Time No Longer

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  Her head ached crushingly. Her sleepless body seemed to creak like a rusty door. How long can one endure? According to the whispered tales of the concentration camp, it was astonishing how long one could endure. She wondered if she had the fortitude to endure, and to go on, searching for Karl, going deeper and deeper into hell.

  Now, as air and light and sound poured into her car, and sanity returned, she wondered if she were not more than a little absurd in going on this errand. What could she say? What could she do? Perhaps she would appear only ridiculous. She had so far recovered sanity that when the car stopped at the door of the Muehler house, which was not far from her own, she was able to say to the driver: “Just a moment, Frederick. I will wait here a moment.”

  She sat back on the seat and pondered doubtfully, looking at the quiet house with the lace curtains fresh against the windows, and the flowers growing thickly on the sills. No doom hung there; no shadow of terror. A plume of gray smoke rose idly in the air. The window-panes shone in the early morning light. Behind the house, the trees hung, heavy with warm sun. Here was reality, and health. The dark mists swirled behind her, receding. She was indeed ridiculous! She glanced at her watch. It was just a little after half-past eight. What on earth would they say to her, when she burst, haggard and exhausted, through the door, imploring? But worse, what would she say? Doctor Muehler would be finishing his coffee. Streaks of sun would lie across the golden-yellow liquid. He would look at her with his kind and quizzical eyes, a little wondering, but pleased to see her. But his wife might not be so pleased. She had little imagination, for all her cleverness. She would politely urge a little breakfast on Therese. She would sit at the table with them, smelling the yellow buttered toast. And they would wait. It would not be hard to talk to Doctor Muehler. His sympathy and subtlety would understand even the ravings of a prostrated woman, whose clarity of vision had been clouded by sorrow and the blackness of a nebulous dread. But his wife—it would not be easy to talk in her presence. She would smile, that calm superior British smile, and she would listen. Finally, she would think Therese a fool.

  And she would be quite right, thought Therese. Her irresolution grew. Should she wait outside until Doctor Muehler came out, and then drive him to the University in her car? She knew he usually walked. Perhaps that would be best. If she were indeed a fool, it was better that such a kind and gentle man alone see her folly. He would appreciate her coming. He would not think her interfering and hysterical. He would understand.

  Her chauffeur, she suddenly observed, was watching her narrowly in his mirror. He was a young man. Suddenly, she remembered that she had never liked him, for all his competence and respectfulness. He had been in her employ a year. What did she know of him? Through half-closed eyes, she watched him watching her. Was it only her imagination that he seemed cynical and brutelike and crafty? Where did he go on his evenings off? She remembered that Lotte had mentioned that she had seen a uniform in his room, with a swastika on his sleeve. Therese had barely listened. All the young men these days loved uniforms. Germans loved uniforms. It had not been significant. Now she wished she had asked Lotte what sort of uniform it was. How little the selfish and the superior know! she thought.

  She pulled herself together. There is enough horror without imagining more, she thought. The first thing I will imagine is that he is a spy. This will never do! This is still Germany, still summer, and the sun still shines. Everything is peaceful. Indeed, she was a fool. When she remembered Lotte’s story of the ghost, she smiled involuntarily. Frederick was still watching her. He thought she was smiling at him. He returned the smile, touching his cap with a quick military flash of his fingers. His eyes were bold and admiring in the glass.

  She was filled with healthy annoyance at his presumption. Instantly, her exhausted disorientation vanished entirely. How silly she was. Because there were some crimes, some darknesses, some horrors, in Germany, because she had come into contact with some of them, she thought the whole world had been spinning into madness! She could readily see what could easily happen to the sane if they allowed themselves to think too much, and imagine too much.

  She leaned forward to tell him to drive on. At that instant, the door of the house opened and a servant, with a pail of steaming suds and a broom, appeared. She put down the pail, dipped the broom into it and began to scrub the white steps. Had she not looked up then, and had she not seen the car, Therese would have gone on. But the servant saw her, and recognized her. The situation had become even more absurd. She could not go on now. Frau Doctor Muehler would hear the story, of how Therese had been seen lurking before her house, and she would wonder. Therese could see her raised eyebrows, and quizzical look.

  She nodded curtly to Frederick, who leapt from his seat and opened the door, saluting. She ignored him. She approached the servant, who stared at her blankly. “Is Frau Doctor Muehler at home?” she asked.

  The servant stammered that the Frau Doctor was still at breakfast. Therese was forced to summon as much dignity as she could, and entered the cool hall, where shafts of sunlight lay on bowls of flowers and polished chairs and mirror. The servant followed her, wiping her hands on her apron. Feeling more and more ridiculous, Therese said that she would go at once into the breakfast room. There was no need to announce her.

  She liked this house. It was ugly, and the colors fought with each other. But there was a homeliness about it, an English homeliness, warm and confiding, not too formal. The furniture in the drawing-room was covered with gay summer chintz. The English had no taste. But they made up for it in an inviting atmosphere. She walked down a narrow carpeted hall, and entered the breakfast room. She heard no voices. But she found the Frau Doctor sitting alone at the breakfast table, calmly drinking coffee and reading the headlines of the newspaper.

  When she saw Therese, she stared as blankly as the servant had stared. But she recovered her poise immediately. She wore a flowered wrapper, and her light brown hair was braided and wrapped about her round sensible head. She looked younger and fresher, and the wrapper concealed her dumpy figure. Her complexion was as dewy and bright as a girl’s.

  “Frau Doctor Erlich!” she exclaimed. But that was her only expression of surprise. “How very nice! Have you had your breakfast?”

  The coffee and fresh kuchen had come to Therese’s nostrils in a powerful and inviting wave. Her strong body, having thrown off the paralyzing inertia of terror, responded to the smell of the good food. She smiled, as though with self-deprecation. “Yes, thank you. But, do you know, I believe I could drink another cup of coffee, and eat some of that kuchen!”

  The Englishwoman graciously ordered another cup for her guest. If she were extremely surprised at this early morning visit she concealed it. Therese looked about her, glanced through the open window at the riot of grass and flowers in the garden. Birds were filling the glittering air with cheeps and trills. It was very pleasant. The rigidity passed from Therese’s limbs. She removed her gloves and laid them aside. The other woman watched her without appearing to do so. How eccentric she thinks me! thought Therese, behind her pleasant smile. It was intolerable, to be thought eccentric. She cast around in her mind for placid and commonplace things to say. Should she tell her hostess that she had come out for an early shopping tour? And that she wished her to join her? But one merely called up on such an occasion. Moreover, she was not on such terms of intimacy with the gracious but reserved Englishwoman as to be able to drop casually into her home at any moment.

  The Englishwoman saw her confusion behind the dignity and placidity. She knew very well that this was not a casual visit. But she wished to put Therese at her ease, though she thought everything so peculiar. But one never knew with foreigners, she remarked to herself. They did the most unpredictable things. Even Herman was unpredictable. Look at this morning, for instance.

  “Do you know, Frau Doctor,” she observed, with some sprightliness, “I have never enjoyed myself so much as I did last night. Such stimulating conversation. I was
quite excited at times.” Her smile asked indulgence for her excitement. “But then, Germans are always stimulating, and have so much of interest to say. I am afraid that we British are quite dull, and our conversation leaves much to be desired.”

  She spoke German perfectly, but with an English acent, thus making the gutturals a little softer, the vowels a little more clipped. Her reserve, this morning, was not so evident. She was making a good-natured attempt to put this pale woman at her ease, for all Therese’s apparent eccentricity.

  Therese laughed lightly. “The General does not always have ‘exciting’ dinner guests,” she said. “They are usually duller than dry bread. But did you not find that Schmidt a trifle detestable?”

  The Englishwoman raised her eyebrows at this forthright question, which she thought somewhat in bad taste. “No, I am sorry. I really found him very enjoyable, and extremely intellectual. I quite agree with him.”

  Therese, to her dismay, heard herself saying, with unusual warmth:

  “I think he is detestable. It is such men as this that give Germany a bad name. Do not think we are all like that.” She drew a deep breath. Her composure was rapidly disappearing under those amused but politely reticent eyes. “If we do not get rid of them soon, we shall have a bad reputation in the world, I am afraid.”

  The Englishwoman poured herself another cup of coffee. How peculiar and gauche she must think me! thought Therese, with mortification. She was suddenly quite sick with her passionate desire to be away from her. Why on earth had she come!

  Forcing herself into an attitude of tranquil indifference, she asked:

  “But where is the Herr Professor?”

  Now the Englishwoman was not smiling so maddeningly. “He left very early, much earlier than usual. He said the summer was going so rapidly, and he wished to enjoy the morning sunshine. I have an idea that he did not sleep so well.”

  Instantly, the flower-filled sunlit world vanished into gray dimness for Therese. Her dread, her fears, her terrors, rushed back into it like clammy mists. Everything took on its old grotesque quality of nightmare. She leaned towards the Englishwoman and asked in a stifled voice:

  “He has gone? My God, I should have come earlier!”

  Herman’s wife put down her cup abruptly, and stared. “I do not understand,” she murmured.

  Therese stood up. She wrung her hands, and her ring flashed in the sunshine. “He is in terrible danger,” she said. She glanced at the door, reached it, closed it, returned to the table. “Do you think he has arrived at the University yet? Do you think we can reach him before he has gone into his classroom?”

  The Englishwoman was propelled to her feet. The two women stared at each other across the table. Frau Doctor Muehler’s fresh color disappeared.

  “What is the matter? What danger? I do not understand you, Therese.”

  It was the first time she had called Therese by her first name, but her agitation had broken down her reserve. Wrinkles appeared in her smooth skin.

  “You do not know Germany, Elizabeth!” cried Therese. “You do not know Germany today! We are all mad, here. But Herman is sane. I knew there was something in his mind.…” She flung out her hands impotently. “Please try to understand, Elizabeth. Herman is about to do something which will ruin him. Perhaps kill him. How do I know? I do not know, really. But I feel it. There were frightful men at that dinner last night. You do not know how frightful! A little while ago I would not have known, either. But now I know. I saw Herman watching them. He was resolving something. Something which will ruin him. He could not help it! They were goading him. He was seeing something I have been seeing for a long time. He could not endure it. He talked, and they listened. That is danger enough. But there is worse danger. The thing he has in his mind to do.…”

  Her voice, dwindled, gasping, incoherent, filled the breakfast room with the hysteria and the disorientation of doom. Elizabeth Muehler listened, paling more and more. She moistened her lips. She stared fixedly at Therese. She fumbled for her chair, fell in it. A thick silence pervaded the atmosphere after Therese had done.

  “We must call him at once!” cried Therese, finding her voice again. “We must stop him!”

  The Englishwoman was silent. Then her eyes, fixed so piercingly on Therese, narrowed. Her color returned somewhat! Her hand reached for a silver spoon, played absently with it.

  She thinks I am mad, thought Therese. But she was not humiliated. She was merely frenzied.

  “Call him at once!” she repeated.

  The Englishwoman’s lips opened. “You are so upset,” she murmured. “Please sit down, Therese. Let us talk about this calmly.”

  Mortification caused Therese to blush, in spite of her distraction. She sat down. She stammered: “You are British. You cannot conceive of the things which happen in Germany now.” Even to herself she sounded inept and stupid.

  The Englishwoman paused. She struggled to regain her poise and serenity. It was evident that Therese had shaken her. She was visibly but politely annoyed. What emotion! What hysteria! What imagination! Her thoughts flitted across her eyes. Really, this was too much. But these foreigners were always emotional. They did and said such incomprehensible things. It was very irritating, especially at breakfast. She had not thought it of Therese, who, at times, seemed so British in her reserve and manner, and was so well-bred. Her disappointment in her own impeccable judgment increased her annoyance.

  “It was very nice of you to come,” she said in her low calm voice. “And I appreciate your apprehension for Herman. But he is really very sensible and cautious. He would do nothing that would cause any—any unpleasantness.”

  “You do not know Herman!” exclaimed Therese, more and more mortified, more and more enraged against this woman who made her feel so silly and badly bred.

  This made the Englishwoman smile with complete amusement. Her eyebrows jerked. “I have only been married to him for a long time,” she murmured. She went on, hoping that her attitude would convince Therese of her enormous bad taste, and thus calm her: “I am sorry to have to admit that many Germans today seem so—unnerved. But why? Changes of government are quite common in England. No one becomes quite so upset. It is very usual. Of course, there are always a lot of speeches, and the lower classes become agitated, and the newspapers are often more than a little violent. But no one gives it much thought, really. Everything goes on just the same. Everything adjusts itself. One has only to wait. You see,” she added, in the voice that an adult uses in speaking to an overwrought adolescent, “we British have been through many changes of government policy. But everything always returns to the comfortable mean. National excitement is just a way of getting rid of excess energy. But mankind, after all, is inherently sensible and healthy. And I know enough of Germany to realize that things will settle down, and adjust themselves. The danger comes in getting—excited, and going to pieces. One must not allow this.”

  Therese was seized with a horrifying impulse to slap that serene and slightly-smiling face.

  “Have you heard of the Gestapo, Frau Doctor?” she exclaimed.

  Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows again, and smiled. “Yes, I have But who listens to vulgar tales? There are such liars, you know. And the Jews, who were never really Germans, you know, are an excitable and volatile people, full of lies and imaginations. They have spread these absurd stories. During the war, we had an Intelligence Bureau, too. Every nation has to have one, during a period of national stress. Fortunately, however, the Jews did not begin their usual lies and agitations against the government. What a detestable people they are! Always stirring up trouble and contention. That is because they are all Communists at heart. They love confusion. It is during periods of confusion that they can seize advantage, and money. Therefore, you see, understanding this, I do not give much credence to the disgusting tales of the Gestapo and the concentration camps.” She paused. Her face became cold and more than a little vicious, “Sometimes, I almost wish they were true. It would be such a relie
f to every one of breeding and decency if all Jews were eliminated.” She added: “Just because some of them have been detected in their crimes against Germany, and have been properly punished, there is such an outcry. Touch one of their precious skins, and all Israel screams. Really, it is too disgusting!”

  Therese listened to the end. Her mortification and agitation disappeared. She felt as cold as death, and as impotent. Her heart was cold, too, and beating with a mortal pain.

  “Have you forgotten, Elizabeth, that the Gestapo killed Eric Reinhardt, my husband’s adopted brother? He did nothing. He was a good and loyal German. They murdered him. Murdered him in cold blood. You knew him. He only wanted to live in peace. When Germany made that impossible, he wanted to go away. I have never seen any one so wretched. What had he done? Nothing.”

  The Englishwoman assumed an expression of regret. “Yes, I know. That was rather bad. It was very unfortunate. But sometimes the innocent must suffer with the guilty. I often thought if he had not tried to escape.…”

  Frenzy seized Therese again. “Will you not listen? Will you never learn? He did not try to escape. We—we saw his body. He was tortured to death!”

  Distaste for this excessiveness made a wrinkle appear in the Englishwoman’s smooth brow. “Really!” she murmured. “You make it sound as though we were living in the Middle Ages again.…”

  “We are!” cried Therese. “The most dreadful things happen! Men are not civilized. They never were. The laws of society made them hide their bestiality. But in Germany we have no laws any longer. We are being urged to be bestial. And so, it comes out, like a turgid geyser bursting through the earth. You do not know! You will not see! This is not Britain. This is Germany, without laws. The whole country is full of beasts.” She clasped her hands together convulsively. “I saw Eric’s body. Kurt Erlich made them send it to us. I cannot describe it! My God! O my God! When I saw the body, I was glad poor little Gerda was dead. I was so very glad!”