All he could see was a blanket of smoke and soot and bits and pieces of cloth and paper floating through the air. Most of the concertgoers near Hans were sitting up gingerly, checking themselves or one another for injuries, some of them wiping blood off surface wounds and sobbing softly. Far to his left, Regina Mecklen was leaning over the body of her sister Gisela, crying and slapping her cheeks in an effort to rouse her. Soldiers and policemen hurried around, as seemingly aimless in their movements as ants near an anthill.
Up front, where the gazebo used to stand, there was nothing but rubble and splintered beams of wood. A tuba was wedged beneath one of its collapsed pillars and a few orchestra members were busy clearing away the debris around it, as intent on freeing the instrument as if it were a cherished colleague. There was a body sprawled underneath another pile of gazebo wreckage, but it was ignored by the small group of soldiers who came rushing up to the platform. They were focused on a different figure lying motionless nearby. Hans couldn’t see who it was. The soldiers lifted that other body and carried it over to the grass, laying it on top of a blanket. Hans watched as a medic came hurrying over, a stethoscope dangling from his neck. The medic knelt on the ground, and for the next few minutes, Hans saw nothing but the doctor’s back as he worked to resuscitate the patient. By this time, Hans felt recovered enough himself to wonder if it would be highly inappropriate for him to take a few morsels home from the buffet. Although the Weber garden was a shambles, the house itself had survived this enemy attack—for Hans was certain that’s what it was—completely intact. And it would be such a shame if all that food went to waste.
His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the medic. The patient was sitting up, spluttering and coughing and calling for a glass of water. One of the soldiers pulled out his canteen and offered it. The patient drank greedily, then tossed the canteen aside. He stood up slowly, arms extending outward, pushing back the surrounding air to reclaim his space. When he turned, Hans recognized him. The Führer.
* * *
Marina wasted no time in leaving the Nagel property. When the taillights of the truck disappeared from view, it felt like something important had just been ripped from her. But she had no time to wonder about that feeling; Erich was waiting for her up by the Birnau forest, and she had to meet him, to understand what was happening now and what would happen next. So much of what he had said last night was becoming clear: that he might have to leave suddenly, that everything might change soon. Marina headed north on the road, desperate to see him.
It was only when she got to the Fuchs house that she became aware of the light beams. Stopping for a moment, Marina looked over Blumental. Across the town, bright beams of flashlights and headlights crisscrossed the roads, making their way north and east from the lake. They had already reached the eastern boundary of the city at the foot of the hill below her. Where her family lived.
How long had it been since the explosion? Half an hour? Longer? Marina watched the flickering lights approach her neighborhood and felt nauseous. If soldiers or policemen were going house to house searching for assassins, they would be rough. They would wake the children. Edith was there to reassure them, but . . . Sofia was so fragile. Marina turned around and began sprinting down the hill. Erich was waiting for her, she knew, but this would take only a few minutes. She would stay home only until the soldiers left. Then she would go to him.
* * *
Someone was furiously pounding on the front door. The oak panels shook with the urgency and impatience of someone desperate to breach them. Edith was startled awake in her bed. She had no idea how late it was, but the skylight above her revealed an inky gray darkness, not yet the pitch-black of settled night. She had changed into a nightgown and lain down for just a minute after putting the girls to bed. Later, she would tell herself that was a critical error. She never should have put herself in a position to doze off. She should have kept watch.
The battering continued. Edith stepped into the slippers beside her bed and reached for her robe. She opened the bedroom door to find Sofia huddled against it. The girl’s eyes were wide open and completely black. The moment she saw Edith, she grabbed on to her body, and Edith winced slightly as Sofia’s nails dug through the robe’s fabric and into her skin. “Is Rosie still asleep with all this racket?” Edith tried to make her voice sound light. Sofia nodded solemnly. “Amazing.” With some effort, Edith picked Sofia up. She untied her robe and rewrapped it, cocooning Sofia against her own nightgown. Then she headed to the stairs. Passing the girls’ room, she saw Rosie wrapped around Hans-Jürg in the bed she shared with Sofia. Lara was slumped across the double bed she shared with Marina, in her underclothes, asleep. Marina was nowhere to be seen.
Arriving at the staircase, Edith hesitated on the top step. She had no desire to confront whoever was perpetrating this violence against her front door. It was aggressive, invasive, a continuation of the assault from that afternoon. How gratefully she had bolted the front door this evening before heading upstairs, tightly latching those thick iron bars like the braces of a fortress, keeping the dangers of the world at bay from her family. Every fiber of her being now urged her to run back to bed with Sofia, pull the blanket over both their heads, and wait out the siege. Although she could not say why, Edith felt certain something catastrophic was hammering for entry, and she was determined to keep it out. If an assault was imminent, the house could withstand it. It would protect them. Everyone simply needed to stay still, inside, and together. But now someone inside the house was striding over to the door. Someone was giving up. She heard the bolts slide open. The brass hinges groaned, giving way. Edith peered down into the foyer.
It was Oskar. He must have used his key to come into the house through the porch doors after she fell asleep. With his right hand clenching the thick oak jamb of the door, Oskar’s body blocked her view of whoever was outside. She noticed that he was dressed in his military uniform. That was not what he’d worn to the concert. But why would he have changed?
“Stand back! In the name of the Führer, we demand entrance to this house! It must be searched!”
Oskar stood still. The demand that this unseen soldier hurled at him slowly diffused upward into the high ceiling of the entranceway. Now Edith understood why Oskar was wearing his uniform, and she was instantly grateful for his foresight. The uniform conveyed his rank. As a general, Oskar outranked almost everyone. He could deny entry to any other soldier. Edith almost chuckled with relief. She fervently hoped Oskar would send the man away as quickly as possible.
When Oskar finally spoke, he did so calmly and deliberately. “Lieutenant Dietz, good evening to you. Normally it is Captain Rodemann from your regiment who is sent to communicate with me.”
“General . . . Sir, I . . . I apologize for disturbing you.” Edith was pleased to hear the soldier reduced to stammering. “But I have my orders directly from the Führer, sir.” As Oskar appeared unimpressed by this authority, the man’s speech disintegrated into sentence fragments and yapping exclamations. Edith’s hope grew with his verbal dissolution. “The Führer, sir! Who has just survived a terrible attack on his life! Thanks to the intervention of our captain! Who lost his own in sacrifice, sir!” The soldier took a deep breath and continued. “Which is why I am here. Sir! The new captain. Of the regiment . . .” The last statement trailed off, as if now-Captain Dietz himself could not quite believe all the events of the evening.
Edith listened with shock. Assassination? Here in Blumental? Suddenly, she understood the thunderous sound they had heard earlier. An attempt on the Führer’s life was nothing new; the man had already survived more than a handful of plots to kill him. Of course, he used each failed effort to his advantage. He was immortal, he insisted. Or divinely protected. God wanted him to carry out his mission, he declared. The aftermath of such failed attempts was always grisly.
“Captain Rodemann, what a shame.” Oskar’s tone was indifferent. “The Führer is well served by such heroes. Tell me, was anyone e
lse harmed?”
“One additional military casualty, sir, but other than that, no, sir, nothing serious. The bomb was quite powerful, but it detonated some distance from the crowd. But, sir.” Captain Dietz took a step forward, and Edith saw a brief flash of blond hair before Oskar extended his arm to push him back and prevent him from coming in.
“Captain.” Edith had always marveled at the way Oskar could use his voice to enhance his stature. Her husband was not a big man, but when he spoke authoritatively, as he was doing now, his words seemed to emanate from a much larger, invincible being that was not to be crossed.
Captain Dietz stared at Oskar, trying to evaluate what he was up against. “Sir, there are witnesses who saw you with General Wolf shortly before the explosion.”
By his silence, Edith could tell that Oskar did not expect this statement. After a moment, he answered. “That is true, we went to have a quick smoke together between movements and were caught by surprise when the explosion took place.”
“Is General Wolf with you now?”
“No, I came home as quickly as I could, to check on my family, and he, well, I believe he must have returned to attend to the Führer.”
“He did not,” Captain Dietz announced. “He has disappeared.”
Edith was stunned. This soldier spoke as if he suspected Erich in some way. But surely Erich was somewhere on the Weber premises, attending to the wounded or ensuring that the Führer was transported to a safer location. Erich would not run away if his help was needed. That was not who he was.
“The Führer has ordered every house in the area to be searched until we find him,” Captain Dietz announced.
Oskar sucked in his cheeks thoughtfully, as if tasting this possibility and finding it unpalatable. “No.”
“Sir?” It was Captain Dietz’s turn to be surprised. His voice squeaked slightly.
Oskar remained impassive but resolute. “I will not let you search this house.”
Edith felt her heart pounding as joy and fear competed for space. She had no idea why Oskar was taking this stance, but she was ecstatic that he was defending their home—this sanctuary that they had created together and peopled with children and grandchildren more precious to her than anyone else in the world. Still, she could not ignore the clattering of weapons she now heard in the darkness behind Captain Dietz, which indicated that he might not back down so easily. Instinctively, she grabbed Sofia more tightly. By now, Lara too had been woken by the loud voices, and she stood next to her grandmother, cautiously tugging on her sleeve. Edith put a protective and consoling arm around her.
Downstairs, Captain Dietz was clearing his throat. “Sir, you must let us search this house.” When Oskar made no move to step aside, he switched to a pleading tone. “If you do not, how can I explain it to the Führer?” Oskar inhaled slowly. Edith watched him, her breath suspended. Now was the moment, she thought, to close the door. No, slam it. Slam the door, Oskar. She waited, every muscle of her body tense.
Oskar did not slam the door. Instead, he let out a long sigh. “Ah yes, the Führer. He does not like disobedience. Don’t worry, Captain. I would not put you in that unenviable position. I will explain things to the Führer in person. I will come with you.”
Edith’s thoughts instantly backtracked. As vehemently as she had wanted to keep the soldiers out of her house a moment ago, she was now willing to let them in, if it meant that Oskar would stay. “No, Oskar, stay! You don’t have to go with them. Let them search the house. Erich isn’t here.”
Oskar looked up at his wife, his face filled with sad determination. “Edith, I must go. Erich may not be here, but neither is Marina. I must go until we know Marina is safe. They will search everywhere. Everywhere.”
Her husband was making no sense. “Let them search!” Edith felt panic rising in her voice. “Let them search the house. It’s all right. They’ll search the house and then go. They will find nothing. And we can all go back to sleep.”
“They cannot come into the house, Edith.” Oskar spoke quietly. “I will not let them come in. I’ve said no. They must respect that.”
“But, Oskar . . .” Edith unwrapped Sofia’s arms from her body and quickly placed her on the floor next to Lara, who was grasping the banister with white knuckles. From Sofia’s blank stare, Edith knew the girl had slipped into one of her states. But she could not attend to Sofia right now.
Edith hurried down the staircase. She needed to get closer to Oskar to convince him to stay. She needed to touch him. When she reached the threshold, she stopped. Oskar was staring at her intently, and then suddenly he seemed to be looking past her, toward the cellar door. He was trying to tell her something, but again she did not understand.
“Edith,” Oskar pleaded, “please tell Marina I love her and that she is not to blame herself. But now I must go. Trust me on this.” He stepped toward her, reached for both of her hands, and squeezed them tightly. Edith was dizzy with confusion. Why would Marina blame herself? What was Oskar trying to tell her? Then, as Oskar continued to clasp her hands, Edith began to feel what her husband was feeling: resolution, courage, exhaustion, sadness. No fear, not even an ounce of fear. But love—the love Oskar was communicating to her at that moment was overwhelming.
“I must stay with the Führer until Marina safely returns,” Oskar continued. “And someone must stay with the children. Someone must stay in the house.” He leaned forward and kissed Edith gently, softly, on her lips, then stepped back again and looked at her. “You are my life, Edith.”
Edith was paralyzed. Oskar was giving her secret messages that she could not comprehend, about Erich and Marina, and something too about the cellar, and now he was leaving without explaining. Everything was disintegrating quickly and inexplicably, and she was powerless. She could only watch mutely as the group of soldiers parted to let Oskar pass by. He got into a car that had been idling outside, and Captain Dietz closed the door behind him and got in front, and they drove off into the darkness.
Ten minutes later, Marina ran into the house.
* * *
The cell that Erich Wolf was placed in prior to his execution had long been abandoned by the Franciscan monk who used to sleep there. Most of the land surrounding the Kreuzbach Abbey below Birnau had been converted into vineyards, but the thick stone walls of the dormitory and chapter house stood unaltered. These now served Captain Dietz very well, as his soldiers rounded up suspected conspirators and accomplices by the dozens to satisfy the Führer’s outrage. Not only did the individual monastic cells make excellent detention facilities, but the courtyard of Kreuzbach within the cloisters was well suited for a firing squad. Executions were being carried out every hour on the hour, as quickly as suspects could be rounded up and summarily tried. There had been no pretense of a trial for General Wolf, at his request. When Erich saw Captain Dietz’s posse of soldiers heading up the hill toward the Birnau forest where he waited, he knew at once that the assassination had failed. His surrender was immediate. It was pointless to continue, and Erich had never been one to avoid the consequences of his actions.
So that was why Marina did not come to meet him. If the Führer was alive, he had undoubtedly imposed a curfew. Or perhaps Oskar had refused to let her leave the house. Running away from the explosion that evening, Erich had looked back only once, and he saw Oskar trying to reassure a hysterical woman in a large red hat. Oskar would have headed home immediately after that, Erich reasoned, to his family. Erich trusted that they were all safe. They were his family too. He knew that now.
Erich sat on the cold stone bench, waiting. The bells of Birnau had just tolled three quarters of the hour. He was grateful to be left alone for these last few minutes. He looked down at his jacket, covered in dust from the road, and he methodically brushed the dirt from the gold piping that edged its lapels. Gold, for the cavalry. Earlier tonight, when he was dressing for the concert, he should have chosen the purple-trimmed jacket, which would have identified him as a member of the Führer’s personal
staff, but he knew he would go with the gold. His allegiance had always been to the horses. He had no regrets with respect to his actions. The only remorse he felt was toward the Eberhardts. Erich would have liked to embrace Edith one last time, give her that last apology for leaving. And he would have liked to speak with Oskar, not to explain himself but to make certain things clear. His gratitude for everything Oskar had taught him: how to be an excellent soldier and an even better man. His admiration, his reverence for Oskar’s principles and priorities, intelligence and wit. And most important (though Erich was not certain how Oskar might react to such a declaration), his deep, unequivocal love for the man he now realized he thought of as a father. That love overshadowed any questions Erich might have had about Oskar’s morals, given Oskar’s position in the Führer’s cabinet. Erich had never asked those questions, because, quite simply, he could not afford to lose another father in his lifetime. Would Oskar be disappointed in Erich? It did not matter now, he realized with relief. Whatever Oskar’s reaction, Erich would not be there to experience it.
And Marina. Erich could not say when he had fallen in love with her. He knew he had been drawn to her from the first day they met. Somehow, even when Marina was a child, her spirit reached out to his and claimed him for her own. He did not know that at the time, of course; he had been disturbed by his feelings for her as she grew into womanhood. That was why he had made himself leave the house. Tried to divert his heart with other perfumes. He did not succeed.
Distractedly, Erich began refastening his jacket, starting at the bottom hem, as had Marina, that first afternoon in the barn. His fingers, like hers, tracing the outline of each round brass clasp. Slowly massaging the edges of each buttonhole with thumb and forefinger. A wave of her perfume washing over his memory as he sank his face into her hair. The pearl translucence of her skin, offered without reservation to the touch of his fingers, which he skimmed slowly, carefully over her body, as though she might dissolve if he pressed too hard. That afternoon, like every moment with her, outside time and space and reality, yet so constrained by all three. Giving him the two greatest gifts in his life: the experience of her love, and Rosie.
The Good at Heart Page 28
