“You are. Especially compared to me. To most German girls. We only think of getting married and having children—”
“American girls are the same,” I interjected.
“Yes, but not you. You do all these things, and you are, at the same time, pretty and kind, and I can see you like children. Well, what I am trying to say, dear Sally, is I know it is dangerous, but I am not jealous of you and Reinhard. And do you know why?”
I shook my head, hoping my face wasn’t bright red.
“First, because I trust you. You notice, I don’t say I trust my husband. He is a man, and men, well . . . I had four brothers, so I know. But you are a good girl, from a good family, and I trust you. But, second—and I hope you will forgive him for telling me this—but he told me about your young friend. The boy in the SS, that you knew as a child, young Mayr.”
“Do you know him?” For the first time, I was fully focused on Lina’s pale face and she smiled at me, knowing she had my entire attention.
“I have met him. He is very good-looking, but you knew that.” Her eyes twinkled.
“He used to be. But thin, and a bit gawky.”
“I don’t imagine he is any longer,” laughed Lina. “No, I don’t.”
“Did you tell him about me? When will I see him?”
“Well, Reinhard loves secrets, so I do not know for sure. But Christmas would be perfect, wouldn’t it? You will come to our Christmas party? Perhaps play something? It is very informal, very homey. All the younger people come. I know you have obligations with the diplomatic community and their fancy affairs, but you’ll enjoy our more relaxed party. And I am sure that is when Reinhard will give you your present. All two meters of him,” she said, giggling at me like a fifteen-year-old over Clark Gable. I couldn’t help it, I joined her, excited at the prospect of actually seeing my old friend, now so tall and handsome and grown up.
I SAW THE general before the holidays started in earnest. He had asked me to play with him and the admiral and Frau Canaris at the Christmas party he and Lina were giving. We met twice to practice the Bach the admiral had picked out, once at the Canarises’ house, just around the block from the Heydrichs’, and once at Lina and Reinhard’s.
At the end of the second session, Admiral Canaris was called to the telephone and then had to leave. His wife followed almost immediately. I meant to leave as well, but before he left to show Frau Canaris out, Heydrich handed me some music.
It was a Haydn concerto for piano and violin and I realized, with a thrill of nervousness, that he wanted to play it with me. I set it on the stand and read quickly through it. It was difficult, but beautiful. I would hate to ruin it, especially playing with the general.
He came back into the room. “What do you think?” he said, leaning on the curve of the piano.
“Do you think I can play this? I haven’t played such serious, difficult music for some time.”
“That is the trouble with you, Sally. You don’t push yourself. Sure, it is fun to play jazz for your young friends, but you are wasting your ability, your time, if you don’t make yourself tackle more challenging music. Now, don’t look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like a schoolgirl being chastised by her Latin teacher.”
I laughed. “My Latin teachers were always chastising me.” I tapped two fingers against the middle C and D. “You are so much better a player than I am,” I said after a silence.
“Of course I am,” he answered, pushing away from the piano, picking up his violin. He wore civilian clothes—brown flannel pants, a pale-blue shirt under a navy sweater. He was not a slim man and the sweater showed the bulk of his hips and midriff. “I work at it. I work at everything to be the best. You understand?”
And he launched, without a word, into a Mozart violin concerto, playing it through, flawlessly, beautifully, with perfect technique right to the end. I’d never seen him play that way, pouring so much passion into the music that I feared the violin would break. He played with so much energy that he had to move, taking steps forward and back, swaying from side to side. I was astounded to hear him and to watch him, to see him lose himself in the music, surrender to Mozart. Except for the moment after the fencing, he had seemed to be a man who—even as drunk as he had appeared the other night—would never lose control of his emotions.
And, for the first time, I let myself imagine him as a lover, in spite of what the madam had said. He was not cold and bloodless as he seemed, but fiery and passionate. Yes, I had seen that in his fencing, but now I saw that he was capable of great beauty and sensitivity. His playing made my heart pound.
With a quick gesture, bowing up and down, one-two, he was finished. He seemed dizzy for a moment, standing next to the piano bench, his hair fallen down into his eyes, his face shiny with sweat.
“You see,” he said fiercely. “You see? That is what you must do. Do you see?”
I nodded. “Oh, yes,” I said, although I could not imagine myself ever being capable of getting such passionate beauty out of my instrument.
“Now, we will play the Haydn. I am not overly fond of Haydn, but I chose this piece because I thought you . . .” He stopped and turned away. He put his violin on the piano and pulled his handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and patted his face and wiped his hands. Then he folded the handkerchief, put it back. He picked his instrument up.
“Come. We’ll try it. Slowly. Like this.” And he beat out a moderate, steady beat on the edge of the music stand with his bow.
Helpless before the force of his personality, his energy, and his passion, I played. I didn’t play well, and he made me do it again and would have made me start a third time, if Lina hadn’t come in and rescued me.
“Look, the poor thing’s exhausted,” she cried, and she was right. I was, but I was also exhilarated. And excited. I smiled up at both of them.
“I should go home.”
Lina sent Heydrich to call a car for me and walked me to the door. It was almost seven in the evening and I could hear the bustle in the kitchen and from upstairs, where the nanny was giving Paul his bath. Lina might not have hats, but she did have the servants her husband’s position required. I got into my navy coat and pulled on my gloves.
“I think my hands and arms ache,” I said.
“Poor dear. Reinhard,” she said, as he came into the entry hall, his navy sweater flecked with snow, his pale skin reddened by the cold outdoors. “You can’t drive this poor girl like you do your men. Or yourself. Look, her hands ache.” She had her arm around me, playing the role of mother-comforter.
“Let me see,” he said, holding out his own hands. “Take your gloves off.” I did and laid my hands onto his palms. He felt my hands, lightly squeezing and massaging them.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. “They are tired. You should not play for a day or two and then warm up carefully. It is just like fencing. You cannot expect your muscles to function immediately at top performance if you have not been using them. You know this.”
“Reinhard, don’t be so hard.”
“I am because Sally understands. Don’t you?” he said, his serious eyes on me, my hands still in his. I looked up into those cool, distant eyes of his and remembered how he had closed them, feeling the music he was pouring out of his violin, his soul.
“Button your coat, my dear,” said Lina.
I looked into her face as she did up my top button. “You are both so kind to me. I feel quite overwhelmed.” She smiled at me, making her full cheeks into rosy apples.
“Here’s the car.” The general walked out with me, holding my arm. It was snowing and the walk was getting icy.
“You should have a coat on,” I said.
“I’m all right.” Putting his arm around my shoulders, he shepherded me down the walk, through the gate and into the car.
IN BED, LATER, my hands really were achy and I got up to find some liniment. I sat on the closed toilet seat and rubbed it into my fingers and the muscles of my forea
rms. I couldn’t understand how I could have done this. After all, I had been playing the piano for years, but somehow, under the general’s instruction, I had pushed myself farther than ever before.
Maybe, if I did well, he would let me see Christian. Maybe he would truly forget about our encounter on Thanksgiving. I smiled ruefully at my bargain. All right, I would believe it. It was a good incentive, although I knew that playing well enough to satisfy Heydrich was incentive enough.
A CHRISTMAS PRESENT
I DRESSED WITH great care for the Heydrichs’ Christmas party in a dark-red velvet dress, quite plain, with a sweetheart neckline and a full skirt cut on the bias. It had long, high-puffed sleeves. My only jewelry was my mother’s diamond stud earrings. I wore my hair loose and smiled at myself in the mirror as I sprayed on perfume. Gathering my black velvet evening coat, which I hoped would be warm enough, my small purse, and a lace scarf for my hair, I went downstairs to pick up my music from where I had left it on the piano. I had been practicing the Bach all day and felt well prepared.
I left my wrap and things in the entry hall, and when I came back down the hall from the music room, I found my father—he was going to dine with the Bushmullers—in front of the mirror, straightening his white tie. He glanced at me.
“That’s a pretty dress, Sally,” he said.
“Oh, this . . . it’s new . . . thank you,” I stammered, flustered by his compliment.
“You’re going to General Heydrich’s?”
“You knew that,” I bristled. Vittorio appeared and picked up my coat to help me on with it.
“Yes. I suppose . . .” My father watched me get into the coat.
“What is it, Daddy?”
He considered for a moment, then smiled at me. He did not do that often and it took me aback. “The house is very comfortable. You did well.”
I nodded, suddenly touched by his unexpected compliment, and almost moved toward him, but he had turned to pick up his coat. I put my scarf over my head and walked to the door, pulling on my gloves.
“And, Sally.” I stopped.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Don’t be late.” He stood in the center of the black-and-white-tiled floor, the staircase curving away behind him. He was, as usual, straight and upright, his expression a blank. But his eyes were on me, and in spite of his closed face, I could feel his concern. I wanted, I think, at that moment, for him to say something, ask me why I was going, how I was, something. But he didn’t, and I smiled at him and went off.
“YOUR DRESS IS very attractive,” said the general, handing me a glass of punch. We stood in the sitting room, which looked lovely, lit with many tall red candles, the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. The wood floor beyond the rugs shone, reflecting the flickering light. The room smelled of evergreen and the fragrant logs on the fire. Someone was playing the piano and all about us were the sounds of people having a happy time. There were about forty guests scattered through the room, most of them young.
“Thank you, General.” The punch was sweet, some fruit juice mixed with a sweet wine. I didn’t like it, but I wanted to drink something. “How do you think we played? It went well, didn’t it?”
“Yes. We did all right.”
“Have you performed before like this? You seem to be used to it.”
He was silent for a moment, tasting the punch, his hand curved around the little crystal glass. “When I was a boy. For my parents’ friends.”
“Oh. I never did. Although I’ve been playing since I was little. But my mother was so good. I’d sit next to her and turn the pages.”
He had nothing to say to this and looked down at the cup of punch in his hand and grimaced. “I hate this kind of sweet stuff. I thought we were serving champagne.” He looked above the heads of the people around us. “Ah, I think I see a server. Shall I get you some as well?”
“Please,” I said.
“Good,” he said and, taking my punch cup, moved off through the crowd, which had grown in the few minutes we had been talking. I glanced around and a man, dark-haired, with wire-rimmed glasses, in uniform, caught my eye. He smiled and came toward me.
“Fraulein,” he said, bowing slightly from the waist, reaching for my hand. “My compliments on your playing. It was exhilarating.”
“Thank you. It’s kind of you to say so.” I gave him my hand and he was tipping his head to it, when he glanced over my shoulder and froze almost imperceptibly. He was obviously too well versed in drawing room manners simply to fling my hand away, but he let go of it quickly.
“Chief,” he said, standing straighter. Heydrich stood next to me and handed me a glass of champagne. “I was complimenting Fraulein Jackson on her playing. May I compliment you as well? And thank you for giving me the privilege of being present. It is an honor.”
“You may, Sturmbannfuhrer,” Heydrich said. “And I am pleased you are so pleased.”
The Sturmbannfuhrer bowed slightly to me and left us alone. “Now, how are you doing with the Haydn? Shall we have a practice next week?” he asked, ignoring what had just happened.
“I’d like to,” I replied, doing the same, “but I’m afraid I have too many obligations.”
“Parties.”
“It is the holiday time. New Year’s and all.”
“You should refuse to waste your time on these frivolities. Well, then after, the first of the year.” His eyes went to someone behind me. “Here comes my wife.”
I turned to see Lina approaching. She was wearing an unattractive white dress shot with silver. As usual, she wore no makeup and she looked, with her light coloring, washed out. She was beaming at me, though, and I returned her smile. She put her arm around my waist.
“There’s someone to see you in the entry,” she said softly. I looked at her quizzically. “A young man,” she added. “Very handsome and very, very tall.”
“Christian?” I said to Heydrich. He smiled. “He’s here?”
“Well, he was,” said Lina, giving my waist a squeeze, then releasing me. “Now go. It took Reini forever to find him.”
“I should . . .” I said, handing the general my glass without thinking. I waved my hands at my face, my dress.
“You look lovely,” said Lina. “Doesn’t she, dear one?”
“Yes. Now go, so I can go get some more champagne,” said Heydrich. I started away from them, then stopped and quickly kissed each of them. I had to put my hands on Heydrich’s shoulders to reach his cheek. He did not move or bend his head down to help me.
I quickly made my way through the guests. The door to the entry hall was closed and I hesitated before opening it, then took a deep breath and went through, my heart beating crazily.
The entry hall was several degrees colder than the sitting room. It was lit by a lamp on a small table near the foot of the stairs, although there was light spilling down from the landing above.
He stood across the small hall, looking at a colored portrait of Paul Heydrich and Lina. He wore a suit, not evening clothes, and he carried his overcoat and hat. I would realize what this meant later and understand better why he behaved the way he did. He had been summoned, not invited, to this party, and had been left waiting, like a tradesman, in the front hall.
But, at that first moment, all I realized was that Christian was there, in person, in front of me, and how happy that realization made me. I closed the door behind me, as he turned. We looked at each other for a moment.
“Hello,” I said, not moving.
“Hello,” he answered. Another moment of silence. He looked uncomfortable, ill at ease, so I moved to him and hugged him. He responded clumsily, his coat and hat in his hands, and I stepped back to look at him, still holding on to his arms.
“It’s been forever,” I said. “I never thought it would be so long before I saw you again.”
“Six years,” he said. Then he smiled for the first time. “It is good to see you, Sally.” He took a step back from me.
“Can you stay? Do we ha
ve time to talk?”
Christian shrugged. “If you like. I have a few moments.”
“Here. Give me those.” And taking his coat and hat, I draped them over the banister.
“We can go in the dining room. It’s freezing in here.” I led the way. The tall tree stood at the other end of the room, a strange, dark shape against the bare window until I turned a light on, revealing the glass ornaments, the silver tinsel, and the small red candles in their holders, ready to be lit at the proper moment. The dining table, extended to its full length with several leaves, was laid with a red cloth, with a centerpiece of holly branches and red candles in silver holders. There were swastikas in small white circles on the candles, and here and there, small rosettes of red, black, and white. Serving plates and bowls stood ready for the feast. I could hear the kitchen staff through the swinging door on the far side of the fireplace.
“It’s been a long time,” he repeated, standing near the door.
“Yes,” I agreed. I walked down the table, looking at the decorations.
“And your family?”
“Oh, fine, fine. Do you know about Daddy?” I asked. He shook his head. “He’s the ambassador here.”
“Yes, I think I heard this.” And you didn’t call me, I thought, as he continued, “And your brother, Eddie?”
“Eddie went to Annapolis. You knew that, I think. He’s a lieutenant now.”
“Good.” There was an awkward silence.
“What about your family? Your mother. I tried to find her. How are they all?”
He was silent, looking down at the toes of his shoes. “My mother is with Ursula in Denmark. Marta is in England. Annaliese is, I think, today in Vienna.” He looked up at me. “My father is dead. He killed himself last January. Shot himself in the mouth.”
I stared at him, shocked at the news and at the image his cold, hard words had conjured.
“Why?” I whispered, across the Christmas greenery, the silver, the red candles.
Christian’s eyes, icy and distant, remained on me for a long moment, then moved away. He shrugged. “He didn’t like the new government,” he said, pulling a cigarette case out of his breast pocket, offering it to me. I shook my head. He took a cigarette for himself.
The Last Innocent Hour Page 25