The Good at Heart

by Ursula Werner

  “Really, mein Führer?” Oskar had taken a seat in the chair he had been holding. “I did not know you were such a fan of the Americans.”

  “Oh, certainly. In many ways, an admirable nation. Hacking their way through wilderness to establish a civilization. Pioneers in a wild land. Impressive forefathers.” The tempo of his tongue quickened to a minuet. The Führer’s eyes sparkled with energy, animated by the imagined life of adventure in a new world. In the next instant, they narrowed. “Of course, they were all criminals and thugs to begin with, so they are tainted, racially. Those kinds of impurities in the blood are impossible to erase.”

  “Were they really all criminals?” Edith asked, relatively certain that the Führer was incorrect in this assumption but not daring to correct him.

  “Oh, yes. Actual prisoners or people the law had not caught up with yet. Crimes waiting to happen. Societal riffraff, panhandlers, paupers. And religious zealots too. Imagine the nightmare! To cross the ocean on a ship with such people, knowing they would be your neighbors forever once you landed.” Faster, louder clicks. Edith felt the need to silence them. She leaned forward toward the coffee table, laden with pots of coffee and tea, cups and saucers, a creamer, and a small bowl of sugar cube remnants. Someone had already picked out all the intact cubes. Edith suspected Rosie.

  “Tea or coffee, Herr Führer?” she asked.

  “Coffee, coffee, my dear. No tea. The English have entirely ruined my appetite for tea.” Edith poured two cups from the coffeepot, handing one to the Führer and one to Oskar. She knew Oskar took his coffee black. So, apparently, did his commander, who sniffed the brew before taking a loud slurp. At that moment, Marina entered from the kitchen, bearing a platter of strudel and Linzer torte, both warm from the oven. The Führer watched her approach the coffee table. Like a wildcat watching a gazelle, Edith thought. Marina again averted her eyes, pausing only long enough to deliver the tray of baked goods. She started heading back to the kitchen, but the Führer’s words stopped her. “Won’t you join us, Frau Thiessen?” His words slithered through the air. His tone made clear it was not a request.

  Marina turned slowly and curtsied stiffly in the Führer’s direction. “I’m sorry, Herr Führer, but I must decline the invitation. The children—”

  He interrupted her. “Surely . . .” He closed his mouth deliberately, his tongue clicking steadily. A purposeful, unhurried clicking, like small nails being hammered into a coffin. “Surely the children can take care of themselves. Or you could put the eldest—Lara, is it? You could put Lara in charge,” he said with a smug smile.

  “Ordinarily, Herr Führer, you would be absolutely correct, Lara is certainly capable of watching her younger sisters. But today—”

  Another interruption, the tone more imperious. “Today I would like to get to know you, Frau Thiessen. Learn about life here in Blumental. Your interests. Your . . . activities.” He hissed the last word with vehemence. Oskar shifted in his chair and looked at Marina. Edith had no idea what insinuation lay beneath the Führer’s words, but whatever it was had raised Oskar’s guard. Marina didn’t flinch. For the first time, she met the Führer’s eyes. Her look was cold, hard, and distant.

  Edith had had that look directed at herself only once and hoped never to experience it again. It was the day Rosie was born. Edith had made the mistake of asking Marina whether she should send a telegram to Franz, who had been ordered to a military training camp near Stuttgart. Propped up in bed with pillows, Marina had been cooing at her new baby, gently stroking the dark damp curls on her head. Her gaze was rapturous and enthralled. It was as if she had never given birth before, as if she were witnessing the miracle of life for the first time. And for just a moment, for the first and only time since Marina admitted her pregnancy to Edith, Edith had felt angry. She was not sure what directed her anger; perhaps it was a sense of injury on behalf of Lara and Sofia or, more likely, Franz. Still, the resentment had asserted itself, molded the question she was formulating in her head about how to inform Franz. When that question finally came out, she could not conceal the tone of judgment her anger demanded.

  “Should we let Franz know that you have another daughter?”

  Marina’s eyes that afternoon had pierced Edith with the same steely scrutiny that was now directed at the Führer. Now too Marina remained still, eyes completely focused on him for ten silent, interminable seconds. She stepped carefully over to the sofa, put down the tray, and took a seat next to her mother. Her back was rigid, and Edith felt the stiffness of her body, each muscle poised in readiness for flight. Edith wanted to break the tension yet dared not say a word. She looked to Oskar, hoping his diplomatic skills could aid them. But Oskar appeared stunned—the unexpected suggestion of unspoken suspicions completely silenced his usually facile tongue. The Führer leaned over the coffee table and picked up a large serving knife. “I simply must try these pastries, Frau Eberhardt,” he said, holding the knife aloft. He hesitated, twisting it slowly in the air while deciding which baked good to try first.

  Watching the knifepoint writhe around and around in tiny circles made Edith increasingly uncomfortable. She tried to take over serving. “Oh, Herr Führer, please let me help,” she apologized, reaching for the knife.

  Deftly, he held it away from her. “No, no, quite all right, I’m perfectly capable of serving myself.” Settling on the strudel, he slashed into it and deposited an enormous piece onto the topmost plate. “This way, I can take as large a portion as I like.” Taking the plate onto his lap, the Führer settled back in his chair and grasped his fork sideways. With quick cutting motions, he hacked the strudel into four sections. The metal tines screeched against the china plate, making Edith wince. “I am looking forward to this first bite,” he said, holding the fork in front of his face. “The first bite is always the best, don’t you think? The anticipation of the unknown conquest, with all of its imagined pleasures and wonders, before its assimilation into the known and familiar. Perhaps that is why I have such an appetite.” The Führer brought the strudel up to his mouth and opened it wide. His jaws appeared to dislocate slightly as they accommodated the offering of food. Then, closing his eyes in unison with his lips, he swallowed without chewing and let out a long, contented sigh. “Perfect, absolutely perfect, Frau Eberhardt! Exquisite!” In quick succession, he wolfed down the other three pieces before him. His plate was clean. Remembering his coffee, he picked up the cup and gulped down its contents. Hoping to keep him focused on food, Edith took the pastry knife to cut the Linzer torte and placed a large piece on his plate. But this time the Führer ignored the pastry and turned to Marina. “General Eberhardt, I realize I have been keeping you too much in Berlin,” he said without breaking his gaze. “Not only have I been depriving you of the company of these beautiful ladies, but I have put your family in the position of remaining . . .” He paused as if searching for the right word, but Edith suspected he knew exactly what it was. “Unsupervised. And for extended periods of time. That is not good.”

  Oskar cleared his throat. “Herr Führer, we must all make sacrifices for the Reich. I am lucky in having a wife and daughter who are level-headed and resourceful.”

  “Resourceful? Resourceful?” The Fuhrer repeated the word as if he were learning a foreign vocabulary. “Yes, I imagine they are. Able to tap into resources. Frau Thiessen, would you say the resources here in Blumental are sufficient for your needs?”

  Marina’s eyes tightened. “Yes, Herr Führer, on the whole, I cannot say that we are deprived of anything necessary for our well-being. There are, as you know, many farmers in the area, and that gives us a great advantage over our fellow citizens in the north, where we hear of so many food shortages.”

  “Food, yes, food,” the Führer mused. “Of course, food is important. But then, food feeds only the body.” The clicking sound, which had subsided while the Führer was licking the remnants of strudel out of his molars with his tongue, now returned. “Are there sufficient resources here in the south for your
mind, Frau Thiessen? For your spirit? For your cultural and civic interests?”

  Edith had been listening attentively, trying to discern what precisely he was suggesting in the hope that she might be able to deflect him. She saw her opportunity. “Oh, culture, Herr Führer! Well, it is true that Blumental is no Berlin, but there are ample cultural opportunities in the area. Especially in music. Why, Marina has even joined a local choir—she has a lovely singing voice, and the choir has quite a reputation in these parts.”

  Now it was the Führer’s turn to narrow his eyes. His lips tightened into a smirk. “A choir. Interesting, a choir. I believe I have heard of this choir. Is that the same choir that is led by the Protestant minister? Pastor Wasserman?”

  “Wiessmeyer,” Edith offered cautiously. From the voracious look that had come over the Führer, she was no longer certain that this was a good subject. Marina had, at the mention of the choir, lowered her chin and averted her gaze. She was gripping her coffee cup so fiercely that Edith thought the china might break.

  “Wiessmeyer, that’s right.” The Führer lingered on the ss, hissing softly. “Yes, yes, I have heard of this choir. Did I tell you, General?”

  Oskar was looking intently at his commander. Was he as confused or worried as Edith was? She couldn’t tell. His back was stiff and straight, as if he were at full attention in his chair. “No, sir, I don’t believe you did.”

  “Ah, perhaps not. I thought I had. I certainly intended to.” The Führer turned to Edith. “Yes, Frau Eberhardt, on occasion, I get reports up in Berlin about activities this far south, even regarding—what did you call them, Frau Eberhardt? Ah, yes, cultural activities. And Pastor Wiessmeyer’s activities have recently been brought to my attention.” With this statement, the Führer’s eyes fixed on Marina. Oskar’s eyes remained on the Führer, while Edith’s gaze shifted back and forth between the three of them. Something very dangerous had entered the room and was now lying in wait. Edith dared not speak, but she desperately wished Oskar would say something.

  “Mutti, Mutti!” Rosie came running through the French doors from the porch, slamming the glass panels into the two men flanking that entry. Her brown hair had freed itself from the ribbon Marina had woven into it a few hours earlier, and her knees and shins were caked in mud. Oblivious to the company around her, she stopped in front of her mother and thrust forward two dirt-encrusted hands, which she cupped tightly together.

  “Look, Mutti, look! I found my snail!” Rosie lifted the hand on top to reveal a fat slug with brown spots. “At first, I couldn’t find him and I thought he had disappeared, but I guess he just got hungry because I didn’t feed him breakfast this morning.” Edith had never been more grateful to see one of her grandchildren, even one as covered in filth as Rosie was. The small girl stood panting before Edith and Marina, beaming with joy. Seeing Marina’s eyes focused on the Führer, Rosie turned in his direction. “I usually take very good care of him,” she explained, shifting the snail to one hand and petting it with the other. “But this morning, I was too busy helping Sofia look for our old clothes in the train station, and—”

  Rosie looked up at the Führer and stopped in midsentence. The delight she had radiated the moment before was extinguished in an instant, and she stepped backward quickly, toward the safety of her mother’s arms. Marina wrapped herself around her daughter protectively. “Rosie, your dress is completely covered in dirt,” she said in a tone devoid of rebuke. “Let’s go find you something clean to wear. You’ll excuse me, Herr Führer?” Without glancing in his direction, she stood up and grabbed Rosie’s hand.

  “Careful, Mutti, don’t disturb my snail!” Rosie cried in a small voice. “Don’t let it fall.”

  “Here, Rosie, let me help.” Edith grabbed one of the coffee cups and whisked the snail from Rosie’s hands into the china. Then she inverted a saucer and placed it on top. “I’ll keep it safe for you until you’re ready to bring it back to its home in the garden.” She looked over to the Führer and was relieved to see a small smile playing across his upper lip. “I can remove this to the other room, if you like, Herr Führer.”

  He clicked persistently and shook his head. “No, no, it does not disturb me at all. Not at all. But I will admit that the habits of you southerners with respect to the domestication of animals are a revelation.” The Führer leaned forward in his chair, addressing Oskar with feigned concern. “Did you know, General Eberhardt, that your grandchild was keeping a snail as a pet? And apparently too she is searching for discarded apparel in train stations?”

  Oskar laughed, shaking his head. “No, sir, I must admit quite candidly that I had no idea such creatures were being harbored under my roof.” He winked at Edith, a reassurance that balance had been restored. Whatever menace had hovered over the coffee table five minutes ago had disappeared. Edith marveled at the suddenness of the transformation in the Führer’s demeanor. In a split second, he had become lighthearted and easygoing, as affable as he had been threatening moments before. Oskar had told her of the unpredictability of the Führer’s moods, but the extremity of this shift, Edith thought, was highly unnerving.

  “A delightful child, nonetheless,” the Führer said, extending his coffee cup for a refill. “Quite a lovely little sprite. Though she might require some taming in the future.”

  “Well, sir, we are in complete agreement there,” Oskar replied, still smiling. He motioned at Edith to sit back while he poured coffee for his commander.

  “That is good, General, quite good. Our agreement on things, that is.” The Führer took a loud sip of coffee. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “To what, sir?”

  “That it is good to be in agreement.”

  “Why, yes, of course. I agree that it is good to be in agreement.” Oskar looked bemused.

  “Especially with your commanding officer, wouldn’t you say?”

  Another slight shift in the atmosphere. Edith felt Oskar’s renewed wariness. She saw the tendons in his neck tense up. “Mein Kommandant, I would say that whether or not one agrees with one’s commander is irrelevant. One does what the officer commands without question.”

  “A good answer, General. You see, Frau Eberhardt”—the Führer flashed Edith a well-rehearsed smile—“that is why I ask your husband to oversee my agenda. He understands obedience and loyalty. More importantly—most importantly—he knows how to instill them in others. But at the same time, I do wonder. Because of course, we are all human, are we not? We do have opinions about things, beliefs, certain inclinations of conscience, shall I call them? Yes?” He gave Oskar a piercing look. Oskar said nothing. “Every good general knows that he must be able to command such respect, such unerring allegiance, from his soldiers that their loyalty to him becomes instinctual. Their sense of duty must be honed to such a degree that it overrides, quashes really, any contrary inclinations of conscience. Because otherwise they might fester.” The Führer paused, and Edith heard a quiet click, but it was a different sound from the one that his tongue had been making all afternoon. From the sudden appearance of one of the Erleuchtete at the Führer’s chair, she realized he had snapped his fingers. The guard, a heavily muscled man with graying temples, carried a small pouch, which he now opened and held out to his commander.

  The Führer reached in and withdrew a small wooden figurine. Slightly larger than the span of his hand, the carving was pale mustard in color and adorned with feathers and shells. It looked like a combination of man and wildcat. It had two pointed ears, accented with stiff yellow and white feathers, and appeared to have a catlike snout painted with sharp teeth. Its chest was bare-skinned and crisscrossed with tiny shells, and between its crouching legs, a long tail curved from its posterior up over its head. The Führer set the figurine down on the coffee table and leaned back in his chair.

  “Do you remember, General Eberhardt, the occasion of my coronation as emperor?” The Führer leaned over to explain to Edith. “It was a private ceremony a few years back, Frau Eberhardt; you may remem
ber it. Then, as now, we were engaged in such extensive warfare against our enemies that a more public celebration was just impossible. But when we do finally achieve our military initiatives—and it will happen, fear not, madam—much grander public festivities will be arranged.” He turned to Oskar, obviously awaiting a response.

  Oskar cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, that was a memorable day.”

  “Indeed it was, indeed it was.” The Führer reclined his head and sighed, momentarily lost in his own recollection. “Did you know, General, that as emperor I received hundreds of letters from foreign heads of state? Yes, many letters, most of them completely unexpected. You see, Frau Eberhardt, I studied geography and history in school, as of course we all did, but my geographic knowledge simply did not include some of these small nation-states. The Te Au Togo tribe in the Pacific, for example. I believe they offered me greetings and congratulations by telegram. It is possible they also sent me a coconut. Or was it the choice of a wife from among their eligible females? I cannot remember.”

  The tongue clicking returned. It made Edith feel as if time was running out. She took the chance of looking over at Oskar. He was staring at the wooden statuette with curiosity, his brows furrowed. “One of the most fascinating gifts I received,” the Führer continued, “was this kachina doll from the chief of the Hopi tribe in northern Arizona. Chief Tinga-Tewa, I believe his name was, though quite honestly, all these native syllables are so interchangeable, it hardly matters what we call them.” He chuckled and picked up the kachina doll, fingering the feathers atop its head. “This is Toho, the hunter kachina. The most powerful hunter of the tribe, I am told, and a guardian of the north too. Quite an appropriate gift for a military genius like myself, don’t you think?” Edith was grateful that the Führer did not seem to require a response to this statement. “I had stored it away until recently. In truth, I had quite forgotten about it, but my secretary found it the other day while cleaning out some old files, and she asked me whether or not to toss it out.” He held the doll close to his face and scrutinized it, tilting his head. “Do you know what I admire most about the Americans, General?”