come back?”
“That wouldn’t be right, would it, Hans? I mean, your mother … I know. Let’s meet by the river, we can go for a walk.”
Hans stood and took Sarah’s hand. He went to kiss her but she stepped back. “Hans, no, please, I’ve just
met you. I’m not like that. But, tomorrow. Let’s meet tomorrow by the river. Would you like that?”
Hans nodded. He was breathing fast. “Yes, yes. What time?”
“Well, I will be busy during the day. How about, um, let’s say eight o’clock? That will give us an hour and a half before curfew. Then you can walk me home.” She looked down, shyly. “Does it get dark about then? Am I being a bit forward? I don’t mean to be, but…”
“No, you’re not, not at all. Yes, let’s meet at eight o’clock by the river. Between the two bridges there’s a small wharf with some benches. We can meet down there. You know it? Below the road, it’s nice and … quiet there.”
“Yes, I know it, Hans. That’s where I was going to say. It’s perfect for us. Eight o’clock, then. But don’t be late, we won’t have much time.”
“I’ll be early! Yes. And I’ll walk you home afterwards.”
“You’re such a gentleman.”
“My home.”
Sarah threw her head back and laughed. “Hansi!”
THIRTY-TWO
Heidelberg,
June 11, 1945
Jacob paced in their small room with growing nausea. He wiped his clammy forehead and pulled off his sticky shirt to splash himself with cold water.
And then he paced again. He held the steel rod in his right hand, and thwacked it into the palm of his left. It was thirty centimeters long and three fingers thick. He’d bought it in the hardware store, it was some kind of construction tool. He balanced it in the middle on one finger to find its central point. He practiced smashing it down from above his head. Swinging it in from the side. Up sharply from below if he had to crush his balls. But with all the will in the world, and egged on by the baying spirits of six million Jews … Six million? No way. But that’s the number on the radio … still he could not bring any power to the blow.
He stood above the bed and arranged the two pillows. He held the club above his head and wanted to obliterate them but brought it down like he was dusting a carpet. Harder, man, harder! He tried again, but he knew at that rate he wouldn’t swat a fly.
Jacob's Oath: A Novel Page 24