The Nazi's Wife

by Peter Watson

  I had read all night. The early morning noises of Salzburg rose from the street and the curtains fought a losing battle with the sun; light washed the room. Now was as good a place as any to stop, although, to judge from the piles in front of me, I was not yet halfway through the collection. I had long ago kicked off my shoes; now I shed the rest of my uniform and crept between the sheets. I called down to the front desk and left word that I was not to be disturbed. From my watch I could see that it was 6:45 A.M., but in no time I was fast asleep.

  3

  I awoke at two that afternoon. I shaved and hurried downstairs for a late lunch and then took a brisk walk along the riverbank for exercise. If anything, the weather was improving. It was sunny, with only the lightest of breezes, barely strong enough to carry off the river the slight and not unpleasant nip of sodden weed and mud.

  I bought a paper and caught up on other events. At Nuremberg, Kaltenbrunner was still on the stand. There was no news about insurance or paper prices on the stock exchange but I did read that U.S. railroads were doing well, so was Cunard, so was cotton. I read that the West Vlahfontein gold mine, in South Africa, was to reopen, operations having been suspended in June 1940, and that, consequently, gold would not be quite so rare. Sickeningly, I read that Chrysler was doing well too.

  I stuffed the newspaper into a wastebin and went back to the letters. I thought I could see a line of interrogation developing and I was anxious to discover what was in the remainder.

  As I entered the Goldener Hirsch the receptionist waved a piece of paper at me but I motioned for him to put it back in my pigeonhole. It would be from Hobel and I now wanted to avoid him until I had finished the letters. Then at least I would be able to tell him my plans for interrogating Mrs. von Zell. I would simply pretend that I hadn’t received his note, which, in a sense, would be true. A white lie.

  The high afternoon sun slanted into my room, drenching in light six bottles of beer which I had placed on the table in anticipation of another long session. I opened one, sat back in my chair and picked up the next batch of letters.

  Major von Zell drove Konstanze back to Munich in his official car after the weekend. He had bought some wine for her at the vineyards they had visited and she invited him to dinner to help her drink it, and to teach her more about wines in general. She promised to play the piano for him.

  They met several times more and began to make discoveries about each other. Like the fact that they were both more religious than they had let on when they had been talking about Mass on Bernkastel Bridge. They would enjoy—really savor—going to the church of St. John Nepomuk in Munich on Sundays. The music was of a high standard, which is why Konstanze went, and she was able to teach Rudolf about the organ, which, until that point, had been one of his least favorite instruments.

  They also found that they both had a weakness for apples, not always plentiful in those days, and that they both disliked pets, especially dogs.

  Rudolf’s passion, besides wine, was rivers. Not what went on around them, but what happened in them. He was knowledgeable about the botany and biology of rivers and he was also a keen explorer. Over the next weeks and months, I read, he took Konstanze farther and farther afield. They started, ironically enough, with the Isar, visiting among other places the lock with the white gates where Bruno had first confessed to Konstanze that he was married, which, of course, she never mentioned to Rudolf. What would have been the point? They explored the Inn River and the deep valley between the Patscherkofel and the Hafelekar Spitze, the Würm, the Rissbach and, eventually, the Danube itself. I read very closely the letters that described their voyage down the Danube, for this journey took them through Linz and right by the famous monastery of Melk, with its twin towers overshadowing the river. It took them on into Wachau, to the region where Maurice’s men were still searching on my behalf. But, to begin with, Konstanze’s letters revealed nothing specific that might be of help.

  As I have said, it was some time before Konstanze came to love Rudolf. But in some ways he was, from the start, better for her than Bruno had been. For example, since he was in no sense an heroic or tragic figure, that side of her nature had to take a backseat. Rudolf was down-to-earth, not what you would call an outrageously romantic figure, but then neither was he undemonstrative. He would send her little gifts—yellow flowers of some kind, which he knew were her favorites—and he, too, would remember dates, like the anniversary of their first meeting, or the first time they had heard a Bruckner organ concert. He knew those things, however silly, were important to her. He quickly developed his own nickname for her—Stanzl—and that, being young and tomboyish in its associations, forced Konstanze still further from her melancholic self-image and brought her back safely from the edge she had been near when she had first met him.

  She bought plenty of new clothes, which she could afford because of her promotion, became reasonably knowledgeable about wines, and together they took out a subscription to the Munich Opera and became a familiar couple there. Her parents were never mentioned. Rudolf, so it seemed to me, had by his manner rescued her from her melancholy nature.

  Sex alone posed a problem. They were both a long way from being teenagers, but at the same time they were each devout Catholics. Curiously, I believe that music had a great deal to do with the fact that Konstanze and Rudi, which was now her nickname for him, never slept together before they were married. Their love of music took them to the cathedral every Sunday, and on many other occasions also, and that helped to keep alive their faith, to force them into confession and to keep their consciences to the fore. In turn, that may have made them get married sooner than otherwise.

  Though Rudolf was not the romantic figure Bruno had been, he was determined to be imaginative about his courtship of Konstanze. For instance, he proposed to her while they were sailing down the Danube, at Passau, where the waters flowed from Germany, his country, into Austria, the land of her ancestors. Konstanze, I was not surprised to read, did not accept him straightaway. Rudolf, so I gathered, was not disappointed. He had expected to be turned down and when she gave no answer either way he was, if anything, optimistic rather than the reverse. Two weeks later it was Haydn’s birthday and they went to Mass to hear a special concert. She whispered her acceptance as they received the sacraments.

  They did not rush into marriage immediately. Rudolf had met Konstanze’s parents once or twice I discovered and I suspect they found him rather dull—but she had never met his mother. Rudi was from Worms, as I already knew. And it was because Worms was on the Rhine and so close to the Mosel that he had developed his interest in both rivers and wine.

  Rudolf’s mother had been relieved that her son had found a Catholic girl and delighted that she was as serious as Konstanze. For some reason Mrs. von Zell regarded music as a serious profession.

  Konstanze, for her part, naturally compared Mrs. von Zell with her own parents. This was a new experience for her since she had never met Bruno’s family. She found her future mother-in-law on the old-fashioned side but also a stabilizing influence in Rudolf’s life that she had never had with her own parents. The first time the two women met, Rudolf’s mother talked about his boyhood in an affectionate way, showing almost total recall. Obviously, he came first with his mother in a way that Konstanze and her sister had never done with their parents. I read that on their first visit to Worms, Rudolf and Konstanze had gone for a walk with Mrs. von Zell across the family farmland. The older woman had pointed out the fence where her husband, Rudolf’s father, had been killed, thrown in a hunting accident. She gestured to the copse where, as a boy, Rudolf used to hide when he ran away from home. It was apparently a regular practice and the family always knew where to find him. The idea of the quiet, efficient, down-to-earth Rudolf being out of control enough to run away delighted Konstanze.

  On this walk Konstanze had been fortunate to find, in the copse, an entire family of yellow hammers and was able to win Mrs. von Zell by her knowledge of the creatures’ habits
and behavior. So effective had she been that, on her second visit to Worms, Mrs. von Zell had given Konstanze a neck brooch, yellowish diamonds set in an ivory carving of a bird, which had been her grandmother’s. It was the first gift of any real value that Konstanze had received and she swelled with pleasure inside. Thereafter she wore the brooch whenever she could.

  Rudolf’s second original move was the wedding itself. He persuaded the owner of the castle where they had first met, the host from Bernkastel who loved games, to let them be married there. He was a Catholic also and there was a private chapel in the castle.

  It was exactly the sort of gesture which Konstanze relished. They were married, typically, on Schubert’s birthday, in front of about forty people, including Konstanze’s parents, of course, and Eric von Haltern. Konstanze wore a long cream dress with the diamond and ivory brooch at her throat. She carried—naturally—a small bunch of yellow asphodel.

  She confessed later, when she was in love with Rudi, that she had not been so on the day they were married. Fond—yes. Learning to love him—yes. But at the time she did not feel for Rudolf what she had felt for Bruno. Among the hymns sung during the ceremony was Bruno’s favorite, which had been played at his memorial service, the one based on Psalm 150, about music and the praise of God. She didn’t tell Rudi why she had chosen it.

  The honeymoon was, inevitably perhaps, spent exploring a river new to both of them: the Loire. Starting at Orléans, they visited Blois, Tours, Saumur and Angers and introduced themselves to the wines of Anjou and Jasnieres, Muscadet and Quincy, Sancerre and Reuilly. After ten days they returned via Paris, where Konstanze was able to hear Artur Rubinstein in concert.

  Back in Munich, they moved into a fairly large house in the Grünwald district; it had a garden and was near the river. To begin with, Konstanze kept her job at the music publishers and to their rapidly expanding circle of friends they were a colorful couple. They turned one of the rooms in their house into a music room and lined it with wine bottles. Their parties were always a great success.

  Remember that I had to piece together this phase in Konstanze and Rudolf’s relationship from letters written somewhat later since, as they were man and wife living together, there was not much need for correspondence. I worked out from these later letters that it was about this time, just after their marriage in 1937, that Rudolf was promoted from major to colonel. This was good news—up to a point. It meant recognition for Rudolf, for although he was older than Konstanze, he was still relatively young in army terms. It meant more pay, and it was from this time, I think, that the couple began to think about having a family. But the higher you went in the German Army in those days, the harder it became to escape contact with the Nazis. The letters were not clear about when exactly he joined the Party but it must have been around the time he was promoted to colonel. Otherwise, I doubt very much if more promotion would have come his way.

  I also noticed from the same batch of retrospective letters, mostly written by Konstanze after Rudolf had been posted to Berlin, of which more later, that it was about this time that the couple took a second trip down the Danube, accompanied on this occasion by Eric von Haltern. I cannot remember exactly but it must have been later in 1937. This was not the time when they researched their wine article but it was this trip, and their visits to vineyards, which gave them the idea to write it later.

  I was about to open another bottle of beer when I saw, in Konstanze’s handwriting, the names of three specific vineyards they had visited: Traeger, Kleiber and Salz. At last!

  I opened the beer and looked at my watch. It was already eight o’clock. I had burned my boats with Hobel. Since I had not been back to him, he would think that I had left Salzburg, against his orders. It was too late to do anything tonight, but tomorrow I would try to calm him down. My plans for the interrogation of Mrs. von Zell were coming along and I should finish the letters sometime during the coming night.

  But first I had to call Maurice.

  The woman on the hotel switchboard said that Major Hobel had tried to reach me three times during the afternoon but that since I had been so strict with my embargo, they had not disturbed me. I thanked her and said I would buy her a drink for her courtesy.

  It took about twenty minutes to get through to Vienna at that time of night but Maurice was still at the office.

  “No wenching tonight, Maurice?”

  He howled into the phone. “Jeeesus, you have a cheek, Wolff. I cancel a bloody date, what we in Vienna call an assignation, so that I can be here in the office when my man calls from the Wachau, just in case we have found your goddamn runaway Nazi. And what do I get for my trouble? Hassle. If Hermann is pregnant, I hope he lays his pups in your shirts.”

  I smiled into the phone. When Maurice was truly angry, he went deadly silent. “So you haven’t heard from your man yet?”

  “Too bloody right, I haven’t. He should have called two hours ago.”

  “Is that good news?”

  “Might be. Might mean his car wouldn’t start. Might mean he’s got an assignation. How long did it take for you to get through?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “If he’s calling from a small town, or a village, it might take him hours to get through. The phones here are as unreliable as an Italian tank. Sorry we’ve nothing more concrete. What news from Wall Street, dear boy? Am I a millionaire yet?”

  I ignored him. “I’m sorry to upset your love life, Maurice, but it is important. Now listen, I have some more information, more specific details.” I told him about Konstanze’s letter. “So if, when your man calls, he hasn’t found von Zell, ask him if he’s tried those three vineyards—Traeger, Kleiber and Salz. If he has checked them out already, and drawn a blank, then call him off and thanks for your help. But if any of those three have not been checked, could you ask him to do so? Please?”

  Maurice hesitated. That was unlike him. He must be under some pressure of his own, something he wasn’t telling me about. Perhaps that was the real reason he was working so late.

  “Maurice …” I stammered. “If it puts you in a difficult situ—”

  “Dear boy, don’t jabber. Where are you?” I told him. “Don’t leave. I’ll get back to you tonight, I promise. Have dinner in the hotel, if you must eat. We have to get this thing tidied up.”

  I was grateful to Maurice. I recognized the signs; he was under pressure of his own and was deliberately not telling me. He was a good friend. I gave him the latest on our race.

  “A thousand and thirty-six, Maurice, that’s what you’re worth.”

  “Is that all? I thought Hartt was a genius?”

  “Don’t moan, Maurice. You might have had my shares which have slipped to under nine hundred. Eight hundred and sixty-eight. So you’re doing relatively well.”

  “Mmmnnn. Looks like the helmet’s mine, dear boy. Sorry about that too.”

  As I ate dinner, I wondered whether it was a good sign that his man had not yet reported back. If he had found von Zell then, besides a medal, for wrecking the underground conduit, I reckoned I could go home soon. Coming on top of the Crown Jewels affair, I would be a hero. Maybe there would be a book of my reminiscences, or a movie even. I had been told several times that I bore a passing likeness to Gregory Peck; maybe he would like to play me. I chuckled, still recovering from my night with the letters.

  If Konstanze’s condition had been deteriorating before she met Rudolf, my own condition was also deteriorating. By the time I had finished dinner, and no doubt because I had an entire bottle of wine inside me, I talked to myself as if the whole thing was sewn up. What an ass I was.

  The phone was ringing as I reached my room.

  “Dear boy, did you enjoy your dinner?”

  “Maurice! What news?”

  “Bad—and good. My man just came through. The reason he was so late was because he thought he had found your man. Someone answering von Zell’s description, dark-haired with a dueling scar, worked in a vineyard at Kottes until
last week.”

  “Yes—go on!”

  “Well, it’s difficult to know exactly what we have. He answers your description but his name was Aubing, Franz-Josef Aubing.”

  I didn’t know what to think. The man’s name spoiled my theory but.… “What was his job at the vineyard?”

  “Accountant.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “A woman, so he said. He was getting married to a girl in Zurich and was going to live there.”

  It might be true, and it might not be.

  “Which vineyard was that, Maurice?”

  “Let me see.” There was a pause as Maurice searched his notes. “Mmmmm … Mildorfer. Not one of your top three, I am afraid.”

  “What about those three names, Maurice? Has your man checked them out?”

  “Two of them, he has. Hold on.…” He looked back at his notes. “Yes, he’s been to Salz and to Kleiber but not to Traeger. Never heard of it. Do you know where it is?”

  “Sorry, just that it’s near the Danube and in the Wachau region.” I was thinking fast. “Maurice, you’ve been terrific; I owe you a big favor. But could you please have your man find the Traeger vineyard and check it out? I would kick myself if it turned out that’s where von Zell was hiding and we had overlooked it. Leave this Aubing character to me. I believe I know the man to find him. Another day, Maurice, please. Give me your men for another day—to find Traeger?” I was pleading.

  “Dear boy, don’t get in such a state. The war’s over, you know. Of course you may have them. I just hope they can find this Traeger place in one day.”

  “Bless you, Maurice,” I said. “I owe you two favors. And I tell you what—”

  “What?” he butted in.