Edelweiss

by Madge Swindells

  After a tension-filled hour during which inhuman whimpers echoed from the floors below, he was shown into an office and told to sit down. An SS captain walked in and Bill disliked him on sight; the man’s unblinking gaze sent a thrill of repugnance through him. He was tall and gave off an aura of immense strength. His eyes were large and of a strange, light amber colour, set wide apart under heavy lids. His hair was dark brown and plastered close to his skull, his eyebrows were thick and nearly met over the bridge of his wide nose, his skin was olive brown and oily. Everything about him was larger than life. His powerful appearance, plus his black Gestapo uniform, was intimidating.

  ‘I am Captain von Hesse, Mr Roth. I understand you have come about the subversive students we arrested. Which one are you concerned about?’

  Bill hesitated, but only for an instant. ‘No one in particular, I just want to check the facts . . . I’ve got a good story here: brutal beatings . . . innocent girls being knocked out and dragged away into detention . . . explicit pictures . . . Pretty girls, too – bound to make headlines overseas. And the story’s been filed,’ he added, as the Captain picked up the file.

  ‘They’re not innocent,’ the Captain said. ‘What exactly is the point of this meeting?’

  ‘As I said I need to check the facts,’ Bill said. ‘If those students were released today, I’d have to advise my editor to kill the story and he prefers his staff to file substantiated news.’ Bill shrugged. ‘After all, I know how hard you’re trying to present a different kind of image to the public overseas.’

  ‘Very smooth,’ von Hesse said. He smiled and folded his hands. ‘Well, you’d better call your editor, Roth, because the students are about to be released.’

  ‘I’ll advise him to put the story on hold, just in case.’

  ‘As you wish. Now let us discuss you, Mr Roth.’ The Captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you working as a journalist when you are a major shareholder in a company that manufactures arms in the United States?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘It might be. Some of us feel that masquerading as a journalist is a clever way of infiltrating our munitions factories and spying for your country,’ von Hesse said with a smile which didn’t touch his eyes. ‘By the way, are you Jewish?’

  ‘What the hell has that got to do with you? What I am is an American citizen and an accredited journalist.’

  ‘So you say,’ von Hesse said smoothly. ‘And a perfect cover for investigating German manufacturing.’

  Bill could feel the menace of the man, his skin was pricking and the hair was rising on the nape of his neck. ‘Don’t try to intimidate me, Captain. You’ll find I’m a tough nut to crack, and one who has the backing of the American Embassy and Reuters. If those students aren’t released I’ll raise such a stink this whole damn place will need fumigating.’ He stood up. ‘I guess I’ll be getting along,’ he said.

  The Captain shrugged. ‘I will overlook your threats this time, but don’t try to blackmail the Third Reich again. It would be – er – uncomfortable for you.’ He stood, then added with a leer, ‘By the way, which of the girls are you sweet on, Roth?’

  Bill ignored him. He was led by the corporal through a series of passages to the lift at the end of the building. As they ascended, Bill was unable to suppress a deep shudder.

  *

  A floor below the office Bill had just left, Marietta sat on a plain wooden chair in front of a desk facing a barrage of lights, behind which sat the interrogators.

  ‘Who gave you permission to use the University printing department?’ There was silence. Then, ‘Who gave you the key?’

  ‘I won’t answer your questions. You’re wasting your time.’

  The blow was swift and savage. It landed on her bruised shoulder. The pain made her feel sick. She flinched as she waited for the next blow to fall. This time the baton cracked across her neck. She stifled a cry as she fell forward. Oh God help me. What if they break my neck? They wouldn’t care if they did.

  ‘Someone must have helped you to do the typesetting.’

  The rubber truncheon smashed on her fingers which had been gripping the side of her chair. She gasped and nursed her hand. ‘It’s better for you if you talk. All the others have,’ her interrogator persisted in a smooth, high-pitched voice. ‘You won’t be telling us anything we don’t already know.’

  ‘Then why bother to ask?’ she retorted, in a small tired voice. She leaned back and closed her eyes and momentarily drifted into unconsciousness. A bucket of ice-cold water brought her to her senses. She looked up and glared at the man bending over her. ‘Are you ready, or do you want another soaking?’ He was a young man with staring green eyes and blond hair greased to his skull – the archetypal Nazi.

  At that moment an SS guard walked into the room and stared at her curiously before whispering urgently to the blond man. Her tormentor gave her a regretful glance and left the room.

  Marietta sighed with relief at this temporary respite. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Her entire body was a mass of pain. Was it just bruises, she wondered, or did she have a few broken bones? Despite her discomfort she had the feeling that she could hold out for ever. She knew why, too. It was because she despised them so much.

  Chapter Six

  She didn’t know how long she’d been slumped in the chair when the door opened. Her guards leaped to their feet and gave the Nazi salute as Captain Hugo von Hesse walked in. When he bent over her, Marietta half-rose from her chair with the shock of recognition. ‘Good God! Is it . . .? Hugo! I can’t believe my eyes,’ she gasped.

  He gazed at her gravely, his lips pursed. Then he switched off the large desklights. Marietta blinked, unable to see for a while. ‘Bring some water,’ Hugo ordered.

  As the implication of her step-brother’s SS uniform sank in, she began to feel nauseous. ‘Hugo,’ she muttered. She was disgusted by the sight of him clad in the insignias and swastikas and all the paraphernalia that the Nazi officers wore to make themselves feel élitist and powerful.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ she said fiercely, after a long silence. ‘Are you in charge of beating up students? Is this your job?’

  ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘Thankfully not, but I am in charge of security. They called me when they learned who you were. You look a sight, Marietta,’ Hugo went on. He frowned, gestured at the guards and the room emptied. When they were alone, Hugo perched on the edge of the desk. ‘Have you any idea what the time is?’ he asked her.

  ‘I guess around midday.’

  He smiled. ‘Nine a.m. Not a bad guess. Sometimes people imagine that it’s days later.’

  ‘Don’t try to be pleasant, it won’t help. I have no intention of answering any questions.’

  ‘Really? Well, I don’t have any questions for you.’

  She scowled at him. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself supporting this regime when Father brought you up to believe in goodness and human decency?’

  ‘Lessons I hope I learned well.’

  ‘I doubt that. What happened to your law career, Hugo? Did you qualify?’

  ‘Yes, I qualified, but none of you took the trouble to find out, did you? When Father threw me out of the family, the Nazis took me in, so nowadays I advise them on legal matters . . . amongst other things,’ he muttered.

  ‘It seems you’ve devoted your life to a creed which is wicked beyond . . .’ While words failed her, her eyes were glinting with fury.

  ‘You know very little about it,’ he said, and to Marietta’s surprise he was not annoyed, merely impatient with her. ‘As a student, you should open your mind.’

  Why am I so surprised to see him here in this terrible place? she wondered sadly, her anger slowly fading. In a way it makes perfect sense. Wasn’t Hugo always full of anger and bitterness? Everyone knows the Nazis attract all the sadists and thugs in the Fatherland. To think that he’s my stepbrother! How shameful! It will destroy Father. Hugo is . . . was . . . one of us, raised under the sam
e roof, and now he’s a Nazi thug. What will Louis and Ingrid say when I tell them? If I ever get out of here.

  ‘You don’t look well, Marietta,’ Hugo said. ‘Would you like some water?’

  She nodded.

  He handed her a full glass which she drained. ‘Marietta, listen to me carefully. I seem to recall that you once collected a special prize for Sokol’s Landrace sows. You went to the show because Grandmother was ill. Remember?’

  She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘Why on earth—’

  ‘Tell me about those pigs.’

  She replied hesitantly, unsure of where the conversation was leading. ‘They’re specially bred in order to get far more bacon from them. Better quality bacon, too.’ She smiled tightly, determined to humour him. ‘Now for your next silly question.’

  ‘This superior strain was developed by selective breeding?’ Hugo persisted, ignoring her remark.

  ‘Why not?’ Now she could see which way he was headed. Not very subtle, she thought.

  ‘I have never been able to understand why scientific breeding is extensively used by man to improve his livestock and even his vegetables, yet man allows his own species to degenerate. He keeps the sick and the infirm alive with expert medical care and even allows them to propagate. In fact, the poor, the stupid, and the inferior have the most children. Tragic, don’t you agree?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘You think it’s clever to breed more inferior beings than intelligent ones?’

  ‘People are not pigs. You can’t treat them like animals.’

  ‘Why not?’ he went on without waiting for her answer. ‘We believe that Homo Sapiens can be bred into a race of godlike men with superior intellect and physique . . . Aryans! That’s what Nazism is all about.’

  ‘And the rest?’ she asked quietly.

  Hugo scowled at her. ‘They will be put to work in the factories, the foundries, the mines and the fields.’

  ‘Worked to death, you mean.’

  He shrugged. ‘You send your runts to market.’

  Marietta struggled to control her rising fury. White-faced and stiff with rage, she dug her nails into the arms of her chair. ‘It’s no good trying to convert me to your cause,’ she spat. ‘I abhor all you stand for. I should feel sorry for you, Hugo. Your talent and energy are wasted. I thought you were a Catholic.’

  ‘I am.’ Watching his step-sister’s eyes, so zealous and compelling, and her voice ringing out clear as a church bell and twice as self-righteous, Hugo felt his own fury rising. Who the hell was she to judge him? And why was she always so sure of herself? How dare she have the courage to oppose him.

  ‘The New Order is here to stay. It’s going to wipe our enemies off the face of the earth. And that will include the Habsburgs.’ A note of triumph echoed in his final sentence.

  ‘And I shall oppose you all the way,’ she promised, tight-lipped and furious.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  He sat down behind the desk and toyed with a pen, making an effort to regain his equanimity. Why couldn’t he stop caring what she thought of him? The great irony of his life was that however much he hated Marietta and the family, he longed for them to acknowledge him.

  He knew he was wasting time. ‘Like most people, you are not capable of grasping the greatness of the Führer’s vision. He is five hundred years ahead of his time.’

  ‘How dare you be so arrogant,’ she shouted, close to losing control. ‘You’ve forgotten what civilisation is all about. It’s not about better bacon, or taller people, it’s about the progress of ethics and morality. It’s a system to safeguard people not destroy them.’ Flushed and furious, she gasped for breath. Hugo was scribbling in his notepad. ‘Forgive me if I have recorded some of your thoughts a little sketchily. You spoke so fast. But it’s a fair record of your beliefs.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she hissed. ‘I shall do my utmost to resist you and your kind at every opportunity.’

  ‘Harsh words, Marietta. Some might call them treason. I won’t insist that you sign this statement, since I’m sure you haven’t the courage.’

  ‘Oh, but I have. Oh yes, I have!’ She reached forward, grabbed Hugo’s pen and signed the sheet with a flourish and without reading it.

  ‘To hell with you, Hugo,’ she said, flinging his pen down. ‘Now are you going to keep me here, or are you going to let me go?’

  ‘Soon,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve decided to be lenient; after all, we’re family. You’ll be home before supper.’

  Hugo watched Marietta being led back to her cell, before returning to his office. Arrogant as ever he thought, like Father, and now it was only a matter of time before the Count contacted him. He was looking forward to hearing him beg. For seven years he had waited for the opportunity to repay the humiliation he had endured at their last meeting.

  As a child he had been aware of how unfair his stepfather had always been to him. He’d never been appreciated, the harder he tried the more he was put down. He’d been thirteen years old when he found out why this was. Their Scottish nanny had smacked him for shaking spoiled little Marietta. ‘When I’m the Count, I’ll fire you,’ he had told her, rubbing his hand.

  The girl had laughed. ‘Louis will be the next count, not you.’ She had sniffed derisively. ‘You don’t have an ounce of blue-blood in you. You don’t even bear the Count’s name. How could you ever sack me?’

  Later he had cornered Father in the library and learned the truth. Louis was the heir. He, Hugo, was a penniless interloper, a mere stepson, although he’d always thought of the Count as his real father. At the time his stepfather had looked concerned and promised him that he was setting up a special fund for him, but it had all come to nothing. He had been thrown out of the family, and all because of blabber-mouth Ingrid. She was part of the score he had to settle.

  He shook his head. The Count would live to regret his cruelty . . . time was on his side.

  His adjutant came in and saluted. ‘Heil Hitler! The Austrian Minister of Foreign Affairs is on the line, Captain von Hesse.’

  Hugo shivered with pleasure. He knew exactly how to manipulate the conversation. He would be invited back into the bosom of the family, with its castles and uniformed flunkies and a style of living which he had missed bitterly. Life was like fencing, he thought. To win his game he must stay within striking distance, and now Marietta had conveniently played into his hands.

  ‘Father,’ he began simply. It’s good to hear your voice . . .’ When he replaced the receiver five minutes later, he knew that he had won the first round. It would be a long fight and the stakes were high, but Hugo intended to destroy the powerful von Burgheim family and take all that they owned.

  *

  Marietta was asleep on a hard cell bed. Despite her exhaustion, the moment the cell door clanged open she sat up in alarm. Then she gasped. Her body seemed to have set into a rigid mass of pain.

  ‘Get up. You’re wanted. Come quickly,’ the wardress barked.

  She could hardly bear to stand, every muscle screamed in protest as she moved. She staggered along the corridor, clutching on to the walls for support, and was pushed into the lift. They were going up . . . and up.

  Moments later she was handed her watch, her purse, her shoes and belt and thrust out of the main door. Dazed and grateful, she stood on top of the stairs looking round. Surely fresh air had never smelt so sweet. The air of freedom! She breathed in great gulps of it. Then she heard a shout and saw Bill Roth standing on the pavement, looking up at her.

  ‘Oh hello!’ she said shyly holding the railing as she limped down the steps feeling dizzy and sick. ‘Have you been interrogated, too?’

  Bill caught hold of her and examined her. ‘I guess you’re not too badly hurt,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘I was so afraid.’ Suddenly she was in his arms.

  She pulled herself together quickly and stepped back. ‘How many were arrested?’ she asked. ‘Who’s still inside? Do you know?’
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br />   ‘I think you’re the first one out.’ Bill said. ‘Some creep called von Hesse told me you were all going to be released today.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ she said, flushing with shame. ‘Thank heavens!’ She would die rather than admit that ‘the creep’ was her step-brother.

  ‘Are you really all right?’ The way he looked at her made her feel warm and wanted.

  ‘What about you?’ She touched his swollen jaw.

  ‘Don’t worry about me. It’s nothing. Boxing was my sport once.’ He touched her cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re safe. You were so brave. I’ll never forget the sight of you clinging to Sophocles and yelling at the Nazis. Are you going to carry on with your Edelweiss group?’

  ‘Of course! We can’t stop now, but maybe we’ll lie low for a while.’ She tried to look braver than she felt.

  He took her hand and held it between his. ‘Can I see you again? How about telling me your name?’

  ‘Marietta von Burgheim, and yes.’ She laughed shakily.

  ‘You’re in the arts faculty, I assume,’ he said.

  ‘Agriculture,’ she said. She broke off as she saw Andrea hobbling down the steps.

  ‘Oh my God! Andrea!’ Marietta tried to run towards her friend, but failed and winced with pain. Bill swore as he noticed her friend’s swollen black eye and helped her down the steps and into Marietta’s arms.

  The students were all emerging, one after the other, looking dazed and bewildered. All had been beaten, but none too badly. Moments later they were hugging each other and swopping experiences. Marietta could see they were in a mild state of shock, as she was, and very grateful to be free. When she next looked for Bill she found he had gone.

  That night the Edelweiss students were wild and emotional as they made light of their beatings, told the same stories over and over, and showed off their bruises. Everyone had been badly frightened. Marietta tried to feel happy, but failed. Guilt and shame kept her eyes smarting and her hands trembling. She was free, but only because of Hugo . . . that hurt far more than her bruises.