“But, darling, don’t you think all this excess is down to Hitler’s entourage?” my mother asks. “It’s bound to calm down, isn’t it? Once they’ve had a chance to swagger about in the streets, they really will have to run the country, as others have before them. They’ll be confronted with the same problems. You can’t solve everything with a cudgel! And it will all go back to normal. Don’t you think now that Hitler’s been appointed he’ll toe the line? He’ll certainly have to follow the regulations set by the League of Nations. The other countries won’t let him flout the agreements reached after the war without doing something. He knows that…Hitler can’t be as out of control as people say.”
“But of course he is!” my father says heatedly. “His friends are dangerous, ill-educated lunatics. But Hitler’s the worst of the lot. I took the trouble to read his doorstop from cover to cover. And, as Sigmund Freud said, what we’re seeing are the harebrained schemes of a hysteric. He’s a paranoiac and thinks he’s found a magic formula for ruling the world. He has a preposterous explanation for everything, and he thinks his arguments are infallibly logical. He sets them out over pages and pages, he wants to indoctrinate us with his own meandering, tortuous thought processes, and there’s nothing rational about any of it, I can tell you. It’s terrifying. It really is the work of a deranged mind, a megalomaniac. In fact, it’s so crazy that I can’t help laughing when I read it.”
“Perhaps we should leave Germany, then?” my mother asks tentatively.
“Leave? That would certainly make the Nazis happy. But where would we go? Who would have us? We’d need a work visa for whichever country we choose. We really can’t settle illegally wherever takes our fancy. With this financial crash, foreigners everywhere are being accused of taking other people’s jobs, illegal immigrants are being driven out to limit the rise of the extreme right. We’d be foreigners with no papers, like all those people who’ve already fled Mussolini’s Italy, or the civil war in Spain. The republicans are fighting in the streets with the Fascists. Civil war…that’s the worst thing…It would cost us a fortune to leave like that, we’d lose everything, and with no work our savings would melt away in a matter of weeks. And what would we live off? And Bürschi’s only just started school, where would he go to school? In France? Or England? He doesn’t speak a word of French or English…Imagine him waiting months in some camp. Can you picture us, stateless, behind barbed wire, waiting endlessly for someone to rubber-stamp our papers?”
“America?” my mother suggests.
“But it’s such a long way away! And anyway they’re very careful about giving out visas. And over there, it would be impossible to make anyone believe you’re there for a vacation and then stay forever. They’re draconian when you board the ship and when you arrive. It’s very hard.”
“Palestine? Lots of Jews go there to make their home…”
“But it’s a desert, my darling,” Papa says gently. “People live on the sand, like the Bedouin. And what will the Arabs say when they find out that Germans have moved onto their land because they weren’t wanted in their own country? The anti-Semites are at work in Palestine too! Anyway, it’s too hot in summer and too cold in winter. I’d have to work the land, you’d have to run a farm, feed hens. You could say goodbye to your beautiful gowns, to playing the piano and concerts. And there’s nothing to say the Jews will ever secure independence from that British protectorate. Even if they do, I wonder how long they’d keep it. In the desert, men are still just as ready to fight so they can plant their flag on their neighbor’s plot of land.”
“But, I don’t know, there must be something we can do…”
“If it were just the two of us, on our own, yes. But we’re a family. I’ve contemplated every option: Switzerland, Czechoslovakia, the Netherlands, everything. Whichever country you name, it’s more than we can afford. Nations are going under one after the other: Italy, Japan, and now Spain. There are more and more Fascists everywhere, in France, the United States…”
“It’s worst here,” Mama says. “They say the Nazis are planning to build camps to intern anyone who opposes their ideas.”
“They don’t mean the Jews, just the Communists. The camps are for political opponents. Don’t worry. We just have to wait till the next elections. People will soon have enough of being steamrollered. Everyone wants peace. We all like to read the papers, travel, go for walks. They’re already saying that the Nazis won’t have a majority in the parliamentary elections on March fifth. They’ll be in free fall!”
I play in my bedroom. The lights are always out in Hitler’s house these days. Since he became chancellor, there are round-the-clock guards outside the building. I’ve played with my Christmas presents, and I’m lying alone in bed, reading stories by Karl May, an explorer who traveled in Saudi Arabia and Yemen. I’d like to go to a faraway country. Why does my father say we wouldn’t be happy? I’d cross the desert on a camel, single file in a long caravan, from oasis to palm grove. I’d see mirages and sand castles. I dream I’m dressed like a Bedouin, I have my own curved dagger, and I’m galloping on a purebred Arabian. I dream of sleeping under the stars on an endless sand dune.
Hitler has been chancellor for three weeks and the elections are in five days. They’re going to vote to elect the new congressmen in the Reichstag. Uncle Lion has decided to wait for the results before returning to Germany. Everyone says the Nazis will lose.
In this morning’s Münchner Neueste Nachrichten there are pictures of burning buildings. It’s the Reichstag itself.
“Thank goodness he’s not a Jew,” Papa says.
“Why do you say that?” Mama asks.
“Haven’t you heard? Have you not read the articles? It’s all anyone can talk about. They’ve arrested the man who started the fire, Marinus van der Lubbe, a Dutch Communist of just twenty-four. Only a day has passed and Hitler is revoking many of our liberal laws. In the name of protecting democracy, of course. He claims Germany is under threat from terrorists, the Communists and foreigners. According to him, this fire was the signal for the launch of some huge insurrection. That very day Hindenburg signed a presidential decree ‘for the protection of the people and the country.’ Shall I read you the article? It’s a summary: ‘Article one suspends most of the civil liberties guaranteed by the Weimar Republic—freedom of the individual, freedom of expression, freedom of the press, the right to form societies and to have public meetings, confidentiality of mail and telephone services, protection of the home and property. Articles two and three transfer various prerogatives usually reserved for the Länder to the Reich government. Articles four and five institute heavy penalties for particular crimes, principally the death penalty for arson in public buildings. And article six sets out that the decree takes effect from the day of its proclamation.”
“But surely they can’t do that without Parliament’s approval?” Mama asks, still calm.
“Hitler made a speech to the congressmen. Obviously no one wanted to be seen to be siding with terrorists and enemies of democracy. The whole assembly rose to their feet when he sang the national anthem. He’s Machiavellian. And simplistic: in his view, opposing his ideas is tantamount to supporting terrorism. He keeps bandying about the danger of a Bolshevik revolution. It’s unanswerable. The net result is that his henchmen are already making multiple arrests among the Communists. Friends have called me. Even Ernst Thälmann has fled!”
“The Communist leader? But six million Germans have just voted for him…”
“He’ll be arrested,” Papa says matter-of-factly. “I can guarantee that if this Marinus were a Jew, every synagogue in the country would already be ablaze.”
“What next?”
“What’s next is the end of the Weimar Republic, the end of the republic, period.”
I don’t want to listen to the adults anymore, they’re boring. Ralph says it’s the same at his house. He doesn’t want to hear any more either. Together we play at inventing a world with no wars or borders. When th
e kids in the schoolyard have play fights, we move away. We sit side by side reading Karl May. One day we’ll set off on a voyage together, without telling our parents. They’ll be impressed and proud when we return famous, followed by a retinue of servants laden with exotic gifts…But when I come home, the mood is glum. Before, Papa used to play with me, he’d go down on all fours, I’d climb on his back, then he’d roll me over and tickle me. But he doesn’t feel like it now. He gets angry so quickly. My mother looks tired, she says life is difficult.
I watch them in secret, hiding behind my bedroom door. I can see them through the gap. They’re talking about Thomas Mann.
“He’s with Lion, in France,” Papa tells Mama.
“In the South, at Sanary?”
“Yes. The Nazis have been to Lion’s house. They’ve ransacked the place, broken the windows, knocked over the bookshelves, like the Huns. The house is ruined. All the poetry of that carefully created haven gone just like that. They’ve done the same to Thomas Mann’s house.”
“Good God!” Mama exclaims. “But why Thomas Mann? He’s neither a Jew nor Communist…”
“No, but he’s ‘decadent,’ almost as serious an offense as being ‘degenerate,’ which is what those madmen say we are.”
I don’t like it when my parents go out in the evening, I’m afraid they won’t come back, that they’ll be arrested and sent to a camp. Rosie told me that the Communist Party leader Ernst Thälmann has been arrested, along with lots of his friends. They’ve been penned up in shacks at Dachau, not far from Munich.
Rosie came to pick me up at school, as she does every day. She had a snack in her basket. It was a nice day so we went to eat it in the park. I was allowed to spend some time on the swings. Soldiers marched past in small groups, all wearing armbands with swastikas. Their feet made a rhythmic sound, like drumbeats, or hammer blows on an anvil. I could hear the gravel crunch under their boots. Rosie turned away whenever one of them looked toward us. She was silent on the way home. Mama was at home but she didn’t make me do my homework, she asked Rosie to look after me. I didn’t get my usual hug, and now I’m in bed. I would have liked to play for a while after dinner but wasn’t allowed to. I don’t know what’s going on today, everything’s different. Cars go by outside in the street. Doors slam. I can hear Papa and Mama talking in the drawing room.
“They’ve put a giant swastika on the front of the town hall,” Papa’s saying. “He’s been chancellor for barely a month, and he already has the temerity to decorate the city in his party’s colors. I don’t understand. It’s completely illegal. But that’s not the worst of it. The SS* are now in charge of Munich’s police force. Hitler has ordered that all power should be handed over to Himmler, his head of security. They’ve announced officially that this new police force is declaring war on Communists, Marxists…and Jews. They’ve made some arrests today. Packs of them are bursting into shops, breaking everything, and frog-marching the owners and their employees out. We’re living a nightmare.”
The atmosphere is gloomy again today. Mama didn’t want to help me with my homework. She handed me over to Rosie. We’re in the kitchen now for teatime but I’ve had enough of not being with Mama. I want to sit on her lap and play the piano. In the next room my parents are talking about the father of Beate Siegel; she and I used to hunt for butterflies and grasshoppers beside the lake in summer.
“…it’s one of his clients, Herr Uhlfelder,” I hear Papa say. “The Nazis destroyed his shop yesterday, just after they took over control of the police force, and they arrested him. No one knows where he is. Michael went to the police station this morning to have him released. Since then there’s been no news of him either.”
I have my nose practically inside my bowl of hot chocolate, I can hear my own breathing. I sit here watching the changing colors in the milk, not wanting to eat the skin. I’m glad my parents are safe at home. Beate’s father could be killed. Rosie sits in silence.
I do my homework, take my bath, have my supper. I read a story in bed. It’s still daylight outside. The telephone’s been ringing all evening. I can hear Papa’s voice from the drawing room. I know he’s talking about Beate’s father, Herr Siegel.
“…and then a detachment of SA took Michael into a small office. They beat him ruthlessly and broke two of his teeth. They tore his pants, then put a sign around his neck with the words: ‘I’m a Jew and I’ll never criticize the police again,’ and they made him go out into the street. They forced him to walk barefoot through Munich all day, trailing him around, like a slave, a fairground animal, a curiosity. People stood and stared. Then they put the barrel of a rifle to his temple and, without any explanation, laughed and said he was free to go. He managed to take a taxi and get home. He’s in bed. Alive.”
Mama’s brother has mailed us a French magazine, L’Illustration. The cover has a photograph of English children in the streets. They seem to be playing hopscotch. English words are daubed on the ground in white paint: “Boycott German Goods. Open Palestine.” Papa translates for me as usual.
He shows me the whole magazine. There are photos of soldiers, the Reichswehr armed forces marching on the parade square of the Lustgarten royal palace in Berlin. The text says that “batteries fired salutes in front of the cathedral.” I look at the pictures of cannons mounted on trucks.
“It’s the end of the republic, Bürschi. Take a really good look, you mustn’t forget this.”
The next page features a large photo of the inside of the church in Potsdam. He reads a sentence out loud:
“ ‘This marks the fall of the Weimar Republic and the accession of the Third Reich.’ ”
I can see Hitler, teeny tiny, standing at a lectern. I recognize him. I also make out Marshal von Hindenburg sitting in front of him.
Papa reads the caption, “ ‘The opening ceremony of the new Reichstag in the garrison church in Potsdam on March 21. On the right, VIP boxes; at the back, Hitler’s congressmen in their black shirts; in the foreground, representatives of the Catholic Center and local politicians; in the central enclosure reserved for members of the government, Chancellor Hitler reading his speech before President von Hindenburg in his marshal’s uniform.’ ”
On the left-hand page, a smaller photograph shows soldiers with Nazi armbands saluting each other.
“Look, they’re outside the main doors to the Kroll Opera House in Berlin, where the provisional Parliament has been set up. That picture was taken two days after this one, two weeks ago.”
And he reads the article to Mama. I don’t catch everything, but I listen. I like the way his voice changes when he reads, soft and quiet.
“ ‘Breaking with tradition, it was not the eldest statesman but President Göring who pronounced the speeches open. In the absence of any opposition, proceedings were extremely orderly and the election took place without incident. It was in this same enclosure that, on March 23, the chancellor read out his declaration of government. This long document does not feature the party leader’s usual robust language. All these parliamentary demonstrations were effectively intended solely to secure a proposed law conferring full power to the government. This proposal delegates to the executive every prerogative that has hitherto been covered by the legislature: the right to legislate even on budgetary matters, the right to alter the Constitution; the normal relationship between the president of the empire and Parliament is suspended, and the chancellor will now be promulgating laws. The president’s role in the Reichstag will be reduced to ratifying bills. This exceptional regime is intended to last for a four-year period, until April 1, 1937. The election was won by four hundred and forty-one votes to ninety-four, out of five hundred and thirty-five congressmen, with the eighty-three Communists banned from the Assembly and some dozen Socialists currently in prison. The Reichstag then adjourned sine die. Chancellor Hitler, therefore, now has unrestricted dictatorship.’ ”
Another photograph shows men walking around a large courtyard.
“German
political prisoners taking exercise outside Berlin’s administrative buildings,” Papa reads.
“Doesn’t it say anything about Jews?” Mama asks.
“Yes, it does: ‘The anti-Semitic campaign has also been implemented so aggressively that many Jews, particularly in intellectual circles, have felt they had to leave Germany. Around the world, most notably in the United States and England, their coreligionists have taken the initiative of setting up a protest movement, which is likely to have far-reaching scope.’ ”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Mama looks disappointed. She picks up the paper and turns over the pages as if looking for something. Her eyes are red. She puts down the paper and goes to her bedroom.
Since Hitler’s been running Germany, Fräulein Weikl at school has changed, she talks about him a lot. We’ve started work in a new exercise book this week. She’ll be asking us to draw in it every day. I like coloring my drawings. I have a pencil box with color crayons, a lead pencil and a fountain pen. I put my ink pot in a small hole in the corner of my desk. I want to start straightaway!
“This exercise book is like the beginning of a new life for us and for Germany,” says Fräulein Weikl.
It’s May 1 today, International Workers’ Day. Rosie meets up with her friends on this date every year. They go off with provisions under their arms and join parades in the streets, then they dance and have fun in the evening. Bands play cheerful tunes, paper lanterns light up the city’s squares where tables and benches have been set up for the festivities.
For the first time, the date wasn’t observed today: Hitler replaced it with a different occasion, celebrating his party. Fräulein Weikl told us that from now on it would be a day “for real workers, the ones who love their country, not the lazy ones who never want to do anything.” And she suggested we each do a drawing on the subject. I took my new exercise book from my satchel, opened it out nice and flat and took my inspiration from the picture my teacher had drawn on the blackboard. First, I very carefully drew a big hammer, the Communist symbol. On this hammer, I wrote the words “May 1.” Then I drew a swastika. Completely covering the hammer. I colored it all with crayons. It’s my best drawing ever. I don’t want to show it to Rosie, in case it upsets her. It makes it look as if the Nazis have won the war against the Spartacists.
Hitler, My Neighbor Page 7