The Last Innocent Hour

by Margot Abbott

  Christian got us coffee and we sat at the table the farthest away from the two men and the window. I kept glancing at the window, fearing to see the general’s tall, thin silhouette appear.

  “Now tell me what he said,” Christian said, and I did, omitting, without thinking, the part about there being “something” I could do. I’d think about that later.

  “Oh, damn,” he swore again, when I had finished.

  “Are we in trouble?” I asked.

  He smiled a funny, lopsided smile and took my hand, kissing my fingers, then softly rubbing them against his lips. “I’ll bet no one, at least not in several years, has spoken like that to him. That was wonderful of you. I’ve often wished I could do the same. But,” he said, putting down my hand, “I still wish you hadn’t done it.”

  “He’s a bully. You have to fight back,” I said. “I should have done so earlier. I let him just because I was afraid of making a scene.”

  “Sally, those things I said to you that night, about this not being my baby, and all. He was the one who told me, who suggested that you and he had—”

  “I know, I can see that he would,” I interrupted him.

  “And the other, about him putting us together, I guess that’s partly true. I’ll be honest with you, Sally. I didn’t want to tell you. But he told me to see what I could do, what kind of progress I could make with you. I figured it was because he felt he had no chance with you himself. He told me that very first time, when I thought you were his mistress. God, I hate talking about this.”

  I sat back in my chair, feeling the hard metal of it even through my thick fur cape. “Even back then?”

  “From the beginning,” he said, then cocked his head at me. “Now, Sally, don’t tell me you still believe I am merely following orders?” He leaned toward me. “My love, you know that’s not true. You know it. And you did not arrange to get pregnant.”

  “How do you know?” I raised my chin, trying to make a joke.

  “Because of the way it happened. Neither of us expected it, did we?” He smiled at me.

  “Did you marry me because you felt you had to, or did the general tell you to? Did he give you permission?”

  “Neither. None of those reasons, I swear to you. Listen, Sally, I love you. God, what do I have to do to prove it? I plan to leave this place and go with you and take care of you and our child and have other kids. I swear I do. You must believe me. He’s a liar. You know he is. He likes to play with people. You know that. Don’t listen to him—listen to me. To what we did this evening together.”

  I looked from my hands, twisted together in my lap, to his clear, warm blue eyes. I studied his face, his beautiful cheekbones and the arches of his thick, pale eyebrows that perfectly framed his deep-set eyes. “I know,” I said, trying to believe I did. I had to believe him. If he were lying, my whole life would be unthinkable.

  “It just hurts to think of him . . . meddling so. He makes everything sound so vulgar and wretched. I hate him having anything to do with us. Oh, Christian, I can’t wait until we’re out of this city, away and on our own. It’ll be so wonderful not to have to worry, be afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid, my love,” he said, folding my hands in his between our coffee cups. “Besides, he did get us together.”

  “So we should be thanking him?”

  “Exactly. And he’s probably behaving so badly because we didn’t invite him to the wedding. He probably expected to stand up with me.”

  “He got himself invited to your mother’s party, though. Did you ask him?”

  “No,” said Christian, watching his thumb stroke the back of my hand. “I figured he invited himself. He wanted to see you, you know.”

  “I know.” I was looking down too, and decided now was the time to tell him of Heydrich’s suggestion. But he went on, not giving me a chance.

  “About my exit visa, if he knows our plans, then we should think of something else. I’d feel a lot better if we changed them. So, I think . . .”

  “Christian, the people I mentioned, the woman, the little girl? Do you know if they made it?”

  “Who? Oh, those other . . . Sally, never mind them. Did you hear what I said?” I nodded and he got up and pulled his chair around, sitting next to me, his arm around my shoulders.

  “I know we’ll be all right,” he said. “We’ll be all right.” We sat like that, oblivious to the others in the cafe, gaining strength from each other the way animals do when they bunch together in the cold. He picked up my hand and kissed it.

  “I wish it were summer,” I said.

  “Sally, I think you ought to make plans independent of me. I’ll talk to your father. But make reservations for you—and Eddie too. That’ll be good, with him there. And don’t tell anyone. Don’t even talk about it in front of the servants.”

  “You don’t need to talk about this. I’m not leaving without you. I won’t.”

  “My dearest love, you must help me. I—I don’t know what I can do to protect you, me, except to urge you to do this.”

  “And what about you? I won’t leave without you.”

  “You won’t have to. Everything will go as planned. This is just in case.”

  “I won’t go without you, Christian, I won’t. I need you. I’m so frightened of everything without you—myself, other people, doing the wrong thing.”

  “I’m the one who’s the coward,” he said. “If I were really a man, I’d go in and tell Heydrich to fuck off, and damn the consequences.”

  “Don’t be silly, that would be ruinous. That’s not bravery, that’s stupidity. Christian.” I turned and grabbed the front of his coat. “Leaving Germany with me is the bravest thing you’ve ever done, that you could do. Don’t you see that?”

  “Maybe. Maybe. You don’t know all of it, Sally.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The door to the cafe crashed open, startling all of us, bringing in icy air and three men, two in dark coats and slouch hats and one in an SS uniform and helmet. He had a large gun in his hands. They headed straight for us.

  “Hauptsturmfuhrer Mayr?” one of the men in coats asked. “Yes,” Christian said calmly.

  “Come with us, please.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, the man grabbed the back of Christian’s collar and hauled him to his feet. Christian tried shaking the hand off and the man hit him, hard, across his face, bloodying his nose. I jumped up with a cry. The SS man swung his gun on me, cocking it, and I froze.

  “All right, gentlemen, all right,” said Christian, raising his hands. “Let me say good-bye to my wife.”

  Not giving them a chance to protest, he leaned over me, brushing the side of my face against his, his lips near my ear.

  “Get to your father,” he murmured in English. “I love you.”

  “Come along, Hauptsturmfuhrer.” The same man grabbed Christian’s shoulder and pulled him violently away from me.

  “No,” I yelled, holding on to him. “Please, where are you taking him?”

  One man raised his hand and Christian pushed me away, out of range.

  “Stay there, Sally.” He spoke in German, so they would understand that he was warning me. “They’ll hurt you. Please, Sally. Please.”

  I stopped and looked at all three men and their impassive faces. One of them grinned at me and I backed away a step from them, my arms folded protectively across my stomach.

  “Good girl,” Christian said. He started to say more, but they shoved him toward the door. As one of the coats went to open the door, Christian turned to look at me. He smiled just as the SS man hit the back of his shoulder with the butt of the gun. Christian was turned completely around by the blow. The gun came down on him again, against the side of his head. A sound escaped from him and he was bleeding. I screamed and reached out for him, but the gun turned toward me, freezing me in my place. Christian disappeared out the door, the goons surrounding him.

  I ran out the door in time to see the car pull
away from the curb. I stood staring after it.

  Questions. Hundreds of questions. Only one question. Oh, God, Christian. Oh, God. Would I ever see him again? Would he be alive? And I found myself talking to Heydrich, almost as though I were praying to him. Don’t hurt him. Please. Don’t hurt him.

  “Come in, lady. Come in.” The two men from the cafe had come after me, to lead me back inside. They sat me down, gave me more of their dreadful coffee, and finally had me telephone home.

  I FELT SO helpless, waiting for Rick, who might or might not be in Heydrich’s employ, to come, and, when I got home, waiting for my father to call people. I paced his study, refusing Vittorio’s offer of coffee.

  At some point, I went upstairs and changed and, at the memory of dressing, at the sight of our room, I nearly broke down completely. I went into the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left but bile. I cried, hanging wretchedly over the bowl.

  No, I told myself. Get up. Not now. Later I could fall apart. So I got up, washed my face, and put on pajamas and a robe, more because it was four in the morning than because I expected to sleep. Daddy was talking to someone on the phone in German when I came back downstairs.

  He hung up as I entered. “No one knows where he is. We can’t get through to anyone because of the hour.” He walked over to me and took my shoulders. “Sally, go to bed. There’s nothing more we can do. There’s so little I can do, really. But we’ll find him. We will.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” I said wearily, “I don’t doubt that. But will we get him out of wherever they put him?”

  “Hang on, Sally. This will be hard, but hang on. Don’t give up.”

  “Daddy, I need him. I’ll die without him. I’ll die inside. I don’t have any other choice but to hang on.” And I turned and went upstairs.

  Lying on the bed, I felt the room was too large, too full of his presence, and I got up and went into my old room and, without turning on any lights, crawled under the covers. I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t shut down, continuing the incessant, silent plea to Heydrich. Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him.

  IT WASN’T UNTIL I woke up that I put it all together and knew what I had to do. It was really very simple. It had been the shock of Christian’s arrest that had kept me from thinking clearly.

  It was simple.

  WAITING

  I DIDN’T TELL anyone where I was going, and I slipped out of the house even before Daddy came down for breakfast.

  I waited all day to see Heydrich, sitting on a bench in the hall outside his office on Friedrichstrasse. His assistants were polite, even offering me coffee, but they wouldn’t let me near him. He was playing with me, of course. I knew that. He wouldn’t make any step of this process easy for me. I didn’t care. Just so he didn’t hurt Christian. Finally, at five thirty, one of the men came out to tell me the general had left already and was sorry he hadn’t found the time for me.

  At home, my father was frantic with worry because I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. Mrs. Bushmuller was there, and so was Daddy’s secretary, Mr. Bancroft, and they all fussed and worried at me. Sydney had come too. She broke past them, and putting her arm around my waist, sorted everything out. Before I knew what had happened, Daddy, Sydney, and I were having a drink alone in the study, and I told them about my wasted, frustrating day. My father was trying to talk me out of repeating the experience the next day, when Vittorio brought word that Frau Mayr was here. I hurried into the hall.

  “What has happened to Christian?” Lisa asked, without a word of greeting. “I telephoned his office today. They were very strange. They would not tell me where he was.”

  “He was arrested last night, Lisa.”

  “And you did not tell me?” She was calm, her face pale, clutching her black leather handbag in both hands as though it were an anchor.

  “We thought we would have him back by now,” said my father, who had come up behind me.

  “And you have not?”

  “No.”

  “Why was he arrested? What has he done?”

  “He’s done nothing, Lisa,” said Daddy.

  “Nonsense. People aren’t arrested unless they’ve done something.” She turned to me. “Is it this plan of yours to leave Germany? Is that it?” I didn’t answer, but she found her answer in my expression. Her shoulder slumped, the energy that had brought her here to this house spent. “He is my last son. And you . . . I love you like one of my own daughters. Your marriage made me so happy. But he told me about leaving just days ago—that things were difficult for him. Is that why he was arrested?”

  “I don’t know, Lisa. But we’ll get him back,” I whispered, touching her arm.

  She nodded. “Of course, of course.”

  “I promise, Lisa. I can’t let them have him either.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t believe me, I could see that.

  I TOLD DADDY where I was going the next day. Naturally, he was not happy about it, but I insisted, not even listening to his protests.

  “As long as they let me in the building, I’ll go sit there,” I said, and went up to dress. “And I’ll go alone.”

  He had suggested that one of his embassy people go with me, but I knew it would be even more humiliating to have some smooth faced Harvard man there to watch me beg.

  After another sleepless night, I looked terrible, although makeup helped cover up the circles under my eyes. I felt hollow inside, in spite of the baby, and very close to a loss of control I knew would be disastrous to Christian’s rescue. So I put on my blue suit and white blouse with the pleated, asymmetrical collar, pinned a hat on and went back to the SD headquarters.

  That day I only had to wait until lunchtime, when the double doors to Heydrich’s office opened and he came out, followed by his retinue. Snapping orders left and right, causing a great deal of efficient, quiet scurrying, he headed down the shiny, cold marble floor.

  I stood slowly, feeling no nervousness, no fear, just an overwhelming exhaustion. Heydrich looked at me—as though I were a surprise—and veered off his course, coming smoothly up to me and taking my hand.

  “Sally, I am so sorry. I understand you have been here some time, waiting for me.” He kissed my hand.

  “Two days,” I said quietly, glancing at his flock of black uniforms, waiting discreetly out of earshot.

  “I am sorry. What is it about?” He covered my hand with his.

  “You know what it’s about,” I said. My hand lay limp in his.

  “Do I?”

  I raised my head to look into those cold eyes of his. He looked amused and interested.

  “I’m sorry, but I am too tired play your games.”

  “Games, my dear, Sally? I don’t have time to play games, as charming as such an amusement would be with your company. The Fuhrer has returned unexpectedly from Berchtesgaden and I find my hands full with his security.”

  “Please, Reinhard,” I said in a low voice, not wanting his flock of crows to hear. “You said the other night that I could do something about the situation. I didn’t understand what you meant. All right, now I do. You’ve made it very clear. What do you want? What can I do?”

  His eyes flicked over me, then away as he seemed to consider my proposition as though it were a new idea. As though he didn’t hold all the power in this situation, as though I were proposing a trip for a chocolate cake at Horcher’s.

  “You look like hell, my dear,” he said and, taking my arm, led me down the hall, farther away from his entourage.

  “Am I to understand that you are offering yourself for your husband? Is that what you are saying?” He sounded utterly surprised, and even shocked.

  I nodded. “Of course, it’s irrelevant if you don’t know where he is, isn’t it?” I said, my voice as tired as I felt.

  “Are you all right? You sound quite ill.”

  “No, I’m not all right!” I blurted out, then clamped my jaws shut to control myself, turning away from him to lean my shoulder against th
e black marble wall. I laid my hand against it, to feel the coldness, to concentrate and to keep from crying. I needed all my wits about me.

  He came up behind me, leaning solicitously over me, a hand on my back. “Dear Sally. I have enjoyed playing with you, but I see your love for that rather useless young man has rendered you quite gutless. So, tell me about your offer. Would you truly do anything for him?”

  “Yes. As long as the baby isn’t harmed.”

  “Ah, I see.” And leaning so close to me that his lips touched my ear, he started whispering to me, describing the things he would do to me, which became increasingly perverse. “We can go to Missy’s,” he said. “I am known there. I believe you are as well. There are places there, and girls to help us. Have you ever—no, of course, you haven’t. Something else I can introduce you to. If you say yes to me, my dear, dear Sally. What do you say?”

  My face aflame, I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to ignore the nausea his filth was causing in me.

  “What?” he said. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes,” I said, almost impatiently. “All right, anything—just let him go.”

  “Ah. Very interesting. I wonder, would you let me piss on you? They say the Fuhrer indulges in that particular practice.”

  “Oh, stop it.” I threw my hands up, nearly hitting his face. “You don’t mean any of this, do you?”

  He grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. “Perhaps,” he laughed softly. “I am very curious to see how far you would go to save your husband. I must say I envy him, although I imagine he would not be pleased to know you had planned to debase yourself, even for his sake. Of course, I tried to tell him about you and that Jewish newspaper flunky, but he wouldn’t listen. Perhaps now he will. So. Yes, I do know where he is.”

  “Is he all right? Did you hurt him? If you hurt him . . .”

  “Sally, be quiet.” He tightened his grip on my shoulder and I did as he commanded. “You are not in a position to make even the most timid threat against me. But because I am fond of you, I will overlook it. I am fond of you. Which makes it doubly hard for me to refuse your offer. I would enjoy taking you to bed. I do have a reputation in these matters, and I admit to warranting most of it. However, I have never raped anyone and I don’t intend to start with you. My sexual appetites, although large, are quite normal—simple, really. But I have never been to bed with anyone who did not want to be there or was not paid, at least. You understand what I am saying, my dear? Do you?” He massaged my neck, his hand moving to my shoulder. I could feel his cold fingers flash against my skin.