It was a few minutes after he had heard a far-off church bell tolling two o’clock, while he was working through the garbage cans of his fourth or fifth restaurant, that he heard a sound that froze him in his tracks. He was bent over, pawing through a half-filled can, when a low growl sounded right behind him.
Moving very slowly, Hans straightened and turned around. In the faint light, he saw a large, dark shape and two glowing eyes. As he peered more closely, he made out that it was a full-grown Doberman Pinscher. Its lips were curled back, revealing very big and very sharp teeth. Its ears were laid flat, and the hair along the back of its neck was standing straight up. Hans fell back a step, snatching up the garbage can and holding it out in front of him.
“Get out of here!” Hans hissed, jabbing the can at the animal. The Doberman jumped back but then instantly darted in, snarling and snapping. Knowing that if the dog came after him he wouldn’t be able to fight it off, Hans unceremoniously dumped the can on its head. It yelped, backed away for a moment, and then immediately fell upon the papers, rooting through them for any food.
When the dog came up with what looked like a half-eaten pork chop, rage exploded in Hans. He looked around and saw a push broom on the dock. Careful not to trigger an attack, he edged over to the dock until he could reach the broom. Knowing that what he was about to do would hurt like fury, Hans gripped the broom with both hands, gritted his teeth, and inched toward the dog. “Good dog,” he murmured. The animal’s head came up, and another low growl emanated from deep within its body. The hackles were straight up again.
With a yell, Hans lunged, swinging the broom with all his strength. He cried out as his whole left side erupted in pain, but it didn’t stop him. He had the broom positioned so that the bristles were up and the wooden base was down. It caught the dog right on the snout. It dropped the pork chop with a sharp howl and leaped backwards. Hans went after it, cursing and shouting and waving the broom. The animal moved backwards several feet and then stopped, growling and snarling and crouched down as if to spring. Hans quickly snatched up the meat. He was right. It was a half-eaten pork chop that was still partially warm. For a moment he was sorely tempted to wipe it off and put it in his pocket, but then he flipped it toward the dog. If that dog charged him, there was no way he could fight it off. The animal caught the meat in mid-air and, still growling, backed away.
Hans threw the broom at the dog, and with a yelp the animal slunk away, growling as it left. A light in the second floor of the restaurant came on, filling the alley with light. Hans heard a window open. Moving as quickly as he could to sidle up against the building, he waited until the person was satisfied and shut the window again.
Half an hour later, so racked with pain that he could barely shuffle along, Hans found what he was looking for. In another alley, next to a four-story apartment house just off of Danziger Strasse, he saw steam rising from the ground. When he moved closer, he was elated. It was a large exhaust grate for the boiler room that heated the building beside it. Wishing he had thought to find a piece of cardboard to lie on, he stretched out upon it, pulled his overcoat more tightly around him, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
January 15, 1919, 6:30 a.m.—Pasewalk Railway Station
“I don’t like it. Not one bit, Emilee.”
“I know, Ernst. I don’t like it either. But what choice do we have?”
“I’m going to explain the situation to Christoff and tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“But you said he has three full days of work lined up. If you don’t help, what will he do?”
Ernst looked away. “He’ll have to find someone else.”
“You can’t let that happen, Ernst. It could be months before you find another opportunity like this.” She went to him and took his hand. “These are hard times, Ernst. And hard times make for hard decisions. But I’ll be all right. I’ll be really careful.”
“What time does your train get into Berlin?”
“Supposedly about eight-thirty or nine. The ticket master said that this first train typically doesn’t get shunted off on side tracks as much as the later ones.”
“If you see any kinds of crowds starting to gather, you run the other way, Emmy. Promise me!”
“I promise. Now go. Or you’re going to be late.”
Ernst bent down and gave his sister a peck on the cheek. “You’ll call tonight. Promise?”
“Yes, Ernst.” Smiling, Emilee gave him a gentle shove.
Emilee watched him go and then turned and looked at the clock on the far wall. Just after five-thirty. Which meant she still had about twenty-five minutes until the train arrived. Turning, she walked quickly over to the telephone exchange.
The sleepy-eyed clerk stifled a yawn and straightened in her seat. Emilee saw that it wasn’t the same one that had been on duty yesterday afternoon when she and Heinz-Albert had come here.
“Are you open now?” Emilee asked.
“Just barely.” Another yawn. “How can I help you?”
Reaching in her pocket, Emilee extracted a piece of paper from her purse. “I’d like to place a call to this number, please.”
The clerk peered at the paper and then looked up. “Where is Graswang?”
“In Bavaria. It’s connected to the Oberammergau/Garmische-Partenkirchen exchange.”
“And how much time will you need?”
“Two minutes. No more.” Then she had a thought. “If I need more time, can I signal you?”
“Of course. Wait in the first booth, and I’ll let you know when it goes through.”
It took almost two minutes for the girl to work it out, but finally the phone in the booth rang. Emilee snatched up the mouthpiece. “Hallo!”
“Did you hear from him?”
Relieved that it was Hans’s mother who had answered, she spoke quickly. “No, Frau Eckhardt. I haven’t heard anything more.”
There was no answer, and Emilee could sense Inga’s head dropping and tears coming. “Frau Eckhardt, I—”
“Please. Call me Inga, and I shall call you Emilee, if that’s all right.”
“Of course. I would like that . . . Inga.” Emilee took a quick breath. “I just wanted you to know that I am at the train station here in Pasewalk. I am catching the train for Berlin in about twenty minutes. I am going to go look for Hans.”
She heard a soft intake of breath, and then without another moment’s hesitation, “Then I shall come too.”
“No!” Emilee cried. “That’s not a good idea, Frau Eck—Inga. It is too far. It would take you all day to get there.”
“I want to help find my son.”
“I know. I understand.” Emilee should have foreseen this. Of course Hans’s mother would want to come. She almost told Inga about the general strike but quickly changed her mind. It would only worry her more. “I . . . I just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t heard from him.”
“No, nothing.”
“All right. I shall call you tonight and let you know what is happening.”
“Even if you don’t find him?”
“Yes.”
“Danke. You are very kind to think of me.”
“Inga, Hans is very independent.”
“Ja, and not very good about letting his Mutti know where he is.”
“Or me, either,” Emilee said with a smile. “As you’ve probably read in the papers, the government in Berlin is having some problems. I think some of the phone service is down. But Hans was with my family on Sunday. And everything was fine then.”
“How fine?” came the reply. It was not a question Emilee had expected, but with what little she knew of Hans’s mother, she knew that she wasn’t asking about Hans’s physical well-being. She found herself blushing a little.
“Um . . . before he left to go back to Berlin, we became engaged. That is, unofficially. We just talked about it and agreed that—”
“Wunderbar!”
“Really? You’re not upset?”
Inga laugh
ed, and Emilee heard something of Hans in it. “Upset? Did he not tell you the last thing I said to him when he left here to go back to Berlin?”
“No, I—”
Just then there was a sharp rap on the glass. The clerk had two fingers up and was pointing at the clock on the wall.
“Hold on a minute, Inga.” She opened the door. “Can I have one more minute?”
The clerk didn’t like it, but she finally nodded. “If you come and pay me the moment you ring off.”
“I will.” Emilee shut the door again. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him that if he messed things up with that girl named Emilee Fromme, his father and I were going to take a cheese paddle to his bare bottom.”
Emilee clapped her hand over her mouth to stop from hooting aloud. “Really?”
“Ja, and I meant it, too. I know you have to go, Emilee. You will be in my prayers today.”
“I’m going to need them. Auf Wiedersehen. I’ll call you tonight if the phones are working.”
6:39 a.m.—Wedermeyer Gasse, near Danziger Strasse, Berlin
The blast of an air horn ripped Hans from his fitful sleep. The horn blasted again. Then a man was shouting at him. “Hey, Dummkopf! Get out of the way.”
In a blind panic, not sure what was happening, Hans threw one arm up to block out the brilliant lights that were bearing down on him. The roar of a heavy engine gearing down also registered in his head. With a yell, he rolled frantically to one side, coming to a stop up against the brick wall of the apartment house.
The roar of the engine deepened as the truck accelerated and shot past him. He caught a glimpse of a figure leaning out the window of the cab. “Your mother is an idiot!” the man yelled as he went by.
Heart pounding, Hans got to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth. “And what was your mother?” Breathing heavily, he watched as the taillights turned a corner and disappeared. After a moment, Hans looked up at the sky. It was lightening, and he could see that low clouds had rolled in during the night. What time was it?
Then he realized that out on Danziger Strasse, there were vehicles passing by. Not a lot yet, some cars but mostly trucks, like the one that had nearly run him down. Which meant that morning had come. He guessed it was somewhere between five-thirty and six.
Only then did the cold impress itself on his mind. He was shivering from head to toe, which was not helping the pain in his ribs. Sitting down on the grate again and keeping an eye on the alley in both directions, Hans fished the food he had scavenged from his pocket and did a quick inventory. A nice, large apple with one bite taken out of it. Two plums, both of which had probably been discarded because there were parts of them that were soft and mushy. Spoiled? He tentatively bit into the first one. There was a slightly moldy taste to it, but not enough to worry him. He ate it quickly, sucking off every bit of the pulp from the pit before eating the second one. In his other pocket he found a hard roll that was somewhat soggy and mashed. With it was another roll, half eaten, with a slice of cheese and ham still in it. He ate the plain one first and then slowly nibbled on the second. He had to brush some dirt off of the ham, but its savory flavor was divine.
Hans licked his fingertips and thumbs to get the last hint of any flavor, realizing that about all these scraps had managed to do was enhance his ravenous appetite. When the same truck appeared coming back up the alley, Hans made a decision. He had spent the night looking for a solution and had come up with nothing. He had frozen his tail off, been insulted, spurned, rejected, and nearly run over. This was obviously not an answer.
He would go back to his hotel and sleep for a few hours to see if he could recover some of his strength. Then, though it shamed him to do so, he would try to find Anatoly. Or maybe even go visit Fritzie in the hospital. He would ask them for a short-term loan to see him through until he found another job. If that failed, he would call his parents. Maybe they would wire him enough money to get him home. But that was a last resort.
As the truck approached, still driving too fast for the narrow alley, Hans pressed himself up against the wall. As the truck rumbled by, he shouted, “Your mother eats with the pigs!” An even more serious insult than the driver’s original offense.
When Hans saw the driver shake his fist at him, he actually grinned. It wasn’t much of a victory, but on this day, it was something. He started off, dreading what would normally be a ten-minute walk but would now take him closer to an hour.
7:35 a.m.—Volkspark Friedrichshain, Berlin
Hans came to a stop as he saw that he was approaching a large park. Confused for a moment, he stopped to get his bearings. He hadn’t come through a park last night on his way to Danziger Strasse. He was sure of that. He started ahead again, more slowly now, trying to figure out where he was. There was still snow on the ground, and the park was deserted. Then he saw a sign announcing that this was the People’s Park for the neighborhood of Friedrichshain, which shared a common border with the Prenzlauer Berg District. He had come across it once before when he was lost, and that was enough to give Hans his bearings. He decided cutting through the park was his shortest route now.
Though he kept his head down and didn’t look at anyone, every time someone passed him, he could feel their eyes on him. They openly gaped at this hunched-over, lumbering hulk of a man with the horrible gashes on his cheek and bruises discoloring most of his face. A few looked away so as not to appear rude. But most of them slowed their pace and gaped at him as they passed. He wasn’t sure which he detested the most—the looks of horror and revulsion or the pitying shaking of the heads and clucking of the tongues. One older woman, walking with what looked like her daughter, even blurted, “Oh, look at that poor old man,” as they hurried by.
Hans waited for a taxi and a couple of motor cars to pass and then crossed over and entered the park, relieved that he could set a slower pace now. He was rapidly nearing the end of his endurance and realized now that it was a mistake to think that he could walk this far with his ribs in the shape they were in.
He was not quite halfway across the park’s open spaces when he stopped at a bench along the walkway. After gingerly brushing off the snow, he sat down, willing his muscles to relax for a few moments. His thoughts immediately turned to Emilee. She was probably wondering why she hadn’t heard back from him yet. He pulled a face. Probably? But even if he had money, he wasn’t ready to make that call yet.
He could hear their conversation now. “Hi, Emilee. Just wanted you to know that I got back safely. That is until I reached the hotel. Remember that guy I told you about that owed Fritzie some money? Well, he wanted it back. He was a little upset by the whole thing. So even though I willingly agreed to give it back, he still beat me to a pulp. Oh yeah, then he burned down Fritzie’s restaurant and my job with it. So, I’m out looking for work again today. What’s that? What have I been doing the last two days? Nothing much to speak of. Sorting through trash cans looking for food. Fighting a dog over a pork chop. You know, that kind of stuff.”
A movement out of the corner of his eye cut off his thoughts. To his surprise, a lone woman was coming along the walkway toward him from the opposite direction. She was tall, slender, and obviously well-to-do. She looked to be in her mid-forties. She wore a full-length leather overcoat with matching black leather boots that came to her knees. Her hat was made of some kind of fur and had ear flaps that were down. But somehow it all still managed to look very chic, as the French would say. She had a rather large handbag, also black leather, with the strap hung over her shoulder. Elegance. Money. Class. She reeked of it. Hans knew it well. That was what he had lived with those four years at the Von Kruger Academy.
He saw her head come up with a start as she suddenly caught sight of him. Though the sky was grey and overcast, it was light enough for her to easily see him now. Her step slowed, and she started edging over to the far side of the walkway so that when she passed by him, she would be as far away as possible. Hans saw that her lips were cu
rled in disdain and that she had determined to move past him swiftly lest she be contaminated by such a wretch as this.
Anger began to rise in him. Her contempt was the same as he had seen on the face of the waitress last night and at every other place he had stopped. Suddenly Hans was on his feet and turned to face the woman. He moved over to block her way. She turned to go around him. He moved again and she came to a stop, watching him warily. She licked her lips and turned her head quickly to see if there was anyone else around. There wasn’t, and when she turned back to Hans he saw something else in her eyes. Fear.
That’s right. You show me the respect I deserve from the likes of you.
Hans lifted his head so his face was fully in the light. When she saw it, she recoiled in disgust and horror. Who was this horrible monster approaching her? This only irritated Hans more. But he kept his voice level and calm. “Frau, may I speak with you für einen Moment?”
There was a quick, almost imperceptible shake of her head, but she made no answer. Her lips were pinched into a tight line. He saw that she was clutching her handbag, her knuckles white.
He kept moving, but slowly. If she bolted and ran, there was no way he was going to keep up with her. “Frau, I’m not going to hurt you. I was just wondering if you might spare a few marks for a soldier in distress.”
She shrank back a step.
“I know I look a fright, ma’am. But two days ago, I was robbed and beaten by four vicious thugs. They stole all my money and left me like this.” He motioned toward his face. “I haven’t eaten for two days. Even ten marks would be a blessing. So I can get some breakfast.” He had another thought. “And call my mother and tell her that I am safe.”
He saw that her eyes, now large and frightened, were almost as black as her hair. And as beautiful. Her lower lip was visibly trembling. “No. Go away. Please, just go away.”
Go away? He felt his jaws clench. That’s what he had said to that stupid dog last night.
Both of his hands were in his overcoat pocket, so without even thinking about it, he formed his right hand into a make-believe pistol and pointed it at her. “Frau, I have a pistol pointed at your heart.” He pushed it forward so she could clearly see the bulge in his overcoat. “Please don’t move.”
Fire and Steel, Volume 2 Page 26