uniforms from that time forth that meeting any Party member was enough to paralyze his brain.
A couple of kicks in the ribs roused him from his stupor, a couple of thumps on the back set him on his feet, and then he trotted along like a beaten dog in front of his tormentor till he reached his wife’s apartment. But the door was locked. The postwoman Eva Kluge, who had spent the night in despair of her son Karlemann and her whole life, had set off on her usual daily grind, the letter to her other son in her pocket, but very little hope in her heart. She delivered mail as she had done for years, because it was still better than sitting idle at home tortured by gloomy thoughts.
Once he’d persuaded himself that the woman really wasn’t home, Persicke rang next door, as luck would have it at the door of that same Frau Gesch who with her lie had helped Enno gain entry to his wife’s flat. Persicke simply shoved his hapless victim into the woman’s arms as she opened the door, said, “Here! Look after him, you know where he belongs!” and then left.
Frau Gesch had firmly resolved never again to take a hand in the affairs of the Kluges. But such was the authority of an SS man, and such was the universal fear of them, that she took Kluge into her flat without protest, sat him down at the table, and plied him with coffee and bread. Her own husband had already gone to work. Frau Gesch could see how exhausted little Kluge was, and she could also see from his face, his ripped shirt, and the filth on his coat evidence of protracted mishandling. But since Kluge had been handed over to her by an SS man, she didn’t dare ask a single question. Yes, she would have rather put him outside the door than listened to an account of what had happened to him. She didn’t want to know anything. If she didn’t know anything, she couldn’t testify to anything, blab, get herself in trouble.
Slowly Kluge chewed his bread and drank his coffee. Thick tears of pain and exhaustion dribbled down his cheeks. From time to time,Frau Gesch cast a sidelong look at him. Then, when he had finished, she said: “Now where do you want to go? Your wife’s not taking you back, you know that!”
He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead of him.
“And you can’t stay here with me either. For one thing, my Gustav wouldn’t have it, and then I don’t want to have to keep everything under lock and key on account of you. So where do you want to go?”
Again, he didn’t reply.
Frau Gesch said crossly, “Well, in that case, I’ll leave you on the staircase! I’ll do it right away. Or?”
He said with difficulty, “Tutti—old girlfriend of mine…” And then he was crying again.
“For goodness sake, what a baby!” she said contemptuously. “If I always folded like that the moment something went wrong! All right, this Tutti: What’s her real name, and where does she live?”
After many further questions and some threats she learned that Enno didn’t know Tutti’s real name, but thought he could find his way to where she lived.
“Well then,” said Frau Gesch. “But you can’t go on your own in that state—any traffic policeman would arrest you. I’ll take you. But if you’re wrong about the apartment, I’ll leave you there on the street. I’ve got no time for looking around, I’ve got to go to work!”
“Could I have just a little nap?” he begged.
She hesitated briefly, then decreed, “All right, but no longer than an hour! In an hour we’re off. There, lie down on the sofa, I’ll find something to cover you with.”
He was asleep before she came back with the blanket.
Old Judge Fromm had let Frau Rosenthal in personally. He had led her into his study, whose walls were completely lined with books, and let her sit down in a chair there. A reading lamp was on, a book lay open on the table. The old gentleman himself brought in a tray with a pot of tea and a cup, sugar, and two thin slices of bread, and said to the
A couple of kicks in the ribs roused him from his stupor, a couple of thumps on the back set him on his feet, and then he trotted along like a beaten dog in front of his tormentor till he reached his wife’s apartment. But the door was locked. The postwoman Eva Kluge, who had spent the night in despair of her son Karlemann and her whole life, had set off on her usual daily grind, the letter to her other son in her pocket, but very little hope in her heart. She delivered mail as she had done for years, because it was still better than sitting idle at home tortured by gloomy thoughts.
Once he’d persuaded himself that the woman really wasn’t home, Persicke rang next door, as luck would have it at the door of that same Frau Gesch who with her lie had helped Enno gain entry to his wife’s flat. Persicke simply shoved his hapless victim into the woman’s arms as she opened the door, said, “Here! Look after him, you know where he belongs!” and then left.
Frau Gesch had firmly resolved never again to take a hand in the affairs of the Kluges. But such was the authority of an SS man, and such was the universal fear of them, that she took Kluge into her flat without protest, sat him down at the table, and plied him with coffee and bread. Her own husband had already gone to work. Frau Gesch could see how exhausted little Kluge was, and she could also see from his face, his ripped shirt, and the filth on his coat evidence of protracted mishandling. But since Kluge had been handed over to her by an SS man, she didn’t dare ask a single question. Yes, she would have rather put him outside the door than listened to an account of what had happened to him. She didn’t want to know anything. If she didn’t know anything, she couldn’t testify to anything, blab, get herself in trouble.
Slowly Kluge chewed his bread and drank his coffee. Thick tears of pain and exhaustion dribbled down his cheeks. From time to time,Frau Gesch cast a sidelong look at him. Then, when he had finished, she said: “Now where do you want to go? Your wife’s not taking you back, you know that!”
He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead of him.
“And you can’t stay here with me either. For one thing, my Gustav wouldn’t have it, and then I don’t want to have to keep everything under lock and key on account of you. So where do you want to go?”
Again, he didn’t reply.
Frau Gesch said crossly, “Well, in that case, I’ll leave you on the staircase! I’ll do it right away. Or?”
He said with difficulty, “Tutti—old girlfriend of mine…” And then he was crying again.
“For goodness sake, what a baby!” she said contemptuously. “If I always folded like that the moment something went wrong! All right, this Tutti: What’s her real name, and where does she live?”
After many further questions and some threats she learned that Enno didn’t know Tutti’s real name, but thought he could find his way to where she lived.
“Well then,” said Frau Gesch. “But you can’t go on your own in that state—any traffic policeman would arrest you. I’ll take you. But if you’re wrong about the apartment, I’ll leave you there on the street. I’ve got no time for looking around, I’ve got to go to work!”
“Could I have just a little nap?” he begged.
She hesitated briefly, then decreed, “All right, but no longer than an hour! In an hour we’re off. There, lie down on the sofa, I’ll find something to cover you with.”
He was asleep before she came back with the blanket.
Old Judge Fromm had let Frau Rosenthal in personally. He had led her into his study, whose walls were completely lined with books, and let her sit down in a chair there. A reading lamp was on, a book lay open on the table. The old gentleman himself brought in a tray with a pot of tea and a cup, sugar, and two thin slices of bread, and said to the
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