He put out a hand to help her up, not quite touching her. She took it and got to her feet. “Yet I must try,” he said as she steadied. “I would not—I would never—you are to me so—” But that was what he must not say.
She lifted a dry corner of the towel and dabbed at his face.
“Thee has explained.”
He realized that his face was wet with his own tears. “He would have taken you—” he said lamely.
She dropped the towel, put her hands to the sides of his head, and drew his face in to hers. “There must be truth between us, Ernst. We have lived a lie too long.”
“The truth is not proper,” he said.
She brought his face the rest of the way down to hers, and kissed him on the mouth.
His arms went around her body. He embraced her with infinite gentleness. Truth, at last.
She drew back slightly. “I love thee, Ernst.”
“But it may not be!” he protested.
She merely looked at him.
“It is true,” he said. “I love you, Quality. But you are not mine to love. Lane—”
“I have had time to think,” she said, in a kindly but considerable understatement. “I have realized that my feeling for Lane has diminished, and my feeling for thee has increased. I know now that I am not a perfect match for Lane, or even a suitable one. I fear I am not ideal for thee, either, but my heart has spoken. So also, I think, has thine.”
“But I had resolved never to speak of it!”
“I saw thee struggling throughout. But I wished to avoid imposing on thee beyond the minimum, until I realized that I could no longer avoid it.”
The world seemed to have faded out around them. There was only himself with his arms around Quality, her face close to his. “Yet surely when I struck you and hurt you—”
“To save me from disaster. Thee told me before that thee would never touch me in a way I did not wish, unless there were compelling reason for it. I believed thee. I knew the charade was necessary.”
“Charade!” he cried, looking at her swollen eye.
“Thee had to pretend that I was nothing to thee. Violence is not my way, and I think not thy way either, but perhaps it was required in this instance.”
“I fear it was. I hope it never is again. But how could you conclude from this that I love you?”
“Why, thee said so, Ernst. Thee said ‘Oh my love, what have I done.’ I knew thee meant it.”
He was astonished. “I said that? I did not realize.”
She smiled faintly. “Thee was evidently distracted at the time.”
He shook his head. “You are more poised than I at this moment. But I must not keep you standing. You must lie down and recover, and I shall get you medicine—”
“No, Ernst. I do not feel discomfort at the moment. I will lie down, if thee will lie with me.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I think your phrasing is unfortunate. The vernacular of your language—”
“I am familiar with it. This is the meaning I intend.”
“But I never thought of you in such manner!”
“I am sure of my love and desire for thee, Ernst. Is thee?”
How perfectly she had framed it! He yielded, and went with her to the bed. He let her undress herself and him, still afraid to presume too much. Her body remained thin, but she had recovered considerably in the past month. Then they lay together, in the Biblical sense, and it was such a perfect union that it seemed impossible that it could ever have seemed otherwise. He found that the passion he had suppressed before had become overwhelming. His concept of her had changed dramatically. Now it seemed wholly fitting that he be inside her as well as around her.
“If I may ask,” he said as they lay still embraced in the ebbing of passion but not the ebbing of love.
“Anything, Ernst.”
“When, for you—?”
“When I first employed plain talk with thee.”
He was astounded. “But that was in America! We argued there! We did not get along.”
“It was not love, then,” she agreed. “But it was the dawning of respect, which I do not give lightly. It was the first step. When we met again in Spain it was the second step. I suspect I could have retreated, then, for I did not expect to see thee thereafter. But when thee came for me in France, I took the third step, and could no longer retreat.”
“But I came at Lane’s behest!”
“And tried thy best to honor it. I respected that, and would not have held thee. But thee helped me more than perhaps thee realizes.”
“A little food at the camp, and more here.”
“Thee gave me hope at the camp. I loved thee then, and it buoyed me so that I could survive.”
Now her somewhat confusing references were coming clear. She had questioned his intentions while saying that she trusted him. She had known of his growing feeling for her, and had shared it, but had given him time to work it out independently.
“Thee knew me better than I knew myself,” he said, emulating her plain speech in English. There was a certain additional pleasure in that, for it seemed to bring him even closer to her.
“No, Ernst. I merely was in a better position than thee to realize the changing of my feeling. I did not have to fight myself as thee did.”
“Perhaps thee did not fight because thee is a pacifist.”
She laughed, and kissed him. “Perhaps one day thee will be one too.”
After a time they got up and cleaned the blood from the floor and rinsed out the towel. Then they ate and returned to bed. They clasped each other much as on previous nights, but now neither tried to hide the love that went with the embrace. The appearance of their clasped bodies had hardly changed, and neither had the reality of their hearts, yet a new world had opened for them.
CHAPTER 11
NIETZSCHE
In the morning Quality woke before Ernst and got quietly out of bed. She went to the bathroom and gazed at her face in the mirror. Her nose was swollen and her eye was black, but those things would pass. Her experience in Gurs had prepared her for this; Ernst did not know that she had been struck before. She had been caught giving some of her food to a woman who was being deprived because she had objected to the amatory suggestion of a guard. Quality had learned from observation how to react. Absolute fear and subservience was the way to survive, and since the proprietors did have power, it was no deceit to acknowledge it. The situation with the interrogating officer had been similar; he had had to be appeased, and Ernst had done what he had to. She had even turned her head so that his hand struck the center of her face instead of the side as he had intended, because she had known that no token slap would do.
And in the aftermath of that episode, horrified by the damage he had done without intending, Ernst had finally spoken his heart. Oh my love! It had come unconsciously, and been blanked from his own awareness, but not hers. She had tried not to be seductive, and to uphold the appropriate standards of decorum, but had seen that he was interested despite his honorable resolve. At night she had imagined that he was holding her for love rather than warmth, and almost it had seemed it was true. With her returning health had come renewed interest in romantic companionship, and with her solidifying love for Ernst had come the desire to possess him. She had wanted to tell him, and to offer him whatever he might want with her. But she knew that he made no commitment lightly, and that his code was such that the woman he indulged himself with would be the one he intended to marry. That had been too much to ask of him, when he could have a licit marriage and good life with his girlfriend Krista.
Until those words had shown the pointlessness of further pretense. Ernst had lost his fight to remain true to Krista, which relationship it seemed had never been wholehearted on his part. Quality had been freed to declare her own love. She had done so, and had proceeded to the denouement of which she had dreamed: the complete realization of their love. What a joy the night had been, despite her pain of the face.
B
ut now it was the morning after. Had she done right? She wasn’t sure. The intrusion of the SS officer, the threat to her limited security here, the necessary brutality, and Ernst’s revelation of his love had been in the end exhilarating, and she had done what her heightened emotion urged. She did not regret their night of love at all, for herself, but was in doubt about its appropriateness for him. She had now denied him his chance for a normal German life.
She completed her business in the bathroom, and returned to the main room to dress. Ernst was stirring. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Ach, your face!” he said. “I should never have done that!” He considered briefly. “And then, in your confusion, I—how could I have—”
She moved to him, and cut him off with a kiss. “I did it, Ernst,” she reminded him. “I asked thee to be with me, because I love thee and desire thee.”
“I, too, with you,” he said. “But still, to take advantage—”
And he felt guilty for his desire! She abandoned her own second thoughts. “I seduced thee last night. If thee argues, I shall do it again.”
“I must argue, because you are captive, and—”
She kissed him a second time, putting fervor into it. She felt gay and reckless, glorying in her newfound freedom of expression. “I gave thee fair warning!” She drew back enough to draw off her nightgown. Then she lay against him, on top, spreading her legs to fall down outside his. It was fun being wanton. All her dreams were coming true.
“Oh Quality, Quality, how I love thee!” he whispered, hugging her. Then his passion met hers, and they were in the throes of it, without the hesitation of the night.
“I love thee, I love thee!” she breathed as it took them. “Now at last I can tell thee!”
“If I had known before—” he gasped.
“Pay attention to thy business,” she said teasingly.
“I am! My business is loving thee.”
She cut off further dialogue with more kisses. Every time he tried to talk, she kissed him again. Finally he gave up, and simply accepted her love.
However, he insisted on one thing. “I must marry thee, but I have no ring to give thee. I beg thee to accept instead, as a token of this union, my most precious possession.”
“I need no token,” she protested.
“But I need for thee to have it. It will protect thee from harm.” And he brought out his swastika, silver on a silver chain.
Quality had severely mixed feelings. To her, the swastika was an abomination, standing for everything that was evil. Yet she loved Ernst, and had to accept his gift.
She decided that the silver artifact was in this case not a symbol of Nazism, but of Ernst’s love. As such, it was appropriate for her to wear. She put the chain over her head and let the swastika fall to her bosom. “I thank thee, Ernst. I will wear it always.”
“I wish I could marry thee now. But—”
“It is the way of Friends to marry by declaring themselves before a Meeting, which is a gathering of Friends. We have perhaps a Meeting of two. We can imagine a silent Meeting to hear our vows.”
He was uncertain. “I do not know the form of such a ceremony.”
“The form is as simple as we wish. I take thee, Ernst Best, to be my husband, and I will be with thee as long as we both shall live.”
“I take thee, Quality Smith, to be my wife, and I will be with thee as long as we both shall live.”
She kissed him. “Normally it is a longer ceremony, but it will do.”
“It will do,” he echoed.
But it was morning, and he had to go to work. His work consisted of assorted technical investigations and reports for Admiral Canaris, who ran Abwehr. But there was something else, about which he did not tell her, yet she knew. Something he had to do which he did not like. Their love had been realized, but the rest of the world remained grim. She was still a virtual prisoner in his room, and he was bound by his duty. No one knew what would come of all this, so they could only enjoy the moment.
Meanwhile she continued to recover, gaining weight and strength. She suspected that love had as much to do with it as food, but she abetted it by doing whatever exercises she could manage without making too much noise. She adjusted her clothing to fit her better, and brushed her hair out, encouraging it to grow. She spent much time reading, and gazed out into the pleasant park.
Her face healed. She was almost sorry to see it happen, because she associated her black eye with Ernst’s love. But she knew he had no joy in that, so for his sake she was glad to recover her beauty.
Toward the end of January Ernst brought an older officer home with him. Quality could tell by his manner that Ernst was not at ease, but had not been able to avoid this. The other man was tall and impressive, and evidently of very high status. Quality was immediately afraid of him.
The man’s small restless eyes focused on her. She knew Ernst had had to tell him about her, and was helpless to prevent what this man might do. But the man did not seem hostile, merely interested. He spoke rapidly in German. Quality had been learning German, slowly, but this was way too much for her. She caught only the word “Fräulein,” meaning a young woman.
Ernst responded, introducing her. “This is Quality Smith, who speaks no German.” Because he spoke carefully, for her benefit, she could understand. “Quality, this is Reinhard Heydrich.”
Quality felt a shiver of apprehension. She knew that name! He was the feared head of the Nazi intelligence network. Stories about him had been rife in Spain and in Gurs. He was said to be a predatory animal, capable of acting swiftly and ruthlessly, called by some the blond beast and by others Mister Suspicion, and by others a criminal of the stature of the devil himself. He was the Third Reich’s evil god of death, the man with the iron heart. He was also a pathological womanizer. Of all the people she did not want to encounter, Heydrich was close to the top of the list.
“I see you know of me,” Heydrich said in English. “Come now, I am not as bad as all that.”
“I did not speak of you to her,” Ernst said, alarmed. “I told her nothing.”
Heydrich ignored him. He concentrated on Quality, to her discomfort, seeming to take in every aspect of her. “And you wear the swastika! That is good; it will protect you, as it protected him.” He paused. “The bruise,” he said sharply. “Who hit you?”
She felt mesmerized. She knew that even had she been one to lie, it would have been useless to try to fool this man. She wished that the last vestige of the bruise had faded, or that she had thought to cover it up with powder. “Ernst hit me. Before he gave me the swastika.”
Heydrich turned a sharp glance on Ernst. “This is not the conduct of an officer of the SS! I forbid it! You must treat this pretty young woman with the utmost courtesy at all times. Can you remember that without a memo?”
“Ja,” Ernst said, abashed.
“After all, in love and in revenge woman is more barbarous than man. You do not wish her to seek your downfall.” He glanced again at Quality. “Do you not agree, Liebling?”
“Nietzsche had no respect for women,” she replied.
His brow lifted. “You recognize my quote from Nietzsche? Why do you condemn him?”
“I don’t condemn him. I just don’t regard him as any authority on women. He said that man thinks woman is profound, because he can never fathom her depths, but that she is not even shallow. If he had ever come to know a woman who wasn’t syphilitic, he would have had a better opinion.”
Ernst turned his face away, perhaps horrified by her impertinence to his superior, but Quality had already realized that Heydrich respected mind more than subservience. If he had come to take her back to an awful camp, at least he would know she had a mind.
Heydrich smiled. “Now I see why Ernst selected you. And what do you think of Wagner?”
“The composer? I love his work, but I have not heard a lot of it.”
“You must listen to more. The Führer approves.” His eyes flicked around the room
again. Then he switched back to his staccato German, addressing Ernst, who answered reluctantly. Their dialogue continued.
Quality, evidently dismissed, retreated to a corner and sat, waiting for the conclusion. What was Heydrich’s purpose here? Was he going to take her away, or was she incidental? She had the unmistakable impression that his interest in her was not casual. That chilled her, but she knew she was helpless.
Then, abruptly, Heydrich was departing. “We shall meet again, Fräulein, when we have more time for Nietzsche.” He was gone.
Quality felt the tension draining from her. “What does he want?” she demanded.
“He wants the truth about Admiral Canaris,” he said heavily. “And I have given it to him.”
“But I thought thee worked for Canaris.”
“I do. But my real job is with Heydrich. I fear I have gotten Canaris in trouble.”
“Trouble? How?”
“I have learned that Canaris is employing a full Jewish agent in Tangier.”
“Heydrich hates Jews?”
“No, he helped a Jewish fencing instructor to emigrate to America. He was proficient in fencing, so has respect for it. He simply regards Jews as faceless objects that must be removed from Germany, as Hitler wills. But the fact that Canaris is using Jews in his operation means that Canaris is suspect. I believe he is loyal, but this counts against him.”
“Thee is a spy for Heydrich, against Canaris?”
“Yes. I wish I were not.”
“So Heydrich is not going to take me away?”
“Oh, no, Quality! He doesn’t care about you.”
“Yes he does. But I don’t know how.”
“I fear I do know. I hope I am wrong.”
“Then what is it, Ernst? Can I avoid it?”
“It is his way to blackmail his most important subordinates. He believes he can not trust any man completely unless he knows something about that man that must not be revealed. Now he has that hold on me. Perhaps I should feel privileged, that I am important enough to him to rate this treatment.” He smiled without pleasure.
“What hold?” she asked, perplexed.
“I prefer not to say.” He was obviously distressed.
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