by Andie Newton
‘Sign in,’ he barked.
He went to pour himself more coffee, but only drips came out.
Louise signed herself in while I took a good look at the tunnel. ‘So this is it?’ I said, gazing. Oil paintings hung from walls covered in patterned, gold coloured fabric. Winged statues and glass cases went as far as the eye could see, and cream-coloured carpet covered half the floor.
Louise nodded. ‘This tunnel connects to the building next door, the Führer’s offices when he’s in Munich—the Führerbau.’ She pointed her finger at the clipboard. ‘Sign in each and every time you enter the tunnel.’ She watched me write my name under hers. ‘Ella Strauss,’ she said. ‘Your name sounds familiar.’
I faked a smile, and Louise cleared her throat.
‘Over there are the files your department audits,’ she said, waving the butt of the watchman’s pen at a set of black metal file cabinets. A white notebook secured by tape and string hung off the last cabinet and dangled at eye level. ‘List the files you pull for officers in the logbook. When you file them back, check off the document and date it. I’m sure Director Hoffmann already explained everything to you.’ She tapped her watch with the pen. ‘Now, I have to go. I have a very important meeting to attend.’ She dug two fingers into her lapel pocket and fished out a cabinet key. ‘Take care of this,’ she said, shoving it into the palm of my hand. ‘It’s the master key. The only one I have.’
‘Oh,’ I said, remembering Hoffmann’s note in my pocket. ‘There’s this.’
She read the note, and then looked up at me, eyes glowering. A long pause followed, and I swear I heard her foot tap. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I suppose I should be glad. Less work for me now that you’re here.’ She got out her key ring and unhooked one with the number fifty-six etched into it. ‘And this is the—’
‘The only one you have. Got it.’
She stuck the watchman’s pen in her pocket and left.
I refiled all the folders, except the grey ones for cabinet number fifty-six. I opened one of the folders, peeking inside, getting a long look at the contents this time, only to close it quickly when I saw the Reich’s confidential red stamp on every single page.
I took a slow look over my shoulder at the watchman, who was slurping the last of his coffee from his cup, before moving over to the drawer labelled fifty-six.
I used Louise’s key to open the cabinet, and the drawer flew forward with a cranky clicking. Way in the back was a set of special file folders with black stripes on the top. One folder for every major city stamped Nacht und Nebel: Berlin, Munich and then—I looked over my shoulder again, and the watchman was now looking at the door—Nuremberg’s file.
My stomach sank, thinking I’d found Claudia, but when I pulled it from the cabinet drawer, it was empty, no papers, no photos—nothing. My stomach sank again, only this time much deeper.
I kicked the file drawer, but then reached for it, catching it before it closed when I noticed something out of place—a prison photo fastened to the outside flap of another file.
My legs nearly collapsed right there next to the filing cabinets when I saw Claudia’s face and her stringy hair hanging long and to one side. Her eyes looked vacant, and almost dead. The number six was written on the back along with: Wilhelm, a leader.
I glanced over my shoulder—the watchman had taken up reading a newspaper—and I stuffed the photo down my shirt. My heart beat out of my chest at what I had done as I tried adjusting it to lay flat against my skin. With nobody watching me, nobody to see what I’d done, I rashly snuck two pages from a random folder and stuffed those down my shirt too.
I took a few shallow breaths, kneeling beside the file cabinet, thinking how close the watchman was, and what could have happened if he’d glanced over at the wrong moment.
But he hadn’t glanced over. He hadn’t seen a thing.
I waited for my heart to stop beating so fast, and then rolled the dolly out. The watchman swivelled around in his chair; brown and yellow spots covered one side of his head, and scars from his youth cratered into his chin. The Reich probably didn’t understand how important their tunnel watchman was, and judging by his appearance, I didn’t think they ever would. I needed him to like me, trust me.
I played with the small swastika pendant centred on my neck, thinking up something personable to say. ‘You must get terribly bored down here in the tunnel all alone,’ I said, looking at his cluttered desk, his papers, and then his empty coffee pot, which he had unplugged and set off to the side.
He lowered his newspaper, crinkling it in his hands. Upside-down vees lifted the hairless indentations above his eyes. ‘Sometimes.’
I hesitated a moment, looking back at that empty pot and the cord he’d wound up around it, before signing myself out of the tunnel. ‘Louise has a tin of coffee in her office. I can bring you some next time.’ I pointed with my eyes. ‘Looks like you could use some more.’
‘Louise has the tin?’ He snarled. ‘That coffee is reserved for the tunnel guardsman since we work into the night.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realize.’
He gritted, mumbling something about Louise. ‘She’s not nice,’ he said, ‘thinks she owns this building. She took my pen—doesn’t think I noticed, but I did.’
I patted his hand. ‘I’ll bring the coffee next time.’
He smiled briefly and then his face fell as if he didn’t believe me. ‘Well, if you forget I won’t get mad.’
‘I won’t forget.’ I smiled. ‘See you tomorrow…’
‘Fritz,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘Ronald Fritz.’
‘See you tomorrow, Ronald.’
Now I had to think of a way to get that tin of coffee from Louise.
*
Max had been waiting for me when I got home from work, smoking cigarettes in the corridor between our two flats. He seemed surprised I’d been gone all day.
‘I started a new job.’ I lugged my heavy work bag over to my bed. ‘In the Königsplatz.’
‘Oh?’ he said, and I nodded.
‘I found something about Claudia.’
I motioned with my head to the window, and we climbed outside to sit on the awning that had turned into our rudimentary balcony. The full moon glowed between two black clouds, the light shimmering off the Marienplatz’s moist cobbled pavement. In the distance, the purr of car engines and the honk of a few horns. Even with the scent of oil and rain, it was good to get some air.
‘Well, what is it?’ He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting mine with his lighter.
‘Her photo in a file folder labeled Nacht und Nebel.’ I pulled Claudia’s photo from my brassiere.
He tucked his cigarette into his mouth. ‘Night and Fog? Haven’t heard of it,’ he said, motioning for the photo. ‘Let me see it.’
I had just finished telling him about the handwritten note connecting Wilhelm to Claudia when he took his cigarette and held it to the photo. An orange and yellow flame sizzled its way up the edge.
I reached for the burning photo but Max blocked me with his arm. ‘What are you doing?’ I yelled, as Claudia’s face bubbled and stretched. He dropped what was left of the photo, and then smashed it with the heel of his boot.
‘You can’t keep it,’ he said. ‘You know that.’
I withered against the balcony and looked out onto the square, smoking the last of my cigarette, looking for something to focus on, when I noticed the old couple, Herr and Frau Haas, who owned the wood and hat shop down the way, standing near their window. Someone else, who at a distance looked like a young man dressed in a green recruit uniform, stood next to them with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. After a few seconds all three of them embraced.
I reached into my shirt and pulled the other papers I’d stolen from the files. ‘Might as well burn these too.’
Max separated the pages, looking up at me with a surprised look on his face. ‘Be careful in there, Ella.’ He set them on fire, and I stomped ou
t my cigarette. ‘I got a job today too—a guard in the Königsplatz. First thing they told us was to watch out for spies.’
‘I will.’
‘Ella,’ he said, and I looked up. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, burning her photo.’
‘I know…’ Max put his hand on my shoulder, and suddenly I was very aware it was just him and me on the balcony, together. ‘I know you’d never… that you didn’t mean…’ I took a deep breath. ‘What I mean is… it’s all right.’
There was a long moment where neither of us said anything, but his smile let me know he understood why I yelled at him the way I did.
‘Claudia’s lucky to have you,’ he said. ‘Did you meet in the Falcons?’
‘No, a long time ago in the League. She was the only one who wasn’t sobbing over Hitler’s words in Mein Kampf.’
‘I had to read it in the Hitler Youth too. But I changed out the book jacket and read other things to fill the time.’
My eyes grew wide. ‘We did that!’
Then he asked me the question I didn’t want to answer. ‘How was the dance?’ I thought he’d forgotten about the dance. But how could he? He taught me how to dance.
‘Oh, umm…’ I said, looking away. ‘I did fine. Thanks for teaching me.’
‘I heard talk about a new girl today, and I thought maybe it was you. From what I heard you never had to sit out a song.’ I looked at him, worried he might get the wrong idea and think I liked dancing with those other men. ‘So, your plan worked.’
‘You’re the only one I want to dance with,’ I said, and I couldn’t believe I said it out loud. My chest tingled admitting this to him, and my cheeks ached from an unshakable smile.
Max looked embarrassed too, looking away bashfully, but then he offered me a cigarette from his own mouth before lighting his own, and when he offered it to me, our fingers lingered together. We sat down on some milk crates that were already there and smoked.
‘You know I came back for you that night,’ he said. ‘In Nuremberg.’
‘You did?’
‘I thought I’d never see you again,’ he said.
I’m not sure who turned first, or if there was any thought on my part, but somewhere in between a long exhale and talking about Nuremberg, we kissed, but this time our lips stayed pressed against each other’s for many seconds and, truth be known, I counted.
14
July
Erwin checked the freshness of his breath, huffing and puffing into the palm of his hand on the other side of my door. He put his big eye up to the peephole, blinked a few times and then went back to smelling his breath. ‘Ella,’ he said. ‘I know you’re home.’
I opened the door with a rush, as if I had dashed across the room and not been watching him. ‘Erwin!’
‘Hello, Ella.’ His cheeks looked warm and red as if he’d been running. ‘It’s Friday. I came by your office but you’d already left. I hurried after you, called your name.’ Patches of sweat soaked his NSDAP uniform, around his collar and under his armpits.
‘Erwin, I—’
‘You’ve been promising me a night out for weeks,’ he said, crossing his pudgy arms. ‘You’ve cancelled on me enough.’
‘Has it been weeks?’ I said. ‘It’s been a long day. Could we—’
‘After all I’ve done for you—I could have recommended any number of girls for that job.’ His voice squealed and a blue vein pulsated in his neck.
I grabbed my foot. ‘But my feet are throbbing.’
‘You promised,’ he said, and I sighed.
Joseph had just walked up the stairs and stood by his door. ‘Coming tonight?’ he said, fiddling with his keys.
My eyes shifted to Joseph and then back to Erwin, smiling, remembering I had plans after all. Joseph had been recruited to go to Berlin to help the medical department there. He didn’t want to go, but if he refused the assignment, he risked being sent to the warfront. ‘Besides, I have plans,’ I said, flicking my chin down the corridor. ‘My cousin is leaving for Berlin tomorrow. It’s his last night here.’
‘Eight o’clock,’ Joseph said just before he shut his door, and I winced.
‘You’ll be back by then,’ Erwin said.
I paused, holding back the words I really wanted to say, before turning to get my handbag, grumbling under my breath, which Erwin didn’t hear because he was too busy adjusting his belt.
He sniffed his armpit.
‘Don’t you want to change your clothes?’
‘Everyone’s wearing their uniform,’ he said.
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘but remember, I can’t be out late.’
We walked to the Hofbräuhaus, the oldest and most crowded Nazi beer hall in Munich. It wasn’t close to my flat, but it wasn’t far either. Despite being tired from working all day, Erwin struggled to keep up; sometimes he was two, even three steps behind.
Erwin led me to a table full of people only he knew, and we squeezed into the packed, crescent-shaped booth. His thick arm swung heavy around the back of my neck, tugging on my hair as he looked out into the crowd, smiling.
Barmaids walked around with trays of steins filled with dark frothy beer, passing them out to mostly drunk NSDAP members, all of them wearing their signature brown uniforms with bright red swastika cuffbands, just like Erwin said. Cigar smoke billowed into the air from all corners of the hall, mixing with the heavy scent of perfumed girls.
Erwin pushed his lips into my ear. ‘Isn’t this great?’
I nodded.
‘What?’ he said. ‘I can’t hear you.’
I smiled. ‘I said it’s great!’ Erwin dug his fat fingers into the fleshy part of my upper arm and pulled me into the sweaty circle of his armpit. A four-piece band playing traditional polka music in the middle of the room got louder and added to the sing-song in my ear.
‘I can’t stay much longer,’ I said, tapping my watch.
Erwin whipped his head around, his baby blue eyes turning grey as steel. Another person squeezed into the booth, and I got pushed from my seat. I stood before my bottom hit the ground and tried not to act pleased about it. Now I can leave.
‘Sit back down,’ he said, trying to make a space for me.
I smoothed my skirt. ‘There are five girls and four boys at this table as it is. I need to go anyway.’
Before Erwin could respond I felt a flick between my shoulder blades, as if someone had swatted a bug. It was Alex. He had a stein in one hand and now me in the other. ‘Where does my dear cousin think she’s going?’ He gave Erwin a wink. ‘It’s too early to leave.’
He breathed into my face—the rancid smell of vomit and beer. I put my hand to my nose.
‘You’re drunk,’ I said.
He grinned and took a wobbled step backward. ‘I’m not drunk. I’m celebrating! It’s Friday.’
I smirked sourly. ‘Have you seen your brother lately? They’re sending him to Berlin tomorrow. You’re coming to say goodbye tonight, aren’t you?’
He hiccupped. ‘I have a brother?’
Erwin and Alex shared a laugh, Alex’s voice a little louder than it should’ve been.
‘I’m leaving,’ I said.
‘Wait—I want you to meet someone.’ Alex pointed to some people on the other side of the building. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said to Erwin, and then he wrenched my hand and walked me away from the booth and into a crowd of people where we disappeared.
He said hello to someone who looked a lot like Eric Koch, but was dressed in tan street clothes and talking to an attractive, almost innocent-looking girl I didn’t recognize. A lazy smile bowed on his lips, and he blushed from her stare. He tenderly wiped an eyelash from her cheek. I thought it was sweet, the way he looked at her, until Alex called him ‘Koch.’
The man of ice? My lingering glance changed into a stare.
Alex yanked on my shoulder. ‘Nein! Not him. Over there,’ he said, pushing me toward a dark-haired man. He wore a NSDAP uniform that fit snug around his chest and shoulders, and an even
tighter fitting swastika cuffband around his arm. Common brown eyes and flat cheekbones matched his limp hair; when he brushed it out of his face, he exposed a small scar in the shape of a hook just above his right ear. At my angle, I was the only one who could see it. My mouth drew open and my eyes widened.
I recognized that scar from a tunnel file.
‘Ella, this is Christophe. He’s new.’
I shook the look from my face. ‘Good evening, Christophe.’ I sounded much more formal than I meant to.
The photo from his file showed him with blond hair, but I knew his tale well. I’d studied nearly every file in the tunnel since I got my job in documents, before changing some or sneaking out a few pages. He got the scar the night the Gestapo arrested him two years ago, when he went by the name Randolph Xavier. They held a knife to his ear because he heard too much, but he escaped. The Reich had a reason to want him. Christophe was a British spy.
‘Do I know you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Do you? I work at the V-building, in documents.’
‘Haven’t been there,’ he said. ‘I spend most my time at the Braunes Haus. Heard it’s a beautiful building, however.’ We stood there looking at each other, uncomfortably, when a man with a perfectly round potbelly walked up like he owned the place and put his arm around Christophe. He wore a dark gentleman’s suit, which was too formal for a beer hall, and had a wing-tipped moustache with twisted points that moved when he laughed.
He reached into his front pocket with two fat fingers and pulled out a short cigar that had a ring of red paper wrapped around it. He spun the paper around his cigar as he smoked, over and over again. I’d seen that before. I’d seen him before.
Coburg’s friend Dietrich. I gulped. The Gestapo officer from Nuremberg.
I turned, bee-lining for the toilets. I heard Alex yell ‘Come back!’ behind me as I walked.
Anxious women, some half-drunk with crossed legs, others just needing a break, flicked their cigarettes at me as I cut into the front of the line and pushed my way to the mirrored vanities.
I pulled my hair back and stared at my reflection, looking for the fearless jumpbox I had been for so many months, but all I saw was a young girl from Nuremberg. I started to panic, and then pulled myself together the best I could with a cold slap to the face.