Six men, a bookseller, a real-estate broker, a liquor-store owner, the owner of a menswear store, a printer, and a glazier, had to sell their businesses to trusted members of the Party within the month, to avoid enforced expropriation. Two businesses, those of a publisher of Bibles and of a carpenter, were liquidated due to incompetent management.
All the men had a second interrogation, sometimes even a third or fourth. Preventive detention was imposed for anything from seven to ten days.
With the exception of an industrialist and the son of a high-up Party member, in twenty-three cases a file was opened that would be available at all times to any Party official conducting research. On the cover of the file was the name, age, and address of the person concerned, along with a certain abbreviation for internal use.
In the hope of recognizing typical patterns of behavior, which could prove useful in identifying more men, the files also contained incidental details of the private life of the accused. All the witnesses — domestic help, work colleagues, friends, family, and neighbors — told all they knew about the subjects free of charge.
Twenty-three of the twenty-five men lived in the city, two in a smaller suburb, ten in rented apartments, nine in apartments they owned, and six in houses.
After their interrogation, fifteen men were sent to a labor camp. When the wife of one of the prisoners asked about him, she was told laconically that things were better for her this way.
Three of the fifteen men died in the labor camp, three were freed after ten months, and nine were put in a train along with Jewish and political prisoners bound for Oranienburg concentration camp.
Within the first four months there, three of the men died, one of typhus, one of starvation, one was hanged.
Another four men were shot a few months later because of their pink triangles. Two men survived.
All the men had to sign a declaration in which they confessed that even in their early youth they had been guilty of perversions. Some of the men claimed during the public “morality trials” that they posed a particular threat to National Socialist society and asked that they be sterilized.
In the case of five of the twenty-five men, the mothers were still alive at the time of arrest. Six men still had both parents, four had only a father. Ten men had already lost their parents before their arrest. The parents were sent a letter the week after their son’s death. In it, the camp commander informed the parents of their loss and named weak cardiac muscle as the cause of death.
Four of the ten women whose husbands had been arrested for asocial behavior filed for divorce. The others maintained contact during the early stages of imprisonment.
Five of the ten women with homosexual or bisexual husbands had children. Three children were given up for adoption. The children, aged between one and five years, took on the adopting family’s name. For the sake of better integration, the children’s mothers were forbidden to visit the new families.
Only two children turned against their fathers and refused to talk to them. One was the sixteen-year-old son of a doctor, who had been demoted from group leader to simple member of the Hitler Youth. The other was the twelve-year-old daughter of a civil servant.
In the case of nearly all the men, work colleagues, acquaintances, and neighbors knew the reason they had been arrested. Only five people — the childhood sweetheart of the publisher, a widower without dependents and neighbor to a male nurse, the acquaintance of a shopkeeper, a church minister, and a colleague of the accountant — tried to help and stand by the men or their families.
4.
One of these people was Miss Barbara Dahl. Just before lunch one day eight months after winning first prize in the sewing contest, she was summoned to the private residence next to the factory. She was extremely surprised, since she had set foot in the director’s and his wife’s house only twice. She quickly tidied her desk, nervously ran her fingers through her hair, tucked her blouse into her skirt, and set off, her heart thumping with anxiety.
The director had looked her up and down and observed to himself what he had already noticed as a student: education is unbecoming in a woman. Then he told the intimidated young lady that he had heard so much about her competence that, in spite of her youth, she was to be appointed head accountant.
“Ah,” said Miss Dahl, happiness robbing her of speech, and clung on to the chair for a moment. She knew nothing about her colleague’s dismissal. She was too excited to think clearly and to reach the logical conclusion about her promotion. She was only to hear about it from the security man who had accompanied her to the director’s house and was now waiting for her outside in the garden under a pear tree. The conscientious and courteous Mr. Mehler, who had been her superior until a few days before, had been sent packing without notice.
Three weeks later Miss Dahl visited the Mehler family because she felt sorry for the wife and the two children and was curious about their situation. Her trained eye took in the neglected state of the clothes of the children and Mrs. Mehler, now separated from her husband. Passion stirred anew in Miss Dahl.
Not wanting to irritate the woman, who was obviously too proud to accept financial help, she offered instead to recycle any old children’s clothes. After asking several times, she was given two faded outgrown playsuits belonging to the youngest son, which the woman had laid aside in the kitchen cupboard to use as cleaning rags. Mrs. Mehler did not subscribe to the magazine that had awarded Miss Dahl first prize, and knowing nothing of her husband’s colleague’s sewing, did not want to take any risks: therefore she cautiously left the better-quality outgrown items safely in the wardrobe.
How surprised she was when Miss Dahl came back a few days later with a playsuit that looked brand new. She enthusiastically quizzed the young woman.
Soon they were meeting regularly at Mrs. Mehler’s house or in a pastry shop famous for its cream cake. They talked while the children were looked after by a distant cousin.
Although Miss Dahl was seven years younger, she felt responsible for her new friend’s fate. Mr. Mehler’s savings — for over eight years he had deposited a fifth of his salary in a savings account, which he had assigned to his wife’s name before his arrest — were considerably reduced now, and Miss Dahl’s modest support could not cover the costs, so Miss Dahl got her friend, who had been a secretary in a small firm before getting married, a part-time position at the baking factory.
Now the friends saw each other every day at work, and left together at the end of the day. Following the advice of Mrs. Mehler, who did not think it wise to push one’s luck in these uncertain times and worried every evening when her young friend set off for home, Miss Dahl moved into an attic apartment, ten square meters bigger than her old one, two floors above Mrs. Mehler. It had become vacant when the tenant, a single widower without dependents, died. Much to Mrs. Mehler’s irritation, he had bequeathed his two canaries to her.
This was the happiest time in in the life of Miss Dahl, who had long resigned herself to being without company. It was also the most productive, since after all those restless years she was finally content and could give her imagination and talent free rein, with Mrs. Mehler seeing to the economic and household chores. During this time she created what must be considered the high point of her sewing career: a black dress with a fitted bodice praised by all. She made it for Mrs. Mehler from a dinner jacket and a white shirt of her former husband. From that day forth, Mrs. Mehler would wear it every Sunday to coffee parties, while her husband was some hundred kilometers away, digging holes in a field with a shovel.
Two Wedding Rings (Gold)
THE RECKTENWALDS HAD BEEN MARRIED FOR THIRTY-FIVE YEARS when Detective Reinhold Mehring, conducting the body search that all prisoners had to undergo prior to entering preventive detention, relieved them of their golden wedding rings.
Although this body search and the resulting inventory of the prisoner’s personal belongings had been part of Mehring’s duties for more than five years and he had established a
routine designed to make the rather unpleasant process as quick and painless as possible for him and for the prisoners, he was irritated this time around.
He did not understand the serenity and faith radiating from the couple standing in front of him, despite the surely disagreeable circumstances in which they found themselves, and did not know how to act in front of them.
During all his long experience — Mehring belonged to the crafty old foxes in the police station and was highly respected by everyone on account of his dependability — he had learned that there were two types: the stubborn and (borrowed from his favorite author) the “pallid murderer.”
To deal with the prisoners in his custody as quickly and as painlessly as possible, he had developed different methods for the two types. In the case of the stubborn sort, who let everything wash over them apathetically as though someone else’s fate was taking its painful course in the room, his colleagues let their authority be felt. He, on the other hand, addressed the prisoner in a pitiful tone, sighed again and again, and did everything he could to convey sympathy, following his impulses completely. Mehring acted this way since he had noticed that even the most hardheaded case was not impervious to slow, cunning, creeping self-pity, that even the stubborn sort would break down when confronted with a sympathizing soul, whereas raw shows of power only strengthened their determined denial of facts.
Should the prisoner, however, already show outward signs of feeling intimidated — eye contact and the position of the hands were good indicators — Mehring would look at him with severity and swallow the surge of emotion in his throat.
Nothing was more embarrassing to him than a wailing person, oblivious to the world in his grief. He could not bear the sight of a sobbing female, and found the sight of a man who had lost control repugnant.
Mehring looked down at the fine gray lead of his propelling pencil, then back at the couple standing in front of him, waiting. He had to admit to himself, reluctantly, that although their file stated they were enemies of the people, he could not help liking the lady and her elderly husband. And had they met in other circumstances, at a family party or at the local pub, he would have been able to put his finger on what it was he found so irritating in the married couple’s attitude.
But Detective Mehring could not allow himself to reflect upon human dignity, not in his office, and certainly not the dignity of two prisoners. For he understood, as every child in the Reich did, that the enemy of the people was double-dealing, impudent, cowardly, and dishonest, that the concepts enemy of the people and dignity must not be uttered in the same breath, particularly not by a detective assigned the task of conducting body searches on the prisoners.
What’s all this? Mehring thought, shaking his head vigorously, and he asked Mr. Recktenwald to take a seat on the chair opposite. The way the old man pushed the chair back, jolting it rather so that the chair legs left the ground, took him back to his youth. He remembered his father pushing his chair back with that same impatience to let him, Mehring, pass by him after the meal.
Mehring felt the same irritation, the same helpless fury rise up in him that he had felt years ago whenever he saw his father’s white folded hands resting on the kitchen table, the harbinger of approaching humiliation. Although they were resting peacefully on the clean tablecloth, they could spring into action at any moment, like a predator catching the scent of its prey, to land on his face with a cracking slap. He hated them all the more as it was inconceivable that he defend himself against his father. Mehring got up and walked to the window.
“Read this through, please,” he said pointing to the inventory, lying on top of the heap of the Recktenwald’s possessions.
“If everything is correct, sign it.”
He looked at the facades of the houses across the way. A woman was stretching her full-figured torso far out of the window and cleaning the glass with wide circular motions. Like a greeting, thought Mehring. Scrutinizing the building’s gleaming dark green front door, he saw his father again in the woolen jacket that he wore over his shirt in the evenings, more comfortable than his daytime waistcoat, but more fashionable than the dressing gown he put on just before going to bed. He saw the white cuffs of the shirt protruding from the jacket that had gone fluffy from all the washings, and his father’s thickly veined hands. And it suddenly struck him as odd that he could remember all these insignificant details, and yet could not recall how he himself looked as a boy: whenever he encountered his father in his thoughts, he was always the man he had become over the years.
“I beg your pardon?” Mehring turned round and walked up to Mrs. Recktenwald.
“Couldn’t I?” she asked. “It means so much to me. I’ve never taken it off, ever.”
Mehring looked into her timidly smiling face, then down at her hands. She was twisting the ring with her left-hand thumb and index finger. A nervous tic, thought Mehring, that she doesn’t notice anymore. He sat down.
“No,” he said. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” When he saw her disappointed face he added that he was sorry.
He understood the woman’s reasons. Nevertheless it would be impossible for him to make such a decision.
“Leave it be.” The man slipped the ring from his wife’s finger and threw it on the table.
“You have to understand that…” Mehring began, then stopped when he saw the man’s hunched posture, a curved vault of anger.
There was no point. He would not be able to make them understand him. They wouldn’t understand his methods. They didn’t know the department. Didn’t know the rules of the department. They didn’t know what it meant to carry out this work, that no exceptions could be made, or else everything that was meant to last for a thousand years, that was being built to last for eternity with his participation, would completely collapse like a house of cards. He pressed the button that made the bell ring outside.
“If you please,” he said as the policeman came in, and indicated they were to go now.
That was enough for the morning. Impatiently he ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the door closing behind the couple; it clicked shut with an easy motion that angered him, for it did not seem to fit with the surroundings of an office. Such is my reward, thought Mehring with a sigh, and walked over to the sink.
He did not often become flushed, hardly at all these days, and only if something pleasant happened. Now, however, touching his face, he felt the heat coming off it. He went back to his desk and straightened out his writing tools: the inkwell, the blotting paper, and the fountain pen holder he had been given for Christmas, complete with its fountain pen made of solid silver that produced graceful loops when put to paper. Then he picked up the Recktenwalds’ declaration. He would deal with the remaining formalities after lunch. He still had to note down the reason for arrest, place of arrest, the code at the top of the form, and any distinguishing features. None, thought Mehring, not even a mole, and added the form to the stack of papers to be dealt with over on the right-hand side of his desk. He put on his jacket, straightened the sleeves, and walked over to the door. He already had his hand on the door handle when he turned around and returned to his desk.
One could never be too careful. He knew everyone in the office, of course, but the sergeant’s wife was critically ill. A lengthy affair. Poor man, thought Mehring, I don’t want to lead him into temptation. He took a box, wrote the couple’s name on a piece of paper that he had cut in half, and pasted it competently on the lid of the box. Then he took the inventory, read out the first object on the list, fished it out of the pile, and put it in the box, and scored through the word with his pencil. He worked quickly, with concentration.
When he got to the ladies’ watch with the leather strap turned black from wear, he paused and, after holding it up to the window to check, added that it was a gold-plated watch.
Finally, he reached for the rings. Although they lay uppermost on the pile he had kept pushing them aside. Two wedding rings (gold). He slowly drew his
pencil through the four words. He was about to put the rings in the box when he noticed that they were engraved on the inside.
Mehring peered at the curved writing and read the words. They made him pensive. Hesitantly, he placed the rings in the box, sealed it, and fished out a rubber band from his desk. He pulled it round the box and slipped the declaration together with the list beneath it.
He would countersign the list afterward and also fill his fountain pen, which was barely writing now. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out the newspaper he had not managed to finish that morning because of all the subpoenas. He was especially interested in the tragic tale of the actress and had deliberately saved it up for last. Mehring rolled the paper into a tube, bounced it off the table a couple of times to cheer himself up, and went off to the local pub. He was slowly working up an appetite.
After greeting two of the regulars, and exchanging a few words with the waitress, he ordered the day’s special and a small beer. While he was waiting for his food, he turned to the culture section.
“Oh, yes,” Mehring said, smiling at the waitress as she put his glass on top of a round beer mat, “There is something very nice about a beer like this.”
And then he could not help thinking of it again: of the rings, two wedding rings made of gold, now in the safekeeping of the Reich, and also of the Recktenwalds, whom he had duly passed on to the responsible authorities for custody, according to the regulations, and of the man, and of his parents who had the same words engraved in their rings back then, the same or something similar, for his parents’ generation had still believed in those alien-sounding words, devoid of purpose.
Oh, yes, he thought, and then his food arrived.
A Fundamentally Flawed Attitude
(The Powder Compact)
THE FEBRUARY 27 ISSUE of the Berlin Law and Court Journal reported that a ruling had been passed by the District Court of Berlin on January 19, 1937, citing the purchase of a silver-plated powder compact from a Jewish store as a marital offense.
The Inventory: A Novel Page 10