by Ben Elton
The rain was falling more heavily now, splashing on the remains of the food as the inadequate covering sagged under the weight.
‘I’m in love with Paulus,’ Dagmar said quite suddenly.
Both boys looked up astonished. Their mouths dropped open in silent surprise.
‘I think I’ve known that for a year at least. Two. I don’t know. Maybe more. I didn’t want to say. I’ve never wanted to say. I shouldn’t be saying it now.’
Her voice was shaking. Perhaps she was crying, it was hard to tell with the rain.
‘Why did you kiss me,’ Otto asked, and he too looked as if he might cry, ‘that time when I brought you the buttons?’
‘I was fourteen, Otts.’
‘But since then. Lots of times.’
‘I wanted to love you, Otto. I prayed that I could fall in love with you because I knew Pauly would one day have to go. That I mustn’t love him because he would leave. That he would leave me and I’d be left alone and my damned life was going to be dreadful and hellish enough without a broken heart.’
Otto wiped angrily at his eyes.
Dagmar reached out to touch his hand but Otto pulled it away.
‘I like you, Otts. I love you too,’ she pleaded, ‘I really do. You know that. But not how I love Pauly …’
Her voice trailed away. She turned to Paulus as if willing him to say something.
‘But …’ Paulus began, ‘why have you never said?’
‘Why do you think! Because you have a chance and I don’t! And I never ever wanted to say anything to stop you. I knew you loved me and if I’d come to you a year or two years ago and told you I loved you, if I’d been your girl, would you have written all those visa letters? Would you have tried so hard? Would you ever have applied for that ticket that came this morning? Would you? If I’d been your girl?’
Paulus bit his lip.
‘No, of course you wouldn’t. I know you. You’re both the same, you Stengel twins. You and Ottsy, the loyalest, bravest, best boys alive on this earth and I don’t deserve either of you. And now I shan’t have either of you because it’s all set and that’s fine and as it ought to be. You have your place and your ticket and you’ll live, which is all I want. And Ottsy will be sent into the army, and whatever happens to me is my fate, that’s all. And that’s fine too because what will be will be. I kept my secret, Pauly, because I’d die before I’d stand in the way of your trying to get out. But now it’s done and all our paths are set, I couldn’t let you go without you knowing, Pauly. That’s all. That wherever you go in the world, whoever you find in your life, there is … or there was … once a girl in Germany who loved you with all her heart.’
Otto scrambled to his feet.
‘I’m getting out of here,’ he said, trying to sound strong. In control of his emotions. But failing miserably. ‘I’ll see you two around, I guess.’
‘Ottsy!’ Dagmar called. ‘Please, stay with us.’
‘Can’t,’ Ottsy croaked, turning away. ‘Gotta go.’
He ran back up the sand dune, clearly aware that were he to stay a moment longer he would bawl like a baby, and Otto was not the type of boy to want to be seen crying. Not by his brother, and not by the girl who had broken his heart.
After he had scurried away, a long silence ensued.
Paulus looked up and then looked down and then at the sky and the lake. Then he seemed about to say something, but could think of nothing to say.
Instead he kissed her. Just as she had kissed him. Long, passionately, putting his hand behind her head and pressing her face to his.
They kissed for a long time before either of them spoke again. Once more it was Dagmar who seemed to be clearer in her thoughts.
‘I’m sorry I told you, Pauly,’ she said. ‘I had always planned not to. But then I changed my mind. I thought maybe it would help you … sort of sustain you. You’ve got a long road ahead.’
‘Dagmar,’ Paulus replied, finally breaking his silence. ‘You loving me is the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.’
Then they heard steps. For a moment they thought it was Otto returning.
But it wasn’t Otto. Instead a different young man appeared. One who looked about sixteen.
In the uniform of the Hitler Youth.
‘Hey, lads!’ the boy shouted out, beckoning to beyond the dunes. ‘Come here.’
Paulus swallowed hard. He should have been more careful, more aware. Everybody knew that out in the countryside the Hitler Youth and the League of German Maidens were everywhere, camping, marching, singing.
Spying.
Having Otto with them had allowed him to relax. But now Otto was gone.
With a rattle of boots and leather suddenly there were ten more of them, black shorts, brown shirts, swastika armbands. The two troop leaders had daggers at their belts.
‘Heil Hitler, lads,’ said Paulus with a cheerful grin, getting to his feet and delivering the German salute. ‘Cold weather for a dip, eh?’
‘Heil Hitler,’ the lead boy replied. ‘Please may I see your identification papers.’
Paulus had guessed it was coming. One of the principal duties of the Hitler Youth was to act as an observation auxiliary to the police. They were charged with the task of spying on the whole community, including their own families. Jews everywhere had learnt to beware these brown-shirted gangs of self-important young zealots, for if they found you where you shouldn’t be, there was no possibility of getting away.
‘Sorry, pals, can’t do it,’ Paulus said. ‘Left them up with our stuff. Miles away. Didn’t want them getting wet or lost in the sand.’
He knew it was a pathetic effort, but what effort would not have been? They were trapped. Ten eager little Nazis wanted to see their papers, desperate to catch an army deserter or a malingerer from state labour, or best of all a Jew where a Jew was banned. They would no doubt get an armful of extra badges for such a coup.
‘You will take us to where you have left your papers, please,’ the troop leader said. Paulus began to protest but the boy cut him short. ‘Or you will come with us! And I warn you, if you waste our time it will be the worse for you.’
‘Hey, lads,’ Paulus said, trying hard to maintain his pretence at comradely familiarity, ‘this skirt, she’s not mine, she’s another guy’s. If we go back together he’ll—’
‘If you cannot produce identification papers, you will come with us this instant,’ the leader barked.
‘Yeah! And her, she can come with us too,’ another lad, who held a dagger, said, smirking. ‘If she’ll go with this guy, she’ll go with anyone.’
Paulus glanced at Dagmar. Her face white with fear.
The gang of youths now surrounded them. Dagmar got to her feet, taking up a wet towel to fold around herself, looking utterly vulnerable in her baggy bathing suit.
‘Look, guys,’ Paulus began, struggling to keep his voice steady.
‘Silence!’ the first lad shouted. ‘I will give you one more chance and one alone to produce your papers.’
Paulus could only stand and stare, his brain working furiously. He could feel Dagmar shaking beside him.
The other troop leader spoke up. He was clearly the one to worry about. His face was nasty and sly. The first boy was trying to be correct but the other one just wanted to have some fun. If they were to be beaten where they stood, or worse, it would be him who would instigate it.
‘Are you Jews?’ the sixteen-year-old said cruelly, still smirking.
‘Yes, I think perhaps you are.’
He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing quite close to Dagmar. He breathed in deeply.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think I smell Jews.’
He was looking hard at Dagmar.
All the boys were looking at Dagmar.
‘We must take them to the police,’ the first leader said. ‘That is our duty as per our instructions.’
‘You think I’m a Jew, you little bastard!’ Paulus blurted. ‘How a
bout you take a look at my dick, huh?’
Would the old trick work again? It was a horrible prospect but preferable to capture.
‘Don’t be disgusting!’ the first leader barked. ‘You insult the badge I wear. The only thing I wish to see of yours is your papers.’
‘Her, on the other hand,’ the second leader leered, ‘we could see more of.’
‘No!’ the first said angrily, ‘none of that, Alex! We must take them to the police.’
Paulus weighed up the difference between the two senior figures in the gang, his mind searching desperately for a way to use it to his advantage.
‘Yes,’ Paulus said, ‘let’s go to the police at once and when I’ve made a call or two you’ll see what a mistake you’re making.’
‘I said silence!’ the first of the two shouted.
‘You have no right to shout at me, kid!’ Paulus shouted back. ‘I am a grown man! Soon I’ll be a soldier. I have my call-up papers already. Now, if you really insist on ruining my day, then let’s get on with it. Come on. We’ll go to the police now. But let me tell you, son, when we next meet there won’t be ten of you, there’ll be just you and me, and I’ll make you wish you’d never met me.’
It had an effect. The first youth’s face fell a little. Perhaps he was even considering dropping the whole thing.
But the other boy was clever. Clever and sly.
‘What outfit are you joining? Come on! Come on! Which regiment are these papers you have for?’
Paulus tried not to look at a loss but he knew he’d blown it. He was one of the best educated young men in Berlin but he knew absolutely nothing about the Wehrmacht.
‘I don’t have to—’
‘What outfit!’ the boy shouted. ‘Tell me now!’
‘Rifles …’ Paul blurted. ‘The infantry.’
‘There are more than a hundred infantry divisions in the Wehrmacht! Each containing a number of regiments! What is on your papers? Come on! Come on! No soldier who has had the honour to be summoned by the Führer would forget such a thing.’
Paulus was on the ropes and he knew it.
‘I won’t be shouted at by a boy!’ he said. ‘If you insist on keeping up with this bullshit then I demand that you take us to a police station.’
It was a horrifying indication of the level of danger they were now in that being taken to the police seemed to Paulus to be their best option. He did not like the way they were staring at Dagmar. If these boys decided to convince themselves that she and he were Jews, there was no telling what they would do, all alone on a deserted beach, hidden by sand dunes.
‘So,’ the meaner of the two leaders said triumphantly, ‘are you Jews? I think you are Jews.’
‘We should take them in,’ the first lad insisted.
‘What’s the rush?’ the meaner one replied, and it was clear to Paulus that the majority of the junior boys agreed with him.
‘So, bitch,’ the more popular leader said, putting his face close to Dagmar’s, ‘are you a Jew?’
The game was up and Paulus knew it. His best shot was a long one but it was all that was left. The lead boy was much closer than the others, who were all still hanging back somewhat self-consciously. They were, after all, only boys, and Dagmar was a woman.
Paulus swung a fist into the vicious boy’s face, knocking him to the ground with a single huge blow. Then, in a movement so swift that it was really a follow-through from the blow, he jumped down and tore the dagger from the boy’s belt, pressing the blade to his throat.
‘OK!’ Paulus shouted. ‘Fuck off or he gets it. I’ll stick him, I swear! When you’re gone I’ll let him go, but not till then. Fuck off!’
The youngsters were not used to this kind of thing at all and were already stepping backwards in the face of Paulus’s shocking fury. But then the other lead boy spoke. His character, which Paulus had at first thought might be useful, now proved to be their undoing.
‘Stand ground!’ the first boy shouted. ‘Stand ground, I say! This swine has laid his hand on a Hitler Jugend dagger! Our weapon is our life! And like our life it belongs to the Führer! This man has stolen the Führer’s dagger! Our honour is in his hand!’
The boy Paulus had by the collar was whimpering as he felt the knife on his throat, but there could be no doubt that resolve amongst his comrades was stiffening.
‘Don’t worry, Hitler Youth Man,’ the first of the leaders assured his comrade, ‘if this Jew swine dares to harm you, he knows what he’ll get.’
It was a standoff that could go one of two ways, both the worse for Paulus and Dagmar.
Paulus dropped the knife.
Then another voice intruded on the scene.
‘What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, you little bunch of pricks!’
Paulus and Dagmar almost cried with relief. It was Otto.
He was standing on top of the sand dune. Two years older than either of the troop leaders. Muscular. Commanding.
Dressed in the same uniform.
‘You want to mess around with a Spandau district unit, do you, you little arseholes?’ Otto went on.
Paulus had told his brother to be sure to wear a uniform for the trip, and Otto had chosen his brown Hitler Jugend one because the school one was black and highly formal, and would have looked pretty grim after a day at the seaside.
It had been a fortunate choice. Not least because it carried on it the badges showing that Otto was of a considerably senior rank to that held by the two lead youths confronting Dagmar and his brother.
Paulus let the lad he was holding go. The boy snatched up his dagger from the ground, red-faced with fury but at a loss what to do.
The first of the troop leaders was in no such doubt. He leapt to attention.
‘This man will not show us his papers, sir—’
‘Well, of course he fucking won’t, he’s screwing the Oberrottenführer’s bird! Would you want to be identified?’
At this some of the junior boys in the troop began to snigger.
‘I just wanted to know if—’ the leader protested.
‘All you need to know, sonny,’ Otto went on, ‘is that you are a poxy little Stammführer while I am an Oberkameradschaftsführer.’ Otto patted the badge of rank stitched to the arm of his shirt, above the swastika armband. ‘And what’s more, an Oberkameradschaftsführer from the Spandau district, who, as I think you know, are the meanest toughest bastards in the whole HJ. Even our BDM girls could kick your arses. What could our BDM girls do?’
The boys knew the authentic voice of brutal authority when they heard it and replied at once.
‘They could kick our arses, Herr Oberkameradschaftsführer sir!’
‘That’s right,’ Otto snarled. ‘Now piss off all of you because there’s a queue to get under that oilcloth with this bit of skirt and none of you are in it. So say Heil Hitler and fuck off!’
Otto clicked his heels and gave the German salute.
‘Heil Hitler!’ came ten instantaneous replies.
After which the two young leaders and their little troop of boys hurried away as quickly as they could.
Once more the three of them were alone.
‘Shit.’ Paulus whistled. ‘Glad you came back, Otts.’
Dagmar sank to the ground.
‘I thought …’ she said. ‘I thought they were going to …’
‘But they didn’t, Dags,’ Paulus said quickly. ‘They didn’t, that’s what matters.’
‘I’m sorry I ran off,’ Otto said. ‘It was stupid and if I hadn’t done you wouldn’t have gone through any of that.’
‘You couldn’t have known, Otts,’ Dagmar said.
‘Of course I bloody could! There’s danger absolutely everywhere. We all know that and I should have stayed with you. And that’s what I came back to say, Dags. That I won’t leave again, all right? Whatever you feel about Paulus doesn’t make any difference. I still love you and I’ll still look out for you, just like we planned. I promise.’
�
�No, Ottsy,’ Paulus said. ‘I think the plan should change.’
The Last Meeting of the Saturday Club
Berlin, February 1939
THE FOUR MEMBERS of the Saturday Club met under the clock at the Lehrter Bahnhof.
Or rather under the great crimson slashes of red that hung beneath the clock.
The cavernous interior of the station was festooned with swastikas. More so even than usual. Hitler’s fiftieth birthday was only weeks away and the station management had shown considerable ingenuity in finding places to hang banners where none already hung.
‘Just when you think there’s nowhere left to put a flag,’ Otto murmured.
‘Flags and parades. Parades and flags,’ Dagmar said, without bothering to lower her voice. ‘Don’t they ever get bored with it?’
‘Dagmar!’ Silke hissed in exasperation. ‘How many times? You don’t have the luxury of being able to moan.’
‘Nobody’s damn well listening, Silke!’
‘They are always listening.’
‘Come on, let’s not fight,’ Paulus begged. ‘Not on our last day together. You buy the tickets, Otts. I’ll try and get us a table at the café. The train doesn’t leave for another hour, we can have some coffee. Come on, Dagmar.’
Paulus led Dagmar away towards the station restaurant while Otto and Silke joined the queue at one of the numerous ticket office windows.
When they arrived at the window, the woman behind the glass gave the German greeting. It was a ridiculous sight. There was so very little room in her tiny cubicle that the woman was forced to make her gesture with a bent arm cramped close to her chest. More like the salutes Hitler gave himself at rallies, walking past a forest of outstretched arms, his own wrist merely flicked back at the shoulder in a self-conscious demonstration of absolute authority. Too busy, too weighed down with the cares of destiny to offer anything more than a limp parody of the straining adulation that surrounded him.
Otto returned the woman’s salute. He had to.
The German greeting, as it was called, was not compulsory, and the ticket woman was being quite a zealot in greeting every single customer in such a manner. But having been saluted, it was certainly dangerous not to return it. Otto had seen people beaten up in bus queues for such an insult.