Beneath the Universe

by Jennifer Gaskill Miller

  Heim smiled calmly and sat forward.

  “Let me be clear. While your rank may be slightly above my own, I am a member of the The Deaths-Head Units. What I do here will serve mankind for generations to come. My name will live forever. You are one in a thousand. Get me my poisons or find another post.”

  Blaz was stunned. As a superior officer he should be the one demanding obedience, but Heim was right. He had friends in high places and his work, while crude, was singular to advancement. Blaz had no choice but to swallow his pride.

  “Of course, Doktor. Whatever you need.”

  After Heim left, Blaz went out to clear his head. He checked on some of the work details and found Claus heading to the quarry.

  “Mind if I join you?” Blaz asked.

  “Not at all. I was just going to check the Wall, make sure those bodies ended up where they were supposed to.”

  “Claus, if you don’t want to tell me it’s alright, but I have to ask. You didn’t forget to take down those bodies, did you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re covering for someone. Can you tell me who?” Claus looked away. Blaz knew who it must be. There was only one man Claus might cover for.

  “It was Emil, wasn’t it?”

  Claus nodded.

  “What happened?”

  “I was going to bed last night and I saw him. He hadn’t even made it to his room yet. He’d just fallen apart; leaning against the wall after that call from the mayor came in. He told me about the day he’d gone to take them down. But he couldn’t do it. The other guard he was with, Bernitz or something like that, was cutting the ropes and Emil lost his mind, took off down the road. The guard didn’t know what to do. He left the bodies and went after Emil, got him back to camp.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He left this morning for some assignment in Paris. I really don’t know what he’s doing here. I know it’s difficult, but he shouldn’t be here if he can’t handle it. He cries all the time.”

  “I know,” Blaz said. “He isn’t the typical SS man, is he? But he’s here for a reason. I didn’t know what that reason was for a long time. I almost pitched him. But having him here keeps us human. He reminds us that what we do is tragic. In a way, he’s stronger than most of us. He feels the pain and the fear, but he keeps going anyway. That takes a special kind of soldier. He cries, yes. But he stays. He stays and does the work, maybe not everything . . . but enough. And that, that makes him brave.”

  They were almost to the stairs leading to the quarry, the Stairs of Death as the inmates called them and for good reason. While the Wall was effective in depleting the surplus population, the Stairs were just as useful. One hundred and eighty-six stone steps had been carved into the rock. The hasty, uneven work made them difficult to climb, regardless of whether one was going up or down. Some steps were short and close together then suddenly there would be one high and far away. The officers could maneuver them easily enough, though it was an exhausting climb. But prisoners were made to carry stones weighing 50 kilos or more. With the stones against their chests, it was only a matter of time before someone miscalculated their step and they would go down like dominos, the rocks crushing them as they fell.

  Blaz and Claus began climbing, the stairway empty as prisoners lined up at the top of the quarry. Claus started to say something but someone was yelling. They were halfway up the stairs and watched as a guard tumbled down. Suddenly, Dieter was angrily getting up, flummoxed.

  “Who pushed me?!” He demanded, yanking his pistol from its holster and flailing it in the air. He was rushing back to the top, the inmates shoving each other out of his way to the uproarious laughter of the other guards. He was shooting randomly, whatever prisoner stood too close, some of them falling off the wall in their effort to hide from him. Agner was at the top and, still laughing, grabbed his arm and his pistol to keep him from hitting one of the guards.

  “You’re going to shoot somebody, you ass,” Agner said.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? It was you! I’ll have your stars!” Dieter was red faced and screaming in Agner’s face.

  “Is that so?” Agner wasn’t fazed. “You want them? Go ahead and take them.” He stopped laughing and stood in front of Dieter, challenging him. Dieter was easily a head taller, but Agner was all muscle. The Giraffe stood down.

  “Give me back my gun,” he ordered, his hand out. Agner tossed it at him and Dieter flinched and grappled to catch it. He smoothed his hair and, with as much dignity as he could muster, came down the stairs. When he passed Claus and Blaz he snorted before storming the rest of the way down and back to the camp.

  Claus asked if Blaz wanted to join him for a drink, but Blaz refused, explaining that he was anxious to get home for the weekend. He surveyed the Wall, looking over the edge to where the skeletal remains from the orchard had been thrown over. Barely recognizable as bodies, the parts landed far from one another, only distinguishable from the other corpses by their eroded state. Blaz leaned over the edge for a better look but Clause pulled him back. Over his shoulder the prisoners were watching as they waited in line to descend the stairs. Blaz shook a chill from his body and returned to the camp. The ride home was quiet. Blaz rubbed his face and realized he hadn’t washed his hands before he left. His fingers smelled where he had handled the bones. He would have to wash before he went to bed.

  It was late and a quiet house was waiting for him as the car dropped him off. The front door had to be pulled harder than the last time he had been home. Frost painted the windows. In the kitchen he washed his face and hands in the dark. He hadn’t eaten supper but ignored his hunger and went upstairs to the bedroom.

  The room was fully black save for one sliver of moonlight breaking across the foot of the bed. Blaz followed it to the window and opened the curtains, bathing the room in the brilliant glow of the full moon. He removed his coat, jacket and boots and was sliding the tie off his neck when Giselle stirred.

  Sitting beside her on the bed he put his scarred hand on her hip as it rolled under the quilt. He pulled back the covers and turned her so he could feel her stomach. How he longed to have a son growing there. She woke, partly from his touch and partly from being exposed to the cold.

  “My darling,” she whispered. “How long do we have?”

  “I can stay until Sunday,” he whispered back. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “I haven’t seen you in weeks and you expect me to sleep? I don’t dare. How are you?”

  “I’m home. That’s enough to make me happy for now. I take it we haven’t had any more mice problems?”

  “No, Cora’s been very good at setting the traps and emptying them. She said the funniest thing -”

  “Do you want to hear something funny? Dieter fell down the stairs today.”

  “Oh, that’s awful? Is he alright?”

  “He’s completely fine. His pride was a little wounded but it made my day. What an awful day it was up to that point, too.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Blaz was quiet, thinking about the orchard and his encounter with Dr. Heim.

  “Never mind, it’s not important. How are you?”

  “I’ve missed you. It’s lonely here without you. I don’t know anybody.”

  “What are you talking about? Zelda’s here. Isn’t that why we moved here instead of closer to the camp?”

  “She’s visiting a friend in Paris. I don’t know when she’s coming back.”

  “What about the other officer’s wives? I know some of them live here. Can’t you befriend them?”

  “I’ve spent time with them, but they don’t know me. They all have their lives in order. They have their children and women’s auxiliaries. Do you know some of them even have grandchildren? Only one of the women I’ve met has lost a child and he was seventeen! Even if I were like them, I can hardly be good company when I’m sad all the time.”

  “Before you know it you’ll be flaunting a beautiful round belly to e
veryone. You can even have a knitting circle. All you little mothers can sit around and make booties and blankets and tiny little hats. Just wait, we’ll have a son soon. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise such a thing. Don’t you dare.”

  “I do. I promise you we will have a son. I swear it.” He lay down beside her and touched her cheek with his fingers. “With all my heart.”

  “Do you think of me when you are away?” Giselle asked him.

  “Of course. Not while I’m working. When I am out there I cannot think of you, of home. It’s too heartbreaking,” he sighed and hugged her to him reassuringly. “I wait until everything is quiet and I can lie in my bed and pretend you are beside me, already asleep. Sometimes if I move my feet under the sheets, I can almost imagine it’s you.”

  “Doesn’t that make you miss me more?”

  “Sometimes, but other times it comforts me. I always know you are here thinking of me. Are you?”

  “Am I here?” she teased.

  “Are you thinking of me?”

  She raised her head and looked at him.

  “If I were on the other side of the world I would be thinking of you. Maybe that’s what really separates me from those other women. They have their children and their hobbies and their coffee, but I don’t think they are in love.”

  “None of them?”

  She thought about it.

  “Maybe they’re in love, but not like us. They laugh at their men and manipulate them, like puppies. I could never do that. And it makes me sad. Sad for their husbands, sad for them. But mostly it makes me curious.”

  “Curious?” Blaz was intrigued by her word choice.

  “Yes. If they really think their husbands are such gluttonous, ridiculous fools then whom do they dress for? They are always so fancy with their hair and rouge and that ghastly red lipstick that is in fashion. They put on silk stockings and high heeled shoes and wear ribbons in the oddest places. Why should they do that? Their husbands are all at the camps or in Berlin. And when they do come home, the wives do nothing but complain about how much easier life is without them. ‘Oh, my Gabe, he is such a pig. His socks, they must jump right out of the basket, because I find them everywhere!’ Or Tanja, who always complains what a terrible lover her husband is. How he cannot please her in bed so she pretends just so that he will go to sleep and leave her alone!”

  “She pretends?” Blaz sat up, curious. “Do you pretend?”

  Giselle giggled.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I should have a talk with Tanja’s husband and make sure he knows what he is doing. Or maybe I should show her myself.”

  “For shame!” Giselle cried as she started beating him with a pillow. The tousle lasted only a moment before concern spread over her pretty face.

  “You are only teasing, aren’t you?”

  “What?” He was surprised.

  “About being with other women. I know it must get lonely in the camps. Men have needs.”

  “Look at me. The only need I ever have is my need for you. Without your eyes, your smile, your stomach pressing against mine, there is no passion in me. And there never will be.”

  He began to kiss her but there was a knock on the door, followed by a small figure moving towards them in the moonlight. She was fair haired and blue eyed, but her eyes in the dark appeared almost black from across the room. Blaz knew that up close they were as bright and silver as his. He called to her.

  “Come here. Say ‘Hello’ to your Papa. Have you been good?”

  The little girl nodded, but said nothing.

  “She’s getting so big,” he whispered to Giselle. “How old is she now?”

  “She’s just turned six,” Giselle reminded him. “Don’t you remember? It was right after your last visit. I asked you to stay for the party but you had something important to get back for. You did send her a lovely tea set, though.”

  “Ah, right. You’ll be a lady before long.” The tea set must have been sent by his secretary. He tried to think of what else to say. He didn’t know how to talk to a little girl. “Obey your mother and always be respectful of soldiers. They are making this a wonderful country for you to raise sons in. Run along and get dressed. You can help your mother make breakfast.”

  Cora left the room and Blaz stood up to look out the window.

  “It’s so early. Is she always up at this hour?” He asked.

  “I think she heard you come in. She probably just couldn’t get back to sleep. I ought to get dressed, too. Make breakfast.”

  “Hang on,” Blaz jumped to the bed and pulled her back down. “I think we may have enough time to work on that knitting circle.” He nuzzled her with his nose.

  “Knitting circle?”

  “Well, the thing that creates a need for the knitting circle,” he smiled slyly, nipping her cheek.

  “Oh, that. If we do that now, you’ll be utterly useless afterwards.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He pretended to be wounded.

  “You know how you are. You’ll be all but passed out.”

  “Making babies is hard work for a man. It takes a lot out of us . . . literally.”

  She laughed and kissed him. He put a hand behind her neck, pulling her closer. The kiss could have gone on but he stopped for a moment, needing her to see the hunger in his eyes. His seductive look worked and she gave in, smiling in her lovely way.

  CHAPTER 4

  July 1942

  Cora

  The car swerved suddenly and Cora was flung hard against her father in the back seat. She had been leaning on her mother when Blaz reprimanded her for wrinkling her dress. The starch itched Cora’s neck and under her armpits where the stiff fabric gathered. She had been trying to sit primly between her parents as the car glided along the country road, but her squirming had given way to exhaustion and her mother’s perfumed shoulder was as comfortable a place to rest as any. Of course, her father wouldn’t allow it. Her mother had asked why Cora couldn’t wear her play clothes until they reached the estate and then put on her dress later. But Blaz insisted that Herr Goebbels would greet them upon arrival and there would be no second chance introduction. Cora leaned down and tugged on her socks, the lace trim slouching down around her shoes.

  “Stop that!” Blaz barked. “You’ll stretch them out. Just sit still.”

  “Here, darling,” Cora’s mother crooned as she bent to adjust the socks. “See, you don’t need to pull, just fold. There. Perfection!” Cora’s mother gave her a placating smile before continuing to gaze demurely out the window. Cora looked out, too, hopeful that the scenery would distract her. The fields were lovely, green and gold with the occasional cow or goat grazing in the sunlight. For a while there was even a lavender farm, the purple buds swaying in long even rows all the way to the forest. But once the lavender was gone, so was Cora’s interest. Every mile looked the same and Cora soon found herself humming Zelda’s tune. Her mother started to join her. Blaz heaved a great sigh of annoyance and they stopped. Cora wanted to keep going, but her mother gave her knee a squeeze. A bridge caught Cora’s attention.

  “Look, Mama! A bridge!”

  “Yes, darling. We’re going to cross it.”

  “Is the villa on the other side of the river?” Cora asked.

  “It’s in the river. We’re going to an island.”

  “An island? But I thought islands were in the ocean.”

  “This is a small island. But there’s lots of room. A lot of important people live there.”

  “Like Herr Goebbels?” Cora asked.

  “Yes. And Albert Speer. Even Theodor Morrell, the Fuhrer’s doktor, lives there. Isn’t that exciting?”

  Cora didn’t really care who lived on the island. She was excited to meet Herr Goebbels children. She’d heard they had ponies and a little carriage to ride round the gardens.

  As they approached the estate two young men, older than Cora but not as old as her parents, rode horses in the middle of the road. They
heard the car and split up, one on either side to let the visitors pass. One of the young men smiled at Cora and tipped his cap to her. She giggled, feeling quite grown up all of the sudden and very aware of her dress and curls. The main house was centered between the pond and the woods, a low white building with high, pointed windows and a jutting pavilion that stretched out from the front doors. The yard was paved with large square stones and there were statues hidden in the trees and bushes. As they drove up, one statue caught her eye. It was very old, maybe Roman, of two people about to kiss. Cora could see a number of people waiting in the drive. Some of them were servants with clean uniforms and glazed, undeterred expressions. There were a few children, much to Cora’s delight. One of them sat astride a boulder, waving and bouncing as if riding one of the horses the car had passed on the road. Under the awning stood a handsome man and a woman with a calm smile and white pearls. The car stopped just in front of them and Cora waited with her parents for the chauffeur to open the door.

  Blaz stepped out as if he were someone very important, the way rich men in the films did, buttoning his jacket and pulling on his cuffs. Then he walked around the car and held his hand for Giselle to step out. Cora wasn’t sure which side of the car to get out of and wondered if she ought to wait to be invited. But Blaz jerked his head for her to come. She got out and stood beside him, her hands folded neatly behind her until she was introduced. She shook the man’s hand first, then the lady’s. The man was Joseph Goebbels and the children playing in the yard were all his. He squatted down, the leather in his shoes squeaking as he did, and took Cora by the hand.

  “Would you like to play with my daughters?” He asked.

  Cora looked to Blaz for permission and he nodded. She didn’t wait for him to change his mind and quickly ran to meet the girls.

  “I apologize, she’s been cooped up in the car all morning,” she heard her father say.

  “Please, I have five girls. They all play harder than their brother!” The men were laughing as Cora followed the children into the house. The floor was lovely, big gray and white diamonds so clean she could see herself in them. The ceiling was a warm, carved wood.