by P. G. Glynn
No, it could not, because he knew … and because there was no route back to pre-knowledge. He could never again live in ignorance of his true origin … could never pretend even to himself that he was the son of that wonderful woman.
Whose son was he? Numbly, Ludwig lifted his birth certificate and stared at it. Under ‘Mother’ was written the name Gerda Vlasov: the name of a stranger. He knew nothing about her and had no wish to know anything. She was just a servant. What else needed mentioning?
Tearing the document up, he put the pieces into the breast pocket of his uniform: the uniform Mama had loathed so much. Would he have worn it, had he been her real son? Both Otto and Rudolf were pacifists. Did they take after her, while he took after Papa and that Vlasov bitch? This seemed likely and Ludwig felt as if he were about to be sick.
But he must try to think. Mama had asked something of him. What was it? Scanning her letter, he checked. Oh yes, she had asked the cuckoo in the nest to remember certain things! She had asked him to remember the kind of mother she had been … and she had gently hinted at the kind of life that would have been his had she not taken him under her wing. Horror of horrors, he would have been seen to be illegitimate and would beyond question have been brought up far from Schloss Berger and its attendant privileges. Indubitably he owed Mama hugely for her charity.
And now she was calling in the debt, asking his mercy for her beloved son. Could he justify denying her wish, bearing in mind that if he killed Otto he would be worthless in her eyes?
Ludwig wanted to be worthy … needed desperately to be.
Dear God – Otto was not dead already, was he?
43
“I swear by God this holy oath, that I will serve the leader of the German Reich and Volk, Adolf Hitler, the Supreme Commander of the Army, with absolute obedience and, as a brave soldier, will be prepared at any time to risk my life for this oath.”
Otto was paying a high price for his life. He paid it in a voice weakened by torture to just a whisper … paid it marvelling that his abhorrence of Hitler could have been outstripped by his need to live. This need surpassed all else, even his disgust with himself for swearing allegiance in effect to the brother he despised beyond words, beyond measure.
He would live, if his wounds and weakness permitted, in order to be reunited at some stage with Marie. But he would be no asset to the Nazi Party. To suit his own ends he would pay lip service to Ludwig and Hitler, but beneath his Nazi uniform would beat a heart believing in freedom and democracy. He would always believe in these and would find a way, sooner or later, to exhibit his belief.
Meanwhile he was intrigued. “Why,” he asked Ludwig hoarsely, “did you give me choices instead of just killing me?”
“I have my reasons.”
They were still in the torture chamber, with the map of Russia charting Ludwig’s future path for him, and yet Otto was conscious of a distinct shift in his brother. The man who had returned here in obvious panic was, oddly, a different species from the one who had left hours earlier. That man, the torturer, had been cocksure and despotic whereas this man seemed almost to be displaying vulnerability. Otto must be hallucinating since never before in his life would he have described Ludwig as vulnerable. Or was he for some reason seeing through that thick skin to the milksop within? “I’m sure you have,” Otto responded haltingly with the echo of a grin. “Perhaps your twisted mind decided that seeing me fight on your side would be a better revenge than seeing me die.”
“I shan’t see … ” Ludwig had spoken involuntarily. Now he held himself in check, telling Otto: “That is, I’m settling a debt. I’d happily finish your pathetic existence but for my indebtedness.”
“To whom?”
“You must be mad if you think I’d divulge that.” Ludwig’s face contorted as he wrestled with his conflicting emotions and overwhelming hatred toward Mama’s true son, who took his position and good fortune as no more than his due and who at the end had won. “Let’s just say that the cuckoo’s day of reckoning has come … and that the nest was never big enough for both of us. At least there’s a measure of comfort in the thought of you as a turncoat, fighting for my cause – Hitler’s and mine. Not that I ever doubted your cowardice. You were yellow-bellied from the day you were born and I knew you could be counted on to choose life above death, even if living meant invading Czechoslovakia as one of the Nazis you always professed to abominate.”
Too weak and too bemused to retaliate or to argue, Otto had just one question: “Who are you calling a cuckoo?”
Ludwig smiled wryly, tears moistening his eyes. “Your ignorance of certain salient facts might have saved me, but for my pride and Goering’s prying. As things are, however … ” He broke off there, ending: “Bad luck to you, brother, in all your future endeavours. Heil Hitler!”
+++++
He had done his duty by Mama. Which was how he still thought of her. The knowledge that she was not his mother was as yet too new to accept. How he wished …
But it was no use wishing things had been different. They were as they were and nothing could change the fact that Otto was Mama’s beloved son whereas Ludwig was a bastard, borne by a Berger servant. He could not live with such a burden.
His sole recourse was oblivion. Nothing else made sense. His whole life had been a lie. Far from being a man of substance and value, he was in fact someone seen – with good reason - as a caricature.
How Hermann Goering must be laughing at him and how the whole Nazi Party would soon start laughing! Yes, he was a figure of fun and once the Reichsmarschall had done his dirty work there would be nowhere to hide from all the jibes. His life would become an endless nightmare, were he to choose to stay alive.
Fortunately Hitler had seen the funny side of Otto Berger being forced to fight for the Third Reich and had agreed that it was better for him to fight than die. Ludwig’s rapport with Adolf was surely real and not, as Goering had implied, a cynical exercise on the Fuehrer’s side. Well, if Hitler’s respect for him was dependent on the funds Ludwig provided …
There would be no further funds and there was just one thing still to be done. He had made provision for Lenka, not of course telling her that he was a servant’s son. At least he had her love. She loved him because he had been there when she was lost and bewildered and, now that she was back to her former confident self, she had not stopped loving him so far as he knew. He wanted to know no different. He needed to believe that someone had loved him, seeing him as a man of stature – which was how she seemed to see him now that he was an SS officer – and Lenka’s was the only love he could count on … if he could count on it.
His last task was simple. Nothing could be simpler. Ludwig took his Luger from its holster and, after staring blankly at it, put the muzzle into his mouth. Then, with a profound sense of relief, he resolutely squeezed the trigger.
+++++
Marie’s heart sank as the big, burly stranger introduced himself. When he told her that he was Hans Klammer, an official with the Sudeten German Party, she assumed automatically that he was bringing news of Otto. So she was surprised when he said: “You are Frau Ludwig Berger, yes?”
“No,” she answered him, “Lenka is my sister-in-law. Why do you want her?”
They were standing in the vestibule between the front door and the hall, with Rudolf and Anna hovering to hear their visitor state his business. Every ring of the doorbell or telephone was suspenseful until it was established who the caller was and what they wanted. A week had passed since Otto’s abduction and still, despite Herr Beck’s mission in Berlin, they had had no news of him. Frowning as he realised that he was not speaking to the widow, Herr Klammer said: “I cannot answer your question until Frau Ludwig is present!”
Mystified, Marie told him: “But Lenka lives with her husband in Berlin.”
Her visitor tut-tutted impatiently. How typical it was of the Party that he had received only half a message! His brief had been to call on the family at Schloss Berger, telling
them of SS Officer Ludwig Berger’s unfortunate accident and ensuring that his death did not spell the end of a certain arrangement he had had with Hitler. Nobody had told him that the widow lived elsewhere and now he looked an idiot. Gathering his wits he said: “I have more important things to concern myself with than where this person or that person lives. Can we speak somewhere in privacy?”
Rudolf and Anna stayed where they were when Marie led him through to the alcove off the small salon where, it suddenly struck her, Otto and Ludwig often used to sit. How long ago their slanging matches and cat and mouse games seemed now! But she could hear echoes as she invited Hans Klammer to sit down. “Well?” she said then, finding the manner in which he was ogling her offensive.
He arranged his fleshy features into a grimace as he told her: “My, you are a cool customer! It must be obvious to you that I am the bringer of bad news and yet you are so aloof. Am I correct in concluding that you are Frau Otto Berger?”
“You are.”
“Ach so!” He smiled lasciviously, revealing three gold teeth. “I shall be coming to Otto in a minute. First we must address the sad fact that Ludwig has … had a mishap. I am here to inform his family that … he is no longer with us.”
Marie calmly asked: “He’s dead?”
“Yes. I regret to have to tell you that while cleaning his gun he was clumsy … and his clumsiness killed him.”
He looked far from regretful. Marie wondered whether there was any truth in what he was saying, or whether his whole visit was some sort of trick. She asked him: “When was this?”
“Last night.” He noisily cleared his throat. “The Nazi Party will miss him.”
“Him, or his monetary gifts?”
“You are a cynic.”
“With good cause.”
“And you are not bothered about the loss of your husband’s brother?”
“I shall not pretend that to me personally he’s any loss. Let’s speak now about Otto.”
“I decide when the time is right to speak of him. We were speaking of Party funds and of course it is important to guarantee that these are not depleted as a result of … ”
“Mishaps?”
“Exactly! I am glad to see that you understand me.”
“I think I understand you perfectly.”
“You have a sharp perception of the way things work. We wouldn’t want there to be a second … accident in your family, would we?”
“I take it that in order for Otto to be freed … ”
“Let’s be clear that his freedom is not an option. He cannot be bought from the army.”
“From the army?” echoed Marie.
“You are obviously unaware that he has volunteered for the army of the Third Reich, where he will serve our Fuehrer and Supreme Commander, risking his life for him if necessary.”
“There must be some mistake. My husband would far sooner die than … ” Marie saw her error and amended: “I mean, he’s too old to fight in Hitler’s army, isn’t he?”
“If he’s too old for the Fuehrer, then he must be too old for you,” Hans Klammer observed, reaching across and patting Marie’s knee. “I, on the other hand, am a relatively young man and … ”
“ … attractive to some women, I imagine,” she butted in, swiftly re-positioning her legs. “What a pity that my husband and I happen to be devoted to each other and to the principles of monogamy! You were telling me how important it is that Nazi funds aren’t depleted.”
“Yes, indeed! It’s of the utmost importance. For our work to proceed on its appointed course we … ”
“‘We’ in this context being the Nazis or the Sudeten German Party?”
He shrugged. It was by now common knowledge, surely, that Henlein towed the Reich German line. “We are Henleinists, with close ties to Germany, as you must know from Ludwig if not from your own intelligence. I was saying, before you interrupted, that the Fuehrer’s work must be funded without any dips in levels of income.”
“So Otto’s life is at risk unless we pay blood money for him?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. But that’s the gist, isn’t it?”
“You said it. I didn’t. I prefer to think of donations to our cause as a form of … insurance.”
“I see.” Marie saw all too clearly. “And you are happy with this system – you, personally?”
“Everybody who is not an enemy of the Reich is happy with it.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “I trust that you understand me … and that I have your assurance our resources will not suffer as a result of your brother-in-law’s unexpected departure. It is a sad fact that our suffering often has to be passed on to others, especially those whose allegiance to Germany is just pretence.”
“You’re now threatening me?”
“On the contrary, I’m simply helping you to see sense.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth about Ludwig and my husband?”
“By virtue of trust – and my promise that if for any reason Otto Berger should meet with a premature end, I would arrange to have his remains sent here for burial. It is your wish for me to do so with Ludwig’s?”
“No,” Marie told him, “that won’t be necessary. His widow, Lenka, can bury him in Berlin. And, since widow’s weeds wouldn’t suit me, I shall call a family conference to discuss your … request and decide whether it can be met.”
“If it isn’t,” he said, “it will be the worse for you and for them.”
Then, standing abruptly and raising his right arm, he clicked his heels together averring: “Heil Hitler!”
+++++
Hugo had prayed hard for Papa to be safe and for Onkel Ludwig to drop dead and now his prayers had been answered. It had not been wrong, had it, to want an uncle’s death? No, it couldn’t have been or else God would not have taken Onkel Ludwig for Himself. Or had the Devil taken him? This seemed more likely after what Onkel Ludwig did. Hugo knew that for as long as he lived he would never forget seeing the Duesenberg roar past him, nor the blinding light, nor the sight of Onkel Ludwig bundling poor Papa off into the night. Those images would stay with him always, along with the memory of how he had felt at the time. He had felt so frightened. There had been terror in the thought of unimaginable things Onkel Ludwig intended doing to Papa and in the realisation of how brave Papa would need to be. And there had been horror in the knowledge of such hatred between brothers. Perhaps worst of all had been the possibility – or probability, as had seemed more likely – of Papa being lost to Hugo forever. Was it selfish of him to think of himself when he should have been thinking solely of his father? Hugo supposed it was but he could not seem to help his selfishness. He had not realised quite how much he loved Papa until after the Nazis took him off with them.
He must love him even more than he loved Helga since in the past week he had been too preoccupied with Papa to think of her. They were different kinds of love, though, and now that Mama was saying Papa was safe Hugo’s thoughts were flying to Helga again. But what else was Mama saying?
They were all sitting in the kitchen – Mama, Tante Anna, Onkel Rudolf and of course Dora – to discuss the visit from Hans Klammer. Hugo had been up at the farm earlier, when Herr Klammer was here, collecting eggs and milk for Dora and seeing Bobo’s daughter. Bobo had died four years ago, soon after Omama. Back then it had seemed as if everyone Hugo loved was dying, but Bella looked quite a bit like her father so Hugo didn’t feel as if Bobo had gone far.
“It must have been Mama’s letter that did the trick.”
Hugo was jolted as his mother said this. “What,” he asked, “could Omama have written in it?”
Marie looked at Dora, whom she had questioned in depth during the past week, and asked her: “Now that Ludwig is dead, can you see any harm in telling them?”
Cook thought for a bit before answering: “No, I can’t. It was him the mistress was protecting and nobody else. Where he is now – in hell, I reckon – he does
n’t need protection.”
“I agree,” said Marie. “So shall I do the telling or do you want to do it?”
“That’s best left to you,” Dora responded, clearly pleased that she had been consulted.
“Very well. Let me say first that you were obviously a true and loyal friend to Frau Antonin as well as a servant. Had you not been, she would never have entrusted you with her letter to Ludwig, but of course by the time she did so you had already proved your loyalty through steadfastly keeping her secret.” As Dora blushed crimson Marie went on, focusing now on Hugo: “Your Omama was a soft-hearted woman who, as you know well, was especially tender toward young, helpless creatures. Many years ago, when she was expecting a child of her own, she discovered that one of her maids was also expecting. She then made the further discovery that her husband, Antonin, was the father of both babies. That came as a shock, as you can imagine, and she miscarried. The maid, though, went full term and gave birth to a boy. Then she died, didn’t she, Dora?” After cook’s nod, Marie continued: “Mama, being Mama, saw no alternative to taking him under her wing. The boy, you will perhaps have gathered, was Ludwig.”
There were gasps from Anna and Rudolf and one from Hugo, who followed his with: “So Papa and Onkel Ludwig were not proper brothers?”
“No, they weren’t. Dora and I think that your Omama will have told Ludwig of his true origins in her letter and then asked him to repay his debt to her by sparing Papa. Wasn’t it extraordinary of her to keep silent all these years despite the massive provocation he gave her and the Bergers?”
Into the stunned aftermath Dora said: “Frau Antonin was a law unto herself. There was never anybody like her and never will be again. Me, I’d have shown Ludwig the door back when he was born, but then I’m no angel. Well, it’s a weight off my shoulders that he’s had his comeuppance and it’s all known about now, I don’t mind saying. Not,” she added with a bemused expression, “that I should be glad he’s dead.”
