by P. G. Glynn
This was a cry heard more and more frequently, especially in Germany, and Otto detested feeling so powerless to change things. Hitler and Ludwig were riding roughshod and he could not stop them. Never had he known such impotence.
Ilse Stein was right about leaving belongings behind and starting afresh somewhere else. Buildings and possessions – well, these were of no real consequence. If he had learned anything in recent months it was that people mattered infinitely more than bricks and mortar could ever matter. All the same, Schloss Berger was Otto’s home and Hugo’s heritage. And Ludwig was making it plain that he planned to requisition the castle just as soon as Hitler reached Bohemia on his drive east. He said that Onkel Franz had suggested it, which of course was balderdash. But the prospect of Nazi jackboots crossing her threshold and walking without hindrance where Mama had lived was so offensive to Otto that he felt like a traitor for even considering deserting Schloss Berger.
Run, though, he must. Better to be a traitor than to be dead. He was not ready to die yet. Now that the chips were down and Ludwig wielded by far the most power, Otto must concede defeat to his brother although he wouldn’t be altogether defeated if he put himself beyond Ludwig’s reach. Why he might even be seen as the victor!
He had rung Marie from Marinka’s, telling her of his decision to bring Hugo home with him from this visit … and she had told him that she was already packing. He might have known she would be. She too would have seen Goering’s threat as the thin end of the wedge and have been alarmed by the closure of Salzburg’s border. He could just picture her shaking her head and saying that Otto and Rudolf had picked a fine time to be away on one of their jaunts. Well, he could not deny that there might have been better timing for his last taste of Marinka’s cooking …
Mozart was being played on the wireless as they dined, making a pleasant change from the news bulletins that had been punctuating weekend programmes, each sounding more ominous than the last.
Against the background of music from DON GIOVANNI Marinka observed to Otto: “So, you are going! You will have considered, I hope, possible reprisals.”
He said uncomfortably: “For the first time in my life I’ve lost sleep. It hasn’t been easy, trying to decide what’s best for the family.”
“It’s best that you go,” Rudolf told him. “There’s no doubt in my mind that unless you go you will die. The wonder is that you aren’t already dead, except that Ludwig has enjoyed prolonging the cat and mouse game he’s been playing. It hasn’t suited him, yet, to implement his many threats … but you’re on borrowed time and I’m relieved that you’ve made your decision.” Frowning across the table at Marinka he said to her: “Don’t ruin the little time my brother and I have left together. It has always been Otto that Ludwig is after. I can handle him … and it’ll be good for me to have the temporary responsibility of Schloss Berger. I’m not at risk in the way Otto is.”
“We shall all be at risk if … ”
It was ten minutes to eight, Otto noticed from the carriage clock on the mantelpiece as the music abruptly ceased. There was total silence and then, over the crackling airwaves, came the unmistakable voice of Kurt von Schuschnigg announcing with a tangible air of defeat: “President Miklas asks me to tell the people of Austria that we have yielded to force. Because under no circumstances, not even in this supreme hour, do we intend that German blood shall be spilled, we have instructed our army to retreat without offering any resistance in the event of an invasion and to await further decisions. Thus, I take leave of the Austrian nation with a German farewell which also expresses my heartfelt wish: ‘God save Austria!’” Silence reigned again for a long moment and then old Baron Hammerstein-Equord, the Commissioner for Cultural Propaganda, suddenly shouted into the microphone: “Long live Austria! Today I am ashamed to be a German.”
His voice was at once extinguished by the strains of the national anthem but few hearing Haydn’s stirring music could doubt that the intrepid Baron had just booked himself into a concentration camp.
“Ah, Du Mein Oesterreich!” breathed Otto. Then he said, experiencing an acute sense of dread: “So, our poor little Austria is now in Ludwig’s and Hitler’s hands: God bless her!”
“And we have no time to waste,” Rudolf told him, rising immediately to his feet as Hugo looked on anxiously. “I only hope and pray that you have not pushed your luck too far … and that we have not left our departure too late.”
+++++
Later that same evening – Sunday, March thirteenth – Ludwig Berger met with Heinrich Himmler, Chief of the Schutzstaffeln – the elite of the Sturmabteilung – and of the Geheimes Staatspolizeiamt, better known as the Gestapo. Shortly after the meeting Hitler’s trusty servant began putting his own ‘Operation Otto’ in hand. He did so with relish, having had to wait far too long for his Armageddon.
+++++
Marie had heard the news of Anschluss while dining with Anna and Ferdinand. And she felt deeply sorry for Austria, whose Nazis were described by Ludwig and his like as Schlappschwaenze. If Ludwig could refer to an Austrian Nazi as a limp penis, how would he treat the rest of the populace? As to the Jews he offensively referred to as ‘Kikes’ …
While she had mixed feelings about going home and leaving Carla behind, she knew it was right to go. She also knew that she would be leaving her child’s little bones, not her soul, which had been freed long ago. Realistically, Czechoslovakia was bound to follow Austria and fall to Hitler. Krebs and Jung, as well as Ludwig, had been working toward its dissolution ever since being ‘elected’ to the Reichstag two years back. And it was Kasper, another Nazi extremist – and old crony of Krebs – who had started the recent revolt against Henlein within the Sudeten German Party that had been taken by the intelligentsia to signify that Berlin was losing sympathy with Henlein’s comparative moderation. When Berlin lost patience absolutely anything could happen, as Austria now knew to her cost. Doubting any early return to Bohemia, Marie had packed linen and silver as well as more personal belongings.
“I hope the men won’t be much longer,” said Anna. “The sooner you are on your way, the better.”
“Are you so anxious to be rid of me?”
“You’re such a tease!” There was nobody else in the world like Marie: nobody more beautiful or less fearful or a better friend to a fat, characterless, scared someone. “You know as well as I do that nothing could be further from the truth. But I fear for you.”
“I know you do … although there’s no need.”
“You’re always so brave about everything! I often wish I had half your courage.”
“I’m not necessarily as courageous as I seem,” Marie told her, sipping a Slivovitz reflectively. “I’m banking everything on Anschluss keeping Ludwig very busy. With any luck he’ll be too involved in his and Hitler’s acquisition of Austria at present to think of Otto … and by the time he does think of him we’ll be long gone.”
“I’m sure you’re right. You usually are. I’m going to miss you, Marie. In fact, I feel as if I’m missing you already.”
“Will you excuse me?” asked Ferdi, aware that Anna was close to tears. “I’ll be back in time to say my ‘goodbyes’, but there’s someone I must see briefly.”
“The someone being a ‘she’?” asked Marie.
“Naturally!” he answered with a smile like his father’s. “I shan’t be long … and my absence will enable you two ladies to indulge in some sentimentality.”
When he had left the small salon Marie said: “Ferdi has matured well, hasn’t he?”
“He has,” Anna agreed. “And it’s odd, but since he’s been living in Schloss Berger I’ve come to look upon him almost as the son I never had. Marinka wouldn’t think much of that!”
“I doubt she thinks much of it that Rudolf spends more time with you than with her these days. Things are better for you than they were, aren’t they, Anna?”
“Yes, they are … and I’m grateful. But men as companions are different from women. I sha
ll miss our chats, Marie … and our understanding. I so hope it won’t be too long before you can come back.”
“And I hope that you won’t suffer too much in my absence,” Marie responded, clasping Anna’s hand. “As for … ”
“Carla? While it’s within my power, her coffin will never lack flowers, I promise.”
“That’s a great comfort. Thank you … and bless you, dear Anna!”
+++++
They were almost ready to leave Schloss Berger and it looked as if Hugo would have to leave without seeing Helga. It had been bad enough leaving Prague like a thief in the night, without a word to Lukas or Boris, but this was worse. Hugo could not imagine any worse thing.
He did not want to go to Britain. He belonged in Bohemia, with Helga, and it felt quite wrong to be quitting his country without even an ‘Auf Wiedersehen’ to anybody. Helga would see his departure as the act of a weakling, which, come to think of it, was how she had always seen him. But he wasn’t weak – was he? He was simply doing the right thing by Papa, who had to quit if he was not to be killed by Onkel Ludwig.
As it was still the middle of the night, Hugo could not very well go to Helga’s home and ask to see her. That wouldn’t please either her or her grandfather. He could write her a note, he supposed, but could not begin to say in writing what he wanted to say face to face. He couldn’t propose in a note, asking her to wait for him … or follow him to England. Oh, if only he were older … if only he were of an age enabling him to stay here without Mama and Papa!
Perhaps something would happen to keep his little family here. Perhaps an Austrian, outraged at the way Hitler had taken Austria over, would stick a knife in him and in Onkel Ludwig. Perhaps …
“Have you a kiss for your Tante Anna?”
As if in a dream Hugo saw the pursed lips coming towards him and for one horrible instant he was back outside Tante Lenka’s suite, a small boy again about to be kissed against his every instinct. Catapulting back to the present, he felt himself clasped to his aunt’s bosom and then it was Dora who was clasping him. There was no believing any of this. It was so unreal … so much as if he were dreaming. He was leaving yet everything in him screamed that he needed to stay in Herrlichbach.
“God speed!” said Ferdi, offering his hand and shaking Hugo’s firmly. “We’ll be playing chess again before we know it … and I warn you that I’ll be on a winning streak!”
Smiling weakly, Hugo told him: “You’ll need to be.” It suddenly struck him that it was Monday morning already and that Ferdi was bound to be seeing Helga at the factory before long. “Would you give someone a message for me?”
Ferdi seemed to hesitate before saying: “Natuerlich!”
Conscious of the lack of privacy as his family bustled about ensuring that nothing had been forgotten and that Onkel Rudolf’s car was ready for the journey, Hugo said: “Please tell my friend Helga that I’ll be writing to her. She … she works at the factory.”
“I’ll tell her to expect a letter.”
He had hardly been home from Prague for five seconds and now was off again, without any idea when he would return. Waves were given and received as they drove from the castle courtyard like miscreants and he found that tears were trickling down his cheeks. “Try to sleep,” said Mama, who was sitting with him on the back seat of Onkel Rudolf’s big Mercedes. “It’s turning into a long night. You might be more comfortable with your head on my shoulder.”
If only he didn’t feel so empty! He would give anything to feel as he used to feel, before Anschluss and before he knew that he had to leave without Helga. “How far is Budapest?” he asked, knowing they were heading for Hungary because it was in the opposite direction from Germany.
“We’ll be hours yet,” said Papa, sounding almost as bereft as Hugo felt. “Having a sleep is a good idea after all the excitement of tonight. It’s Onkel Rudolf we must feel sorry for, having to stay awake for still more driving. Let the rest of us all close our eyes … and dream of how it will feel to fly!”
Hugo had never flown before, although Mama and Papa had, and thinking of the flight to London took his mind off Helga for a short while as he wondered for the umpteenth time precisely how big, heavy aeroplanes ever left the ground and climbed to the skies. Perhaps he would have a chance to go to the cockpit and speak to the pilot, asking him about propellers and internal combustion engines and Sir George Cayley’s work on aerodynamics. Hugo had learned about Sir George at school and marvelled that, back at the beginning of last century already, he had had such an understanding of the principles of heavier-than-air flight. How sad it was that he had not lived long enough to see the first powered flight in an aeroplane! How sad life was sometimes, parting people who did not want to be parted and …
Even through his closed lids, Hugo was suddenly conscious of a strong light. He heard Onkel Rudolf curse and, opening his eyes, saw a huge black 320-bhp Duesenberg roaring past from behind. Despite the snowy conditions Papa and Onkel Rudolf had been averaging 130 kilometres an hour ever since Prague, so whatever speed must the Duesenberg be doing, to overtake at such a rate?
He had hardly had time to ask himself that before the vehicle’s brakes were slammed on, bringing it to an abrupt halt. There might have been a massive collision but for Onkel Rudolf’s skilful roadhandling. A rear searchlight now shone into the Mercedes, all but blinding its occupants.
“Gott im Himmel!” swore Otto as, seemingly in slow motion reminiscent of an old film or a dream, three men from the Duesenberg appeared in front of the searchlight and strode purposefully forward. Two wore the black uniform of SS officers and the third was apparently a Gestapo agent, for he was carrying a sub-machine gun that he pointed ahead of him. He remained by the bonnet of the Mercedes, his gun levelled at the windscreen, while the other two separated, one approaching the driver’s door and the other the front passenger’s.
To his mounting horror Hugo now saw the features of the officer advancing on Papa. There could be no mistaking those goggle-eyes, the curling of those cruel lips. “It’s Onkel Ludwig!” he breathed fearfully.
“Correct,” Ludwig said, having wrenched the passenger door open and stuck his head close to Otto’s. “It is me. Greetings … and what a pretty little scene we have here! You weren’t considering quitting your country, I trust, dear brother.”
42
Things had happened at an alarming rate after that. Looking back, Marie had a mental image of Otto attempting to jest and of then being manhandled by Ludwig who, in seconds it seemed, had dragged him from the Mercedes, bundling him into the Nazi car that had subsequently sped off into the darkness. She reckoned that the image would stay with her forever – perhaps especially the ‘Heil Hitler!’ which issued from Ludwig’s lips after he told her that he had plans for his brother, including top hospitality in Berlin. There had been something so sinister about this that there could be no forgetting it. Now, an hour on from the drama, sitting in Dora’s kitchen with a warming cup of coffee held between her hands and with Hugo and the others looking to her for words of comfort and leadership, she said: “Ludwig won’t win. We won’t let him. We’re still frozen with shock, but once we thaw a bit I know we’ll somehow resolve our problem.”
Hugo asked, his dark eyes wide with fright: “What did Onkel Ludwig mean by ‘hospitality’?”
“I’m not sure, exactly,” Marie said, “although I am sure it’s best not to dwell on such specifics. All our energy needs to be directed toward outsmarting Ludwig … and showing him that he can’t treat his brother, or us, like this.”
“But he has Hitler on his side,” Hugo observed, voicing the thought in all their minds.
“That little lunatic?” Marie queried. “We Bergers are more than a match for him.”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” Rudolf said gloomily, sipping his coffee, “and oh, how I wish we hadn’t left things as late as we did! Had we only set off for Hungary a day or two sooner … ”
“Even an hour would have made a diff
erence,” put in Anna, wringing her hands together. “Jesus Maria, whatever would Mama say if she were here?”
They all stared at each other, loath to imagine Mama’s reaction. The question, though, had brought her into focus and stirred something in Marie’s memory. Functioning as she suddenly was, in a heightened state of awareness, she said: “Dora, wasn’t there once some mention of a letter … ?”
Cook looked blank for a moment, then put a hand to her head. “Mercy me, yes!” It was almost four years since Mama’s death and in the interim Dora had wondered periodically whether she would recognise the right moment to hand the letter over. Now that that moment had arrived it was accompanied by recognition. Ludwig’s misdeeds in Frau Antonin’s absence, increasingly bad though these had been, paled beside him carting off his own brother for torturing in Berlin. “I’ll get it,” she told Frau Otto. “The mistress is a match for Ludwig, that’s for sure.”
When Dora had padded off, muttering, to her room in the servants’ wing, Rudolf asked Marie: “What’s going on?”
“I know very little, except that Mama apparently wrote a letter with the express intention of it solely being given or sent to Ludwig in … appropriate circumstances.”
“What on earth does it say?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Hugo, who had been deep in thought, said: “I remember Omama, almost the last time I saw her, telling me she was about to write a vital letter. When I asked whether I could post it for her she told me it was one letter she hoped would never need posting. Do you suppose … ?”
