“Of course.” Dietrich’s right leg is trembling, and he shifts from one foot to the other to hide it.
The smile leaves Bauer’s face and he is suddenly brisk, businesslike. “Good.” He pretends to notice for the first time that Dietrich is still standing, and motions for him to sit, then goes back to his papers for a good five minutes. From the next room Dietrich can hear the scrape of a chair, footsteps and a door opening and closing, more footsteps out in the hall. Dohnanyi has been taken away.
“Why were you not called up when the war began?”
Bauer’s question is so sharply posed that Dietrich gives a start. He takes a deep breath to settle himself.
“Because of my service in the Abwehr, I am not required—”
“I am well aware,” Bauer interrupts, “that your position with the Abwehr counts as your military service. That is not my question. Why did you not join thousands of pastors—even pastors from the Confessing movement—and volunteer to serve in a front-line chaplaincy?”
“I serve the Führer best with my mind. I assure you, Judge Advocate, I would make an incompetent soldier. I would do more harm than good at the front, out of sheer clumsiness.”
Bauer is shaking his head. “A chaplain need not be a good soldier. He only need be willing to live alongside the men in his charge, to offer them comfort and to die with them if necessary. Why are you not sharing the hardships of our fighting men, Pastor Bonhoeffer? Could it be you are a coward?”
He feels as though he were once more facing Elisabeth Hildebrandt who is demanding why? why aren’t you doing more?
Bauer waits patiently, his eyes never leaving Dietrich’s face. After a time he says softly, “Some would judge the avoidance of military service in wartime to be as despicable as treason.”
“I have not avoided serving my country and I have taken some risks myself,” Dietrich protests. “Not nearly so many risks as a front-line chaplain, of course. But the journeys abroad I have undertaken are more dangerous in wartime than in peacetime.”
“Not that dangerous,” Bauer scoffs.
Dietrich blushes at the absurdity of his own assertion and bumbles on. “I am more useful where I am. If I had joined the Abwehr as an enlisted man, I would not have been trusted by my contacts abroad. Few men in Germany have such international connections, and because of my background I have gained a certain amount of trust among these foreigners. I have been able to plant false information abroad and to learn things which have proved valuable to the Reich.”
“Rubbish. You are a coward.”
Dietrich sits up straighter. “You are my age,” he says. “You are not on a front line. Also perhaps for good reas—”
He stops, for the judge advocate has left his chair like a shot and come around the desk.
“You are standing upon a bridge, Pastor Bonhoeffer. The bridge between the War Court and—” Bauer leans forward and speaks more softly—“the Gestapo. I am that bridge, Pastor Bonhoeffer. One word from me will fling you across to the far side. Where I doubt you wish to be?”
“No,” Dietrich manages to say.
“I didn’t think so. Now I shall repeat my earlier statement. You are a coward. Do you deny it?”
Dietrich recalls what a Catholic friend once told him, that the sins of a priest do not mar the efficacy of a sacrament. So, he is in a confessional with a most unholy confessor.
“Yes, I am a coward. A front-line position would terrify me. If I found myself in such a position, I would pray and do my best, but I am just as glad not to have to face it and to serve in other ways.”
“Is this honesty supposed to impress me?”
“I have tried to offer the Reich what meager gifts I possess, in the belief that this is what the present situation requires. If it should come to pass, and I pray that it does not, that our military situation worsens to the point where even one such as I should be needed in the field, then I would without hesitation fight to the death to protect the Fatherland.”
Bauer laughs and pats Dietrich on the shoulder. He goes back to his chair, scribbles something on a piece of paper, and sits tapping his pencil on the desktop. He asks, “This supposedly important position you hold with the Abwehr. Did it require you to take the oath of loyalty to the Führer?”
“No.”
“How convenient. Once again you did not have to learn the limits of your courage.”
“You believe I would have refused to take the oath?”
“It does cross my mind,” Bauer says. “But I doubt you would have had the courage to refuse.”
“The question is irrelevant,” Dietrich protests. “I am a patriot.”
“Then you would have taken the oath?”
“Of course.”
“Would take it tomorrow if I required it of you?”
Dietrich has known, ever since he agreed to help kill Hitler, that he has also agreed to risk the destruction of his own soul. The oath would be one thing more, only one thing more. He says, “I would take the oath if it were required of me.”
“Even though as I recall from an earlier encounter you have been an outspoken opponent of the Führer and his policies? I am speaking of the ecumenical conference in Denmark when you spoke and worked against our government in the most public and critical way possible.”
“That was before the war.”
“Are you telling me your opinions have changed so drastically? You were one of the most intractable and outspoken leaders of the Confessing Church movement.”
“Before the war, yes,” Dietrich admitted, “I did criticize our government. But only as one would criticize a beloved relative. That is the way of families, sometimes to quarrel out of concern for the common good. But when the Fatherland is under attack, all its true children rush to the defense. If I despised my Fatherland as you seem to suggest, why would I take it upon myself to become engaged to a young woman from a military family which has lost a father and son in this war? This Abwehr service of mine has been a welcome opportunity to prove my love for Germany.”
Bauer rests his chin on his fist and smiles. “Most touching.”
Dietrich waits uneasily for the interrogation to continue, but Bauer continues to watch him with an expression that says You are the most interesting and amusing person I’ve come across in quite some time and I don’t believe a word that’s come out of your mouth.
Dietrich thinks, You are very good at what you do, and finds to his surprise that he has said this out loud.
Bauer laughs delightedly. He says, “You were acquainted with the Harnacks, Arvid and Mildred.”
No mention, Dietrich realizes with relief, of Falk.
“Acquainted, though not closely. I knew Arvid’s uncle much better. My most respected theology professor at the university. He lived next door to my family in Grunewald.”
“The Harnacks,” Bauer says, and strokes his own chin as though he were petting a cat. “My work.”
Dietrich sits with his head down. “Yes,” he says, “I know.”
“You followed the case in the Abwehr?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Bauer says. He stands and gathers his papers into a neat stack, shoves them into a briefcase. At the door he turns.
“Next time, Pastor Bonhoeffer, I shall see you at Tegel. Enjoy your ride back to the prison.”
DAY 62. He spends the next twenty-four hours in solitary confinement. No explanation is given. But he imagines it is a message from Bauer. Influential uncle or no, remember who is in charge here.
He spends hours pacing. It is boring but necessary. Sitting too long in such a tiny space causes his muscles to cramp, his bones to ache. Three long strides the length of the cell. Back and forth back and forth. Two steps across the cell. Back and forth. He bangs into the wall with his palms out, pushes off, back to the other side, pushes off. All around him others are doing the same. Pacing. Feet pounding the stone floor, hands slapping the walls. In Tegel it is a perpetual rhythm barely noticed by guards or inmates, a
pleasant heartbeat of a sound to nap by.
Between pacing sessions Dietrich tries to write. Until now, his efforts to put words on paper have been frustrated by an inability to concentrate. The novel he began, a roman à clef based on his childhood, languishes with only half a chapter complete. A play about a distinguished Berlin family much like his own has progressed no more than two scenes. A modest stack of paper, all he has to show for these aborted attempts, lies forlornly in a corner of the cell. Paper is not easy to come by and he wishes he had these sheets back, clean and open to possibility once more. But he is still uncertain what he would say. The words only come when he writes to his parents. Or to Maria, though he is still not allowed to post the letters.
A parcel arrives. “Your sister brought it,” Linke says.
“My sister?” Suse, he guesses. The war has turned Suse into a great cyclist, though he wonders if she would have come all the way from Dahlem on her bicycle. But he doubts it was Christel. Christel is not well, the secret messages in his books tell him. Not physically ill, exactly, but struck down by a depression which makes it difficult for her to get out of bed.
The new parcel contains a volume of Luther’s sermons. Dietrich’s name is underlined on the flyleaf. He turns to the back and looks for the letters underlined in pencil.
MESSAGE FROM HANS HE IS WELL THEY STILL DON’T KNOW ABOUT UNCLE RUDI CONTINUE TO DO ANYTHING YOU MUST TO KEEP AWAY
He realizes that Dohnanyi was barely mentioned by Bauer during the interrogation. A good sign or bad? What exactly is Bauer after? What does he expect to find? One could go crazy simply asking these questions.
And yet Bauer does not know about Uncle Rudi. If Dietrich can only hold out, lead Bauer down some other path until Uncle Rudi can act once and for all everything will be all right.
DAY 69. In the exercise yard Dietrich has found an anthill. An entire world complete and self-contained, existing within the wall of Tegel Prison, its inhabitants as oblivious of what lies beyond their tunnels and patch of earth as—Dietrich knits his brow and imagines the earth as anthill. He is staring at the ground, mind wandering, when Linke comes for him.
“Pastor Bonhoeffer. The judge advocate is on his way to question you. I am to take you to the interrogation room.”
Linke leads him around the corner and through a tunnel to a small redbrick building near the front gate of the prison. A guard with a rifle watches their approach, another stands outside the door, which Linke unlocks and pushes open. It is a plain room with high barred windows, whitewashed walls, and a rough plank floor. A battered table and two chairs are the only furnishing. Linke motions to a chair and Dietrich sits.
“His office said to expect him at half-past eleven,” Linke says apologetically. “I expect he’ll hold you through mealtime, but I’ll slip a tray into your cell. I’m afraid it will be cold.”
Dietrich shrugs. He has some cheese and ham and an apple—presents in the latest parcel from home—set by for just such a time. “Thank you, Linke,” he says.
Linke nods and glances around. “Don’t worry. They don’t talk to the hardest cases here.”
He touches his cap and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Dietrich sits still and tries to pray. A car draws up outside, its engine idling for a moment and then shutting off. A door opens and slams, then another, and another still. Three people. Dietrich watches the door curiously. When it opens, Bauer steps through, accompanied by an SS guard.
Dietrich stands and salutes. “Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler!” Bauer answers. “You may sit, please.”
Dietrich sinks back to his chair with a strange feeling of pleasure. He knows how he must have appeared just now. An obedient and enthusiastic servant of the Führer. One who belongs, even though in prison. One who shares this in common with his interrogator, who is removing files from his briefcase and arranging them on the table. When Bauer looks up, it is with an expression of interest, as though he is longing to renew their acquaintance. Dietrich responds with a smile.
“You look well,” Bauer says. “Any problems?”
A doctor visiting his patient.
“None except that I seem to be developing some stiffness in my joints. Rheumatism perhaps. The heat and humidity affect me that way sometimes.”
“Then you should go to the infirmary,” Bauer says casually. He jots down a note on a piece of paper, signs it, and hands it to Dietrich. “Give this to Maetz.”
Dietrich glances at the paper, sees it gives permission for the infirmary doctor to examine him for rheumatism. He folds it and puts it in his pocket. “Thank you.”
Bauer waves his hand. “Don’t worry. We want you healthy. After all, I’ve brought you a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
Bauer nods to the SS guard, who opens the door and says, “Come in.”
Maria von Wedemeyer enters the room.
“God,” Dietrich says, coming to his feet.
She stops, pale and trembling. He is shocked at how young and frightened she looks. He steps to her side and takes her hand. He dares do no more, for Judge Advocate Bauer is watching.
“A charming girl,” Bauer says. “We had a most interesting visit on the way here.”
Dietrich squeezes Maria’s hand and she looks at him. “She is a fine girl,” he says. “And brave.”
She manages a small smile.
Bauer says, “She tells me your engagement has not been announced publicly. Why is that, may I ask?”
“Her mother has some doubts about the matter,” Dietrich says, and squeezes her hand again. Maria nods. “As you can see, the age difference is very great, and that concerns Frau von Wedemeyer.”
“Nothing to do with your being in prison?”
“No. Maria’s mother knows I’ve done nothing wrong.” Dietrich is watching Maria’s face carefully, trying to judge if he is saying the right thing. Again she nods and her eyes seem to warm. “In fact, we have decided to go ahead with the wedding as soon as I obtain my release.”
“Marvelous,” Bauer says dryly. “I assume I shall have an invitation.”
Maria surprises Dietrich by turning to Bauer and saying, “Of course you must come, Judge Advocate. By the time you have finished interviewing my Dietrich, I am sure you will count him a great friend.”
Bauer laughs heartily. “This one will make a faithful wife!” he says. “Tell me, Fräulein, is your fiancé as loyal to the Reich as you are to him?”
“Of course,” Maria says.
“Then tell me, Pastor Bonhoeffer, why you helped a party of Jews to leave Germany in the middle of the war. Perhaps you knew of this, Fräulein?”
“I know nothing of Dietrich’s work,” Maria says.
Her fingernails bite into the flesh of Dietrich’s palm.
“Surely, Judge Advocate, your questions are for me?” Dietrich says.
Bauer folds his arms. “Then answer them. By the way, Fräulein, did you know one of the Jews in question was an old girlfriend of your fiancé’s? Elisabeth Fliess, née Hildebrandt?”
Dietrich raises Maria’s hand and kisses it, turns to Bauer. “Maria never met Elisabeth. That was all over years ago.”
“Then you don’t deny your involvement with the Jewess?”
“We had a liaison, yes. It ended before the start of the war, and Elisabeth married someone else.”
“A Jew.”
“I believe so.”
“And still you helped her escape Germany.”
Beside him, Maria shifts uneasily.
“Please, Judge Advocate, may I offer my fiancée this chair?”
Bauer nods, and Dietrich takes the chair and places it near the door, away from the desk. As Maria sits he catches a glimpse of her face and sees she is near tears. He forces himself to look away and goes to stand in front of the desk.
“I did not help Jews escape,” he says. “The Abwehr thought they might be useful as agents in Switzerland. As I am sure you know. None of this was done in secret.
”
“And Frau Fliess, née Hildebrandt, was so useful in Switzerland that upon giving birth to a child, she fled to London, where she now resides.”
“I understood she might try to go to Britain,” Dietrich replies. “Her father is there, so she had a good excuse, and there is certainly a great deal of intelligence work to be done there.”
“And what exactly is the nature of the work Frau Fliess was to perform for you?”
“I was not told what her specific assignment would be. It was thought the fewer who had such information, the better.”
Bauer says, “Of course, her personal connection to you had nothing to do with her leaving Germany.”
“Only in that I could vouch for her reliability,” Dietrich replies.
“The reliability of a Jew! How could a Jew be trusted to perform any service for the Reich?”
“I would remind you, since I am certain you have checked her background, that Elisabeth did not consider herself Jewish. She came from a family of baptized Christians. Although our racial purity laws define her as Jewish, she never saw herself as such, but continued to care deeply for the Fatherland. At the outbreak of the war she saw an opportunity to observe the Jewish population for signs of unrest. She was very helpful in keeping the Abwehr informed about unrest among the Jews until the beginning of the deportations. This led us to believe she and the others we chose were trustworthy.”
Bauer is sitting with his hand over his eyes as though trying to sleep. But he is listening carefully, not only to Dietrich’s answers but to the nervous creaking of the chair near the door. He says, “My dear Fräulein von Wedemeyer, your fiancé seems to know this Jewess very well.”
Dietrich turns to look at Maria, who is trying to hide the evidence of her tears.
“Dietrich is older than I,” she says, “and I am sure he is much more experienced.”
“But he hadn’t told you anything of this old girlfriend? Pastor Bonhoeffer! You have such fences to mend with this young lady. I can assure you, in matters of the heart, honesty is much to be desired. And speaking of honesty, your brother-in-law Hans von Dohnanyi is being investigated for fraudulently obtaining foreign currency to finance this Jewish scheme. Do you know anything about this?”
Saints and Villains Page 52
