The Best Contemporary Women's Fiction: Six Novels

by Jenna Blum

  Is it all right if I set up over here? he asks, indicating the daybed.

  Ja, Frau Kluge says, shrugging.

  Trudy refreshes her smile and sets the bakery box on the table.

  What is this? Frau Kluge asks.

  Cookies.

  Frau Kluge picks at the striped string. Trudy reaches over to help, but Frau Kluge whisks the box away and gets up to fetch a knife from the sideboard. She slashes the lid open and peers inside.

  Ach, Makronen, she says. My favorite.

  She fishes out a macaroon and begins to eat, scattering crumbs on her cardigan. Trudy takes advantage of the conversational lull by sitting and consulting her notes, stealing glances at Frau Kluge all the while. She is approximately Anna's age, Trudy guesses, in her late seventies, but the resemblance ends there. Frau Kluge is a small squat woman, her face pouched and creased, her eyes hidden behind large square drugstore glasses. Her hair is a mushroom cap of such uniform gray that it can only be a wig. One real hair, long and white, grows from her chin.

  Frau Kluge roots through the box in search of more macaroons; then, having apparently consumed them all, she pushes it toward Trudy.

  No, thanks, says Trudy. I'm glad you enjoyed them, though.

  They were stale, Frau Kluge says.

  Trudy inhales deeply and looks down at her portfolio.

  Frau Kluge, I thought we might talk about the interview—

  Where is the money?

  Excuse me?

  The hundred dollars. Where is it?

  From her purse Trudy extracts a check embossed with the university logo and slides it across the table. Frau Kluge fumbles it up and holds it close to her eyes, then folds it and makes it vanish into a pocket.

  Ja, she says. Gut.

  She struggles to her feet to stow the bakery box string in a drawer. Then she removes something from the refrigerator door and scuffs back to the table with it.

  My grandchildren, she says, holding it out.

  Trudy takes it from her and looks obediently at two children encased in magnetized Lucite. From against the marbled suede backdrop favored by school photographers, they grin up at Trudy, the girl's hair so tightly bound in ribboned barrettes that her eyes are pulled in a painful squint, the boy's mouth brash with braces. They appear to Trudy deeply ordinary children. She turns the photograph over and through the yellowing plastic reads the inscription: Andi und Teddy, 1989. Seven years ago.

  Trudy looks up at Frau Kluge with new interest.

  Your grandson must be quite a young man by now, she says.

  Frau Kluge mumbles and tugs at a loop of yarn on her sweater.

  Trudy hesitates, then presses her advantage: Are you going to see them at Christmas? she asks.

  Frau Kluge snatches the photograph.

  Ja, of course I am, she snaps. Why should I not? Do you have grandchildren?

  No, I—

  Children?

  No—

  You have at least a husband?

  I was married once, but—

  Frau Kluge nods in satisfaction. He is dead, she says.

  Trudy laughs.

  No, he's very much alive. Runs an extremely successful French restaurant, in fact. Le P'tit Lapin, maybe you've heard of it? It—

  I do not eat French food, Frau Kluge announces. Rich sauces rot the bowels.

  She glares triumphantly at Trudy. A small silence occurs, during which Trudy hears water dripping and dripping in the woman's sink.

  Then Frau Kluge, perhaps mollified by her victory, thaws somewhat, for she tells Trudy, You remind me a little of my daughter. Of course, you are several years older. But you are something like her, through hier.

  She pats the air near her cheeks. Trudy nods.

  You are German? Frau Kluge asks.

  Yes.

  A true German? Not a Mischling?

  Trudy makes a mental note of Frau Kluge's use of the Nazi term for half-breed, but she is not about to spurn this peculiar olive branch the woman is offering. She decides to go a step further.

  Nein, Trudy answers. Ich bin keine Mischling, Frau Kluge. Ich bin Deustche.

  Frau Kluge scrutinizes Trudy from behind her glasses, which a beam of weak light has transformed into opaque white squares. Then she slowly lowers them and gives Trudy a smile of complicity.

  So, she says. Sehr gut. I should have known you were pure of blood. From your pretty blond hair.

  Trudy's hand involuntarily rises to her bangs.

  Excuse me, Thomas calls.

  Trudy turns toward him with dread, anticipating what he might say, but his face is benign. Behind him the area around Frau Kluge's daybed is now a movie set of sorts: light screens and big lamps, a camera mounted on a tripod, a sound boom the shape of an enormous peanut dangling in midair. Thomas holds up two microphones, their wires trailing into a tangle on the tired carpet.

  Let's get you ladies miked and bring those chairs over here, he says. Then we'll be ready to begin.

  19

  THE GERMAN PROJECT

  Interview 1

  SUBJECT: Mrs. Petra Kluge (née Petra Rauschning)

  DATE/LOCATION: December 21, 1996; North Minneapolis, MN

  Q: Let's start with a few simple questions, Frau Kluge. When and where were you born?

  A: I was born 14 August 1919, in Munich, Germany.

  Q: Did you remain in Munich throughout your childhood?

  A: Ja, I lived there until I came to this country.

  Q: So you were in Munich at the beginning of the war, in September 1939?

  A: Where else would I be?

  Q: You were how old then—twenty? No, excuse me, twenty-one.

  A: Ja, just turned.

  Q: So you were a young woman when Hitler invaded Poland. What was your reaction to that?

  A [subject shrugs] Whatever the Führer wanted to do, this was fine by me.

  Q: So you approved.

  A: Approved, disapproved, it made no difference. Who was I to question such things?

  Q: Were you frightened?

  A: There was no cause for fear. Everybody knew the Poles were no match for us. And the Führer was recovering only what belonged to Germany. He was thinking of his people, of Lebensraum—

  Q: Living space. He invaded Poland for more living space.

  A: Ja, for Aryans, that is correct.

  Q: So you agreed with the war in principle.

  A: Ja, I already have said this. Natürlich, if I had known what would then happen, I might not have ... But I was only young.

  Q: What did you think of Hit—of the Führer's other theories?

  A: What do you mean by this?

  Q: About the Jews. About making Germany, um, free of Jews.

  A: Judenrein.

  Q: That's right.

  A: I was too busy to pay attention to such things. It did not concern me.

  Q: What was happening to the Jews did not concern you?

  A: Ja, it held no meaning for me personally. I did not know any Jews.

  Q: None?

  A: Ja, well, perhaps in Gymnasium, there were ... But they soon had to go to their own schools. They kept to themselves. You know how they do, in their temples and their ... their what-have-you.

  Q: But surely you must have encountered Jews in the course of your daily life. On public transportation, in cafés, on the street—

  A: Nein, nein. Very little. Very little. At first perhaps I encountered some without knowing it. But when they had to wear the Star, nein, they were no longer in the parks and trains and such.

  Q: And what did you think of this?

  A: I thought nothing of it. As I have said, it had little to do with me. Perhaps it made some things easier—

  Q: What things? In what way?

  A: [shrugs] Ach, you know. Not so crowded. In the stores, more space, more food for us Germans, once they had to go to their own stores where they belonged.

  Q: I see. Did you think this was fair?

  A: Fair, unfair, it made things easier.
You knew who belonged with who.

  Q: It didn't bother you that Jews were no longer allowed to buy things in Aryan stores, to visit Aryan doctors, to attend the theater—

  A: Nein. And it did not bother them either. They like to stick to their own kind. And they did not suffer, believe me. They could still buy whatever they wanted.

  Q: How is that?

  A: They had their ways. They always had their ways.

  Q: They had money, you mean?

  A: Ja, ja, this is exactly right. Before the war, when Germans were starving, when we had to wait hours for a loaf of bread ... when there was looting, windows being broken, people being killed for a few Pfennigs...they could just waltz in and buy whatever they pleased. Their pockets clinked with money. Their coats were lined with fur.

  Q: And during the war?

  A: Ach, this made no difference to them. They still had the money. They hid it. Buried it in their cellars, in their homes, under the floors. You know how they are.

  Q: How they—

  A Sneaky. The Jews were sneaky. They no longer flashed their money about under our noses, but they had it. They had diamonds sewed into the linings of their coats.

  Q: But, Frau Kluge—Not to contradict you, but you said you had no contact with Jews. How did you know they were hiding money?

  A: Everybody knew.

  Q: Everybody?

  A: Ja, everybody.

  Q: Well, how did everybody know?

  A: They just did. It was a fact.

  Q: By everybody, I assume you mean Aryan Germans.

  A: Ja, Germans.

  Q: Did the Germans—Did you know what would happen to the Jews when they were deported?

  A: Nein, nein. We were told nothing. That was government business.

  Q: So you knew nothing about the camps?

  A: Camps?

  Q: The concentration camps. To which the Jews were deported.

  A: That is all propaganda.

  Q: Propaganda!

  A: That is right, propaganda. Ach, I am sure some Jews did die. But from the war. From bombs and cold and sickness and hunger. Just like the Germans did.

  Q: But—But Frau Kluge, what about the photographs, the—

  A: Propaganda. As I have said. Falsehoods spread by the Allies after the war.

  Q: I see ... Now, um, now, Frau Kluge, perhaps you could tell me a little more about what your life was like during the war. What do you remember most?

  A: The rations. At first. Then no food anywhere. We were starving. The cold. The air raids. Terrible.

  Q: What were you doing during the war? Did you have a job? A family?

  A: Nein, no family. My mother died in 1936 of tuberculosis. When everybody but the Jews was starving. She had no medicine while they pranced about in fur.

  Q: And your father?

  A: [shrugs] I never knew him. He died in the first war.

  Q: You had no family of your own? No husband, no—

  A: Nein. Ja, there was a man. We were to be engaged. But he was in the Wehrmacht and he died in Russia. On the Volga.

  Q: So you were alone during the war.

  A: Ja, ja, I had to fend completely for myself. To stand on my own two feet during this time, it was very difficult.

  Q: What did you do? What kind of work?

  A: I was a switchboard operator.

  Q: And this paid well enough for you to get along?

  A: Nein. Nein. I had barely enough to survive. And with the rations—Ach, it was so bad. The things I had to do to get by.

  Q: What sort of things?

  A: Nothing. Nothing. Just ... to get by. That is all.

  Q: How did you get by, exactly?

  A: I—What do you think? Waited in lines with everybody else. Sometimes stole. When there is nothing to put in the stomach...

  Q: It must have made you desperate.

  A: Ja, ja, desperate, that is right, now you understand me. What I did I had to do.

  Q: Which was?

  A: I have already told you. Nothing. But. Some others. Some other people...

  Q: What other people?

  A: They were terrible times.

  Q: Desperate.

  A: Ja, desperate. And this one woman I knew...

  Q: She was your friend?

  A: Nein, nein. Not a friend. An acquaintance. Somebody I knew from work. Not very well. Sometimes we shared a little lunch. Not very often. You understand?

  Q: Yes. What was her name?

  A: I do not remember. I do not remember.

  Q: That's fine, Frau Kluge. But you were telling me ... She also was desperate?

  A: Ja. And she, so she had to do something...

  Q: What was it? What did she do?

  A: She ... This woman, she did not mean to do anything bad. But she was desperate, as you have said, nicht? And so hungry while the Jews, they still had the money. And she, this woman, she thought, what would be the harm in it, you understand? She knew there still were some of them around. Hiding. Like they hid their money. She—

  Q: Forgive me for interrupting, Frau Kluge, but where was this? Where the Jews were hiding?

  A: All over. The city was riddled with them. And this woman, she knew of some in the building next to hers. In the cellar. So she—

  Q: This was in Munich?

  A: Ja. Very near to where I lived. On the, the outer ring, the—

  Q: The suburbs?

  A: Ja, that is correct, the suburbs. On the outer ring there were still some hiding. So she, the woman, she went to them.

  Q: To the Jews?

  A: Ja, ja, to the Jews. I was just—You know, she, she said to me, Petra, I know where some are. In this cellar. Under a staircase, in a room for holding potatoes, and they once owned a store, a very big shoe store, many of them around Munich so they must still have money and also there was a reward—

  Q: A reward for turning in the Jews?

  A: Ja, ja, that is right, to the Gestapo. A big cash reward. So this desperate woman, she went into that basement and she said to them, Jews, I do not want to turn you in. I have nothing against Jews. So you will give me the same amount of money as the reward, and I will say nothing.

  Q: And they gave her the money?

  A: Ja. They had diamonds. Small ones. Not very good quality. It was a little disappointing. But some rings. Also earrings. Sewed into the linings of their coats.

  Q: So she took their diamonds.

  A. Ja, natürlich. She was desperate.

  Q: I see. And she didn't turn them in?

  A: Nein. She did not turn those Jews in. She said to me, Petra, you see, now I have a little something, at least enough to eat. Now I can provide for myself. She had no family, nobody to look after her—

  Q: So she took their diamonds and she didn't turn them in.

  A: Ja. Nein. Not right away.

  Q: Not right away.

  A: That is correct. Not immediately. But you know, money goes only so far, and soon, soon they had nothing left to give her, at least that is what they said, although of course there probably was more. So she had to turn them in.

  Q: For the reward.

  A: Ja, that is right. She went to the Gestapo and she got that reward. And do you know what he said?

  Q: Who?

  A: The Gestapo man. A little fat man with no hair on his head—This is what she told me.

  Q: Right. So what did he say?

  A: He said, Fräulein whatever-her-name-was, I do not remember, Fräulein, he said, you have done a very good thing. For your country. For your Führer and Vaterland. I am very happy to give you this money. And if you know of more Jews, I will be happy to reward you again in this way. If you bring them to my attention.

  Q: And—Did she?

  A: Did she what?

  Q: Did she know of more Jews?

  A: Well, ja, they were everywhere. All over, as I have said. Hiding in the woodwork. Like lice. Like, what do you call it, termites.

  Q: Did she turn them in too?

  A: I—I�
�Ach, well. Who knows. I did not want to know about such things. As I have said, they did not concern me, nicht? And I did not know her, you remember. I did not know her very well at all.

  Q: But what do you think? Do you think she turned in other Jews?

  A: I do not—Well, ja. Ja. I did. I mean, what I mean to say is, I think she did. Ja.

  Q: For the money.

  A: Ja, that is correct. She, she might have felt sorry for them. A little. But she had to do it anyway.

  Q: I see.

  A: She was desperate.

  Q: Yes, so you said ... Frau Kluge, how do you feel now about what she did?

  A: Me? Why should I feel anything? I feel nothing. I did nothing to be ashamed of!

  Q: But I said ... Excuse me. Let me ask again: How do you think she feels?

  A: [shrugs] How should I know? She probably is dead.

  Q: But if she were alive and you could ask her, what do you think she would say? Do you think she would feel guilty?

  A: Nein. Nein. Not guilty. Why should she feel guilty? Why should she have had to starve while those Jews still had money? She had to get by.

  Q: Yes, but—

  A: She had nobody. Nobody to look after her. Nobody to take care of her. They had each other. They had the money. While she was a woman alone. To be a woman on her own is a terrible thing.

  Q: Yes, but—

  A: You should know this. You know what I mean.

  Q: Well, I do to some degree, but—

  A: And in those times. Such terrible times. You cannot imagine. You know nothing of what it is like to be cold. To be hungry. To be sick with hunger. You do not understand that.

  Q: That's true, but—

  A: Und so. Das ist alles. That is all I have to say.

  Q: One more thing, Frau Kluge, with your permission ... You've told me what you think your, um, acquaintance, might have felt. But do you, you personally, ever feel bad about what happened to those Jews?

  A: I? I did not even know them. I knew no Jews. And I do not feel bad about doing only what I had to do either. Because a woman alone has to watch out for herself in this world.

  20

  AS SOON AS FRAU KLUGE'S INTERVIEW IS DONE, TRUDY and Thomas flee her apartment as quickly as the dismantling of Thomas's equipment will allow. In fact they are so fast about it that Trudy fears, watching Thomas coil cables and fold tripods with a speed almost comical, that Frau Kluge will notice their haste and take offense. Not that Trudy is particularly concerned about Frau Kluge's feelings, but if the woman senses what they think of her, she might be insulted enough to demand that her testimony not be used. Yet Trudy shouldn't have worried, for Frau Kluge seems to wish them out of her apartment as much as they want to go. When they leave, the woman is still sitting in her chair, watching a game show on a small black-and-white TV and indifferent to their departure.