by Jan Casey
They exchanged a smile. It seemed a good point at which to end their tête-à-tête, so Annie rose from her chair. On the way home, she traced three other pairs of aircraft as they left a trail of vapour across the sky and felt bolstered to know she and Frau Wilhelm were in accord about the planes. And leading on from that, she surmised they must be in agreement about every other aspect of the regime.
*
When Fred announced that Annie must be ready to leave with him at 7.45 the following morning, she was brimming with questions that bubbled over one after the other: Would she be working legitimately or pretending? What should she say if stopped and questioned by authorities? What should she wear? How did the group plan and plot without being overheard? How would she know who to trust? Would Fred leave her on her own or would he be by her side at least initially? How many were in the group? Any women or all men? What would her role be? Would she still be Annaliese Margaret Scholz or would she have another persona?
Eventually, Fred began to laugh until he held his stomach and buckled over. That was good to see although the laughter was at her expense. When he managed to contain himself, he said, ‘Oh, Annie, for all your Walther and logical thinking and grown-up hairdo, you are still a little girl.’
She shammed taking offence but was glad to have been the cause of his temporary joviality.
‘Come now, Annie. Perhaps it is not girlishness but youthful enthusiasm and long may it last. It will be an asset to the group. But you must also learn to cultivate level-headedness. Do you understand me?’
She nodded vigorously, then toned down the gesture to a sedate dip of her head. That made her dear brother laugh again.
‘Now,’ he said in a much more serious tone. ‘I will tell you everything that is going to happen and you will listen. Then if you have any questions I will try to answer them, although some situations we have to play by ear. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Please, begin.
He told her that he had an actual job at the university as an academic assistant, which also meant he had time for research. As for Annie she was going to be an administration assistant in the office that recorded degrees, PhDs, theses and the like. Her main duties would be filing, checking for correct spelling on certificates, answering queries and relaying messages from one office to another. That particular office was always very busy, he said, because there were so many new, short courses for those in the Wehrmacht. He told her he had overheard a conversation in the dining hall that another girl was needed there and he enquired on her behalf, saying that she was ready for employment now that their Oma was gone and the obligations that tied her to the house had ceased.
‘Naturally,’ he continued, ‘as you’re my sister I will introduce you to the colleagues at the university who I am friendly with and invite you to join us for drinks after work at the pub and to read and discuss poetry in each other’s rooms.’
‘Poetry?’ She was surprised.
‘Yes, that is what the founder members gathered to pursue initially. One thing led to another from there. So, I continue. You will soon be one of the group of friends in your own right. We never, and I mean never, talk about our resistance activities at work; we make arrangements to meet for what, to all intents and purposes, are social occasions and that is all. Also, we never talk in public about our ideas, enterprises or planned actions. We only ever discuss those things in the privacy of other members’ rooms when there is absolutely no one else around. We never write anything down, although that is about to change.’
Her mouth hung open and her breathing became shallow when she thought of the dangers they were walking into. ‘And that,’ he said, ‘is where you come in.’
‘Where?’ she echoed.
‘You will be involved, with the rest of us, in writing and distributing leaflets to motivate and convince intelligent, intellectual people that together, we can challenge the Nazis.’
He sat back and studied her, one hand on her heart, the other covering her mouth. ‘I had no idea…’ she said.
‘If you feel uncomfortable you must say now, before you become more embroiled.’
‘Of course I feel uncomfortable,’ she scoffed. ‘But I can’t wait to meet the others and start helping at last.’
‘Any questions?’
She didn’t have any, so Fred took some crockery to the sink and swilled the plates and cups around in the soapy water that had to last for two days.
‘Oh,’ he said, looking over his shoulder. ‘Wear whatever you would usually wear to work.’
She felt her cheeks redden with the knowledge that she could have been so superficial a mere thirty minutes ago.
*
Fred did not look up from his newspaper as the train pulled into Munich until Annie nudged him in the ribs and pointed with her chin towards a cattle train in a siding. Yellow stars were displayed on each of the trucks. A lone sentry guarded the empty platform. She wondered if the train was waiting to be loaded with its oppressed cargo or if it had recently offloaded a pitiful consignment. Frau Wilhelm had told her she once saw a young mother, three toddlers in tow, trying to flee from being prodded into a similar train, only to be smacked across her head with the butt of a rifle. She dreaded to think she might witness such a scene as she would find it almost impossible not to rise shouting from her seat and have to be held back by Fred. Then he would probably put her on the first train back to Ulm and make her stay there.
As it was, he had to keep whispering to her to walk apace with him and act as if she’d seen the havoc in Munich many times before. But it was more than difficult to ignore the devastation, let alone the SS and Wehrmacht on every corner, going into and coming out of cafés, elbowing their way through the crowds, suddenly eyeing a passer-by for no apparent reason, stopping random people, interrogating others, searching housewives’ shopping bags. How bad had things become that a cabbage, three carrots and a minute paper bag of coffee were suddenly cause for suspicion? Bullies, that’s all they are, she thought as she saw two soldiers halt a middle-aged man carrying a couple of books and mumbling to himself. They patted down his pockets and flipped through the books, reading the titles on the spines and consulting between themselves. It dawned on her that they cared nothing for the man, his books or his conversation with himself. All they wanted to do was prove to everyone that they had power. She wondered how they could live with themselves.
‘Don’t stare, Annie,’ Fred hissed. ‘Or you’re next.’
At once her shoes became very interesting. But she knew that if not today or the next, then someday soon it would be her turn and the first would not be the last.
The university stood like a beautiful, welcoming beacon and its slightly damaged exterior promised calm. But inside, the halls and corridors were streaming with those uniforms; men taking short courses in anything that would aid the war effort. Fred walked her straight to her office, introduced her and said he would come back to take her to the dining hall at twelve. Meeting the manager and other administration assistants was easy, the filing work was easy, learning the layout and routine was easy; she felt as if she had come upon her own private haven.
During the midday meal, she met the six others who made up the band of collaborators and she followed their lead by giving the illusion they were meeting as friends rather than co-conspirators. Annie sat next to the only other girl in the group, a young woman named Ilse. Then there were Carl, Helmuth, Ernst, Otto and Gustav. She had imagined they would be intense and perhaps full of angst, but nothing could have been further from the truth, at least not in that public environment. They greeted her in an effortless, companionable manner, as if she were just another girl to talk and drink and laugh and eat with. There was no mention of anything underhand; no arrangements for clandestine meetings. When the dinner break was finished and they rose to return to their duties, Ilse said she would see her tomorrow and Otto said, ‘Good to meet you, Annie. And we will see you Friday evening at the pub. Okay?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Then it was back to the painless job in the admin office.
That evening Annie questioned Fred about why hordes of people didn’t rush to the aid of the Jews being shoved around like animals on the train platform, if they saw such a scene.
‘That is exactly what the Catholic bishop was referring to – we have all been cowed beyond recognition,’ Fred answered. ‘But we can’t act individually or on impulse. That is why our group is advocating mass denouncement and we must voluntarily conscript other like-minded people in order to make an active stand.’
‘My goodness,’ Annie said. ‘That’s quite a reply. So Friday night. Is that when we make plans?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It must start in earnest.’
She knew she would find the wait excruciating.
*
It was very late. They caught the last train home to Ulm, laughing and pretending to be inebriated after what they let be known was a sociable, alcohol-infused Friday night with their colleagues. As they presumed, they were stopped on two occasions, but allowed to move on when the soldiers saw the state of them, proving that they had become skilful in the art of cunning.
Annie could not sleep and neither could Fred on their return. They sat up in the dark and drank a glass of schnapps – their second alcoholic drink of the night. They talked about all that had been discussed and decided upon during the evening, then Fred’s eyes drooped and he dragged himself to bed. Annie fished out her journal and wavered, stricken with agitated doubts, about the damning evidence she was about to put in writing. She knew what she was condemning them to if found out. Then she told herself that if the activities they were going to be involved in were exposed, then a sure sentence would follow. She was taking a huge chance anyway, so she might as well take two.
She wrote about how they had left the pub after one beer each, laden with bottles to take back to Gustav’s quarters in order to make it look as if the party would continue there. In fact, the bottles were crammed unceremoniously in the corner behind a curtain for consumption, Ilse said, at a later date when it wasn’t so important to have their wits about them; tonight they needed to be sober.
It had already been decided that the best and most efficient plan of action was to write a leaflet, then copy and distribute it as widely as possible.
‘How wide is wide?’ asked Ernst.
‘Well, eventually throughout Germany and beyond. But initially, perhaps we should concentrate on Munich.’
A consensus was reached on that point. But Annie wondered if even that was too vast an area. ‘Would it be safer to confine distribution to the university areas?’ she said.
‘Yes, safer for sure,’ answered Gustav. ‘But not as effective.’
It was agreed that they target the university buildings, student neighbourhoods and haunts first, see how that was received and what it produced and decide from there.
Next, they deliberated about the points they wanted to make in the leaflets. Fred suggested Annie keep a list as they concurred each edict so that they were sure they had covered everything they wanted to address. ‘Annie.’ He turned to his sister. ‘Please listen. You must not write anything for the leaflets outside of this room. Do you understand me?’
She promised. The others didn’t look surprised at his command so he must have told them about her tendency towards defiance.
‘Nor must you take the papers away with you to work on at home or anywhere else.’
‘None of us must do that,’ Ilse said. ‘They must remain here in hiding.’
Again she nodded and felt like a chastised child until she picked up her pencil and they began to draft their leaflet. Hours later the list was ready. In the leaflet they would:
Ask people to recall images of Germany in past times to stir up action. Inaction would result in the destruction of Germany and of German shame.
Encourage people to question whether they were willing to give up their free will to the Nazi regime.
Plead with people not to wait for someone else to make a start, but to be courageous and take the lead. Others would follow.
Call upon tried and tested intellectual references to rouse people to think about the dynamism of government. The constitution of a nation should develop humanity, not restrict it.
Quote an excerpt from The Awakening of Epimenides by Goethe and from a poem that Otto had written entitled ‘Hope’.
‘I think at the end we should add a note asking others to copy the leaflet and pass it on,’ said Ernst. ‘What do you think?’
‘Excellent idea,’ said Carl.
‘And we need a name for this movement,’ added Helmuth. ‘Something that represents our values.’
‘And a symbol,’ said Ilse.
‘How about a feather?’ said Otto. ‘A dove’s feather. You know, for peace.’
‘No,’ said Fred. ‘That can also represent cowardice.’
An image of Frau Wilhelm and Herr Doctor in their garden, wishing nothing more for themselves and every other German citizen than to enjoy peace, flashed through Annie’s mind. ‘How about a flower,’ she said. ‘A white flower. Any other than Edelweiss.’
Everyone was happy with that. ‘Next Friday night,’ Gustav said. ‘We write and copy the text.’
9
September 1942
Another wave of nausea pasted Viola from head to feet in a slippery slick of sweat. She lifted the hair from the back of her neck and tried to control her breathing. Pummelling the cushions behind her, she huffed and groaned. Then she heaved again, retched and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. But perversely she willed the pain and agony to continue. Let me feel worse, she thought. Much worse. Punish me.
One morning three weeks ago, she’d woken up to a clear day and a clear image. Fred’s face was looking at her – his strong, striking features; sparkling blue eyes; mottled brown hair; neat, trimmed beard; even white teeth. But the beautiful smile that was for her alone was missing – replaced with a look of disbelief and disappointment. So vivid was the fictive presence, she truly thought for a split second that Fred was there, in the room with her. Of course he wasn’t, but Mike was and he, Viola could see at last, was nothing like her Fred. How could she ever have been so stupid to think he was?
In the few minutes’ respite she had in between dry heaves, she remembered the first night she had met Mike in that sleazy club and how she had taken consolation from the way her head had leaned against his shoulder in the old, familiar position that was resonant of Fred and after that, she filled in all the gaps. With her guard down, she had allowed Mike into her life.
Now she was sure she was pregnant. And the torture of guilt and remorse was harder to bear than the sweaty infirmity of morning sickness. Lillian had asked her, as timidly as a church mouse, if she could please vacate the bathroom so she could have a wash and get ready for work. She’d helped Viola to the sitting room, eased her on to the sofa and tenderly placed a basin in her hands. ‘I won’t be long,’ she’d said. ‘Then I’ll get you a cup of tea and a slice of dry toast. That’s some tummy upset.’
How naïve she is, Viola thought. How naïve we both are.
Viola had been adamant that Mike was not allowed into the flat, so they had spent their covert meetings at one of his friend’s bedsits. She yelped as another spasm twisted her gut. Then she wondered how, at the time, she hadn’t seen how dingy the room was with peeling wallpaper and mould in the corners where the walls met the floors; she shuddered when she recalled the bedsheets, which she now felt sure hadn’t been changed from one meeting to the next. And God only knew how many other couples might have been playing out their frantic yearnings in the same lumpy bed. The whole affair had been sordid.
Oh, and the ‘how’s-your-father’ as some of the girls called it. Fresh tears flooded her eyes when she thought about her one night with Fred, which she would only ever coin as making love. He had been so tender and attentive, but then he had wanted
to keep her forever and that had never been Mike’s intention. Nor hers, she had to admit; she was not blameless in this storyline. But she had fooled herself, whilst the affair was happening, that the sex was wonderful and that they were two sophisticated and mature adults who were doing what everyone else on the run from the war was getting up to.
Now she could see not only the room, but the pair of them in action in the cold, lucid light of day. It was as if wide, dark blinkers had been removed from her eyes. There was Mike, with his clammy, greedy hands all over her breasts and thighs, caring for her only in so far as her actions and reactions would enhance his pleasure – and bring her back for another base tryst. He mumbled constantly in her ear, too, words and phrases she supposed he thought would either excite or soften her; inane, rather than sweet, nothings. How could she have been so blind? How could she have let him anywhere near her? The damning questions, for which she had no logical answers, came thick and fast. She put a hand on her tummy, still flat and taut, and trembled when she thought of his baby growing inside her.
Lillian put her cool hand on Viola’s forehead. ‘I’ll let them know you won’t be in for a few days,’ she said. ‘Well, the whole week by the looks of you.’ She filled the kettle and turned on the grill for toast.
The cloying smell of gas made Viola’s stomach pitch again. ‘Nothing for me,’ she managed. ‘I can’t face it.’
‘You must, Vi,’ Lillian said. ‘Just a nibble. You know, to keep up your strength.’
Just in time, Viola moved the ring on its chain to the back of her neck before another retch sent her head over the basin. She could feel it skimming her prickly skin as it had done when she’d flung it down behind her every time she had lain with Mike. Now she could not believe that touching that treasure had not been enough to break the misguided spell she had been under.
When she resurfaced there were flashing lights in her vision; she closed her eyes against them. There was not one bit of energy left in her to argue with, so she nodded and said thank you to Lillian. And perhaps the sustenance would help the morning sickness in some way, but no amount of tea or toast or kindness would ever ease the burden she would have to carry around in her mind for the rest of her life. The thought made tears spill down her face.
