by Pierre Frei
'Verena van Bergen,' Karin suggested. 'Remember?'
'Of course I remember. Right, why not Verena van Bergen? It sounds Aryan and aristocratic. Just what those brown goblins like. Break a leg, my dear.'
A taxi drove Karin to Lehniner Platz. Conrad Jung opened his door, and didn't recognize his visitor. 'May I come in?' she asked.
'Who are you? What do you want?'
She put back the hood, let her cape fall to the floor, and stood straight and tall before him in her pale blue Empire dress. Her shining eyes rivalled the diadem in her hair. 'I ask it not for myself, Sire,' she said in a warm voice. 'I ask it for Prussia.'
He was amazed. Now he knew who she was. 'Karin Rembach, am I right?'
'Verena van Bergen from now on.'
He scrutinized her with admiration. 'Well staged, Verena van Bergen,' he said appreciatively. All the same - why should I give you the part?'
Karin undid a clasp. The dress sank to the floor. She was naked underneath it.
'This is why,' she said with a little smile.
'You're a quick learner. Congratulations on Queen Louise.' Erik de Winter had come back from Vienna to take a bow at the premiere of Conrad Jung's Love and Duty at the Gloria Palast. 'Shall we see each other after the showing?'
'I'm afraid not.' Some instinct warned her against going to the party after the premiere when both her old and her new lover would be there. 'I have an early-morning driving lesson. I've already ordered my car, a wonderful new convertible, black and yellow with spoked wheels. I still can't believe I can afford such things. Please don't be cross, Erik.'
Another time, then.' He was a good loser.
She embraced him, her lips close to his ear. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'Thank you for everything.'
'Take it easy, please, Fraulein Rembach. Let the clutch in slowly. That's right. Light pressure on the accelerator at the same time, treat it like a raw egg.,
The raw egg suggestion didn't quite work, for the driving school car shot abruptly forward and nearly mounted the pavement. Karin was clinging to the steering wheel, but not going straight ahead. The driving instructor calmly put things right. 'There, now take your right foot off the accelerator, left foot down on the clutch again. Keep the clutch pressed down. Now put the car into second gear the way we practised on the dummy model. No, don't look down. Look forward, the way you're going. Good, that's right. Left foot off the clutch, right foot down on the gas. Drive straight ahead. Now, the third and last gear. Clutch, change gear, accelerator.'
An architect called Speer had knocked a breach through the sea of buildings in West Berlin to lay out a street from the Brandenburg Gate to Adolf Hitler-Platz. It was wide enough for marches, parades and thousands of spectators. This was the street where the driving instructor had chosen to practise. Karin rounded the Victory Column and made for the Brandenburg Gate. As long as she could concentrate on steering without the distractions of letting in the clutch and changing gear, she was all right.
'Well done,' said her fellow-pupil from the back seat. 'I'm Isabel Jordan: she told Karin after the driving lesson. She was a slender, dark-blonde woman with grey eyes, taller than Karin and a few years older.
And I'm Karin Rembach.'
'Your first lesson, wasn't it? I've had five already. My husband insists. He says he's tired of driving me to my dressmaker. But really he'd like me to drive him about so that he can study his files on the way to court. He's a lawyer, you see.' Isabel Jordan went on chatting cheerfully. 'What do you do, Fraulein Rembach?'
'I'm a movie actress. I've just ordered my first car.'
'Congratulations. My husband has lots of you movie people among his clients. There he is. Come on, we'll drive you home. Darling, this is Karin Rembach. She's an actress.'
'Verena van Bergen, surely?' Dr Rainer Jordan kissed Karin's hand. 'Conrad Jung's Queen Louise. You're the talk of Babelsberg.'
'It's my stage name,' Karin explained to her new acquaintance.
'So you're a real film star! When does work on the movie start?'
'Next week. Shooting will take almost a year.'
'If the Great Powers don't come to some agreement on Poland we'll be in the middle of a war by then,' Dr Jordan prophesied.
'Don't listen to him. He's a professional pessimist. You must come and have dinner with us some evening soon. I'll call you.'
A guttural voice with an accent that could have belonged to a suburban Viennese pimp issued from the radio set in the dressing room. 'There have been exchanges of fire since 5.45.' It was Friday, 1 September 1939. The German Army had marched into Poland.
'So now we're in the shit and no mistake.' Grethe Weiser turned off the radio. The director had given the popular actress the part of Countess Thann, a lady in waiting who told the young queen home truths in a downto-earth Berlin accent. Karin liked her colleague. She didn't mince her words outside her role either.
'But after all the Poles have done to us ... I mean, even his patience was bound to crack sometime.' Karin spoke in defence of the ruler of the Greater German Reich. Like most people in the country, she knew nothing about the SS men wearing Polish uniforms who had been ordered to attack the Reich transmitter at Gleiwitz near the Polish border, thus manufacturing the final pretext for a war that was inevitable anyway. Plus she was concentrating on her part far too hard to stop and think of such things. 'We'll have peace again in a few weeks' time.'
'That's what you think, sweetie. Once a guy like him gets a taste for something he's in no hurry to stop eating.' Grethe Weiser waved her powder puff, sending powder flying. 'Never mind that now. You and me, we're making a little movie like the good little Reich film folk we are. And I tell you something, sweetie, I don't mind spending a couple of months with you, I don't mind that one bit.'
'So this is our Queen Louise.' Karin noted the Rhineland accent, the admiring look in the intelligent brown eyes, the smooth dark hair, the high, slightly receding forehead, the charming smile that had been tested out on countless women. An immaculately cut, double-breasted suit and a touch of Cuir de Russie completed her host's appearance. Reich Minister Dr Joseph Goebbels was shorter than Karin, but in spite of his deformed foot moved quickly and with elegance. He poured champagne himself. This was a small, intimate party at the Minister's private cinema. Conrad Jung had brought his principal actors to see the preview of the movie. Ten months of strenuous shooting lay behind them.
'Thank you, Minister.' Karin accepted her glass.
That admiring look again. A little too appraising, she thought. 'Now, dear lady, come and sit next to me. I suppose you've seen our friend Jung's work already?'
Only the odd scene on the cutting table.'
'Then this is a premiere for you too, and I can sense that your heart is beating faster. I can't wait. Shall we start?'
An adjutant in the brown Party uniform gave the signal. The wall lights went out. The UfA logo appeared on the screen, and the film began. It was a mixture of courtly splendour, impressive crowd scenes and touching episodes from the life of the young queen. Conrad Jung and his cameraman had given Karin the simple, neo-classical beauty of the real Queen Louise. Her scene with Napoleon, when she begged him to have pity on the people of her country, was the climax of the film. The music rose to a crescendo, and the lights came on again.
Karin kept her head bent as she waited in trepidation for the verdict that would make or break her. There was silence all around. No one dared say a word before the Minister had given his opinion. She glanced at her neighbour out of the corner of her eye. Goebbels picked up his glass, turned it thoughtfully back and forth by the stem and took a small sip, clearly enjoying the tension he was creating.
Finally he turned to her, raised his hands and applauded. A wonderful artistic achievement! My congratulations.' Everyone clapped. Karin breathed a sigh of relief. 'Verena van Bergen, I can see you have a great future before you.'
He kissed her hand, careful to meet her eyes. The attention he was paying her made her unc
omfortable, but she hid it with a radiant smile. 'Thank you, Minister.'
And let me congratulate you too, Conrad Jung, and everyone else involved. A great movie! We'll send it to the Biennale after the final victory. Now that we're in the second year of the war, and our soldiers are fighting in France, we can't expect them or the German people even to contemplate any idea of a French victory and a Prussian defeat. I'm sure you'll agree that such a thing would be treasonable.'
'Yes, indeed - quite right - how far-sighted ...' They never stopped crawling to him.
'What do you think, Frau van Bergen?' There was an ironic twist to Goebbels' mouth.
'I think you should enter the film for Venice next year.'
An uneasy silence fell. Had she ventured to contradict this powerful man?
Goebbels raised his glass to her. 'Your very good health, my dear.' He had understood what she meant at once.
It was draughty in the kitchen. Two window panes had broken during the last air raid, and the cardboard in them was a poor substitute. Karin was grinding coffee. Erik had sent it, along with a pair of silk stockings. He was filming in Paris.
'I don't have any cream. And only one sugar cube,' she called.
'Not surprising now the war's in its fourth year.' Conrad Jung came out of the bathroom, dabbing the last of his shaving foam off his chin. 'Keep the sugar for the horse. You play a brave young estate owner whose husband is fighting at the Eastern Front while she's left at home to deal with Polish and Russian farm labourers, riffraff who sabotage the harvest. The authors wanted you to die a heroic death at the end, but I changed it.'
'Oh, thank you, Conrad. I hate death scenes.'
'Goebbels wants you to play the part. You made a great impression on him as Louise, and he liked your last two films too. He hasn't forgotten you.'
'I'm touched.'
'I'll leave the screenplay with you. He'd like to discuss it with us sometime soon, but he's not expecting me to be able to come. He wants to sleep with you. You've not been added to his collection yet.'
Am I supposed to feel insulted or flattered?' Karin poured coffee.
'It depends what you want.'
'How about you?' She spread a roll with honey for him.
'We haven't seen each other much recently. I'll be at home more often from now on. Lore's expecting our sixth. She's a wonderful wife. And you don't need me any more, you haven't for a long time. Of course we'll still be making movies together.' He went into the bedroom to get dressed. 'Whatever way you decide, it's up to you. Goebbels can do your career a great deal of good - so think about it.'
Nadja Horn was the only person Karin trusted. Nadja would know the right thing to do. Karin parked in Breitenbachplatz and walked the few steps to the S6dwestkorso. The pressure of a bomb blast had knocked the front door of the building off its hinges. She climbed to the first floor and rang the bell. Nadja was in a negligee.
'You must forgive me arriving out of the blue. I need your advice,' said Karin.
'Come on in.' Splinters of glass sparkled on the ivory, matt-lacquered furniture in the drawing room. 'Frieda hasn't cleared up yet,' Nadja apologized. Another window gone. Even cardboard's in short supply. Would you like a sherry?' She always had some little luxury from pre-war days on hand.
'No, thank you. Listen to this.'
'So your lover Conrad Jung is not only leaving you, he's telling you who to sleep with,' Nadja Horn said dryly, summing up what she had just heard. 'Still, that's no reason to feel insulted. Don't forget why you went to bed with him in the first place.'
'You could put it a little more tactfully.'
'Be on your guard with Goebbels. He's short, he's ugly, and he's had a club foot from birth, though he makes out it's a war wound. He compensates for his inferiority complex by making new conquests. And since he's overlord of the movies too, he helps himself lavishly from the cast lists of the UfA, Terra and Tobis studios.'
'Nadja, what should I do?'
'I'd say avoid him, but don't dent his ego in the process. My friend Kurt Hoffmann is shooting a comedy in Prague. You'd be well out of the firing line there.'
A comedy? I don't want to be in some stupid comedy, I want a dramatic, modern role.'
As a blonde Germanic estate owner left to deal with the Eastern scum on her own, shooting down a few of those subhumans in cold blood?' Nadja had read the screenplay. 'The war's lost. You'll have to explain yourself later if you accept a tendentious part like that. Don't be silly. Go to Prague. I'll talk to Hoffmann.'
Karin heard a sound behind her and turned. Erik de Winter was standing in the bedroom doorway. He wore a dressing gown, and looked like one of his own drawing-room comedy characters.
'Erik?'
'I got back from Paris yesterday. General von Choltitz ordered it to be evacuated without a fight. So the most beautiful city in the world still stands. How are you, darling?' He drew her to him and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She smelled Nadja's perfume on his shoulder. All at once she knew that she was still in love with him.
'I didn't know you two had got together recently. Congratulations.'
'Recently? Did you hear that?' Nadja gave her husky stage laugh. 'We were a couple before you ever came along, my dear. With interruptions, I admit. Ultimately a change did us both good, isn't that so, Erik?' It was Nadja's little triumph over the younger woman.
'Well, I must go. Thanks for your advice, Nadja. And thank you very much for the parcel you sent. Erik.'
Her car wouldn't start. Karin tried the choke and the starter in vain. Like other outstanding figures in the world of the arts, she had the coveted red chevron on the number plate indicating that she was allowed to drive a motor vehicle.
'Hello. Fraulein, so the little miracle won't oblige!' A young man grinned at her. He was swinging himself nimbly along on two crutches: his left leg ended just below the hip. He wore a gold Wounded badge on his jacket. 'Let's have a look.' He opened the bonnet, rummaged about inside the engine and called, 'Try starting it now.'
The engine caught, chugging. Karin leaned out of the window. 'What was it?'
'Fuel connection worked loose. I tightened it up for now, but you'll have to get it seen to by a garage or it'll come off again. Hey, don't I know you? Yes, wait, I remember. You're Verena van Bergen. I've seen you in the movies.'
'Nice to be recognized! And what's your name?'
'Paul Kasischke.'
'Pleased to meet you, Herr Kasischke. Come on, get in. Where can I take you?'
'To my mother. She works with the cows.'
It was not far from Breitenbachplatz to Dahlem City Farm, a state property that had survived the merging of the village with the city of Berlin. Karin let the Number 40 tram pass, then turned into the farm and helped her passenger out of the car.
'Got a moment to spare? Ma would just love to meet someone from the movies.'
Karin followed him awkwardly. Her fashionable wedge heels made walking on the cobblestones difficult. It was easier in the cowshed. Six women looked up from the cows they were milking at the elegant apparition in a hat and silk stockings. She didn't fit this setting.
'Ma, this is Verena van Bergen. She gave me a lift and now she'd like to say hello to you.'
Karin offered her hand with unaffected good humour. 'Good day, Frau Kasischke. Your son has been most helpful. My car wouldn't start.'
Frau Kasischke looked her up and down. 'I've seen you in the pictures. Thanks for giving my boy a lift. He can't walk too well. They gave him a nice gold medal, though.' There was no missing the bitterness in her voice.
'I'm really sorry. If there's anything I can do to help ...'
'Maybe the pretty lady from the movies can give us a hand with the milking?' joked one of the women.
'In her smart gloves,' said another.
'Here, hold these.' Karin stripped her gloves off and handed them to Frau Kasischke. Without any embarrassment, she hitched her dress up well above her knees and sat on the milking stool with her legs wide
apart. A steady stream of milk gushed into the bucket.
'What do you know, she's one of us!' someone said, impressed.
Karin stood up. 'Goes to show how easily you can be mistaken, right? Good day, ladies, and many thanks, Herr Kasischke.' She turned the car and drove off. What would become of him after the war?
She heard Nadja saying, 'The war's lost.' Was she right? Should she go and make that comedy in Prague? Conrad's offer was tempting. She had a date with a photographer at three o'clock. There was time for a flying visit to Lore Bruck. A second, independent opinion wouldn't hurt.
'How nice of you to visit your old teacher.' Lore Bruck was touched. 'It's so quiet here now. All our young lovers and future character actors are at the Front. Imagine, Karin, Erwin Meinke from your class is a lieutenant-colonel now. And the girls have almost all been recruited for war work too. But your work is just as important. Now of all times we need actors who can personify the essence of the German nature.'
'That's why I'm here. I want your advice, Frau Bruck. The Minister would like me to take a dramatic role in a movie directed by Conrad Jung, as a German estate owner's wife. Nadja Horn thinks the war's already lost, and if I play a part like that it could count against me later. Would you give me your honest opinion?'
Lore Bruck laughed the warm, motherly laugh that had comforted a whole generation of students. She took Karin in her arms. Her generous bosom was warm. 'Oh dear, oh dear,' she sighed. 'Fancy my little girl facing such a dilemma!'
Just as quickly, she pushed Karin away again, crying, 'Let's open my last but one bottle of Rheinhessen and talk about old times. Do you remember how you always used to imitate me? Your impersonations were little masterpieces, though I didn't like to tell you so straight out.' Lore Bruck chuckled. 'I recognized your talent even then.'
