by Mick Hare
He exited the school building and walked across the lawn that linked it to the convent. He entered the convent through the rear door and made his way along the dimly lit corridors. He had to avoid bumping his head on low beams until he finally came to the front of the building and entered the more welcoming lobby area. Attaching a poster to the wall beside the front entrance was the Mother Superior. When she heard the door close she turned and caught sight of him. She showed surprise on her face but she moved directly towards him.
“Oh, sweet Mother of Mercy! Robert, you had me worried to death. Your poor wife has been here. She is out of her mind with worry for you. She thinks you might have been killed. Where have you been?”
Mother was holding both of Robert’s hands in her own and he was surprisingly touched by her concern. He gave a wry smile.
“I think she’s let her imagination run away with her. We had some dreadful emergencies to deal with at the hospital. I think we just missed each other. I tried phoning her but the lines from the hospital were down. Anyway don’t worry. I’m going straight home after here and I’ll put her mind at rest.”
“Well thank the good lord you’re safe and well. Come on in and have a drink and a chat. And then I’m sending you straight home to comfort your good lady wife.”
She made them both a hot cup of chicory on the gas ring she had in her room. When it was ready she said, “We haven’t any milk but this will do just as well.” And she poured a generous measure of schnapps into each cup.
As they drank Mother was easily led by Robert into a discussion of the Pope’s visit.
“Oh, you know,” she said almost blushing,” He’s been here several times but I still get so excited at the prospect of a new visit.”
She took a sip of her drink and Robert kept her company.
“I’m glad you’ll be here, Robert,” she went on. “He’s not a well man you know. He needs constant medication. He will have his own doctor here, of course, but it will be a relief to me to know that you are here. I have great confidence in you, you know. I am not so sure of his personal physician. He is a man named Professor Ricardo Galeazzi-Lisi. I am afraid in certain circles he is known as ‘the quack’.”
“What are the Pope’s major ailments?” Robert asked, genuinely interested.
“They are all to do with the digestion. The saintly man is plagued with terrible stomach pains and related bowel problems. He hiccups almost continuously. As well as that he has terrible problems with his gums. I believe they are becoming softer and collapsing. He is in danger of losing his teeth. He is terribly embarrassed by his complaints. He is frightened that he will lose the ability to address a great multitude if his gums deteriorate any more. How he retains his saintly dignity through all this infirmity is a great tribute to his great holiness.”
“I am sure I will be able to be of assistance to his Holiness.”
Mother Superior beamed at Robert, “I am sure you will,” she concurred.
“Tell me more about him,” said Robert. “I am fascinated by him, just as you are.”
Robert’s flattery worked.
“Before I met him I have to admit that I was sceptical of his reputation. People spoke of his intense divinity. They claimed to be physically affected by his presence. Some claimed to be reduced to tears believing themselves to be in a Christ-like presence. I thought this kind of comment to be blasphemous. That was until I met him. Now I have to say I was affected in the same way. He exudes godliness. He has a child-like temperament which can charm the birds from the trees.”
“What about his family?” asked Robert.
“His parents are both dead but they were devout and always closely connected to the church. He has three siblings; an older brother and sister and a younger sister. There have been some scandalous rumours concerning his siblings. In his younger days his Holiness was devoted to a female cousin of his, young Maria-Teresa. Maria-Teresa had the misfortune of being the child of parents who separated.” At this point the Mother blessed herself and kissed the crucifix attached to her rosary beads. “There was no option for the poor, unfortunate child than to place her in a convent to hopefully rid her of the terrible example set by her wayward parents. In his saintly way his Holiness became devoted to her. He visited her regularly and took care of her spiritual needs. Maria-Teresa was cured of her deep melancholy and she was made whole again.”
Mother sipped deeply from her drink and continued her tale.
“We know what human minds are made of and how willing human tongues are to spout unworthy thoughts.”
‘Including yours it seems,’ thought Robert. But he allowed Mother Superior to continue.
“It was soon being alleged that his Holiness was developing more than a spiritual relationship with his cousin. Soon Maria-Teresa’s father forbade the visits and the relationship was ended.”
Again she strengthened herself with a stiff drink.
“As if that was not bad enough, another, even more scandalous story started being spread around. It was claimed that Maria-Teresa was not his cousin at all. Nor even a female! People claimed that his Holiness’ elder brother Francesco had had a twin. This twin was retarded and as such a source of deep shame to the family. To hide their shame they had disguised the twin as a female child and parcelled it off to the family of Maria-Teresa. A fictional Maria-Teresa in this version of the story. When the child grew too big for its gender to be hidden anymore it was sent to the convent. This was why his Holiness is supposed to have devoted so much time to the individual in the convent: because they were brothers.”
“That is a shocking tale. Where do you think the truth of it all lies?”
“I do my best to shut it all out of my mind. If the blessed man is good enough for God then I’m sure he’s good enough for me, whatever the truth of his past is.”
“A sound philosophy, Mother, if you don’t mind me commenting. But getting back to his doctor, do you have real concerns for his Holiness in this Galeazzi-Lisi’s hands?”
“Suffice it to say that I am more than happy that you will be in attendance during the Pope’s visit here. God forbid that any mishap should befall him whilst in our care. I would be very grateful to you if you would pay close attention to Galeazzi-Lisi and give him the benefit of your advice and counsel.”
“Most certainly Mother. If you will only do what you can to facilitate my presence I will do my best to assess Galeazzi-Lisi’s treatment of the Pope.”
“You put my mind at rest. I am truly a fortunate woman that God has seen fit to put you here at this time.”
“Amen to that!” said Robert.
Forty-three
It was Friday evening and Robert was in Friedrich’s apartment. He had eaten some bread and mixed some powdered soup. He washed it down with tea substitute and sat waiting for Friedrich to return.
When 8:30 came and went he guessed that Friedrich had gone straight to their watering hole. Robert got up and slipped his overcoat and hat on. But as he opened the door of the apartment to leave, the air raid siren sounded. He decided it made no sense to go out looking for Friedrich now. The bar would be evacuated and Friedrich would be down in the nearest shelter. Robert could not face the thought of a night in a shelter so he stepped back into the apartment, took off his coat and hat, undressed and climbed into his makeshift bed. The bombs had missed Friedrich’s building so far. They could miss it again tonight. Within minutes Robert was fast asleep.
It was late the next morning when he was awakened by a loud knocking on the apartment door. Robert pushed back his blankets and went to the window. Down below the street showed no evidence of Gestapo or police activity. He went to the door and opened it enough to peer out onto the landing. An elderly, grey-haired man stood there nervously fingering his hat brim.
“Yes,” inquired Robert abruptly.
“Oh! Pardon me. I was looking for Friedrich.”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh dear,” the man said. “Then the rumours might
be true.”
Robert’s curiosity was roused now and he held the door open and said, “Look, you’d better come in.”
The man shuffled nervously through the door and looked around him. Robert beckoned him over to a seat at the dining table and they sat down facing each other.
“What rumours?” asked Robert.
The man sat with his hat in his hands and looked at Robert.
“I don’t know you,” he said.
Robert looked at the distrust in the man’s eyes. He was well used to it. To trust another man was the act of a fool in this modern Germany.
“I am a friend of Friedrich. He helped me out of a scrape once. Now he is helping me out of a bigger one. My residence was bombed out three nights ago. Friedrich is allowing me to share his apartment. He didn’t come back last night. I assumed he was caught by the raid and went straight to a nearby shelter.”
The man listened and watched Robert as he spoke. He was weighing Robert’s words and manner. He reached a decision and said, “My name is Karl Belkin. I work with Friedrich. He is a good friend to me. I like Friedrich.”
“Me too,” concurred Robert. “He is a special man.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Karl.
“You mentioned rumours,” interjected Robert. “What are these rumours?”
Karl leaned forward, lowered his voice and began, “I arrived late for work yesterday. My route was blocked by debris from the clearance work going on. If I had known it would not have been a problem. I could have easily taken another route. However, once I got into MagdaStrausa the police had cordoned the exit and I could not duck onto another route.”
Karl noticed the impatience rising in Robert’s eyes.
“At any rate,” he hurried on, “When I finally got to work I noticed that Friedrich was not at his desk. When I asked around the office where he was I knew there was a problem by the reluctance I encountered. No one wanted to answer the question. Eventually, in the men’s room, I cornered Mark, a good colleague of ours. He told me that the police had turned up at the beginning of the day and taken Friedrich away. He has been denounced as a Jew by a neighbour of his.”
Robert struggled to take all this in.
“Where can this notion have come from?” he finally asked.
“It happens a lot,” Karl replied, his voice a mixture of disappointment and resignation. “You annoy someone and they throw this allegation out. The police and the Gestapo take great pleasure in investigating any such claim.”
“So, they will investigate and they will throw the allegation out. And then they will have to set Friedrich free.”
Karl looked down at his fingers as they fiddled with the brim of his hat.
“Maybe,” he muttered, “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?” asked Robert.
“Well,” began Karl. But then he stalled as if unable to speak. Robert leaned forward forcing Karl to look him in the face.
“Karl, whatever it is, you must tell me.”
Karl swallowed and stumbled on.
“It depends how you look at it. Karl is not a Jew. He’s not even a meischling. But he is half a meischling.”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Robert, “Half a meischling? What is half a meischling?”
“It means that one of his grandparents was a Jew, making his mother a meischling.”
“Oh God damn! God damn! God Damn!” yelled Robert. “How stupid are the laws of the God damned country!”
Karl pushed his chair back and got up in fear.
“Be careful my friend. These walls could be listening to you.”
Robert relented his anger and reached out to Karl to placate him.
“Please, sit down,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please. I’m calm now. Sit down.”
Karl reluctantly settled himself back into his chair.
“Well I don’t know what else to tell you. I suggest you take care my friend. I’m surprised the Gestapo haven’t been here already to check out his apartment. It usually gives them a good excuse to steal whatever takes their eye. If they find you here they may take you in as well.”
‘You don’t know how close you are to the truth,’ thought Robert.
“What will happen to Friedrich now?” he asked.
“It’s hard to say. It could depend on the mood of his interrogator. Many meischlings are still at liberty. Unfortunately, as the progress of the war worsens things are getting tougher. At the end of the day he could be released or he could be shipped to a relocation centre.”
“Did this Mark say where he had been taken?”
“Gestapo headquarters on…”
“Yes, I know where it is,” interrupted Robert.
Robert stood indicating to Karl that it was time for this conversation to end and time for Karl to go. He got to his feet, placed his hat on his head and headed for the door that Robert held open for him.
In the emptiness of the apartment Robert tried to think clearly. Sounds from other homes came to him. Karl was right. The walls were thin. Try as he might he could not string together two clear thoughts. His calm was shattered and he was riding a tide of mounting anger. The conflict within him was causing a physical pain in his gut. He was desperate to take some action but at the same time he knew any action he took would compromise his ability to carry out his mission. The acute dilemma he felt caused him to pace frantically about the apartment. He felt he would explode without this frantic but pointless physical activity. For some reason Frau Hahn came back into his thoughts. That elderly Nazi patient he had been about to murder when Max had stepped in and saved him from himself. At the time he had castigated himself for succumbing to his emotions and planning to wipe out an insignificant nobody. Here, with Friedrich, he heard his objective voice saying to him, is another nobody. In the bigger picture of the war his fate was neither here or there. But this was the crux of his thinking that created the pain in his gut. If Friedrich did not matter then who or what did? A man who had stepped out of the dark and saved his life! How could he ignore this man’s fate?
Robert felt that old Sean creeping up on him. That same Sean who had made the decision to murder Frau Hahn. That Sean, who against all his beliefs and instincts had known that to kill Frau Hahn was the only course of action he would take. He felt himself becoming deaf to the arguments that told him to forget Friedrich and he felt himself wanting to become deaf to those arguments. He made his decision. He would go into Gestapo headquarters and come out with Friedrich, or they would both die in the attempt. If he was killed the Pope would live and all of his work here would have been wasted. But he reasoned that their conspiracy was so far adrift of their planned course that it was probably bound to fail anyway. Lily had probably informed her handlers of everything she knew and it was only a matter of time before they caught up with him and disposed of him as only the Nazi machine knew how.
Having decided to act he had to act quickly. He had no time to devise an elaborate plan. No time for a disguise or a fake identity. The doctor persona would have to do.
Dr Robert Hermann stopped at the entrance to Gestapo headquarters and presented his papers to the two guards on duty. When asked what his business was he replied that he had been summoned to deal with a prisoner who had suffered an accident.
He was waved inside and went to the desk opposite the door. The wall behind the desk was a riot of Nazi insignia: the German eagle; the Gestapo badge; the shocking red, white and black of the Nazi flag; a giant portrait of The Fuhrer. Robert tried not to look intimidated. He repeated his mission to the officer at the desk who dealt with him. As the man studied Robert’s papers, Robert studied his face. It did not resemble the poster faces of the master race that Robert had become used to in the streets. It was a tired, pale plasticine face. It portrayed the effects of too many days of idleness and too many pastries. When the man put his fingers to his cheek in thought, the tips of them disappeared below the surface fat. He summoned a guard and instructed him to lead the doctor to the prisoner
in need of treatment.