Lunch with Mussolini

by Derek Hansen

  ‘Hello again.’

  Damn! He was still there.

  ‘Come in, I have moved up a chair for you in front of the stove and we have shifted our bread-making over here out of your way. You must still be frozen.’ The Captain bowed slightly and gestured towards the chair with his hand. Christiane could hardly refuse. Besides, she was touched by the young officer’s consideration, and in front of the stove was precisely where she wanted to be.

  ‘Thank you, Captain …’ She sat down and lifted her feet off the floor and held them out towards the stove. ‘Ahhh … that feels so good!’

  ‘When you went straight up to your room I thought you must have inherited the same blood as your uncle. He never feels the cold. Here, I have poured you some schnapps. Sometimes it is best to work on cold from both the inside and out.’

  Christiane smiled and took the small glass. Again she was touched by his thoughtfulness.

  ‘My uncle drinks a lot of schnapps. Perhaps, Captain, that is why he never feels the cold.’

  ‘You may well be right, but I am not going to be the one to tell him.’ He laughed and Christiane found it easy to join him. ‘And please, stop calling me Captain. Call me Friedrich.’

  ‘Tell me, Friedrich, have you thrown any more bombs at lovers of Wagner?’

  Friedrich laughed.

  ‘No. I’ve learned my lesson and I’ve never gone close enough again.’

  ‘Did you really kill those Republican machine-gunners?’

  ‘No. The story has grown in the telling. The grenades we threw fell way too short, but they confused things enough to enable us to make our escape. Personally, I think the machine-gunners were laughing too hard to shoot straight. Still, I’m glad the grenades fell short. How could anyone who likes Wagner possibly be our enemy?’ He put his head back and sang the first few lines of the Pilgrims’ Chorus. Her uncle hadn’t exaggerated. He did have a fine tenor voice.

  Slowly, in the warmth of the kitchen with her sisters looking on, the coolness Christiane felt towards the Captain melted away. At last, she managed to see the kind and sensitive man beyond the cynicism and facetiousness. She no longer disliked him, though he was a long way from winning her affections.

  Uncle Gottfried and Friedrich stayed overnight and in the morning joined the party to go fishing once more. Uncle Gottfried, her father and her brother selected a place further upstream. Friedrich accompanied Christiane. That was how she discovered their common interest. When they reached the stream, she handed him her tackle box and invited him to choose a fly. It was a test. Without hesitation he picked up the fly she’d used the day before. Christiane was delighted. He obviously knew his stuff and told him so. But he had another surprise for her.

  ‘Choosing the correct fly was easy. It is all a question of season, observing the insects, size of fish and wind conditions. Besides,’ he said, ‘I asked your father before we left.’

  Christiane laughed, pleased by his honesty when he could so easily have used the moment to try to impress her. She watched as he tied the fly to the leader and cast expertly towards the opposite bank. He retrieved and gradually lengthened his cast. As she watched a trout struck, but he missed it.

  ‘Too much line,’ he muttered and made good his error. He made his way slowly downstream, closer to where he’d seen the trout rise, and cast again. The second time the trout struck he was prepared, and set the hook. Like Christiane, he didn’t rush things but let the rod do the job of tiring the fish for him. When he brought the wearying trout to the bank, Christiane netted it for him.

  ‘What a perfect team,’ he said.

  Christiane was undecided whether he was hinting at an alliance that went beyond fishing. It was inappropriate if he had, but at the same time undeniably flattering. Little by little he won her trust and Christiane lowered her guard. She found she could relax with him, and allowed him to entertain her with his stories and observations. Whenever she caught a trout, he netted it for her and removed the hook. These were things that Christiane liked to do herself for they were part of the craft of fishing, but she saw it as thoughtfulness on his part, the actions of a gentleman, and didn’t object. Indeed, she found she liked the attention. For the first time ever in heavy fishing clothes, she felt feminine.

  With the desperation of a drowning man, her father seized upon her growing friendship and put aside his reservations about the young Captain. He prevailed upon his brother to return with them to Dresden and made him promise to stay on for a few days.

  ‘Just look at them, Gottfried,’ he insisted, ‘have you ever seen two young people so suited to each other? See how they feed off one another? I haven’t seen Christiane so talkative or relaxed since she left school.’

  ‘You play a dangerous game when you play matchmaker with your own daughter, Carl. What if Friedrich decides your daughter is not for him? He is alert to traps. There are many young ladies in Berlin who have laid traps for him, only to have him steal the bait and move on.’ Gottfried laughed. ‘Will you thank me, then, if Friedrich treats your daughter the same way?’

  ‘Perhaps yes.’ Carl looked intently at his brother. ‘If all Friedrich does is open Christiane’s eyes to other men, then I will be grateful. If that is the price I must pay to distract her from that SS oaf, then I pay it gladly. But I don’t believe Friedrich is playing games. I believe he is more honourable than you give him credit for. Besides, how could he not be attracted to my daughter?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Gottfried raised his hands in mock resignation. ‘Hitler can conquer Europe without us. At least for the next four days. And if in the meantime Friedrich conquers your daughter and vice versa, I will be the happiest man in all of Germany.’

  ‘Second happiest,’ said Carl. ‘And God knows I appreciate this.’

  Christiane was delighted when she learned their guests were staying on and returning with them to Dresden. The more she got to know Friedrich the more she liked him and came to appreciate his dry wit. She enjoyed his company and seemed to revel in their banter. But if Carl had thought that that was all it took to deflect a young woman from her true love and destiny, he was due for disappointment. When Friedrich invited her out to dinner with him she declined. She was reluctant to go and be seen on the arm of another man while Dietrich was away. She would not be so disloyal. She only accepted his invitation after she’d coerced her parents and Uncle Gottfried to join them. Friedrich seemed not to mind and entertained them all over dinner, though sometimes Christiane felt his comments were a little too outspoken.

  ‘Because of my father’s postings in Milan and London, I speak passable English and Italian. Therefore I know exactly where the army will send me when the war comes. They’ll send me to France where no one is willing to speak German, English or Italian and no one will understand a word I say. Or, heaven forbid, they’ll send me to Russia. If we go to war against Russia we’ll find ourselves in real trouble. One good German soldier is worth twenty Russian soldiers. Unfortunately, there are one hundred Russian soldiers for every good German soldier. That will be the time for all of us to start learning to speak Russian.’

  Friedrich and Uncle Gottfried laughed out loud, but Christiane noticed her father frown and other diners glance their way disapprovingly. Even in jest such talk was considered unpatriotic or at the very least inappropriate. Nevertheless she enjoyed the evening tremendously. And Friedrich had shown no desire to dash off at the earliest opportunity.

  A month passed between Uncle Gottfried and Friedrich’s departure for Berlin and the return of Dietrich Schmidt. In that time Christiane received three letters. They were all from Friedrich. When the first letter arrived she had burned with embarrassment.

  ‘It must be from Dietrich,’ she’d announced loudly, as she rushed to pick the letter up from the hall stand. But instead of vindication of her gallant knight she’d found humiliation. Friedrich had shamed her again. Of course, her family pretended not to notice her disappointment nor did they ask who the letter was from. Friedrich’s nam
e and mailing address was clearly written on the back of the envelope. Christiane was tempted to tear it up on the spot. He had no right to write to her. She’d told him all about Dietrich and left him in no doubt as to where her affections lay. But curiosity got the better of her anger, and she opened the envelope to read the contents.

  ‘Dear Christiane,’ the letter began, ‘Please excuse my presumption but I felt the need to write and thank you for your hospitality, your company and for a fine morning’s fishing. I enclose a lock of my hair in gratitude.’ Taped to the page was a large, crudely tied fly consisting only of a hook and a tuft of the Captain’s hair. Despite herself, she burst out laughing. The letter went on to describe the amount of schnapps her uncle had consumed between Dresden and Berlin while Friedrich had almost frozen solid behind the wheel. Her uncle had even put the hood down. He described the mood in Berlin following the annexation of Austria. ‘The place has gone mad for Viennese coffee and waltzes,’ he said. ‘Let us hope the Führer does not annexe West Prussia and Galicia because I can’t stand Poles or mazurkas!’ Christiane could hardly contain her laughter. Her disappointment forgotten, she read the letter out loud to her family.

  As he listened, Carl Schiller came to appreciate the cleverness of the young Captain. It was no love letter to be sure, but he realised immediately that its intent was the same. Here was a man of wit and humour, of style and sophistication, and he was using those attributes to mount a flanking attack. He was putting himself up as an alternative, for Christiane to make comparisons between himself and Dietrich. Carl Schiller was delighted with this discovery. As his daughter read, they could almost feel his presence. How could the Captain not come out ahead in any comparison?

  His next two letters continued in the same vein, full of witty observations and self-deprecating humour. But, reading between the lines, they left Carl in no doubt that the Captain was reinforcing his initial attack, building upon his early success. He didn’t come right out and say how much he wanted to see Christiane again, or how keen he was for the two of them to go fishing once more. The intent was obvious to him, but was it also obvious to Christiane? Or had she closed her mind?

  Shortly after the last letter arrived, Dietrich Schmidt reappeared on their doorstep. If anything, he’d grown more handsome. The experiences of the preceding weeks seemed to have hardened him, firmed up the soft, boyish edges. Carl had to concede he’d underestimated him. His daughter threw herself into his arms, and any thoughts she may have been entertaining about Friedrich seemed to evaporate immediately.

  Dietrich talked endlessly of the march into Austria, and how proud he’d felt when the Austrians had lined the streets to welcome them, waving flowers and swastikas. He told of the gifts showered on them by a grateful populace, how he’d never had to pay for so much as a coffee or a beer. But he never told her about the whores he’d had, or the Austrian Jews they’d terrorised, arrested and sent East, whose property they’d destroyed and whose valuables they’d confiscated. But his biggest mistake was to not ask Christiane how she was, how she’d been in his absence. Women who wait while their men are away like to have their loyalty and faithfulness acknowledged. Dietrich never gave her a thought.

  Nevertheless, they slipped back into their earlier routine. Whenever he could, Dietrich took Christiane to the opera or theatre and occasionally the movies, before excusing himself to join his friends. Christiane tried hard, but couldn’t help but feel disappointed when Dietrich failed to deliver on her expectations. She couldn’t help but compare him with Friedrich.

  Still, Dietrich was her beau and he, perhaps sensing some cooling on her part, gradually became more attentive. He began to call in at Prager Strasse more often and delighted her by bringing flowers. They looked ridiculously incongruous in his hands, but that only served to make the gesture more touching. Occasionally he even gave up his late night carousing with his comrades to stay with her longer. Christiane was now aware that he was not everything she hoped he’d be, but she’d invested too many dreams and aspirations in him to let him go. Besides, she still believed she loved him as he unquestionably loved her. She felt bound to him. And people continually reminded her of how good they looked together, and how lucky she was.

  Once more they drifted inevitably towards the announcement that would make their subsequent marriage a formality. But again, Christiane was spared the necessity of making a decision. The racial cleansing which would result in virtually all of Dresden’s Jews being murdered or sent to concentration camps intensified, and there were other more pressing demands on Dietrich’s time. This presented her father with one last chance and he was determined not to let it slip by. He blamed himself for Christiane’s continuing attachment to Dietrich. He’d sheltered her too much and she lacked the experience to realise that Dietrich was wrong for her. She wasn’t in love with him, he was sure of that. She only thought she was in love and was role playing, doing what was expected of her. He had to act. He couldn’t sit back and watch Dietrich walk off with his daughter. He rang his brother in Berlin.

  Chapter Eleven

  If Dietrich thought the evening would be just another dinner party in Prager Strasse to be endured rather than enjoyed, he soon realised his error. He snapped to attention the moment he realised the rank of the other officers.

  ‘Relax, Obersturmführer,’ said Uncle Gottfried dismissively, ‘you are among friends here.’

  ‘Herr Generalleutnant!’ Dietrich forced himself to relax but inside he was fuming. Why hadn’t Christiane warned him of their presence? This was not how he’d hoped to meet Christiane’s uncle. He was unprepared and wrong-footed. What sort of impression could he hope to make now? He was torn between his aspirations and the SS disdain for regular army officers. He knew the Reichswehr had supported Hitler only as a means to get the armaments denied them by the Treaty of Versailles, and that now many senior officers would relish the opportunity to use their new weapons against him. He instinctively went on the defensive.

  ‘You must be Dietrich. I am Friedrich Eigenwill.’

  Dietrich was once more taken aback as the other officer, the Hauptmann, casually extended his hand. This wasn’t how things were done. Nevertheless he shook the offered hand.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, Captain.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it is.’

  Dietrich’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand this informality and felt lost. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he might just have been insulted. He decided to stand quietly by as Carl Schiller questioned the two officers over the Führer’s likely response to the clamouring of the Sudeten Germans. Why were they here, and where was Christiane? He didn’t have to wait long for the answer to either question.

  ‘Dietrich!’

  He turned around to see Christiane at the doorway with a tray of drinks.

  ‘So you’ve met my favourite uncle, and Captain Eigenwill. They’ve just arrived from Berlin. They have a habit of doing that. They never tell anyone, they just arrive.’ She looked for somewhere to put her tray. Friedrich stepped forward and took it from her. She went straight to Dietrich, took his arm and turned her face up for a kiss as she usually did. Dietrich hesitated, unsure, and in the end his kiss was token, as if any show of affection on his part indicated weakness. Christiane was a touch nonplussed. Weren’t they among friends?

  Dinner failed to live up to her expectations. She sensed Dietrich was angry but was at a loss to know why. He’d indicated often enough that he’d like to meet her uncle who served on the General Staff. Even Friedrich was more subdued than normal. It was left to Uncle Gottfried to entertain them and he did so admirably, though sometimes she felt the laughter around the table was a little forced. As they sipped their port, Friedrich asked a question that sounded innocent enough, if a touch impertinent. Christiane had no inkling of the change it signalled, and could only look on in horror and disbelief at the events that unfolded.

  ‘So how is life in Herr Hitler’s little army?’

  Dietrich nearly cho
ked on his port. If he thought he had been insulted before, he was certain he had now.

  ‘Excuse me, Captain, are you referring to the Schutzstaffel?’

  ‘Yes, your lot, the SS. The army our Führer has to protect himself from the army.’

  Dietrich was outraged. He had to restrain himself from rising from his chair.

  ‘Excuse me again, Captain, but I believe you are using your rank unfairly to insult my comrades.’

  ‘Oh, am I? Then I apologise. I was just making conversation. I know what we do, we foot-soldiers of the Reich, but what do you do? What are your duties here in Dresden?’

  Dietrich swallowed. This was not a subject he wished to discuss around a dinner table, nor in front of Christiane.

  ‘It is our duty to serve the Führer,’ he said, equivocating.

  ‘And how exactly do you do that?’ Now Uncle Gottfried had joined the inquisition. Christiane turned to him astonished, but saw none of the kindness and levity she normally associated with her favourite uncle. His eyes were hard, and fixed on Dietrich.

  ‘It is our duty to root out the Volksschädling, those who would seek to undermine the Reich.’

  ‘Do you include the Jews among your Volksschädling, Obersturmführer?’ The use of Dietrich’s rank by her uncle sent a chill through Christiane. This was no longer a discussion among friends.

  ‘The Führer has been quite specific about the treachery of the Jews. It is our duty to arrest them, and confiscate the property they have stolen from the German people.’

  ‘I believe you have carried out your duty with distinction. Your exploits have even reached us in Berlin.’

  Dietrich realised the trap that had been set. The whole evening had been contrived for this moment. He knew what would follow. There was no way anyone in Berlin would know of his activities. He must have been investigated. He looked across the table at the young Captain and immediately knew why. Yes, he had been investigated.