—Danke.
Über-colonel is staring at me. It’s making me nervous. I’m sure he knows. Could he be…? Nah. I’m being paranoid. Then again, if the devil is walking the earth, I can see him wearing this uniform. There’s enough evil to pass around in these parts.
—I’m sorry. Do you mind?
Shit. He’s talking to me. My blood pressure shot through the roof. He didn’t wait for me to answer. He just sat down across from me. Now I’m really being paranoid.
—I—no. Please.
—Kellnerin! Coffee!
No knives on the table. I can’t run. I’ll have to go through a dozen men if he decides to stop me, and I won’t kill them all with a spoon.
How would I know if he’s the Tracker? Our ancestors described them as ghostly and ashen. That’s what Mother said. I’m not entirely sure what that means. We lived in Asia back then, so my bet is they’d never seen a white guy before. There weren’t that many around those parts a thousand years ago. This man—I don’t know. He’s not the whitest fellow I’ve seen. He won’t win Aryan of the Year but he could use some time in the sun. I’m freaking out now. He might be—Really? He’s staring down my shirt.
—Sir?
—What a beautiful necklace.
My necklace. My heart’s throbbing. That medallion is the one thing that survived us all, the only tangible proof of who we are, short of looking in a mirror. That necklace belonged to the One. I didn’t even want to touch it when Mother gave it to me. We’ve held on to that thing for three thousand years. I didn’t want to be the idiot who drops it in a lake.
—Thank you, sir. It’s a family heirloom.
—That stone. Is it a sapphire? I’ve never seen one this orange.
—It’s just a garnet, I’m afraid.
—May I?
He wants to touch it. I don’t think he means to harm me. In fact, he’s not paying attention to me at all.
—Here. Let me take if off.
He’s holding it to the outside light. That stone is so close to his eye now … What is he—
—You’re right. Not a sapphire.
—How can you tell?
—Believe it or not I was a jeweler before all this. Seems like a million years ago. The refraction’s not right for a sapphire.
—I told you it—
—It’s not a garnet either.
—Then what is it?
—I don’t know.… It seems I’m a little rusty. Here, you can have it back. Thank you for the company.
He’s leaving. He’s no Tracker, that’s for sure. This isn’t the depraved rabid animal Mother described. I look at this man and I see … dispassion, indifference. That wasn’t wrath or furious anger sitting in front of me. That was apathy.
What would the Tracker have done? Slash my throat right here at the table? We left this country because of him. Mother said he, they, were getting close.
How did she know? How does she know now?
I suppose it’s as good an excuse as any if you have to convince a child to leave everything behind. Then again, maybe she did know. A stranger asking too many questions. Old friends turning up dead. We’ve never met any of them, but we have hundreds of people working for us. Maybe they knew. It’s kind of funny when I think about it. I’m a carbon copy of my mother, but there’s still so much I don’t know about her. What would she have done in my place? Would she have killed Dieter? Would she be angry that I did?
I’d still look exactly like Mother no matter who she slept with, but maybe I’m what he was there for. Maybe they fucked in Bad Saarow. “I didn’t think you’d come back, not after what happened.” Maybe she broke up with him there. Maybe … Maybe I need to get some sleep.
16
Down, Down, Down
Hitler is dead. We heard it on the radio.
Berlin has fallen, Hitler is dead, and we’re still here. We’ve “set up camp” in a small town near the Austrian border. That’s what they said, Dornberger and von Braun. “We’ll set up camp here.” There’s no camp. We’re in a resort hotel, for crying out loud. Haus Ingeburg, that’s what it’s called. There’s an indoor pool with a view of the Alps. There’s a sauna. Von Braun is in the fucking sauna.
We wait. We wait and listen to the radio. The Americans can’t be more than a couple of miles away, but so are the Germans, and no one wants to risk getting caught. Not when we’re so close. Wait. Wait. Wait.
Mother must be going mad. I know I am. I haven’t slept in three days. I need Mother. I need to ask—I don’t even know what I want to ask. Dieter, the Tracker, Bad Saarow. I have a thousand questions stampeding in my head. I can’t formulate a single one. It doesn’t matter. She’ll make sense of all this. I just need to get home.
I cut myself. I didn’t even notice. I was playing with a switchblade I stole—confiscated—from a kid in Bleicherode, scratching my name on a wooden table. It’s a nice table. I don’t know why I was doing it. Von Braun walked by. He looked at me and screamed my name. I thought he was angry about the table, or looking at my leg jumping like a jackhammer, but he grabbed my arm, hard. I … I cut myself. Long cuts—not too deep but deep enough—across my forearm. Lots of them. Maybe a dozen. I must have been at it for a while. I was as shocked as he was when I saw the blood. I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. No matter how convoluted a story I could come up with, there was no way to sell this as anything but what it was. I tried, though. I really tried.
Von Braun didn’t say anything. He didn’t scold me. He let me pretend. I thought that was nice of him. I suppose normal isn’t what it once was. That or he didn’t care. Here he is now. Oh, no. That’s Magnus, the other von Braun. He’s younger than his brother. An engineer. Everyone likes Magnus. I do, too. I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he speaks English.
—Hi Lili! What are you doing?
—Just reading a book. You?
That’s not true. I haven’t opened it.
—Getting some fresh air.
He’s smiling. Magnus is always happy. Always. I don’t know how he does it. Then again, I don’t know how he builds rockets for Nazis.
—Why did you do it, Magnus?
—Oh, that was easy. We despised the French, we were mortally afraid of the Soviets, we didn’t believe the British could afford us, that left the Americans.
—I didn’t mean that. I meant … Never mind.
I shouldn’t have asked. I want them to be good people. I want all of this to be worth something, the dead, all that we did. If that’s not true, if they’re like Himmler …
—What?
—Building weapons, working for Hitler. Why did you do it?
—Says the girl who wants us to do the same thing for the United States.
I am a hypocrite.
—You’re right. I don’t want to know.
—They didn’t leave us much choice.
He feels the need to justify himself. That’s not the way to go. Getting up every morning is a choice. Not putting a P38 to your temple and blowing your brains out is a choice.
—You didn’t have to do it. You certainly didn’t have to be good at it.
—Do you know why Himmler had my brother arrested?
—What?
—You heard me. A year ago, why did they have him arrested?
—They said it was on suspicion of treason.
I just heard myself saying it, and I realized it doesn’t make any sense. You don’t suspect someone of treason then have him lead your biggest weapons project three months later, no matter how indispensable he may be. Von Braun wouldn’t be alive if they thought he could betray them. They trusted him.
—That’s funny. Suspicion of treason. Have you met Helmut Gröttrup?
—He was at Peenemünde, wasn’t he?
—He was a manager, yes. Smart man. He and my brother didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but they respected each other. Anyway, Helmut, Wernher, and—who else was there? Oh yes—Klaus Riedel, another scientist. It doesn’t matter. They
were all having dinner one night. A casual event, friends, engineers from the research center. They were all having drinks. Gröttrup, at some point, said he’d heard the war wasn’t going well for the Germans, to which my brother replied that they should all be building spaceships anyway, not missiles. Rockets want to go up, he said, not down. It was innocent enough. But there was a young woman at dinner, a dentist, who turned out to be spying for the SS. Just Germany being Germany. She reported all of them to Kammler, who told Himmler. You know the rest.
—Spaceships?
—He meant it, you know. That’s all he can think about. He wants to go to space himself. Only no one wants to fund that, so he does the next best thing. He builds rockets, the biggest ones he can.
—And you?
—Oh, I’m not as smart as he is. It doesn’t really matter what I believe. I just like working with my brother.
I didn’t know von Braun wanted the same thing we do. Listening to Magnus talk about his brother, there’s something profoundly endearing about family. Unconditional love. That’s worth saving. That’s worth dying for.
—Is he still mad at me?
I snapped at von Braun this morning. No reason, just me being … The way he broke the shell on his boiled egg, the way he held his spoon. There was a spit bubble on the corner of his mouth. I … It was like time slowed down, almost to a halt. Everything was loud, screechy. I could hear my heartbeat, his chewing. Constant. Chewing …
—Oh, I’d be surprised if he rememb—Lili! what are you doing!
I have no idea. All I know is I’ll lose my mind if I stay here another second. I need to do something. I can’t drive to the border, there’ll be checkpoints, soldiers. I’ll take that bicycle and cut through the woods. With any luck, it’ll be Americans at the bottom of the hill.
—I’m getting us out of here!
That is one ugly bicycle. It’s heavy as hell with those milk churns in the back. Perfect for going downhill, and it’s all downhill. I know I’m being stupid. We could wait it out. All we have to do is wait, but I can’t sit still anymore. Even if I get caught, I did my job. They’ll make it if I don’t.
—Stop! Wait for me!
Magnus is following me. Now he’s being stupid. There’s no point in the both of us getting caught. Whatever. His call, not mine. Damn, this hill is steep. I hope I don’t break my neck. I hope Magnus doesn’t break his neck. I don’t think von Braun will like me very much if I get his brother killed.
We’re going too fast! We’re like two rockets speeding through space. Except gravity is working for us, not against us. More weight, more speed. It’s the milk churns. If I get rid of them, it’ll slow me down. Ditch some weight …
I’m getting tunnel vision. The trees are flying by faster than my eyes can focus. We’ll never be able to stop. If there’s anything blocking that path, we’ll drive right into it, or into a tree. It doesn’t matter what it is. If it’s solid, we’re doomed. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? You split your skull open, that’s what happens.
I need both hands on the handlebar to keep the bicycle straight. This. Is. Not. Goooood.
I see someone down there. Forget the someone. I see a ditch. There’s a fucking ditch!
—MAGNUS! WATCH OUT!
This is gonna hurt. OOOOOOOHHH NOOOOOOOO!
That pop. I dislocated my shoulder. Damn it hur—
—ON YOUR KNEES! NOW!
—No! Don’t shoot! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT!
I can’t tell if it’s a German muzzle I feel on my neck or an American one. I’m sure the bullets feel the same. I can’t feel it anymore. Whoever it is, he’s coming around.
—Do you speak English, miss?
—I … Yes, I do. What’s your name?
—PFC Frederick Schneikert. I need to see your hands, miss. Raise your hands.
Schneikert? But he speaks English. This is confusing.
—Who are you with, PFC Schneikert?
—324th Infantry Regiment, 44th Infantry Division.
Americans. We made it.
17
Going Home
My daughter has returned to me. She led von Braun and the best of his people into the hands of the Americans. She accomplished her mission, but all that matters to me is that she is safe and sound. I can tell it was not easy for her. She has been distant ever since she came home.
—Say what’s on your mind, Mia.
If there is one thing we do not do well, it is hide things from one another. She saw things, or did things, that she was not prepared for.
—It’s okay, Mother. I don’t want to talk about it.
Of course she does. She does not know how.
—What happened in Germany, Mia? Did anyone hurt you?
—No, Mother. No one hurt me. I’m fine.
—Obviously, you are not. Why did you not come back when I asked you to? I know you received my message.
—I couldn’t.
—What do you mean you cou—
—Mother, stop! Have you …
—Yes?
—Have you ever done bad things because you thought you had to?
She’s killed.
—What did you do, Mia? You can tell me.
—…
I did not want to talk about it either. I was thirteen. The war had not ended yet. A German police officer stopped me on the street and asked for my papers; I did not have them. He said … He said it was people like me that ruined his country. He said he thought about “my kind” every time he had to eat turnip. The Jews, the immigrants were eating what little food there was, taking it away from the “real Germans.” He was going to take me in, said I would go back to where I came from. He offered to give me a chance, one chance because he was a nice guy. That chance meant I had to go with him behind the post office. I did. I was scared beyond words. I thought he would send me away and I would never see my mother again. I grabbed a steel bar from a pile of rubble while he undid his belt. I remember being surprised at how hard it was to break through skin with a blunt object. He was strong, and struggling for his life. I gave up trying to impale him after a few tries. I shoved the iron bar inside his mouth and pushed through his palate. I was still shaking when I got home. I could not tell my mother. I was afraid we would have to move again because of me. Mother knew right away. She came into my room, stroked my hair, and asked: “Was he a bad man?” I nodded. She said: “Survive at all costs, Sara. You’re alive. That means you did good.”
—Mia?
—What can you tell me about my father?
—Where is this coming from?
—Do you remember a man by the name of Dieter?
I do. I was still a teenager when I met Didi. He studied music history. He could talk about opera until morning if you let him.
—You saw him?
—He thought I was you.
I was about Mia’s age the last time we saw each other. The resemblance would have been confusing. He would ask questions, too many questions.
—Mia. Dieter was not your father. Even if he were, it does not matter.
—It matters to me.
—It matters to you that you have a father. It does not matter who it is. You would be the very same person no matter who it was.
—No, Mother. Call me crazy but it kind of matters to me whether I killed my dad or not.
—You did not kill your father. You did what you had to do, Mia. I would have done the same thing. We kill to survive, like every other living thing.
—What happened in Bad Saarow?
—What?
—You heard me, Mother.
I did, but I was not ready for it.
—What did Dieter tell you?
—Nothing. He said I should ask you, so I’m asking you.
—There is nothing to tell, Mia. What happened in Bad Saarow is between me and him. It does not concern you.
She knows I am lying but it does not matter. She does not need to remember. Not now.
&nbs
p; —Why did we leave Germany?
—I told you, Mia. The Tracker was closing in on us, as he is now.
More lies. I have started something and I cannot stop it.
—How do you know?
Doubt is hard to get rid of once it sets its roots. Dieter planted the seed and I am feeding it with lies. Ragweed.
—Because my mother said so.… I know you are upset, Mia. You have every right to be. I wish there were something I could say to make you feel better but there is not. All I can tell you is that you did the right thing. It will take time, but you will learn to make peace with what you did.
—…
—You will, Mia. I promise you.
—It’s not so much what I did that bothers me. That’s not true, it’s eating me alive, but what bothers me most is that I knew how, Mother. I didn’t hesitate. Fuck, I—
—Watch your tongue, Mia.
—I’m sorry, but I did. I stood in front of a whole platoon and I knew exactly how I could kill them all. What’s wrong with me?
—Nothing, Mia. We are … percipient. We have always been. You knew what to do for the same reason you can do physics in your sleep.
—What does that make me?
—I’m not sure what you mean.
—What are we, Mother?
—We are the Kibsu.
—Don’t do that. We’re not the same thing as everyone else, are we?
—Our blood is somewhat different when you look at it under a microscope, but it is blood. Beyond that, you know as much as I do. We lost the knowledge a long time ago.
—When?
—What does it matter, Mia? Around twenty-eight hundred years ago. The Eleven is the first of us we have any knowledge of. Her mother died before she could tell her everything.
—So you don’t know why I’m like you? Why I can tell exactly what my daughter will look like?
—You are upset.
—I’m not upset!
—Fine. And no, Mia. I do not. Do you think I would keep it from you if I did? We do not know why any children are the way they are. Most of what we know comes from work on pea plants almost a century ago.
A History of What Comes Next Page 7
