Accidental Saviors

by Jack A Saarela

  “How long has it been since I’ve been embraced?” Himmler asked as he gradually ceased his weeping. He seemed calmer, as though his confession had been a kind of healing balm. Kersten inconspicuously removed his arms from around Himmler.

  Abruptly, Himmler seemed to flip an emotional switch and gather himself and put on his SS face.

  “Now today, I woke up with the worst stomach pains I have ever had.”

  Kersten thought it was a suitable time to shift to a therapeutic approach. “Let me ask you, Herr Reichsführer, if you can see any correlation?”

  “Correlation between what, Doctor? What are you getting at?” Himmler sounded irritated.

  “Between your traumatic experience in Warsaw, last night’s bad dream, and today’s stomach pain?”

  “Oh, I’m too exhausted to try to figure it out myself, Kersten. You’re the expert. Illuminate me.”

  “It seems clear to me, if I might say so, that the emotional distress you felt you couldn’t afford to disclose has to go somewhere. Do you know Newton’s theorem of the conservation of energy? Energy, especially emotional energy, cannot be destroyed; rather, it transforms from one form to another.”

  Himmler looked at Kersten as though his therapist had lost his mind.

  “For Christ’s sake, Kersten, now you’re quoting the ethereal, academic theories of an English pseudo-scientist. The apple that was said to fall from the tree and hit his head probably caused a concussion, or something, for him to have such a hair-brained idea.”

  Kersten smiled at the attempt at humor. “Maybe so, but I know of a lot of German scientists who no longer consider Newton’s ideas as mere theory, but as law, or principle. They couldn’t do their work without giving it full credence.”

  “You’re losing me with all this talk about Newton. Get to the point and tell me how you think all this pertains to me and my stomach distress.”

  “I mean, just think of the times in the last few years, Herr Reichsführer, when the distress was so acute you couldn’t walk, or sit, or sleep. Think of what preceded each episode...Recall the time, for instance, in February of ’40 when your Führer was going to put you in charge of forcible transplanting all the Jews in Holland east to Poland. Remember how acute your pain was the next day when I saw you? I wonder about the timing of such intense pain. I wonder what emotional energy in your mind and heart was being transformed into piercing pain in your gut?”

  Himmler appeared to be contemplating Kersten’s words reluctantly but made no reply.

  Kersten gave another example. “Or what about the time after Wannsee back in January when you were made aware of what the Führer and Göbbels and Eichmann are calling ‘the Final Solution.’ You were given the order to transform all the reeducation and work camps into extermination camps like Treblinka. You were deathly sick the next day when Brandt called me to come to the Chancellery immediately to treat you. Again, have you ever thought of the timing of your stomach anguish that day? Once again, I am made to wonder, especially now in light of your account of your experience in Warsaw, what emotional energy in you was being transformed into your stomach angst. Some resistance to the notion of this so-called ‘Final Solution,’ perhaps? Some innate fear of having to send innocent people like that little boy to their deaths?”

  Himmler’s face began turning red, but Kersten could tell it was not from his weeping. He had seen this transformation of mood and demeanor in Kersten countless times before. His face had become more resolute. His body had resumed the erect, tenacious, unbendable bearing of a Nazi general. He tightened his thin lips as though they were standing at attention. He raised his body emphatically out of his chair.

  “You do a lot of wondering. I believe it’s time to terminate this session, Kersten. I think if you reflect on your last comments, you will recognize that your wondering has led you far afield. You have said much too much. You have taken too much liberty in your capacity as the personal masseur of the Chief of the Schutzstaffel. Don’t let it happen again. You’re dismissed. You may go. Good day, Doctor.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Helsinki: August 1,1942

  Kersten was riding in the front seat of an Opel limousine. Himmler was in the rear seat with Finnish Prime Minister Johan Rangell and Foreign Minister Rolf Witting. They were returning from a state luncheon given in Himmler’s honor. The men sat in a post-luncheon, post-cognac mellowness. Only Himmler, the strict teetotaler ,was fully alert.

  He broke the silence with some cheery remarks. “We are very grateful for the cooperation of the Finnish government in the Führer’s Operation Barbarossa. Allowing our forces to infiltrate Russia through Finnish Lapland is a key element of the strategy. We’ll teach the Bolsheviks a lesson or two, won’t we?”

  Kersten cringed. Himmler was speaking too jauntily for the liking of the more taciturn Finns.

  “Likewise, we are appreciative of your support and vital materiel for our efforts to maintain our independence from Stalin,” Rangell said diplomatically. “Finland has only one desire: to live in peace and independence on our own soil.”

  “I spoke with the Führer yesterday and informed him of the warm hospitality extended to me, and therefore to him, by the Finnish government. I told him also of the relaxing session in the sauna.”

  “It is our duty, Herr Reichsführer, to show our respect,” Rangell said, glancing briefly at his foreign minister.

  “The Führer believes that the time has come to take the relationship between our two countries to a new and more intimate level.”

  Kersten looked at the Finnish politicians who were clearly apprehensive and unsure how to proceed. His anxiety caused him to inject himself into the conversation and risk transgressing diplomatic protocol.

  “I believe I speak for our government when I say we are satisfied with the relationship as it now stands.”

  “That’s very noble of you, Doctor,” Himmler said with a patronizing smile. “But the fact is, you do not speak for your government. These two gentlemen can and do...It is regrettable, sirs, that even before the war you were forced to receive German and Austrian Jews as refugees. The first step your government can do to enhance our relationship is to repatriate these refugees to the Reich from which they fled illegally.”

  Kersten had consulted privately with Witting over dinner the night before. He gave the foreign minister advanced warning that this subject, which Himmler considered paramount, would likely be on the agenda. He and Witting had settled on a strategy of procrastination, which Kersten assured him would be more likely to be accepted by Himmler than outright refusal of the request.

  “I can arrange matters back in Germany to expedite the repatriation,” Himmler added.

  Kersten had informed Witting of what fate would almost surely await the refugees if they were repatriated.

  “You are correct, of course, Herr Reichsführer, that Herr Rangell and I can speak for our government,” Witting said. “But within certain constitutional limits, you understand. Such an action would have to be ratified by the supreme authority in our land, the Parliament.”

  “Democracy is a rather clumsy and inefficient form of government, I must say,” Himmler said pointedly. “Like that of the British. But of course, we would want to abide by the customs of our host.”

  “Unfortunately, Parliament has adjourned for the season,” Witting continued. “Not even Members of Parliament are willing to sacrifice their beautiful Finnish summer in the country or beside the lake for which we wait for seven or eight months.”

  Kersten had to turn his face back to the front in order to hide the giddy conspiratorial smile that was growing on his face.

  “I believe it’s not until November, isn’t it, Herr Rangell, when you call Parliament back into session?” Witting asked, looking at the Prime Minister.

  “That’s correct,” Rangell was quick to inject. “November 15 this year, in fact.”

  “Surely, a special session of the Parliament can be called to discuss this matt
er?” Himmler enunciated the sentence as a statement rather than a question.

  “For a matter of utmost national security, of course,” Rangell replied. “But with all due respect, the refugees we accepted—willingly, I must add—have not posed a threat to Finnish national security to this point, and we don‘t expect them to.”

  Kersten could sense Himmler through the back of his head, looking to him for some word of support, but Kersten continued to look out the windscreen.

  “Then I am sure the Führer will be happy to postpone this matter until then,” Himmler said, stunning Kersten with his uncharacter-istically servile retreat from the power struggle.

  Himmler, though, wasn’t finished with the subject.

  “While you have your Parliament in session in November, the Führer would like the members to consider a formal request to round up not just the refugees who have arrived in Finland since 1936, but all Jews in your country and to surrender them to the Reich. My SS commander in Tallinn has requested such a list from your chief of the State Police.”

  Kersten was as surprised as Rangell and Witting. Himmler had not divulged this comprehensive request to him earlier.

  “If he is doing his job, as we expect he is,” Witting said, “Herr Anthoni will have responded to the request by informing your commander that no such list exists. To the extent of my knowledge, we do not keep a list of persons by religion. Am I correct, Herr Prime Minister?”

  “You certainly are, Herr Witting.”

  “I find that strange. Doesn’t your government need to know its own people?” Himmler asked, genuinely dumbfounded. “If there is no list currently, as you say, I am sure that one could be generated in little time.”

  “Herr Reichsführer, it would strike the Members of Parliament as totally unreasonable to request such a list, and furthermore, to request that persons named on the list be surrendered to a foreign government,” Rangell said firmly, but careful not to offend Himmler if at all possible.

  “To us Germans, it is an entirely reasonable request, Herr Rangell. Besides, we are allies now working together and marching hand in hand.”

  Kersten shared the politicians’ frustration at Himmler’s stubbornly German-centered spin on the unorthodox agreement between the two countries. He was sure Himmler was deliberately misinterpreting the nature of the relationship to gain advantage in his argument.

  “As I say, your request is not one that would be received favorably, I’m afraid,” Witting said firmly.

  “In that case, if the request is considered out-of-hand by your government, there are certain favors to Finland the Führer might be moved to reconsider granting,” Himmler said, much more menacingly now.

  “Such as, Herr Reichsführer?” Rangell asked cautiously.

  “Such as the food shipments from the Reich, which have been keeping you and your countrymen alive during this conflict with your neighbor.”

  Rangell and Witting were taken aback. Kersten turned back toward the rear seat and shot a disapproving look at Himmler, who pretended not to notice. Rangell and Witting persisted, however.

  “Herr Reichsführer, such an action by our cobelligerent would be perceived by the Finnish people as punitive, even hostile, and lower the respect of the Finnish people toward Germany quite substantially,” Rangell said. “It would be regarded as a breach of our agreement of 1941. Our relationship would deteriorate seriously at such a sensitive moment in our campaign against the common enemy.”

  Good for you, Rangell.

  “Perhaps a breach of the literal words of the agreement, but certainly not the spirit of the agreement. Besides, the Führer isn’t overly concerned about the feelings of the run-of-the-mill people. It’s the cooperation of your government and military that interests him.”

  “You must understand, Herr Reichsführer, that without the approval of the Finnish people, the Members of Parliament would be reluctant, to say the least, to continue our relationship as brothers-in-arms.”

  Himmler seemed to back off for the moment.

  Not willing to raise the white flag, Himmler continued, though in a less assertive manner. Kersten could see that the limousine was nearing their hotel.

  “We will have to return anon to discussion of the Jewish problem in Finland. I must take up the conversation with Field Marshall Mannerheim when I visit him at his headquarters in Mikkeli tomorrow.”

  “With all due respect, Herr Reichsführer, we do not have such a thing as a ‘Jewish problem’ in Finland,” Rangell said. “Yes, we do have roughly several thousand citizens in this country who are Jewish. But these are decent families and individuals who have contributed to the well-being of the country as a whole.”

  Himmler responded in a doctrinaire fashion. “My good sirs, I am glad to know that there are relatively so few Jews in your midst. If you have Jews in your country, however, any Jews, you do, therefore, have a ‘Jewish problem’.”

  Kersten could tell by his face that the usual stoic Rangell’s inner emotions were roiling. When he next spoke, his voice was growing in intensity and passion. He hoped that Rangell would be careful in what he said.

  “Many of the sons of those decent families,” Rangell continued, “have sacrificed their lives in the Winter War against our common enemy, the Russians. Many continue to serve in the current conflict we share against the same Russians. Even many of the able-bodied Jewish refugees from the Reich have volunteered to serve. No Finn, I can assure you, Herr Reichsführer, would understand how their own government would be willing to surrender the mothers and wives of such valiant men, or be supportive of it.”

  Himmler shook his head in disbelief and seemed to admit defeat, for the time being.

  “It’s hard for me to comprehend, gentlemen. Jews fighting side by side with our Wehrmacht.”

  “So perhaps we can agree that both parties to the agreement have had to make compromises, and leave it at that,” Witting said.

  After that, Himmler was reduced to silence. Kersten’s heart was beaming with pride in the nation that had adopted him, and admiration for that country’s Prime Minister and Foreign Minister. The discussion of the “Jewish problem” in Finland ended right there.

  Initially, Kersten had regarded accompanying Himmler to Finland as a welcome opportunity to touch down on Finnish soil again after so many years. On the other hand, he had feared it would be an interruption from his real work: not just treating Himmler but saving the lives of innocent Jews. It turned out, instead, that the trip was an unexpected and serendipitous occasion to intervene on behalf of more Jews, this time the several thousand who had made Finland their home.

  ~~~

  When Himmler and Kersten returned to the hotel, Kersten was thrilled at the day’s events. He was rightly anxious, however, about the bitter fallout from a spurned Himmler that he would have to endure at his next treatment session.

  Himmler didn’t wait until the next treatment. The telephone in Kersten’s room rang almost as soon as he was in the door. It was Himmler.

  “What does that louse of a country of yours think it’s doing?” Himmler’s furious voice registered on the receiver. “Do they not know that the Führer is not somebody to trifle with? The uppity bastards! If he so wishes, the Führer could wring the Finns’ bloody necks any day he chose and sentence them to the same fate as the Jews they are protecting.”

  Kersten remained prudently silent. After a while, Himmler’s fury was spent. The tone of his voice changed.

  “Oh, good night, Kersten,” he sighed. “I know this is not your fault. You can’t be blamed for the short-sightedness of your government. Our treatment tomorrow morning at the usual time?”

  “Yes, Herr Reichsführer, the usual time.”

  Kersten was a little shaken when he put down the telephone receiver. He couldn’t help hoping that Himmler would return to Germany with a renewed understanding of the principles guiding Germany’s cobelligerent and would transmit that insight to his boss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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  Gransee: August 3, 1944

  Kersten never felt as fully alive and contented as he did on the few occasions that his schedule, or more correctly Himmler’s schedule, permitted him several days in succession to return to the serenity of his country estate, Hartzwalde.

  He could tell from Himmler’s disposition at any given time how the war was going for Germany. Recently, Himmler had been particularly moody and distracted, confirming in Kersten’s mind that the tide of the war had turned in a decidedly unfavorable direction for the Germans. For that reason, Felix and Irmgaard discussed the possibility, the wisdom really, of her and the children’s relocation to Sweden. For a variety of reasons, Kersten had chosen Sweden as his next country of residence. There would be no future for them in Germany once the Allies reached Berlin. Holland was too physically devastated by the war. As an officially neutral country, Sweden would be a safe and desirable landing spot for them.

  When he had first considered the possibility of having his family relocate to Sweden, he convinced his boss to order the installation of an untapped telephone line at Hartzwalde and his flat so he could call his wife and talk in private. Himmler didn’t hesitate a second to oblige.

  “You really have Himmler’s permission for all of us to leave?” Irmgaard asked.

  “Well, no, not all of us. He will make arrangements for you and the boys to leave for Sweden. But I have to return. That’s all he asks.”

  “All he asks,” Irmgaard sighed sarcastically. “To your family, that’s more than all.”

  Already in June, a massive American, British and Canadian armada had landed on Normandy. Readers of reports of the Normandy landing in the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung were given the distinct impression that it was a small flotilla of requisitioned British fishing craft. When Kersten checked the Helsingin Sanomat at the Finnish legation, however, he was told the landing was the largest naval armada in the history of the world. Even if the truth was somewhere near halfway between the official Nazi organ and the view from Finland, Kersten had a pretty good idea that Hitler’s days were numbered.