The Unlikely Allies

by Gilbert, Morris

  Derek leaned forward, and for the next thirty minutes listened as the pastor spoke of how Jesus grew hungry, how He grew thirsty, how He grew so weary that He could fall asleep in a small boat in the midst of a raging storm. The pastor also indicated that the temptations that Jesus endured in the wilderness were representative of all those things that torment man.

  “I do not pretend to know the nature of all the temptations that our Lord endured, but I have known temptations as a man, and sadly I must confess that I have not always been victorious, but I believe that the Lord Jesus endured every temptation I have ever had and endured them victoriously.”

  The pastor closed his Bible and stood silently for a moment. “Jesus is the Son of Mary, and He is the Son of the Eternal God. Once when things were going badly, He asked His disciples, ‘Will you also go away?’ And my answer is the same as Simon Peter’s when I sometimes feel doubt or despair, when my heart is heavy and it seems that there is no way out.” He smiled. “You didn’t think your pastor felt like that? Well, he does. And so does every man and every woman here, I believe. What did Simon Peter answer? He said, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.’ ”

  Derek felt those words enter his spirit, as Scriptures or certain poems did at times, and he felt that the pastor was directing them at his own heart. When the service was over, he left at once without speaking to anyone, but for the rest of the day and for three days afterward, he relived the words of the pastor’s sermon. They seemed to be engraved on his mind, and always like a refrain came the question of Simon Peter, To whom shall we go? These words troubled Derek greatly, for he felt his frailty, and the depression and despondency that settled onto him was darker than anything he had ever known.

  Three days after the sermon, he arrived at Harstad, a small fishing village not too far from Narvik, and found a mere handful of soldiers controlling the territory. They had commandeered a house, and the sergeant in charge had seen to it that Derek had the best room and the best bed. He inspected the scanty effects of the barracks and spent a brief hour with the sergeant in charge, then went to bed early.

  He was too tired to undress, but even so, sleep eluded him that night. He read until his eyes burned, moving restlessly between the Bible and three books of poetry he had brought with him. He finally grew so weary he could barely contain himself, and still, though his body ached with fatigue, he knew he would not be able to sleep.

  He took one of the poetry books with him and went to the kitchen and heated some coffee. Taking the cup to the office, he sat down at the desk and opened the book, a small volume of George Herbert’s poetry. He was tired of reading and weary of his own company, but the silence of the room seemed to intimidate him. He opened the book at random and read the first poem that his eyes touched. The title of it was simply “Love.”

  Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,

  Guilty of dust and sin.

  But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack

  From my first entrance in,

  Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

  If I lack’d any thing.

  “A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here”;

  Love said, “You shall be he.”

  “I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

  I cannot look on Thee.”

  Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

  “Who made the eyes but I?”

  “Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve.”

  “And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”

  “My dear, then I will serve.”

  “You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”

  So I did sit and eat.

  At first Derek felt dull and lethargic, and the words seemed to mean very little. But then as he read it a second time, he found himself becoming more interested, and finally on a third reading he found the poem to be fascinating.

  He had a quick ear for good poetry and had no trouble understanding it. The poem was really about a man’s attempt to draw nearer to God, and in poetic fashion had set forth the man’s argument that he was unfit to come close to God.

  “Well, this Englishman knew what it was like to feel like a dirty beggar,” he muttered. “He calls himself unkind and ungrateful, and that’s exactly the way I feel.”

  The sound of his own voice was somewhat startling, but he continued to read the lines over, and finally he read the last three lines aloud:

  “ ‘My dear, then I will serve.’

  “ ‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’

  So I did sit and eat.”

  Suddenly tears came to the eyes of the tall, erect soldier who sat beside the feeble lamp.

  He felt somehow that he was in a holy place. This crude, plain room seemed filled with the presence of the Lord. It was an experience he had never had before, and he sat gripping the book until his knuckles grew white, and more and more he realized he was not alone. He studied the last three lines where the poet said that God insisted that the poet sit down. That God himself would serve him.

  This broke Derek’s heart. He had not knelt to pray since he was a boy, but he knew he had to humble himself. Putting the book down, he knelt, placing his elbows on the chair, and began to pray. “Lord, I’d give anything to know you. But I can’t find you.” He prayed in a hoarse voice, stammering at times and at other times unable to say anything. Then the words began to flow. “What is it, Lord? Are you there? Is it all just fiction? A dream? Please, if you are there—if you are here with me—let me know it!”

  And then something happened to Derek—something he knew he would never be able to explain to anyone. He had always felt that words sometimes failed, that an experience could be so extraordinary that words would not capture it. Now as he knelt, he knew he was not alone in the room. He saw nothing with his eyes and heard nothing with his ears, yet he was intensely conscious of a presence. The moment seemed eternal, having nothing to do with time, and he cried out, “Lord God, I am so lost! Please—help me! I know that Jesus is your Son, and I ask you to forgive my sins in His name!”

  After a long time, a great peace came to him. He was exhausted physically and emotionally, and finally he began to grow sleepy. He left the office and went back to his bed, pulled off his boots, and pulled the covers over himself. He still had the impression that God was very near, and he remembered the words of Jacob from Genesis: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.”

  “But I know, God, that you have been in this place—and I know I can never be the same man that I have been!” He spoke these words aloud, then went to sleep praying.

  Later in the night he had a vivid dream. He was walking down a road and came to a fork. He looked to his right and saw a smooth road with no dangers. Beautiful trees arched over it. It would be an easy road to take.

  Then he looked to his left, and he saw that the road became little more than a footpath, leading to rough and savage country. It passed through a dark forest filled with wild beasts, and the road was broken and led over dangerous passes and through raging streams.

  In the dream Derek knew he had to go on, and he told himself, “Only a fool would take the way that leads through such terrible dangers. I will take the easy way.”

  But then he felt himself halted, and in the dream a voice said to him, “If you take the easy way, my son, you will be forever miserable.”

  Derek woke up abruptly and sat bolt upright in bed. The dream had been so clear and so real, he knew he would continue thinking about the voice that had spoken. He lay down again, but sleep would not come, and until dawn he thought about the two ways that lay before him, wondering what the dream meant.

  ****

  Derek sat at his desk going over the mountain of papers that had accumulated while he was away on his travels. He was weary, for he had slept very little, and he had lost weight. He had been back on the job in Oslo for a
week and had said little to anyone. He had made no attempt to contact Mallory, but he still could not get her out of his thoughts. He thought about his dream every day and night, and it troubled him greatly.

  “A woman to see you, sir.” Corporal Schultz had knocked and opened the door. “I don’t know what she wants. She won’t say. She’s not from here.”

  “Let her come in, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Derek tossed the papers down and put his pen on top of them. He flexed his fingers, and when the woman came in, he stood to his feet. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m Major Grüber.”

  The woman who stood before him was not pretty in any sense. She seemed to be around forty years old and was thin, and her face was full of lines that bespoke a hard life.

  She wore a plain dress, and her hands, Derek noticed, were hardened with work. “My name is Marzina Klimek,” she said in German.

  “Won’t you sit down? How may I help you?”

  She did not speak but nodded and took her seat. Her gaze was very direct, and Derek was puzzled. “You’re not from this country, I take it, Mrs. Klimek?”

  “No, I am a Czech, but I was married to a Polish officer.”

  “You’re a visitor here?”

  “I came to Norway to see you, Colonel Grüber.”

  He blinked with surprise. “To see me? What business do you have with me?”

  She was studying his face with a clinical interest. Her eyes were intelligent, and she must have been a pretty young woman, but life had been hard on her, Derek saw.

  “I knew a very good friend of yours.”

  He could not imagine whom this Czech woman could have known.

  “Her name was Rachel Mindel.”

  The world seemed to stop for Derek, and he could not speak. All that existed for him at that moment was this poorly dressed, worn woman.

  “You knew Rachel?” he whispered.

  “Yes. My husband and I were sent to Dachau.”

  Derek almost flinched at the words. He knew that many Poles had been slaughtered when the Germans had overrun that poor country. Many others had been sent to the concentration camps. He found his mouth dry, and it was difficult to speak. Finally he managed to say, “You . . . you knew Rachel at Dachau?”

  “Yes, we were very close. In that place you needed someone to lean on. Those who had nobody did not last long.”

  Of all things that Derek Grüber did not want to know, it was the details of the horrors of Dachau, yet he found himself saying, “Tell me about her, Mrs. Klimek.”

  For the next twenty minutes Derek listened as the woman told of the struggle to live in a Nazi concentration camp. She spoke calmly, but the memories that came to her showed in the darkness of her eyes. Derek was sure she left off some of the more horrible parts of that life, but he heard enough that he seemed to shrivel up as he thought of the gentle Rachel going through such things.

  “Rachel and I were like sisters, although I was older than she. We shared everything with each other, and one of the things she shared with me was how much she loved you, Major Grüber.”

  Derek could not say a word. He could only sit there as if hypnotized. “She knew she was going to die, and she gave me this letter and asked me to try to get it to you if I survived.”

  Derek watched as the woman produced a small envelope from her purse. She extended it to him.

  He did not take it but said, “Aren’t you afraid of a German officer? A Nazi?”

  “No, I’m not afraid. God was with me throughout the years at Dachau. He set me free. But while I was there, I was able to share Christ with Rachel. She accepted Jesus as her Messiah and knew such joy!” She looked straight into Derek’s eyes. “Perhaps God got me out of Dachau just for this. I loved Rachel, and this is all I can do for her. Here, take it, Major.”

  Derek took the letter and noticed that his hand was not steady. He knew the woman saw this also, and he met her eyes and could hardly speak. “You won’t believe this, Mrs. Klimek, but I loved Rachel.”

  “I know. She told me. It was the joy of her life, the love that you and she had.” She rose to her feet. “I must go. I pray for you every day, Major Grüber. You may think that impertinent, but I am a Christian, and I believe that God is going to do something with your life.”

  He could not answer. He looked down at the letter and then lifted his eyes. “I will give you a pass that will get you out of here without any trouble, Mrs. Klimek.” He took a sheet of paper, wrote a few lines, signed it, and then stood up and came over to her. He handed her the paper and said, “I thank you for coming.”

  “Good-bye, Major Grüber.” She turned and went to the door, but before she left, she turned back and said, “Sometimes a simple thing will make us take a new way. I hope this letter from our dear Rachel will help you to choose the right path. Good-bye, my friend.”

  Derek stood there as the door closed, and her words brought back memories of his dream and of the voice. “If you take the easy way, you will be forever miserable.” For a long time he stood there not moving, and then finally, with unsteady hands, he opened the envelope. It was a few paragraphs on a single sheet of rough paper. The sight of Rachel’s handwriting hit him like a blow, and his eyes so burned that he could not see to read for a time. Finally, getting control of himself, he read the letter. He could almost hear her voice. She did not speak of her sufferings at all, and in the last paragraph, she said,

  I have only loved one man, and that is you, my dear Derek. And now I go to meet God, and I treasure the time we had. God bless you, my dear. Serve Jesus and love Him.

  Derek turned blindly and made his way back to his desk. He sat down, put his head on his arms, and struggled with the emotions that rushed through him like a mighty waterfall. He could not find the strength to get up for a long time, but when he heard a knock on the door, he quickly sat up and said, “Come.”

  The door opened, and Corporal Schultz said, “Colonel Ritter wants to see you, sir.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Corporal.” Getting up, Derek took a handkerchief out, cleaned his face, and then set his jaw. He left his office and went at once to meet Ritter. As soon as he entered the colonel’s office, he saw that Ritter was triumphant.

  “I knew you were wrong about this American woman!”

  “Sir?”

  “This Mallory Winslow. Look here. She’s a Jew.”

  Derek took the magazine that Ritter thrust under his nose. “There’s a story here about Mallory’s mother. She was quite a celebrity, it seemed. Escaped from going down on the Titanic. But look what it says. Her father was a Spanish Jew. That means that Mallory Winslow is a Jew. Go arrest her. She’ll go to Dachau with the rest of the filthy Jews!”

  Derek automatically said, “Yes, sir,” then turned and left the room. He was unconscious of the laughter and the talking in the outer office, and instead of going to his own office, he walked straight out the front door. He felt like a man who had been badly wounded as he walked mechanically down the street. It was covered with snow, and large flakes were drifting down to add a new layer. He had not worn his hat, and the flakes bit at his flesh with a fiery fervor.

  Everything seemed strangely quiet on the streets of Oslo. The snow muffled the sounds of traffic, and there were few pedestrians in this bitter weather.

  Derek Grüber suddenly put all the pieces of his life together. He had thought it was all terribly complicated, but now it was simple enough.

  I lost Rachel because I was a coward, but now I’ve got another chance. I told her I would marry her and take her and her parents to safety in Switzerland, but then I had second thoughts and worried about what my father would think. He began to pray, but there was no confusion in his mind now. “God,” he said, “I believe this dream is from you, and I believe you sent this woman. I am going to take the hard way, Lord. If it costs my life to save Mallory, then so be it!”

  Derek walked the streets for a long time, unaware of the bitter cold, and finally he
found himself standing before the cold, gray sea. Ships were bobbing up in the harbor, but Derek paid them no heed. He was praying in a way that he had never prayed before.

  “Lord Jesus, I want you in my life. It doesn’t matter what it costs. If I must die, then so be it. But I need you. Like Simon Peter, I have no one else to turn to. I am at the very bottom of my whole life’s experience, and I’m asking you to come into my heart and show me the way to go.”

  The snowflakes, some of them as large as a fingernail, drifted down, adding a layer of glistening snow on the streets of the city. The tall man stood there, his hair turned white by the flakes but not feeling them. His lips moved, and finally he uttered out loud in a voice tinged with triumph, “Thank you, God! I love you with all my heart!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Matter of Faith

  Outside, the wind was sweeping around Lars and Eva’s house. It seemed to claw at the windows like a beast trying to gain admission. At least so it seemed to Mallory, who was sitting in the living room at a small desk she had drawn up close to the fire. November had brought with it terrible weather, and she thought of the Lapps, concerned about how they were faring. It was a useless worry, of course, for this hardy people had survived hundreds of years of harsh Norwegian winters.

  A log settled in the fireplace, making a hissing sound and sending a myriad of sparks flying up the chimney. They swirled as they rose, golden flecks of fire, and the wood popped and crackled vigorously. Mallory had always liked the smell of woodsmoke, and she hypnotically watched the fire, grateful for its radiant heat.