From the Ashes

by Sandra Saidak

  “A fondness for dead religions, I think,” said Adolf.

  The man glanced again at the books and papers. “Judaism?” he asked. Adolf nodded. “Great! Just what we need! Another preacher!”

  Adolf opened his mouth, both to protest the title and to ask how many others like him might be found here, but the gruff man spoke again. “And so now you want to join the Revolution?”

  Before Adolf’s expression could turn to bafflement, Markus spoke. “I haven’t told him about your organization. For now, he’s only looking for food and shelter--”

  “We’re not a charity, Markus!” He looked at Adolf. “And we’re not a social club, either. We’re an underground, dedicated to the overthrow of the Evil Empire. And thanks to this one,” he threw a disgusted look at Markus, “we’re your new family. At least until we change locations or decide to kill you.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Adolf wearily. When is this crazy roller coaster that used to be my life going to slow down? “I’m Adolf--”

  “Don’t give me your name--!”

  “Schmidt,” he finished with a smile. That much, at least he had learned.

  The other laughed. “Nice to meet you, Herr Schmidt. I got two of your brothers working for me already! I’m Reinhardt.”

  Later, in the cellar of the ruined farm, Adolf met the two-dozen members of Reinhardt’s cadre. They were a fairly even mix of dedicated idealists, former members of the upper and middle classes who blamed their ruin on the Party, and unsuccessful criminals. From the first two groups, Adolf discovered six others who shared his interest in Judaism. While the rest of the cell remained wary, this group warmed to Adolf at once.

  “Have some more soup,” said Lena, a young woman of about twenty. Adolf had learned she was the only survivor of a once prosperous merchant’s family.

  “I’d snuck out of the house to see my boyfriend the night they came,” she said as she ladled out more of the thin broth floating with carrots and peas that the group called supper. “When I came back, the whole family was being loaded into the truck. I hid in the greenhouse for three days. I didn’t leave until the new family moved in.”

  “And you never knew that your father was trafficking in censored reading material?”

  “Only vaguely. But after that, I made up my mind to find out about it. After all, he felt it was worth his life--and the lives of his children. So, since then, I’ve read all the suppressed writings I can get my hands on.”

  “And what have you decided?” Adolf asked, setting down the empty bowl.

  “That it’s worth my life as well. I just don’t intend to die before everyone on the planet finds out what the Party tries so hard to hide.” She began gathering up the empty bowls.

  One of the differences between this group and the Berlin museum crowd was the number of women. Nearly half this base was female. Of the male half, Adolf counted at least five under the age of sixteen.

  The cellar, though cold, was surprisingly comfortable, which told Adolf the group had been here for some time. There were cots and sleeping bags, dishes and utensils of all kinds, a decent latrine, with a well-ordered rotation for cleaning, and a large assortment of second rate weapons.

  Reinhardt, Adolf discovered, was once a staff sergeant. When his unit was sent to pacify food riots in Latvia, he decided he was on the wrong side. “Currently,” he told Adolf that night, “I’m the only one in the cadre with real military training.”

  “Leader by default?” asked Adolf.

  Reinhardt laughed bitterly. “You could say that. We had two other guys, Navy, but still good guys. Lost ‘em three months ago trying to blow up a base, just across the border, in Belgium.”

  Adolf, who had been wondering exactly where he was, felt better now that he had an idea. He decided asking for a more specific location wasn’t a good idea. “Is there a chance you might know some of my friends?” he asked. “Klaus Feiffer? He was in the Tiger division in Russia?”

  “Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Adolf knew it was a long shot. The military was huge. And even if this guy knew Klaus, he might not tell Adolf. So far, his attempts to learn the fate of his friends had led nowhere. Even Ilsa, who he had expected to see, or at least get a message from, seemed to have disappeared.

  It felt strange to be surrounded by people, and yet completely isolated from any news that mattered. Anna and Stefan had a radio, rationing it to only one hour a day to save batteries. While Anna preferred listening to music, she graciously tuned in the news broadcasts for Adolf’s sake. He had learned of trouble in the Ukraine and new outbreaks of polio, but nothing about a sinister Jewish underground—and nothing about his once newsworthy family. It was as if they’d just disappeared. Maybe they had.

  “You better get some sleep.” Reinhardt pointed to an empty sleeping bag in one of the draftier corners of the cellar. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what you can do. I figure a college boy’s had some military training, right?”

  “Four years worth.”

  “We don’t need much help learning to march on parade or light ladies’ cigarettes, but maybe you can help teach the kids to shoot.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” said Adolf.

  Adolf spent the next six weeks teaching what little knowledge and skill with weapons he had to several unruly teenagers, and listening a great deal. For all that he admired the courage and, admittedly, lunacy of anyone who thought they could overthrow the Third Reich, he quickly became disenchanted with the rebels with whom he now lived. Their days seemed taken up entirely with two activities: locating food and talking.

  Their talking fascinated Adolf at first. They hatched plans to assassinate every high ranking official in the Reich; to kidnap the wife of the Führer; to seize control of the central broadcasting station in Berlin and eloquently shout out a message of truth to all people, before dying gloriously.

  And the truth they wanted to shout was cause for even more discussions--and arguments.

  Adolf began volunteering for foraging detail. At least fighting the brambles for a handful of berries and stealing eggs from farmers gave him a sense of accomplishment.

  “Don’t be so hard on them,” said Schuller, as he showed Adolf how to set snares. At fifty, Schuller was the oldest of the group, and he reminded Adolf of Professor Hoffman. “They’ve accomplished the impossible just by forming this group and keeping it together for this long. Miracles take a little longer.”

  “I admire your faith,” said Adolf. Then, ashamed, he said, “I admire them, too. I’m certainly in no position to judge. I just don’t see these people ever actually doing anything!”

  Schuller gazed shrewdly at Adolf. “Maybe they remind you too much of yourself.”

  Adolf stood motionless for a full minute, and then smiled. “Bull’s-eye,” he said.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Adolf slowed his pace to match Schuller’s pronounced limp as they headed back to base. “I guess this place reminds me of the Judenmuseum. We talked; all the time. We read ancient texts and argued about what they meant. We found great truths, and thought about how someday, we’d use them to save the world.

  “And all we accomplished is...this. Me, barely making it as a fugitive. My friends, dead, or in labor camps, or on the run like me. It’s so discouraging. Almost...insulting.”

  “Insulting to whom?”

  “To the Jews. To anyone who could create such history and live and die with such honor. To receive the gift of their knowledge --at the price of their lives-- and then fumble around like this; spinning our wheels; it...it...insults their memory.”

  Schuller stopped and looked at Adolf again. At his full height, he barely reached Adolf’s chest. “Young man,” he said. “With a tongue like yours, I don’t see that gift ever being wasted. Maybe you just need to talk and walk at the same time. Once people start following you, who knows what will happen?”

  “Following me?” Adolf laughed. “Don’t you think I’d better figure out
where I’m going first?”

  “Why bother? From what I can see, few of history’s great leaders ever did.”

  They reached the ruins, where they found a man Adolf had never met engaged in animated discussion with Reinhardt and several of his lieutenants.

  “Do you know him?” Adolf whispered to Schuller, as one of the women took the foodstuffs from them.

  The older man nodded. “Braun. He’s a liaison between us and one of the larger cells. When he’s involved, it usually means something is actually going to happen.”

  Interested, Adolf moved close enough to hear what was being said. Braun looked his way, stopped talking and looked at Reinhardt, who nodded. Braun shrugged and continued. “…so it’s either now or never. Finster’s leaving in two weeks for the summit conference on land allocation. We take him out—we might have a shot at a more moderate voice in the Führer’s ear.”

  “Or at least a marginally competent one,” said Reinhardt.

  “Finster?” said Adolf. “Rupert Finster? The Chairman of the Department of Agriculture?”

  “The good friend of the Führer, who thinks farmers can live on good thoughts and prayers to the gods,” said Lena. “The one who thinks education is bad for peasants—and especially bad for women.”

  “So how will we get close enough to kill him?” asked Reinhardt.

  “We’re going to substitute one of our agents for one of his maids. I’m going to all the cells, looking for a suitable candidate, and as much back up as I can get. We need a young Aryan woman who can pass for a maid and knows how to kill. Obviously, it’s a suicide mission, but Finster is the greatest threat to the survival of the ordinary people to date. And I think we stand a good chance of pulling this off.”

  “I’d like to volunteer,” said Emilie, the girl who sat next to Lena.

  Again, Braun glanced at Reinhardt.

  “Maybe,” said the leader. “She’s learns fast and stays cool under fire. But she’s never killed anyone.”

  “But like the man said,” said Emilie. “I learn fast.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Adolf. “How are you planning on duplicating the servant class bar code on her arm?”

  “We’ve matched the color of the yellow dye they use,” said Braun. “The pattern, too. Obviously, it won’t pass a scan, but once she’s inside the house, it won’t matter.”

  “The hell it won’t!”

  “Keep out of this, rich boy!” snapped one of the younger men. “No one’s asking you to risk your neck—“

  “I just thought you might like to know that Finster has code readers installed in every doorway of his house. And he’s not one of those paranoid types who constantly changes staff; he’s one of those paranoid types who knows every servant better than their own mothers do!”

  “What makes you the expert?” demanded the same man.

  “I’ve been to his house,” said Adolf. He noticed then that he had everyone’s attention. “And when he came to visit my family, he brought his own cook! My father used to joke that he was the most anal retentive man in the Reich; the kind who notices every little detail.”

  Everyone in the circle seemed to deflate.

  “Anything else you know about the man that you’d like to share with us?” Adolf couldn’t tell if Reinhardt was angry with Adolf, or just situation.

  Adolf tried to remember. He’d only met the man a few times. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “My uncle once said that you could set your watch by his daily routines. And that he’d kick out the Führer himself if he tried to stay past ten at night.”

  “What happens at ten?” asked Lena.

  “He listens to ‘Mystery Theater’ on the radio in bed. Drinking a glass of warm milk, I believe.”

  Braun glared at Adolf, as his brilliant plan collapsed under the weight of reality. Reinhardt’s expression was hard to read. But the meeting was definitely over.

  “I can’t believe you actually knew these people,” Emilie whispered as she rose to leave. “Oh, and by the way. Thanks for saving me from dying stupidly. When I die, I want it to mean something.”

  “Glad I could help,” Adolf said to no one in particular. But he wondered if he really had.

  The next day, a messenger arrived. He was about twelve years old, slightly built, and apparently very good at surviving on his own.

  After speaking with the boy at length, Reinhardt sent him to the cellar for a meal and some rest, and called a meeting of the entire camp.

  “Our intelligence has confirmed the latest rumor: several of the old wartime extermination camps have reopened for business.”

  “So who’s being exterminated this time?” asked Lena.

  “Officially, only mental and physical defectives who were somehow missed earlier. But we’ve got witnesses who say it’s a lot more than that. Mostly very old and very young; non Aryans who aren’t worth shipping to the Colonies. Also, they say, healthy looking adults; missgeburt or other undesirables.”

  Adolf felt his stomach tighten.

  “I’ve been asked to send a half-dozen volunteers to Dengler. He’s planning on blowing up the rails and taking one of the trains. At worst, we’ll be making a statement. At best, we’ll be recruiting a few more members.

  “I want to hear from all interested volunteers by this afternoon. I’ll decide who’s going by nightfall. The mission leaves at dawn.”

  People began to disperse, speaking quietly among themselves. Adolf was trying to catch Shuler’s eye, when Reinhardt intercepted him. “There were some private messages as well,” the leader told him. “I believe one of them is for you, but you’ll have to ask the boy yourself.”

  Keeping a tight rein on his emotions, Adolf hurried to the mess area, where he found the messenger boy gulping down a day’s worth of rations.

  “I’m Adolf,” he said. “I hear you might have a message for me.”

  The boy met his gaze with hazel eyes that seemed far too old for such a young face. "Someone named Ilsa gave me a letter. Tell me who she is to you. If it’s the right answer, you get the letter.”

  Adolf released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and he whispered, “My wife.”

  “Then I guess this is yours.” He took a crumpled, weather stained envelope from an inside pocket of his jacket and gave it to Adolf, who just stared at it without making any move to open it.

  “If I give you a letter to give to her, do you think you could deliver it?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  The boy’s easy confidence startled Adolf. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Wolf.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Dead.”

  “The rest of your family?”

  “Right here.” Wolf swept a hand in a circle to indicate the base.

  “And when it’s time to deliver the mail, you can find a fugitive that the entire Reich, with all its resources, can’t find?”

  Wolf half smiled. “I have my ways.” Then he stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “But it’s still a good idea to be careful about what you write. I never get caught. But I can’t vouch for what happens to the mail after I deliver it.”

  Adolf walked a long way into the woods before stopping beneath a huge oak, and unfolding the letter with shaking hands. It was dated May 15; less than a month after their flight from Berlin. Adolf squinted into the deepening shadows, trying to guess at what day it was now. Late June was all he could be certain of.

  Dear Adolf,

  I hope this note finds you well, whenever and wherever it reaches you. For me, the sun shines brighter, the wind is warmer, and food (when I can get it) tastes sweeter.

  Such is freedom. I think I should have left my life as a missgeburt and joined the resistance years ago, but for you and our friends at the museum. Now that time is over; the decision made for us all.

  Each day I think of you, Adolf, and wonder how you are faring. I believe you are still seeking your place in all this. In my travels, I ha
ve met many formerly privileged young men who are too angry at their change in fortune to be of any use to the revolution. I think of you and say, “Not my husband!” (“Husband.” It still feels strange to say!)

  Whatever your circumstances, Adolf, I know you’re involved in all this for a reason. Yours is a special role, and no one can take your place. If you’re feeling lost, remember that nearly all the ancient prophets were lost at first too. They all did their time in the desert--or among lions, or inside whales. Think of this as your time of wandering.

  Until we meet again in the flesh, know that we are joined forever in spirit.

  All my love,

  Ilsa

  Adolf read the letter a dozen more times. Then he went to find Reinhardt and told him he wanted to be part of the next morning’s mission.

  “So what is this Dengler like?” Adolf whispered to Lena as they made their way through the forest.

  “His group is more experienced; better armed. They’ve done more successful actions against the Reich than any other cadre I know of.”

  “So what do they need with us?”

  “Their last action wasn’t so successful,” said Wolf. “They need replacements.”

  Lovely, thought Adolf.

  Adolf and the other five volunteers, including Lena and Schuller, crossed the woodland without incident. Wolf, acting as their guide, would stay only long enough to deliver messages. Adolf had been spending what little spare time he had working on a letter to Ilsa.

  Dengler’s camp turned out to be hidden in the middle of a city. “Best place to hide,” Schuller explained as they crawled through a shaft in an abandoned coal mine, then into a network of sewer pipes beneath the factory town whose name Adolf did not even know. Despite the memories of his last night with Ilsa that the journey dredged up, the sense of déjà vu was not a pleasant one.

  Darkness had fallen while they were still underground. Wolf led the others through silent streets to the back door of a modest house.

  Wolf exchanged passwords with someone at the door. Then they were all ushered inside. The place seemed to be without electricity. Someone shone a flashlight on each of them, keeping himself in the shadows. Adolf, exhausted from a day of marching, crawling and climbing with little food, found the whole thing unnerving.