by Andie Newton
Louise looked at me suspiciously before wondering aloud what had got into me. I realized I needed to pull my thoughts, and myself, together. I had to believe it was Claudia and find the proof later. I took a deep breath.
‘Louise,’ I said, catching her as she tried to leave. ‘Have you ever had a best friend?’
‘I was in the League of German Girls, Ella. And I was very involved in the Belief and Beauty branch until I was twenty-one. The BDM is full of best friends.’
‘I’m not talking about the friends you make in the BDM. I’m talking about a real best friend. The kind you never forget, no matter how much time passes. One you’d do anything for because they make you feel alive.’
‘Is there a difference?’ She rose from the bench, dissecting me with her eyes before turning around and waddling off. Perspiration from sitting outside too long had caused her girdle to rub between her thighs, and it sounded more like she had a fishbowl wedged between her knees than the usual two pieces of sandpaper.
The boys at the Braunes Haus had gone back inside. Louise had left, and I found myself sitting in a quiet space outside Nazi Headquarters, smiling. I thought about Claudia breaking out of the compound under the cover of night, nude as a newborn babe, slicked with lard and running for the forest. There was only one place she’d go: Nuremberg. And she’d go straight to my aunt’s house looking for me.
‘Run, girl,’ I whispered into the air. ‘Run.’
16
October
Christophe hadn’t been able to confirm anything about Claudia I didn’t already know, and the excitement about the escape had worn off by autumn. Avoiding Max had become a daily routine. I knew his schedule and I planned my own around it, making sure to avoid him in the corridor at all cost. And I waited—waited for a letter to arrive from my aunt, and waited for Christophe to come through.
It was early, and I left my building as usual, tiptoeing my way down the back stairs and onto the Marienplatz. Christophe warned me about the trams, said that informants spent days riding them back and forth just to catch a thief, and I’d be better off walking to the V-building even though on the cooler days I’d much rather have taken the tram.
It had been a year since I left Auntie at the breakfast table with Claudia’s key in my pocket. A year. And as I walked on to work in my wool suit, appearing very adult with my hair twisted tightly into a bun at the base of my head, I realized how much I missed the Ella I used to be, the one who sold paintings to women who didn’t want them, and clipped fashion advertisements out of magazines.
But as I walked through the Königsplatz, which was lined with more than a hundred flags, and saw SS guards on my building steps dressed in pressed uniforms, I had to remind myself who I was pretending to be. Because today was a special day.
The Führer was in Munich.
I set the morning meetings up for the administration staff, and then helped Louise orientate the new employees in our building for their first official visit from the Führer: girls in the secretarial pool, special couriers who only transported documents between the Führerbau and the V-building, and a few guards that monitored the front entrance. It was up to Louise and me, since we were senior assistants, to make sure that they respected policy and protocol in both appearance and mannerisms in case Hitler did a walk-through of the V-building, which was expected. Nobody seemed to remember it was my first official visit.
The Führer wanted people at Nazi Headquarters to be working as usual when he arrived. There would be no red carpet or ovation waiting for him at the front entrance like I had thought. Instead, his visit would be more like a factory foreman inspecting his production line; workers would go about their business with zest and exuberance while he looked on with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding. Policy dictated that only after the Führer and his advisors got within a few metres of one’s presence were you supposed to salute. Ogling eyes were prohibited, but stiff arms held high in the air and even stiffer smiles were expected.
By midday Hitler hadn’t arrived, and I was on my way to the tunnel for some files. Ronald, the same bald-headed watchmen I met on my first day, greeted me at the tunnel door with a clipboard grasped firmly in both hands. He stood with his back against the wall wearing a brand new guard’s uniform. Gone was his untidy desk and the dirty coffee pot I had grown accustomed to seeing, and in its place was an arrangement of pencils.
‘You look different today, Ronald.’
‘It’s an important day today, Fräulein Strauss.’ His voice was dry, nervous.
I straightened my wool suit jacket. ‘My suit is too grey. Maybe I should have put on a tie. Though, I never liked the one I had to wear in the League.’ I hesitated, wondering if he was now thinking about how young I was. ‘But that was a long time ago… the League.’
‘I never understood ties for women,’ he said, fiddling with his own. ‘You’re right not to wear one.’
I worked in silence for several minutes, bent over, rummaging through the file cabinets, opening drawers and not bothering to shut them. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before I heard the light swoosh of feet coming down the tunnel corridor, followed by the sharp clip of heels. They stopped right next to me, and there was a pause, my face and both hands deep in the files, before I looked up. Then my stomach sank. Hitler.
Ronald started to announce his presence but I cut him off by bolting to a stand. ‘Heil Hitler!’ I kicked the file cabinet closest to the floor shut with my foot.
Hitler’s gaze skirted over me, a sickly-sweet smile bowing on his lips, before reaching out and shaking my hand. His touch was soft, almost kind, and it sent a chill up my spine. His brown Nazi Party leader uniform was crisp, yet loosely fitted and had a short fat tie of the same colour underneath a leather shoulder strap. He was shorter than I thought—his eyes level with my own—but his receding, pomade-slicked hairline and dark bristly moustache were exactly what I had expected.
Three officers from the Reich flanked his sides, and two others stood behind; all wore similar brown Nazi Party leaders’ uniforms with swastikas wrapped around their arms. They nodded, and before I had a chance to process what was really happening—that I was shaking Hitler’s hand—they turned like a flock of birds and left.
Ronald, who had been watching diligently from his post, burst out a manly, forceful-toned greeting as they passed, but Hitler and the others walked right out of the tunnel door and into the V-building as if he wasn’t there. Only after we heard the sound of their footsteps turn into muffled thumps did we exhale.
‘You’re lucky, Fräulein Strauss.’ There was a hint of resentment in Ronald’s voice. ‘The Führer. He shook your hand.’
I looked at my palm. Any other person would have kissed their own hand and then pressed it to their face like a pillow. I wanted to wash up. I thought about how close he had been to me, how I could hear him breathing. My heart raced just thinking about it and suddenly I felt overwhelmed with having looked into the eyes of a madman.
My knees buckled and my back slammed into the file cabinets; they clinked and clattered like a chain. Then the wailing started, which caught even me by surprise, and I dropped to the floor, tears pouring from my eyes.
Ronald seemed unaware I was heaving on the ground, probably because he thought I was just like every other girl: in love with Hitler.
‘Louise will be jealous,’ he said.
I nodded, hand over mouth, sobbing.
*
I didn’t get home until late that night. There was an eerie silence in the street and the air felt static, like a big storm was brewing, but the skies were clear. Then the air raid sirens went off and the city went dark.
People ran out of the Ratskeller, scattering, hiding in the alleys, others who knew where the shelters were disappeared into hidden doorways. I ran into my building’s basement. It wasn’t an official shelter, but its wide metal door and thick stone walls made it an ideal place to hide.
As soon as I opened the door I wished
I had hid in the alley instead. Sitting against the wall, next to some other people from the building, was Max. His eyes lit up when he saw me, but then turned sad when I didn’t sit in the space he had made for me.
There was a lit gas lantern in the middle of the floor next to a small puddle that smelled like piss and days-old standing water. Everyone huddled together like fat cigars in a narrow box, scooting together as more and more bodies entered the room, the sirens ebbing and flowing each time the door swung open. The building shook from the blast of the RAF bombs.
There was a communal sigh when the sirens stopped. Some people chatted and laughed as if they had been on an amusement ride, others walked around like zombies trying to find their way home. I made a dash for the door, but Max grabbed me by the elbow and held me back as the others filed out of the room.
Then we were all alone.
‘You’ve been avoiding me.’ He searched my eyes for meaning. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ When I didn’t answer he held me real close and my head tipped back. I wanted him to kiss me like he did before, but I knew it was wrong.
He brushed a lock of hair from my eyes. ‘Ella?’
I glanced nervously at the door worried someone might open it and see us together, which he noticed and only made him look more confused. I have to tell him the truth, I thought. He deserved to know.
‘Why have you been avoiding me?’
‘Because nobody can see us together. Not while I work for the Reich.’ I closed my eyes briefly because it was too painful to keep looking at his face. ‘I saw what they do to the prisoners at Hinzert, Max. Don’t you understand? If I get caught, so do you if we’re together.’
‘But you’re the one, Ella.’ He cradled my face in his hands. ‘We can hide, be together in secret. Nobody has to know. Nobody. Don’t let the Reich ruin us…’
‘I can’t,’ I kept saying, ‘I can’t… I can’t…’
‘I love you,’ he said, and I wiggled out of his arms and ran out the door, a desperate cry escaping from my mouth.
*
I dragged myself to work the next morning. Louise was there bright and early, staring at me with her clipboard held close to her chest while I opened my door.
‘Did you have a good night?’
I thought she was making a joke at first, but she would never make a joke about a raid.
‘Did you find a shelter?’ I said. ‘Luckily there’s one in my building.’
Most shelters were homemade and privately built, only a few had been built by the city. Nobody dared to question why out loud, but if the government built shelters then it meant the Reich expected us to get bombed, and admitting such a thing had consequences that far outweighed the potential of an enemy air strike.
‘What are you talking about?’ Louise said.
I opened the door, but stopped short from walking in. ‘The bombs last night.’
Suddenly Max appeared at the end of the corridor dressed in his guard uniform. I’d never seen him in my building. He looked at me, and I turned away, pretending to fiddle with my office keys.
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Louise said. ‘I did hear some thunder though.’
I took a few breaths, looking at my keys, and then glanced back up at Louise, and over her shoulder where I’d seen Max. But he was gone.
‘That’s what I meant,’ I said. ‘The thunder.’
17
December
I sat in my office’s windowsill, head pressed against the glass. Two young girls skipped past down below, dressed in League uniforms, kicking up leaves from the chestnut trees. I sat up, watching them twirl and laugh and flick each other’s ties in the air until they were just two figures between the trees, disappearing behind the Nazi flags lining the Königsplatz.
A clopping sound and the swish from a heavy palm sliding along the handrail pulled my eyes away from the street; only Hoffmann sounded that way, but he was in a meeting, had been since I arrived at work that morning. The intensity of the noise, the determination in the step, however, wasn’t like Hoffmann at all, so I went to the door and peeked around the corner just as Hoffmann ran into me, chest first, armpits second, the brackish smell of too much cologne fuming from his pores.
My hand went immediately to my nose. ‘Sir… I didn’t mean to…’
‘They want you at the meeting.’ He walked to my desk, took three mints from a dish and shoved them into his mouth; one slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground. ‘Now,’ he said.
He seemed agitated and a little abrupt. A small part of me thought I was in trouble, that someone had noticed anomalies in the tunnel files. Another part of me thought he was overreacting. He probably needed a drink and was taking it out on me. I reached into my skirt pocket and squeezed my yellow scarf, closing my eyes briefly, before following Hoffmann up the stairs to the third floor.
Hoffmann stopped at the double doors that led into the main meeting room, gripped both doorknobs with his big hands and took a deep breath. ‘Let me do the talking,’ he said.
‘Am I in trouble?’ I asked.
He closed his eyes as if he didn’t know, turned the knobs with force and opened the doors. A pocket of stone-cold air snapped from the seal, and voices quieted with a rigid shift of eyes. I moved my hands to the middle of my body, clasped them together and followed Hoffmann in with a bit lip.
Officers from all branches of government stared up at me from their comfortable chairs around the conference table, Erik and Louise sitting at the head.
My stomach moved to my throat.
Three were dressed in their menacing black Allgemeine-SS military uniforms with silver shoulder boards. The medals sprayed across their chests wasn’t just for knowing how to attack, but when.
I eyed the door at the other end of the room; it was too far to run. If I turned around Hoffmann could grab me. I opened my mouth to say something, but wasn’t sure what.
Louise looked at me strangely, and then tapped the empty seat next to her with the end of her pencil. ‘Have a seat.’ When I didn’t move her brow furrowed, and I realized I hadn’t been caught—just invited to a meeting.
I sat down while Hoffmann scooted into the chair across from me. Crystal decanters of whisky lined the middle of the table. Hoffmann’s glass was filled to the brim with water, like it normally was when people were watching.
‘Great,’ Erik said. ‘Now we can begin.’ He sat next to a man with a hat that barely fit the top of his head; the Totenkopf death’s head placed above its brim. But it was the red and yellow ribbon tied between his buttonholes that gave his identity away: Reinhard Heydrich, Director of the Reich Main Security Office, the organization that sent my department its Night and Fog files to manage.
Erik cleared his throat and introduced me to the panel as Eva. I held my tongue, but then two others from my floor reminded him my name was Ella. Erik, unshaken by the public misstep, kept talking like it didn’t matter that he’d got my name wrong, again, and I started to wonder if he had been doing it on purpose.
‘Your supervisor is fighting us on this,’ Erik said. ‘So, I thought we should talk to you personally.’
My eyes darted to Hoffmann; he sat down with a clenched fist, and the veins in his neck boiled into blue ropes.
‘We’re reorganizing duties,’ Erik said. ‘There’s too much going on at the Braunes Haus and around the Königsplatz in general. Departments are muddled and efficiency has become a problem.’ He glanced at Hoffmann as if he expected him to interrupt at any moment. Then Erik looked directly at me with his sharp eyes. ‘We’ll need to expand your file audits, but your supervisor is adamant that you are already too busy.’
‘I’m—’
‘Ella, let me handle this,’ Hoffmann interrupted, using his elbow to lean forward on the table. ‘The document department at the V-building is already overloaded. Ella here is busy from morning to sunset as it is.’ He shook his head. ‘The burdens of other departments shouldn’t become ours.’
An
officer from the NSDAP piped up. ‘It’s not anything new, Hoffmann. It’s still documents.’ Men grumbled in agreement at both ends of the table.
‘It’s twice as much work as she’s used to getting from me, and from other prisons that have transferred their documents to us.’ Hoffmann had accepted the prison files, like the ones I brought back from Hinzert, but he had always rejected other departments’ files from around the Königsplatz. He even pasted a notice to the front of my office door that listed our department’s jurisdictions, to keep couriers from dumping files off while we were out.
I pointed a finger in the air while people shouted back and forth at the table. ‘Sir… if I could… a moment…’
I knew enough about office management to know that Hoffmann wasn’t going to win this battle. I had to accept willingly in order to look good in the eyes of the Reich, but I knew Hoffmann felt threatened by the idea of more work. I had become his cover, he drank what and when he wanted and I did all of his work. I saw his frustration settling as wrinkles around his eyes.
Hoffmann blew from his nose. ‘I don’t want your documents—’
Erik slammed his hand flat on the table. ‘Enough!’ Glasses wobbled and some clinked together. Tired old men jolted from their chairs and the stiff got stiffer. ‘There’s a war going on. We don’t have time to fight over petty matters.’ Erik’s voice was shrill. Hoffmann didn’t budge, and I realized the standoff over my duties must have been going on for quite a while.
‘Something has to be done,’ Director Heydrich said, and I was surprised to hear a soft voice from him, almost as soft as a woman’s. ‘We don’t have the resources to audit our own files, and they span the Königsplatz.’ He tilted his head down and looked at me with rolled eyes as if his department’s disorganization was my fault.
‘I’ll do it.’ I smiled.
Erik’s shoulders dropped and a thankful smile rested on his lips. ‘Finally,’ he said glancing around the table. ‘We have a resolution here.’