The Kaiser's Last Kiss

by Alan Judd

  ‘Untersturmführer, are you there?’

  ‘Yes, your Highness.’

  The Kaiser was seated on his saddle chair in his inner sanctum. He appeared to be writing, his cigar smouldering in the ashtray beside him. ‘Tell me why you joined the Waffen SS,’ he said, without looking round.

  Krebbs was surprised. No one had asked since his initial interview when they had confirmed that he was over five feet ten and checked his health and fitness. ‘I wished to be at the heart of things,’ he said, ‘to be involved. I had heard they were an elite and I wanted to be part of the new Germany. I wanted to serve where I could serve best and be most demanded of.’

  ‘And they have not disappointed you?’

  ‘No, sire.’ He was still addressing the Kaiser’s rear.

  The old man’s head nodded slowly. ‘I might have done the same in your position.’

  Krebbs thought of the withered arm, the self-awarded medals, the three hundred dress uniforms, the mottled and whiskered old ears that had never heard a shot fired in anger, but didn’t smile. The old man’s illusions now seemed to him more sad than funny or distasteful. And, although it was impossible to imagine the Kaiser as a young man, he might have tried to join, he really might.

  The Kaiser turned in his saddle with obvious effort. His face was blotched. ‘You find that hard to believe, of course.’ He smiled lugubriously at Krebbs’s hesitation. ‘Your silence does you credit. Now tell me, as part of the new elite, do you really believe that Germany can win this war?’

  ‘Yes, so long as we believe in ourselves and organise ourselves properly.’

  ‘And do not fight on two fronts and do not take on the whole world and do not allow ourselves to be led by men from other planets.’ The Kaiser spoke with sudden passion, staring at Krebbs as if the choices were all his. ‘I do not mean our modern generals who are better than my own were, I mean our leadership, your leadership. Do you not see that these men are incomplete? They are shells with undeveloped souls rattling around inside. They will betray anything and everything because they believe only in themselves but know not themselves, know not what shells they are. They are madmen. And that is why they do not know what other people are, which is why they can do terrible things and not see why it matters. And so they cannot see how completely they, in turn, will be destroyed, our nation with them.’ The Kaiser continued staring, his eyes wide, breathing as if from exertion. ‘They are men of dreams,’ he said, more calmly, ‘who lead us sleepwalking into their own nightmare.’

  Krebbs said nothing.

  ‘I do not expect you to answer,’ the Kaiser continued. ‘For you, even to whisper such thoughts into your pillow is to undermine the faith required of you. There is no scope in the life you have chosen for question, argument or reservation. There is nothing between loyalty absolute, loyalty to every jot and tittle of the creed, and treason. You long to give loyalty and commitment. I understand that. It was the same for me. It still is. But your cause is not one that is strengthened by questioning, Untersturmführer. It is dangerous for you even to listen to an old man’s rambling. They would call it treachery. Has the Princess departed yet?’

  ‘She is packing. A car has been summoned.’

  The Kaiser turned back to his desk. ‘Order me coffee, if you would be so kind.’

  The despatch rider’s signal, marked urgent, was from HQ SS. It reported a further clandestine transmission, giving date and time. The secret monitoring unit was confident that the transmitter could be precisely located if monitoring could be conducted from within the Doorn estate. The unit was therefore on its way to Doorn where Krebbs was required to accommodate it secretly in the gatehouse, since that was entirely under Wehrmacht control and only military personnel permitted. They would arrive that evening. No one in the household was to know. In order to explain any extra vehicles or personnel Krebbs was to say that his SS superior, Colonel Kaltzbrunner, was coming to inspect Krebbs and his men, and to review arrangements for the Kaiser’s security. Colonel Kaltzbrunner would be accommodated within the house and would indeed conduct an inspection of the household.

  Krebbs read the signal twice, experiencing for the first time the physical meaning of the phrase, heavy-hearted. It was as if a weight grew within him, holding him down, spreading lethargy and reluctance, robbing him of energy and purpose. It took an effort of will to lift the telephone receiver but once he was talking to the gatehouse the need to keep up appearances galvanised him. He explained the requirement, ordered dispositions and cancelled, for the second time, home leave for those who were due it. Then, locking the signal in his security box, he straightened his uniform, put on his cap and strode to the stairs, mounting them three at a time. On the way, through one of the windows, he saw the Princess getting into the car, but he did not pause. From the top of the stairs he crossed to the servants’ staircase, pausing at the bottom to listen before ascending carefully, on the balls of his feet.

  Again, she was not there, which was as he expected. Except that the bed was made and her clothes tidied away, it was as he had left it early that morning. He leant his back against the door for a few seconds, indulging himself in the sense of her presence. He could hear her voice, things she had said or that he imagined her saying, more clearly than he could picture her face. That was curious, because he had always thought of his memory as photographic. It was her eyes he recalled most clearly, grey, quiet, but playful. The narrow bed looked trim and celibate now.

  He crossed the room to the eaves cupboard and pulled out her two brown suitcases, lifting the smaller one on to the bed. It was heavier than the other and locked by two catches. He searched all the obvious places for the key and felt inside the cupboard. He needed a screwdriver really but his pocket-knife would have to do, if it were strong enough. He forced the blade beneath the catch and pulled, at the same time pushing the front of the lock. First one catch, then, with more of a struggle, the other, sprang open.

  Inside was a matt black Morse receiver and transmitter with black buttons, brass switches, a single large dial and a disconnected battery packed tightly in at the side. No wonder she had lowered it so carefully to the floor when finding him there the day before. ‘Hiding in the woods and signalling to the enemy,’ had been her disarmingly direct answer to his direct question. Presumably, going to bed with him was a further disarming mechanism designed to prevent or neuter further questions. His sharp resentment at being used in this way came gilded with the pleasure of righteousness. He was still on his knees, fingering the cold little switches and nourishing his resentment, when she appeared in the doorway.

  ‘So, you have betrayed the Fatherland,’ he said.

  She pushed the door to and leaned against it as he had, her hands behind her. She was looking at the transmitter rather than him. ‘You have to belong in order to betray.’

  ‘You have betrayed me.’

  ‘I told you what I was doing.’

  ‘You made it sound like a joke.’

  ‘You heard what you wanted to hear.’

  He stood. ‘Now I must arrest you and hand you over to security for interrogation. They have been monitoring your transmissions. They are cleverer than you think. They know the transmissions are coming from this house or this park. The next time, the next time you did it, they would have caught you.’

  She nodded indifferently, as if they were discussing someone else. ‘I have transmitted too often, stayed too long, tried too hard.’

  ‘What at? What are you doing?’

  ‘I told you what I’ve been doing, when you asked me, last night.’

  ‘You said you were here to find out what the Kaiser wants. Wants in respect of what? Who sent you? Where are you from? And what were you going to do when you found out what he wants?’

  She glanced at the party wall, indicating that he was becoming too loud, went to the bed and sat on it. Gently, she closed the suitcase, crossed her legs and clasped her hands around her knee. ‘If you really want to discuss all this, you mi
ght at least sit down and take off your cap.’

  He hesitated. To acquiesce would seem a concession, but to remain standing virtually at attention was absurd. He had always felt that somehow she directed him and until now hadn’t minded, so long as he also felt she liked him. It was actually quite nice, as he had put it to himself. But now her manner was as if she were dealing with a recalcitrant child. He resisted for a while longer, then took off his cap and sat. He caught the ghost of a smile in her eyes, and had to stop himself returning it.

  ‘My name really is Akki,’ she said, ‘I really do come from Friesland, I really am Jewish, as I told you. I have never told you an untruth, I have simply not told you the full truth. The rest is that my parents left Holland for England, with me, long before this war. I finished my schooling in England and became a teacher. When the war started in 1939 – for England – Holland was not, of course, involved, at least not directly, until the Germans invaded. Nevertheless, I volunteered for war work in England and after a while I was selected, because of my languages, for what they called “liaison duties” and soon I found I was working for the British secret service. They asked me – they did not order or send me – if I would return to Holland to make contact with the Kaiser in order to see whether he were prepared to defect to England as a protest at what the Nazis were doing, and perhaps to act as a figurehead for German resistance to Hitler. If he were willing, I was to arrange for his exfiltration. If he were not, well and good, I have to arrange for my own. There was no plan to kidnap or kill him or anything like that. They had been ordered, they told me, by Mr Churchill to discover the Kaiser’s views as urgently as possible. That is why I am here, Martin. There is nothing else.’

  At first he could think of nothing to say; it was so extraordinary, and so credible, so apparently everyday, and as undoubtedly dangerous. There seemed no appropriate response, but he was determined to say something. ‘Are you the age you told me when I was completing the form on you?’

  She laughed. It was as if they were having dinner together, relaxing and drinking. ‘Are you worried the form might be misleading? That is so typical of your people. Inaccuracy would never do, would it? Martin, I am the age I told you. Why should I lie about it? It’s true that I am older than you and I am a little embarrassed about it, but not too seriously. Unless it matters to you?’

  Krebbs did not laugh. ‘Why did you get involved with me?’

  ‘That was my first mistake.’ She watched the effect of her words. ‘I don’t mean because I do not like you. I do, very much. Perhaps you find that hard to believe. I think you are not very used to close relations with women. I don’t mean just going to bed, I mean being intimate, sharing yourself. Also, you were dangerous because you are SS and because of your task here. It was safer to get to know you and follow what you were doing. Then, when you seemed to want to get to know me very well, it was better not to make an enemy of you by refusing.’

  ‘So you did it in order to find out things?’

  ‘Only partly.’

  ‘You went to bed with me last night to stop me finding out what you had been doing?’

  ‘Only partly, as I said. After all, I told you the truth when you asked. You know that now. I could easily have lied.’ There was silence. ‘Does it upset you?’

  ‘No, of course not. I just want to know before I turn you in, that’s all.’ He spoke roughly.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it? You are upset. I was right about you. You are nicer than you think you are, perhaps nicer than you want to be, though probably you don’t like my saying so. I promise you, Martin, I would not have permitted you in my bed if I did not like you.’

  ‘What does the Kaiser know about this?’

  She looked at her knee and shin, as if inspecting a stocking for ladders. ‘He knows of the offer and has not accepted it. He has not rejected it, but I think non-acceptance must constitute rejection.’

  ‘Why are you still here, then?’

  ‘That was my second mistake. I should have gone. I was supposed to leave as soon as I had any indication of his position, and I realised early on, even before I had a chance to speak to him, but I stayed for Herr Himmler’s visit. Not only to observe Himmler and perhaps to learn something of what is planned, but to see whether it would have any effect on the Kaiser, whether it would make him change his mind, or even go back to Germany.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I think he was shocked by what Himmler said about the Jewish children, don’t you?’

  Krebbs was finding it hard to maintain his anger. He wanted to feel it, and to show it – to shout it – but conversation with her absorbed it like seawater in sand. ‘It has had an effect. But he says hard things about the Jews himself.’

  ‘And you, were you not shocked, Martin?’ There was a sudden fullness in her eyes that he had not seen before. It thrilled him to be the focus of such attention, even in these circumstances. ‘Paradis was bad enough, this is something worse. Far, far worse. A different league of thing altogether.’

  ‘Spies are executed. They would call what you are doing spying. You would be shot.’

  ‘Martin, answer me.’ Her knuckles, clasped across her knee, were white with pressure.

  He sat still, cap in lap, as for a photograph, but felt as though he were wriggling. ‘Yes, it is wrong. But it is not –’

  ‘No buts.’ She leaned forward, her eyes like hard grey stones.

  He changed position. ‘He knows who sent you, the Kaiser? Which means that the Kaiser talks to the Reichsführer about returning to Berlin while at the same time he is in treasonable communication with the enemy?’

  ‘Martin,’ she said again.

  Krebbs thought of his mother and sister, of what they would think. ‘Yes, it is wrong. Very wrong. It is terrible to kill children.’

  ‘Even if they are Jewish?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She relaxed. ‘He will never return to Berlin now. He will die at Doorn, I am sure.’

  ‘So von Islemann says.’ He paused. ‘Does von Islemann know about this English offer?’

  ‘Possibly. His Highness is open with him.’

  ‘And, if so, does he know about you?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Or even us – you and I?’

  ‘One never knows what people notice.’

  Her manner was nonchalant now, her tone subdued. He suspected it might be a pose. ‘Aren’t you worried by this? Aren’t you frightened? You should be. The more people who know, the more likely someone will report. And why did the English send you, knowing you were Jewish? It’s more dangerous for Jews. Or didn’t you tell them?’

  ‘There is no point in worrying about what is beyond my control. I volunteered for this. It is not my profession but it was something I could do, and I wanted to do something. As for my being Jewish, of course they know. You don’t have to hide it there. And it’s because I’m Jewish that I came. I thought you would understand that. Now I must go.’ Her eyes no longer met his but seemed focused on her knee. ‘Of course I would be frightened, if I let myself, but the time for fear is before and after something, not while you are doing it.’

  He realised that for some time he had been sitting just as she was, legs crossed, the polished toe of his boot before him. She must have noticed it, too. It was becoming ridiculous. He stood, in a last effort to assert himself. ‘You appreciate that I have power of life and death over you? And that the Gestapo would do terrible things to you? They would make you confess your escape route, the people who would help you, times, addresses, everything?’ He pictured her strapped across a torture table, naked, quivering, bloodied, screaming, but stopped himself. Even to picture it was somehow to will it. ‘It is my duty to hand you over. I have the power to do it.’

  She looked up again. ‘Martin, you have absolute power over me except for one thing: you could not have made me like you against my will. That was my third mistake.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you like me or not. You did it for your
own reasons.’

  She shrugged and leaned back on the bed, propped on one elbow. ‘If I didn’t like you, would it matter to me what you think? Would I risk myself by being honest with you? And would I still want you?’

  When he awoke the rain was beating against the dormer window and the wind whistling through the woodwork, rattling the panes. The rain had made dusk come early. His boots were on their sides on the floor, his uniform scattered. Her dress was crumpled between the bed and the wall. The small brown suitcase squatted balefully on the floor.

  Her head pressed heavily on his arm, her hair splayed across the pillow and her cheek, her lips parted in sleep. He could not see his watch without disturbing her and so tried carefully to lift and turn his head, to see her clock. From outside, at intervals through the rain, came a distant, occasional knock. She would be missed at her duties now, surely, whatever they were. And he at his. Please God, he thought, that Colonel Kaltzbrunner and his team have not arrived. Kaltzbrunner was a mean man, coarse, cruel, hatchet-hard, built like a bull, a drunkard, a bully and a lawyer, an Austrian lawyer at that. Krebbs wanted to stay as he was, where he was, for ever, postponing everything, but the image of Kaltzbrunner poisoned all. It was to Kaltzbrunner that he should hand her over.

  ‘It can’t be him, surely.’ She lifted her head suddenly, just above him, her hair brushing his face.

  ‘What? Who?’ He was still thinking of Kaltzbrunner.

  She listened, her mouth half open. There was another distant knock. ‘It is him, it’s the Kaiser chopping wood.’ She pulled at his watch on his recumbent arm. ‘At this time of day and in this rain, he must be mad or unwell.’