I walked into the garden, opening the doors.
He turned his head toward me as if sensing my heart pumping quickly.
“Erich, I will speak to you. Now.”
He immediately got out of his chair without even looking at the ladies he was entertaining. He grabbed the horsewhip that lay by the French doors and he swiftly walked toward the doors—punching them open with his open hand. It froze me with dread and fear, my anger dissolving with the overpowering feeling.
“Follow me now, boy!”
He stopped, turned back and looked at me, and smiled a crooked smile. A crumpled, depraved smile.
He barked, “Upstairs to my office,” as he ascended the stairs toward the uppermost floor.
I followed him and upon entering his office he started pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back—holding the horsewhip.
“So you come prancing in here …”
I blurted out, “I know you have been sleeping with Himmler’s mistress.” I clarified, “On occasion.”
His face became white; he looked aghast and stared right through me.
A few seconds later, I saw murder in his eyes, as he said, “Then I need to kill you.” He looked like he was approaching me to strangle me with the horsewhip.
I mustered courage and showed no fear, a certain steely look coming to me as I stood my ground, saying, “There are pictures.”
“What, how, where are they?”
“The Americans have them. If anything happens to me, then they will promptly be disseminated,” I lied.
He fell back.
“You shouldn’t have touched Edith, Erich. You barbarous Hun.”
He was muttering something and I couldn’t understand what he was saying, and he wasn’t looking at me—he was in a trance and looking down at the floor. He then began shouting his muttering and I could make out that he was saying my name and Juden, Jews. I was perplexed by what he meant and then he started silently crying—his eyes first brimming with tears that then came rolling down his face. His started to wail and cry louder now.
He then muttered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Then he shouted it, “Fuck, fuck, what the FUCK do I do?”
He finally acknowledged I was there, as if surprised by me, as if he didn’t command that I come to his office after him. He said, “What do you want me to do?”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say, I had never seen him like this. He seemed not only unhinged and manic, but he seemed—vulnerable. He felt exposed and unsure, there was no sly smile now. Erich had always been in control of his world, but he wasn’t in control right now.
He stopped looking at me and looked at some flowers on the table and grit his teeth while baring them, resembling some kind of wild animal. He then cracked his whip—flinging it at the flowers and cutting the tops off their stems. He had some talent with the flinging of that whip and, though it did scare me, I didn’t show my fear to him. I stood confidently, self-assured that what I was doing was right and that I could beat him at his game of intimidation, if I didn’t break, even if I had to face the whip. I would save Edith no matter what it took and if it took a beating, then that was what I would endure. He couldn’t afford to kill me—that much I knew. So I pushed my chest out a little to let the animal know that I was part animal, too, that I could be part animal. Sly and cunning like the snake that he was.
He started pacing again and muttering, and then looked at me, stopping on a dime.
He said, entreating me, “If I let her and you go—if I do that—will you, will you promise not to send the pictures to anyone?”
I nodded.
“How do I know you won’t, once safely away from me, show the pictures to the papers, how do I know that the Americans won’t do it independently of you?” As he thought of this, he subconsciously raised his horsewhip—ready to crack it upon my head, “And then what value are you to me?”
I had to think quickly and said a little prayer silently that my mind would work as sharply as it needed to.
I said in an even, calm voice, “I won’t turn you in even afterwards if you don’t harm Anna, because I want Anna to live. She is an evil bitch, but Edith would want that. As for the Americans, they will show the pictures independently of me unless you do what they want. They said that they won’t show them if you do what they want.”
“And what do they want?” he asked, breathing as heavy as a horse after a gallop.
“They may have some questions—from time to time. And you will answer those questions from time to time.”
“No, please, please, please,” he said.
“Fuck you—you Jew-loving son-of-a-whore,” he continued vitriolically, as he cracked the whip at me—almost hitting my nose but just falling short.
I did not fall back in fear.
He paced again. “I don’t know why you are trash, the trash you are. You came from my loins. You have my genetics—mine! They have corrupted you and that must be why. The lies and manipulations of the Jews have made you into this thing. This thing that would betray your race—and me! Where is your loyalty? How could you do this to me? The Jews. They have done this, they have gotten into your head and they have infested you with worms. I can see the worms—they crawl all over your face. You look dead, like a skull walking about. The Jews have overtaken you like they have your country and the world. I understand more than I ever have why the Jews must be defeated. They can corrupt anyone, even me. And you are corrupting me now, putting me in their debt. Oh my. I let in a small piece of their parasitic ways. I have loved this jazz music, and it has taken hold of me. But I will fight it because I know that it is the right thing to do.”
He then did the strangest thing—he took my record player out from underneath his desk, which I was surprised still worked, and put on some Charlie Parker as he swayed for a moment to it.
And then he screamed, “It is a lie! It is a lie!” And he threw the whip down and launched the record player at me hard.
I moved aside and the record player, and record, slammed onto the floor—breaking into several pieces on the hard, tiled, floor.
He was breathing heavily, shallow breaths, and said, “I will never listen to that music—music by niggers and Jews! Never again!”
He combed back his black, shiny hair with his fingers, putting it back into place, and then took his horsewhip back into his hand, slowly walking over to me with dramatic effect.
As if in control and as if he had come up with the idea, he said, “You shall go back to America, you shall leave my house tonight—you shall leave with Edith. You will have the Americans take you and get you home. I will not kill her because I don’t want these pictures published. I will correct my ways, I know that this illness has begun in me as it has fully infested you. I, however, only made a small error. You, you are irredeemable and disloyal.”
He paused, and through gritted teeth said, “I will give one state secret to the Americans, but I will not be their pet indefinitely, I would rather die. I would rather kill myself. And I would kill you first.”
Continuing this train of thought, he said, “Perhaps I will kill you, Charlie Beck, or should I call you the nigger jazz monkey’s name, Charlie Parker? Would you prefer that? I don’t trust you, I am not a fool. How do I know they will only ask for one favor?”
“They only asked for a specific favor, one that they wouldn’t reveal to me. Everything is a negotiation, Erich, don’t you know that? I was just trying to see what I could get out of you. Isn’t that what you think someone who is ‘infected’ by Jewish ways would do—negotiate?”
“Fine, I will take a risk. You will leave my house tonight, you better leave Germany tomorrow or I will kill you and your little Jewish whore, too. I don’t ever want to see you again and you are not my nephew. You are trash, I don’t love you at all—if it was within my power to kill you, rest assured, you and the Jewish whore would be dead.”
“What will you do with Anna?”
He yelled, “
Get out of my office you Jew-loving piece of shit! And get out of Germany!”
Then he quickly and strangely calmed down, saying, “I will lay your papers and necessary documents out for you on your bed within the hour. Leave my house at once so that I can forget that you ever existed, I am now headed back to tea.”
I turned to leave, but he said, “Oh, one more thing …” He smirk-smiled. “Do you still want to fuck Edith now that she has a face carved up like a jack-o’-lantern? I mean, she still has nice tits and a sweet ass, but her face is just not the same delicate wonder it once was—wouldn’t you agree? Oh, if you fuck her, when you look at it in full arousal, you will see what I mean—it will diminish the experience. Ah, you wonder if I have fucked her. Well, maybe I have, you will have to ask her, but you won’t ever get the full experience now.”
“No,” I said, “you are not headed back to tea. If you don’t want pictures shown, to prove you to be the hypocritical and disloyal liar that you are to your superiors, you will stay here a minute. And yes, Hitler would receive copies.”
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, I said coolly, “So then, you will stay, shut your mouth and sit in that chair.”
I pointed to a chair across the room—at his desk.
He stood there trying to ascertain if I was being serious.
My eyes told him I was, and he looked shocked, and said, “I didn’t know you had it in you …”
“Shut the FUCK UP, Erich!” I said, with such authority that I sounded like him.
He did, he shut his mouth and sat in the chair, and then I went over to him and grabbed the whip out of his hand and he let me. His mouth was agape in surprise and he was transfixed on my eyes, looking for doubt, whereby he might reassert his authority over me.
I said, “You scarred Edith permanently and you think you can just order me away. You are an animal. Not Jews, you. I could destroy you utterly and completely. The only reason that I won’t is so Edith, her mother and I can be safe. But you must be scarred, too, Erich. You see, I do this only for your edification, as you must understand the pain you inflict on others.”
I calmly commanded, “Stand up.”
I saw fear in his eyes—he was a coward after all. I already knew that he was but this gave me complete confirmation.
“Take that ugly Nazi uniform of yours off, and your hat.”
He took off the shirt, glaring at me, and also the hat. Strange, for him, but he didn’t say a word. His fingers trembled slightly at the task of unbuttoning his shirt.
“No, I want your entire uniform off.”
He glared at me and then proceeded to lose all of his clothes, except his underwear.
I wanted to humiliate him. “The underwear, too. I want those off, too.”
He protested, “Really, Charlie …”
I smiled as I raised the whip high and cracked it against his chest.
He howled with pain.
I said, “Take your underwear off, I am sure you would rather I crack it at your back.”
This time he obeyed.
He was naked and exposed, and could feel it, I could tell. He no longer looked intimidating outside of his uniform. He was doubled over in pain from the first crack of the whip anyway.
Giving him mercy, I ordered him to turn around, and he did.
I cracked it again, harder, and it made a mark that oozed blood immediately, bringing me pleasure. Maybe I was his nephew. I hit him again, and again.
I stopped, huffing, after four slashes marked his back. It must have hurt, but it didn’t hurt so much he couldn’t turn around to face me.
He leaned over, groaning, and pulled his gun from the belt on his pants, cocking it. I wasn’t the least bit fearful; the adrenaline coursing through me banished any latent fear.
Smirking at him I said, “Shoot me, you little bitch. See how long until the pictures of you are out. I could be dead, but they will still be published.”
I went up to him while he held the gun, and he did nothing while I punched him three times in the head, until he passed out.
I didn’t wait for him to have my things brought to me. I got my passport off his desk and then went upstairs, changing clothes quickly after having passed the laundry room and gathered my clothing. I passed a hand over my tie. When leaving the ghetto, the guards smiled at me as I exited the gates. I smiled and waved back, and then my expression turned to a look of resolved disgust as I moved forward.
Chapter 13
I made it to the Stone Bridge and waited for half an hour as the sun waned and made Bruckmandl’s shadow grow longer. Edith hadn’t come as she had promised; I grew worried and started to walk down the bridge toward the side that faced the city center where she lived.
I then saw her slight figure with a suitcase, and her dear, pretty face. I didn’t even notice the bandage.
I ran up to her and embraced her, and though she was injured and unable to kiss me deeply, she kissed me on the mouth with affection.
It took two minutes to fill her in as she watched my face intently. I constantly looked around me to make sure no one had followed us. No one had.
“How do I know my mother will be safe?”
“There’s no guarantee of anything, but no one will be safe if we stay. This is the best chance we have—to leave.”
“They have to let you go home, back to America, as you are a citizen. They don’t have to let me.”
“You are friends with Tommy, he has a thing for you, surely he has pull.”
“Many Jews have tried to leave this country, and the US has admitted very, very few.”
I felt dejected. “But we have to try, and if not we will still leave town—I can work.”
“Let’s go to Tommy’s house; the embassy is closed and I know the way there. I don’t know if it will do us any good, but I suppose we must try,” Edith said glumly.
She sounded so pessimistic and she used to believe anything was possible. With that cut, Erich had not only wounded her face, he had stolen her personality. She wasn’t the brave, fearless girl I had been getting to know.
Edith led the way to the American ambassador’s residence. We walked for thirty minutes in the cold as our shadows grew longer and then disappeared—eaten by the night’s all-encompassing darkness. I started to doubt that we would make it; I wondered if Erich would change his mind and have someone waiting outside the residence to attack us or arrest us. I made Edith halt when she pointed out the grand house with pillars.
I held her arm and whispered, “Edith, just wait a minute and see if anyone moves, if there is any sign that we are being watched or that someone is waiting for us. Be my other set of eyes.”
We waited a couple of minutes and no one moved, and no sound came to my ear that was listening for any ambient noise that might be suspicious.
“Ok, come on, Charlie,” she said, prodding and pulling me by the arm.
We walked together to the front door. Edith knocked.
A maid, a stocky German woman, gruffly answered the door. “How may I help you?”
Edith quietly said, “I need to speak with Tommy. We need to speak with Tommy.”
“And who are you? What are you doing on the ambassador’s doorstep at this time?”
“I am sorry to bother you, but it is an emergency and Tommy knows me. Just tell him it is Edith and that Edith needs his help and is here at the door.”
She suspiciously eyed the bags that we carried.
“Please, I do know him and he will want to speak with me.”
“I don’t know that the ambassador would approve at this time of night, speaking with …”
“My name is Charlie Beck, I am Erich Beck’s—the obergruppenführer’s—nephew. I think the ambassador will be interested in official state business.”
She considered this and said, “I am not bothering the ambassador while he has his cigar after dinner. I will get Tommy and he will decide if whatever you need warrants the ambassador’s time.”
Sh
e went to fetch Tommy and not only closed, but locked the door behind her as she did. I heard the click.
A few minutes later, Tommy came out, and said, “Edith! What is wrong—what happened—are you ok?”
“Erich cut me, and he, he …” she started to cry.
“Sorry, just a second …” Tommy reached inside, flicked off the light and closed the door. “This will make us less conspicuous,” he said, as he grasped Edith to him and hugged her as she sobbed.
I ordinarily would have been jealous, but I just felt bad for Edith, for what she must be going through. Not only for her hurt face, but for having to leave her mother with potentially nowhere to go. She was right—she wasn’t an American citizen.
Edith spoke, and I nodded as she recounted our story to him, and he listened without asking a question. She told my part of the story, what I had said to Erich. I think she suspected that he would have more sympathy if the entire story came from her lips.
He thought for a second and then turned to me and said, “I fibbed a little. There are no photographs of him sleeping with Himmler’s mistress.”
I was so confused. “I thought that you said that …”
I could hear his smile, even though I couldn’t see it. “I really admire you, Charlie, you are a braver guy than I thought. I thought you were kind of a coward. But I was wrong, and you are quite clever. We have reliable intelligence, you are fortunate that it was accurate, that tells us that he did sleep with her. We just have no physical proof.”
“Well, can you help us, can you get us out of here—back to America?” I implored him.
“You, Charlie, of course we can. You are American, after all. It is harder with Edith.”
In the moonlight I could see tears welling in Edith’s eyes, as she said, “But I have nowhere to go.”
I was surprised to hear Tommy start to cry, sniffling, as he replied, “I don’t have much power, I am just sixteen. Even my Father’s power is limited. I know how this works and I know it would take practically an act of Congress to get you into the US right now, Edith. They aren’t taking many immigrants at all.”
The Darkest Hour Page 89