by Andie Newton
The soldier stuffed his cigarette into his mouth and then walked up to me in the night. He pulled on the handle and the door opened right up to a bustling restaurant inside. He walked away without so much as a word, and I walked inside.
A hostess tried to take my coat, and then asked how many would be at my table.
‘None,’ I said, pulling away from her outstretched arm. ‘I mean… I’m meeting a friend, but she’s not here.’
She stared at me for a second or two, but then went to help an old couple with their coats, leaving me alone by the front door, and near a family crammed into a corner booth made from restored wine barrels. I watched servers walk from the dining room to the kitchen, down a long corridor that led all the way to the back of the restaurant, where Claudia had told me to meet her. With the hostess still helping the old couple with their coats, I walked straight back, as if I had a reason to be in the restaurant’s kitchen, but the corridor went on and on, the ceiling getting lower and the air cooler until suddenly there was nowhere else to go but down a dark staircase. That’s when I saw Claudia.
‘Over here,’ she whispered, and then walked up a few steps into the light. She touched my arm. ‘How are you doing?’ she said, before hugging me.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, and I wondered if she could tell I had been crying earlier.
‘Did you have trouble finding me?’ she said.
‘A little,’ I said. ‘I thought this place was closed, I almost left.’
‘Rule one,’ Claudia said, ‘don’t be fooled by appearances.’ She took me by the arm, leading me down a dank and narrow staircase with carved rock walls and a domed ceiling.
She felt me shudder.
‘Don’t be scared,’ Claudia said. At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden door dotted with rusted bolts. A handful of moths flew over a low burning candle melting in a wall sconce. She rapped three times on the door, and a man with a curly beard and wine-stained overalls opened it up, only to swiftly lock it behind us.
‘We’re locked in?’ I said, glancing back at him as he folded his arms.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said.
A short corridor led into a low-vaulted wine cave filled with fermenting oak barrels that smelled like sour fruit and peat. In the back far corner, the soft glow of candlelight cast shadowed silhouettes onto the ceiling. As we got closer, I heard the hum of voices.
I thought the resistance were men and women—adults—people without homes who spent their lives fighting. But they looked just like me.
Dressed in their League uniforms.
They were talking quietly, whispering as we walked up, smoking and looking over a city map that lay flat on the ground. One by one they broke away, looking at me and then to Claudia. There was a pause. Claudia lifted her chin. ‘She’s with me.’
The few girls that were there looked tired in their Youth League uniforms. Each of them had yellow scarves bowed around their wrists, and I was glad I’d worn mine. Claudia pointed to a place to sit. ‘I’ll introduce you in a moment.’ I sat down, stuffing my skirt under my legs. I wanted to look around but felt uncomfortable with everyone looking at me.
Claudia pulled a stool up next to me, and then took the hand of a man walking past, their fingers entwining. His cheek was bruised and he had fingernail scratches on his neck from a fight. ‘This is Wilhelm,’ she said quietly, and he brought over a stool to sit on.
‘Wilhelm,’ I repeated. ‘As in the Wilhelm?’
He glanced up at the group, who’d started forming a circle around us, and then paused. ‘I was detained,’ he said. ‘That’s why I missed you.’
Claudia shifted her look between me and him to see how I’d react before leaning into my ear, whispering, ‘My name’s Marta here. I thought we could call you Sascha. A codename. Is that all right?’ I nodded, thinking it was ironic the name my aunt—a Nazi—had given me was now my codename. Everyone got seated, and there were calls to start the meeting. She took her hand off my knee. ‘Here we go… we’re starting.’
Wilhelm stood up and rubbed his neck while waiting for the others to quiet. ‘Does it still hurt?’ someone asked.
‘I’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘I’m more bothered by what the police knew about me.’ He’d dropped his hand and now everyone was listening to him. ‘Things nobody outside this circle should’ve known.’
A young man named Hans stood up, pointing a stubby finger at a girl named Sarah. ‘Ask that one,’ he said, and she shot up. His wool jacket looked a size too small, and his tie constricted around his neck, turning his skin the same ginger shade as his hair.
‘What are you saying?’ Sarah slowly walked over to him, sliding her dark braid through her hands, and stood a quiet breath away from Hans’ face.
‘I’ve seen you on the street,’ Hans said. ‘You didn’t know I saw you, but I did.’
‘So what?’ She scoffed. ‘Am I not allowed to walk down a street?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Hans sat back down, leaving Sarah standing in the middle of our circle, allowing every one of us to look her up and down and examine the straightness of her Youth League uniform and the whiteness of her shirt.
‘You’re paranoid!’ she finally said. ‘All of you.’ She flung a finger at us all. ‘I’ve been a part of this group for months. Before this one arrived,’ she said, issuing a sharp little chin flick at Hans before sitting back down.
‘What I mean is,’ Wilhelm said, addressing everyone, ‘that we need to be more careful. Burn your notes. Double back on streets. And whatever you do, don’t talk about the safehouses we have outside this room.’ He pointed to the map on the ground where yellow dots spun out from the city centre and tapped on the location of my aunt’s shop. ‘We have a new safehouse on Obere Schmiedgasse,’ he said, and I sat up tall. ‘It’s an antiques shop called Alten und Neuen. Old and New. You can’t miss it. Next door is an abandoned beer cellar with a medieval-looking red door and brass-coloured hinges.’
People leaned in, getting a good look at the location. ‘I know where that is,’ Sarah said, then she sat back and folded her arms. ‘If you’re so worried about a spy, why are you talking about our safehouses in front of the new girl.’ Everyone turned to me, and Claudia leaned forward in her seat. ‘Since when do we bring in new members without checking them out first?’
‘She is thoroughly checked out,’ Claudia said.
Sarah flipped her braid behind her shoulders. ‘If I’m questioned—’ she looked at Hans rolling her eyes ‘—then let’s question everyone.’
A few others piped up in agreement. Wilhelm looked up from the map. ‘She’s already proved herself,’ he said, and that shushed everyone up.
A boy walked in late, sat down next to me, and ran a hand through his pomade-slicked hair before fitting a wool cap over his head. He looked eighteen at best. His smile was sweet, like a puppy, with late-afternoon whiskers budding on his chin. Blue eyes pierced the darkness. Beautiful, like a lake. ‘Sorry for being late,’ he said to the group. Then he looked at me, and seemed pleasantly surprised. ‘What did I miss?’
Sarah pursed her lips and Hans shifted in his seat away from Sarah.
‘I was just about to introduce a new member,’ Wilhelm said. ‘This is…’ He looked to me to finish.
‘Sascha,’ I said, and my voice cracked. ‘Sascha,’ I said again, after clearing my throat.
‘Welcome to the Falcons,’ Wilhelm said.
The boy offered me his hand to shake. ‘Welcome to the group,’ he said, and then smiled. ‘Name’s Geb.’
I slid my hand into his. ‘Hello,’ I said, but I wanted to say something else if only to keep my hand in his, as distracting as he was. He rolled his shirt sleeves up and teased my curiosity with the hint of a tattoo on his forearm. I strained to see more of it, but I thought he could tell and looked away.
‘Tell us more about the new safehouse,’ someone said, and I got nervous thinking about them using my aunt’s shop when she might be there.
Claudia stood up.
‘There’s one thing you should know—’
‘The shop is only available from nine at night to sunrise,’ I said, having made up the times, knowing my aunt would definitely not be at the shop so early or so late in the evening. ‘Anyone left after sunrise will get caught. The owner isn’t sympathetic. Sorry,’ I said, catching my voice, ‘this is how it has to be.’
‘The owner doesn’t know,’ Wilhelm announced to everyone as he dragged a stuffed burlap sack to his feet and wedged it between his knees. ‘Be on notice.’ He began pulling documents from the bag and passing them out to a horde of outstretched hands.
Claudia put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about the shop. This group is very discreet. All right?’
Some of the documents spilled out of the bag and onto the floor as Wilhelm dug through them; one slid near my foot. The picture affixed to its right-hand corner was of a girl, not more than fifteen or so. She had frizzy hair that was similar to mine, but her face was flat and lacked expression. I wondered who she was. The paper called her Anise, but she didn’t look like an Anise to me, or from France like the document said. As to why she needed a set of forged papers, there could only be one reason: she was Jewish.
When the meeting was over Claudia pulled me off to the side. ‘I saw you looking at Geb.’ She smiled.
‘I was?’ I said, as my eyes trailed back to where Geb was talking.
‘He’s cute,’ Claudia said. ‘You like him?’
‘I don’t even know him,’ I said, still looking at him from a far.
Claudia chuckled. ‘Sure.’ She watched me watch him. ‘What do you think his real name is?’
He stood up, looking as if he was about to leave. His trousers were stained with greasy handprints all over his rear-end, and I wondered if he was a mechanic and had had his hands in an engine before he came here. I tried to guess what his real name was, saying different ones in my head, but nothing sounded right.
Geb paused at the stairs before walking up, then looked over his shoulder and smiled as if he had sensed me staring. I looked away, but I knew he’d caught me. Then he was gone.
Claudia grinned. ‘You like him.’
I flicked her shoulder. ‘Stop.’ I was curious about her codename. ‘Why’d you pick Marta? I’ve never heard you use that before.’
‘I picked it out of a hat, if you can believe it,’ she said.
‘That will be hard to get used to. The only Marta I know is the one from Youth League, the one that reads Mein Kampf until her eyes bleed.’
Claudia took a foil-wrapped square of chocolate from her pocket, snapped it in half, and then handed me a piece. ‘Say it a few times and you’ll get used to it.’ A chuckle puffed in her cheeks. ‘I know it’s strange to call me another name, but you only have to call me Marta when others are around.’ She chuckled again.
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘I was just wondering what your codename would be if it wasn’t Sascha. Maybe Dankwart? That would be a good name.’
I laughed. ‘You’re a real tease, you know that?’
‘It’s good to laugh, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Sometimes you have to remember to do it. After everything you see, what we saw today.’ She touched my arm. ‘We can’t let the Reich take everything from us. If we do then they’ve won.’ And for the next few moments we ate our chocolate quietly.
‘Remember the first day we met?’ she said. ‘I was huddled in the corner of Dankwart’s house complaining about the fit of my League uniform.’
‘I remember. It was my first day in the League.’
‘I never told you this, but moments before you walked in the door, Dankwart was yelling at me for being a slob. She said I didn’t know how to wear my uniform and challenged the other girls not to talk to me until after I had sorted myself out.’
‘You were the first person—no—the only girl I talked to that day.’
‘Why did you talk to me?’ Claudia said. ‘You must have noticed what a mess I was fiddling with my uniform, and how the other girls avoided me.’
‘I noticed. And I thought you were the only one that wasn’t insane.’
She smiled, tugging on the tips of my scarf. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Ella.’
‘I’m glad too.’
*
Claudia walked me back to my aunt’s house after the meeting. We lit cigarettes under a burnt-out streetlamp and smoked together, digesting that night’s events until my fingers got tingly. ‘Do you think I’ll see Geb again?’
‘Probably.’ She smiled and then giggled to herself. ‘I knew you were going to like him.’
I shrugged, trying to hide my smile, but she pushed her finger into my cheek. ‘And you like Wilhelm,’ I said, flicking my cigarette to the ground. ‘I saw your fingers touching.’
‘Mmm,’ she said.
Two boxes filled with junk had been stacked on top of each other near the gutter—not rubbish, but broken household supplies most likely left after the raids. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s climb up.’ She reached for my hand after tucking her cigarette into her mouth.
We balanced our weight on top of the highest box, holding onto each other’s arms. ‘The Reich calls us the Resistance…’ she said, whispering. ‘But I like to say I’m a jumpbox.’ We teetered and swayed catching our balance. ‘Because only the brave would jump off the box of lies the Party has made us stand on.’
Jumpbox. The clip of footsteps somewhere in the darkness scared us both, stopping a stone’s throw from where we were.
‘The streets have ears,’ Claudia said. She took one last inhaling puff of her cigarette before flicking it to the ground. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
And we jumped off the box together.
1942
8
April
As soon as I pushed the divan away from the wall and saw the layer of dust underneath, I knew I had found my shoe. I swore loud enough for Auntie to hear, but she made no mention of it. My aunt’s Nazi flag hanging outside the window had been replaced with a much larger one, its black swastika in the middle now like a large eye peeping into the house. I bobbed up from the floor, rear-end high in the air, and watched its tips flail with a whip of wind.
For weeks the neighbourhood had been stringing up posters and banners down our little residential street in preparation for the Führer’s birthday. Every year our neighbours tried to out-do their display from previous years. This year, Auntie added a small flag to hang the length of the rear window of her Volkswagen that she had parked out front; the car she got half-price because its cloth interior had been ruined by pet stains and bite marks. Auntie polished its lacquered green exterior every day with a white cloth, and kept the mirrors so clean you could see things that didn’t exist.
Auntie had been up since four o’clock in the morning preparing a spread for her after-celebration celebration. Her heels clicked against the wood floor as she pranced between the kitchen and the dining room where she had arranged iced cakes and streusels on a laced tablecloth for that afternoon’s tea. Hitler’s birthday was a national holiday and she closed the shop for the day; I’d assumed she would, she’d even said she’d open late the day after.
‘Make sure you come home right after the parade,’ Auntie shouted from the kitchen. When I didn’t answer she rushed around the corner. ‘Sascha, don’t forget my party.’ She clutched a chocolate smeared mixing bowl in one arm and pointed a freshly licked finger at her dessert table. ‘I have ladies coming from my Nazi Women’s League. Many have sons and grandsons your age.’
‘You want to set me up?’
She put down her bowl just long enough to straighten the miniature Nazi flags she had stuck in a vase for a centrepiece. ‘Would it hurt to have a boyfriend on the front?’
‘What if he got killed, Auntie? Why would I put myself in that position?’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I won’t try to set you up.’ She took hold of her spoon and mixed the chocolate in her bowl. ‘But could you wear your unifor
m today to the parade?’
‘My Youth League uniform?’ I felt my face scrunch. ‘My birthday was on New Year’s Eve, Auntie. I graduated out at eighteen. I’d look silly wearing a uniform for someone much younger than I really am.’
‘Your birthday wasn’t that long ago. Don’t be absurd. Besides, it’s common for girls to wear their Youth League uniforms on the Führer’s birthday. You know that.’ She pointed with her head to a hook in the corridor where my uniform was hanging. ‘I had it pressed! Of course, I could always buy you a new Bund Deutscher Mädel uniform, if you’d volunteer. The Reich’s Belief and Beauty branch of the League is a wonderful opportunity for a young German woman like yourself.’
I never thought I’d see that uniform again, much less looking clean and tidy and ready for me to wear. I felt my throat close up just looking at the tie. ‘The girls in the BDM are just like the ones in the League, and they’re as ugly as Frau Dankwart.’
‘They are not! It’s the beauty branch, Sascha.’ There was a very long, excruciating pause as Auntie looked down at me. ‘Please, Sascha,’ she said. ‘It’s a special day.’ She looked at the scarf tied around my wrist. ‘You wear the scarf your uncle gave you all the time. Can’t you wear this for me, if not for the Führer?’
I took a deep breath, looking at Auntie’s sad face. ‘All right.’
I went into my bedroom to put it on and realized the shirt had shrunk a full size from having it washed with hot water. I shoved my arms into the sleeves; I had plans to meet Claudia at the Bergstraße 19 before the parade, and I wasn’t going to risk being late over an outfit, even if the shirt did fit uncomfortably tight around my chest.
*
The streets were busy with people walking here and there, some wearing traditional lederhosen, while others wore Party uniforms, making their way to the parade. A line of marching Wehrmacht soldiers brushed past me holding their flags. ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ one said as I made my way up the street. ‘Parade’s about to start.’
A woman leaned out her opened window, adjusting a Nazi banner she’d hung on her building, bickering with her husband about the straightness. ‘What time is it?’ I yelled up to her, and she barked back that we still had an hour before the parade started.
