The Last Innocent Hour

by Margot Abbott

  I flushed and managed a smile, turning back to the mirror. I started brushing my hair. I knew so little. I felt so ignorant, so out of control. This thing had happened to me and a baby, another being, might be inside me right now as a result. It was hard to understand, hard to accept. I should have let David make love to me. At least, then I would have an idea of what it could be. I continued brushing my hair, until the static made it leap out from my brush. I couldn’t look myself in the eyes.

  WHEN I RETURNED to Berlin in early September, I went to Sydney’s doctor. I told him the truth, without telling him the details. He was kind, if disapproving. I said I wanted to be sure before I told the father. He sighed and, patting my shoulder, told me to get dressed.

  I was indeed pregnant and once I knew that, I knew I would tell Christian. I wasn’t sure I wanted to marry him, but I was sure I wanted him to know what had happened. Then I would decide what to do.

  “SALLY?” DAVID’S VOICE was rushed and excited. “The boom has been lowered. . .”

  It was late afternoon, the day after my doctor’s appointment, and I had just returned from a visit to a girls’ school with Mrs. Bushmuller. I was exhausted and nervy and had nearly caused a scene when I had spoken harshly to a girl who, dressed neatly in her German Maiden’s League uniform, had presented us with flowers.

  “What is it?” I tried to interrupt David, but he shushed me. “Quiet, kid, I don’t have much time. I’m at the office. There are two goons here in leather raincoats who are going to escort me to the train station.”

  “Oh, David,” I said, sinking onto the hard cushion of the booth’s chair. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Pack my stuff. I’m taking the four-forty to Paris—oh, God, I gotta admit I’m not sorry about getting out of here. Can you go to my place and bring my stuff to the station? The concierge will let you in. I’ll call her. Just pack what’ll fit in my suitcase and the carry-all. I’ve got some books, maybe you could send them later. There’s not much, as you saw. If it doesn’t fit, throw it away or keep it. Can you do that?”

  I assured him that I could and hung up. Then I took the time to call Sydney at the British embassy. Sydney wasn’t there, or not available, and I left a message. I tried her home and there was no answer. I was still wearing my hat and gloves, so I just ran out and got in the car and gave Rick the address.

  David was right. There weren’t many personal things to pack. I had his clothes packed in no time, trying to slip books and a photograph of an old couple, his parents, I guessed, in among the clothing. Quickly, I checked through all the drawers and under the bed, ignoring the memory the sight of it caused. Everything was very tidy, which I hadn’t noticed on my last visit. He had a bottle of brandy under the sink and I tucked that into the carry-all.

  A desk under the window in the second room was covered with papers and books. I went through the drawers, finding blank paper and some pens. I gathered it all up. Under some paper, I found a small notebook. Pulling it out, I opened it, but quickly closed it again. I had seen my name. I hesitated for a long moment before stuffing the notebook into the bag. It didn’t feel right handling his personal things; I didn’t have to pry any further. A glance at my watch settled the question. It was four o’clock and I had to get to the station.

  Rick hauled the cases downstairs, and I handed over the key to the concierge, telling her to take whatever was left in the apartment. At the station, I let Rick take care of the bags, and ran on ahead. The traffic had been heavy, and my watch, which sometimes ran fast, said four forty-five. I bought two platform tickets, gave one to Rick, and hurried out, relieved to see the train was still there. Several cars ahead, I saw two men, wearing leather raincoats as David had described, standing below a window. I ignored them, searching the train windows for David.

  “Hello, kiddo,” said the familiar voice. I looked up to see David sticking his head out of the open window.

  “I’ve got your bags,” I said, gesturing toward Rick, who was hurrying up behind me.

  “You’re aces.”

  I explained to the raincoats that they were David’s bags and finally they agreed to let the cases on the train.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, looking up at him. He was smoking a cigarette.

  “Paree, France.”

  “What happened?”

  “They didn’t like what I wrote. Didn’t you read it?”

  “David, I’ve been away.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, see what happens when you leave.”

  “What’s going to happen now, with you gone?” I felt my eyes filling with tears. I reached my hand up to him. He took it, lacing his fingers through mine. He smiled at me, and I knew he was thinking of our hands that day. “David, I wanted. . . there are things I wanted to talk about.”

  “I know, kid.”

  “Please, don’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.”

  “You, kiddo? Not possible. Not possible. Honest. We’re pals, right?”

  “Forever.”

  Conductors started shouting and slamming doors shut. The raincoats backed away from the car, their work almost done. I let go of David and took a step back from the train. As the train started to move, I walked along with it, holding my little straw hat on in the gusts.

  “Write me, please?” I cried.

  “Will do, kiddo,” he said, tossing his cigarette away. “Remember about the dark woods!” He raised his hand.

  The train picked up speed and I stopped walking with it, watching as it, and my friend, disappeared to the west. I stood staring after that damn train for a long time. It had all happened so fast, and I wondered if I would ever see him again. When I turned to leave the platform, the two raincoats were standing off to one side, watching me. Rick was farther away, and I ignored the goons and went up to meet him.

  All the way home, I thought about David and how much fun he had been and how much he had cared. I remember how he had fought with me and rescued me from the SA guys and how he had been so fierce about things and people he cared about. I thought of his kisses. And how I had lied and lied and lied to him.

  I looked out of the car window at the busy streets. People were hurrying home in the dusk to dinners and families. I felt so alone, even though I was, in my turn, hurrying home to dinner. At least, I thought, he won’t be here to see whatever happens to me and this baby.

  At home, there was a message from Sydney. I called her back and we had a good long talk, both of us crying a little. I remember what she said, just before she hung up.

  “Maybe it’s time for us all to leave, love,” she said. “Now that the summer is over.”

  CHRISTIAN’S OFFICE

  ON MY RETURN from Italy, I had found a two-week-old letter from the proprietor of the lace shop, asking that I come to see her as soon as I could.

  Worried that too much time might have passed, I did as she asked the day after David left. The shop was no longer picketed by SA men, but it looked even more abandoned and forlorn than before.

  Madam was there, and Marlene’s little daughter, living in the rooms in back. I started to ask about food, money, but she waved me to silence. Her daughter-in-law had been arrested.

  “Two weeks ago?” I said, horrified to think of Marlene in the hands of the Gestapo all that time.

  “No, thank God. That message I sent you then was to ask for a loan. You see, Marlene’s husband, my son, Joseph, sent us money to come to him, but it wasn’t enough. I managed to raise some more. We had enough to pay—to buy—our visas, when, just yesterday morning, they came for her.”

  “Why? What had she done?”

  “Done, Fraulein Jackson?” said the old lady. “It wasn’t for anything she had done, it was for what she is.”

  “I’m sorry. Yes. What can I do? Can I do anything?”

  “Get her out.”

  “But I can’t. My father cannot interfere. The President has been quite clear . . .” I stopp
ed. “I know someone who can. Yes. I can do that.” And I turned and started to leave, then came quickly back to give her the money I had brought with me. “For food. Anything. I can get more, so don’t worry,” I said and left.

  I had the choice of going to Heydrich or Christian for help, but I knew I could never ask the general for anything.

  “CHRISTIAN? IT’S ME.”

  “Sally? Is that you? Where are you?”

  “I’m home. Here, in Berlin.” I sat in the small phone box, twisting the cord around my fingers, my heart pounding.

  “You were in Italy.” His voice, coming through the line, was formal, distant.

  “Yes. Christian, I need to see you. Could I come see you?”

  “When?”

  “Now. This afternoon. It is an emergency.” A double emergency, with time running out on both, but I couldn’t think of my personal problem right then. I put it out of my mind.

  “All right.” And he told me where to go, how to find him in the SD headquarters on the Friedrichstrasse.

  He had moved into his own office, with two men in an anteroom and a girl banging on a typewriter.

  “Obersturmfuhrer Mayr,” I said tentatively. The room was large, with the three occupied desks plus an empty one in the corner.

  “Do you mean Hauptsturmfuhrer Mayr?” said one of the men snootily, looking up from an open file.

  “Yes. I meant that.” A promotion to captain. For his work on that bloody weekend? I nearly backed away, but thought of Marlene and straightened up. I also remembered I was not an unimportant person.

  “I am Ambassador Jackson’s daughter and I have an appointment with Hauptsturmfuhrer Mayr. Would you please tell him I am here.” I could be snooty myself.

  The man picked a telephone and spoke into it and immediately the door to the inner office opened and Christian came out. He was in his shirt-sleeves, his tie loosened. He came to me, his hand out. We shook hands politely, almost as strangers, greeting each other with meaningless pleasantries. Then he led me into his office.

  It was a mess, with cartons piled around, bare empty shelves, and the smell of new paint. There was, as well, a large window with new blinds, a handsome desk, and a good carpet on the floor.

  “It’s all new,” he said, removing a pile of files and paper from a chair, indicating that I should sit. “I just moved in yesterday.”

  “Your promotion?” I said.

  “Yes.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “You look well. Your travels have agreed with you.”

  “Yes.” I crossed my legs, covering my knees with my skirt as I did so. I felt him watching me.

  “How is your father?”

  “Well. Tired.”

  “Ah.” He laced his fingers together nervously. “Did you know my mother is back?”

  “No.”

  “No,” he said at the same time. “Of course you didn’t.” His booted leg was in my line of vision, swinging back and forth. I remembered his boots covered with dirt on that summer’s day and stood up.

  “Christian.” He smiled at me, a stranger’s smile, guarded, wary. He stopped swinging his leg as he watched me. “It’s strange seeing you here,” I said.

  “Please.” He indicated that I should sit again. “It is nice to see you. I wish I had something to offer you, a drink.” I sat down and he moved around to sit behind his desk. “Now, tell me what you came for.”

  I told him about Marlene, pushing aside my nerves and my shyness at seeing him. He listened, his elbows on the desk. When I had finished, he reached for a pad of paper.

  “Tell me their names. All of them.” He wrote down the information as I gave it to him. “And the woman was arrested. . .?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  He reached for the telephone. When he hung up, he smiled at me, or almost did. “There. She’s found. They’ll bring her here. No. Sit down, Sally. We’ll wait here. It’s better.”

  “Is she all right? Will they let her go?”

  “Yes to both questions.”

  “Just like that. They’ll let her go, just like that?”

  “Just like that.” His eyes were steady, looking at me, frankly as though to say: This is what I can do. This is the power my uniform, my promotion, my position have given me.

  “Do you still work for the general?” I asked.

  “Of course. Everyone in this building does.”

  I fell silent and we just sat, almost without conversation, for the quarter hour until the phone rang. The prisoner was downstairs, waiting to be released into his custody. Christian took his tunic off the back of his chair and buttoned himself into it as he led me from the room. He grabbed his hat as we passed a shelf and we went down to the ground floor.

  An SS man opened a door. Marlene sat on a chair in the middle of the small room. Her head was bowed, but jerked up when we entered. She stared at us without seeing. She had on a dress with short sleeves and I could see bruises on her upper arm where someone had grabbed her roughly, but other than that she looked all right.

  I went to her and knelt next to her. “Do you recognize me, Marlene?”

  Her eyes met mine. Her beautiful green eyes were empty. Dead. I recoiled slightly from her, from her frightening eyes. What had they done to her? Then she recognized me. I could see the knowledge fight her fear.

  “The American, Sally.”

  “Yes. Sally. Your mother-in-law sent me. I’ve come to take you to her. And your daughter.”

  “Annie.”

  “Yes, to Annie. They’re waiting for you. Will you come?” and I stood up, my arm around her waist, pulling her up with me. Her body stiffened. I looked to see what had happened: she had seen Christian standing at the open door. He smiled at us, his face kind and guileless above the uniform. “No, no, it’s all right. He’s a friend,” I murmured to her. “He’s helping. He had you released. He’s a friend.”

  She looked sideways at me, disbelief in her face. “You will stay with me?” she said.

  “Of course I will. Right to the train.”

  We drove to the shop, where we collected the old lady and the little girl and took them all to the station. I had telephoned Marlene’s mother-in-law to warn her that she must be ready to leave as soon as we arrived. She had a case packed for Marlene, and I gave the young woman my purse, with money for practicalities and comb, brush, and lipstick for her morale. Her daughter, though, was the best tonic, and I was relieved to see Marlene’s face soften as she embraced her little girl.

  After all the rush we were early, and Christian shepherded us into the station cafe, buying coffee and cakes for us. The little girl fell asleep and, in the end, he carried her to the train, where Marlene turned to take her from him. I think she hated seeing her daughter in his arms, but she managed to smile and thank him.

  He went away, saying he would wait for me, and I got onto the train with the women to settle them into their compartment. Finally, there was nothing more for me to do and I left too. I waited until the train pulled away, watching it disappear.

  Christian waited for me at the entrance to the platforms, smoking. He was relaxed and his eyes were on me all the way.

  “Thank you for doing that,” I said.

  He flicked the cigarette away and turned to leave the station. I followed alongside him. “What’s the matter?” he asked, putting his arm lightly over my shoulders. “Did you think I was such a monster that I’d refuse to help?”

  “I didn’t know what you could, or would do.”

  “You know me better than that, don’t you?”

  I looked at him and his head turned, catching my glance. “Yes, I do, I guess,” I said, wondering if I was right.

  “Thank you for the confidence,” he said, his arm dropping from my shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, but things have changed. You know they have changed. You can’t deny it. Things have changed between us. We . . .”

  “Yes?” he said, interrupting, wanting me to continue.

  I couldn’t. “You
know,” I said. “You must know.” We had stopped, still in the busy station, the people flowing around us, avoiding us. I walked away. I still couldn’t believe he didn’t remember what had happened between us.

  “Sally, I’m sorry. Wait.” He reached for my arm and I swerved away. He didn’t try again. Didn’t speak again. Just walked with me to the car. He opened the door for me and closed it after I got in. He leaned down to the open window. “He’ll drive you home.”

  “Don’t you need. . . ?”

  “I’ve got a meeting. I’m fine.” He stood up, his hand still on the door. I leaned forward to speak, so he would hear me.

  “Thank you, Christian. Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything. Just lightly tapped the door and waved to the driver, who moved the car away.

  I didn’t turn to look at him, but I thought about him all the way home. It took a long time, through the rush-hour traffic.

  Christian had helped. And he had done it for me. Because I had asked him. That much was clear. Our friendship, tenuous as it was, was still intact. If I told him about the baby, though, what would happen then? Could he rescue me as easily?

  And his promotion. If we got married, how would I like being the wife of a captain in Heydrich’s SD?

  I watched the lights blur as we passed them, traveling faster now as we entered my neighborhood. But what should I do then? I didn’t have much time before I had to make a decision, before I had to tell my father.

  I needed help. And that was what convinced me to tell Christian. If I had been pregnant with someone else’s baby, in the same desperate situation, I would have turned to him. Because, and this thought shamed me, he wouldn’t judge me. He would accept me. He had always accepted me, my stubbornness, my temper, my thoughtlessness. How could I treat him this way? How could I make judgments about him? I didn’t know what he had gone through, although he had tried to tell me. And I did not know what I might have done in the same situation.

  I needed help. I needed to see him.