The doctor did not turn to her, but she saw his dark and sorrowful smile in the mirror.
“What you say is true, at present, in 1933. But wait until 1938, 1939, 1940! I may not be alive, then, Therese, but probably you will still be living. Then, you will remember what I have told you.
“If Germany were ostracized now, quarantined now, avoided now, there would be hope. But think of the shopkeepers in England, the industrialists in America, the haters and crafty in France! I tell you, all of these will help the new Germany. They will help Hitler. They will lend him money, advance his interests, encourage his violence. Because of greed, wickedness and their private hatreds. You think me extravagant. My God, if I only were!”
His breathing became quick and panting. He shook his head.
“It is not Germany I fear. It is the evil men everywhere, the evil men who destroyed the German Republic, the greedy men who want markets, the pusillanimous and envious men who detest men of other nations. I fear, not Germany, but the wicked of the world, who have made German National Socialism possible, and who will do all they can to make it possible in their own countries. I fear the breakdown of the souls of men by moral disintegration, by cowardice, avarice, by irresponsibility, by hatred and exigency, cruelty and rapacity. These are the threats I fear. It is our duty to combat them, to awaken other peoples to the enemy without and within.”
He was silent for a long moment, then resumed:
“You say it is only Germany. But it is not! Look at Italy, Russia. There is the same virus, under only a slightly different form.
“At the present time Hitler affects to despise Italy, privately calling the Italians impotent actors. He affects to hate Russia, declaring that National Socialism is the mortal enemy of bolshevism. But he is a fiendishly clever man. He is inspired by all the powers of darkness, which hate God. He knows that bolshevism, National Socialism and fascism are one and the same manifestation of the will-to-power, the will-to-destruction, the will-to-hate, the will-to-enslave. Some day, perhaps not too far away, he will combine with them, recognizing them openly as part of the world-revolution against modern civilization, decency, tolerance, peace and love, goodness and God.”
He sighed, mournfully. His thoughts seemed to shift.
“All the conquerors of history have been animated by one desire: to expand their boundaries, to seize land. But in these days the conquerors and potential conquerors have but one awful objective: to destroy the souls of men. Therese, can you understand the horror of this?”
She was silent. She shivered.
He continued, sighing deeply: “The wars and the convulsions which will take place will be psychic upheavals, for all their outward manifestations of fury and violence. Below the clash of arms will seethe the earthquakes and tidal waves of souls in the process of dying and souls in the process of awakening. Which will win? I do not know. I know only that we who understand are doing what we can.”
Overpowered as she was by the dreadfulness of what she had been hearing and thinking, the human heart of Therese cried out:
“But I cannot bear to think of losing you! What shall I do, then?”
He was silent a moment, then said gently:
“You can wait for Karl. When he comes back to you, awakened, you will both know what to do.”
Therese began to weep, as one weeps for the beloved dead. Doctor Traub held her hand warmly, strongly, but never removed his eyes from the mirror. Two men approached the car slowly, seemingly engaged in deep conversation. They hesitated when they saw the car, then went on. The doctor did not speak until they had vanished at the end of the street. And then he saw that they lingered at the corner, apparently having forgotten the car under the light.
He spoke hurriedly:
“Listen to me, Therese. I have only a little time left. Two men have just passed us. Probably they are only innocent neighbors. But there is a chance they are not.
“I will give you a name and address. Remember them. Do not write them down, but repeat them to yourself frequently, so you will not forget.”
She lifted her tear-wet face and listened. He put his lips to her ear and whispered the name and address several times. She nodded, wiping her eyes.
“And then, Therese, when Karl has come back, you will give him that name and address. He will know what to do, after he has seen this man and talked with him.
“Tonight, I was to take a refugee into my house, and hide him for a few days until he could get away, until a forged passport was prepared for him. He is a great scientist and philanthropist. He is to go to America, and there help with the work. He is hunted by the Gestapo. His capture means his instant death, and the death of those who have sheltered him.
“When you told me about von Keitsch, I knew the Gestapo was watching us and suspecting us. When I lifted the receiver to call ‘Gottfried’ I heard the unmistakable sound of wire-tapping. I might not have noticed it, but for your warning. ‘Gottfried’ knows, by my message, that he must immediately hide the refugee somewhere else, get him away at once. You have done a wonderful thing for us, Therese.”
He started the car. He turned it about and hurriedly proceeded down the street, away from the direction of the lingering men.
They did not speak again. Therese looked at the doctor’s face by the passing street lamps. He sat beside her, pudgy, short, the personification of the undistinguished German petty bourgeoisie, his snub nose glistening, his straggling little beard untidy and ragged, his clothing shabby and wrinkled. It was hard to believe that this small, comfortable old fat man was engaged in a heroic struggle, without malice and violence. Her heart shook with her love and fear for him. What could he do at best? And then she saw his expression, grim and resolute and very calm.
Her attention was suddenly distracted. She pointed to a red glow in the sky.
“What is that? A fire?”
He peeped. “Another Reichstag ‘fire,’ probably,” he said bitterly. “Let us see.”
29
The red glow became scarlet as they approached it. Now the quiet streets were alive with running, excited, conjecturing people, honking cars, bellowing and ringing fire-engines. “What have the accursed Jews done now?” shouted a wild-faced man at Doctor Traub and Therese, as he ran beside their automobile. “Another Reichstag fire!” shouted others. The light carved faces and running forms out of the darkness with a red ax. Therese, in the midst of the confusion, thought of harsh woodcuts. She could smell the acrid odor of smoke, and now could discern the faint far crackling of flames. She could see gray, fire-shot serpents of flame coiling up against the black sky and the huge yellow moon.
The congestion increased until it was impossible for a car to proceed. The upper windows of shops and houses reflected scarlet light, like a sunset. People were tumbling and running from every doorway. The streets roared with voices. Doctor Traub inched towards a curb, and then abandoned his car. He took Therese by the arm, and they left the car together.
They were immediately absorbed by a river of humanity, surging to one objective. Therese clung tightly to the doctor as she was buffeted and swirled along. She saw a group of young working-girls struggling through the crowds. Their mouths were wide open and their eyes glittered with an idiotic insane glee. They chanted shrilly: “Down with the Jews! Down with the Jews!”
Doctor Traub glanced at Therese with a bitter look. Suddenly she cried to him, striving to keep her hat on her head: “Let us turn back! I want to go home!”
If he heard her, he gave no sign. He was strong, in spite of his age, shortness and bulk; he pushed her through wedges he made with his arms with a sort of concentrated grimness of purpose. She could not resist him; he gripped her arms with stern strength and resolution, pushing her on. She smelled the sweat and the excitement of the throngs, and was nauseated. It was like being in the lion house at the Tiergarten. There was the same acid stench of brutality and ferocity, the same savage undercurrent.
They could go no farther. They had pus
hed up against a wall of humanity, static, roaring, shrieking, whistling, laughing and jeering, even leaping in an excess of ecstatic joy. The crackling was at hand; sheets and towers of flame leaped upward against the sky. The smoke and heat were stifling. Therese could see clearly. The crowd was gathered about a great burning synagogue. She could see the mighty round copper dome, glowing with fire like an enormous sun in the midst of a pointed crown of flame. Shadows of darker or brighter incandescence wavered over it, like sunspots. From where she stood, she could see only the dome and the narrow upper windows, from which long tongues of fire flickered out. The sky above the conflagration pulsed with rose and crimson, pierced with bursting sparks like rockets, or exploding stars.
But the most terrible thing of all was the faces of the watching and shrieking and laughing and howling multitude. It was a disembodied multitude consisting only of those closely packed faces, on which the bloody light of hell was reflected. She saw the countless evil glittering eyes, the opened screaming mouths, like dark caverns. No distinguishing features were revealed. The crowd was one bestiality, one madness, one mouth.
She felt Doctor Traub’s grip again; he was pushing her onward, inch by inch, through the crowd. She tried to protest, feebly. But she could not resist him. She saw his white round face, his narrowed cold eyes. The heat burned her face, made sweat leap out upon it. Once or twice she would have fallen but for his crushing hold upon her. Dimness came over her vision; there was a confused murmuring in her ears. She began to whimper, deep in her throat.
When she could see clearly again, she saw that she was quite close to the synagogue. Her arms were crushed to her side. Near by, laughing, jeering, spitting obscene jokes, were a large group of Storm Troopers. The crowds extended about and behind her, endlessly, constantly replenished from the side streets. Everything was as bright as day, with a vivid red glare. Before her was the synagogue, its dark stone walls punctuated and exploding with flames. Through the dull roaring she could hear the chant of thousands of hoarse voices: “Down with the Jews! Kill the Jews!” The majestic copper dome glowed blindingly.
It was evident that the multitude was waiting for something, gloating. Their thousands of eyes were fixed exultantly on the great open doors of the temple. Suddenly a harsh and deafening and fiendish roar went up from them. Two old men were staggering through the doorway, gasping, scorched, smoke-blackened and burned. They were carrying the great shining scrolls in their arms. They were all Israel, bearing the Covenant through the flames, the fury, and the madness of a hell-ruled world.
Therese heard a groan like death at her elbow. It was Doctor Traub. She hardly recognized him. His round fat face was ghastly; tears ran down his cheeks. The fire engines had drawn up, but the crew sat grinning on the heaps of hose and ladders, doing nothing. Some of them smoked casually, and exchanged witticisms with their neighbors.
The two old men with their scrolls stood on the steps of the synagogue. They looked down at the red-lit bellowing crowds. They did not move. Exhaustion, despair, hopelessness, suffering, stood on their faces, bowed their scorched bodies. Their legs trembled; they swayed. But they held the heavy scrolls in their arms with a desperate devotion, a desperate courage. Somewhere a woman’s cry of anguish rose above the dull subterranean uproar.
The smell of hatred and fury and demonic joy was an overpowering stench. The hoarse chant of “Kill the Jews!” rose again. The multitude began to surge and sway; scores were thrown to their feet and trampled. No one cared. Violence and madness blew over them like fetid whirlwinds. The Storm Troopers forced a passage for themselves, leaped up upon the burning steps of the synagogue. They lifted their truncheons. They brought them down upon the skulls of the bowed old men. In spite of the deafening roaring the brittle crack could be heard clearly.
The old men wavered grotesquely. Blood ran in streams down their faces. Then they fell, suddenly. The scrolls crashed on the steps. The Troopers jumped up and down on the prostrate bodies of the old men. Then they turned upon the scrolls and kicked them savagely. The ancient scrolls with their silver tops fell out. The Troopers crushed them under their feet with insane savagery. The crowd, watching, shrieked, screamed, foamed with erotic rage and joy.
The Troopers, having accomplished their foul purpose, ran down the steps, for the flames were too close and searing. The old men lay where they had been murdered, the unrolled, befouled and torn scrolls blowing about them.
Therese was certain she was going to faint, and with dim eyes looked about for Doctor Traub. But he had disappeared. She called to him, weakly, wildly, in a frenzy of fear. She extended her hands, searching for him, like some one gone blind. But he did not answer her. She heard a sudden wild roaring, as of excitement or astonishment. But she continued to call for the doctor, with growing despair and terror. Her hat was lost; her hair fell over her face. Her clothing was torn, and her bag had somehow been wrenched from her arm.
She began to weep. No one heeded her. A sudden silence fell abruptly on the multitude, and in that silence the crackling and vomiting of flames could be heard sharply and distinctly. That silence was profound, almost deafening, in its intensity.
Finally, even she, in her distraction, was aware of it. Sobbing, she looked towards the synagogue again. Then a wild thin cry broke from her. Doctor Traub stood on the smoking steps, astride the dead bodies of the old men.
He had lifted his arm. It was that gesture which had silenced the crowd. Little, fat, round though he was, there was majesty and an awful dignity about him. Behind him the dark, flame-split walls were a background of dreadful splendor. The throngs surged closer, peering over each other’s heads, trampling on each other, the better to see. The crimson light glimmered on their astounded faces, their open but soundless mouths.
“Oh, no!” moaned Therese. “Oh, no!”
But no one heard her. Thousands upon thousands of eyes were fixed on the little doctor, standing there in his majesty, with his upraised hand, his face glowing with the scarlet light. He was a statue, stern, quiet, heroic. Far above him palpitated the enormous incandescent dome.
Then he spoke. His voice rang over the sea of faces, clearly, sharply, yet with a strange carrying quietness.
“People of Germany!” he said. “Look closely. Look at your victims. Look at your fire. It is not this building which is burning. These poor old men have not been murdered. It is Germany which is burning! It is yourselves who have been beaten down and destroyed!”
The crowd was utterly silent. He might have been addressing a multitude of graven images in a forest of fire.
He bent down and lifted a tattered scroll. It was enormous, and blew about him in the wind from the flames like a great, torn white banner.
“Look closely, Germans! This is not paper you have trampled and desecrated. It is the Word of God!”
The silence became more intense. Somewhere, behind the thick façade of the walls of the temple there was a dull thunder and crashing, as the interior collapsed. The effect of this was terrifying. From behind the walls gushers of renewed fire and flame sprang upwards, like a volcano. The red glare became blinding, too intense for eyes. But the crowd could not look away. It stood, paralyzed, looking only at the little man with the sacred torn scroll in his arms.
“Look closely, Germans!” he cried, and his voice was like a trumpet of doom and prophecy. “Look closely, world of men! This is your funeral fire! This is your destruction! This is your hell and your end! This is the vengeance of Almighty God on a faithless and evil people. Do not think you can escape. Do not think you can hide yourselves behind a wall of your victims. Do not think you can run away. The anger of God will find you out, no matter where you hide. He will not listen to you when you cry to Him: ‘We were deceived. We were misled and betrayed.’”
He paused. A furious shout rose somewhere in the packed throngs of sweating humanity, but was instantly silenced.
And now his voice reached them again, somber, stern, ominous. His face ran with tears.
“I tell you, you are dying tonight. The Fatherland is dying. Germans! Prepare to meet your God! Wicked, lying, callous World, prepare to meet your God!”
He stood with the scroll in his arms; the white torn paper reflected the conflagration. The silence about him was more terrible, more doomful, than any roaring or shouting.
“O God!” moaned Therese, in her throat. “What good will this do?”
But the people stood in that silence. Their faces were whiter than parchment. Their expressions were transfixed with terror, shame, and wretchedness. Here and there a woman sobbed aloud, but the sound only intensified the silence. The fire crackled; the dome brightened; the flames shot upward as from the pit of hell. No one moved. No one saw anything but the little old man against his background of destruction and fire, fearless but weeping. They saw his tears. They saw his bent head.
Then there was a sudden uproar, a sudden confused surging. The multitude cried out. Several Storm Troopers were bludgeoning their way through the mobs. Their truncheons came down with vicious cracking force on near-by heads. The people fell back, screaming. The Troopers neared the steps. They sprang up upon them. Doctor Traub lifted his head, and calmly saw them coming. He did not move. He did not raise his arms to defend himself. He gazed at them, unafraid, calm.
They struck at him in unison. They surrounded him like lions about a small dog. He disappeared. They bent over something and struck and struck again, lashing out viciously with their boots. Then, with a shout of laughter, they covered their heated faces with their hands, and ran down the steps again. Doctor Traub, mangled and bleeding, lay beside the two old men. The scroll near him was bright red with his blood.
Time No Longer Page 31
