Volk

by Piers Anthony

  “You are pensive,” Krista told him later in October. “Do you fear for the progress of the war?”

  “I do,” he agreed. For he could see that the German initiative was slowing, and that boded no good. “The Allies are building an expanded runway on Gibraltar, which means they expect to use it to attack us, and Spain still refuses to join the Axis. The Russian resistance is stiffening, and our losses there are mounting; winter could be cruel indeed.”

  “But there is something else on your mind.”

  “Perhaps so.” He cursed his foolishness, but he could not rid himself of his brooding concern with a single prisoner he had promised to help.

  “Is there something wrong with me?” Krista asked. “Have I given you offense, or is that shadow on my ancestry—”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “There is nothing wrong with you, Krista! The more I know of you, the more I appreciate you. You are beautiful, smart and competent.”

  “But you will not trust me with your secret,” she said.

  “What secret?”

  “The thing that is weighing on you, making you morose.”

  He gazed at her. She was right: he could not tell her what was truly bothering him. Because all she would hear would be the words “other woman.” It wouldn’t matter that the woman was his friend’s fiancée whom he had promised to help, and that instead he was standing by to watch her slowly die.

  “I wish I could marry you, and go with you to some secret garden, and forget everything else,” he said sincerely.

  “Tiergarten,” she said brightly. “The park close by your hotel. We will go there now.”

  He laughed, and part of his mood lifted. “And you will get me in a private place there, and show me what maddens me. It is your way of torturing me.”

  “Exactly,” she said, inhaling.

  • • •

  Late in November Admiral Canaris visited Spain again, and Ernst drove down separately to join him. The Admiral truly loved Spain; only there did he seem happy. His mission was to sound out the Spanish government on Isabella. But it was becoming obvious that despite the Allied buildup at Gibraltar, they were not going to use the distraction of the Russian campaign to invade Spain. That meant that Isabella might prove to be unnecessary.

  Canaris returned to Germany December first. That left Ernst to make another routine check on the camps, and return separately.

  But before he reached Gurs, the Japanese bombed the American base at Pearl Harbor, in the Pacific Ocean. That meant that America would enter the war. It could be only a matter of days before it became formal, for Germany as well as Japan.

  That meant that Quality Smith would no longer represent a neutral nation. She would represent an enemy nation. That would be the end of her preferential treatment—and surely the end of her life, from privation. Others were dying in the camps, as conditions worsened.

  Distraught, he thought it through from every angle as he drove to France. It was a desperate situation, requiring a desperate measure. There was no guarantee of success, and perhaps he would only drag himself down too. But he had to try it.

  Quality looked thinner than ever. She still wore her original clothing, but now it hung on her. Yet her face possessed a preternatural beauty, her eyes seeming huge, her lank brown hair smoothing the angles of her jaw.

  “Japan bombed the American base on the Hawaiian Islands,” Ernst told her. “They destroyed American power in the Pacific. This may not be of importance to you, because you are a pacifist—”

  “The poor people!” she exclaimed. “The lives lost.”

  “America will rebuild. But it affects you in this way: you are an American, and Japan is allied to Germany. So very soon America will be at war with Germany, too.”

  “And I will become an enemy national,” she said, comprehending the significance.

  “I must get you out of here,” he said. “This is now imperative, and there can be no delay. It must be today. But I can think of only one way to do it.”

  She shook her head. “There is no way. They will not release me.”

  “SS officers have certain privileges. I dislike deception, but see no other mechanism. If I suggested that I wished to have you for—for my use, they would not stop me from taking you.”

  She stared at him.

  “I would not actually use you,” he said quickly. “I give you my word on that. I promised Lane to find you and to help you if I could. I wish I knew a better way. I fear for your continued detention here. I fear for your life. But still, you would have to agree to go. Others would have to be given the impression that it was so. Would you do that?”

  She considered. Then she whispered, “Yes.”

  She had agreed! He coughed to mask his astonishment. He had feared that she would elect to die. “Then I will see to it. But— you must not appear to be willing. Your agreement is for me, not for them. You must be resigned, perhaps in despair. You understand?”

  She nodded.

  Ernst dismissed her, then went to the commandant. “This American woman—I think she knows more than she has told. I wish to take her for more thorough interrogation. Release her to my custody.”

  The man looked at him. “She is beautiful,” he remarked. “Or would be, when better fed.”

  Ernst returned his gaze. “And what of it?”

  “There must be higher authorization.”

  This was the risky part. “Here is a code-name for Reinhard Heydrich. Contact him and say that Ernst Best is making a requisition.” He had given his true name, knowing that it was unknown here, but would be known to Heydrich.

  The name of Heydrich evidently impressed the man. This was a most powerful contact. But Ernst could see the lingering doubt. Was it a bluff?

  “I will wait,” Ernst said firmly.

  The commandant left the office. If he did contact Heydrich’s office, what would happen? Heydrich was at present in Czechoslovakia, and difficult to reach, so his home office would demur. Would the commandant pursue the matter further? Ernst was betting that he would not, for fear of making a powerful enemy unnecessarily. The man believed that Ernst was simply appropriating the most attractive prisoner before some other officer did; this kind of thing was known to happen. What was the harm in it? So probably he would not risk a challenge, and would not even enter the matter in the records. It would simply be one less prisoner to feed. One who might otherwise soon be dead anyway.

  Sure enough, the commandant returned in less time than it would have taken to reach Czechoslovakia. “Take her,” he said.

  “Have her brought to me and signed out,” Ernst said.

  “That will not be necessary. Authorization has been given.”

  So he was right: the man preferred no record. Quality would remain on the camp rolls, but would simply not be there. Soon enough she would be forgotten, or possibly her name would be put in place of another woman who died.

  Ernst returned to the main camp. He saw Quality standing there, waiting. He strode toward her. “Come with me,” he said gruffly, taking her arm.

  She tried to hold back, but he hauled her along. He brought her to his car and shoved her roughly in. He got in himself and started the motor. Quality hid her face as if terrified or ashamed. Possibly that was true. He was passed on out of the camp without challenge.

  “There is bread under the seat,” he said, looking straight ahead. “Take it.”

  She reached under and found it. “I thank thee, Ernst.”

  “I will take you to my apartment in Berlin. Others will think what they will think. You must always appear afraid of me. But I tell you again: I mean to help you.”

  “I am afraid for thee, Ernst,” she said. “This is a great risk for thee.”

  “I promised Lane.” But it was more than that. He would have had to do it even if Lane had never existed. Quality was simply too good a person to allow to wither and perhaps die in such a camp, or to be brutalized or raped there.

  He drove her to Germany. It was a t
wo day journey, with a night in Paris. The hotel there had a bath adjoining the room, and he was glad for that, because Quality stank of the camp and her own forced lack of hygiene. On the way they talked, as they had in Spain, and he kept her supplied with food. Freed of the environment of the camp, she was willing to eat, and she did so voraciously. That was part of the reason he maintained the dialogue: to distract her, so that she would not feel guilty for eating, and stop.

  “We can talk freely here,” he told her. “But not in my apartment. Anyone might overhear, and if it became known that I am trying to save you for an American airman, it could be very bad for us both. You must seem to be a captive woman, chosen for her appearance, afraid to try to flee. Since you do not speak German, the pretense should be feasible. If anyone can hear, I will treat you with contempt, a creature of no value. You will have to do menial tasks, and after the hopelessness of your situation is apparent, you will do shopping for me. If I can arrange temporary papers for you.”

  “I understand,” she said quietly.

  “My apartment is not large, but there is an alcove where you can have privacy. I will give you my bed, as before, and—”

  “No.”

  He glanced at her, surprised. “It is the best I can do.”

  “No, thee must not give me privacy,” she said. “Thee would not do that for a kept woman. Neither would thee put her in thy bed, with thee elsewhere. She would share thy bed.”

  “But—”

  “I trust thee, Ernst.”

  He was silent, knowing that she was right. The role had to be correctly played, or it would be obvious that it was a role. But how was he to share his bed with her, when already she intrigued him in a manner he needed to expunge?

  They drove rapidly north through France. Ernst’s Abwehr authority eliminated challenges, and there were no delays. Even so, it was late by the time they approached Paris.

  “Will thee have to report to the SS headquarters here?” Quality asked.

  “It is not necessary. Surely you do not wish to put in an appearance there!”

  “Surely I do not,” she agreed wanly. “They might recognize me. I was there to arrange for food for the Jews being transported to Spain. They took my money, but the Jews wound up in Gurs and similar camps.”

  “Spain would not admit them,” he agreed. “I am sorry your trip was for nothing.”

  “It cost me more than money,” she said. “That was when I was arrested. Perhaps it is God’s punishment.”

  “I thought Quakers did not believe in that sort of thing. In a retributive God.”

  “We do not define our beliefs in that way. I thought I did not believe that, but I did sin.”

  “Sin?”

  “I told a lie. It was not the first time.”

  “To help a man escape death,” he said, catching on.

  “Yes. But still a lie. A sin. I have meditated much on that. I have learned the consequence of it.”

  “I think I would disagree with you on much else, but I appreciate your problem. I am doing something similar by taking you from that camp. I would not do it were I not afraid that there is no acceptable alternative.”

  “Yes. Thee understands.”

  They were silent as he threaded his way through Paris to reach the hotel where his room was reserved. “You understand the way this will appear,” he reminded her.

  “Thee has a prisoner, nominally for questioning, actually for entertainment.”

  “Yes. Another lie we share.”

  “Is it, Ernst?”

  “A half lie. I did claim you for questioning, letting them believe otherwise.”

  “Is it otherwise?”

  He was taken aback. “You said you trusted me.”

  “I do, Ernst.”

  “Then I do not understand.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps I am teasing thee. I meant that possibly thee does find my company entertaining. Thee said thee enjoyed it before, in Spain.”

  He relaxed. “That is true. But knowing that for you this is necessity rather than pleasure, I did not think of it that way.”

  “It is both, Ernst.”

  He did not answer, again. Her words had touched him deeply, but he feared misreading their implication. She could not know that his feeling for her was verging on the forbidden. She was his friend’s fiancée.

  He took her to his room without ceremony or apology. Officers did sometimes take women to their rooms, and it was not wise to question them about this.

  There was no need for a meal; they had been eating fairly steadily while driving. Ernst locked the door, then guided her to the bathroom. She made a little squeak of delight when she saw the fancy tub.

  “Wash yourself, woman,” he said gruffly in German. “But do not waste water. There is a war on.”

  She did not speak German. This was his reminder that they could not trust the seeming privacy of the room. “Ja,” she said. That much German everyone knew.

  Ernst turned on the radio fairly loud and tuned in the news to help cover the sounds of her bathing. He tried not to picture her naked. It was no business of his. He had taken her from the camp to safeguard her health and life, and he intended to safeguard her dignity too. She must never know his illicit fancy.

  In due course she emerged, wrapped in a towel. She went to the bed and got in.

  Ernst turned off the radio and went to use the bathroom. There were her clothes, washed and hung up to dry as well as they could. He realized that he would have to get her new ones; hers were so worn as to be on the verge of uselessness.

  He stripped and washed at the sink. Then, in underclothing, he returned to the room. He saw her towel folded beside the bed. She was well over to the side, leaving space for him. He remembered what she had said about sharing the bed. That applied in Paris as well as in Berlin.

  He got in and turned out the light. He would ignore her proximity as well as he could.

  But in the darkness her hand came across. Her cool fingers touched his shoulder. They squeezed it, lightly, once, and retreated. It was her way of thanking him, since it was not safe for her to speak.

  He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

  • • •

  Ernst woke before dawn. He got up, used the bathroom, and dressed. He felt Quality’s clothes: they remained damp. She would have to don them anyway. At least she and they were now clean; the smell was gone.

  She remained asleep. He knew she was recovering from the privation of the camp. She would need more sleep and food. But now he had to rouse her, for they had a long day’s drive to Berlin.

  “Woman, wake,” he said gruffly in German.

  Her eyes opened. They were blank for a moment as her mouth tightened in apprehension. Then she oriented, and smiled up at him. She flung back the blanket and sat up before he could turn his back. He saw her small breasts against her gaunt ribs. She had lost more weight than he had realized. He should have taken her out of Gur before this.

  He faced away as she got out and walked around the bed to the bathroom. In a very short time she emerged, wearing her damp clothing.

  He had donned his overcoat in the interim. Now, afraid of the effect the outdoor chill of the morning would have on her, he took it off and put it around her shoulders.

  She shook her head no, but he insisted. What good would it be to save her from the camp, if she died of chill? The coat fell to her ankles, protecting all of her body.

  He led her out of the room and down to the lobby, where he checked out. The clerk ignored her. They went on out to the car. He started the motor, then turned on the heater. “Eat,” he said in English, digging out the remnant of bread and cheese from the prior day.

  “Thee is circumspect in commenting on my appearance.”

  “No self-respecting SS officer would settle for an emaciated woman. Not in Berlin.”

  She nodded. “I had not thought of that. I will try to achieve the required plumpness.” She ate with a will, and later in the day slept in the
seat.

  He stole a glance at her. It was probably his imagination, but she seemed to look better already.

  They reached Berlin late at night. He took her to his room, and she stripped immediately and got into the bed. He was tired from the long drive, and did the same. Again her hand touched his shoulder; then he slept.

  It got cold in the night, and the hotel was not sufficiently heated. Ernst was used to it, and his thick blankets normally were enough. But he became aware of Quality shivering. She was lean and weak, and needed more.

  He got out in the darkness and found his overcoat. He spread it over her, then got back in himself. But still she shivered. Could she have some illness? What more could he do? Insulation did not help enough; she needed heat.

  “Please—may I?” she whispered. “In the camp, we protected each other from the cold.”

  “Ja.” He hoped he understood her correctly.

  She moved over toward him, then lay against him, as close as she could get, her arm and leg half across his body, her head beside his. He put his arms around her, drawing her in, and drew the covers in close. She was so light and thin! Then he lay quite still.

  Her body was cool, but gradually it warmed. “Thank thee,” she whispered, and slept.

  He found to his surprise that he could relax. He was doing his best to safeguard her, and had found the way to secure her from the cold. He was well fed and healthy, and had body heat to spare. He was sharing it with her. In this situation he had no sexual inclination; his fear in that respect had proved to be groundless. She was not an object of sex appeal, at this time, but of pity.

  • • •

  In the morning he disengaged and tucked the blankets closely about her. Then he did calisthenics, unkinking his arms and warming up. It was a regular morning ritual, and he saw no reason to change it; those in the neighboring rooms were used to this morning noise. No need to alert them to any change in his situation; soon enough they would realize that he had a woman in his room.

  When he finished, Quality was awake. She lay huddled in the blankets, watching him. Embarrassed, he quickly dressed.