“Gee, I wonder why?” said Ilsa. “Might it have something to do with the fact that anyone anywhere who’s tall, blond and smart enough gets recruited by the Party for education and citizenship—“
“If they’re deemed worthy at the end of their training,” Adolf finished. “And of course, the Party’s been pretty desperate lately.”
“That’s what comes from executing half your educated populace. Or driving them away, as in your case,” said Ilsa. “But anyway, over time, the great honor the Reich was bestowing upon its provinces started wearing thin. They got tired of losing their women to SS brothels and their sons to hot spots on the other side of the world.
“So now Scandinavia’s got several million irate subjects, several hundred educated men and women who washed out of University or some other training, a handful of old timers who still remember how to set up an underground—and some of the most difficult terrain on the face of the earth.”
“Everything we need,” Adolf agreed.
Ilsa nodded. “Do you remember Ludwig?”
Adolf smiled fondly at the memory. “I had the honor of serving with him briefly, about a year ago. Is he up there now, organizing the Scandinavians?” If so, there might be hope.
“He was,” Ilsa said sadly. “Mustard gas to the lungs, one too many times. He sent out his last message three weeks ago, from Finland, naming his replacement. It’s you, Adolf.”
“Me! No, there must be some mistake. I’m no military leader!” Just ask Heinz, Rufin and Gerik!
“They don’t need a military leader. They’ve got dozens already. That’s their problem!
“Ludwig spent his last six months up there, and discovered a unique situation: too many thinkers and too many leaders. Here, we’ve barely got one educated man, or ex soldier per cell. Up north, they’ve got plenty.”
“So what do they need me for?”
“To get them working together. To get all their brilliant ideas—not to mention weapons—pointed in the same direction.”
“They don’t need me for that,” said Adolf. “In fact, it sounds more like your line of work.”
Ilsa wrapped a ragged blanket around herself and leaned against the back wall. “It is. We’ll be going together. If you agree to it, that is. I’m supposed to play hard ball; come in like the general of all generals, or something.” She half smiled. “It’s quite an honor. I’m not the oldest, or the most experienced. I’m certainly not educated, or Scandinavian or a man. Ludwig said I’m ‘unique.’ And that’s the only thing he could argue that they don’t already have too much of.”
Adolf’s heart leapt at the thought of working with Ilsa, side by side. But he couldn’t simply tag along as Ilsa’s husband. Not when he was finally accomplishing things of real importance on his own. “So I repeat my question,” he said. “What do they need me for?”
“They need Rabbi Adolf,” Ilsa said simply.
Adolf laughed, then wrapped himself in one of Ilsa’s blankets, since it seemed keeping each other warm wouldn’t resume until after this business meeting was over. “To half this underground, Judaism is nothing more than useful codes and a quaint bit of historic symbolism.”
“But to the other half it’s a lot more than that,” said Ilsa. “And there’s plenty in the first half for whom it could be more, if they weren’t so afraid to let their guard down. And that’s where you come in.
“People are afraid of me, Adolf. I’ll admit I enjoy the feeling, and it helps me get things done. But they trust you. In a world where no one can afford to trust anyone, somehow everyone has come to trust you. And right now, that’s something we need more than anything else. It’s what will get all those separate groups working together. Whatever Judaism means to each person in the revolution, the one thing everyone can agree on at this moment—is you, Adolf.”
Adolf sighed. He thought back to the ambush this morning, where two more good people had given their lives for him. It felt like a trap with no way out: he didn’t want people to die for him, but he didn’t want to kill anyone either.
To date, his own confirmed kill rating was still zero. But right now he had to wonder, as he thought about throwing that grenade and spraying bullets all over the forest, if this time, he had killed someone. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in that situation, and as always, he hated it.
But worse was that nagging fear that if he could just get over his revulsion of killing, more of his friends would be alive. And if he finally did get over it, what would he say to Ruffin and Heinz, and all the others who had died so he didn’t have to kill?
That memory brought up another subject.
“Ilsa, what was Heydrich doing here today? You didn’t seem surprised when I told you I’d seen him.”
“I wasn’t. You see, wherever the two of us are, so are men like Heydrich. A lot of ambitious men have promised the Führer they’d end our threat to the Reich. Some have even promised to personally bring the Führer our heads—that’s yours and mine, specifically. Heydrich’s the only one I’m currently worried about.”
“I guess I’m really out of touch,” said Adolf. “Last I heard of him, he was heading up the search for the polio vaccine.”
Ilsa smiled. “And he didn’t come out of that one looking too good, did he? So he switched careers. Now he’s high up in the Department of Political Security. The guys in it are mostly SS. They run it like the Inquisition in ancient times.”
The SS vs. Judaism. One religion fighting another. And those fights were the worst kind of all.
“So how about it?” Ilsa broke into Adolf’s brooding. “You gonna team up with your wife and go save the world?”
“Personally, I think you’re all crazy. But I certainly won’t turn down a chance to see the famous Finns. Or to wake up next to you every morning. Three years of celibacy was hard enough.”
Ilsa brushed a lock of hair from her face and stared at Adolf. “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t been with anyone all this time?”
“Well…yes. You know, marriage vows and all? How about you?” He tried to make it sound casual.
“Yes, of course. But it’s expected of me—both the Jews and the Nazis agree on that.”
“Since when have you cared about what anyone in authority expects?”
Ilsa shrugged. “It’s also easier for me, Adolf. Other than with you, sex has never been something I’ve sought out.”
“Are you…are you really sure about that ‘other than with me’ part?” Her past experiences had never stopped haunting him.
Ilsa slid from her blanket into his. “Can you doubt it?” she asked, rubbing against him. “Do you need a refresher course?”
“Definitely,” said Adolf, pulling her on top of him.
A while later, just as Adolf was drifting off to sleep, Ilsa murmured, “Do you think it’s possible to get the entire underground following kosher laws?”
“Not really, no. Why?”
“I was just wondering if we could ever be certain that no one on our side was eating pork. What would happen to the balance of power if just one of us slipped into the biggest pork processing plant in Germany, and introduced a bug…say…trichinosis into the storage facilities?”
Adolf jerked violently awake. “I would assume you are speaking hypothetically,” he said calmly. “And that you would intend to keep it that way.”
“Of course I am,” said Ilsa. “But—hypothetically—what would be so wrong with it?”
“Well, for one thing, there’s a difference between being a revolutionary and being a mass murderer.” He struggled to keep his voice calm, reminding himself that this was Ilsa—his wife—he spoke to. But that was part of what scared him. “Our greatest ally of late has been the Party itself. They’ve become a living definition of Evil. Every day, more and more people see that.
“Ordinary people, people who never saw themselves as revolutionaries are starting to support us now—at least in their hearts.
“What would their opinion of us b
e if we did something like that? What would our opinions of ourselves be? And keep in mind, some of the best, most selfless people in the underground do not identify themselves as Jews, and won’t be following kosher laws just because we tell them to.”
Ilsa was silent for a time. Then she yawned and said, “You’re right of course. It was a crazy idea. We better get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
It was a long time before Adolf fell asleep.
CHAPTER 20
Three days later they arrived in the port town of Tallinn on the Gulf of Finland. Their instructions were to wait for a contact who would ferry them across to Finland in secret. While they waited, Adolf and Ilsa looked for work.
The little fishing town looked to be the most unchanged piece of land Adolf had ever seen. Here, men fished the same waters their grandfathers had, sailed the same boats, and even barreled herring the same way.
Labor was in high demand. Adolf found work aboard a herring boat, while Ilsa served drinks in a local bar. Smallpox and polio had so depleted the population that, for the first time in years, there were more fish than men could catch.
Adolf worked for five days, taking quiet pride in the newly developed strength of his arms and back; in his ability to learn quickly something so far outside his experience. And if anyone found it strange that a handsome young Aryan was working on a fishing boat, they didn’t say so.
Davin Larson had once been the patriarch of a large fishing family. Now there was only himself, his youngest son, and the men he hired. Adolf spoke little, listened a great deal, and looked out for sign of his contact.
Relaxing in the bar one night, at one of Ilsa’s tables, Adolf was amazed to see the normally taciturn Davin suddenly throw a drink the face of another fisherman. The fight that followed was merely good entertainment to most of the locals, but Davin’s son, Johan, and several neighbors, swiftly intervened, and pulled Davin outside. Adolf lent a hand, and later asked Johan what it was about.
“He probably said something about Katrina,” the boy said bleakly.
Adolf considered what he already knew, added what he could read from the boy’s body language, and took a chance. “Your sister?” he asked. “The one you lost to polio?”
Johan leaned against the peer and stared moodily at the black water. “That man,” Johan jerked his head toward the bar, where the other combatant remained. “He was a neighbor of ours. Katrina was supposed to marry his son.”
Adolf glanced over at Davin. He sat sobbing on a coil of rope, while two friends strove to comfort him. “I take it this was more than a case of her untimely death breaking a contract?”
Johan shook his head. “My mother; the baby; my younger brother—they died quickly. Father and I and my older bother—we never got it at all. But Katrina got it and lived. She couldn’t walk, but she could sit up most days, and her hands were fine. She would have been a good seamstress.”
Adolf could see where this was leading. “She could still sew? As good as before?”
Johan stared past Adolf; past the water, too it seemed. “The epidemic was bad here; the Party issued a temporary stay to the mandatory euthanasia laws.”
Adolf nodded. “Those who were still productive could continue breathing—until they found the vaccine and put all those laws back into place.” Silently, Adolf cursed himself a fool for thinking that sharing the vaccine with the Party would somehow turn into a grand humanitarian gesture. Would Varina tell him this was more blood on his hands?
“Anders wouldn’t let his son marry Katrina. No one was really surprised, except father. Our families go back a long way. But later, when my older brother passed his exams, and had a shot at citizenship—“
Adolf went cold. “A crippled sister would have ruined his chances,” he said calmly.
“Not just his!” Johan looked desperately into Adolf’s eyes, begging him to understand. “Our whole family—what’s left of it, anyway. If he does well, it could mean citizenship for all of us! But Anders, our friends, everyone said we had to do it; that she’d be better off; that she’d never have a normal life!”
“Was it Anders who killed her, then?”
Johan shook his head, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “My brother did. But father always blamed Anders. Maybe because he’s the one who gave Lars the poison he put in her soup.”
“Well, yes, I can see how he might carry a grudge.”
“’Only by sacrificing the imperfect can we achieve perfection,’” Johan recited hollowly.
“I never argued with that!”
Both Adolf and Johan jumped at the voice. Davin shook off the restraining arm of one of his friends and strode forward. “I’ve been a loyal subject all my life! I’ve never questioned Party policy, never even complained about my taxes! Out here, we do everything they ask of us; our boys die in their wars; our fish feed their children. And we’re as racially pure as anyone in Germany!”
“Davin, come on,” said his friend, a husky, weather-beaten fisherman like himself. “I’ll walk you home.”
The grieving man shook off the other’s arm. “All I’m saying is that they didn’t have to die! My wife, my son, my little Katrina! They got sick last summer! Everyone knows the Party has had the vaccine for over a year now!”
More like two, thought Adolf.
“We’ll get it soon!” cried the other man. “But it could never be soon enough for those who—“
“When?” said Davin. “All our lives we hear promises! I’m a good loyal subject! All I want to know is when will our Illustrious Leaders start keeping their promises! Why do our children die and theirs live—“
The other fisherman grabbed Davin’s head and urgently whispered in his ear, glancing at Adolf as he did. Davin deflated like a burst balloon. He sat down on the pier, no longer sobbing, but clearly distraught.
“You have to understand,” Johan said to Adolf. “He’s had a lot to drink. He doesn’t mean anything—“
Adolf smiled wearily. “I’m not a spy. I know you have to be careful around strangers. Or friends for that matter. It’s just that I understand what your father is saying. And so do a lot of other people I’ve met in my travels.”
That was as far as Adolf would go towards recruitment for the revolution. At least for now.
The contact, when she finally showed up, turned out to be owner and captain of a tiny skiff which could carry up to eight passengers—if they didn’t mind getting cozy. This night, Adolf and Ilsa were the only passengers.
“We’re crossing the gulf illegally,” she told them, handing them each a life vest. “So stay down and stay quiet. Keep your eyes open for Z boats. They’re trigger happy these days.”
“Any particular reason?” Adolf asked, forcing his numb fingers to work the zippers on the life jacket. They stood on a deserted stretch of beach in the freezing night. Adolf was wearing nothing but the black pants and sweater his transport captain gave him. Ilsa wore the same thing, but as usual, seemed perfectly comfortable.
“Too many smugglers have been getting through. You know, people like me?” She wore a skin-tight outfight made of something black and shiny. Her hair was hidden under a knitted cap of some unidentifiable dark color. Adolf noticed that she wasn’t wearing a life vest. She had probably decided that if things went badly, drowning beat capture.
“Are you in this for the money or the cause?” asked Ilsa.
“Bit of both I guess.” And that was all they got out of her until they reached the coast of Finland, shortly before dawn.
The rest of the journey was short, but grueling as they went from contact to contact, costume to costume, check point to check point. Only the spectacular beauty of the rugged mountains, snow covered, even in early summer, and the endless cold blue sky took Adolf’s mind off his exhaustion.
When told they would travel the rest of the way by skiing, Adolf nearly balked.
“I haven’t skied in years!” he told their guides, a husband and wife team who were both so bur
ly and wrinkled he had trouble telling which was which. “And that was on nicely manicured slopes at a Swiss resort.” He looked up at the jagged mountain range they proposed crossing and decided not to mention he had stuck mostly to the bunny slopes.
“Have to,” growled the man—or was it the woman? “It’s the only way in,”
“This isn’t a resort you’re going to,” said the spouse. “The Reich would give a lot to know where our strongholds are, and how to get there. If it was easy for you, it would be easy for them.”
Adolf gritted his teeth, and started up the slopes. The going was hard, as he had expected. Ilsa, who had never taken lessons at a mountain resort—never been on skis in her life until three years ago, he’d have wagered—kept up, if not easily, at least less clumsily than Adolf.
To make matters worse, both guides wanted to discuss various interpretations of Jewish writings throughout the journey. Adolf finally decided he could either keep up with them physically or conversationally, but not both. Fortunately, they decided that delivering the new rabbi to his destination was more important than gleaning his wisdom.
Several bruising hours later, when only pride kept Adolf from being carried by his wife and the old couple, they reached a cave. Gratefully shedding his skis, Adolf followed them down a tunnel and through a dizzying series of narrow passages. Ilsa followed silently behind him. The air was pleasantly warm. The tunnel walls were rough, but straighter than nature could have provided. Adolf often saw the mark of shovel and pickaxe. No need for blindfolds, he thought. Without a guide, I’d never find my way out of this maze.
At a challenge from a sentry, the man stopped and Adolf heard whispered voices exchanging passwords. Then they took the next turn, and found themselves in a huge stone chamber, like something out of a fairy tale about a troll king.
Lit only by torches and a small fire burning in a stone hearth, the shadowy cave was alive with activity. A cauldron of stew bubbled over the fire, tended by a lithe young girl whose old fashioned local dress enhanced her elfin features.
From the Ashes Page 20
