by Celia Rees
He joined a group of British officers at the bar. Army, Navy and Air Force—all the Services represented in their dress uniforms.
“This is not entirely coincidental.” Adeline looked over at Tom. “He knew you were coming.”
“How?”
“He knows everything.” Adeline lit a cigarette. “He’s like the goddamn all-seeing eye on the dollar bill.”
“What does he want?”
“Usually, he wants information, but this time, he wants me to issue a warning. He’s heard you’ve been taking an interest in a certain Latvian individual, goes by the name of Valdema-rs Jansons? Friends call him Val?”
Edith frowned. “How does he know that?”
“He knows everything, like I told you.”
Edith glanced over to Tom watching them. His cold gaze was making her uneasy. “Why doesn’t he ask me himself?”
“It’s not his way. He wants me to find out what you know.”
“I don’t know anything beyond the fact that this Jansons has got some kind of relationship with a girl in the billet I’m sharing. What about him?”
“Look, I don’t know. I’m just the messenger. Tell Leo or whoever’s your contact to back away. This guy is ours. We have an interest. He wants you to pass that on up the line.”
“What kind of interest, do you know?”
Adeline shrugged. “These ex-Nazi thugs have their uses. It’s not what they know, it’s who they know that matters. He also wants to know if you have anything on von Stavenow.”
Edith paused.
“Come on, Edith.” Adeline’s eyes flicked toward Tom. “I have to give him something.”
“I might have.” Edith sighed. “I’ve made contact with his wife, Elisabeth.”
“That should keep me off a plane to the States, for a while at least. Just until I can wriggle out from under . . . You know what? I really need to powder my nose.” She stood up and nodded toward the cloakroom to let Tom know where they were going. “Don’t you want to freshen up, in case Harry arrives?”
Edith smiled as she joined her. “You know, I think I do.”
“I’m not proud of this. Just the opposite,” Adeline said once they were safely in the ladies’ room.
“I’d always help you, you know that.”
“I know—” Adeline hugged her for a moment “—and I love you for it. I won’t forget this, and I feel one good turn deserves another.” Adeline smiled. “Can’t let Tom have it all the way he wants it.” She turned to the mirror. “Know what else the Nazis were good at, besides killing people? Keeping records.” She opened her evening bag and found her lipstick and began to apply it. “We’ve found seven hundred fifty tons, and that’s just so far: files, photographs, I don’t know what all. I’m going to start digging on your behalf. It’s not so hard when you’ve got a name, and there can’t be that many von Stavenows. Dab of powder and I’m all set.” She examined herself critically. “Dori would be proud.” She looked at Edith in the mirror. “Have you heard from her at all? How’s the cookbook code going?”
“I haven’t heard from her directly, but the code works.”
The message she’d sent about the Latvians had got through to Harry Hirsch; that was proof enough, but she was reluctant to tell Adeline. It might compromise her with McHale, and she didn’t want that.
Adeline seemed to know what she was thinking. “Yes, best not to. We better skedaddle or he’ll come looking for me.”
“What? In here?”
Adeline laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
There was a message at the front desk. Harry had arrived. Edith called him to see if he wanted to meet her in the bar.
“No, I’ll come to your room.”
Edith opened the door at his first knock.
“Harry? I’m so glad to see you!” She put her arms around him and pulled him into the room.
He held her tight for a moment then kissed her. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A little while. I saw you in the bar, talking to a woman. You seemed deep in conversation, I didn’t like to interrupt.”
“That was Adeline.”
“Really? I didn’t recognize her.”
“She looks different when she’s all dressed up.”
“Was that McHale I saw, too?”
“Yes. He’s here for some meeting or other. They’re going to a swanky reception tonight. Do you want something to drink? I’ve got some whisky. Or do you want to go down? We could have dinner.” Edith picked up a menu. “Ham or chicken.”
Harry made a face. “I’d rather stay here.”
“I’ve got some sandwiches if you’re hungry. Corned beef or cheese and onion.”
“Had enough of those in the army.” Harry smiled. “Whisky will do fine.”
Edith poured two liberal measures and they sat in the chairs by the window. The curtains were still open. She stared out past their reflections into the blackness of the night.
“Adeline is acting as Tom’s proxy,” Edith said after a while. “Passing on messages. Warnings, really. Like hands off our Latvian pal Valdis. I have to tell Bill Adams. He’s my contact.”
Harry looked shocked. “Why would she do that? I thought she was on our side.”
“Because if she doesn’t, he’ll send her back to the States.”
“He can do that?”
“Apparently.” She turned to him. “Being here, at Nuremberg, at the center of things, it’s everything to her. And I think she is, really. On our side, I mean.” Edith paused. “Seems both the British and Americans are interested in him, I’m guessing for different reasons, but neither seem to show the slightest intention of bringing him to justice for the crimes he committed in Latvia.” She sighed. “It’s like you said.”
“Now that Latvia is occupied by the Soviets, it’s a case of my enemy’s enemy is my friend. We are finding this more and more . . .”
“We? Who’s we?”
“A group of comrades. Like-minded people who don’t like what they are seeing and are doing something about it.”
“Bill Adams said that they want this Jansons to go back into Latvia, organize resistance.”
“They wouldn’t last five minutes.” Harry gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s so stupid, it’s almost a good idea.”
“Why would the Americans want him?”
“My guess is that he was a double agent. Working for the Germans, spying for the Soviets, or the other way around. Whichever case, he would have contacts, maybe a network he could reactivate. Who knows?” He frowned. “The British are already looking to use his boss Viktors Ara-js in this way. It’s all crazy. This new world we live in is nearly as crazy as the old. Is that all, the warning about Jansons?”
“Yes, more or less.” She didn’t want to have to explain to Harry about Kurt. His involvement in the Euthanasia Project. Elisabeth’s story was disturbing beyond measure, and she just couldn’t talk about it now. “It’s been a long day.” She tried to smile. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
“Enough talk, then.” He put down his glass. “Come here.”
She went into the release of his embrace. He kissed her gently, and then more fiercely as he guided her to the bed. He reached to undo her stockings, to undress her, slowly and with much care, like he had done before in the way that they’d both found so exciting. They were finding a way to be together, what each other liked, she thought with something like wonder. She angled her foot to make it easier for him to remove her stocking. The movement made her wince.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He touched her ankle. The bruising was fading, but the skin was still discolored. “What is this, are you injured?”
“It’s nothing. An accident. It’s much better now.”
“I see I must be gentle.” He touched her foot. “You must tell me what happened.”
“Afterward,” she said.
Later, as he smoked a cigarette, she
told him about the accident, how she limped home with Luka as her unlikely savior. She tried to make light of it, not wanting to bring the darkness back in again.
“The boy is right.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “They are no good.”
He reached down, brushing the bruising with his fingers. Then he kissed the hollow on the inside of her ankle, then her knee, working his way up with aching slowness until she forgot about Luka, no-good DPs, meddling Americans. About anything at all.
Edith woke alone. She took Atlantic Hotel notepaper and wrote a quick note to Dori reporting on her meeting with Adeline and Tom’s interest in Jansons. She’d already sent Wild Boar Steinhof a few days previously, her meeting with Elisabeth. She popped in last night’s menu and sealed the envelope as Harry came back in his greatcoat.
“Where have you been?”
“I had to make a phone call.”
“You could have done it from here.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to disturb you. Come on. Let’s go out. Walk by the Außenalster. A little way at least. There’s bound to be somewhere we can find coffee, breakfast. It’s a lovely day.”
He drew back the curtain. The sky was blue, the sun shining. There were already people out walking by the frozen lake.
On their way out, Edith dropped the letter at the desk for mailing.
The steps were clear, the snow piled in big heaps. The wind had swept the walkway, but the path was black with ice. They both slipped and slid, laughing, holding onto each other. After weeks of dull and sullen clouds, the sky was lapis blue, the sun bright and white with just a hint of warmth in it. A sign that spring was coming. Here and there, trees showed the first dusting of blossoms, delicate sepia against the china white of the snow.
They stopped at the small café Edith had found when she first came to Hamburg. The windows steamed, the interior cloudy with smoke. They breakfasted on white rolls, cherry jam, and thin slices of cheese.
“What do you plan to do after?” he asked as he sipped his coffee.
“After what? After this? I don’t know. I’ve only just got here.”
It was odd: they’d been to bed, made love, but now they were having one of those conversations, common out here, talking about what they did before, what they would do after, hardly ever what they were doing now. It was like the war. People talked about before, or after. A lovely day tomorrow.
“Will you go back to teaching?” he asked.
“No, I can’t go back to my life as it was before. I came here to get away from it.” She looked around the café, at the platters of biscuits, cakes on their little stands. “Actually, I do know what I want to do.”
The idea came fully formed, so strong that she knew it was true.
“Oh, what’s that?” He smiled at her sudden certainty.
“I’m going to be a cookery writer. In fact,” she smiled, “I’ve already started. I’m going to make a career of it. How about you? Will you stay on here?”
He shrugged. “This is only temporary. A delay to my demobilization.”
“What will you do then?”
I don’t know.” He stirred his coffee. “Like you, I can’t go back.” There was a bitter edge to his laugh. “Unlike you, I have nowhere to go back to. My country doesn’t exist anymore. To the British, I’m a foreigner: no matter what I do, I’ll never fit in, never be entirely trusted. It’s the same with Dori. Her war service was second to none. One of SOE’s best operatives, no one to equal her courage and loyalty, but she was tossed out as soon as her usefulness was over.”
“She’s working with Vera now.”
“For how long? Vera’s in the same boat. Six months, a year at most. After that, they’ll both be out of a job. Female and foreign. Intelligence will go back to relying on its own kind, upper-class Englishmen who went to the right schools. I’m even more suspect. A foreign Jew with a history of antifascism. Which now means Communist. Strictly limited usefulness.” He sighed. “My brother is in Palestine. I expect I’ll join him.”
“You intend to live there?”
“Yes. The Jews need a homeland. Somewhere they belong. Everywhere they are stateless, homeless. The ones who’ve survived can’t go back, can they? There is nowhere left for them to go to. They need somewhere of their own now. I feel that, too.”
“But Palestine is a British protectorate.”
“So what?” He shook his head impatiently. “They’ve got enough on their hands, here, at home, in the rest of the Empire. It will happen.” He leaned forward, his dark eyes suddenly intense. “It is already happening. They can’t stop us. Refugees are already making their way there, a trickle now, but it will turn into a flood that they won’t be able to stem. And we’ll fight if necessary. We’ve learned how to do that.” He sat back, arms folded. “Courtesy of the Allied armies.”
“Why aren’t you there now, if you feel this passionately?”
“Because I’ve got things to do here. How do you think that these refugees, penniless, weakened by everything that has happened to them, is still happening to them, how do you think they are managing to get all the way to Palestine?”
“You’re helping them?”
“We call it Brihah. It means flight, escape.” He lit a cigarette and looked at her through the veiling smoke. “Can I trust you, Edith? What I’m about to say, you must tell to no one. You have to promise.”
“Of course, I promise.”
“This that you wear round your neck.” He leaned forward and caught the medallion, studying the scarred face of the Black Madonna. “It’s special to you?”
“Yes. Dori gave it to me.”
“And Dori trusts you?”
“Well, yes . . .”
“You wouldn’t break her trust, would you?”
“No.” Edith shook her head. “Not for anything.”
He took her hand, closing her fingers around the icon. “Then swear on it.”
His fist around hers, the icon biting into her palm. She held his dark gaze. No words needed to be spoken. They had not known each other long, but out here, it was as if the war had never ended. Friendships, love even, could blossom quickly under the stress of leaving, separation, and the terrible gnawing fear that tomorrow would never come.
“I swear.”
“Very well.” He released her hand. “After I got to Britain,” he said, “I joined up as soon as I could. I was sent with the Eighth Army to Egypt. I met Chaim again there. He was in the Jewish Brigade. I asked to be transferred and stayed with them all the way through Italy. We swore an oath to help any Jews we found. I’m still bound by that oath, and others besides. When the war was over, Chaim went to Palestine. He won’t come back. Europe is too full of ghosts, he says. All of them accusing. He’s in Haganah now, resisting the British, fighting for a Jewish State.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“There’s a group of us, Brigade members. We call ourselves Tilhas Tizig Gesheften. It roughly translates as up-your-arse business. We aren’t ready to leave just yet. There is work to do here.”
“Like getting Jews to Palestine?”
“That kind of thing.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “I’ve told you more than I should have done already.”
“I’d never betray you. You must know that.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Edith, but the less you know, the better. What do you intend to do this afternoon? I was thinking we might go to Blankenese. Have lunch there. I hear the restaurants are pretty good.”
“Oh, I’ve promised to visit someone.” Edith thought for a moment. “Perhaps you’d like to come with me? We could have dinner afterward. Would you wear your uniform?”
“Why?”
She smiled. “You’ll see.”
25
Langerhorn Sanatorium, Hamburg
3rd March 1946
Breakfast menu served to convalescing patients
Ersatz coffee with 2 grams sugar
3 grams butter/margarine
2 g
rams cheese
2 grams human hair
slice bread
Amounts approximate
The inverse of the B-Kost Diet: Eglfing Haar, designed to nourish, rather than starve, nevertheless still manages to be profoundly unpleasant.
Under Invalid Cookery? Although it rather breaks Rule no. 2.
Edith had arranged for Jack to pick her up. He was waiting in the lobby. She introduced Harry.
“How do. Car’s this way.”
Harry took the front seat.
“Jewish Brigade, eh?” Jack looked across at the flash on his shoulder.
“Yes, that’s right. I was in the regular army, transferred when we got to Egypt.”
“I were there, too,” Jack said as they pulled away. “LRDG. Long Range Desert Group. Bloody great it was.”
“In Italy, too?”
“Even hairier there. I was in the SAS by then. Remember your mob. Fought like demons up around Faenza. I left some good pals on a hillside there.”
“Me, too,” Harry said, and they were both quiet for a while, but the silence was companionable, the shared experience of loss and battle serving to draw the two men together.
Edith sat in the back, glad that they had discovered their own bond. It felt a bit like introducing a new boyfriend to a favorite brother. Jack was quick to judge and would not be budged once he’d made up his mind. She’d noticed his appraising look when she introduced him to Harry and noted the little fishhooks threaded into his seemingly innocent opening questions. For all Jack’s apparent Black Country bluffness, he was shrewd and subtle. Not to be underestimated. She tuned back into their conversation, to find that the mood had lightened. They were talking about brothels now, Jack recounting one of his stories.
“There was this whore in Naples. Only had one peg. In great demand, she was. Amazing what she could do. She’d unstrap the false ’un and . . .”
Time for Edith to tune out again. She’d heard that one before, anyway. When she started listening again, Jack had moved on to another cherished topic.
“The Russkies and all that raping they done, I reckon it’s because the Jerries weren’t grateful, see? Everywhere we went, the bints was chucking themselves at us. No need to rape no one.”
