Becker tilted his head to the side, a flash of sorrow at the shortcoming in his plan crossing his face. But it took only a few moments before he smiled again. “You truly are intelligent. You’ll be an asset to us. Trust me, nobody will find out. You have one hour to pack what you wish to keep.”
“One hour?” Sabine repeated, like she was soft in the head, still trying to process everything he’d said.
“I would suggest you don’t waste a minute of it. And now please excuse me, I have things to arrange.” Becker walked to the door and let himself out. Sabine followed him as if in a trance and leaned her back against the locked door.
Taking in the familiar sights of her small home, a shudder ran through her body when the realization hit her that in a few short minutes, she’d be leaving this place behind, perhaps forever.
She rushed through the house, gathering her clothes and shoes, folding everything into the only suitcase she possessed. Then she scoured the rooms for the things that meant the most to Werner and herself. The framed wedding picture. Check. The photo album from her childhood years. Love letters Werner had written to her. The silver necklace he’d given her for her birthday. The pipe she’d given him and that he enjoyed smoking so much. Check, check, check. Everything else would have to stay.
The chest of drawers they’d bought with his first paycheck after their marriage. Her grandmother’s antique long-case clock. The crockery that was a wedding gift from Werner’s parents. The monogrammed silverware.
She snuck two single spoons into the suitcase and closed it with tears in her eyes. The one-hour window drew to a close, and she found herself sitting atop the crammed suitcase and dreading Becker’s return.
Chapter 11
Sabine jumped at the awaited, and yet utterly unexpected, knock on the door. She glanced at her wristwatch, cursing the early arrival of her tormentor. Not more than fifty minutes had passed since Kriminalkommissar Becker had left the house. Her legs trembling, she made her way to the door somehow, without toppling over.
She smoothed her sweaty palms down her skirt and steeled herself for what would happen next as she opened the door.
Her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of her neighbor.
Lily loped into the sitting room, swirling around to take everything in, before she came to a stand and scrunched up her nose. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”
“You? You are sorry? It was your idea in the first place to recruit me to work for them!” Sabine managed to keep her voice sufficiently low so the other neighbors wouldn’t hear her through the thin walls.
“Me? No.” Lily gave a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “It was Becker’s idea. But you should really have accepted my offer when I first told you about it. Nothing would have happened to Werner.”
“What do you know about Werner?” Sabine struggled to remain calm.
“No more than you do. Anyway, I came over to say I’m sorry for how things developed for you, and…” Lily seemed to be searching for words. “…and to give you a word of advice. Do whatever Becker asks, give him the information he wants, and your life will be so much better than before.”
A dark suspicion sprouted in Sabine’s heart. Had Lily been the one to suggest Werner be arrested to assure Sabine’s collaboration? “Go. Leave my house!” Sabine snapped, seething inside with a strong urge to wrap her hands around the woman’s skinny neck and squeeze until she stopped breathing. For good.
Smirking, Lily turned on her heel and flounced out of the house.
Hatred, grief and desperation burned in Sabine’s chest as she sank once again to the floor, looking at the lone suitcase standing in the entrance hall. Her life reduced to fifty by twenty inches. Never once had she believed this kind of thing could happen to her. Hadn’t she slept well in the treacherous security of not getting involved with politics and keeping her mouth shut?
Minutes later she heard a pounding on the front door again. Her wristwatch attested that the given hour was over, and she almost admired the Kriminalkommissar for his punctuality. The desolation of her impasse weighing heavily on her shoulders, she opened the front door for the third time on this cold but sunny March morning.
Becker greeted her with the bright smile of a smitten lad and she half expected him to produce a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Obviously this was wishful thinking, because the only things behind his back were five fierce-looking fellows in SS uniforms.
“Ah, you’re ready to leave,” Becker said with an exaggerated polite bow even as he motioned for the SS men to come inside. They carried strange-looking canisters and disappeared upstairs.
Sabine remained frozen in place, unable to make her legs move, when she heard heavy steps and slurping sounds above her head. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling more than a bit embarrassed at the thought of five strange men rummaging through her private drawers.
Embarrassment turned into terror when the men trampled down the stairs, pouring an acid-smelling liquid on her freshly cleaned stairs. Sabine gagged, and then gagged some more when her brain recognized the smell.
“Wh…what are they doing?” she asked Becker, who patiently stood by her side, giving a contented smile at the spectacle unfolding in front of him.
“Making things look real.”
Real for what? His plan to pretend her house had been bombed came crashing back and she shook her head in mute denial.
Becker ignored her and watched his men complete their work, before he took a matchbox from his pocket and offered it to her, “Would you like to do the honors?”
Sabine shook her head in bewilderment. She would not light up her own house. Becker, seeming not to care either way, lit the match and tossed it into the puddle of petrol. “It’s an irony of fate, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Sabine’s brain felt like mash.
“That the home of a fireman would fall prey to fire,” Becker chuckled and grabbed her elbow. “It’s time to leave, Frau Mahler.”
A strange gratitude crept through her for his unforgiving grip on her arm. Otherwise, she would have turned to rush inside and…and what?
Sabine’s insides went numb. She lost all notion of time or place, but soon found herself sitting in the passenger seat of the black Gestapo vehicle, her suitcase neatly stowed in the trunk.
The vehicle lurched into motion and she couldn’t resist looking back at the place she and Werner had once called home as black smoke began to rise skyward. A sob for the things she’d been forced to leave behind threatened to burst from her throat, and she swallowed it down, holding her chin high as her fingernails dug deep into the flesh of her palms.
How much more would she be required to give up before they returned Werner to her?
Unfazed by her distress, Becker said in his usual cold voice, “Don’t worry about the housing assignment. I’ll take care of everything. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to drive you all the way to Frau Klausen’s place since she might become suspicious. Here’s the address.” He handed her a sheet of paper with the insignia of the official housing agency. Two blocks from the address, he stopped to let her out of the vehicle and said, “Good luck. And don’t forget to report to Fräulein Kerber twice a week.”
Then he left her standing at the corner and his automobile sped away.
Chapter 12
Sabine walked the two blocks with her heavy suitcase in hand. Should she consider herself lucky that Becker had given her the opportunity to rescue her dearest things before torching her house?
The cold gusts of early March crept beneath her greatcoat, making her yearn for the warm knitted blanket handed down from her grandmother. Gone up in flames.
Sabine shrugged. It didn’t help to wallow in self-pity, because she needed to stay strong for Werner. She stopped in front of a huge apartment building, so different from the street of little row houses where she lived – used to live, she corrected herself.
Most of the buildings in the area still stood upright, although even the best-lookin
g ones showed obvious signs of shelling damage. It was such a shame. And why did those damned Allies have to bomb Berlin to rubble? Couldn’t they fight this war the old-fashioned way, soldier against soldier? Leaving the civilian population out of it?
Sabine pressed the bell and the electric buzzer sounded. She wondered that the door opener still worked with all the blackouts and shaky electricity in the city. The Klausen apartment was on the third floor, and Sabine dragged the heavy suitcase upstairs, heaving like a locomotive by the time she finally reached the landing.
As if by magic, a door opened and an elderly lady stepped out asking, “And you are?”
“Sabine Mahler, the new lodger,” she said and extended her hand.
The woman eyed her suspiciously, blatantly ignoring Sabine’s extended hand. “Who sent you?”
“The housing office assigned me to live here,” Sabine said, fumbling the official sheet of paper from her purse.
“Not with me.” The unfriendly woman stepped back and slammed the door in Sabine’s face. Only then did Sabine notice the door sign that said Weber. She turned to look at the two other doors on the landing and finally knocked on the one that said Klausen.
It took a while, before she heard footsteps and the clicking sound of the metal plate behind the peephole. Several seconds passed and Sabine feared the door would never open, but it finally did.
“You?” Frau Klausen asked, an expression of utter disbelief on her face.
“I’m sorry, Frau Klausen. I was bombed out and the housing office assigned me to live with you,” Sabine recited her rehearsed charade.
“Well, if that isn’t a coincidence. Come in.” Frau Klausen stepped out of the way and pointed at the small couch, worn to threads by many years of heavy use.
Great! She doesn’t buy my cover story. Despite groaning inwardly, she plastered a smile on her face. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience… Believe me, I didn’t ask for this. I’d rather have stayed in my own place.”
“When did you say your house was destroyed?” Frau Klausen asked, as she closed and locked the door.
When? Truth be damned. She hadn’t thought about that part of the story and searched her brain for the latest news about air raids in Berlin and hoped to get the location right. “Four nights ago, in Steglitz.”
“You told everyone your husband was in an accident. But in fact, your house was bombed? Where is he now?”
God, why does this woman have to be so perceptive? And suspicious? Sabine’s palms dampened as she realized that from now on she had to guard every single word she spoke and keep track of each and every lie. “He…he got injured during the raid and…” Sabine squeezed a tear out of her eye. “He…died…”
“When did this happen?” the older woman asked, her eyes narrowing. Thankfully, the appearance of a young blonde woman, who was the spitting image of Frau Klausen – and sporting a pregnancy bump – rescued Sabine from answering. A wave of hurt and jealousy engulfed Sabine and for a moment she pondered turning on her heel and running away.
She couldn’t possibly live in the same place with a happily expecting woman. Not when her own…she shook off the sad thoughts and forced a smile on her face when the other woman said, “Hello, I’m Ursula Herrmann. Frau Klausen is my mother.”
“Sabine Mahler.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ursula said, giving her mother a stern look. “Please make yourself at home and don’t hesitate to ask should you need anything.” After the animosity shown by the usually kind Frau Klausen, it was refreshing to see a genuine smile on Ursula’s face.
“Thank you for making room in your apartment for me. I really appreciate this,” Sabine said.
“We are always eager to comply with the requests the Reich imposes on us to best serve the war effort,” Frau Klausen said in a stilted manner, and Sabine got the impression the older woman would just as soon strangle whoever had assigned a stranger into her home.
“Follow me,” Frau Klausen said, leading the way through the sitting room and opening a door on the far side. “This is where you will be staying. I’m going to say this once and I hope I don’t have to say it again. It would be better for people to believe we have never met prior to today.”
Never met? Sabine thought that a strange request, but she didn’t ask for an explanation and agreed, “Your house. Your rules.”
A small smile appeared on Frau Klausen’s lips and she said, “I see we understand each other. And since we’re talking about rules. I expect you to keep your room tidy and share in the cleaning of the common areas.”
Sabine nodded.
“And…” Frau Klausen gave a side glance at her daughter in the sitting room, before she continued, “This is a decent household and there will be no male visitors in my house. Is that clear?”
“Very clear,” Sabine said, wondering why the older woman was concerned about male visitors with a woman who supposedly had been widowed the day before. And did that rule apply to Ursula’s husband as well? She bit her tongue to keep from asking questions, since Frau Klausen’s thinned lips indicated this was a non-discussable topic.
Not that she intended to receive any other man than Werner – and for the official record he was dead. Were dead men allowed to visit? She suppressed the small smile that wanted to spread, and called herself to order. His situation was too dire to joke about.
Frau Klausen left her to her own devices a few moments later and Sabine retired to her new bedroom, lying down on the bed fighting the cold hand of desolation forcing its grip on her.
Chapter 13
The next day at work Sabine returned from her lunch break to see Frau Klausen’s station empty. Since Kriminalkommissar Becker’s brilliant plan to have her move in with the suspect, the older woman had closed up and stopped talking to Sabine altogether. After getting up this morning it had been like walking on eggshells, the fragile tension inside the apartment about to explode at any moment.
Why, she had no idea. Maybe Frau Klausen really was a devious traitor and had somehow gotten a whiff of Sabine’s new job as a Gestapo informer.
Caught between a potentially dangerous organization of subversives and the Gestapo holding her husband hostage, Sabine wanted to scream. Obviously she couldn’t do so at work, even when the notion of having a nervous breakdown followed by amnesia definitely held some merit.
She’d never wanted to get involved, let alone be drawn into the middle of a muddled conspiracy. Deep in thought, she finished assembling another batch of standard-issue Karabiner rifles and jumped at the voice of her superior.
“Frau Mahler, this is your new coworker, Fräulein Schenk.”
She glanced up with confusion, noticing a rather young girl, barely of age, standing beside Herr Meier. A sliver of hope appeared on the horizon. If Frau Klausen had been arrested or was dead… With bated breath Sabine asked, “What happened to Frau Klausen?”
“She asked to be transferred to another department, where she didn’t have to stand all day. Given her age, I granted her request.”
Anger and relief fought for dominance. Somehow she needed to squeeze compromising information out of that lady, preferably in an inconspicuous manner. Maybe not having to work together would actually help?
While teaching yet another new employee the way of things, Sabine spent most of the day coming up with ways to gain Frau Klausen’s confidence, but by the time she clocked out and headed to her new home, she still had no idea what to do.
She hated herself for ceding Becker so much control over her, but then, she couldn’t simply walk away and let her husband rot in hell. And the Gestapo thug used such intimate knowledge to his advantage. Sabine had officially become a spy, just like Lily.
The urge to spit on the street nearly got the better of her, but she remained in control, plastering a ladylike smile on her face and feeling for her immaculate hairdo. No, appearances had to be kept up by any means. She wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
&nb
sp; Still, the lying, cheating and deceiving weighed heavily on her chest, even as she comforted herself with the knowledge that she didn’t share her body with random men the way Lily did. A chill shook her shoulders. What would she do if Becker demanded that she be unfaithful to her husband? Would she acquiesce in order to save Werner? Could she?
The tremble ran all across her body and she wrapped the woolen scarf tighter around her shoulders, although she knew the chill wasn’t caused by the icy wind. She shoved the distressing thoughts aside and started counting. Counting always helped her to calm down.
When she arrived in front of the building, the nosy neighbor, Frau Weber, appeared out of nowhere. “Good evening. Frau Mahler it is, right?”
“Yes, and you must be Frau Weber.”
The older woman nodded. “So, you’ve moved in with the Klausens. Last year, there were strange things going on in their apartment. I could have sworn I heard a male voice. Frau Klausen was with her sister for a while, and the two girls Ursula and Anna shamelessly exploited her absence.”
They reached the third floor and Sabine feebly protested, “Frau Weber…I…”
But Frau Weber wouldn’t be stopped in her torrent of gossip. “Can you imagine that I had to call on the police? I was so worried about the safety of the people living here.” Frau Weber pressed a hand to her bosom. “…And now Ursula is pregnant. Don’t you think it strange that she became pregnant right after those mysterious things happened? And she won’t tell…”
Sabine had heard enough. The reason why Frau Klausen had insisted they both pretend they’d never seen each other before was becoming clear as crystal. “Frau Weber, with all due respect, but I’m not interested in your gossip about the people friendly enough to lodge me after my own house was bombed. I like to tend to my own business. Good evening.” She opened the apartment door with her key and left the stupefied woman standing on the landing. Once inside, she almost bumped into Ursula, walking out of the kitchen.
The Darkest Hour Page 22
