‘One more thing,’ said Ula. ‘Can you mention to Frau Weber that the medicine was 400 Reichmarks. She’ll talk to Herr Lichtman about it. They’ll understand they’ll need to pay us back.’
Peter whistled aloud at the cost. That was a month’s wages for a factory worker.
.
Peter visited the Webers’ again a week later, with some milk coupons and a bread voucher. ‘Herr Lichtman wishes to talk to you,’ said Frau Weber, and Peter was shown upstairs.
Lichtman looked much better. The medicine was working. His arm was still bandaged but he said the wound had lost its livid colour.
‘Thank you very much, to you all, especially Colonel Reiter,’ said Lichtman. ‘I am very grateful and would like to pay him back for the cost of the medicine as soon as possible.’
He looked at Peter, sizing him up. ‘Can I trust you to help me here?’
Peter felt uneasy. Taking food and medicine to a house was one thing. What was he getting into now?
Lichtman took out a small envelope.
‘Have a look at that,’ he said with a smile.
Peter tipped out the contents – a single red stamp from Cameroon with a value of 40 pfennig and a picture of an ironclad battleship on it.
‘1900,’ said Lichtman. ‘If it had been franked it would be worth maybe 50 Reichmarks. But unfranked, it’s worth four or five hundred. Can you ask around, see if anyone wants it?’
‘I know nothing about the world of stamp collecting,’ said Peter. He was wishing he had never volunteered to come.
‘I can see you’re a resourceful boy,’ said Lichtman. ‘And I do trust you. Get the best price you can.’
.
Peter talked to Anna about it the next time he saw her. She shook her head. ‘I haven’t a clue where to start, but I bet Segur will know.’
Segur was as good as any other person to ask, although Peter and Anna had seen a lot less of him since his beating.
They arranged to meet for a coffee after school. Peter asked Segur if he knew anyone who was interested in stamps. ‘I might do,’ he said. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘I have a rare Cameroon 40 pfennig to sell,’ said Peter.
‘You’ve never been interested in stamps before,’ said Segur. ‘Why start now?’
Peter was affronted. He wasn’t expecting to be quizzed about it. He hadn’t thought of a cover story.
‘Just curious,’ said Segur. ‘Can you show me?’
Peter took the stamp from his pocket.
Segur said, ‘I’ll take it to show my uncle. He knows a thing or two about stamps.’
‘You’ll be careful with it?’ said Peter. ‘It’s worth a lot of money.’
‘How do you know?’ said Segur.
‘Just what I’ve been told.’
‘So where did you get it?’
‘Oh, let’s just say a friend and leave it at that,’ said Peter. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going.
‘What are you expecting for it?’
‘He said about 400 Reichmarks,’ said Peter. ‘Anna’s father reckons it’s worth 600, though.’
He stopped himself suddenly and began to worry that he had said too much.
After that, Peter ran out of things to say. In the past he had been able to talk to Segur about anything that came into his head. Today, they seemed like strangers who had started to talk at a bus stop, then suddenly became conscious that they had no common ground.
Segur was in a hurry. He swigged down his coffee and slapped Peter on the back.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.
.
CHAPTER 29
July 1943
.
Gerhart Segur did have an uncle who knew about stamps, but not in the way Peter imagined. Onkel Gustav had introduced himself to Segur the day after the HJ raid at Café Berta. Segur had been too frightened to tell his friends what had really happened on that night. He wished he really had been left in a shop doorway, but the HJ patrol had not actually been so careless. Instead, Segur had been taken to Gestapo headquarters at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse with the rest of those who had been caught, and was thrown into the basement cells. There they waited, with only the screams and pleas of other prisoners undergoing ‘heightened interrogation’ to keep them company.
Segur had been badly mauled in the fighting and now he was expecting worse. He had never been so frightened in his life.
They came for him late next morning, when he was light-headed from lack of sleep and food. One on either side, dragging him along the corridor. He ached all over and his mouth tasted foul from his bleeding gums and hangover.
He was surprised and then relieved when they took him upstairs to a wood-panelled office rather than another cell. He was set down on a red-leather padded chair. A man at the desk in front of him offered him a cup of coffee.
‘Sugar and milk?’ said the man.
Segur gulped down the sweet, milky liquid as the man sat watching him.
When he had drunk the last of his coffee, the man spoke again.
‘Heil Hitler. My name is Lieutenant Brauer.’
Segur looked at him, too frightened to speak, wondering what would come next.
‘You have been a very silly boy, Gerhart Segur. Your records indicate you have a frivolous nature, suggesting a lack of total commitment to the National Socialist cause, but we have not yet made frivolity a criminal act.’ He smiled, to indicate this was his little joke. ‘But as this is your first offence, we are inclined to treat you leniently.’
Segur’s mind was reeling. Were they just going to send him home? They weren’t as bad as the tales he’d heard. Anna and Peter had been exaggerating.
He tossed over a list of names. ‘Here is a list of the people we are holding, who were behaving like a bunch of savages in the Café Berta. I’d like you to think carefully and tell me if you recognise any of their names.’
Segur didn’t know any of them, and said so after he had carefully read the list. He was relieved to see that Anna and Peter’s names were not among them.
‘Come,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘I have something to show you.’
He took Segur gently by the arm and steered him down the corridor, back the way they had come, and down to the basement. He barked a command to one of the uniformed guards and a door was opened. Segur thought they were going to throw him into the cell, but instead the Lieutenant said, ‘Holzman. Stand to attention.’
A bundle of rags in the corner of the cell stirred and staggered to his feet. His face was so battered and bloody Segur could only guess what he really looked like.
‘Good,’ said the Lieutenant to no one in particular. Then he spoke to the prisoner. ‘I will return to talk to you this evening.’
They went back to the office.
Segur’s legs felt so weak it was a wonder he could still walk.
‘You are, I hope, a sensible boy from a respectable German family.’ He looked at his file. ‘Wittenbergplatz? That’s a good area you live in. I’m sure your parents will be mortified to know you’re in trouble with us.
‘Here is what I’m going to do. I’m going to send you home. You can tell your mother you were beaten up by Polack street cleaners, or something. Then you can come and see me in a week or so. If you can remember anyone else who was at the dance, anyone who wasn’t on our list, then that will be very helpful.’
Segur blurted out his gratitude. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’
‘You must call me Onkel Gustav. Come back in a week. And then, after that, if you hear any more about this “swing” nonsense, or any other delinquent behaviour, then you must come and tell me.
‘And tell no one about this. If you do, I will know about it. And if I hear, well, I don’t need to spell it out . . .’
Segur returned as instructed. Brauer showed him the list again. He noticed how much the boy’s hand shook as he held the sheet of paper.
‘I don’t know any of them, Lieutenant,’ said Segur, with a pleadin
g look in his eye.
Brauer believed him. He was good at this, he told himself. Knowing when someone was telling the truth or lying.
‘Call me Onkel Gustav,’ he said. ‘You must know some of them, otherwise you would not have known the party was happening.’ His voice was calm, reasonable.
‘My friends told me about it,’ blurted Segur.
‘And did they not attend?’
There was a fatal pause. ‘They didn’t go,’ said Segur.
Brauer smiled. ‘We both know that is not the case. Several of the party escaped. Were they among them?’
Segur was staring at his feet. He was so upset he could barely speak. ‘I suppose so, yes.’
Brauer’s voice hardened. ‘Tell me their names.’
.
Segur did not go back to see Lieutenant Brauer. As the months passed he began to hope that the Gestapo had forgotten about him. But one day in late June, Brauer came to visit him. He brought two policemen with him. ‘A routine enquiry, Frau Segur,’ they assured his mother. Segur’s room was searched from top to bottom. His Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman and Count Basie 78s were stacked to one side and taken away.
‘Come and see me tomorrow,’ said Brauer. ‘Four-thirty, sharp.’
Segur spent a restless night cursing himself for not getting rid of his forbidden music. He had paid so much for the records on the black market, he could not bear to part with them.
Brauer kept him waiting for an hour. Then he was quite different this time and had dropped all pretence of smooth talking. Segur listened in terrified silence.
‘You are a disappointment to me, Gerhart. I was hoping you would be able to help me, but so far you have been of little assistance. You will shortly be of military age. If we charge you with your foolish attendance with other criminal elements at Café Berta, and with possession of music liable to corrupt the spirit of National Socialism and the fighting will of the nation, then we will secure a conviction. You may find yourself sent to Plötzensee to face the hangman or the guillotine, or, if you are very lucky, placed in protective custody in an establishment we have for troublesome young people. And when you reach military age you will immediately be assigned to a punishment battalion. Here you will be given the most unappealing jobs the Eastern Front can offer. Mine clearing, disposal of unexploded shells, the most perilous offensive actions. You will be expendable. Do I make myself clear?
‘However,’ he let the word hang in the air for several seconds, ‘if you can help me, as you originally agreed, then we will overlook these severe lapses in your behaviour.’
Segur forced himself to speak. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to tell me about what your friends get up to. I want you to tell me anything, anything at all, that seems odd. I shall be the judge of whether or not this information is useful. But do start helping me, Gerhart, before my patience comes to an end.’
Segur got up to go. Brauer began to speak again. ‘I would particularly like to know anything at all about Peter Bruck. Bruck and his friend Anna Reiter. Anything at all. Remember. Time is running out.’
Segur thought about the stamp Peter had given him. He still had it in his pocket. He fetched it out and sat down again. ‘There is one thing Peter said that I thought was odd. He gave me this and asked if I knew anyone who would like to buy it.’
‘And why did you think it odd?’ said Brauer.
‘I’ve known him for ages now, and he’s never shown the slightest interest in stamps.’
‘I will look after it for you,’ said Brauer. ‘Try and establish a value. I will let you know. What else did he say about it?’
‘He said his friend’s father thought it was worth a lot of money.’
‘And who is this friend and their father?’
Segur left half an hour later. Lieutenant Brauer picked up the phone. ‘Herr Commandant, I have some leads I would like to follow up. A valuable stamp has come on the market. Someone trying to sell it “for a friend” . . . It’s Peter Bruck . . . Yes, I have been trailing him for some time. His foster parents are very highly regarded by the Party and I need to be especially sure before I act . . . The whole business reeks of Jewish money-grubbing. We’ve had a couple of cases recently. They’re sly, these Yids. Stamps – the perfect way to hoard their riches. Much easier to hide than jewellery, and often more valuable . . . And we have several leads on other possible accomplices – notably a Colonel Reiter and his wife. There’s nothing concrete, just a lot of loose ends, but I think we should follow them up . . .’
.
Segur felt like he had been put through a mangle and every last drop of tittle-tattle had been squeezed out of him. That night he felt so ashamed he cried himself to sleep. He had needed to do something to stop Brauer sending him to a detention centre. But should he warn Peter? Then he thought of Brauer’s threat. ‘If you tell anyone about this, I will know about it.’ He remembered the face of the beaten man in the prison cell and told himself there was nothing else he could do.
.
CHAPTER 30
July 21, 1943
.
Peter was round at the Reiters’ when they heard a loud knocking at the door. Everyone froze in their steps. ‘Who could it be?’ said Ula.
‘Let’s ignore it,’ said Anna.
‘No,’ said Otto. ‘It could be anyone.’
Otto opened the door to find a scruffy, dark-haired young man of eighteen or so standing outside. His knocking had been loud enough to bring Frau Brenner out into the corridor. She stood there, arms folded, and gave Otto a curt nod. ‘Your visitor is very anxious to see you,’ she said as she closed her door.
‘I have come for my music lesson,’ the young man said.
‘You must have the wrong address, there’s no one here who teaches music,’ said Otto.
‘Please let me in for a moment,’ he pleaded. He looked desperate.
Ula was standing by the door. ‘Otto, let the boy in.’
The three of them stood in the hall. Anna and Peter listened from the living room.
‘I think I have two Gestapo on my tail,’ whispered the boy.
‘That’s no business of ours,’ said Otto plainly. ‘In fact, can you tell me why I shouldn’t detain you and hand you over?’
‘I have been living rough for the last month, after the family that hid me threw me out.’
‘That also is no business of ours,’ said Otto. ‘And why do you think we would be able to help you?’
‘I heard you helped people like me,’ he said.
‘And who told you that?’ said Otto angrily.
The boy shook his head.
Otto grabbed him by the arm and opened the door. ‘Out,’ was all he said, and shut the door firmly behind him.
Ula was shocked and went to open the door again. He held her back. ‘Otto, how could you do such a thing?’
Otto returned to the living room. Peter and Anna looked at him in astonishment. No one knew what to say.
‘How did he know about us?’ Otto said eventually. ‘How would he know to come here?’
It was Ula’s turn to be angry. ‘How could you turn him away like that?’
Otto ignored her. ‘I don’t think he’s been living rough for a month. He certainly didn’t smell like it. He didn’t smell of anything. I think he’s a Greifer. And if he knows about us then the Gestapo will know about us too.’
‘What’s a Greifer?’ said Peter.
Otto shook his head in disgust. ‘They’re Jews who’ve been captured by the Gestapo. They trade their life by trapping other Jews and their helpers. I couldn’t believe it when I heard about this at Bendlerstrasse, but some people will do anything to survive.’
‘So where does this leave us?’ said Ula.
‘We’ll keep our heads down, not do anything. They sent him, I’m supposing, to try to trap us. That means they don’t have any hard evidence. But someone’s been talking, somewhere . . .’
Anna said, ‘But suppose he rea
lly is a Jew on the run?’
‘That’s better news for us, if not for him,’ said Otto. He had this way of talking about unpalatable truths that made them plain and matter of fact. That was the soldier in him. ‘We’ll never know. Either way, we can’t just take in strangers. It’s asking for trouble.’
‘We didn’t give ourselves away, did we?’ said Ula. ‘We didn’t say anything to incriminate ourselves. What was that nonsense about music lessons?’
Otto shrugged again. ‘Maybe he says that if he has an audience. Frau Brenner was standing right behind him. Maybe that’s his way of sizing people up on the doorstep. He can’t just say “I’m a Jewish fugitive.” We’ll have to stop the deliveries for a while. I’ll talk to Schafer. See if we can get someone else to take over . . .’
.
Later that same evening Frau Weber was startled to hear an insistent knocking at the door. She hurried to answer and found a scruffy, dark-haired young man standing outside. ‘I’ve come for my music lesson,’ he said.
She recognised him at once as a Jew. It was a talent she had acquired in two years of helping the U-boats.
‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Where have you been hiding?’
.
CHAPTER 31
July 22, 1943
.
Peter slept badly that night. The incident with the boy on the Reiters’ doorstep had unsettled him. He was feeling particularly fragile the next morning and ill-equipped to deal with the envelope that arrived at the Kaltenbachs’. It was postmarked General Government and addressed to Professor Kaltenbach. He did not usually look at his post at the breakfast table, but this was too unusual to ignore. As he read it he seemed to shrink. His bustling self-importance drained away like bathwater down a plughole.
‘Girls,’ he announced, ‘I want you to go to your rooms.’ They protested. ‘Go. Take your breakfast with you.’
Peter got up to go with them. Kaltenbach grabbed his sleeve and tugged him roughly back in his seat. ‘You will stay here.’
When there was just Peter and Liese left in the room, Kaltenbach began to speak in a low and steady voice.
‘I have just received a letter from SS-Hauptsturmführer Fleischer, of the Race and Settlement Main Office in the General Government. He tells me he has discovered you have Jewish blood in your family.’
The Auslander Page 18