by Pierre Frei
Fredie was nervous. Reichsfuhrer Himmler had announced a visit. He wanted to inspect the forgery project personally. It went under the cover name of Needle and Thread; the Bank of England was in Threadneedle Street.
A beef, pork or mutton one-pot dish?' inquired Marlene.
Fredie's old bent for sarcasm surfaced. 'Chicken. After all, the man used to be a chicken farmer.'
'I'll tell Jana.'
'Good German women make their own one-pot dishes. Help in the kitchen in this second year of the war is a luxury the nation can't allow itself. Oh, and remember that good German women don't smoke. No lipstick either.'
Anything else? Maybe a wheatsheaf on the table and place cards in Germanic runes?'
'Send Jana back to her tribe in the gypsy hut.'
'So Frau Werner can torment her? No, I won't have it.'
'I've told everyone to go easy on the day of the visit. Seems our guest is rather squeamish when things move from theory to practice.'
'What, a day without beatings and murders? The camp won't feel like home to you, Fredie.'
'Oh, shut up,' he said angrily.
They had dressed Professor Georg Raab in a brand-new, striped prisoner's outfit, with a matching round cap. He stood outside the laboratorycum-bungalow with Fredie and Untersturmfiihrer Siebert. Like a teddy bear in a zebra skin, thought Marlene, watching the scene through a crack in the corrugated-iron door. She had not been allowed to attend the official viewing.
Two heavy, open Mercedes rolled into view. Out poured men in caps bearing the death's head badge, dove-grey uniforms and shiny black riding boots. Marlene recognized the pince-nez under the peaked cap leading them. Fredie stood to attention as he made his report. His uniform jacket was a little tight around the waist these days. An Iron Cross from the Great War, which he had dug up in some junk shop, was resplendent on his left breast pocket. 'Mundus vult decipi', had been his casual comment. Marlene had got Professor Raab to translate it for her. 'The world likes to be deceived.'
Showing off, the lot of them, she thought dismissively, looking at all those boots. Never ridden a horse in their lives. She saw through these men and despised them, just as she saw through and despised herself. The yew hedge split her life in two. On one side their comfortable everyday life in the house and garden. On the other, the camp, torture and death.
The pince-nez and its retinue disappeared into the bungalow. For the umpteenth time Marlene checked that everything in the kitchen and dining room was in order. In half an hour's time she expected to see her unwelcome guests at lunch.
'Heil Hitler, Reichsfiihrer. Your visit is a pleasure to me and a great honour to my house.' The words slipped smoothly past her lips. His hand was limp in hers. The eyes behind the pince-nez avoided her glance, seeking to dwell somewhere else. Why, he's scared of women. she realized in surprise.
He thanked her quietly, and turned to Fredie. 'I'm impressed, Ober- sturmbannfi hrer Neubert.' He sat down, and everyone else followed his example. They waited for the man of power to speak again. He remained silent and reached for the jug of water. Fredie tried to anticipate his wishes and pour him a glass. The result was a collision. The jug slopped over, water spilled on the most distinguished of all SS uniforms. Its wearer got some splashes on his nose and his pince-nez. He looked a little foolish.
Marlene spluttered. The company around the table froze. Fredie turned pale. The end of his career hovered before him. Then the man on the receiving end of the water mopped his nose and his pince-nez with his napkin - and laughed, at first soundlessly, then with a kind of bleat. There was general relief. Fredie breathed again. The cup, or rather the jug, had passed him by.
The bleat of laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Marlene served the one-pot dish. The quiet voice continued. 'I am impressed by what I've seen. Operation Needle and Thread will be a great success. And its guiding hand deserves commendation. The prisoner has hardly any Semitic characteristics. Very likely most of his ancestors were Aryan. which would explain his outstanding abilities. I would like the man to continue his work with your full support, and to lack for nothing.'
'Perhaps he could be given leave from imprisonment, and the laboratory might continue its work outside the camp as an SS research institute, under his direction,' Noack suggested.
'Oh no, the requirement for secrecy and security rules out any such thing, Dr Noack. That's why the prisoner must be eliminated at the end of the operation. Your chicken one-pot dish is delicious, Frau Neubert.'
And I hope the chicken bones stick in your throat and bloody choke you, you bastard, she thought. 'How very kind of you, Reichsfi hrer,' she replied.
That evening, Fredie was lounging comfortably in breeches and check slippers on the couch. He was pleased. 'That went splendidly. Come here, darling.' He pushed up her dress and took her panties down. She hadn't the strength to resist, but she paid attention to what was going on inside her, unable to believe it. The hated orgasm didn't come. She felt nothing. A sense of triumph took hold. The spell that had lasted so many years was broken.
In the morning she woke with a start. Something was wrong. There was no familiar aroma of coffee and clatter of china in the kitchen. Of course. Jana wasn't there. Marlene quickly showered and dressed. She must get the girl back into the house before any cruel ideas occurred to the appalling Frau Werner. She hurried past the office and infirmary buildings, and passed through the gate in the barbed-wire fence and into the camp itself. 'Find me Jana,' she told an old woman outside the gypsy hut.
The woman gave her a strange look. 'Jana not here.'
'Where is she?'
'Here, no dawdling around.' Oberscharftihrer Schafer pushed the woman back into the hut with his stick. 'Heil Hitler, Frau Neubert. What an unusual honour! I'm just doing my rounds, can I help you in any way?'
'I'm looking for my housemaid.'
'Jana, is that right? I've no idea where she is:
'Is with doctor,' the old woman hissed through the door.
All was quiet in the infirmary. Marlene went into the first room. The surgical instruments glittered in their glass-fronted cupboards, just as they had on her first visit. 'Is anyone there?'
The swing door to the next room moved slightly in a draught. Marlene pushed it open. Invisible, giant hands clutched at her chest and constricted it. The sight was so unimaginable that her brain refused to take it in.
Five human heads stood on a shelf. Jana's was second from the left. Marlene came closer. 'Jana ...' she whispered. She touched the cold cheeks, tenderly stroked the short hair, looked into the black gypsy eyes that had been so beautiful only a little while ago. Now they were a clouded, milky blue.
An interesting series of experiments. I am injecting organic pigments.' Dr Engel took the girl's head off the shelf. 'I use healthy young specimens. Frau Werner is a great help to me in selecting them. I shall soon be in a posi tion to change the dark iris so foreign to our race into a Nordic blue. Aren't you feeling well? Wait a minute. I'll get you a glass of water.'
'No, thank you,' she heard herself say.
'Then I'll take my lunch break. They have knuckle of veal in the canteen today.'
Marlene felt nothing, didn't know who or where she was. Everything seemed to be extinguished. She slowly came back to her senses as cold water rushed down on her, and found that she was crouching fully dressed under the shower in her bathroom, screaming like an animal. The lash of the cold water forced her back into the present. She stripped off her wet clothes, dried herself and dressed. Then she searched in the wardrobe until she found what she was looking for. She took a spade from the garden shed.
She met no one on the way to the infirmary. She took the head off the shelf and wrapped it in Grandmother Mine's white lace scarf. She dug a hole in the rose bed outside the door and laid the head in it. 'Pretty roses,' she could hear Jana's voice saying as she levelled off the little grave.
'Sleep well, my dear,' she said huskily.
It was more than most pe
ople could have come to terms with, but Marlene was tough, a child of Riibenstrasse. Her grief and horror gave way to cold fury. 'If this gets out,' she told her husband, 'you'll all be for it - you, Engel, Noack, all the others. Not forgetting Reichswhatsit Himmler. And you know something? I'll be laughing while I bloody watch them hang you all.'
Fredie kept calm. 'Take it easy, darling. I can understand you're angry, stranded without a maid.' He fetched himself a beer from the kitchen. 'You should be glad Dr Engel isn't putting in an official complaint for the sabotage of a series of experiments conducted under the auspices of the Racial Hygiene Research Institute. Well, never mind that. A good, strong seventeen-year-old girl came with this morning's transport of Jews. Take a look at her and see if you think she could do the housework.'
'I'm going to Berlin to do some shopping. Has my lord and master any objection?'
'Get me a bottle of Petrol Hahn from the Kaufhaus des Westens, would you?'
She bought his hair lotion, and some underwear for herself. It was a pretext. Her aim was to see Frank Saunders. The monstrous discovery she had made must reach the public.
The New York Herald Tribune office was in Friedrichstrasse. A peroxideblonde secretary was hammering away on an Underwood. her fingernails painted red, a cigarette between her heavily made-up lips. She acted very American. 'How can I help you?'
You can speak German to me. Fraulein. I want to see Mr Saunders.'
Evidently insulted, the blonde ignored her remark and continued in English. 'Mr Saunders is now in our Paris office. Mr Wilkins will be back in half an hour. Would you like to speak to him?' Marlene would not like to speak to Mr Wilkins. He didn't know her and wouldn't believe a word she said. In fact no one's going to believe you, my girl, she told herself.
Carefree people in summer clothes sat in the terrace of the Cafe Vienna on the Kurfiirstendamm. A couple of good-looking young officers were flirting with their girlfriends. A paper boy was shouting out the headlines of the BZ am Mittag. German paratroopers had expelled the Allied forces from the island of Crete.
There you sit, eating ice cream while they're cutting people's heads off in Blumenau, she thought grimly. Something had to be done. She just didn't know what. She was helpless, a prisoner herself, although one who could move about freely.
She spent the night at the Pension Wolke, where the windows were blacked out with cardboard and drawing pins in case of air raids. Frau Wolke remembered her. 'You spent a few days with us here.' No, the landlady didn't know what had become of Fraulein von Aichborn. 'Probably married a posh fellow, a count or something.'
Once she got home, the first thing Marlene did was pick up the field telephone to tell Fredie she was back. She was surprised to hear voices, and then remembered that there was something wrong with the line. She had forgotten to mention it to Fredie.
She recognized Noack's voice. '... among other things, we're keeping our eye on all foreign newspaper correspondents.'
'Of course, Stand artenfi hrer.'
'Including the New York Herald Tribune office. Their secretary is one of our informants. She tells us that a woman called Marlene Neubert went there yesterday wanting to speak to Frank Saunders. Obersturmbann- fi hrer Neubert, your wife is in touch with the foreign press.'
A brief silence. Then Fredie spoke again. 'Saunders was once a . . . a guest of hers.'
'Once, yes, never mind that. But now? Neubert, this is one hell of a mess.'
Fredie's voice sounded strained. 'She found her housemaid's head in the laboratory. Dr Engel had selected the gypsy girl for a series of experiments. My wife was rather upset about it, but I didn't think anything much of her reaction.'
'What reaction? Out with it, man.'
'She threatened to make Engel's experiments public.'
'By making them public she meant going to that American newspaper correspondent. Neubert, that's high treason. It could have unfortunate consequences for you.'
There was no emotion at all in Fredie's voice. 'Herr Standartenfiihrer, I shall petition for the immediate dissolution of my marriage.'
'It does you credit, Obersturmbannfuhrer. I'll set things in motion for you. Don't let your wife notice anything. Act the same as usual, understand?'
'Yes, Standartenfiihrer.'
'What shall we do with her? I'd prefer a solution that won't attract any attention.'
'We'll transfer a prostitute named Marlene Kaschke to the camp at Theresienstadt. She's an immoral influence on national morale.'
Fredie, you absolute bastard, thought Marlene without any particular surprise. She hung up. Time to get out of here, she decided for the third time in her life.
Fredie didn't let his intentions show. If anything, he was more agreeable than usual. He opened a bottle of Mosel at dinner. 'Because it's Wednesday,' he joked.
You certainly have chutzpah, she thought.
After dinner he yawned. 'I'm going to bed.'
'I don't feel tired. Any objection to my visiting that old Jew in his witches' kitchen? He has such interesting stories of the old days to tell. Just think, he even met the Kaiser once.'
'If you like.' Fredie went upstairs.
The guard on night duty opened the gate for her. The glaring beams of spotlights shone down from the watchtowers, casting a harsh light on the gravel path leading to the camp.
Professor Georg Raab was engraving a copperplate under a strong lamp. His garland of white hair shone in the otherwise dim light. He looked like the kindly grandfather Marlene had never had.
'Professor, I have to leave this place.' She told him everything. 'I don't know where to go. Please advise me.'
You have great confidence in me, madame.'
'I've no one else to turn to.'
Raab continued working on the plate. 'There could be a way out.'
'I'll do whatever you suggest.'
'I could make you a pass allowing you to leave the country, a Swiss transit visa, and an entry permit to France signed by the German military governor. You can go to Paris by way of Munich and Geneva. The direct route over the Franco-German border is barred to civilians.'
'You know a lot about current affairs for a camp inmate.'
They let me have newspapers and the radio. The BBC is an invaluable source of information.'
'Why Paris?'
Because you can be sure no one will look for you there. And because I know someone in Paris who will help you. Do you have a passport photo? A fairly old one would be best.'
'I have five if you want them. The Photomaton doesn't do less than six at a time. I needed one two years ago for my new ID papers, and the others are with my sewing things in my workbox.'
'Bring them to me tomorrow morning. From now on Marlene Neubert is Helene Neumann. That's close enough for you to remember it easily. We'll leave your date of birth unchanged. You're on this trip to inspect buildings for their suitability as the headquarters of the Paris branch of the Nazi Women's Association. It sounds so crazy that no one will check up on it. And if anyone does, you'll be able to show a document to that effect from the Party leadership in Munich. I've made a good job of their letterhead, particularly the Nazi eagle. It squints slightly.' The little professor chuckled.
'Who is the person you know in Paris?'
An old friend. His name's Brunel, Aristide Brunel. Ask for him at the Louvre.'
'Where's that?'
Any Parisian will tell you the way. Ask Brunel if he's managed to tell the two Canalettos apart yet. He'll find you somewhere safe to stay, and then you just have to wait.'
For the Final Victory?'
'For the inevitable victory of reason and humanity.' The stout little man with the white coat over his striped camp uniform thought for a moment. 'You'll need money. The first series of Swiss francs is in production now - I'll print off enough of those for you at the same time. Don't change too many at once.' He hesitated. 'There's just one problem, though. Siebert is always looking over my shoulder while I work.'
'How long w
ill you need?'
An hour a day for a week.'
'I can keep Siebert off your back for an hour every afternoon.'
'How will you do that?'
'Better not ask.'
Sex with young Siebert wasn't particularly exciting, but Marlene liked the thought of being unfaithful to Fredie with his subordinate in his their conjugal bed. They did it daily from three to four in the afternoon when the commandant was on his rounds of the camp. She made sure that Frau Werner got wind of these sessions too. Someone had to tip Fredie off, after all, or it wouldn't be half as much fun.
So for a week she had sex with Siebert in the Neubert bed, generously making him feel that he was an incomparable lover. Then the professor had finished his forgeries. 'With a new birth certificate thrown in. The best of luck, my dear.'
She put her hand on his sleeve. 'Just a moment, Professor. What about you? We must both go. I have to go because they want to send me to Theresienstadt. You have to go because that man Himmler has ordered you to be liquidated once Operation Needle and Thread is over.' She deliberately adopted a light tone. 'You're not going to wait around for that, are you? You can't! Forge yourself some good papers, and we can make off together, laughing at the thought of their faces when they find out.'
Raab looked at her sadly. 'I wouldn't get further than the gate. There's no escaping one's fate. Mascha will follow me when she hears the news. Our death is of no importance. What are two more dead Jews in two thousand years of the history of a monumental misunderstanding? You must live to tell the world about these appalling things. Now, please go, quickly.'
'You stupid idiot, you bloody stupid Jew!' she cried, giving vent to unspeakable grief and despair. She turned and ran, her face streaming with tears.
She had shut herself off from her fellow travellers behind Vogue, but she wasn't reading it. She was suspended in that state between waking and sleeping, when the body and mind can't agree on time and place. The last twenty-four hours had been too much, even for the born survivor from Riibenstrasse. Her headlong bicycle ride to Blumenau station, suitcase on the back of the bike. The early train that was late. Her fear of missing her connection in Berlin. The endless train journey to Munich. Changing to the Geneva train. Her heart thudding every time tickets were inspected. The official at the German border who told her, 'Come with me' - and then, confused, she realized it was the conductor of the train, who had found her the seat in a no-smoking compartment that she had requested. The relief when Germany was left behind her and Switzerland by night was slipping by, no checkpoints, windows brightly lit. The sleep of exhaustion that blotted out everything, only not the noise of the wheels on the tracks that became the sound of a hundred decapitated heads rolling away.
