by Andie Newton
Claudia snuck up behind me. Her hair was much browner than it usually was with a playful yellow flower tucked behind her ear, which I had to admire. She noticed my uniform. ‘Nice disguise.’
Before I could tell her Auntie had forced me to wear it, she flipped open her jacket. ‘I have mine on too!’ She patted a white box she had under her arm. ‘I have something for you,’ she said, looking through the Bergstraße’s windows for a place to sit, but it was full.
‘Let’s go to the shop,’ I said. ‘Auntie closed it for the day.’ We walked under the Nazi banner the couple had been hanging, which was now perfectly straight, and down the street. Herr Rudin spotted me at a distance from where he’d been sweeping, and then ducked into his bakery. Just when we got to the front of the shop he came out of his front door holding a lumpy brown paper sack.
‘I have kipfel for you, Ella.’ He nodded once. ‘If you want.’ Claudia looked at me, knowing my aunt wouldn’t let me stop in there anymore, but with my aunt not around Herr Rudin usually sought me out. ‘My wife’s recipe,’ he whispered.
‘Thank you, Herr Rudin,’ I said, taking the sack. ‘I love your wife’s kipfel.’
Claudia and I went into the antiques shop. She handed me the box from under her arm, and I set down the kipfel. ‘Go on.’ She beamed. ‘Open it up.’
A spray of blooming white roses with blue tips.
‘Blue roses? Where’d you get these?’ I dug my nose into one of the buds, taking a sniff. ‘Ah, and they smell heavenly, like summertime near the river. I forgot what that smelled like.’
‘I have my secrets.’ She smiled.
‘I told you about the painting I sold that nobody wanted?’
She looked confused. ‘What painting?’
‘You’re teasing.’
‘Yes,’ Claudia said. ‘I remembered. That’s why I bought these roses over the others.’ We sat down on the small divan in my aunt’s office, which was just big enough for two. The seat cushions were lumpy and soft, which made us sink low to the floor, just under Hitler’s portrait hanging on the wall. We put our feet up and talked about the crowds outside while she rolled us cigarettes with tobacco and paper she had pulled from her pocket.
‘Have you seen Geb lately?’ I asked.
She handed me a cigarette after lighting it with a small metal lighter. ‘That’s interesting. He asked me the same thing about you not that long ago.’
‘He did?’ I puffed on my cigarette and then coughed terribly—it wasn’t just any kind of cigarette. ‘What is this?’ The ember crackled, hissed and sparked. It tasted like mint and sugary tea, but the smoke burned the back of my throat and my lungs felt heavy as tar.
‘I put clove in it,’ she said as she lit her cigarette. ‘Do you like it?’
I examined it cautiously before taking another puff. The smoke warmed me from the inside and I felt calm, but at the same time it made my heart race. When I exhaled, dense, grey smoke filtered slowly from the side of my mouth. I sank further into the divan’s cushions. ‘I should sell these when I take over the shop after the war,’ I said. ‘You could make them for me, be my assistant!’
‘You’re a dreamer, Ella.’ Claudia took a long drag from her cigarette. ‘Your aunt would never allow that.’
‘With the Reich gone, who knows,’ I said. ‘Maybe she’ll be different.’
She patted my hand. ‘It is a nice dream.’
My mind travelled to that space where I could dream about the future, the place where Auntie had learned to tolerate Claudia and we didn’t have to sneak. I was sorting through all the responsibilities we could share together as shop girls when she sat up suddenly.
‘Ella?’
I exhaled, waving the smoke away. ‘Yes?’
‘Do you remember Anka Zimmerman? Her parents own the Korn und Berg bookstore in the Hauptmarkt.’
‘I know of her. Auntie was Frau Zimmerman’s midwife. She took me with her to their store a few times.’
‘Tell me about the building. What’s it like inside—how many floors?’
‘It has three levels. The first floor is full of books, of course. There’s a staircase that leads to the third floor behind a set of louvered doors in the back. Why?’
Claudia stood up with the flower box in her hands. ‘There’s something under the roses you need to see.’ She scooped up some roses, and then looked for a place to put them, before tossing them in my lap. ‘Here!’
I sat fully up with the flowers in my lap as she plopped back down next to me in the cushions. ‘Look at these.’ She pulled a thick stack of leaflets from the box with a caricaturized image of Hitler on the front. Typed in bold underneath were the words: Failure! Madman!
‘There’s a drop today.’
I gasped. Leaflet drops were very dangerous because they happened during the day, and not many happened in Nuremberg, but when they did there was always a big stir.
‘During the celebration?’
Her eyes glowed. ‘Over the Korn und Berg bookstore.’
My mouth gaped open thinking about the location, which was dead centre to the Hauptmarkt, right where the bulk of the parade would be marching. ‘You have their permission? Anka’s parents are National Socialists.’
‘The Zimmermans got in some financial trouble after they were forced to change their windows from flat to round. Hitler himself ordered the change, walked right into their store and spoke to them directly. Now the Zimmermans owe the glassmaker a favour. Those windows were very expensive.’
I got excited thinking she was going to ask me to join her, and then a little nervous.
‘Do you want to come?’
I looked at her, blinking. In the daylight there was nowhere to hide. At least with the basement everything happened under the cover of night.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to go, but the Zimmermans won’t be there, if you’re worried.’
I thought about rushing upstairs to the roof of the Korn und Berg with the military parade in full march below, throwing outlawed leaflets with Claudia by my side. ‘I want to go.’
‘Then it’s settled,’ she said. ‘Wilhelm and Hans are meeting us.’ She touched my hand. ‘I’m so lucky to have you, Ella. Forever.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Let’s clean these flowers up and go.’
We’d cleaned up the roses, stuffing them back into the box along with the leaflets when we heard the most excruciating noise—a sharp clang that ricocheted off the walls like a dagger trying to find its target.
We froze.
Smoke filtered out of the room and into the corridor as if someone had opened a door. A blank stare washed over Claudia’s face, and my hands trembled, suddenly hot and sweaty, holding the box with the leaflets inside. Getting caught for planning was just the same as getting caught for doing.
‘What was that?’ she mouthed.
I pointed with my head toward the corridor. ‘It came from the basement.’
‘When was the last time someone stayed here?’ Claudia whispered.
‘Three days,’ I whispered back. ‘A couple from Furth. But that’s all.’
Claudia peered down the corridor. ‘Come on.’ She grabbed my hand and we crept toward the basement. A spot of cold air hovered in front of the door. She placed her hand on the knob, wrapping her fingers around it quietly, tightly, before kicking the door open.
Bang!
We both screamed, holding on to each other, looking into the basement, the door swinging back and forth.
Nobody was there.
‘Did we imagine it?’ Claudia held me back at the waist as I tried to take a step through the door.
‘We both heard it,’ I said.
‘Wait,’ she said, and a box in the far corner moved by itself. We looked at each other and then to the box, just as a mouse scurried out from behind and ran across the room. He squeezed his scrawny little body through the dark space between the trapdoor and its latch, his tail flicking the pin hook before vanishing to the other side.
>
Claudia sighed. ‘A mouse.’ She dropped her arm, and my body fell against the doorframe.
‘All that noise from one little—’
‘Come on.’ Claudia motioned for me to follow her down the corridor.
‘I don’t know…’
Her hand reached for mine. ‘It was a mouse. Let’s go.’
I started to close the door, but then stopped, taking one last look at the pin hook that was still swinging.
‘We’re going to be late,’ she said.
And I shut the door.
*
Adulation. It’s the only word I could use to describe Hitler’s birthday parade—jubilant youths crowding the walkways, beer flowing free from the halls and into the streets, mothers jostling their babies, bouncing them like offerings to a god, and banners and flags hanging triumphantly; little Nazi eyes on every building and in every hand.
A squadron of Luftwaffe bombers flew over the city in formation, wing tip to wing tip, with shiny bombs hanging from their bellies. Cheers erupted.
‘Don’t look back,’ Claudia said. ‘Run up and run down. That’s all you have to do.’
I nodded quickly, looking at the Korn und Berg store.
Hans came up behind us, tapping Claudia’s shoulder. He took a hard look at me before turning to Claudia. ‘I thought you were coming alone,’ he said.
Wilhelm walked up too. ‘Does it matter?’ Claudia said.
Hans flicked his chin at the flower box Claudia had under her arm.
‘Inside,’ Claudia said, and we walked into the store, past the closed sign, and to a set of louvered doors in the back.
‘Here,’ Claudia said, dividing the stacks into fourths. ‘Hans, on the roof, go at least five shops down. Me and Wilhelm will be right behind you. And you, Sascha, stay close.’ She looked at each of us. ‘We throw at the same time.’
The military’s rhythmic march outside got louder and closer, and the far window shook from the cadence. Tiny butterflies swirled in my stomach.
‘Follow me,’ Hans said, and we ran up the stairs.
We staked out our posts on ascending buildings, listening to the Wehrmacht thumping down below in their boots. I saw Claudia let go of her leaflets between two Nazi flags jutting from a rooftop, so I threw mine over. Then I saw her dashing back, mouthing the word ‘run.’
Everything happened so fast—I don’t remember running down the stairs, or what it felt like tossing the leaflets. One moment I was wedged between the ramparts, and the next I was back inside the Korn und Berg standing behind the louvered doors.
I steadied my breath—it was over—and walked briskly into the store, only I wasn’t alone. A Gestapo officer stood at the bookcase thumbing through a copy of Mein Kampf, his back turned to the street with the door wide open.
Bile rose in my throat, feeling that awful, shivering feeling of being caught. I closed my eyes, wondering how hard he was going to throw me to the ground.
‘Ella!’ he said. ‘Ella Von Bruen.’
My eyes sprung open.
His smile gleamed white, and I remembered who he was: the Gestapo officer who watched me fall at Coburg’s feet. ‘It’s me, Muller. Remember?’ The leaflets fluttered to the ground behind him like soft rain. He had no idea. If he did, I would have been in handcuffs.
He closed Hitler’s book and walked away from the bookcase with one hand resting on his billy club, looking surprised to see me in the bookstore.
‘Yes,’ I said, voice shaking. ‘Officer Muller, I remember.’
He took off his hat and got so close I had to step backward to keep him from touching me. ‘You’re looking good, Ella. Really good.’ His voice slapped me like a whip and I flushed deep red, my heart hammering against my chest.
Claudia peeped through the slats of the louvered door. The flower box was on the ground next to her feet, and I saw a forgotten leaflet clinging to the side. Claudia reached down and crumpled it in her hands—Muller’s attention on me was the only thing keeping him from noticing her.
I choked, mumbling something about the parade. I pulled on my tie to breathe, and my front button unfastened from wearing a shirt that had shrunk a size too small. Muller’s eyes got really wide. I had his attention. Not the kind of attention a student gives her teacher, but more like the wide-eyed concentration a cat has when teased with a fuzzy ball.
Anka walked in from the street with her hands full of Nazi flags, her eyes sliding nervously to mine, and then to the louvered door. She grabbed something from a shelf and her hip bumped into a small display case. Books arranged for purchase tumbled to the ground, but instead of picking them up she broke for the front door.
Muller started to turn to the noise. I panicked, thinking I’d lose him. Sell him a lie and he’ll believe it!
‘So, what can I do for you, Officer?’ I cocked my hip like I’d seen a prostitute do once near the Pegnitz Bridge, and untied the yellow scarf from my wrist to side it through my hands. ‘On this day of all days.’
He smiled, and not just any kind of smile, but the sly kind I’d seen Coburg give my aunt hundreds of times before after they’d made a deal. His hand reached up for my face, and another officer rushed through the open door. ‘Kommandant Muller,’ he said, and Muller turned around sharply. ‘We have a problem!’ He shook a twisted leaflet in the air.
Kommandant? My knees buckled.
Muller pounded his knuckles into his open hand. ‘Damn!’ I jerked from his loud voice. Then he stepped backward out the door with a finger pointed at me like a gun. ‘I’ll come back for you later.’ He winked.
The louvered doors flew open and Claudia pulled me into the crowded street behind Wilhelm and Hans, my body still awkwardly posed in a prostitute’s stance.
‘That was—’
‘Power!’ Claudia said. ‘That was power.’
And I felt a profound shift inside of me.
9
Auntie’s Women’s League mingled in her parlour for her after-celebration celebration, sipping schnapps and tea, munching down the last of her strawberry kuchen and chocolate candies. She paraded around, kettle in her hand, serving them with small curtsies. I sat on the divan, demitasse held to my lips, tilting back warm spritzer while watching them from the edge of my cup. The mere thought of those leaflets floating in the air was enough to twirl my stomach. A peep of laughter from my lips and Auntie looked at me strangely.
‘I couldn’t have done anything today without the support of my niece,’ she said, pouring a guest a cup of tea. ‘She’d make an excellent companion for a young man who wants to write letters.’
I pulled my cup away. ‘Auntie!’
The whole room laughed. ‘Don’t tease the girl, Bridget,’ one woman said as Auntie served her a small cake. ‘She must have her eye on somebody by the sound of her.’
Auntie glanced up, her smile fading as she wondered whom that somebody might be. I sat up tall.
A little old lady named Gretel Tiefenbrunn sat in a wide-backed chair in the middle of the room and talked about her cousin, Hermann Göring, the Kommandant-in-Chief of the Luftwaffe. Her face folded and flopped as she spoke in a broken southern accent, which she tried to cover up, though her true past as the wife of a peasant farmer was never talked about in closed circles. Her cousin’s success in the Reich, rising in rank so quickly, had given her status and prestige.
Gummibär candy stained her wrinkled lips red, and my aunt’s herbed tea tarnished the corners of her mouth a light brown.
‘The Luftwaffe’s new base is quite extraordinary,’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said. ‘Despite what the resistance has done to our supply shipments. But it’s only a matter of days, I’m sure.’ She took a small sip from her cup.
‘A matter of days?’ Auntie said with a squint.
‘Before they catch the resisters and hang them.’
Everyone quieted. Ladies who were standing took their seats and listened to her with devoted attention. ‘Hermann can’t tell me, of course, but he did allude to his sister,
Paula, that a reckoning was coming in short order.’ She took another sip from her cup. ‘A raid of all raids. And rightfully so.’
Our neighbour, Margot Spitz, a widow of only eleven days, smoothed her blue silken skirt over her knees. ‘You don’t say, Frau Tiefenbrunn.’ She dug her elbows into her knees and cradled her head with ring-laden fingers. ‘What else can you tell us about The Blue Max?’
Spritzer sprayed from my nose when she called Hermann Göring by his nickname, as if she knew him. A light titter waved across the room, and Auntie put a hand on my knee, shaking her head very discreetly. I cleaned myself up with a napkin, sitting more comfortably now with my feet up on the coffee table.
Auntie mouthed for me to sit normally, and I flopped one foot down at a time. ‘What’s with you?’ she whispered.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ Margot said, blushing. ‘Because I wouldn’t want—’
‘Of course not, darling,’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said.
Margot exhaled, looking very much relieved. She took a long pin out of her bound hair and let her curls bounce off her shoulders, making her look much younger than her real, thirty-something age. ‘Do you have his address?’ She smiled. ‘I’d love to write him a letter.’
‘Well, he is terribly busy, of course,’ Frau Tiefenbrunn said.
Margot’s smile vanished. ‘Oh. Right.’
Hilde Kappelhoff stood up. She had been in the Youth League with me, but liked to think herself a full twenty years older than she really was, which I never understood. She looked it too, spindly legs and spotted arms, a slick of dyed, greying hair pinned tight behind her ear. She mirrored her husband Friedrich, who was as rich as he was old.
‘That would be some kind of raid,’ Hilde said. ‘I saw the newsreels. Those disgusting Youth members fallen from grace, terrorizing innocent Germans, ambushing our supply shipments, killing armed Wehrmacht.’ She reached for the tea kettle Auntie had placed on the table next to her chair. Auntie rose from her seat to serve her, but Hilde waved her back and talked as she poured. ‘The resistance are a bunch of savage Indians. I’m sure they come from classless families.’