by David Fraser
‘Curious world, when we have to entertain employees of the brewery, in case they do us harm!’
‘As I could,’ Schwede would mutter to himself after such bitter imaginings. ‘As I could!’
But he had acted with prompt correctitude when they heard the news of Langenbach’s death in that air crash. He had appeared, spruce in Party uniform, had saluted, bowed, his manner expressive of honourable grief at the passing of a German warrior. The young widow herself had received him. Perfunctory words were spoken. He knew he did it with dignity. He had seen her often before, of course, but this occasion was the first on which he had seen her alone.
She had thanked him, equally perfunctorily. Finally, awkwardly, he had murmured some further words and risen to leave. Then Anna (he thought of her always as Anna, licking his lips) rose from her chair. How beautiful she was! How elegant in her sadness!
‘Herr Schwede, I wish to ask you something.’
‘Frau Langenbach?’
‘There is a family in the village who appear in some sort of trouble. They are deeply distressed and afraid. Will you please act in such a way as to put their minds at rest?’
She named the family. Schwede was appalled.
‘Frau Langenbach, these are confidential matters but I know I can rely on your discretion.’
‘You can.’
He told her that the family in question were suspected of having been party to an arrangement whereby one of the Jewish tradesmen who had fled from Germany the previous year had managed to expatriate some savings. There were technicalities. It was complicated – it appeared that the family had not, strictly speaking, acted illegally – but they had probably done a favour in a most indiscreet way. In what most decent Germans would regard as an unpatriotic way, no less.
‘But if they have done nothing illegal, why have you threatened them? You have left them terrified that they may be – imprisoned somewhere – even without being formally charged.’ She looked at him, opening wide her beautiful eyes in what appeared puzzled distress.
‘They behaved most unwisely, if nothing else, Frau Langenbach. These were Jews.’
‘Perhaps. But law is law is it not? And there are plenty of new ones. Yet you say these people have not broken the law. And you know, Herr Schwede,’ Anna had continued, ‘there is talk that people sometimes disappear in our country, just because somebody in the Party thinks it best.’
‘Nonsense, Frau Langenbach.’
‘I know and you know that it is nonsense – stupid, lying, talk. But surely it is best to stop foolish people thinking it by giving them no reason to think it? I am sure you agree.’
Schwede was far from agreeing. People had to feel there could be trouble if they misbehaved themselves. Society demanded it and the cumbrous processes of law were inadequate to satisfy that demand. He said nothing, however. He looked at her hungrily. What eyes! What skin! And in black – marvellous! She was manifestly pregnant but that altered her desirability not one bit. No more than did her widow’s weeds.
‘Anything you can do to set ignorant people’s minds at rest would be most considerate – Herr Kreisleiter!’ And then she smiled. It had been a cold smile and a cold extension of the hand, but as he took it he had felt blessed.
Thereafter, however, matters had not progressed. He had quickly sorted out the delinquent family.
‘So! There are complaints of harassment, are there? What am I to think of that? Frau Langenbach tells me you’ve been bothering her with your troubles, telling her stories about your innocence! When you and I know that your behaviour has been very – very questionable, shall we say!’
‘Herr Kreisleiter, let me assure you absolutely.’ The man was terrified. Schwede eyed him.
‘Here’s what you’ll do if you want to start convincing me you’re a good German – and if you want to help me persuade people at Headquarters you’re a good German –’
And Schwede prescribed a course of action. The man would approach Frau Langenbach and would assure her, ‘In a way that convinces her, without double-talk,’ that the Kreisleiter had been really helpful, had accepted assurances of good behaviour, that previous errors had arisen from misunderstanding.
‘You were misled by the Jew, eh?’
‘I was misled by the Jew, Herr Kreisleiter.’
‘Swine!’
‘Swine!’
Schwede put his face very close to the other’s.
‘And there’ll be no mistake about this. You’re perfectly happy and untroubled now, Kettner, aren’t you?’
Kettner said he was. A diminutive man, he wished he could stop sweating and trembling. The Kettners kept a small provisions store.
‘Herr Kreisleiter’ I would consider it a great honour if you would give me your opinion on this bottle of cognac. It has been imported from France. One doesn’t know, of course – I believe some of my customers –’
Schwede took the bottle, fixed the donor with a hard stare, nodded and left. But his next meeting with Anna had been infuriatingly disappointing. He had called at the Schloss after a decent interval to say that in the matter of the Kettner family he had ‘put their minds at rest’.
‘It was a misunderstanding. Herr Kettner was unwise, it preyed on his conscience, he got things out of proportion.’
Anna had nodded gravely. She did not refer to Kettner speaking to her. Schwede decided not to call on Kettner again. The man smiled at him ingratiatingly whenever they ran into each other but there was no means of knowing exactly what had passed between him and Anna. If Schwede ever found out that the little fool – but he turned his thoughts away from that. The rest of his next visit to the Langenbachs had been filled with brief, trite sentences. Anna seemed resistant to being drawn into more intimate conversation, and Schwede almost wished for more Kettner-like misunderstandings in order to produce some connection between them, some ripple on the glacial surface of her composure and her indifference.
But Schwede called at Langenbach again, ‘to check there are no problems with which he could help’. He made it into a habit.
Once he said,
‘I wish you to know, Frau Langenbach, that anything which worries you, any assistance which you need, if you apply to the Party you will not be disappointed. It is one of our first duties to care for the families of fallen German heroes, in any way we can.’
‘Thank you.’
He had tried to make it more personal, but she managed always to leave him feeling exasperatingly inept and boorish. She was never discourteous but he could get nowhere. Months went by and this great crusade of war began. The child was born. He called to offer congratulations, to hope ‘all was well’. He seldom saw the old Langenbachs on these visits. He suspected them of ambivalent feelings about the Party in general and himself in particular, and he didn’t care a damn that they were probably avoiding him. He came to see Anna.
Then, after that drab, first winter of the War, came the wonderful spring with its triumphs over the French and British. It had always been made clear to Schwede by the authorities that he was a man whose services were indispensable on the home front. Nevertheless he was, as he stressed to all and sundry, an old soldier at heart. He was forty-one.
‘They’ve got softer than we were, these young lads, I can tell you, but they’ve done well, no question.’
He had been called up in 1917 but a bad attack of pleurisy had kept him at duty in training establishments. Still …
He had paid what had become a regular call at Schloss Langenbach.
‘Wonderful news is it not, Frau Langenbach?’
Anna said – ‘And let us hope it will bring peace nearer.’
‘Of course. German victory and European peace. Frau Langenbach, it must often be lonely for you here.’ For Anna the fact that this was true made it no less offensive.
‘No, there is always much to do. My little boy still needs a lot of attention after all! And the affairs of Langenbach are a lot for my parents-in-law, who are not young.’
> ‘Still, the company of a baby and two old people – greatly respected old people, of course – is not much for a lady like yourself, Frau Langenbach, a young, beautiful lady like yourself.’ Schwede had rehearsed this speech to himself. It was, he knew, terrifyingly bold. Why did all his confidence, his courage, his power to dominate ebb swiftly away when confronted by this calm, exquisite young woman? It made him savage but he could not cure it.
‘Like yourself!’ he repeated. He smiled, with what he intended as respectful tenderness. But all Anna said was, as usual – ‘Thank you, Herr Schwede. I assure you I am very well.’ Her smile was as cold as ever. He had been told by her of her intended journey to Arzfeld. Anna knew better than to seem evasive with Schwede, or to take him by surprise in any way that could arouse suspicion. She told him that she intended to ‘pay a visit to relations’.
‘Good, good,’ he had said, with jealous currents flowing through his mind. ‘Are those Langenbach relations perhaps?’
‘No, relations of my own. Colonel von Arzfeld. I intend to stay several weeks. Everything is in order here.’
He knew the name. He had found out all that he could about her family. Furthermore, he knew that her son was the sole heir to his grandparents and that Anna had a major life interest in Langenbach, as befitted the child’s guardian. None of this made her less desirable. And at this parting he was certain he detected for the first time a warmer note, a melting. She looked directly at him as she took his hand. There was meaning in it, he was sure. The truth, he reflected, was that at least a year must elapse after Langenbach’s death before so noble a woman could entertain thoughts of – of that kind. And now, in September, 1940, it was only just over a year. For the first time in that year Schwede felt hope.
It would, however, be essential to keep up the pursuit, the pressure. She must be aware of his feelings – his tender confusion when with her, the frequency of his visits, the ardour of his expression, the generosity of his professions of desire to help her. All these must surely have conveyed their message to one so sophisticated and yet so feminine! It was not difficult to find business that would properly take him southward. An instructional conference at Kassel which he had been requested to attend ‘if convenient, Herr Kreisleiter Schwede’ (indication of privileged status) could be reached by a journey via the Wesertal. He would call at Arzfeld. He would call – at least in his own eyes – as something not altogether unlike an acknowledged suitor.
‘Some more coffee, Herr Schwede?’
‘Excellent.’
He sipped it, happy to be in Anna’s presence, but, as always, ill at ease. Was it not extraordinary, he asked himself in rare moments of self-communion, that a man should be wracked simultaneously by embarrassment and by desire? He could not feel comfortable or relaxed with Anna. He admired her, and the cooler she was the more his admiration burned him and the more insignificant he felt. But at the same time he wanted her fiercely – so fiercely at times that it almost stopped his breath. And with what he was confident should properly be called love went, by now, great rushes of resentment. Rot any woman who could reduce Egon Schwede to this! Meanwhile, he sipped his coffee.
They spoke of the war.
‘The British are paying a price for their obstinacy! The Luftwaffe are giving them a bad time, by all accounts.’
‘Let’s hope we don’t suffer the same thing back, Herr Schwede. One day.’
‘Not much fear of that! The Reichsmarschall has seen to that side pretty thoroughly!’
He looked at Anna. They were sitting outside the house, on a paved, sheltered terrace. The late September afternoon was warm. Arzfeld looked beautiful.
‘This is a delightful place, Frau Langenbach! It is green, peaceful – one feels a truly German heart beating in such a place, as if it were alive. Don’t you think so?’
‘I am very fond of Arzfeld, yes.’
Anna was wearing a thin, flowered blue and white frock. Her slender arms, like her unstockinged legs, were bare and brown. Her hair was kept back from her wide forehead by a red velvet band. A bracelet with charms upon it was around one delicate wrist. His eyes drank in all this. He made his move.
‘I have several times admired that bracelet, Frau Langenbach. It is charming, if I may say so. I hope you will permit me to offer a small gift, to be added to the symbols already on it.’
He drew from his pocket a small box and proffered it. The jeweller in Celle had guaranteed quality. Anna, taken aback, accepted the box and opened it before finding words or an appropriate reaction. Inside the box, lying on cotton wool, was a tiny gold swastika.
Schwede smiled fondly, nervously. He felt a certain relief. This moment, keenly anticipated, had also been dreaded. Suppose she found some reason to reject the gift? But would she – would she dare? To slight the Party emblem – when offered by a high Party official?
Yet he certainly did not wish acceptance to rest on such considerations, proper though they were. It was essential, indeed, that he should show how personal was the gesture, how devoted the tribute, a gesture from the heart. Schwede put his coffee cup down on the light garden table between them, a flimsy affair covered with a red and white check tablecloth. He rose.
‘May I?’
He took the charm.
‘The catches on these things are often awkward. It has a small ring to clip to a bracelet link. It is easier for another to fix. Allow me!’
He took her hand. Then he took her forearm – delicious! – and laid it on the table beside her while affecting to peer closely at the bracelet, to examine it for an appropriate link to which to attach his gift. He could smell her skin.
Anna found her voice.
‘Herr Schwede, I am afraid I cannot accept your kind gift for my bracelet.’
‘Not accept it? Ah, Frau Langenbach, it is nothing –’ He stepped back, leaving the box on the table.
‘You see, these – these charms on my bracelet – were all given to me at some time or another by my late husband. It is precious to me on that account. I feel that it has to be – preserved.’
Schwede was enchanted. This was exquisite sensitivity. It was truly German sensitivity. And how amply it spoke of the womanly tenderness he was sure existed beneath the cool self-possession Anna showed to the world.
‘Frau Langenbach, I understand your feelings perfectly – perfectly!’
‘Please do not think me ungrateful.’
‘On the contrary, if it be possible you are higher than ever in my eyes! I only ask – in that case – that you keep this present – this little gold Hakenkreuz, our Hakenkreuz, keep it in its little box and one day, perhaps, find some other way to wear it. That is what I ask –’ Schwede was trembling, ‘Frau Langenbach! Anna!’
Anna seemed to be considering. She said ‘Thank you’ so softly that he could barely hear it. He extended his hand. Anna, looking at him in some surprise, took it. Schwede felt, with absolute assurance, a current pass between them. If he were bold now he could break through the barriers of reserve she had – reluctantly, unnaturally – erected. The swastika, as might be expected, had done the trick! He could tell from the touch of her hand, from the look in her eyes, that she was responding! Responding to the passion of a vigorous, warmblooded man who, she must now fully realize, adored her! Schwede felt glorious, a conqueror. Saying again, ‘Anna!’ with immense fervour he took two rapid steps to her upright chair and threw his arms around her shoulders. His hands found the bare flesh of her upper arms. He sank to a position half-kneeling beside her. Anna appeared to be wriggling somewhat. The touch of her skin brought him to a frenzy. He pressed his mouth to the lovely place where her neck rose from her shoulders.
‘Anna! Anna!’
‘No!’ said Anna, loudly, struggling ferociously. She managed to get halfway to her feet. The contortion involved in freeing herself from Schwede’s powerful, questing hands overturned the light table which crashed to the ground with two cups upon it. Table cloth, broken china and coffee dregs were strewn upo
n the flagstones, together with the small gift box. Schwede stood up with some difficulty. He tried to maintain the momentum of what had been, by any reckoning, a difficult assault to launch.
‘Anna!’ he said again. He extended his arms wide and took a step towards her. Anna had by now put several yards between them and was looking with what appeared nervousness towards the house. Schwede supposed she feared that the crash of broken china could have been heard within and might provoke the appearance of some third party, embarrassing to them both. His guess was right. Marthe, the old cook, was in the kitchen and Anna had no wish for an already deplorable situation to be complicated by the arrival of unbidden reinforcements, by subsequent explanations. In fact, Marthe was stone deaf and heard nothing. Franzi was sleeping soundly in his cot near an open window but appeared to have been undisturbed by the hub-bub.
‘Anna!’
Anna said, ‘Herr Schwede, please help me pick up this china.’ Before he knew what he was doing he found himself on hands and knees, collecting pieces. When it was done he found it hard to recreate the excitement, the glory of that moment when he had, for however short and unsatisfying a moment, held her in his arms.
‘Now, Herr Schwede, I think it best if you leave at once. I will try to forget your surprising behaviour.’
Schwede extended a hand. Anna ignored it.
‘If you go round the corner of the house you will reach your car.’ Her voice was icy.
He looked at her. One should never take ‘no’ for an answer. She was resisting but it surely only meant that he must push harder at the door. He bowed. It wasn’t altogether unexpected. He had even rehearsed his closing speech.
‘I am afraid my feelings got the better of me. Please believe that those feelings are of the strongest, the most sincere kind.’
Anna said nothing. Schwede smiled with melancholy fondness. He extended his hand again. What would happen, he wondered, if he grabbed her again, really went for her this time? Was there much to lose? He eyed her and swallowed. Better not.
