by JJ Toner
#
Anna was waiting for him at the door to the apartment. “How did you get on? Do you have it?”
Max waved the document. “I have it.”
“Great! Why so glum? Is there some problem?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
She took the document from him and examined it under the light. It consisted of two sheets: the top sheet was white and bore the heading ‘Registrar’s Copy.’ The second sheet was green. It was headed ‘Applicants’ copy.’ She saw the word genehmigt ‘approved’ on both copies. Max held his breath. He was sure she would notice the blank spaces where the official Reich stamp should be. But she didn’t.
She beamed at him. “I’d like a January wedding.”
“That’s too early, Anna. I won’t be able to take any more time off work until much later, and your employers wouldn’t be happy if you took time off during the winter season.”
“You’re right. The spring, then. March?”
“March should be fine.”
She picked up the telephone. “I’ll ring Mother and talk to her about it. I told her you would prefer to get married in Berlin. Was I wrong?”
“You were not wrong, Anna, but if they want us to marry in Dresden and it’s what you want, I won’t object.”
“A Berlin wedding will suit your mother.” Anna dialed the number, “We should thank Madam Krauss. And Frau Greta. Madam Krauss will know where we can find Frau Greta.”
And Frau Greta will know how I can contact the actress. If only I could remember her name.
#
The next day a major new exercise began in the Reich Labor Service. The head of Max’s department, Gunnar Schnerpf, handed him a bundle of executive orders.
“We’ve had word from Albert Speer’s office. Work on the Chancellery building is to be massively accelerated. They need engineers and an additional 2,000 workers per day for the next 12 months. I’ve identified several other projects that could lose some labor, but you’ll have to find the rest. See to it.” He ran a finger across his moustache and left.
Schnerpf, a decorated hero from the Great War, was short, rotund, with little hair on his head, and a stern look. His waxed handlebar moustache made up for his lack of stature. Without the moustache everybody reckoned he would have been unable to retain any control over the men in his department. His nickname was ‘the bush.’
Schnerpf had identified five construction sites that could lose 300 workers between them. Max got to work.
Schnerpf appeared by his desk again at midday. “How are you getting on, Noack?”
Max was feeling pleased with his morning’s work. He had located 1,500 of the workers required, 1,100 new labor from the camps, the rest from existing building sites. “I have most of the workers, sir. I’m just starting to trawl the records for civil engineers.”
“I have another more urgent job for you. The OKW has made a demand for 50 able-bodied workers for a special secret task overseas.”
“Where are they to be assigned?”
“I do not have that information, and if I did I couldn’t tell you.” Schnerpf scuttled back into his office.
By the end of the day, he had identified 50 workers for the secret job overseas and a list of well-qualified engineers for the Chancellery project. He completed the documentation and left it on Schnerpf’s desk to be signed and approved in the morning, adding a short note to say that he was taking another day from his holiday entitlement. He would complete the labor search later in the week.
#
The following morning he went straight to Kurfürstenstrasss. Madam Krauss opened the door dressed in a housecoat and waved him inside.
“Anna and I are most grateful for your help, Madam.”
“You have the approval?”
“Yes. You’ve made us both very happy.”
“It was nothing, child. Show me your left hand.”
He held out his left hand and she read his palm. “You and Anna will have a long and happy life together, and I see three children.”
Max took his hand back. “I’d like to thank Frau Greta, too. Can you tell me where she lives?”
Madam Krauss fixed him with eyes like rivets. “I don’t know where she lives, but the next time she visits me I will ask her to contact you.”
Chapter 20
October 1938
Next, Max took an Autobus to his family home in Lutherstadt Wittenberg, arriving in mid-afternoon. His last scheduled visit had been in September, his next was not until Christmas. Concerned about how his mother might react to an unscheduled visit, he knocked on the door and waited. When no one came, he opened the door with his key and stepped inside.
“Hello, Mother. It’s me, Max.”
No answer.
There was no one in the front parlor. He found his mother in the kitchen, standing on a chair, reaching into a kitchen cupboard.
She pointed to a biscuit tin on the table. “Hand me up that tin, will you.”
No surprise to see him walk into her kitchen on an unscheduled date. Typical Mother! He had expected some sort of negative reaction, but the one thing you could rely on was her unpredictability.
Max handed her the tin. She placed it in the cupboard and he helped her down.
She held him at arm’s length and looked him over. “You’re a bit thin. Have they been feeding you properly in Berlin?”
They?
“Yes, Mother. There’s nothing wrong with my diet. How’ve you been?”
“Weren’t you here just a couple of weeks ago?”
“Nearly three weeks, yes. I came because I have news. I would have used the telephone if you had one.”
“Wait for me in the front parlor. I’ll make tea.”
Max was still uncertain how she might react to his unscheduled visit. It wasn’t even a Saturday! She had a mercurial temperament. His childhood memories were littered with her screaming fits triggered by his actions. His most vivid recollection was of the day she found him trimming his fingernails in the kitchen. He was ten. He paid dearly for that mistake. She worked herself into such a state that she had to be sedated and taken to hospital.
He needn’t have worried. She seemed unfazed by his unscheduled visit. Nor was she concerned that he might have bad news. Upon her return from the kitchen she spent 15 minutes telling him about the comings and goings at the women’s guild and a hotly contested flower-arranging competition. The promised tea never materialized.
Eventually, the conversation got around to his private life.
“How’s Anna?”
“She’s well, thank you, Mother. It’s Anna I came to talk to you about.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Max-Christian! Didn’t I warn you about taking precautions? Oh, you young people—”
“It’s nothing like that, Mother. She’s not pregnant. We’ve decided to get married.”
She frowned. “She’s part-Jewish isn’t she? Isn’t that illegal now?”
“Yes, but we’ve been granted special permission.”
She held up her hands. “I don’t want to know any more about that. But I hope you’ll both be very happy. Have you picked a date?”
“We don’t have a date. We’re planning a spring wedding. The department store won’t give Anna any time off until after the winter season.”
“Where will the wedding be? She’s not Lutheran, I think.”
“She’s Roman Catholic. We thought we might get married in Berlin. It’s not far for you to come and Anna’s parents won’t mind travelling from Dresden.”
She grabbed his hand and held on to it. “It’s a pity your father’s not here. Wait here for a minute.” She left him and went upstairs.
He laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had an exchange so free of sidetracks. He waited a few minutes. When she failed to return, he followed her upstairs. He found her in one of the spare bedrooms surrounded by old family photographs. She laughed. “Look at this one. T
his is you and me in Nuremberg at a rally. Do you remember?”
They spent an hour going through the photographs together. When Max said he had to leave she reached into the pocket in her apron and handed him a cigarette lighter. “This was your father’s. I want you to have it.”
He examined the lighter. It was steel, shaped like a tiny book, engraved with the date: May 1916. He had never seen it before.
“I can’t take this, mother. You have so little to remember him by.”
“Nonsense. Keep it.”
He examined the lighter again on the autobus. The thought that his father had handled it before his death sent shivers up and down his spine. Wilhelm Noack had gone to fight in the War in 1916. He lost his life in the Battle of the Somme. His body was never recovered. If this was his lighter why had he not taken it with him?
Chapter 21
October 1938
The following day when he arrived at work, ‘the bush’ Schnerpf was standing by Max’s desk clutching a bundle of requisition orders, his moustache twitching on his face like an eel on a hook.
“Where were you yesterday, Noack?”
“I took a day’s leave. I left a note on your desk, sir.”
“Did I not impress on you the urgency of the task in hand? Rebuilding the Chancellery must be the most important construction job ever undertaken in the Reich.”
“I have located most of the labor and nearly all the engineers for the Chancellery job, and I have compiled a list of 50 able-bodied men for the secret mission overseas. I left the paperwork on your desk.”
He wagged a finger as if admonishing a child. “You have been taking a lot of unscheduled leave recently. Is there something I should know about your private life?”
Max explained that he had been trying to obtain approval to marry.
“And do you have it?”
“I received it last week.”
His boss frowned. “I thought your girlfriend was Jewish.”
“No, sir, she’s Roman Catholic.”
Schnerpf handed him the requisitions, all duly stamped and signed. His mustache twitched. “When are you planning to get married?”
“Not until March at the earliest, sir.”
#
Anna tended the tables in the food court of the KaWeDe department store. Closing time was approaching. She had been on her feet all day. They ached, but still she maintained her good humor, her bright smile.
“You’re amazing,” said her friend, Ebba. “I don’t know how you do it. Don’t you ever get tired?”
Anna laughed. “Smiles cost nothing.”
Two smartly dressed young men came into the food court and took a table by the door. Anna gave them a few moments to read the menu. Then she went across to take their order. One of the men was heavy-set, overweight, the other was blond with well-defined musculature and deep blue eyes, wearing a modern double-breasted suit. She estimated his age at 22 or 23 – perhaps a year or two younger than Max.
They ordered coffee and Strudel pastries. She smiled at them.
As she was placing the food on the table the younger man held her wrist. “My name’s Jürgen. What’s your name, darling?” There was something unpleasant in the tone of his voice.
“Anna.” She gave him her blank smile, pulled her arm away, and hurried back behind the counter.
She spoke to Ebba. “Do you see those two men near the door?”
“The two in the Hugo Boss suits? What about them?”
“One of them made a pass at me.”
Ebba laughed. “Serves you right for smiling at everyone.”
The kitchen closed up shortly after that and the last few customers left. The two young men remained where they were.
Anna cleared their table. “The food court is closing now.”
“Where do you live?” said the younger man. “Can I walk you home?”
“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
She was shaking, now. She found Ebba in the staff room. “Those two men haven’t gone. I’m sure they’re SS. I’m not leaving here until they go.”
Ebba took a look outside. “They’ve gone. The food court is empty.”
Anna left the department store by a rear door that evening, and took a circuitous route home.
Feeling vaguely guilty about what happened, she decided to say nothing to Max about the encounter.
#
When he arrived home from work, Max found Frau Greta sitting on the sofa sipping tea with Anna.
Anna waved a bundle of Reichsmarks in his face. “Frau Greta has returned our 100 Reichsmarks. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Max looked to Greta for an explanation.
Greta waved her free hand. “Madam Krauss should never have demanded a fee for what we did. I know that you will need the money for the wedding.”
What ‘we’ did. She must be referring to the actress.
“Thank you, Frau Greta. What a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m delighted that we could help you.”
“When you say ‘we’ who do you mean? If there are others that helped us I would like to meet them so that I can thank them in person.”
Greta laughed. “It was a team effort. I believe one or two of the others would like to meet you, too. Give me your telephone number. I’ll see what I can arrange.”
Chapter 22
October 1938
A week later Max took the S-Bahn north to the exclusive Pankow quarter of Berlin. Soft October showers had given way to weak sunshine, and the Mitte was alive with smiling pedestrians. He had to change trains once to reach his destination, a magnificent mansion surrounded by mature trees and protected by 3-meter high walls and massive iron gates. He pushed the gates. They swung open. Walking slowly around a gleaming Daimler-Benz saloon car, he knocked on the front door. It was opened by a plump maid who took him to a study.
Max had never seen so many books in one place. That and the elaborate, expensive furniture, the pictures on the walls, all told him that whoever lived in this household was wealthy and cultured.
A woman approached and introduced herself as Libertas Schulze-Boysen.
This must surely be the woman – the actress – that Kurt Framzl had named.
Max shook her hand warmly. “I wanted to thank you for your help with our Marriage Application.”
“That was nothing. I played a minor role in the matter.” The contrast between her deep voice and short stature was striking. The immediate impression was of a pocket dynamo, someone in control of her surroundings. She invited Max to sit and took a seat facing him.
Without realizing it, Max’s hand slipped into his pants pocket and emerged with his father’s cigarette lighter.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Max-Christian. I’ve heard so many good things about you.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “What have you heard?”
“Greta tells me you are a man of principle. And I’ve heard that you are not one to follow the crowd, that you have a mind of your own.” She crossed her legs. Max noted her sheer stockings, her trim figure. “Greta was particularly impressed by your concern for the unfortunate souls that you are required to transport from place to place. You are a Humanist, I think. No?”
Max wasn’t sure what that meant, but he wasn’t going to argue with the woman in her own home. “Yes, I suppose so.” The lighter turned in his hand.
“You will be familiar with the egalitarian ideas developed in the East?”
What did she mean by that? “I have heard of Confucius.”
Libertas laughed. The transformation of her countenance was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, sending ripples of pleasure through his body. “Not that far east, Max-Christian. I was thinking of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. You’ve heard of them?”
Communism. He’d hit ‘pay dirt’! The lighter spun in his fingers.
“I am aware of their work. I have long admired Communism as a system, but I must confess I have never read any of their writings.�
�
She nodded toward the lighter in his hands. “I hope you’re not planning to smoke.”
“Oh no, I don’t. This was my father’s. Forgive me.” He slipped it back into his pocket.
She got to her feet, took a book from one of the shelves and handed it to him. Max read the title, written in gold on the spine, ‘Das Kapital.’
“And how do you feel about Fascism?”
“Really, Frau Schulze-Boysen, I have no time for the Nazis.”
“Call me Libertas. Everyone does.” She pulled a bell rope. The maid appeared. Libertas took the book back and asked the maid to wrap it in brown paper. The maid scurried off with the book. “Remind me to give it to you before you go. You may take it with you, but you must keep it hidden. It’s on the list of banned books as I’m sure you are aware.”
“Thank you, Libertas.” Max wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to read the book.
“Now, tell me all about Anna and your marriage plans.”
#
As soon as the maid had closed the front door behind Max, Harro Schulze-Boysen stepped into the study.
Libertas smiled at him. “Well, what did you think?”
“I think you’re going to have to work on your technique. Your approach was crude, heavy-handed and far too obvious.”
She frowned. “Never mind my technique. What did you think of Max-Christian? Will we be able to use him?”
“We may use him, but we’ll have to check his background first. He could be a plant.”
She snorted. “He’s a young man with obvious Humanist principles and a fiancée who’s half-Jewish. He’s under an obligation to us – to me and Greta – for his marriage approval. Why do you have to complicate everything, Harro?”
