They stayed as long as they could. Graeber paid for the meal, and Frau Witte went to bed. Thus they were able to remain there alone for a while longer.
The moon rose higher. The night smell of the ground and the young foliage grew stronger and as there was no wind it drove out for the moment the smell of dust and rubbish that hung constantly over the city. There was.a rustling in the bushes where a cat was hunting rats. There were many more rats in the town than formerly; they found plenty to eat under the ruins. At eleven o'clock they left. It was like leaving an island.
"You are too late," the sexton said when they arrived. "All the places are taken." It was not the one who had been there that morning. This one was younger, cleanshaven, stiff and dignified. Probably it was he who had denounced Josef, Graeber thought.
"Can we sleep in the cloister, garden?"
"There are already people sleeping in all the covered places in the cloister garden. Why don't you go to the emergency relief station?"
At twelve o'clock at night this was an idiotic question. "We trust more in God," Graeber replied.
The sexton looked at him sharply for a moment. "If you want to stay here you must sleep in the open."
"That doesn't matter."
"Are you married?"
"Yes. Why?"
"This is a House of God. People who are not married can't sleep together here. In the cloister we have a section for men and another for women."
"Even when they're married?"
"Even then. The cloister belongs to the Church. There is no lust of the flesh here. You two don't look married."
Graeber pulled out his marriage certificate. The sexton put on his nickel eyeglasses and studied it in the glow of the eternal light. "A very short time," he said then.
"There's no ruling about that in the catechism."
"Did you have a church wedding too?"
"Listen," Graeber said. "We're tired. My wife has been working hard. -We are going now to sleep in the cloister garden. If you have any objection try to drive us out. But bring others with you. It won't be easy."
Suddenly a priest was standing beside them. He had come up noiselessly. "What is this?"
The sexton explained the matter. The priest interrupted him after a few sentences. "Boehmer, don't play God Almighty. It's bad enough that these people have to sleep here." He turned to Graeber. "If you have no place to stay tomorrow come to Domhof Number Seven at nine o'clock in the evening. Pastor Biedendieck. My housekeeper will find a place for you somehow."
"Many thanks."
Biedendieck nodded and walked on. "On your way, you non-commissioned officer of God!" Graeber said to the sexton. "A major has just given you an order. You have to obey. The Church is the one dictatorship that has been successful through the centuries. Which way to the cloister garden?"
The sexton led them through the sacristy. The vestments for the Mass shimmered. Then came a door and a passage and the cloister garden. "But don't camp on the graves of the cathedral capitularies," Boehmer growled. "Stay over there on the side next to the cloister. Also you are not allowed to sleep together. Just next to each other. Each bed must be separate. And undressing is forbidden."
"Even shoes?"
"Not shoes."
They walked across. A polyphonic concert of snores rose from the cloisters. Graeber spread out the canvas and the blankets on the grass. He looked at Elisabeth. She laughed. "What arc you laughing at?" he asked.
"I am laughing at the sexton. And at you."
"Good." Graeber placed the bags against the wall and made a kind of bolster of his knapsack. Suddenly a woman's scream rose above the rhythmic snoring. "No! No! Oh—h—" It died away in a gasp. "Quiet!" someone growled. The woman shrieked again. "Quiet! Thunderation!" the other voice shouted more loudly. The scream broke off as though smothered.
"That's why we are the Master Race!" Graeber said. "Even in our dreams we obey orders."
They lay down. They were almost alone beside the wall. Only at either corner dark mounds showed where others were sleeping. The moon stood behind the bomb-shattered tower. It threw a band of light on the ancient graves of the cathedral cannons. Some were broken. It had not been bombs that had done this damage; the coffins had moldered and fallen in. In the middle of the garden a great cross rose amid wild rose bushes. About it beside the walk stood the stone stations of the cross. Elisabeth and Graeber lay between the station of the scourging and that of the crowning with thorns. In front of each group was a kneeling bench. Beyond, in a broad rectangle, shimmered the columns and arches of the cloisters which opened toward the garden.
"Come over here to me," Graeber said. "To hell with the regulations of that ascetic sexton!"
CHAPTER XXIII
SWALLOWS were flying around the bomb-torn tower. The first of the sun sparkled on the broken edges of the roof tiles. Graeber unpacked his alcohol stove. He did not know whether cooking was allowed, but he decided to follow tne old soldier's rule: act before anyone can forbid you. He took his mess kit and went to look for a faucet. He found one behind the station of the crucifixion. A man with mouth open and red stubble on his face was sleeping there. He had only one leg. His unstrapped prosthesis lay beside him. In the early light its nickel supports glittered like a machine. Graeber glanced through the open colonnade into the cloisters. The sexton had been right; the sexes were separate. On the south side there were only women sleeping.
As he was coming back Elisabeth woke up. She looked fresh and rested, not like the sallow faces he had seen in the cloisters. "I know where you can wash," he said. "Go there before the crowd collects. Religious organizations always have inadequate sanitary arrangements. Come, I'll show you the washroom for cathedral canons."
She laughed. "You stay here and keep an eye on the Coffee, otherwise it will disappear. I'll be able to find the washroom by myself. Which way do I go?"
He described the way. She walked through the garden. She had slept so peacefully that her dress was hardly wrinkled. He looked after her and loved her very much.
"So you are cooking in the garden of the Lord!" The pious sexton had stolen up on felt soles. "And what's worse, at the station of the sorrowful crown of thorns!"
"Where's the joyous one? I'd just as soon go there."
"This is all holy ground. Can't you see that the cathedral canons are buried over there?"
"I have sat and cooked in many a cemetery before now," Graeber said calmly. "But tell me where we are to go. Is there any sort of canteen or field kitchen here?"
"Canteen?" The sexton mouthed the word like a rotten fruit. "Here?"
"It wouldn't be a bad idea."
"Perhaps for heathen like, you! Fortunately there are people who think differentlyi A restaurant on Christ's ground! What blasphemy!"
"It's not such a blasphemy. Christ fed a couple of thousand people with a few loaves and fishes, as you ought to know. But he was not a pompous raven like you! And now clear out! There's a war on, perhaps that idea's new to you."
"I will inform Herr Pastor Biedendieck of your sacrilege!"
"Do that! He'll throw you out, you tedious creep!"
The sexton went back, dignified and furious, in his felt shoes. Graeber opened a packet of coffee, part of the legacy from Binding, and smelled it. It was bean coffee. He began to prepare it. The aroma spread and produced an immediate effect. From behind the grave of a cathedral canon a man's tousled head rose sniffing. Then he sneezed, got up, and came closer. "How about a cup?"
"Push off." Graeber said. "This is the House of God; they don't give alms here; they just take them."
Elisabeth came back. She moved lithely and limberly as though strolling. "Where did you get the real coffee?" she asked in amazement.
"It's from Binding. We must drink it quickly, otherwise we'll be overrun by the whole cloister."
The sun glided over the statue of the sorrowful crown of thorns. Near the bench at the station of the scourging a patch of ground was purple with violets. Graeber got b
read
and butter out of his knapsack. He cut the bread with his pocket knife and spread the butter. "Real butter," Elisabeth said. "From Binding too?"
"Everything. Strange—he did me nothing but kindness and I never really liked him."
"Perhaps that's why he did it. Things like that happen."
Elisabeth sat down beside Graeber on the knapsack. "When I was seven years old I wanted to live just like this."
"I wanted to be a baker."
She laughed. "Instead of that you've become a provider. The best. How late is it?"
"I'll pack up and take you to the factory."
"No. Let's stay here in the sun as long as we can. Packing up and putting away our things will take too long and we'd have a long wait before we could get all our things stored downstairs. The cloister is full of people already. You can do it later when I've gone."
"All right. Do you think we're allowed to smoke here?"
"No. But that certainly won't bother you."
"No. Let's enjoy all we can before we're thrown out. It won't be long. Today I'll try to find a place where we won't have to sleep in our clothes. We don't want to go to Pastor
Biedcndieck in any case, do we?"
"No. I'd rather go back to Pohlmann's."
The sun rose higher. It fell upon the portico and threw the shadows of' the columns against the walls. The people there moved back and forth through a lattice of light and shade as though in prison. Children were crying. The one-legged man in the corner of the garden strapped on his artificial leg and pulled his trousers on over it. Graeber packed up the bread, butter, and coffee. "It's ten minutes to eight," he said. "You must go. I'll come and get you at the factory, Elisabeth. If anything happens we have two meeting places: Frau Witte's garden first; if not there, then here."
"Yes." Elisabeth got up. "It's the last time I'll have to go away for the day."
"We'll stay up for a long time tonight. Hours and hours. That will make up for the wasted day."
She kissed him and left quickly. Graeber heard someone laugh. He turned angrily. A young woman stood between the columns, holding on to a little boy who was standing on top of the wall; the child was snatching at her hair and she was laughing with him. She had not seen Graeber and Elisabeth at all.
He packed up his things. Then he went to rinse out his mess kit. The amputee came after him, his leg stamping and creaking. "Hey there, comrade!" Graeber stopped. "Wasn't it you who had the coffee?" the amputee asked.
"Yes. We drank it all."
"That's clear." The man had very wide blue eyes. "What I mean is the coffee grounds. If you're going to throw them away give them to me instead. They can be cooked up again."
"Yes, of course."
Graeber scraped out the coffee grounds. Then he got his things and took them to the place where they could be left. He expected a battle with the pious sexton. But instead of him the other, red-nosed one was there. He smelled of communion wine and said nothing.
The warden was sitting at the window of his apartment in the burned house. He waved when he saw Graeber. Graeber went in. "Have you any mail for us?"
"Yes. For your wife. The letter is addressed to Fräulein Kruse. That's quite in order, eh?"
"Yes."
Graeber took the letter. It struck him that the block warden was watching him strangely. He glanced at the letter and went numb. It was from the Gestapo. He turned the envelope over. It was sealed as though someone had already opened it. "When did it come?" he asked.
"Yesterday evening."
Graeber looked at the flap. He felt sure the block warden had read the letter and so he pushed up the flap and took it out. It was a summons for Elisabeth to appear at eleven-thirty that morning. He looked at his watch. It was just before ten. "Good," he said. "At last!" I've been waiting for this for a long time."
He put the letter into his pocket. "Anything else?"
"Isn't that enough?" the warden asked with an inquisitive glance.
Graeber laughed. "Don't you know of an apartment for us?"
"No. Do you still need one?"
"Not for me. But my wife does."
"So?" the block warden said without conviction.
"Yes. I would even pay a good premium to get one."
"So?" the block warden said again.
Graeber walked away. He felt the warden watching him through the window. He stopped and acted as though he were examining the skeleton of the roof with interest. Then he wandered on slowly.
Around the next corner he got out the letter at once. It ' was a printed form from which it was impossible to tell anything. Even the signature was printed. Only Elisabeth's name and the date had been typed in on a machine that made the "a's" too high.
He stared at the paper. It was an oblong piece of cheap, gray, pulp paper in octavo size—but it suddenly seemed to blot out the world. An intangible threat rose from it. It smelled of death.
He was standing in front of the Katharinenkirche and did not know how he had got there. "Ernst," someone behind him whispered.
He whirled around. It was Josef. He was wearing an overcoat of military cut and he walked on into the church without taking further notice of Graeber. Graeber looked around and a minute later followed him in. He found him in an empty pew near the sacristy. Josef gestured cautiously. Graeber went up to the altar, turned back and knelt down beside him.
"Pohlmann has been arrested," Josef whispered.
"What?"
"Pohlmann. The Gestapo came and got him this morning."
For a moment Graeber was not sure whether Pohlmann's arrest might not have had something to do with the letter to Elisabeth. He stared at Josef. "So, Pohlmann too!" he said finally.
Josef looked up quickly. "Who else?"
"My wile has received a summons from the Gestapo."
"For when?"
"For this morning at eleven-thirty."
"Have you the summons with you?"
"Yes. Here."
Graeber gave Josef the letter. "How did it happen with Pohlmann?" he asked.
"I don't know. I wasn't there. When I came back I could tell what had happened from a stone that was lying in a different place. Pohlmann had kicked it to one side as he was being taken away. That was one of our signals. An hour later I saw his books being loaded into a car."
"Was there anything there to incriminate him?"
"I don't think so. Everything that was dangerous had been buried somewhere else. Even the canned goods."
Graeber looked at the paper in Josef's hand. "I was just going to go and see him," he said. "I wanted to ask him what I ought to do."
"That's why I came here to warn you. It's pretty certain there's an agent of the Gestapo waiting in his room." Josef returned the summons to Graeber. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I just got it. What would you do?"
"Flee," Josef replied without hesitation.
Graeber stared into the semi-darkness where the altars gleamed. "I'll go there by myself and ask what they want," he said.
"They won't give you any information if it's your wife they want."
Graeber felt a chill at the back of his neck. But Josef was just being matter of fact. "If they wanted to get hold of my wife they would have arrested her like Pohlmann. It must be something else. That's why I intend to go. Perhaps it's nothing important," he said without conviction. "In that case it would be a mistake to flee."
"Is your wife Jewish?"
"No."
"Then it's different. Jews should always flee. Can't your wife be on a trip somewhere?"
"No. She's in the labor service. That's a matter of record."
Josef reflected. "It's possible they don't intend to arrest her. You are right—they could have done that directly. Have you any idea why she was summoned?"
"Her father is in a concentration camp. And there was a woman she was staying with who might have denounced her. It's possible, too, that she came to their attention because we got married."
Josef reflected once more. "Destroy everything that might have any bearing on her father's arrest. Letters, diaries, all that sort of thing. And then go. By yourself. That was what you intended to do, wasn't it?"
"Yes. I'll explain that the letter only arrived this morning and I couldn't reach my wife in the factory."
"That's best. Try to find out what's going on. Not much can happen to you. You have to go back to the front anyway. They won't keep you from doing that. If you need a hiding place for your wife I can give you an address. But go first. I'll be here this afternoon." Josef hesitated for a moment. "In Pastor Biedendieck's confessional box. There where the sign saying Absent is hanging."
A Time to Love and a Time to Die Page 33