by Bodie Thoene
“I told you—” she pulled him to the waiting taxi—“he’s away buying Italian wines. French wines. German wines. All for England. He’ll make a killing if war breaks out.” She slipped into the backseat, giving Murphy only enough room to squeeze in beside her.
The long ride to the house was a vague echo in Murphy’s mind. He thought of Elisa only once; then he kissed Amanda more fiercely. He wished that Elisa could see the two of them together, wished that she could ache for him the way he had longed for her.
The taxi deposited them on a street lined with tall, stately, Georgian-style house. Amanda paid the driver, then tugged Murphy up the steps of the house and into the foyer. He swayed slightly and looked around, bewildered. Amanda laughed softly, waving a pound note under his nose. “I’m worth more than half a crown, wouldn’t you say, Murphy?”
He could see the glint of Amanda’s smile from the dim light of a streetlamp that came in through the window. “Half a crown?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.
She laid her head against his chest as she loosened his tie. “Remember that night in your room at the Adlon Hotel in Berlin? King Edward’s speech?” She prompted. “When he gave up his crown for the woman he loved?” She giggled and kissed his throat. “You said you could buy all the love you needed down at the cabarets for half a crown.”
Yes. He remembered. In one instant he saw himself as he had been that evening. Drunk and cynical, he had somehow equated love with lust. Love had been something he could buy, until . . . “Elisa!” He spoke her name aloud, and the impact of it crashed through their passion like a bomb.
Amanda stiffened in his arms. “Who?” Her voice was harsh.
He stood silently and unresponsive to her touch. Suddenly he was drained and exhausted. Closing his eyes, he could visualize Elisa as he had seen her that first night climbing into the taxi on Unter den Linden. Even then he hadn’t noticed anything but the shape of her legs. Then she had brushed his life again, and he had come to see so much more! Her love had become more precious to him than his own life.
“Who is Elisa?” Amanda asked, trying to recapture the fire of a moment before. “No. Never mind, Johnny.” She kissed his chin.
“Amanda––,” he started to explain.
“I don’t care who she is.”
“The woman I love.” He moved her hands away from his shoulders.
“A dangerous thing, love.” She pressed herself closer to him, not willing to give up. “Men throw away all sorts of things for love. Kingdoms. Crowns.” She laughed a brittle laugh. “Me?”
It would be so much easier just to let her help him forget Elisa. His whole body ached to find some relief, but––
“Amanda.” He pushed her back gently.
“Kiss me again, Johnny!” She was begging now. “I can make you forget her. You don’t have to suffer.” She threw her arms around him, and he pushed her forcefully away.
He could smell her perfume and the whiskey on her breath. “No! You can’t!” His words were slurred, but his mind was clear. “I can’t!”
She stood before him, a shadow in the dark foyer. She drew herself up and raised her hand.
For a moment Murphy thought she would strike him, and he didn’t blame her.
She lowered her fist and said coldly, “I suppose you haven’t suffered enough, then.”
Her words were meant to sting him, but instead he felt a wave of pity for her. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. He wanted to hold her for a moment to calm her, to comfort her, but he didn’t dare. “This isn’t personal,” he added lamely.
“Sex rarely is,” she spat. “What has this got to do with her, anyway? Just a little diversion, Johnny.”
How could he explain? A few months before he would have accepted her offer without conscience. “I’m sorry.” He let his breath out slowly. “It is more than that to me now, Amanda.”
“What’s happened to you? You used to be amusing, at least.”
“I just . . . ” He groped for words. He was grateful she hadn’t switched on the light. They stood on opposite sides of the dark foyer and spoke through the echoing darkness. “I guess I found out, Amanda, that love is worth more than half a crown tossed to some dame down at a bar. And—” he took a step toward her, then stopped—“and I’m worth more. And, Amanda, so are you.”
She began to weep softly and turned away from him. He knew that he could not allow himself to comfort her or they might end up in bed in spite of everything.
The light from the streetlamp gleamed through the leaded glass door panels like a beacon of safety. Without another word, he opened the door and slipped out into the misty streets of London.
***
If it had not been for the two young boys at her side, Leah would have cursed the Austrian Nazi who now led them down the narrow lanes toward Elisa’s flat. She would have spit on the swastika emblem Otto Wattenbarger wore so proudly on his armband. It would have been simpler if he had arrested her along with Shimon and the others who would now vanish into the yawning blackness of this horrifying night.
She held her chin high as Charles and Louis clung tightly to her hands. She had to protect them, and this one duty somehow protected Leah from herself and the madness of a grief so profound that her own life suddenly had no meaning.
Her teeth were clenched, and her pale face reflected eerily in the glass of shopwindows as they passed.
“There is something going on up ahead.” Otto turned to Leah.
In front of Elisa’s apartment building a long, black official-looking car was parked. From the light of the open foyer door, Leah could clearly make out the frightened face of the little concierge as he stood between two members of the SS. He was obviously under arrest.
“The concierge!” Leah blurted. “Why?”
“They have their reasons. We must not doubt that.” He made no attempt to move on toward the apartment. “Seyss-Inquart is a Nazi, you know. Hitler made Schuschnigg appoint the man as Austrian minister of interior.” He glanced toward the shivering little man who was being led out to the Gestapo car. “A smart move on behalf of the Führer, I think. Today everyone who was in support of Austrian independence is being taken for questioning.”
“Arrested? The concierge? He is harmless.”
“Simply detained until they know if he is harmless, indeed. When the Austrian chancellor stepped down, Seyss-Inquart turned all the security office files over to the Nazi Gestapo, you see. It makes the cleanup so simple. Those like me, who yesterday were enemies of Schuschnigg, are now free men. And those who were enemies of the union of Austria and the Reich are now prisoners.” He sounded matter-of-fact. He glanced down at the boys. “A lot of Austrian loyalists are going to learn the Nazi salute overnight, I imagine. But it may not do them any good. Not since the Austrian security files are now in Himmler’s hands.”
Leah did not reply. She watched in horror as the apartment concierge was shoved into the backseat. The car roared off moments later. “Why?” she whispered. “Why?”
Otto stared through the shadows at her. His answer was not harsh but firm. “Why is not a question we dare to ask in Germany. Tonight—now—you must erase such a dangerous word from your mind and your lips forever.” He laughed a short, bitter laugh. “Or at least until the end of the Thousand-Year Reich. Whichever comes first, ja?”
As the Gestapo car disappeared around the far corner, Otto stepped off the curb and marched toward the still-open door of the apartment building. At the step, he turned about-face and clicked his heels together. “Heil Hitler!” He saluted; then, without another word or glance back at them, he left them gaping blankly after him.
“Go upstairs,” Leah told the boys, turning away from the strange Austrian Nazi who had not waited for her to reply with the Nazi salute.
The door of the concierge’s apartment was closed. Leah remembered how angry Elisa had been when the man had allowed Austrian police officers into her apartment without her permission. But the Austrian Schupos had been as
gentle as nuns compared to what Herr Haupt now must face at Gestapo headquarters.
Leah grasped the handle of the violoncello case. The stairs seemed to rear back as she stared up toward Elisa’s apartment where the boys waited for her on the landing. She seemed to have no strength left to climb the steps. “Elisa?” she called weakly. Then, “Louis, that is the door, there. Knock. Tell Elisa that Leah has come.”
Louis smiled down at her but did not move. “Are you our Aunt Leah?” he asked. “You did not tell us your name.”
Leah exhaled loudly. It did not seem to matter anymore what happened. Let the Gestapo arrest me for being the Aunt Leah of a thousand children orphaned by the Reich, she thought wearily.
At the admission of her identity, Charles reached into his gray woolen kneesock and pulled out a thick envelope.
“Father said we should give this to you, Aunt Leah!” Louis chirped too loudly.
Suddenly Leah realized that it really did still matter after all. With a newfound strength, she lugged the violoncello up the stairs and took the envelope from Charles. Then she put her finger to her lips to silence any further words. Someone might overhear them. Every move could be reported as suspicious.
Leah was filled with a sense of apprehension. She did not bother to knock, but ran her fingers along the edge of the worn carpet until she found the extra key Elisa always left for her. Her hands were trembling as she opened the door.
Louis and Charles crowded into the dark apartment behind her. The room was cold. The blinds were drawn. Leah did not need to call Elisa’s name. She knew that her friend was not there.
The thought struck her with stunning force: Perhaps Elisa had also been arrested. “Everyone!” Leah turned and gazed around the familiar room in bewilderment. “Everyone!” she said again with a choked voice.
She felt a persistent tug at her sleeve and glanced down to meet the concerned gaze of Charles. He shook his head solemnly to contradict his newly acquired aunt. “Not everyone had been arrested,” he seemed to say. “No.” He was still free. And Louis. And Leah was free tonight. At the end of Austria’s blackest day, the three of them together made up one small miracle at least. And was there any corner on earth more in need of miracles than this place?
14
One Sad Little Boy
Those men who met with Adolf Hitler in his suite at the Imperial Hotel were among the privileged few who had led the long and desperate struggle of the Nazis in Austria. The Führer had also included in his private audience the Nazis of Czechoslovakia who still had much to do before the prophecies of Mein Kampf could be fulfilled.
Otto Wattenbarger, though a latecomer in the struggle of Austria, now stood beside Sporer in the line of a dozen men as Hitler grasped each hand and offered his thanks and congratulations. Sporer received a hearty clap on the back as well.
“And now, Sporer, after such an excellent performance here in Austria, you will return to our homeland in Czechoslovakia and inspire others to follow the lesson we have taught here!”
“I have no homeland but the Fatherland, mein Führer,” Sporer protested. “My goal only is that Germany be one great homeland in the very heart of Europe.” He clicked his heels. “And that is your goal.”
This was the first utterance of modesty that Otto had ever heard from Sporer. Indeed, the personality of Adolf Hitler had a way of making even cruel and ruthless men seem mild.
The words of Sporer pleased Hitler. He gazed intently at his loyal follower. Mesmerizing blue eyes sparkled with emotion. “Indeed that is my goal. The Reich will not forget the men who pledge their lives to such glory!” There was promise of promotion for Sporer in those words.
Now the Führer reached out and clasped Otto’s hand. “And you worked for the Anschluss in your native Tyrol, Sporer tells me. When there were but a handful, you were among them. The Fatherland thanks you.” He expected no reply from Otto. Enough time had been wasted on such trivialities.
Otto simply nodded in response; he was speechless, as men often were when faced with Adolf Hitler.
The Führer clapped his hands together loudly. “Now to business!” He turned abruptly toward the leaders of the Sudeten Czech Nazis. The party was illegal in Czechoslovakia, Hitler began, as it had been in Austria until he forced Schuschnigg to back down in February. He would do the same with the Slavic pygmies who headed the government of the wretched democracy. What he had done in Austria would now be fulfilled in Czechoslovakia—and the process would not take years, but less than a month, he promised.
No man in the room dared to contradict the great leader’s lesson in the management of foreign policy. There were no members of the German military here today to protest what he vowed to accomplish.
“From the beginning the Nazi Party has been a party of the people’s will!” As Hitler spoke, his words gained momentum and volume until he was almost shouting, pacing back and forth in front of his small awestruck assembly. “You must rouse the will of the masses! Until you tell them what they must believe, they are too ignorant and docile to know! As Führer of the great German peoples, I myself thus become their will.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over each man. “And the will of the Volksdeutsche is that we are one German Reich!” He strode the length of the elegant hotel suite to the window that overlooked the place where thousands of Austrians had cheered him. The memory seemed to please him.
His voice was calmer as once again he began his instruction. “On my bed table—” he gestured toward the double doors that led to his sleeping quarters—“you will see even now a copy of the writings of Machiavelli.” He clasped his hands behind his back and rose slightly on his toes. “Next to Wagner, perhaps his writings have most influenced my course.”
He was enjoying his erudite display and now began to quote from Machiavelli:
“‘A prince must not mind incurring the charge of cruelty for the purpose of keeping his subjects united and faithful. For this is more merciful than those who allow disorders to arise, for disorder injures the whole community, while executions carried out by the prince injure only individuals.’”
He raised his hand as if to silence any objections or comments, though no one in the room dared to speak. “‘It is much safer,’ says Machiavelli, ‘to be feared than loved.’”
Drawing a deep breath of satisfaction, Hitler turned to the men of his classroom. “Those of you who remain in Austria to rule must remember this rule and one other.” His eyes blazed with the conviction of his words. “He only injures those whose lands and houses are taken to give to the new inhabitants. In this case we speak of the Jews. Those others who are not injured will be easily pacified, fearful of offending lest they also lose everything. You see? It is written in the book, men must be either caressed or annihilated! They will avenge themselves for small injuries but cannot avenge themselves for great ones. What we do to our enemies must be so severe that we need not fear their vengeance!”
The meaning was clear. The rule of Austria was to be without mercy. Now he leveled his gaze upon those who would return to Czech soil. Again he used the ideas of Machiavelli. “You who return to the Sudetenland must remember how to imitate both the fox and the lion. A lion cannot defend himself from traps.” He spoke as though his words were for children. “A fox cannot defend himself against wolves. You must be a fox to recognize traps and a lion to frighten the wolves. Those who wish only to be lions do not understand this. “ He smiled benignly, almost gently, as he spoke. “Therefore, a ruler should not keep the faith if it is against his interest and when the reason that made him bind himself no longer exists. We can always find legitimate grounds for breaking our word when the time is right. As it will be soon in the Czech territories.”
He gazed off toward a corner of the room as though the words of his prophecies were written there in blood. “As our work continues in Czechoslovakia, it is important that we disguise this method. Learn well to be a great feigner and dissembler. Men are so simple and stupid and ready to avoid conflict that
the one who deceives will always find those who are ready to be deceived.”
The pause here was long and expectant. Finally Sporer cleared his throat, and the eyes of the Führer leaped to him. “Do you speak of negotiating with the British and the French over the issue of Czechoslovakia? Or with the President Beneš himself in Prague?” Sporer asked.
The question pleased the Führer. Once again Sporer had found favor with him. “In the end, the Czech government will have nothing to say about what we do there. We must find a way to keep the French and the British from interfering with our goals. The plan is simple. You are to rouse up unrest among the racially German population in the Sudetenland. We will provide the funds, of course, and if agitators are needed we will send the required number as we did here in Austria. You must make demands!” The word was shouted with a raised fist. “Demands that are impossible for the government of Prague to fulfill! Again and again you must make impossible demands as the unrest continues. Some Germans will be killed. It must be. This will provide more fuel to our fire! We will shout to the world about the oppression of the racially German population by the vile Czechs! Then when the government of Beneš in Prague refuses to meet the demands of the oppressed people, you must walk away from the bargaining table and we will march across the border! Their refusal will be our justification to the world. If I march to save my German kindred, can England and France condemn me?”
