by Aubrey Flegg
CHAPTER 27
Frenetic activity at the Jeu de Paume
It was a time of frenetic activity at the Jeu de Paume. Rather to Louise’s surprise, Erich was throwing himself into it with as much energy as the others; hastily packing pictures that hadn’t even been catalogued. She envied him this preoccupation.
‘What’s the hurry, Erich?’ she asked when she could get him alone.
‘The British and the Americans are advancing and will be in Paris in a few weeks. Everyone here is trying to save as much as they can for the Führer museum. The whole collection is to be got out of Paris and hidden in the salt mines in Austria. The atmosphere in the mines is perfect for preserving pictures, indeed almost anything. Also, being underground, they’ll be safe from bombing.’
‘But why are you helping? Let the British and Americans come. I bet they’ll take better care of your pictures than the Germans.’
‘They might, if they ever got them. General von Brugen has signalled me to say that Hitler plans to order the total destruction of Paris if our troops are driven out. Do you realise what this means? It means blowing up the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Jeu de Paume, and everything that’s in them. On top of that, Göring and the others are already gathering like vultures to snap up anything they think they will be able to sell after the war. I’ve got to save what I can!’ Louise felt a wave of panic on her own behalf.
‘What will happen to me, Erich? I don’t want to fall into the hands of someone like Göring. But I can’t expect you to go on hiding my picture for ever.’
‘I’d never let that happen to you, Louise. I have a plan. You remember I told you about the salt mines in Altaussee?’ Louise nodded.
‘Well, that’s one of the main repositories chosen for storing the pictures. Using the excuse that I worked in that mine, I’ve asked for permission to go there to help store the art. I’m going to take your picture there; it’s the one place I know you will be safe and where I will be able to find you again.’
Louise could hear thunder … or something that sounded like thunder. But it was sharper, more rhythmic. A train, that was it, the clack of wheels on a railway track, followed by the manic shriek of brakes. She heard wooden doors being thrown open, there were harsh shouts, and the barking of fierce dogs; a child cried in terror. Someone announced an unfamiliar name – Auschwitz – a station perhaps? She thought of Erich’s description of the transport of Jews in the Gare de l’Est and an icy chill gripped her heart. Suddenly the truth burst upon her. She had been deluding herself. Those images that Klaus had shown her were not just the foul imaginings of a deranged mind, they were real! So too then were the nightmare images that Izaac had accidentally let her see!
A silent scream rose in her mind, ‘Are you all right, Izaac? Tell me you’re all right.’ Nothing. Time passed, days, weeks, a month, and still there was no response. Was it all over with him? Then just when she was convinced she had lost all contact with him, he sent her one small message of hope – the unmistakable sound of a violin being tuned. He was still able to play. He must be all right! Those few notes evoked a deep memory in her. For a moment she was back in Vienna, watching little Izaac turn, riveted by the sound being produced by the Cloud Lady, Helena Stronski.
‘Erich, I think Izaac’s been moved. I heard a train, dogs, the name of a station I didn’t know. I never told you of the horrible things that Klaus showed me: corpses, death. I thought they were just in his mind, but they are true. We’ve got to rescue Izaac. Take me with you, or leave me in your salt mine and go alone. We’ve got to do something now! Please Erich!’
Erich paused in his work. ‘Believe me, Louise, I’d go off and find Izaac for you this very moment if I could, but I can’t, I really can’t. I would need travel documents, tickets, high security passes; it just can’t be done. With the Americans and British advancing on Paris, let’s hope it will be over soon.’
Louise sighed, he was right. She was powerless; all she could do at present was hope.
When the klaxon started wailing they both looked up, Reichsmarschall Göring! Another surprise visit! And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, a familiar voice, that neither of them wanted to hear, was ringing down the corridor.
‘Erich! It’s him, Klaus! Don’t let him near me! He’ll see me, I know it!’
Erich, already on his way to his room to smarten up for Göring’s visit, stopped in his tracks.
‘Klaus! What’s he doing here? I’ll run him out of the place!’
‘No, Erich, please be sensible. Be civil and find out what he wants.’ Resisting the temptation to fade into her picture, Louise stepped back out of the light. She wasn’t going to miss this encounter.
‘Erich, my friend! I come by special train all the way across Europe to see you and I find you busy.’ Erich made a choking noise in his throat. ‘Don’t worry, old son. Run along and change, you can’t go down to the fat man like that. I’ll be good and read the paper quietly until you get back.’ Erich hurried into his bedroom and emerged seconds later adjusting his tie. ‘See you when you’re done,’ Klaus called. ‘We’ll chew the fat then and talk about old times.’ He leaned back in Erich’s chair with the air of someone who was there for the day, but as soon as the sound of Erich’s footsteps began to recede, he laid down his paper, walked to the door, looked left and right, and closed it.
‘Perfect timing!’ Louise heard him mutter.
To her surprise, Klaus went straight down to Erich’s bedroom. She heard drawers being opened, a cupboard door creaked, and a tap was run briefly. In a few minutes he reemerged, slicking down his hair. Louise covered a gasp. Klaus was dressed in Erich’s one good suit; the likeness was uncanny. He walked past her, humming, and went straight to the wall opposite Erich’s desk, turned her picture face out, ran his eye over her portrait and said, ‘Good, you’re still here. I’ve been doing some research on you: “The Master of Delft’s finest work”, value astronomical, according to one expert, conveniently deceased. So Erich and I are the only ones who know that you are here, and dear old Erich can’t talk because he would have to explain why you have never been catalogued for the Führer museum. Food for thought, isn’t it? But now to more urgent matters.’
He turned away and dropped to one knee; Louise realised with relief that it was really Erich’s safe that interested him. She stepped forward. He hummed as he turned the dials on the combination lock. Then he sat back on his hunkers, looking pleased with himself. ‘Klaus never forgets,’ he said as the door swung open. ‘So this is the moment when Klaus Steinman becomes Erich Hoffman.’ He reached into the safe.
Don’t be a fool, don’be a fool, Louise thought, but she could contain herself no longer. ‘How dare you take Erich’s things! Put them back!’ Klaus froze, but only for a second. Then he raised his hands in mock submission and turned to the point in the room where he’d heard her voice. She saw his eyes lock on to her like a stoat on a rabbit, and felt about as helpless.
‘So there you are. Louise, isn’t it? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me for long. Don’t look so surprised. My brat sister, Gretchen, told her mother and her father all about how you used to appear to Izaac, so why shouldn’t you appear for me? Perhaps you’d like to help?’
‘Don’t you dare!’ she said again, but she could have spared her breath. He turned back to the safe, withdrew a packet of documents and began to examine them. ‘Damn me, Erich, you old fox! So you’ve been working for the Secret Police all this time. Well, Louise, we don’t want these, do we? I want to be Erich the art expert, not Erich the spy.’ He put the incriminating papers away. As he did so a small object fell from the packet, a coin perhaps, and rolled away; Klaus didn’t notice it.
‘Now, here’s what I’m after.’ He took Erich’s passport, kissed it, and put it on the desk. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small wad of papers. ‘Fair exchange, no robbery. My identity in exchange for his. Now he has my uniform, my Death’s Head Squad identity papers and even my travel passes to Ausch
witz in September.’ Auschwitz – why did that name sound familiar? Louise wondered. But Klaus’s next words grabbed her attention. ‘If our mutual friend, Abrahams, survives that long, no doubt he will play for him. I’m just sorry I won’t be there to show him around.’
‘What do you want with Erich’s passport? Why, you’ve even taken his clothes!’ Klaus smiled, popped his SS papers into the safe and slid Erich’s precious passport into his pocket.
‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? Has Erich not been keeping you up to date, then? If our incompetent armies lose the war – and it looks as if they may – what do you think is going to happen to the elite SS? Our efforts to solve the Jewish question may not be appreciated, so a group of my colleagues decided to set up an escape route, with safe houses for ourselves in Brazil where we can re-group before disappearing into the South American continent. I, my dear, am the pathfinder, the chosen emissary, I have their money, I have Erich’s passport …’
‘You rat! You’re going to cheat on them, aren’t you?’ Louise exploded.
‘Clever, isn’t it? If by any chance my colleagues escape the hangman’s noose and come looking for Klaus Steinman and their life savings, all they will find is a cooling trail leading to a blameless soul called Erich Hoffmann, a retired art expert.’
There were barked commands below. The noise level was rising. Göring would be leaving. Louise glanced hopefully towards the door. Klaus caught her glance.
‘He’s coming, is he? It’s the back stairs for me then, but I’ve not forgotten you; I’ll be back.’
And Klaus was gone.
Elaine saw Erich’s figure hurrying down the corridor ahead of her; why wasn’t he seeing Göring off?’ The room looked bare now that most of the pictures were gone. She would miss Erich, and wandered round unhappily, remembering where they had had their little flirtations. She crossed over to his desk, gave it a desultory swipe with her duster and then spotted something lying on the floor. She bent, picked the object up, and then she stood staring at it in a state of mental paralysis. It was a small metal oval showing the Nazi eagle holding a swastika. There was a hole punched in it for a lanyard to hang around the neck. She turned it over, Geheime Staatspolizei 7942. A Gestapo identity disk. ‘Oh, Erich, no,’ she said. ‘Not you! Please, it can’t be yours!’ She looked up, and there he was at the door, smiling, relieved that the ordeal over.
‘Well, thank God that’s over, Elaine, the Reichsmarschall’s last visit I hope.’ He walked over to her, his face open and happy. ‘How will I manage without you, Elaine? A little kiss?’ He stopped.
Against all rules, against all training, Elaine slowly opened her hand. Erich didn’t notice what she was doing immediately; she had to glance towards it to get him to look.
‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I have been careless.’ She wanted to scream. Didn’t the idiot realise the danger he was in? Didn’t he realise that all she had to do was take the disk to her commander, together with his name, and he would be found floating in the Seine tomorrow? But, of course how could he, she was just little Elaine, the cleaner, who was here for him to flirt with. By revealing her hand to Erich, she had probably blown her cover. So she decided she had nothing to lose now.
‘Erich,’ she said slowly, ‘you may not be all you seem, but neither am I. And I want to know what you are doing with this Gestapo disk.’
Erich looked at her in surprise. ‘Are you interrogating me?’ There was a slight smile on his face still, but it vanished when Elaine said, quietly: ‘Yes. That is just what I am doing, Herr Hoffman. I am a member of the Resistance. Kindly sit down …’
In a way it was a relief to tell her – about his work with General von Brugen; about the secret reports. Elaine listened in silence, then she said, ‘What were you doing on Platform 14 of the Gare de l’Est last time Göring’s special train came in?’ She made it sound like an accusation. Erich stared at her, how did she know that? He had told nobody, literally nobody, about that incident. Only Louise knew. As he stumbled through his description of what he had seen and how he had collected the notes and letters of the people on the trucks, he relived the shame he had felt on that day.
Elaine had seen some of those pathetic scraps of paper on his desk. It had looked as though he were posting them, but she had to be sure.
‘These letters,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Were they full of State secrets that the Gestapo must know about?’ Erich, now close to breaking down, remembered those scribbled notes; he looked up at Elaine. Her outline was becoming blurred. He couldn’t stop the tears.
‘What were you planning to do, Erich, before I found this disk?’ He noticed the past tense. He spread his hands so that they lay palm up on the desk, the white rope burns from his climbing exploits clearly visible.
‘Would you believe me if I told you that I was planning to do some small thing to resist the Nazi monster I have helped to create?’
Élaine stood up, slipping the incriminating Gestapo disc into the pocket of her apron. His tears had been real, she was sure of that. But when she spoke her voice was hard.
‘Herr Hoffman, I have no choice. I will hand this disk to my superiors. I will, however, delay doing this by exactly twenty-four hours. By which time you must be out of Paris, preferably out of France. Go then and tackle your monster.’
It was one o’clock on the following morning when Erich’s train crossed the border into Germany, and the last Frenchman left his compartment. It had been a frenetic day, making excuses for his sudden departure and acquiring a temporary passport. He had had no time to talk to Louise about the theft of his clothes and his papers. It had to be Klaus, but why he had done it, he had no idea. The German border guards accepted the temporary passport and he relaxed. Louise’s portrait, carefully wrapped, rested on top of his suitcase. With the hostile Frenchmen gone, Louise joined him in the carriage. The lights were dimmed and the windows were blacked out. Trains were favourite targets for enemy bombers. To the measured clack-clack of the wheels on the track, she told Erich about Klaus’s visit, and how it was Klaus who had dropped Erich’s identification disc.
‘Fortunately I had my identity card in my pocket when he came. All he seems to have been interested in was my passport, and of course the visas. I don’t fancy changing identity with Klaus Steinman.’ Erich poked distastefully at the papers Klaus had left for him in the safe. ‘What are these?’
‘He called it his present for you.’
‘All this SS Death’s Head squad stuff makes me sick now. So, what have we here? A leave form, travel passes, security passes, all to a place called Auschwitz. I’m finished with this Nazi Scheiße, I think I’ll just throw the lot out of the window.’
‘No, Erich, don’t! I’ve got a feeling about it. I’m almost certain Izaac is in this “Auschwitz” place. I heard the name when I dreamed about him being on a train, and then Klaus mentioned it, and how Izaac might play for you there. Oh, if only you could turn Klaus’s trick against him!’
Erich shuddered. ‘I’ve already nearly been turned over to the French Resistance because of him. Anything to do with Klaus is bad news. I’ve got to get some sleep now. We can talk about it later.’
Erich settled back. Louise tried to think ahead. In the morning they would arrive at some huge picture depot in Munich, where her picture might easily be discovered and taken from him. But she needed Erich to rescue Izaac. More and more she had a feeling that time was running out for him. She would give him an hour or two’s sleep and then tackle him.
Back in Paris Élaine was serving in her father’s cafe when the familiar figure of Pierre came in and sat at a small table tucked out of sight in the back of the café. She shivered. Thank God Erich had got safely away. Pierre, the executioner, was bad news. She went over, in her own time, and stood ready to take his order. He wasted no breath:
‘We got him, your Gestapo bugger; the boss wants you to identify him. Absinthe please.’
Élaine stared incredulously at the familiar suit, t
he face – none the better for a bullet hole in the middle of it. How could this have happened? She had actually seen Erich climb into the car to be driven to the station. One half of her wanted to run screaming from the filthy cellar where his body lay, the other half stayed cool.
‘The hands,’ she demanded. ‘Turn over his hands.’ She looked, and looked again. Those hands had never held a falling climber; they were as clean and unscarred as a babe’s. She turned to Pierre.
‘That’s him, that’s Erich alright,’ and her smile had a look of triumph that chilled even Pierre the executioner.
‘Did you see her smile? She’s a tough one, that Élaine!’ he said to his colleague. ‘You know, we all thought she was sweet on him!’
While Erich slept, Louise had come up with a plan. But was it preposterous to expect him to risk everything, life included, just to rescue her friend, one Jew out of thousands? Clack … clack … time was running out. She was jerked awake by shouts outside.
‘Erich, wake up! Open the blinds, I want to see.’ He unhooked a blind and it shot up, revealing crazy images of wrecked carriages, cranes, and a half capsized engine.
‘Must have been bombed.’ He reached up to pull the blind back down again.
‘Erich, we’ve got to talk. We’ve only got an hour or two.’
He looked at her through gummed up eyes. ‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘Tell me.’
When Louise had finished, Erich took out Klaus’s papers and examined them closely this time. Together they went step by step through what he would have to do if he was to get to Auschwitz.
‘There is one problem I can see no way around. How I will persuade them to release Izaac to me? I will need some compelling reason.’
