The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  When the screen porch door creaked open, his heart nearly stopped. But then he saw the hunched-over figure of Mrs Janssen illuminated in the moonlight. Three steps more and he was inside, safe.

  Without a word, he followed Mrs Janssen through another door and into the kitchen, dimly lit with only one light. After closing the door, she leaned against it and he could tell by her breathing that she was nervous.

  ‘Are you sure no one saw you?’ she asked.

  He held back an impatient sigh. ‘As sure as I can be.’

  She nodded and took his elbow. ‘Come with me.’

  * * *

  Jenni turned up the volume on the radio beside her bed. The sharp voices of Ida Lupino and Agnes Moorehead in tonight’s episode of Suspense created a sinister atmosphere in her bedroom. Marty loved it.

  ‘Oh boy,’ Marty said. ‘This is gonna be a good one.’

  Propped up by several pillows, Marty crunched on his Cracker Jacks and listened with rapt attention to the programme while Jenni sipped her tea. It felt strange not to have Max here with them. Usually he stayed a little longer in the evenings. She just hoped tonight’s visit with the Janssens led to some enlightenment on this situation.

  As the radio programme went on, Jenni half-heartedly listened. If only she could get Max to talk about his life in Berlin, about his friends, about his family. There was so much she didn’t know, and he would only give her bits and pieces at the oddest moments. He was holding something back, something big, something he did not want her, or anyone else, to discover. Something that went beyond his life here in America… and kept him chained to the past.

  Thinking about Max’s problems distracted her from her own. This past week had challenged her physically and emotionally. But depression had set in over the past few days, and her customary optimism had fled. She simply didn’t see a way out of the trial to come. It terrified her. She could leave after the baby’s birth, of course, but she’d need to keep working until then, and everyone would know her secret. And they’d probably point to Max as the father!

  A scratching noise came from the living room, barely discernable above the radio programme. She turned down the volume and listened. There it was again, but this time, she heard a high-pitched whine that devolved into a whimper. What on earth?

  ‘Mom?’ Marty asked. ‘What’s that sound?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Go peek through the window by the door. But be careful.’

  Marty scrambled off the bed and hurried into the living room.

  Jenni balled her fists. This was the one thing she hated about not having a man around the house. Meadow Hills was a safe town, but after the events of these past few weeks, that sense of safety had vanished.

  ‘It’s some kind of animal,’ Marty called. ‘I think it’s hurt. I’m going to turn on the porch light.’

  ‘No, Marty, don’t!’ she called, but then he shouted, ‘It’s Katya!’

  What was Max’s dog doing here?

  ‘Marty, wait!’

  But she heard the door open and Marty saying, ‘C’mere, girl, it’s all right.’

  Too many years on the farm being around injured animals had taught her that, once wounded, their demeanour could change in an instant. Throwing her doctor’s orders to the wind, she threw the covers off the bed and moved into the living room, forcing herself not to run.

  Katya sat on her back legs, her dark eyes large, while Marty studied her chest. Even from here Jenni could see the blood.

  ‘Look, Mom, she’s hurt,’ Marty said. ‘And she’s not wearing her collar.’

  Jenni grabbed him by the arm and slowly pulled him away. ‘Marty, we don’t know how she’s going to react. She might bite you.’

  He scrunched his nose. ‘Aww, that’s crazy. She’d never do that to me.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Just… stay back for a minute, okay?’

  He shuffled back a few inches and watched as she carefully knelt in front of the dog. Katya stared at her in complete trust and Jenni relaxed.

  ‘Okay, girl. Let’s see what happened.’

  She crooned words of comfort to Katya, and ran her hand lightly along the dog’s head. Several bleeding scratches marked the front of her chest, though none were deep. Mud and clumps of ice caked her feet and the backs of her legs, and the fur on her belly was wet, as though she’d waded through a snowdrift.

  But it was Katya’s shivering that tugged at Jenni’s heart. She could almost smell the poor dog’s fear. Something, or someone, had frightened her. And where was her collar? Had she somehow lost it?

  Another thought hit her. Or had someone taken it off?

  ‘Marty, go get me some warm water, soap and a washcloth. We’ll clean up her scratches for now.’

  Heedless of the streaks of dirt staining her pyjama bottoms, Jenni continued to stroke Katya’s back. ‘It’s all right, my darling. You’re safe now.’

  Marty brought Jenni the bowl of water and handed her the washcloth. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, soaking the cloth. ‘You can keep talking to her and petting her. Tell her she’s all right. She’s had an awful fright.’

  As she cleaned, the dog’s shivering began to subside and Jenni was rewarded with a few good licks on her cheek as she worked. She giggled and expected Marty to join in the laughter, but when she glanced at him over the dog’s head, he didn’t even crack a smile.

  ‘Marty, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I think someone let Katya out of the cottage. Max told me that whenever he leaves he always puts Katya in the bedroom so she doesn’t get into trouble.’

  ‘Maybe he forgot this time. Or maybe he left the door open and she ran away.’

  Marty met her gaze. ‘No, Mom. Max loves Katya. She wouldn’t run away from him.’

  They both knew he was right. Max showered the dog with devotion, and she reciprocated. Every time she saw the two together, the dog stared in adoration at her master.

  ‘Who would do that, Mom? Who would go into Max’s house and take Katya outside where she could get hurt?’

  How could she tell him that awful people lived in this world and, yes, in this town, who would hurt an innocent creature? Yet she sensed that he already knew this, already understood all too well. His father’s death had showed him. The angry words hurled by his grandmother had showed him. The taunts of school bullies had showed him.

  ‘I don’t know, Marty,’ she murmured. ‘But she’s safe now.’

  ‘But what about Max? Won’t he be worried when he comes home and Katya’s not there?’

  She hadn’t thought of that. She had no idea how long he’d be at the Janssens’, but going over to their place was out of the question. Already she’d pushed the limits of her doctor’s orders by getting out of bed and treating Katya.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know where he’s at,’ she said. ‘I’ll let him know. In the meantime, go get that old blanket out of the closet and put it on the floor beside your bed. Katya can sleep in your room tonight so you can keep an eye on her.’

  As Marty ran to get the blanket, she continued to pet the dog, still detecting small tremors in the animal’s body. Anger burned in her belly. What kind of monster would commit such a cowardly act? Someone from town? Goldberg? Did they fear Max that much?

  Whoever it was, they intended to cause harm, which meant that the threat of arrest was the least of Max’s worries.

  * * *

  They sat in the Janssens’ white-tiled kitchen with its red and white embroidered curtains, tidy counters with canisters and various knickknacks in a row, the white stove and spotless refrigerator. Alois Janssen sat beside Max at the wooden kitchen table, a shrivelled figure clad in overalls with thin, veiny hands and a fringe of grey hair. His milky brown eyes, however, were alert, and he eyed Max warily.

  ‘You are sure you had no problems? No one saw you come here?’ Gertrude Janssen asked. She clasped and unclasped her hands, eyes flitting to the window and back again.

  ‘I do not believe so.�
�

  ‘We do not want any trouble from you,’ Alois said.

  Max wanted to yell his innocence, reassure them he’d done nothing to warrant such treatment. How tiring it was to always be regarded with suspicion.

  ‘That is the last thing I want to do.’

  Alois looked at him carefully, then gave a short nod. ‘Good. My wife said you had a picture of our boy.’

  Max pulled out the photo and gently laid it on the table. The couple stared at it for a moment, as if afraid to touch it. Then Gertrude, her hand shaking, picked it up. An anguished cry escaped her. Alois put his arm around her and she leaned into him. Max saw the sheen of tears in Mr Janssen’s eyes.

  ‘His death… it was very hard,’ Alois said.

  ‘I understand.’

  The old man regarded him with curiosity. ‘Why would you do this?’

  For a moment, Max thought he’d made a mistake, that he’d ripped open a scar and laid bare their grief.

  ‘The people in town,’ Alois continued, ‘they think you’re responsible for stealing Tallulah’s diary, for the damage to the memorial. Yet you do this kindness for us.’

  Why, indeed? Initially, he’d wanted to return it because it seemed like the right thing to do. But it was more than that.

  He’d managed to leave Germany with a photo of his parents and his sister. And now, that was all he had of them. He didn’t know if they were alive or dead, but he had that picture, a tangible link.

  ‘Because family is everything,’ he replied.

  Saying the words out loud nearly undid him. For more than five years, he’d kept that knot tight, refusing to unravel it. He didn’t think about his parents possibly being smashed to bits under fallen concrete. He didn’t think about them being in unmarked graves with hundreds of other dead Germans. He didn’t think about not seeing their faces in life ever again. To think that way was to invite a form of insanity he simply couldn’t cope with.

  But sitting here with a couple who were close to his parents’ age, seeing their anguish, made him realize that in leaving to save his own skin, he’d also made it impossible for his parents to know his fate.

  What they must have suffered…

  Yet through all these years, not once could he think of contacting them. Not knowing his whereabouts protected them.

  Now that he’d picked at the knot, images let loose in his mind. His mother nursing him through a cold. His father showing him how to find the best and most unique products to stock the stores. Trudy’s daydreaming gaze as she sat in the gardens, sketching and painting.

  It was all too much, and he stood. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time. Forgive me.’

  He turned to leave but Gertrude’s hand shot out and grasped his wrist. ‘Please, Mr Koenig. Won’t you stay for some coffee and cake? It is the least we can do.’

  The simple gesture made his throat constrict. He felt like a man starved of affection, snatching up whatever crumbs of acceptance he could find.

  ‘I would like that.’

  While Gertrude busied herself gathering plates and making coffee, Alois said, ‘You would have liked my Phillip. He was very smart. He wanted to be a doctor. But then the war came and he told me, “Papa, after the war I will go to medical school.” Then we got the telegram. The war took him.’

  ‘It took so many,’ Gertrude said. She’d composed herself, but he could still hear grief in her voice. ‘Even from this county, many boys were killed or wounded.’

  Alois snorted. ‘A foreign war that we should not have entered! And again, we fight in Europe.’

  ‘But this time, the enemy is clear and the cause is right.’ Gertrude set plates of nut-encrusted coffee cake on the table. ‘Do you not think so, Professor Koenig?’

  He sensed he was being tested, that despite their hospitality they still needed to know where he stood. Was he friend or foe?

  ‘I was in Berlin when the Nazis took over,’ he said, folding his hands on the table. ‘I watched my country transform almost overnight. It was sickening.’

  ‘The paper said you left. In 1938.’

  ‘Yes. I should have left sooner.’

  ‘You stayed because you thought things would change?’ Gertrude asked.

  How he wanted to say yes. A man such as him, educated and knowledgeable about history’s impact on the present, should have known. Perhaps if he’d been paying attention instead of being consumed by Ilsa and their sordid life, he would have seen it.

  Except that wasn’t right. He had seen the horror and devastation Hitler wreaked on Germany. And he’d turned a blind eye.

  The Janssens waited for an answer, but he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell them the truth, that he’d consorted with known Nazis because he couldn’t bear to let go of a woman.

  ‘I stayed because Germany was my home.’

  That, at least, was the truth.

  Mrs Janssen took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. ‘Germany was my home too.’

  Alois put his arm around his wife. ‘Gertrude was born in Germany. Her family came here when she was young. My parents emigrated earlier, so I was born here. Mr Koenig, we’re American citizens. But we are also Germans. We grew up with German culture. It is part of us. But we must hide it now. Do you understand why?’

  When Max saw the apprehension on their faces, realization dawned. He’d had it backwards. They were not afraid of him because he might be a Nazi or a troublemaker. They feared that he, as a fellow German, would judge them harshly for abandoning their culture.

  The revelation made his shoulders sag in relief. ‘Believe me, Herr Janssen…’ He smiled when Alois started at the German word. ‘I understand all too well. I know what fear can do to people.’

  Instantly, the mood in the room changed. Gertrude and Alois visibly relaxed and Max no longer felt like he was stepping on glass with every word.

  ‘In fact,’ Max said, switching to German, ‘we can speak our language here without fear of censure.’

  At first, sheer terror crossed their faces, but then Gertrude laughed and said, ‘Wunderbar!’

  For a few minutes, they talked in German and ate their coffee cake, though they kept their voices low. Max felt the same as he had at Kooky’s the other day: eager to drink up his language and his culture.

  ‘You found the chokecherry jam, yes?’ Gertrude asked.

  ‘You are the one who left it?’

  She nodded. ‘It was a way to welcome you to town. I – I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to deliver it in person.’

  Max briefly covered her hand with his. ‘It matters not. I appreciated the gesture.’

  ‘It has been so long since we’ve had a conversation with someone else in German,’ Gertrude said. ‘We’ve nearly forgotten how.’

  Max smashed a few remaining cake crumbs on his fork. ‘Mayor Lowe himself told me that speaking German was outlawed here. I was quite shocked.’

  Alois grunted. ‘Lowe is the one to blame. He got everyone wound up after the fire, saying we all needed to be loyal Americans. That’s how he was elected mayor. He’s kept the office for years. A few brave souls try to challenge him, but they never win anything but a handful of votes.’

  ‘And he didn’t stop at outlawing the language,’ Gertrude said. ‘We set up a temporary Lutheran church in an old building, but we couldn’t have our services in German. Wolfgang Wagner used to publish a German-language newspaper. He closed shop and moved away.’ She sighed. ‘Those days were so painful. Pastor Kohl tried to stop it, of course, but then he had the stroke. I remember minding what I said in public and I kept trying to get rid of my German accent. Some people even changed their last names so they no longer sounded German. We felt like we were constantly being watched, as though we’d be found out and punished if we made the wrong move.’

  The irony of people in Nazi Germany encountering this same attitude did not escape Max. Even more: the irony of Lowe condemning his fellow citizens for being German when his own son had died wearing a German
uniform.

  ‘Mayor Lowe holds no regard for me,’ Max murmured. ‘In fact, I would say he actually despises me.’

  ‘You represent the enemy, Herr Koenig, no matter that you escaped Hitler,’ Alois replied. ‘He is a difficult man, a very hard man. Still, he’s the one who helped us the night of the Oktoberfest. He brought the police and the firemen. Because of him, they were able to arrest the men responsible for the fire.’

  ‘You were there?’

  Gertrude nodded. ‘Ja. Such a terrible night.’ A shudder passed through her. ‘I had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Nothing like what poor Tallulah went through, though.’

  Max recalled the words from the diary’s first page. They say I was hysterical with grief. Of course I was. How could I not be?

  ‘Did you know her well?’

  ‘We were close before the fire. She always did tend to stay to herself, but after that night, she withdrew from everyone, even me.’

  ‘I can imagine how tragic it must have been to lose her son in such a horrific accident.’

  ‘Yes. It is interesting, though, that Mayor Lowe became so involved with Tallulah’s legacy considering how much she disliked him,’ Alois said.

  Max perked up. ‘Why did Mrs Stanwick dislike him?’

  Gertrude shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was simply because of the way he tried to shove the events of that night out of everyone’s mind. He was insistent on eliminating every bit of Germanness from us.’

  ‘He thinks he is this town’s saviour.’ Alois took a sip of coffee and then shook his head. ‘It is because of him that Meadow Hills is known as the most patriotic town in Nebraska.’

  ‘But he wasn’t alone in that,’ Gertrude pointed out. ‘Many others were involved, including the Macintoshes.’

  ‘Ja, I know. But why?’

  ‘Mrs Macintosh is Mayor Lowe’s twin sister, though they don’t look alike.’

  ‘And all three of them are on the board of the Tallulah House Museum,’ Alois added. ‘Yet there was nothing about Dietrich in the museum, not even his picture, until Mrs Draper brought one down from the attic. She is doing something to make sure Dietrich has a place in the museum.’