by Therese Down
Walter unleashed his temper; leapt to his feet. The brown package and his cap hit the floor. Spittle flecked his lips when he spoke. “It has everything to do with the Reich!” he shouted. “Everything you do, Obersturmführer Muller, has to do with the Reich. If you urinate, it is Reich business! And you will not – do you hear this, Muller? – you will not behave in a way which brings into disrepute the integrity of a Reich officer or… or the conduct of this office. Your wife, Muller, was assessed as seriously ill – she was and is a mental patient.”
Possibly, Karl would later reflect, it was because he realized in that moment Gunther’s evident insanity that he did not smash his fist into that distorted, salivating leer. In any case, a quite irrational calm spread from his chest outwards so that he was able to contemplate Gunther with a level of equanimity. He experienced a sudden peace, not unlike weariness, and sat down once more.
Before Karl’s inscrutable, fearless gaze, Gunther had no choice but to retreat. He smoothed his hair, wiped his mouth. Karl still said nothing.
“So,” Walter said at last, quietly but with great menace, “your precious wife is back where she belongs, in the lunatic asylum.” Still Karl stared at him. Walter’s rage was inflamed anew at the man’s dumb insolence. It seemed all hopes of provoking him to assault were receding. He had begun to imagine shooting Muller in self-defence. In frustration, Walter shouted, “And stay away from my wife, Muller!” But he regretted the words as soon as they issued from his mouth.
“What?” Karl’s face crumpled into an incredulous grimace. “Is this what this is about? You think… Oh, my goodness. You think I am having an affair with your wife? Is that it, Oberführer Gunther?” Karl allowed himself an incredulous smirk; could not help enjoying the look of horrified embarrassment on Walter’s face, the hot blush that rose from his throat to his face. “This is revenge for an affair I am not having. Is that right?”
Walter saw in an instant what a catastrophic blunder he had made. If Muller complained about this incident and cited personal revenge rather than defence of the Reich as a motive for Walter’s behaviour, Walter would be a laughing stock and all credibility with Brandt and Himmler would be lost. Worst of all, perhaps, Muller might escape censure.
“Actually, Muller…” Walter tried hard to sound nonchalant and regain ground. He turned his back on Karl, walked towards the door, turned and walked back quickly to lean heavily on Karl’s desk. “I couldn’t give a crap about… that. But you have compromised the work of this office by acting dishonourably; by countermanding the assessment of a Reich psychiatrist and a T4 doctor, without consent or… or consultation. Dr Brandt has been made aware – by the psychiatrist. Concentrate on that, Muller.” But Walter’s tirade was now a lot less convincing. “Oh, and another thing, you have not been doing your job, Officer Muller.”
“Oh?”
“No, you have not!” Walter’s face was crimson. Sweat had broken out in beads on his brow and along his top lip. A noticeable tremor made his head unsteady. “Indeed, I have had to address your tardiness in reorganizing the drugs consignment to the children’s wards, following a complaint that no paperwork had been received.”
“I see.” Karl was now perfectly calm. “No one has said anything to me. The bombing which destroyed the drugs was only last Sunday – less than a week ago. I have been busy with other things, Officer Gunther. But again, forgive me –” Karl’s tone was one of feigned respect – “I am a little confused about why you have been monitoring my work quite so… personally. Do I report directly to your office now, sir?”
“You, Muller…” Walter stood upright, trembling with wrath and embarrassment, “you report to any T4 officer who is your superior. Is that clear?”
Karl nodded his understanding, all the while meeting Walter’s eyes.
Walter retrieved his cap from the floor, replaced it on his head, stooped again for the package. “Your attitude is insolent, Muller. You may not be as clever as you think you are, so be careful. Be very careful.”
Still Karl regarded Walter, watched him struggle to regain composure. There was a long pause while both men simply looked at each other, then, as if he had waited until he was calm enough to deliver the words, Walter spoke again.
“I have one last thing to say to you, Muller. I mentioned the crematoria at Mauthausen before.” At this, Karl’s confidence deserted him and he lowered his eyes. “Well, the specifications have come through to my office.” Walter threw the large brown envelope from where he stood, halfway across the office, onto Karl’s desk. “From Reichsführer Himmler’s office on Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Reichsführer Himmler is due to visit Mauthausen on Monday. You need to have the plans ready by the time he goes. You will be going on the same day. The details are in that envelope.”
“I am to have the plans finished, and go to Mauthausen, by Monday?”
“Yes, Muller, that is correct. You have the weekend to work on them. On Monday morning, you must take them to Mauthausen, where you will meet with Reichsführer Himmler. You will go no later than eight a.m. to the NW 7 office, IG Farben, and sign for a consignment of 260 kilos of prussic acid and potassium cyanide, and you will travel with the driver of the delivery lorry to Mauthausen. The driver will be waiting for you in the loading bay. Is this clear?”
“Prussic acid?” Karl was trying to keep up with these instructions, make sense of what he was being asked to do. He could not link any of this with what had just happened.
“This is called doing your job, Muller. Remember that? You are to go to Mauthausen with the consignment. You hand over your plans for the crematoria, and also you will be part of a test of this substance to be conducted on the premises. You will report on its efficacy, Muller. That is your job too, remember?”
Walter, now composed once more, regarded Karl with cold hatred.
“Not to your taste, Muller?”
“I am merely trying to remember my orders,” returned Karl quietly.
“Don’t bother,” came the sneering retort. “They are all in the envelope. Just make sure you are at IG Farben no later than eight to pick up that load. Do not be late. Reichsführer Himmler hates lateness.” And having delivered the actual order that was his legitimate reason for visiting Karl’s office, Walter raised his hand slowly to his cap and uttered the words “Heil Hitler”.
Karl sighed and just as slowly returned the salute but not the salutation. This treachery too Walter intended to report to Himmler before Muller arrived in Mauthausen the following Monday.
Karl hated the very idea of returning to Brandenburg hospital, and yet he always knew he would have to return if he was going to discover whether Agnette Gunther had been saved. It was hard not to suspect that somehow his revelation to Hedda of her daughter’s fate was responsible for the special interest and evident hatred Gunther had developed for him. But if it were so, why had Gunther not had him arrested? Possibly, Gunther’s personal antipathy was simply because he suspected Karl and Hedda of conducting an affair. Karl had to take the risk.
When he arrived at Brandenburg hospital once more, neither Agnette nor Hedda was in the side room he had visited previously. Karl checked the other rooms along the corridor, then resorted to enquiring of the staff.
Knocking on, then entering, the office door, he found Matron attending to paperwork. She looked instantly irritated that she had been disturbed and barely altered her expression when she beheld Karl. The matron recognized him immediately and also recalled her instructions from Dr Heinze to report his appearance and behaviour on the ward, and particularly any interaction with or interest in Frau Gunther.
“Yes, Officer Muller, may I help you?”
“I am looking for Agnette Gunther. Reich business,” he replied.
“Indeed. Well, I’m afraid Agnette Gunther is no longer in the hospital.” Then she added, looking directly at him, “I am surprised you do not know.”
Karl looked momentarily perturbed. “Well, you have the advantage, Matron. I have been very bu
sy. Please, enlighten me and then I can cease to disturb you.”
Matron sighed, turning in her chair to face him. “Dr Heinze himself signed the release papers allowing the child to go home this morning – orders directly from the Reich Office.” She raised an eyebrow at Karl’s evident surprise. “She will be cared for at home by her mother.”
Karl tried to look as if it had been foolish of him to forget such a detail. “Of course!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “I had forgotten. The paperwork is on my desk. There is just so much to take care of. Thank you, Matron. Apologies for the interruption.” And he pushed the door open fully, proceeded as boldly as he could into the office, and without seeking her permission, went into the records room that adjoined it and shut the door. He was hoping Agnette’s file had not yet been moved. He needed Hedda’s address. Karl had just managed to locate and replace the file, having noted the address, when the matron opened the door.
“Is everything all right, Officer Muller?”
“Of course everything is all right, Matron. Is there a reason why it should not be?” He regarded her irritably, walked past her and through the office to the ward.
Five minutes later he was in his car and heading towards Oranienburg, praying that Walter Gunther would not be at home. Within the same period of time, Matron had dialled the number of Oberführer Gunther’s office in Berlin and asked to speak to him directly. Within moments, Emilie had put her through to Walter. “Officer Muller has been here,” she said. “He asked for your daughter by name, Oberführer Gunther. He went into the records room. I don’t know what he was doing in there, but he has left now.”
Walter, who had been brooding on his faux pas with Muller since it happened and was becoming increasingly self-reproachful that he had lost his opportunity to compromise and arrest Muller, was effusive in his gratitude for this most interesting information. He congratulated Matron on her zeal in service of the Reich. Matron smiled to herself as she replaced the telephone on its cradle; it was not possible to attain a higher accolade.
It was late afternoon when Karl knocked on Hedda’s door. He had waited for a long time, watching the house. Gunther’s Daimler was not in the drive. Finally, though he could not be certain Walter was not home, Karl got out of his car and walked up to the front door. If Gunther was in, Karl would simply ask quietly to meet with Hedda in Walter’s presence and ascertain that there had never been an affair. He would claim effrontery and distress that a superior officer had levelled at him such a dishonourable implication.
In the event, no such stratagem was necessary. Marguerite answered the door and then showed in Karl, leaving him waiting in the hall while she fetched Hedda. Hedda was shocked to see Karl Muller, but also could not hide her elation. Her eyes filled with tears of joyous gratitude.
“Karl! You really should not be here,” she whispered loudly, “but come…” She beckoned him into a room off the hall and shut the door quietly. “Oh, Karl, do you know? Do you know Agnette is home? It is just wonderful, and it would never have happened without you. Thank you, thank you so much! I can never repay you for what you have done.” Then she was suddenly earnest, came forward and took one of his hands in hers. “If you had not told me about…” she looked warmly into his eyes – “then my little girl… well, she would be…” Hedda could not finish.
Karl smiled at her, covered her hands with his remaining free one and pressed them affectionately. “I am overjoyed for you, Hedda,” he said warmly, then he gently pulled away from her, “but I have to ask you something.” She nodded, her eyes inviting him to proceed. “Please, how did this happen? Do you know how it came about that Agnette was released?”
“Oh, yes,” Hedda started, then checked herself, for she remembered how she had sworn to keep secret the confidence Karl had entrusted to her; that he had said his life depended upon her discretion. She blushed. How could she explain? Then she instantly justified her actions by reminding herself that her daughter was upstairs and safe. That was all that mattered. And Karl, well, he was here, wasn’t he? Her father had no idea who had alerted her to Agnette’s fate.
“Karl, I am truly sorry,” she began, “but I had to do something. I know you promised you would help, but how could I be certain you would be able to do it, and in time to save her? I had to do something.”
“What did you do, Hedda? Who did you speak to?” Karl’s voice was calm and non-threatening. He understood her desperation to save her daughter. He just needed to know the extent of the danger he was now in and whether he had time to do what he was planning.
“Well – please, I…” Hedda tried to think through all the implications. Would her father be in trouble now?
“Did you speak to Walter?”
“No! No, Karl, I never said a word to Walter – you have my word on that. Walter is a monster! I don’t know how I am going to manage to keep my mouth shut long enough to…” She stopped, looked at Karl, her fear evident in her eyes. “He beats me,” she blurted. “He will certainly kill me if he finds out I have told anyone of what he did.”
Karl did not look shocked, but it was more important than ever to know if Walter knew he had been discovered in his betrayal of Agnette. “Who did you tell, Hedda? Please.” Karl smiled at her. “Please. I am not angry. I don’t blame you for doing whatever you could to save Agnette. I would do likewise. But I have to know who you spoke to. You see –” and he faltered, for he had no wish to add to Hedda’s burden or cause her to lose her nerve and so denounce herself to Walter – “Walter paid me a visit today – this morning. He seems unusually angry.”
Hedda looked instantly terrified. “I swear, Karl. I swear to you upon my life!”
He raised his hand to stop her, shook his head. “I believe you, Hedda,” Karl soothed. “I believe you have said nothing to Walter. I believe you have not betrayed me.” He smiled again. “But he has done something… something which makes me think he is more than… suspicious.”
“What? What has he done, Karl? Why was he angry with you?” Hedda had not given much thought to how Ernst could have helped to effect Agnette’s release. She knew well enough that he had colleagues in the government; on that she had been relying. But one thing of which she had been certain was that her father had no idea who had given her information about Agnette, and if Ernst had spoken with Walter, well, surely he would have said something to her? He would surely have warned her? It was odd that Walter had not come home at all this week, but… Gradually the likelihood that Walter had determined to discover how his daughter had been saved seemed entirely likely. Now, she feared for her father.
“It seems he has… taken pains to be involved in getting my wife sent to a mental asylum.”
“What?” Hedda felt dizzy with the horror of it all. “Oh, no, no, no.” She found the nearest chair in the room and sat down.
“My wife became very depressed before Christmas. She was not well anyway, as I told you, but I had been away for such a long time… and, well, she… Well, she…” Karl fought the emotion that threatened to stop his speech. “She tried to commit suicide, and it was too much for her parents to cope with. She was assessed and put into an asylum in Leipzig. I went down and took her out of it, soon after Christmas. You know what can happen to people who don’t get well quickly enough…” He looked at Hedda and she closed her eyes, nodded. “The great pity of it all is that she – Greta – actually wrote me a letter a couple of weeks ago, saying she felt so much better…”
He had to stop. The weight in his chest was almost a physical sensation. He felt that if he allowed himself to sink under it, he might never get up. Only the thought of seeing Greta once more sustained him. “Well, it seems your husband and a certain doctor he works with took it upon themselves to have Greta readmitted. Now…” Karl was again stirred by anger. “Now I fear the worst. Walter came to my office this morning and took considerable pleasure in telling me of Greta’s reincarceration.”
“But Karl –” Hedda was on her feet, her voice earnest
and pleading – “how could he have found out it was you? Why would he be trying to hurt you?” But even as she asked the question, it occurred to her that Walter was cruel and arrogant enough to destroy a man he only suspected of deceiving him with his wife.
“Hedda, tell me, please,” asked Karl quietly once more. “Who did you tell about Agnette?” When she looked away from him, shook her head, he added, “I shall not betray your trust. You have my word. And if I did, think how you could betray mine!”
“I spoke to my father,” said Hedda flatly. “I drove to Berlin the day after you told me and I told my father that my husband was planning the death of my child.”
Karl frowned and tried to imagine how this had resulted in the eminent Dr Heinze, a medical director of T4, signing Agnette’s release. “Who is your father, Hedda?”
“He must not get into trouble!” she declared.
“Hedda, I have given you my word. Who is he?”
“He’s no one,” asserted Hedda confidently, “just a chemist, but he is on the board of IG Farben and I know he works with some important people and I was desperate – you understand that – so it was worth a try. Anything was worth trying, Karl, to save my child, but I didn’t want other people to get hurt.”
“A chemist? On the board of IG Farben?” Karl repeated the information, struggling at once to remember Hedda’s maiden name.
“Yes,” she went on. “Like I said, he’s on the board, so I wondered if he could, you know, exercise some discreet influence or something. And he did! The next day, Agnette was home.”
“What is his name, Hedda? May I know?” Karl’s voice was very calm now, his tone gentle.
Hedda looked into his kind, dark eyes, thought of how he had risked everything to help her and how he had spoken with such love of his wife, and she decided to trust him. “His name is Ernst Schroeder.” Karl closed his eyes. “What is the matter, Karl?” Hedda’s tone was alarmed once more. “You cannot know him?”
