The Locket

by Evans, Mike

  When we reached the second floor the woman smiled at me. “I am

  Claudia Dietrich,” she said, introducing herself.

  “I am Sa—” I caught myself. “I am Ellen Krupp.”

  “I meant to say something to you before,” she continued. “But I wasn’t sure how long you’d be staying.”

  “Almost a year now,” I replied with a forced smile.

  “Well, anyway,” she pointed over her shoulder, “if you ever need anything, I’m just down the hall.” I thanked her, then stepped inside my room and closed the door.

  Now my mind reeled. First Hilda downstairs asking about my coat, and now a stranger from down the hall being friendly and chatty. Were they watching me? Did Hilda suspect something was wrong and set me up to meet Claudia? I didn’t like Hilda at all but now, with questions about the coat and Claudia in the hallway suddenly being friendly, I was worried. I sat on the bed and slid the coat off my shoulders. “What should I do?” I mused to myself.

  Hilda was right, the weather was warm outside, and wearing that woolen overcoat on a spring day made me stand out, which was the opposite of what I intended. And I didn’t want to think about what would happen if they found those documents. But the issue was unavoidable and the more I thought about it, the more those documents became my biggest concern. When I first began taking them from the office, I had been consumed with preserving the names and records of people I knew. Then it became a task of keeping alive the memory of all who came through the German system. Now I was more concerned with preserving my own future than documenting their past.

  Destroying the documents was out of the question. I knew of no place where I could burn them, and simply placing them in the trash offered no assurance that they would not be discovered. If they were found, the content on them would lead straight back to me. With the weather warming outside and wearing the coat no longer an option, I had no way to return the documents to the office, either. I was stuck with them but I needed a better place to hide them. Somewhere much better and more permanent than the hatbox in the closet. Hilda would find them there eventually.

  From my seat on the edge of the bed, my eyes caught sight of the broken plaster in the corner of the room and the exposed lath behind it. Through the hole I could see the exterior wall and realized the gap between the two was at least three or four inches deep. Then the idea hit me. If I could hide the documents inside my coat, why not hide them in the wall? They wouldn’t be readily accessible, but they would be safe and if I couldn’t figure out a way to remove them later, perhaps someone would find them one day and understand what they meant. At least for now, they would be out of sight and safe from discovery.

  Without hesitation, I went to the closet, took down the box, and set it on the bed. Then I removed the lid, picked up a handful of documents, and shoved them through the hole in the wall. The pages disappeared inside the wall and I heard them slide all the way to the bottom by the baseboard. Encouraged by the result, I shoved more papers into the hole and soon emptied the box. Then I returned it to the shelf in the closet and went downstairs for dinner feeling confident and secure in what I had accomplished.

  The following morning, Gerda did not arrive at the office until midmorning. A stack of reports from the previous day sat on my desk, awaiting filing. I put them in the appropriate files, then, alone in the office, I took the opportunity to peruse other files in the cabinet. At the far end of the wall I found cabinets that included records of people who had been processed for emigration, most of them to Palestine. The most recent of those files was two years old. Approval for emigration was now impossible. I knew that already from other documents I had prepared.

  As I continued through the cabinets, opening the drawers and scanning the files inside, I thought of Papa and Mama and wondered what actually happened to them. They were removed from the ghetto after Stephan, but before I was. I had seen Stephan’s name on a list, but not theirs.

  Prisoner census reports were organized chronologically with the latest reports being added to the front of the file. When one file folder became too large, we created a new one. Gradually, files for most of the camps came to occupy a full drawer, then later they expanded to an entire cabinet.

  That morning, I checked the cabinet for the Mauthausen files and located census records created about the time my parents were removed from the ghetto. I worked quickly, unsure when Gerda might arrive. At first I saw no one familiar to me. Then I found a page that included the names of people from the floor beneath our apartment. A few pages later, I found a sheet with Mama’s name midway down the left side. She had been taken directly from the apartment building to Mauthausen.

  I shoved the file back in place and knelt to open the bottom drawer where the death records were kept. If she was dead, I wanted to know it, but her name wasn’t there. Finally I looked through the transfer records—lists of people who had been sent from Mauthausen to one of the other camps. I scanned the names quickly, turning from page to page until I found her name on a list of people transferred to Auschwitz. Tears welled up in my eyes. Auschwitz was located in Poland. Mama had been resettled in the East, as Adolf had said, but not to a place where she could live out her life in peace. Instead, she had been sent to one of the worst camps in the entire system.

  Just then I felt someone standing beside me. I looked up to see one of the male clerks from the office next door peering down at me. They came in the office several times each day to use our files. I had seen him staring at me from across the room, not in a rude way but in the way a man looks at a woman when he is interested. He smiled at me. “Looking for something?”

  “N…no.” I quickly wiped my eyes with my fingers. “Just making sure the documents are in the correct files.”

  “You have been searching through that cabinet for quite some time.” At first I was intimidated by his presence, but the more he smiled, the angrier I became. “What does it matter to you how long I do anything?” I tucked the report back in the file and stood. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long enough.” He was trying to be flirtatious but I ignored his attempts.

  “Shouldn’t you be at your desk?”

  “Shouldn’t you be at yours?” he countered. “I came in here to read a file from this cabinet, but I can’t get to it until you move.”

  “You should have said something instead of sneaking up on me like that and lurking over me.”

  “I didn’t want to startle you and cause a commotion.”

  “No,” I retorted. “You just wanted to stand there and leer at me.” “Not leer,” he replied gamely. “Watch.”

  He was cute, even if he was a German, which made it difficult not to smile while I pushed the drawer closed with my foot.

  * * *

  That evening, when I came from the office, he was standing outside waiting for me. As I came out, he moved beside me and walked next to me down the street. We walked half a block without saying a word. Finally I glanced over at him. “Did you get into trouble for taking too long at the file cabinet?”

  “No,” he smiled. “But I can take longer next time if you like.”

  I cut my eyes in his direction. “So you can leer a little longer?” “Watch.”

  “Are you following me?”

  “Just looking for an opportunity to say I’m sorry.” “For what?”

  “I was brash this morning,” he said with a serious tone. “And this isn’t brash?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “This is desperate.” “Desperate?” I frowned. “For what?”

  “Desperate to know if you’ll join me for a drink.”

  The thought that I could go anywhere other than the office and the boardinghouse never crossed my mind. “I do not think I am allowed.”

  “Certainly you are allowed,” he insisted. “Are you not a citizen of the Reich?”

  “Yes,” I nodded, remembering Adolf ’s earlier word to me that I could pass. “I am a citizen.”

 
; “Well then,” he grinned. “I suppose you can have a drink when and where you like.”

  “But I don’t even know your name.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with mock formality. “I am Claus Dachsel.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Now, will you have a drink with me?” “You still have one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There is no one to introduce me to you.”

  “But there is no need for a formal introduction. I already know your name,” he beamed. “You are Ellen. Ellen Krupp. From Linz. You lived near Colonel Eichmann. He talks about you often.”

  “And how do you hear Colonel Eichmann talking about anything?” “He is good friends with my supervisor and comes by at lunch.”

  I stopped and faced him, no longer interested in the cat-and-mouse game we’d been playing. “Very well,” I smiled. “I would love to join you.” He was startled by my abrupt response but recovered quickly and offered me his arm. I slipped my hand inside the crook of his elbow, and we continued down the street past the boardinghouse to a restaurant. After drinks, we ate dinner. It was the most delicious food I had tasted since leaving Spain.

  All through our meal, Claus asked questions about my past and what it was like living near the Eichmanns as a child. I gave answers that were true, but lifted from their context gave the impression I was German and not at all Jewish. It really was much easier to answer in a natural way when I was giving information that, strictly speaking, was true. Suspending for the moment the fact that I was Jewish and Claus was under oath to kill any Jew caught doing what I was doing, the evening was rather enjoyable.

  Several hours later, he walked me back to the boardinghouse. Hilda was seated in the front room when I arrived. I said good night to Clause and went upstairs.

  The following morning, Adolf came to our office shortly after I arrived. I could tell by the way his jaw was clenched that he was in a bad mood. He checked his watch but I was a few minutes early, which meant he couldn’t complain. Still, he barked at me anyway. “Why aren’t the reports finished?”

  I glanced at the desk and saw a stack of handwritten documents in the basket. “The basket was empty when I left last evening.”

  Without hesitation, he slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. “Don’t talk back to me!” he roared. “You were out late last night. I know all about your comings and goings, and don’t think I don’t. Now get busy.” I took a seat at the desk and began typing the reports, doing my best to keep my head down and my eyes away from him.

  A few minutes later, Claus entered the room. I lifted my head to change the form in the typewriter. Without making eye contact, I saw his countenance drop when he caught sight of the anguished look on my face and the red handprint on my cheek. Adolf appeared from the opposite side of the room. “You are late!” he shouted at Claus. “Did you not know that working here is a privilege?” His finger jabbed the air as he continued yelling. “Your fellow soldiers are out there fighting and dying while you are in here ogling the women.”

  Claus was startled by the sudden outburst but tried to defend himself. “I was only—”

  “Don’t talk back to me!” Adolf was giving a full display of the Eichmann temper. I had seen it before from his father, Karl. There was no stopping him now.

  “Colonel Eichmann,” Claus tried once more, “I wasn’t—”

  Adolf banged his fist down hard against a desktop. “Collect your belongings,” he seethed. Then he reached over to my desk and snatched up a pen and pulled a clean sheet of paper from my typewriter. With a quick flourish, he scribbled a note and thrust it triumphantly in Claus’ face. “You will report to General Von Küchler at once.”

  Claus’ mouth dropped open. “Von Küchler?” he gasped. “He is on the Russian front.”

  “Yes,” Adolf smiled with cruel glee. “Perhaps while you are there you will learn how to conduct yourself in a professional manner. Then perhaps you will know how to act should someone ever again reward you with a position of privilege.”

  I remained at my desk through Adolf ’s tirade, my eyes focused on the typewriter. But with my mind I sorted through events of the day before, trying to determine how he knew that I had been out with Claus. Very quickly I came to the conclusion that Hilda was the source of his information. I knew when I saw her seated in the front room that there would be trouble. I didn’t know how or why or what might happen, but I knew it wasn’t good that she was waiting for me when I returned. She was the only one who could have told Adolf where I had been and who had accompanied me.

  Through the remainder of spring and summer, Gerda and I worked twelve hours each day, seven days a week, to keep up with the growing volume of records generated by the detention system. Adolf took delight in the number of people being forced through the network of camps in Austria and Poland, and with the accolades others heaped upon him for the results he produced. I was appalled at the death and misery each list represented and battled every day to keep from crying while I typed the names onto official forms. Most days I was too upset to take lunch and at night my sleep became fitful and restless.

  In November, a new woman, Marianne Bernigau, appeared at our office and was assigned to one of the desks that sat to our right. She was slender, young, and had a pretty smile. Gerda and Eva showed her what to do. I was cordial to her, but she kept to herself most of the time and had very little to say.

  Not long after Marianne arrived, Adolf invited me to join him for a trip. He refused to tell me where he was taking me, but from the schoolboy smile on his face I wasn’t too worried. The next morning, he came to collect me at the boardinghouse with a car and driver. I wore my usual attire for work, one of the dresses from the warehouse and a light jacket.

  The weather was not yet cold enough for the overcoat. Seated beside him in back, we rode in silence through the streets of Vienna, arriving at the train station a few minutes later. There we alighted from the automobile and walked across the platform to a private railcar that was attached to the end of a passenger train.

  We entered through a door at the front end of the coach and wound our way past a galley kitchen into the main space of the car. In the center was a dining table with upholstered chairs positioned around it. Along the windows on the far side were three seating areas with more chairs arranged around tables suitable for enjoying the passing scenery. On the near side was a desk with shelves and space for working. The rear of the car was occupied by a private bedroom. I caught a glimpse of it through an open door.

  Adolph walked to the bedroom and deposited a briefcase there, then joined me at the dining table. “Please,” he gestured to the chairs. “Have a seat.” I took a seat at the table and he sat across from me. Before long the train started forward and not long after that stewards appeared with breakfast. We ate as the train rolled through the countryside, finishing with coffee, which we drank while seated in the chairs by the window.

  When we finished the coffee, he stood and took me by the hand and led me across the car to the bedroom door. I didn’t want to go in there, and certainly not with him, but I felt I had little option but to do as he suggested.

  The door to the room opened to a short entryway about five feet long. Past that, a large bed dominated the center of the room. To the right was a sofa and near the end of it another door that led into a private bath that occupied the space between the bedroom and the main room of the car. A small table stood near the bed. On it was a wine bucket with a bottle already on ice.

  As we entered the room, Adolf slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the bed. Then he placed his arm around my waist and drew me near, pressing his lips against my neck. “You always liked me,” he whispered as he nibbled on the lobe of my ear. “Ever since you were a little girl you could not take your eyes off me.”

  “I am not a little girl anymore.”

  “How well I know,” he grinned. “And I am no longer simply a boy. Now we can do s
omething about our affections for each other.”

  “No,” I pushed him away with my forearm. “It’s not like that.”

  “You can’t deny your feelings for me.” He took my hand and pulled me back into his arms. “And I can no longer deny mine for you.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “And a long time to hold our emotions in check.” His arm slid back around my waist and he tightened his grip. “Do you know where we are going on this trip?”

  “No.”

  “I am taking you back to Linz.” He nuzzled against my neck once more. “And can you guess why?”

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to go back there.”

  “I have a house there.” He spoke in a low, husky voice. “Not far from where we used to live. You will stay there enjoying every luxury you could imagine. And when I arrive for a visit, you will serve my needs.”

  “I will not be your mistress,” I pulled away from him once more. “Well, you can’t be my wife,” he chuckled. “They would shoot us both for that.”

  “I won’t be either.” I was angry at the suggestion and wanted him to know it.

  “Then you will be my whore!” His face was red with anger, the veins in his neck pulsing. He started toward me again but I slipped past him and darted out the door. As I rushed from the room, I collided with a man dressed in an army uniform. My forehead struck a medal pinned to his chest and I reached up to check for blood. My head slowly tipped back and my eyes ran up his chest to his face. Then I saw that the man was none other than General Reinhard Heydrich.

  Adolf came after me, arriving in the doorway a few seconds behind, and was brought up short at the sight of him. “General,” he smiled nervously, doing his best to act as if nothing was happening. “I did not know you were on this train.”

  “Obviously not,” Heydrich said without amusement. “We have things to discuss.”

  “Very well.” Adolf stepped back from the doorway and straightened his shirt. “Come in. We can talk back here.”