The Girl from Berlin--A Novel

by Ronald H. Balson

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Enzo said. “You should all get as far from here as soon as possible. I will drive you to Bologna, but we must leave immediately.”

  I quickly packed a bag for Gabi and me, Mama packed a small suitcase, Kurt bundled up his spare clothes and we all piled into Enzo’s police car. He had almost cleared the end of the driveway when our path was blocked by an oncoming car and a truck.

  “Damn, they’re back,” Kurt said. “I’ll handle this.” He got out of the car with swagger, striding confidently toward the vehicles, every bit the quintessential Nazi officer. He raised his arm in a Hitler salute, and yelled, “Back those vehicles up. Out of the way now! We’re in a hurry!”

  Several men alighted from the vehicles, weapons drawn. And then I saw him. Kleiner.

  “Raus! Everyone out of the car!” Kleiner yelled, pointing at us. “Macht schnell!”

  We huddled in a group in the middle of the dirt driveway. I grabbed Gabi, turned her head into my skirt and held her tightly. Whatever was going to happen, she was not going to see it. Enzo stood in front of Mama.

  “Well, well, look what we have here,” Kleiner said, smiling at his comrades. “We hit the jackpot tonight, gentlemen. The deserter and his bitch. Look around. These criminals are living on land fit for a German emperor and they are nothing but Jewish trash. Now I will finally achieve my just reconciliation. The bitch that had me demoted is now in my custody. Isn’t it marvelous how debts always get repaid?”

  He pulled his gun from his holster, cocked the trigger and walked straight at me, wearing a sick smile from ear to ear. I tensed my muscles and hugged Gabi close to me, expecting the worst. All at once, Kurt flew at him from the side, knocking him to the ground. Kurt’s fists flew and the two wrestled in the dirt. Suddenly, Kleiner’s gun went off and Kleiner screamed. Kurt scrambled to his feet, was grabbed and pulled away, two men holding his arms.

  Kleiner was lifted off the ground. His leg was bleeding and he was swearing furiously. “Someone tie me a tourniquet,” he screamed at an adjutant, “and get me to a doctor.”

  Two of his soldiers lifted him and started to take him to the car when Kleiner shouted, “Wait!” He pointed at Kurt. “I want that son of a bitch. He’s a filthy deserter. Shoot him. Shoot him now!”

  The Germans looked at each other, hesitating. “He’s an officer,” one of them said.

  “They’re right, Kleiner,” Kurt said. “I am an officer in the Wehrmacht. I am entitled to a court-martial. These men may only be privates, but they know that they would have to answer for shooting an officer in the field.”

  “Bring him over here,” Kleiner said.

  “No,” I cried. “Please don’t. Kleiner can’t be trusted. He’ll shoot him.”

  Kleiner looked sternly at the soldiers. “I said bring him over here and hold him. That’s an order.”

  The two SS privates dragged Kurt over to Kleiner. Kurt held his head high and smiled. “You’re bleeding out, Kleiner,” Kurt said. “End of the road for you. You only have minutes left. I’m proud to have ended the reign of such a brutal monster. Say good night, Hammer.”

  Kleiner pulled his pistol from his belt, pointed it at Kurt and pulled the trigger. Kurt twisted to the side and slumped to the ground. Kleiner reached over him and fired three more rounds into Kurt’s lifeless body. A scream erupted from the bottom of my soul.

  “Good night to you too, traitor,” Kleiner said. As his soldiers picked him up to carry him to the truck, he pointed at Enzo who stood shielding Mama. “Shoot him,” he said.

  “Lieutenant,” the private said, “We were told to arrest these people and take them to Fossoli. We were not told to execute anyone.”

  “That’s an order! The old man is a criminal policeman and an enemy of the Reich. Shoot him and take the rest of them to Fossoli.”

  Two of the soldiers grabbed Enzo, took him to the side of the road and executed him. Mama wailed and collapsed in my arms.

  As the soldiers carried Kleiner to the truck, he lost consciousness.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Pienza, September 2017

  PRINTOUTS OF COURT DECISIONS sat on the table, the result of Catherine and Giulia’s research into property seized by the Nazis during the war. “This is encouraging,” Catherine said. “Italian law holds that seized property must be restored to the original owner if there is proof it was taken by the Nazis. If we can show that Quercia was a front for a Nazi land grab, then Gunther is right, the property cannot belong to Quercia or VinCo.”

  “What was the basis for those decisions?” Liam asked.

  “There’s a strong legal and factual basis,” Giulia said. “Italy unconditionally surrendered in September 1943 and Germany immediately occupied most of Italy and set up a puppet Fascist government. During 1943 and 1944, the Nazi command ordered all Italian Jews to be deported to Nazi concentration camps. Their property was to be seized and forfeited. Many thousands of Jews were transported.

  “After the war, in 1947, Italy signed the Treaty of Peace, which dissolved the puppet government, guaranteed individual liberties and provided for restoration of property seized by the Nazis. That’s the first legal basis. In 2009, Italy was one of forty-six countries that signed the Terezin Declaration, which provided for restitution of land wrongfully seized by Nazis, Fascists or their collaborators. That land was to be returned to the people who owned it before the seizure.”

  “That means the property must be restored to Friede Baumgarten or her heirs,” Catherine said.

  “Only if we can show it was seized by Nazis,” Liam said.

  “Based on the date—1944—and the SS names and symbols, there’s a pretty good chance. That’s what Gunther is working on,” Catherine said. “He’s trying to learn who owned or controlled Quercia.”

  “Wouldn’t all this apply to VinCo as well?” Liam said. “They acquired all their properties in 1944.”

  “It would be the same. If Gunther can show that VinCo was owned or operated by Nazis when it acquired all that land, then VinCo’s title can be voided as well. They’d lose their whole operation. The land would have to be returned to the heirs of the previous owners.”

  “VinCo’s a billion-dollar corporation. If it’s owned and operated by former Nazis, it’s no wonder that they would take extreme measures to protect their investment.”

  “Like destroying the registry books.”

  “Like threatening Hernandez and murdering Fabio Lombardo. It all makes sense,” Catherine said.

  “Gunther should be able to get some answers for us. The German court has issued subpoenas for copies of the original trust instruments. The owners’ names would be disclosed in the agreements. Gunther said they have been served. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  Liam had a large white envelope. He opened it and took out an 11 by 15 picture of the closing celebration. “This is Matteo’s picture. It shows Friede, Vanucci, Naomi, Hernandez’s grandfather and the real estate agent. As you can see, there is a document sitting on the table. I assume it’s the deed, but it’s in Italian.”

  “It is a deed,” Giulia said, “but I can’t read very much of it. It’s covered by a shadow. I can’t read the names or see the signatures.”

  “It’s still valuable,” Catherine said. “Hernandez can identify Vanucci in the picture. He’s standing there with Friede. The picture was certainly taken a long time ago. Hernandez’s billing records should be able to show that a deed was prepared at that time.”

  “And a designata agreement.”

  “Right. It’s still not a copy of the deed, but we’re getting close.”

  SIXTY-NINE

  Fossoli di Carpi, April 1944

  The canvas-covered truck drove through the night on its way to the Fossoli detention camp, twelve miles north of Modena. We made two stops and picked up two more Jewish families, eleven in all. We sat on wooden benches, and I felt every bump and pothole in my backbone. I held Gabi on my lap, my arms around her tightly. The evening’s scenario
kept looping through my mind. Where had we made our mistakes? What should I have done? It was hard not to think that the entire situation was my fault. Didn’t Natalia warn me? Hadn’t we been fugitives on the run? After all, weren’t we the ones that brought Kleiner to Mama’s?

  Before my intrusion, Mama’s life was peaceful. She had her farm, her friends and Enzo. I was pretty sure she could have survived the war without my interference. I brought the legions of hell. It was me, and at this moment, I couldn’t have felt worse. I should have saved my father and I didn’t. Now I had brought these tragedies on my mother.

  I had even condemned Kurt. I lost the one love of my life, the boy I’d been crazy about since we were teenagers in the Junior. The boy who never forgot about me. The boy who came back to rescue me and promised to spend the rest of his life with me. The vision of him lying twisted on the ground was burned into my memory. No matter what the future held for me, there would never be another Kurt.

  We sat there dazed, semiconscious, as though we had been punched in the head too many times. Mama intermittently broke into sobs, her hands covering her face. She had lost her husband to the Nazis five years ago, and now her lover was shot to death trying to protect her. How could a woman possibly deal with that?

  Gabi had retreated within herself. She stared straight into nothingness. Over the past few months, she had come out of her shell only to see the world betray her again and force her quickly back inside. I cradled her and rocked her back and forth, but she was in a state of emotional shock. I felt worse for her than for any one of us. Mama and I were adults. What sense could a four-year-old make of this sequence of horrors?

  Fossoli had been an Italian prisoner-of-war camp, established two years earlier to hold Allied officers captured by the Italian army. Now it was a Nazi transit camp. Jews were being taken into custody all over Italy and thrown into camps like Fossoli, only to await transport to one of the Nazi concentration camps in Poland, Slovakia or Germany.

  There were rows of wooden barracks for us to sleep on. Bare minimum amounts of food and water were parceled out. Bewildered Jews sat with suitcases, waiting for transport to an unknown and uncertain destination. Most were anxious to go, to get out of the Fossoli prison camp and reach a final destination that they were told would be a Jewish resettlement camp. They wouldn’t be so anxious if they knew what Natalia had told me. As it was, there was nothing to do but sit and wait, and regret the fact that we were caught up in the sweep.

  Mama and I tried to talk to Gabi. We would tell a story, sing a song and talk about the happy life we would have when we arrived at our new home. We hoped there would be lots of children and places to play. Above all, we assured Gabi that we would never leave her. I intended to keep that promise. I would fight like hell to keep her with me.

  On the second night, Mama came over to my bunk, after Gabi had gone to sleep. “She’s a little angel,” Mama said. “It’s funny how such strange circumstances bring people together. She was lucky to have found you that night in Rome.”

  I wanted to say, Lucky? Was Gabi lucky? Were any of us lucky? How can you describe anything that’s happened as lucky? But I didn’t. I marveled that my mother could find positive thoughts. I hugged her and said, “Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry I brought all this on you.”

  She would have none of it. “No, honey, the Nazis brought it. All your life you have only brought me joy.”

  “But if I had stayed away, if I had gone into hiding with Natalia and her group…”

  “Don’t say that. If the decision had been mine to begin with, I would have insisted that you come home. The last few months have been precious to me. You brought me a darling granddaughter. The days were sweet. These last few months we were a family again. I wouldn’t trade those months for anything.”

  It was during the third day that a guard came in with a clipboard and started reading names. “If your name is called, you are to come with me. Bring your suitcase, only one per person. You are to write your name and address on the side with the white paint. Keep your belongings with you. You will then move to the entrance of the camp to board the train. Soon you will arrive at the Jewish resettlement camp. You will be met there and told what to do.”

  Our names were called, and we painted our luggage. Mama and Gabi’s address was the farm in Pienza. Since we were only given the right to take a single bag, I painted BAUMGARTEN, PHILHARMONIE on my father’s violin case. We boarded with several hundred other people into a long train of boxcars.

  Mama, Gabi and I were in a car with twenty-six others. The train started with a jolt and rolled slowly north and into the mountains. The journey was long, uncomfortable and chilly. I wrapped Gabi in my coat and we sat huddled with Mama. There was no food, no water and no bathroom facilities. There was an empty pail left for us that filled quickly.

  Finally, many hours later, the train dragged to a stop at Auschwitz-Birkenau. The doors slid open suddenly, jolting our senses. Bright sunlight blinded us. Guards were shouting orders, vicious dogs were barking and children were wailing. There was a rancid, smoky stench in the air and the foul odor made me sick to my stomach. We were told to leave our baggage trackside, that it would be brought to us later, but I was not about to leave my father’s violin. I didn’t trust them to return it to me. I decided to carry it under my coat.

  We stepped down from the car and moved slowly in a line, one side for the women and one side for the men. Mama and I walked with Gabi. As we approached the end of the tracks, I could see that SS officers were doing a quick evaluation and separating the women into two lines, one to the left and one to the right. The great majority of women, including all the older women, injured women and all the children, were being sent to the left. It looked like the younger and stronger women were being sent to the right. From what Natalia had told me, it didn’t take much imagination to figure out why.

  As the three of us were inching forward in the line, a uniformed guard came up to me, eyed me up and down, and said, “What are you holding under your coat?”

  I took out the violin case. He looked at it and laughed. “You won’t be playing the violin where you’re going.” He took the case from me and walked away.

  Sometime later when we reached the front of the line, an SS officer looked us over, pointed at Mama and Gabi and said “Links,” to the left. To me he said, “You go that way, Rechts, to the right.”

  Gabi was clinging to my skirt. I shook my head. “I’m not leaving my mother or my daughter.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Suit yourself. You made a bad choice. Links.” He pointed to the left. “Go, all three of you.”

  We joined the line with the other women shuffling slowly toward a cement building. There were hundreds in the line and it took a long time to move forward. As we neared the building, the SS guard who took my violin came up with another guard and asked the three of us to step out of the line. “Which of you is Baumgarten?”

  “All of us,” I said.

  “Is this your case?” he said to me. I nodded. “You are to follow me.”

  The three of us started to walk, but the officer said, “Not you two, only her.”

  “That is my mother and my daughter. I will not leave them,” I said.

  He shook his head. “It is not your decision to make. You are to come with me; they are to continue in the line.”

  I grabbed Gabrielle and put my arms around her. “No,” I said. “I will not leave her.”

  The officer said, “You are being foolish. We contacted the Philharmonie, spoke to Herr Furtwängler. Dr. Goebbels called us shortly thereafter. You are fortunate. Your skills are needed elsewhere. But only you.”

  “I don’t want to be spared if it means leaving my mother and daughter. You can drag me, but I will not perform.”

  “Let them go,” the other guard said. “If she wants to stay, let her stay. It won’t be our fault.”

  “But we’ve been given an order. She is not to be sent into that building.”

  The two
of them stood there arguing about whether I should live or die until an SS captain walked over. “This woman has a death wish,” the guard said. “I say let her die.”

  The SS captain shook his head. “It’s not our call. She has been ordered to Theresienstadt. The order comes from Dr. Goebbels and I’m not about to disobey the order.”

  “I understand, sir, but she says she won’t go without her mother and her daughter.”

  “Children are allowed at Theresienstadt. She can keep the child.” They nodded and turned back to me. “You may take your daughter.”

  Again, I shook my head. “No. My mother comes as well.”

  “She’s not going, and you don’t tell us what to do,” the captain said. “Either you and your daughter come with me or I will deliver you to Theresienstadt in chains and your daughter will go with your mother into the camp. Make up your mind.”

  Mama grabbed my arm. “Ada, you must take Gabi and go with them. I will not let Gabi die because of some foolish notion that you can save me. You can’t. You and I both know why we are standing in this line and where this line is going. I can accept it if that’s what God has in store for me. But you and Gabi have been given a chance. You must go.”

  I knew she was right. But how could I watch her walk to her death while I walked away? How could I make such a choice? I wouldn’t do it.

  “No, Mama. I can’t. If Goebbels wants me to perform, he has to take us all.”

  “No, Fraulein,” the SS captain said. “It’s not going to happen like that. Either you and your daughter come with me, or I will handcuff you, put you in the car and leave your daughter here.”

  Mama leaned over, threw her arms around me and hugged me as strongly as she could. She kissed me and said, “Go. Take Gabi. Don’t worry about me, I will soon be with my Jacob. This is my decision, not yours. I love you, Ada.” Then she pushed me back as hard as she could, turned and ran quickly to the front of the line. I watched her disappear into the building.

  I stood there in shock, tears running down my face. I felt too weak to stand. My heart was broken. My mother and my father, ripped from me by the Nazis and I did nothing to stop them. Why was I still alive? I had no right to be alive. I couldn’t move and I didn’t care. Then this little girl tugged at my skirt and said in her innocent little way, “Where is Grandma going?”