The Smallest Crack

by Roberta Kagan

“Oh, come on now, just a kiss.”

  She leaned over to kiss him, and as she did, she heard the key turn in the front door.

  “My father! He’s home. Get dressed quickly,” Gretchen said. She got up and slammed the bedroom door and locked it. They rushed to put their clothes on.

  “I can hear him in the other room. I hope he’s not ill.”

  “He must be. Why else would he be home so early?” Norbert asked.

  “I don’t know, but straighten your shirt. You aren’t buttoned correctly. Fix it. Hurry,” Gretchen said as she pulled the blankets and quilt over the bed.

  “Gretchen?” her father called out.

  “Yes, Father. I’m home,” she answered trying to sound calm but checking herself in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look disheveled. She didn’t want her father to know what she and Norbert had been doing. “Norbert is here with me. We were reading.”

  “Hurry, let’s get out of the bedroom,” Gretchen said, turning to Norbert and then checking herself one more time in the mirror, hoping she didn’t look as if she had just been in bed with her fiancée.

  Norbert and Gretchen walked into the living room. Karl was sitting on the sofa. He didn’t look up. A wave of guilt and embarrassment at almost being caught in such a compromising position came over Gretchen. Her face was red with shame, and she couldn’t look at her father directly.

  “You’re home early, Father. Are you feeling all right?” she asked as she headed straight to the kitchen to stir the soup.

  “Yes. I am all right. But I had a rough day at work.”

  “What happened?” Gretchen said, suddenly forgetting her own feelings of embarrassment and returning to the living room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Her father poured himself a full glass of whiskey and drank it quickly.

  “Can I get you anything?” Gretchen asked him. But before her father could answer, there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Gretchen asked.

  “Gestapo, open up,” a harsh voice said.

  Gretchen was terrified. “Gestapo?” she said, looking from her father to Norbert.

  “Open up, now.”

  Gretchen’s hand trembled as she unlocked the door.

  “There must be some mistake,” she stammered.

  Two Gestapo agents entered the room.

  “Professor Schmidt?” the Gestapo agent said

  Her father nodded, but his head was hanging down. But from where Gretchen stood, she could see his hands shaking.

  “Father, what is going on here?”

  Karl didn’t answer; he just stared at her with the saddest expression she’d ever seen.

  Then Gretchen continued, “There must be some mistake. My father is a good man. He would never do anything wrong.

  “You want to know what your father did? Your father has broken the law. He is supporting Jews. From what I hear he’s lost his job at the university for supporting Jews. What do you think of that, young lady?”

  “Father?” Gretchen ran to her father and put her arms around him. She was so frightened she could hardly breathe.

  “I complained about the workload being heavy, and I said that when the university fired the Jews . . .”

  “Shut up, and lets go, Schmidt.”

  My poor gentle father. He is so scared. It hurts me to see him like this. And I am terrified of what will happen next. “Please, don’t do this. Whatever he did, he didn’t mean it,” she said, grabbing the Gestapo agent’s jacket. He shook her off, and she and fell to her knees begging, “Please, don’t take him. Please.”

  “Move, Schmidt. Mach schnell.” The Gestapo pushed Karl with the butt of his gun. Karl was shaking so badly that he fell forward hitting the floor with a thud.

  Gretchen held tightly to her father until the Gestapo agent began to pull him away.

  “Father!” Gretchen yelled. Tears were falling down her cheeks. Then she turned to the Gestapo agent. “Where are you taking him? Please, don’t hurt him. Please, I beg you. Have mercy.”

  “We are taking him to headquarters for questioning.”

  “Father? What should I do?” Gretchen cried out, suddenly feeling like a frightened child.

  “It will be all right. Just wait here.” Karl tried to reassure her as the Gestapo agent shoved him out the door.

  Gretchen bit her knuckles as she ran to the window to watch.

  The two agents shoved Karl into the back of a black automobile. Gretchen saw her father hit his head as they forced him in, and she winced. The car drove off. Gretchen couldn’t believe what had just happened. She stared out the window barely breathing and without speaking for several minutes. Norbert didn’t say a word either. Then she turned and looked at Norbert. “Turn off the stove. The soup is boiling over,” she said abruptly, tears of anger running down her cheeks.

  Norbert went into the kitchen and turned off the stove.

  “Your family must help my father. Your family knows plenty of high-ranking party members. They can help.”

  “They eat at our restaurant and drink at our beer hall, but I don’t know if we know them well enough to ask for a favor like this. I am afraid to ask my parents. I am afraid to tell them what happened.”

  “Norbert, it’s my father we are talking about. You have to help me.”

  “What was he thinking talking against the party? He brought this all on himself. Now you expect my family to put themselves in danger by asking someone in the party to help him?”

  “Yes, I do. You are my future husband.”

  “I understand, but you’re asking me to do something that would put all of us in danger, you, me, and my family.”

  “Damn you, Norbert. How can you be so selfish?”

  “I’m not being selfish, Gretchen. I am being smart. Don’t you see that your father is in trouble, and anyone who takes his side might as well consider themselves right there with him? I don’t want any trouble with the government. And I know my parents don’t either.”

  Gretchen walked over and stirred the soup. She watched the tiny pieces of potato swirl around and around. For several moments, she didn’t speak. Then in a quiet voice, she said, “You should go home now, Norbert. I want to be alone.”

  He didn’t argue. Norbert quickly put on his coat and scarf and walked out the door, closing it quietly.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The soup grew cold on the stove. Gretchen never went to bed that night. She sat at the window, staring out at the moon and the darkness. Terror filled her heart, and her hands trembled. It was well past midnight, and her father had not yet returned. Norbert had not come back either. Somehow, she thought Norbert would have returned. She thought he would go home and speak to his parents and then come back with a promise of help. But he didn’t.

  She was alone, shivering in the cold, dark apartment, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She knew how hard it must have been for her father to complain about his workload. It had taken all his courage to speak out. But right now, she was wishing he had kept quiet. Because if he had, he would be safe at home instead of being questioned at the police station. The very idea of her father under interrogation made her shiver. She was sure he was feeling alone and terrified. This could end very badly, but she couldn’t bear to think of it.

  Gretchen laid her head on her hands. She wished she could sleep. She had to be at work at 8 a.m. the next morning. How was she ever going to work an entire day without any sleep? How could she possibly go into the factory and work all day without knowing if her father was safe? I’ll call in sick. I can’t go to work tomorrow, not until I see my father, and I know he’s all right.

  Gretchen went upstairs to see Frau Bauer early the following morning. She was the only person in the building who had a phone in her apartment. Frau Bauer allowed Gretchen to use her phone, and Gretchen called the factory and said she was sick. Then she went back downstairs to her own flat. She still had not heard from Norbert or her father.

  By noon, pure panic
set in. She went back upstairs and asked to use the phone again. Frau Bauer looked annoyed, but she agreed.

  “I’ll pay you for the call,” Gretchen said. “I have to telephone my Aunt Margrit.”

  Frau Bauer nodded. She stood around the corner and listened as Gretchen told her aunt that her father had been arrested.

  “I’ll come there to you. I’ll leave tonight. Gunther is off work, so maybe he will come with me. Don’t worry, Gretchen. You’re not alone. We will be there to help you,” Margrit said.

  After Gretchen hung up the phone, she thanked Frau Bauer and left some money on the table. But she could see the suspicious look in Frau Bauer’s eyes as she walked out the door of her flat. People are scared. Norbert is scared too. I never thought he would be a coward like he is. He should be here with me, but he is nowhere to be found.

  Gretchen went back down to her flat. It was very cold outside, and with all that was happening she felt chilled deep inside her—deeper than she usually did. Glancing at the familiar rooms, she felt the heaviness of being alone. What if my father never returns? I’ve heard that sometimes happens to people who are deemed enemies of this government. I can’t imagine life without my father. His kind heart, and his calm intellect have guided me my entire lifetime. I don’t know how to live without you, Father. Please be careful what you say to them. Please, Father; don’t be self-righteous. You have nothing to prove. Oh, please God, I know I haven’t believed in you, but if you’re there, and if you really do exist, then I beg you to please guide him in what he says to them. He is so foolish and brave sometimes.

  Gretchen couldn’t lie down on her bed, so she sat on the sofa and spread her quilt over her. It would probably be at least a day before her aunt arrived. And her father? There was no telling if or when he would return. The smell of the rancid soup filled the small flat. She stared out the window until her eyes closed.

  She awoke to the rattling of the front door. At first, fear struck her like a bolt of lightning. Perhaps the Gestapo has returned, and now they are coming for me? But then her father limped into the apartment. He looked so much older than when he left only a day ago. He was bruised and beaten, and he appeared much smaller than his six feet. His hair was stuck to his forehead with dried blood. Gretchen gasped when she saw him.

  “Father?” she choked out. “What have they done to you?”

  He tried to smile, but there was a cut on his upper lip. “I’m all right, Gretchen.”

  “They beat you?”

  “Yes, maybe a little.”

  “More than a little, Father.” She felt the tears pool in her eyes, and she didn’t have the strength to hold them back. “Here, sit down. Let me wash all this dried blood off your face,” she said pulling out a kitchen chair. Obediently, he did as she asked.

  Gretchen took a pot of water and warmed it on the stove, then she took a kitchen towel and wet it, wringing the extra water out. As gently as she could, she wiped her father’s face and discovered the source of the dried blood. It was a terrifying gash on the top of his head. When Gretchen saw the wound, she gagged. Bile rose in her throat.

  “It looks that bad?” Her father tried to make light of his wound, but she was looking directly at it, and she felt sick.

  “You probably need stitches.” She wondered if the gash was the result of hitting his head on the car door. “I don’t think I should go to the hospital,” he said. “Our government isn’t very happy with me, I am afraid. It’s probably best that I lay low until we can figure out our next move.”

  “What could that be?” Gretchen didn’t understand.

  “We may have to leave Germany,” her father said, shaking his head. Then he continued, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Gretchen. I am at a loss. I never thought that our brilliant country, a country as civilized and advanced as Germany, could turn out to be so barbaric.”

  She sunk onto the sofa. “Aunt Margrit is on her way here. I telephoned her last night.”

  “Why? Why did you do that?” He seemed angry.

  “Because I was scared, Father. And I have been all alone here.”

  “Where is Norbert?”

  “He went home yesterday.”

  “He left you alone?”

  She nodded, turning away, but not before catching a glimpse of her father’s eyes. Gretchen saw his loss of respect for Norbert, but she didn’t know what to say. She felt the same way, and yet she couldn’t discuss it with her father, not now. Her father stood up and limped slowly into his bedroom. “I want to clean myself up and take off these dirty clothes.”

  “When you have changed clothes I’ll take the dirty ones and wash them,” Gretchen said.

  It was almost ten minutes before her father returned handing her his dirty pants and shirt, both torn and covered in blood.

  Karl Schmidt sank onto the sofa. Gretchen glanced at him and saw his body shivering. She placed a blanket over him and leaned over and kissed his forehead, being careful not to touch the cut. “I’ll make you a cup of hot tea,” she said.

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The Gestapo could not come to someone’s home in Hilde’s neighborhood without her hearing about it. She had tentacles that extended all around her, sucking in any and all gossip. When she learned from Judith, a girl she knew from the Bund, what had happened to Gretchen’s father, she listened intently to the story. She asked everyone she knew about it, from the butcher to the leader of her Bund group, and they all had plenty to share. Once she had enough information to piece the story together, Hilde had a plan. She quickly put on her most respectable-looking dress and went to Norbert’s family’s restaurant.

  She had seen his father working there many times in the past and hoped to find him there today. Hilde sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. For a moment, she was afraid she might see Norbert, and she wasn’t sure what she would say to him. She was relieved when he was nowhere in sight.

  She heard loud male voices coming from the room behind the bar. “Is Herr Krause here today?” she asked the bartender.

  “Yes, but he’s in the back checking in a shipment. Can I help you?”

  “No, it’s personal. I need to see him.”

  “I see.” The bartender shrugged. “I don’t get involved with his personal business. I’ll let him know there is someone here to see him. What’s your name?”

  “Hilde.”

  The bartender disappeared in the back room and several minutes passed. She thought Norbert’s father would say he was too busy to see her, but she was wrong. Norbert’s father walked out and went directly to her.

  “Are you here looking for work?” he asked.

  “No. I need to talk to you. It’s about your son, Norbert.”

  Norbert’s father’s face grew serious. “Come with me,” he said and led Hilde to the back room.

  “Herr Krause,” Hilde said, sitting down on a chair in the corner. “I am here because of Gretchen.”

  “Gretchen? Did she send you here to see me? Norbert has been distraught since the last time he saw her. He refuses to speak to his mother or me about her. I am very worried about him. Gretchen has not been at our house either. Did she break up with him?”

  “You must promise me that you won’t tell Norbert how you found out what I am about to tell you. He will be mad if he ever learned that I came to speak to you. But there is something that you must know.”

  “I promise I will never tell him. But you must tell me, please,” Norbert’s father said. “I am so worried about my son.”

  “Gretchen’s father was arrested by the Gestapo. He has been acting out against the government. He is in real trouble. I am just sick about it. I have distanced myself from Gretchen because of it. You see, her father is a Jew-lover. He’s been standing up for the Jews at the university where he works, and that is against the law. So for your sake and Norbert’s too, this wedding must be stopped. I wouldn’t have stuck my nose in your business, but I can’t allow this to
happen to Norbert. He was always kind to me. He has always treated me like a friend. I am sure he knows that he must not marry Gretchen, and that’s why he is distraught. He probably realizes that if he marries her, you and your family will be dragged right into all this. So, just in case he changes his mind and decides to go back to Gretchen, I thought it was best to tell you.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re right. I won’t allow the wedding. I can’t allow it.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Margrit and her husband, Gunther, arrived at Gretchen’s house early the following morning. Her blonde curls bounced as she came in, making her seem like a ray of sunlight in the dark, dismal flat.

  She kissed Gretchen on both cheeks. “Where is your father?” she asked.

  “I finally got him to lie down in bed. The police beat him up very badly.”

  “Oh dear, let me go in and have a look at him.”

  When Margrit returned, she sat down on the sofa next to Gretchen.

  “Does he need stitches, Aunt Margrit?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Yes, he’ll have a scar, but he’ll be fine. The scar on his pride will be worse than the one on his head. Poor man. Your father has always been such a man of principle. He’s always believed in the good in people. All the cruelty going on in our country right now is very hard for him to understand.”

  “I know. It’s hard for me too.”

  “Of course, but your father must accept that things have taken a turn here in Germany. Either we go with the flow, or the new regime will crush us like ants.”

  “I am afraid for him. I am afraid it is too late for him. He has been very outspoken against the party.”

  “It will be fine,” Margrit said. “Gunther is a high-ranking official in the party. He will tell your father what must be done. As long as Karl listens to him, it will be all right.”