I stumbled upon the last step and instead of following Lisl to the kitchen I went straight to the front door, away from her.
“Ernst! Where are you going?” she called out to me as I was opening it.
“To the church,” I replied inaudibly and slipped away onto the street before she could stop me.
Chapter 15
Nuremberg prison, April 1946
“I had to stop it, the persecution of the church,” I explained mildly to Dr. Goldensohn, the only American psychiatrist who most of us, defendants, found likeable and trustworthy. Göring was right when he said that Goldensohn rarely spoke himself, allowing us to take as long a pause as we needed, not pushing, not suggesting his own conclusions, just listening to us, like he did now, when I at last finished my thought out loud. “I had to atone for my sins.”
“What specific sins are you talking about?”
I kept staring at the floor without blinking – a habit that wouldn’t leave me lately – and then slowly shook my head with a soft smile.
“No, doctor. Those sins are too old for your liking, and have nothing to do with what I’m being prosecuted for here. I sinned against the church itself. It has nothing to do with the official state persecution, or the camps, so you wouldn’t be interested in my story.”
“Oh, but you’re most certainly mistaken.” The serious young man rushed to persuade me in the opposite. “I am interested in everything that causes strong emotions from your side. It is highly important to speak of those things to relieve yourself of these negative emotions.”
“I’m afraid I made the mistake of talking to somebody once, doctor. It didn’t turn out too well,” I objected to him in my politest manner, gently but firmly implying that I wasn’t going to expand on the matter.
He didn’t insist, as always.
“Well, I guess that will be all for today,” he said, getting up and collecting his notes. “I’ll stop by in a few days. Let me know if you want to talk about it then. And good luck with your hearing. I heard that they’re calling you next.”
I nodded and shook his hand, even though I knew that I’d never make this mistake again, telling someone my horrible secrets. What happened to Father Wilhelm after I told him my first gravest one, still crossed my heart with a painful scar. I sat back on my cot and started reminiscing.
The evening was stifling, suffocating even, when I ran into the church, gasping for air and looking for some salvation from the heat outside and inside my own body. I grabbed a woman, who was busy cleaning candle wax off the alter, and begged her to fetch Father Wilhelm from his rooms. As she ran off, clearly petrified of my anxious state, I sat on a hard wooden pew in the very front and kept twitching my foot, keeping my head as low as I possibly could, away from that immense crucifix, its overpowering presence only adding horror to my screaming mind.
I don’t know whether it was under my father’s influence or whether it was my own laziness or arrogance, but I had shunned the church for almost fifteen years now. I was always grateful to Father Wilhelm for the invaluable help and support he gave me when my father was fighting in the Great War; however moving away to Graz for the time of my studies and then a busy lawyer’s practice here in Linz, my political activities and, let’s face it, quite a wild personal life, didn’t leave much time or desire to visit the house of God. When it came to the necessity of finding a priest who would marry Lisl and me, quite naturally my choice fell on Father Wilhelm, who seemed to be sincerely glad for such a happy occasion, responsible for the return of his prodigal son. We spent almost three hours together that day when I came to ask him about the ceremony, catching up on things and discussing current events.
Father Wilhelm seemed disappointed with me joining the SS, but still didn’t take his disappointment as far as my father, only asking me if I had found what I was looking for. I shrugged with one shoulder, grinned a little uncomfortably and said that I thought I did. I said that I liked Hitler, and asked Father Wilhelm if he agreed with the opinion that the Führer was sent to Germany by God to fulfill the wish of the higher power to lead the new Reich into a thousand year prosperity. Father Wilhelm looked at me very sternly, for the first time, and asked if I believed it myself instead.
“I’m not trying to offend you by comparing the Führer to Jesus Christ, of course,” I quickly corrected myself, not wanting to upset the old man. “I’m merely saying…”
I stumbled upon my own words and went quiet since I had no idea what I even meant to say, repeating the words that our leaders were teaching us, and felt the shame of guilt slowly coloring my cheeks, realizing what a terrible blasphemy it had probably sounded to the priest and a devout Catholic.
“Ernst, our Lord Jesus Christ died for our sins,” Father Wilhelm said quietly but firmly. “Adolf Hitler will make everyone else die for his. That’s the difference you’re looking for, my son.”
Good, old and kind Father Wilhelm, he had no idea how right he was saying that; and young, naïve and stupid me ignored his words, for the millionth time. So how come I found myself here, in his church once again, finally daring to look up at the crucifix from under my sweaty bangs which shadowed my guilty eyes? I didn’t know. I only knew one thing; I had to tell him everything and beg for his forgiveness.
I didn’t hear his steps as he approached me quietly from the side door, dressed in a regular black suit, with only a small white collar witnessing to his chosen path.
“Ernst?” he called out in a mild voice and sat next to me, noticing my distressed state. “What brings you here today, son? Has something happened?”
I looked into his kind eyes, watching me with sincere concern, took a deep breath and told him everything in forced, clipped sentences, from the moment when I stepped inside the Austrian Chancellor’s office to the moment when Bruno and I made our escape, condemning the remaining SS men to imminent death. He listened to me without interruption, and only when I had finished my story and hid my wet face in my hands did he put his comforting, warm hand on my shoulder, and squeeze it slightly to tell me to look him in the eye.
I could hardly force myself to meet his gaze, and only mumbled some useless words begging for his forgiveness, to which he only sadly shook his completely white head.
“It’s not me who you should ask for forgiveness, Ernst. It’s our Lord. He is merciful, and cares about every lost soul. Even though your sin is one of the gravest, He will still take you back from the cage of darkness you’ve locked yourself in, if only you’ll be strong enough to understand the gravity of your sin and walk towards His light. You need to change your life, Ernst. You need to get away from those people because it is them who will drag you into the abyss. I’ve known you since you were only a child, and I know that it’s not you – this, what you’ve become.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right of course,” I agreed readily. “I would never…”
“I know you wouldn’t. That’s why it frightens me even more, the fact that you did it. Why, Ernst?”
“It’s all my anger and my vanity, Father. I can’t seem to control it. I wanted my vengeance and yet I didn’t intend to harm him in a physical way. I only wanted to hurt his pride and humiliate him the way he humiliated me. I never thought I was capable… No, it can’t be, I can’t believe what I’ve done! Father, am I going to hell?”
“You’ve got it all wrong, my boy. You are afraid of the punishment, when you should concentrate on saving your soul from making this mistake again. Not because you will go to hell, but because hell will be forever in your heart if you do.”
I nodded again, fervently promising him and myself that I would never, ever again harm anybody, that I would quit my service in the SS and my membership to the Party. I stopped mid-word, stunned when Bruno and several of my SS comrades behind him, suddenly materialized from behind our pew.
“Ernst! What are you doing, running out on your poor wife like that?” He slapped my shoulder slightly and firmly took me by my elbow, making me get up. However, even though
I was already standing, his grip on my arm remained as firm as it was. “Good thing I stopped by to check on you like I promised, and found her all distressed and not knowing what to think. You can’t do something like that to a woman in her condition, it’s just irresponsible. Come outside, she’s waiting for you in my car.”
Already sensing something sinister in my gut at the sight of the circle of unemotional faces around me, I tried to pull away from Bruno’s grip.
“I haven’t finished talking to Father Wilhelm. Take her home please, and I’ll be back in no time.”
“Ernst, come outside,” he insisted with the same smile, clasping his fingers around my arm even tighter.
“Bruno…”
“Just for a second. Show your face, so she doesn’t get any more nervous than she is already, the poor thing. And then you’ll come right back to your Holy Father.” Bruno smiled at the old man, still sitting on the same spot surrounded by the silent SS men. Father Wilhelm observed them with his usual calmness and acceptance, then turned his head to me, smiled sadly and slowly made a sign of cross in front of me.
“Remember what I told you, Ernst. God help you, son.”
“No need to say goodbyes yet,” Bruno said cheerfully, that grin of his not leaving his face. “He’ll be back in a minute.”
I nodded at Father Wilhelm reassuringly, and allowed Bruno to lead me away, out of the church, the doors to which closed from the inside with a loud bang by the man who’d followed us to the exit. I quickly turned around, looked at smiling Bruno and at the car parked in front of the entrance. I could see that it was empty.
“Bruno, what’s going on? Where is my wife?”
“She’s at home, waiting for you,” Bruno replied, as if stating the obvious.
I looked at the closed doors again and held my breath, searching for signs on my friend’s face. Or was I mistaken, assuming that our friendship was above his loyalty to the cause and the Führer?
“Ernst, what were you thinking?” He scolded me like a grown-up would scold a mischievous child, even though technically I was his superior. Not now though. Now I was at his and his men’s complete mercy, together with Father Wilhelm inside. Bruno knew that I told the priest everything, I could tell from the look on his face.
“What are you going to do to him?” I barely whispered.
“Ernst, you can’t be running around town telling everyone what we’ve been up to in Vienna. A priest? What on earth came over you? Maybe it’s my fault though. I saw how you were this morning, and shouldn’t have let you go back home all alone. Thank God I was in time for Elisabeth to tell me where you went. I am terrified to think what would have happened if I decided to stay home tonight instead. You would have been in jail by tomorrow! And probably hanged the very next day.”
“Bruno, please… He won’t tell anybody… He’s a harmless old man, and only… I’ve known him my whole life…”
“I’m sorry, Ernst. I have higher orders. I am ordered to protect you and keep you safe. You are too important for the Austrian SS to take such a stupid chance. You should have thought better of it.”
The doors opened at last, and the four men came outside and stood next to us, as silent and unmoved as before. I tried to look past their shoulders, but could see nothing.
“Now, you won’t be making unfortunate mistakes like this anymore, will you?” Bruno asked me with a different tone in his voice, before his grin moved a corner of his mouth once again. “We can’t be running after you all over the town, cleaning up your mess.”
“No,” I answered, finding a step with my foot and backing away from them. “I’m going home now. I’ll be fine by tomorrow, I promise. I’ve just had a lot to drink.”
“I know you did.” Bruno and the four pairs of eyes watched me without blinking. “I told you not to drink that stuff on the empty stomach. But you never listen, do you?”
I somehow made it to the bottom of the stairs without falling and without turning my back to them at the same time. “Goodbye, Bruno.”
“Goodbye, Sturmhauptführer!” He saluted me jovially. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
I’m sure you will, I thought, with cold fear urging me to turn away, hardly restraining myself from running. The nightmare consuming me seemed to never end. Little did I know that it was only a faint premonition of a real nightmare, to which my life would turn into very soon after.
I recalled the fateful events of that stifling July evening sitting in my cold Nuremberg cell, and the next day I took the stand before the international military tribunal for the first time. Colonel Amen, my prosecutor, was eyeing me suspiciously as I was stating my innocence concerning the assassination of the former Austrian Chancellor.
“Defendant, isn’t it true that you were jailed for several months in 1934 for the accusation of high treason?”
“Yes, it is true. However, I was acquitted of those charges by the Austrian government.”
The American looked through his papers and frowned.
“You were acquitted for a lack of evidence, not because you were found not guilty.” It wasn’t a question, more of a hardly veiled accusation, which he threw like a bone to the judges in the hope of finding me guilty in the first account – conspiracy to start a war. I remained silent, not objecting and not confirming anything. “It says here you were jailed once again, in the beginning of 1935 as well?”
“Yes, I was. I was released from jail soon after, since the term that I had already spent in jail in 1934 covered the sentencing for being a member of the illegal SS.” I stole a quick glance at Göring, who nodded slightly at me, without anyone noticing. I remembered the words he had told me not too long ago: If I were you, I would deny everything and hope for a miracle. I looked at Colonel Amen again and nodded. “Yes, only that charge I was found guilty of. Not the Dollfuss assassination. I had nothing to do with that, and even my own government found me innocent on that account.”
“Defendant, how about your promotion to SS-Standartenführer the following year? What caused such a high step in rank all of a sudden, if you weren’t doing anything prominent, according to your own words? Or are you insisting that your quick promotion was purely incidental and had nothing to do with your involvement in the coup-d’état in 1934?”
“I cannot possibly explain that, sir.” I kept lying to his face with my most disarming smile. “I can only say that you should have asked my superiors that, but unfortunately for all of us present here, they’re both dead.”
“Well, defendant, let’s proceed to your involvement in the Anschluss of 1938 then.”
Let’s see if you’ll be able to deny your involvement or responsibility with this one, his eyes said as he shot a glare at me.
I could hardly restrain myself from shrugging nonchalantly. Oh yes, I will, Herr Prosecutor. I’d learnt my lesson by then and was much smarter and far more cool-headed than in 1934. I knew that I had no way out of the Party or the SS, so I taught myself how to drink more and care less. I had become indifferent and smart by the time of the Anschluss, Herr Amen, so go ahead and try to prove something. Not a single thing you’ll dig out, sir, not a single thing.
_______________
Germany – Austria, May 1937
Not a single thing could be lost or unaccounted for, Reichsführer kept repeating, while handing me Reich orders and money for the Austrian SS. I rolled my eyes behind his back while he was digging inside his desk, probably in one of the hidden compartments that he kept secret even from his own colleagues. On the other hand, he didn’t have any colleagues. He had subordinates and the Führer, and stood perfectly between the two; suspicious, quiet and mistrustful even to his own colleagues. Sorry, subordinates. The thought of just meeting his favorite one, the snobby head of the almighty SD, Reinhard Heydrich, made me press my jaws together against my will.
“Still riding trains between the two countries, Standartenführer?” he asked me sweetly, snuggling a black folder against his new black uniform. I wondered how many of
those he had at home and how much time he spent in front of the mirror to put every single hair in a perfect way with such obsessive meticulousness. “How is the luggage compartment now, cold probably, without any heating?”
In my vivid imagination I tore his belt off and strangled him with it, then picked his eyes out and stuffed them into his throat. On second thought maybe I should do it in a different order. In reality the scene I had just played out before my eyes, with such pleasure, allowed me to keep my composure and not actually lash out against this horse-faced, ghostly-white apparition, so perfectly Aryan with his platinum hair, icy blue eyes and milky skin, making him sickening to look at. The Führer loved him though, or so I heard. Another reason to hate Heydrich even more. Unlike our perfectly Aryan golden boy I wasn’t granted the honor of reporting to the Führer, and Heydrich enjoyed rubbing my face into it every single time we met.
“I have my flask to keep my company, Gruppenführer. But I appreciate your concern.” I nodded at him with the fakest courtesy I could possibly manage and headed to Himmler’s anteroom, when Heydrich called me out with his annoying high-pitched voice once again.
“Standartenführer?”
I stopped in the middle of the hallway, counted to five and turned around with the most disgusting, overly sweet smile plastered on my face.
“Yes, Gruppenführer?”
“You can report to me if Reichsführer is busy, you know,” he chirped, savoring every word. “Technically, I’m your superior as well.”
“Exactly, Gruppenführer. Only technically. The subject matter in my report is for Reichsführer’s eyes only, and none of his subordinates,” I stressed the word just to see him wince uncomfortably, “are allowed to see it. You included.”
The Austrian: A War Criminal's Story Page 24
