“What have you done to me?” he whispered, his gloved hands on either side of my face. The gray winter sky was reflected in his eyes and I wanted nothing more than to be lost in all that blue-gray.
“I love you,” I said. I kissed him, feeling my mouth and breath warming his cold face. “Oh, Christian, I love you, but I’m freezing.”
He laughed out loud at that and got up, pulling me after him, and we went back to the inn.
In our room, we dropped our wet clothes and got immediately into bed. I was shivering and he wrapped his warm arms and legs around me.
“Now,” he said, “where were we?”
WE SAT IN the little dining room after dinner and chatted with Frau Mittelstadt. Her husband came in to turn on the radio.
“Do you mind?” he asked politely. “The Fuhrer speaks tonight.”
“Ah.” Christian’s face was impassive.
Herr Mittelstadt played with the tuning knob, summoning only nasty shrieks from the big set. It had pride of place in the dining room, looming in the center of the sideboard, several circles of doilies under it.
Another couple came into the room. They were obviously locals, the man in a party uniform, his wife in a wool dirndl. He was dark and thin and she was blond and rosy.
Herr Mittelstadt went to greet them, then he brought them over to Christian and me.
“The local bigwigs,” muttered Christian as he stood to greet the new people.
“Frau Mayr, Hauptsturmfuhrer Mayr, may I present Kreisleiter and Frau Walther?”
“Heil Hitler!” Kreisleiter Walther bellowed in a voice more suited for the parade ground than a dining room. He saluted vigorously, clicking the heels of his polished brown boots together noisily. His wife also saluted, but with more decorum.
“It is an honor to meet you, Hauptsturmfuhrer,” continued Walther, shaking hands with Christian. “May I present my wife?” Christian shook the lady’s hand, then turned to me, an amused expression on his face, and introduced me.
“Good evening,” I said, smiling and nodding at the Walthers.
“May we congratulate you on your marriage,” the Kreisleiter said to Christian, who barely got out a “thank you” before Walther continued telling him how honored the town was to have been chosen by the Hauptsturmfuhrer for his wedding. I could see, in both the obsequious behavior of Herr Walther and the timid but adoring looks of his wife, that Christian was an important celebrity to them. He seemed embarrassed but unsurprised by the attention.
Herr Mittelstadt interrupted the Kreisleiter, whose title, I was to discover later, meant he was the Nazi party leader of the district. He brought schnapps for a toast, pouring everyone a tiny glassful.
“To your best health and happiness,” said Kreisleiter Walther, lifting his glass. “It is in marriages such as yours that the Reich finds its strength. May you be fruitful and dutiful and may you be blessed with many sons and daughters for the Reich. Heil Hitler,” he finished off, tossing back his drink.
“Heil Hitler,” everyone said, smiling and drinking. The room was warm with everyone’s good wishes for Christian and me, and I couldn’t wait to leave.
They had to have another toast, this one to the Fuhrer. Herr Mittelstadt recharged the glasses and raised his, but stopped when he saw me still seated.
For a moment, I didn’t understand his look. Christian looked down at me, with a slight upward movement of his eyebrows.
“Oh,” I said, quickly standing. “I’m sorry.”
Satisfied, the Kreisleiter turned back to his business. He made a long toast to the Fuhrer’s health, which sounded more like a prayer. There was another round of Heil Hitlers afterward and we all saluted. I’d never done it before and felt so clumsy, I almost giggled.
“Now, Hauptsturmfuhrer,” said the Kreisleiter, walking to Christian, “I would like to discuss several matters with you. It is so seldom I have a chance to meet someone from Berlin face-to-face. You understand?” He drew Christian away. My husband looked over his shoulder at me, as though to say he was helpless against such enthusiastic fervor.
“Come, Frau Mayr, sit with us,” invited Frau Walther shyly.
“I’ll make some more coffee,” offered Frau Mittelstadt.
“Thank you,” I said, “that’s very kind of you.”
There was a cozy corner niche next to the tall stove, with benches and a table, where we three women sat.
They asked me a few questions, careful not to get too personal, except saying they thought my husband was very handsome. Then they started in about babies and I smiled at them, wondering what they would think if they knew I was pregnant.
A blast of music from the radio startled everyone, stopping
Frau Mittelstadt in a mid-description of some horrible, messy infant illness.
“Ah, the Fuhrer,” said Frau Walther, touching my hand and standing up. We moved out of the little niche to join the men in front of the radio. Herr Mittelstadt fussed with the knobs for a moment, then stood back.
“The reception is not so good tonight. Sometimes it sounds as though he were in the next room.”
“Oh, my,” exclaimed Frau Walther, her hand over her mouth. “Can you imagine the Fuhrer in the next room? It’s the kitchen.” She started laughing, but a furious glance from her husband silenced her.
“I’m sorry, Hauptsturmfuhrer, my wife is young . . .” he said to Christian.
“Please,” said Christian, embarrassed. “Please, it is nothing.”
“Nothing! Nothing to make fun—”
“We will overlook it, Kreisleiter,” Christian said gently, his eyes on the man, his gentleness not obscuring his command. Another facet of him I had never seen.
“Yes, Hauptsturmfuhrer, of course.”
After the little scene with the Kreisleiter, Christian came over to me, slipping his arm around my waist.
“Sorry, darling,” he said softly in English. “I didn’t realize.”
“How long do you suppose this will take?”
“Well, you know the Fuhrer. He can go on at great length.”
“May I have a fainting spell?”
“I’ll have to stay.”
“Don’t you want to?” I teased him. We stood very close together, my shoulder tucked up under his. He bent his head.
“I’d rather go up with you,” he said seriously.
“See if you can tear yourself away,” I said and, moving out of the sanctuary of his arm, went to make my excuses. The two couples were not pleased with me, but my timing was perfect. No one argued because just then Hitler’s husky voice filled the dining room. Everyone’s attention was riveted on the radio and I quietly faded out of the room, giving Christian a little wave as I passed him.
I had been asleep but woke up when he came into our room. I heard him moving quietly around. He left for a while and I dozed off once more, waking again when he slipped into bed behind me.
“Sally?” he whispered.
“Hmmm?”
“You’re awake.” He moved up close to me, putting his arm around me.
I turned to face him. “How long have you been?”
“Hours.” He kissed my face, my temples, my eyes, running his lips over my cheeks and nose. “It drove me crazy, thinking of you up here in this bed, naked.” He ran his hand over my side, down to my hip. “I thought he’d never stop.” He started kissing my neck, moving down to my breasts, cupping them in his hands.
“Christian,” I said, smoothing his soft hair. “Don’t you . . .” I couldn’t think how to phrase my question. “Those people,” I whispered, “are members of the party.”
“Of course.”
“They seem to believe everything, to take it all seriously.
“Yes.” He was waiting, hovering over me. I could feel the heat between our naked bodies and I wanted nothing more than his skin against mine.
“Didn’t you? I mean, didn’t you believe like they do?”
He was still for a long moment, then rolled away from me, so
that he lay on his back. The covers slid off me, leaving me exposed to the cool air of the room, and I rearranged them, huddling down in the warmth.
“Have I upset you?” I asked.
“No. No, of course not. I’m glad you ask questions. I’d hate it if you were like those women, those good little wives who cower when their husbands frown.
“All right, I’ll try to tell you. At first, I did believe that the National Socialists had the answers to Germany’s problems. They seemed to promise hope, jobs, and a chance for us to stand up again. And Hitler was—well, you should have heard him speak, back in the old days. Before everything got so pompous. Now I wonder if it wasn’t just their energy that I was attracted to. That and the connection with my brother.”
“Christian, what about the Jews?”
“Oh, that’s all medieval nonsense.”
“But the SS . . .”
“It’s for the uneducated men, gives them a sense of superiority. I don’t need it. I feel superior enough already.” He rolled back over on me, propping himself up on his elbows. “Don’t you think I am?”
“You’re perfect,” I said, and pulling him tight against me, opening my legs for him, drawing him in.
I WOKE THE next morning facing him and lay watching him sleep, his face soft in the gray light of the room. It was utterly silent, and I raised my head to see that it was snowing outside. Then I felt his fingers against my arm.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, running his hand along my arm. I snuggled down next to him, almost believing him.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” I said, thinking of how I had to raise my arm last night, just to be polite.
“It’s snowing,” he exclaimed, sitting up. “Maybe we’ll be snowed in. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“It would, but I’d rather be snowed in somewhere warm.” He laughed.
“You make no sense at all. Hey, I have an idea.”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said, getting out of bed. I pulled the covers around me, making up for the heat loss. He got into some clothes and went out of the room. I snuggled into the covers and decided to go back to sleep. I had almost succeeded when Christian came noisily back into the room.
“I’ve got it!” he cried, waving a piece of paper on which I could see his handwriting. He sat on the side of the bed. “Look,” he said, holding the paper up in front of me.
“What? I can’t . . .” I held his hand still and read some times and the names of several cities. “Innsbruck? You want to go to Austria?”
“No, but we have to go through Austria to get to Venice. Or Milan. We could go to La Scala. But I think we ought to keep going south and not even stop in Florence. I was there once in November and it was freezing. We can keep on going to Rome.”
“Rome. Italy?”
“Absolutely. Roma. Italia. Espresso. Spaghetti.”
“Could we really?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Oh, Christian,” I cried and threw my arms around him, kissing his face a hundred times. He laughed, holding me against him, as he tumbled over me.
“Well,” he said, his hands in my hair, holding my face above him. “Is it a good idea?”
“It’s a wonderful idea. And you’re a genius for thinking of it.”
“I thought so,” he said, pulling me down for a kiss.
“Wait,” I said, resisting. “What about your job? Can you just stay away like this?” I sat up. “And I should let my father know. How long do you think we’ll be gone? Are you sure you can do this?”
“Sally, shut up,” he said, sitting up behind me, his hands on my shoulders. “We’ll telegram everyone when we get there. After all, it is our honeymoon. We won’t get another chance for one until this kid is grown and married herself.”
I turned into him, giggling, and we fell down again. We kissed, then lay facing each other. He reached for my hand and threaded his fingers around mine.
“Are you happy?” he asked in a whisper.
“Oh, yes.” I kissed his fingers. It was strange, the way our hands were woven together, I felt as though I were kissing my own. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Really? There’s so much you’re losing. And you’ll have me and a baby to take care of.”
“I know.” He brushed his lips over my fingers, then looked at me with those clear blue eyes of his. “I want to tell you something,” he said seriously. “And I want you to promise never to forget it. Promise?”
“All right.”
He held my hand tightly. “Whatever happens, I want you to remember that I said this.”
“What happens? What do you mean?” I was suddenly frightened.
“Shhh,” he said. “Listen to me. This is important. Shhh.” He waited to be sure he had my full attention before he spoke again. “I don’t know that anything will happen, but the way things are— nothing is sure, don’t you see? So I want you to remember that I said to you, here, in this room where we’ve made love so many wonderful times, that I love you.” He lowered his head to our joined hands. I could feel the soft skin around his eyes, his eyelashes against my fingers.
He looked up again. “Will you always remember that? I love you and nothing in my life is as good and true as you are, as we are together, right now. Will you promise to remember?”
“Oh, my love, of course I will.” And putting my arms around his neck, I held him against me. “How could I ever forget?” I murmured into his hair, glad he couldn’t see how much his words had frightened me.
After a few minutes, he sat up. “Now,” he said, “we’d better get organized. Ah, good, it has stopped snowing. See, we are meant to go. Come on, Sally, you aren’t even dressed. We have to hurry if we’re going to make the noon train, which we must take to make the earliest connection to Zurich.”
“Christian?” I said, not moving from the bed, not even sitting up. He turned to look down at me, a soft expression stealing over his face as he did so. “Could we go all the way to Naples? It might really be warm there.”
“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll go until we find some sun. All the way to Africa if we have to, I promise.” And reaching out his hands for mine, he pulled me up.
CHANGING TRAINS
IT WAS PAST midnight when the train reached the border between Switzerland and the Reich. We were sitting up because we hadn’t been able to book a sleeping compartment on such short notice. I leaned against Christian’s shoulder, trying to sleep. I felt the train stop and opened my eyes.
In the corner of the compartment was a man in a crumpled suit, who had gotten on at the last stop. He was asleep and snoring, his bullet-shaped head back against the seat.
I felt Christian move and looked up at him.
“Are you awake?” he asked, moving his arm so that I could sit up.
“Didn’t think I’d slept.” I looked out the window. The platform was forlorn, empty of people, bare under the floodlights. Suddenly, a squad of helmeted guards came purposefully out of the station building. Several men in civilian clothing followed them.
“This might take a while,” said Christian, as we watched the men spread themselves along the length of the train. “Depends on who they’re looking for. If anyone.”
A guard appeared in front of our window, his back to us so that all we could see was his dark helmet, the barrel of his gun. I moved closer to Christian.
“I should have worn my uniform,” he muttered, half to himself. “Might have helped expedite matters.
“Say, is there any more coffee?” he asked. Frau Mittelstadt had furnished us with a lunch basket, including a thermos of coffee. We had refilled it at the last stop. We could hear the guards enter the car, filling the narrow hall with their heavy boot-steps.
“I think so.” And I bent over to get the thermos out of the basket at my feet. I twisted the top off and handed it to Christian so I could pour him a cup. I laughed nervously. “I feel so guilty.�
��
“I know,” he said. “As though we are about to be caught playing hooky. Thanks.” He drank the coffee and I replaced the inner top. “Want some?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I put the thermos in the basket and stood up to get my coat from the rack. The door to our compartment opened and when I turned around, the small space was filled up with men.
“Hauptsturmfuhrer Mayr?” said one guard, when he read Christian’s passport. My husband nodded and the soldier left the compartment. He was back almost immediately with a man in civilian clothes—the guards, as well as the other man in our compartment, disappeared.
“Christian,” said the stranger. “I’m glad we found you.”
“August. This isn’t all for me?”
“Of course not. It’s the usual border thing. We just came along for the ride. Is this the new Frau Mayr?”
“Sally, this is a colleague of mine, August Muller.”
“Hello,” I said, offering my hand.
“Enchanted, Frau Mayr,” said Muller, bending over my hand. “Now that I see you, I am all the more desolated that I must take your husband away.”
“What!” Christian exclaimed.
“I’m afraid it’s true, old man. The Chief wants you back. You know that, ah, project you were working on?”
“I left Oster all the information he’d need to continue.”
“I know, but you know the fellow . . .?”
“Yes, yes. Holtz. You mean Holtz.”
“Exactly. Well, he died.”
“What? Jesus, what happened?”
“I’m not sure, I was just sent to bring you back immediately.”
“Oh, shit,” said Christian. “Dammit.” He dropped into the middle seat next to me. “Darling, do you see? I’ll have to go.”
I looked at him, trying to understand what I had just heard.
“Someone died? Was it someone you knew? A friend?”
The Last Innocent Hour Page 40
