The Darkest Hour
Page 90
Edith said, “Ok, let’s go somewhere to sleep for the night. Maybe we can sleep in the Lutheran church’s graveyard.”
“No, absolutely not, the least I can do is offer you a place to stay for the night. I will petition my Father. I just wanted to be upfront with you both. I can offer my help and I will advocate with my Father. But I just don’t know what he will say; what may get us somewhere is that Erich said that he will assist us, that is very useful. I thank you for your service to our country in doing that, Charlie.”
I nodded, I didn’t care about service to my country at that moment.
I told Edith, “Don’t worry, I won’t go to the States, or anywhere else, without you.”
Tommy opened the door and the light blinded me from having been outside in the dark.
He led us upstairs to a room with one bed, and said, “You both can sleep in here—and no funny business, Charlie, she’s my girl.” He winked and closed the door.
Edith and I didn’t bother unpacking—we just slept on top of the made bed. I spooned her, and we didn’t undress. Edith cried, and I comforted her by reassuring her that I wouldn’t leave her alone; I repeated this mantra until she fell asleep and I soon followed her into blessed rest.
I awoke to a soft knock at the door, which was followed by it being opened by the maid. She told us in a sterile fashion, as if giving directions on how to clean a bathroom, how to get to the kitchen.
“The ambassador knows you are here and is prepared to speak with you.”
“Is Tommy there?” Edith queried.
“Go see for yourself.”
So, we walked downstairs, then down a hall, and turned into a kitchen that was lit up brightly by windows that invited the sunlight into the room.
There sat an older man, just past middle age, in an expensive suit with a gold pocket watch chain showing, and spectacles. He had an aristocratic air and immediately stood up and shook my hand, not acknowledging Edith right away.
“Tommy filled me in, on every detail—you are a brave young man, and a patriot. Thank you for what you have done. It will serve quite useful—Erich Beck owing us favors.” He grinned at the thought of it.
He then turned to Edith, and said, “Tommy was right, I cannot get you to America. I am sorry.”
“Sir, with respect, I wonder that if a man in your position cannot, then who can?”
“FDR.” He half smiled.
“And what I have done makes no difference?”
“Not in that fact, but we are appreciative and of course you can go home.”
I was angry and forgot myself—that I was in his home and he was the ambassador. “You could do it if you really wanted to,” I said, raising my voice.
“You are the ambassador and I am sure you speak to President Roosevelt regularly, with the sensitive situation we are in with Germany at the moment. I have already helped you and so you don’t care to help us at this point, you have what you need. C’mon, Edith, let’s go. We will figure something out even if it means being on the street.”
I grabbed her wrist, but she hesitated and sniffled.
The ambassador reached for his handkerchief and handed it to Edith, saying, “I am sorry, my dear, for what that monster did to you. And, though I cannot get you to the United States, I can help you. I decided I would make you both an offer after speaking with Tommy.”
“Why is Tommy not here?”
“He is mad at me, he thinks I should push the president on the issue. I have thought on it since I spoke with Tommy.”
I agreed with Tommy, but was silent in anticipation of what the ambassador might offer.
“I know you are both great swing dancers and love that music—it is quite catchy, isn’t it?”
I was thinking about asking what this had to do with anything when he went on, looking at me. “There is a movement called Swingjugend, upper-class swing youth of which you know a little. It is much bigger in Hamburg, where it is truly centered.”
He turned to Edith, saying, “Dear, you are useful, too. You do not look Jewish, though these kids don’t care about that, whereas others would. So, as you don’t and as you are German, you will lend a sort of legitimacy to Charlie being German and American. I want you two to become friends, popular in the crowd. Get invited to dinner parties with these influential swing kids’ parents and get to know them. I will give you a list of our targets, you can gather information and profiles on the kids whose parents are important sources of information for us. It is risky, but it is somewhere to go. We would provide your lodging, fake names and papers, food, cash—everything you need. We would instruct you on what to do.”
Edith turned to me and smiled.
“Of course, sir, it would thrill us to have such an opportunity to serve the cause of freedom and the United States,” I said, trying to sound as patriotically motivated as possible.
“Ok, good, we will set it all up then. It’s a plan.”
I looked at Edith and then at the key in my hand. Looking at the red door in the swanky district of Hamburg’s city center apartments, I opened it and there was a fully furnished apartment—it was beautiful. I suddenly grabbed her off of her feet and carried her across the threshold and into the apartment.
“Oh, Charlie, what a gentleman,” giggled Edith.
“Sh, my dear, my name is Ulrich, remember?”
“Yes, and mine is Maria, oh this will be such fun!”
We explored for a moment, and as they told us, we had separate bedrooms because we were “cousins.”
“Kissing cousins,” said Edith, as she placed her mouth on mine. I led her to our fake grandparents’ bedroom—the one with the largest bed. They even had toothbrushes in each room, as if four people lived here.
I wasn’t thinking about toothbrushes, I was thinking about Edith. I didn’t notice her scar, just her sapphire eyes and her soft, feminine body with beautiful young curves. I kissed her, and we made love on that bed that we would sleep on for many nights hence.
After laying there awhile, she got up and put on some jazz—they had left us plenty of music that was not regime-approved.
“There is a big swing dance tonight and you know it is our ‘job’ now to show up,” I reminded Edith.
“You don’t say—let me go change into something appropriate,” Edith said.
We walked into the club and the crowd was several times larger than the one in the hall in Regensburg, and much more majestic. It was such a big gathering, several hundred. I thought there was no way the Gestapo didn’t know this was occurring. They must not have cared. These kids were the privileged ones—they were Aryans and their parents influential.
And then I forgot about all of that—I stopped analyzing. “Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing),” came on and I recognized the sound of the drum beat calling me. I took Edith by the hand and I grabbed her hips and swung her around and around.
She yielded to me completely and in a way that she never had before. For a moment I was the dance, and she was the dance inside of me. I looked into her eyes and it was then that I knew that she was completely mine.
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The End
Author’s Note:
There were no ghettos in Germany, they were in other occupied countries. In my novel, that this novella is a prequel for – Love and Hate: In Nazi Germany, I took the liberty of placing a ghetto in Germany. I did this because the timeline of the storyline demanded it. I thus needed to continue the ghetto’s placement in Germany for this prequel.
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Follow Erich Beck as he goes after his brother for saving a Jewish girl’s life in: Love and Hate: In Nazi Germany
Get the novel:
www.ryanarmstrongauthor.com
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Watch the Cinematic Novel Trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oi47YG-eHeo
About the Author
Ryan Armstrong has always enjoyed history, reading and writing. He writes historical fiction. He is married, has two boys and
lives in Fort Worth, Texas.
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Read More from Ryan Armstrong
www.ryanarmstrongauthor.com