I must tell you, and Cousin Hesi will confirm this if you wish to write to her, that I have not been well. There are days when I fear I can’t go on, because of the strain. The trips to Berlin have been more and more difficult for me. Cousin Hesi and Mother both think, and I’m afraid I’ve finally come to agree with them, that it would be best if I not come to Berlin for a while. I pray you will understand.
She found his reply waiting for her when she returned from a trip to Bamberg with Hesi, fresh from a hike from the train station because the day was so lovely they had not called for the pony cart. Without a word to Cousin Hesi, who was taking off her hat and hanging it on the hall tree, she took the envelope to her room.
Two hours later she came downstairs. Hesi was on the veranda, knitting socks to send her husband, who was part of the German force falling back before the Allied advance on Paris. Maria laid the letter on the table beside her.
“He hasn’t understood a word I wrote,” she said. “He won’t let himself understand.”
“May I?” Hesi unfolded the letter and read
My most dear, most beloved Maria,
Your letter has not made me sad at all. On the contrary I am not surprised by it. I am always amazed that you can love me at all. To be told that your love is not a love of frenzied desire is not upsetting. I am older than you, I have known such desires, and I know they are not all there is to love, or even the strongest kind of love. It is just as well you feel as you do. If you were wild with desire for me, how much more tormenting our separation would be for you. So our love is warm and not burning hot. I am quite content with such warmth.
If you are beginning to doubt your love for me then know that I don’t want anything from you, just you as you are. That should suffice. You fear you can’t go on. But can you go on without me? I can’t go on without you. If that is so, how can you go on without me? We belong together and I won’t let go of you. When you are older you will come to understand this better.
Of course if the trips to Berlin are too tiring for you, you must not come. But what is more important right now than seeing each other? Don’t you know I only am happy when you are sitting beside me in the visitors’ room? Each visit may be our last time together in this world. How can you stay away? Frau Niemöller, the wife of my friend Pastor Martin Niemöller, has visited her husband in the camp at Dachau twice a month since 1937.
If you are ill, you must go to a doctor, by all means. Perhaps you are working too hard. You have told me those children you tend can be very taxing. Perhaps that is what is wrong. It really isn’t fair of your cousin to ask you to do so much. Of course, if you went to Sacrow to stay with Father and Mother and Christel, you would have much more quiet and rest, and not so far to come for a visit at all.
Please don’t think I’m being selfish. I believe it is best for both of us and for our future marriage if we come through this difficult time together.
Your ever faithful
Dietrich
“It’s absolutely appalling!” Hesi cried. “I’ve never read anything so insensitive in my life! You mustn’t write back, Maria, and you certainly mustn’t visit. The man is totally unreasonable.”
Late that night Maria wrote one more letter by candlelight, to the only person she could think of who might reason with Dietrich—his sister Suse.
When Suse wheels her bicycle into Tegel Prison for the first time since the coup attempt she does not know if she will be allowed to leave her package, does not know if Dietrich is still an inmate. Though his name has not so far been mentioned in the daily news reports which revile those taken away and executed. She fights to control her panic as she waits her turn in the parcel reception room. When her turn comes she shoves the package across the counter and waits for the guard’s reaction. He runs his pencil down the list.
“Bonhoeffer, D.,” he says, and makes a mark beside the name. He opens the package and examines the contents. Suse thrusts her hands into the pockets of her skirt to stop them from shaking.
Outside she walks her bike slowly along the gravel path. The exercise yard lies between the two buildings to her right, and she can see the prisoners taking their turns around the enclosure beyond the chain-link fence. In fact she has timed her visit to coincide with the exercise period, has risen at four in the morning and left Dahlem at five in order to arrive in time. As the family rebel in a strict household, Suse learned young how to get away with as much as possible, how to bluff her way out of tough scrapes when the need arose. Now she leaves the path and meanders toward the fence, pretending to have trouble holding the bike to a straight line. She stops thirty feet from the yard, in full view of inmates and guards and an armed sentry in a corner tower who has turned to stare at her. She bends over and pretends to examine her front tire, then puts down the kickstand and removes her pump from its brackets on the frame. She unscrews the tire’s valve cover and inserts the pump head incorrectly so that air hisses from the tire. All the while she keeps her back to the guard tower and her eyes on the exercise yard where she has seen her brother’s familiar form pace, stop, and turn toward a guard. She presses down on the bike’s frame, her hair falling across her face until the tire is nearly flat. When she glances up again, Dietrich and a guard are strolling toward the fence. The guard waves at the sentry in the tower and motions her to approach. She goes slowly forward with the gimpy bike until she reaches the fence.
“Your tire is flat,” the guard says with a toothy grin.
Suse is silent, waiting for Dietrich to speak.
“Suse,” Dietrich says, “this is Linke. You can say anything in front of him.”
Linke gives a brief nod. “I hear and I don’t hear,” he says. “But if you have something especially delicate, now is the time. Because if you’ll wait a moment I’ll come around and help you with your tire.”
He strolls away toward a gate in the corner of the yard. Once again Suse is grateful for her strict upbringing, for the rigid discipline of her father, which not only gave her a target to rebel against but taught her to manage her emotions. Else neither Dietrich nor I would be able to say a word, she thinks.
“You are still here,” she says.
He nods. “For the time being. I doubt it will last. They’ll be ransacking the country for evidence of who else was involved. Eventually they’ll find something.”
Despite his assurances about Linke she glances toward the guard. He is slowly opening and closing the gate, just out of hearing distance.
“He knows,” Dietrich says. “Or at least, he guesses. But he won’t say anything, whether for liking me or because I give him food, I don’t know.”
“How are you keeping?”
He shrugs. “How do I look?”
“Under a great strain. But that is to be expected. Your health is holding up?”
“My rheumatism plagues me off and on, and I had the flu last month. Otherwise I’m all right.”
“Perhaps they won’t find anything,” she says.
He shakes his head. “Let’s not fool ourselves. It isn’t likely I’ll survive the war, Suse.”
Linke has reached Suse and, kneeling, begins to fiddle with the tire.
“Oddly enough,” Dietrich continues, “I can better face that possibility if I accept it, not if I try to avoid it. It’s a new sensation, the acceptance of impending death. Somehow because it’s my own situation I’m contemplating, death doesn’t seem such an alien thing. More natural, actually, not so fearful if it’s expected.”
“You mustn’t give up!”
“That’s not the question,” he says. “It’s out of my hands. That’s terribly freeing, you know. Though I admit I have my moments when I think it would be better for all concerned if I did take matters in my own hands.”
She leans into the fence, gripping the metal so tightly it cuts into the flesh of her fingers. “You mustn’t think like that.”
“Why not? I don’t believe suicide is necessarily a great sin, you know. In some circumstances it
may be the most faithful act. But don’t worry, whenever I think about it, it doesn’t seem the right thing for me. And there is Maria to consider. She might blame herself. Things are hard enough for her as it is.”
“Tell me about Maria,” Suse coaxes. And hopes he does not notice the new edge to her voice. “Do you hear from her?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve had no letter in weeks, and she hasn’t come to visit. It’s such a long way from Bundorf to Berlin, especially with the bombings disrupting train service. And she hasn’t been well. Her cousin is working her too hard. I know that’s what it is. Maybe her cousin isn’t even allowing her letters to be posted. And that mother of hers will make her feel guilty if she leaves her position there.” He rubs his scalp, which is turning red in the August sun. “But I know she loves me. It’s all hard for her because she’s so young, but I know she loves me. That keeps me going.”
Linke has taken the wheel off the bike frame. While he replaces it and pumps air back into the tire, Suse and Dietrich continue to talk, Dietrich asking after each member of the family, Suse answering and at the same time trying not to let on that she has learned what she came for. Then the prisoners are being called inside from their exercise, and the bicycle has been needlessly repaired. Dietrich says, “Remember, Suse, when we were children, you and Sabine and I. Remember how we would rap on the bedroom walls and think of God. Let’s do that tonight.” Linke tips his cap and goes back into the exercise yard. Dietrich walks backward as long as he can, eyes on Suse, then turns abruptly and disappears through a doorway.
Even before the war only one train a day served the small valley at Bundorf. Now a small engine and single car called from Bamberg on Tuesdays and Fridays. Bundorf did not possess a station house, and the platform, a wooden rectangle with two benches, was like a stage set for a performance at the edge of a field of rye. Maria sat alone on a bench, waiting, the pony and cart tethered at the foot of the steps. She heard the train before she saw it, and turned away from the sound back toward the distant castle dreaming on its limestone outcrop. It was a phantasm, and she could imagine the gate had been forever sealed behind her. Or would be sealed for want of a magic password she did not possess. Or the entire castle would vanish before her eyes, or she would herself be placed under a spell and fall asleep and never wake again. Or would wake in some gray distant city like Berlin.
The train glided alongside the platform, barely pausing for Suse, the only passenger, to jump from the last step before picking up speed again. Suse had no luggage, carried only a large handbag on a shoulder strap. She wore a dress of faded blue cotton and a wide-brimmed straw hat, which she removed so she could kiss Maria on both cheeks.
“I want to talk to you here,” Suse said.
“On—on the platform?” Maria stammered.
“Yes, or we could go for a walk, since the sun is so bright here. But I’m not going to the castle.” She opened her bag. “Look, I’ve brought sandwiches.”
“But Cousin Hesi is expecting you for lunch.”
“The train will be back through in two hours. That’s time enough to say what I have to say, and to eat with you here. I’m staying tonight at the Bellevue in Bamberg and returning to Berlin first thing in the morning. I’ve taken a room with two beds.”
Maria turned away. “Because you expect me to go back with you. Cousin Hesi said that’s why you’ve come.”
“Oh, yes, Cousin Hesi knows all right. That’s why I’ve nothing to say to her. Only to you.” Suse plopped onto a bench and began to fan herself with her hat. She motioned to Maria, who sat reluctantly beside her. “I’ll get right to the point, Maria. There’s a very good chance Dietrich won’t survive the war. And he knows it. If he won’t hear what you’re trying to tell him, it’s because he can’t. He’s hanging on by his fingertips.”
A bee sailed past Maria’s ear. She felt faint. “I think I should go back to the castle,” she said. “I’ve been in the sun too long already.” But found she could not move. As if Suse had cast a spell that held her fast.
“Maria,” Suse said. And she pulled Maria close so the girl’s head rested upon her shoulder. The clean scent of Suse’s fresh-scrubbed neck caused Maria to close her eyes. “May I tell you about my sister Christel and her husband? Hans and Dietrich were arrested at the same time. Dietrich doesn’t know it, but one reason their trials have been delayed is that Hans wanted it that way. He thought if they could just ride out the war in prison without coming to trial, they might survive. For if they did come to trial, the plot might be discovered, and their part in it.”
“The plot?” Maria said.
“The plot to kill the Führer.”
“Dietrich knew about that?”
“Has known about that and earlier failed attempts for years. And would be upset to know I told you, because the less you know the safer for you. But to my mind there’s no help for it.”
Maria, eyes still shut, saw her father, her dear father, resplendent in his Wehrmacht uniform, going off to fight the Russians. A loyal German, a patriot. She recalled how much he had disliked Hitler, how he had made jokes about him when no one of consequence was around. But to kill the Führer?
Suse seemed to read her mind.
“Maria, the army officers involved in the plot were men like your father. Patriotic Germans who couldn’t bear to see what has been done in the name of such patriotism. But Dietrich believes even they waited too late. He could not live with what he has known and could not refuse to act as he has done. Your father was a courageous man, but Dietrich’s is a better sort of courage. If you cannot accept that, then of course you must turn away from Dietrich. But think, Maria, of what has been done in the name of Germany and with the help of brave soldiers like your father. Do you know how many Jews we have murdered, Maria? Do you? It must be in the millions by now.”
“Even if it is true, how dare you blame it on Papa! He’d never agree to such a terrible thing!”
“I’m blaming all of us, Maria. You and me and your father. Yes, and Dietrich, for he’d say so himself.”
“It’s all exaggerated, I’m sure, what you’re saying about the Jews.”
“It isn’t. And you know it. You remember the deportations, you’ve heard the talk, we all have. Only no one wants to think about it, so we pretend it’s only a murmur that runs through our sleep, some nightmare—” Suse’s voice trailed off.
“They must have done something to—”
“Maria! Think what you’re saying!”
Maria took a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed at her eyes, twisted the thin white cloth in her hands.
Suse said, “When Hans decided to delay his and Dietrich’s trials, do you know how he did it? He asked Christel to obtain a culture of diphtheria bacilli from our father’s hospital. She did as he asked, and she smuggled the culture into the prison in a batch of sweets. Hans ate this and became very ill. So the trial was postponed until he was well enough to attend it. Unfortunately the delay was all for naught, since the Führer has survived. But do you see, Maria? In such times as these a wife is called on to do strange things for her husband. Is it so odd then that I would ask you to stay in a relationship you might otherwise leave? Can you not hold out a few months more? If Dietrich should by some miracle survive, time enough then to call off your engagement.”
When she saw Maria was unable to speak, Suse stood and pulled the girl to her feet. “I think,” she said, “there is no need for me to say anything else. Go back to the castle for your things, and as you go, think about what I have said. I shall wait here. When I catch the return train at two o’clock, I pray you will be on it with me.”
Maria ran down the steps and climbed into the cart, so blinded by tears she let the pony have its head to get them back to the castle. The gate stood open. Hesi was in the great hall, though so transparent that Maria ran past her and up the stairs to her room. She could not understand what Hesi was saying from the doorway, as if her cousin were speaking underwater, and was insensi
ble to Hesi’s leaving her, unaware that her cousin rode on horseback to the train platform, where she angrily confronted an unnaturally calm Suse. When at last Hesi rode back toward the castle, she met Maria on the road, suitcase in hand.
Hesi drew her horse up, blocking the way. Maria stopped, her face white and pinched.
“Your mother will be furious,” Hesi said.
“I don’t care.”
“I won’t allow you to go.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“But you’ve said to me and even to him that you don’t love him.”
Then the color returned to Maria’s cheeks and she said fiercely, “I don’t want to sleep with him. I may never want to sleep with him. But I do love him, more than anyone living. He’s part of my family and I’m going to be with him.”
She plunged into the field beside the road and had outflanked Hesi before she could turn her horse. And as she fled, an invisible gate slammed shut barring Hesi from following, barring Maria from going back.
Sanctus
Dominus Deus Sabaoth!
Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua
Osanna in excelsis
Holy, holy, holy
Lord God of hosts!
Heaven and earth are full of thy glory
Hosanna in the highest.
(Double chorus with eight parts; double fugue)
Doppelgänger
September 24, 1944
DIETRICH BONHOEFFER sat in the prison interrogation room, waiting. He heard the Mercedes pull up outside. Car doors slammed. SS Judge Advocate Alois Bauer entered the room with a stamp of boots, a crisp salute, and loud “Heil Hitler!”
Dietrich stood but did not return the salute. He said, “Hello.”
And there was a flicker across Bauer’s eyes like a flight of bats.
“Well.” He set his briefcase on the table with a thump. “I have you now.”
Saints and Villains Page 57
