darkness. For an hour, they would pretend to spend the night together.
Later, she dressed by the light of the streetlamp that shone in the window, then went into the bathroom to comb her hair. Weisz followed and stood in the doorway. “How long will you stay?” she said.
“Two weeks.”
“I will call you,” she said.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow.” Looking in the mirror, she turned her head to one side, then the other. “At lunchtime, I can call.”
“You have an office?”
“We all must work, here in the thousand-year Reich. I’m a sort of executive, at the Bund Deutscher Maedchen, the League for German Girls—part of the Hitler Youth organization. A friend of von Schirren’s got me the job.”
Weisz nodded. “In Italy, they go down to the six-year-olds, make fascists of children, get them while they’re young. It’s awful.”
“It is. But must is what I meant. One must take part, otherwise, they come after you.”
“What do you do?”
“Organize things, make plans—for parades, or mass gymnastic exhibitions, or whatever it is that week. Sometimes I have to take them out to the countryside, thirty teenagers, for the harvest, or just to breathe the air of the German forest. We have a fire, and we sing, then some of them go off hand in hand into the woods. It’s all very Aryan.”
“Aryan?”
She laughed. “That’s how they think of it. Health and strength and Freiheit, freedom of the body. We’re supposed to encourage that, because the Nazis want them to breed. If they don’t wish to marry, they should go and find a lonely soldier and get pregnant. To make more soldiers. Herr Hitler will need all he can get, once we go to war.”
“And when is that?”
“Oh, that they don’t tell us. Soon, I would think. If a man is looking for a fight, sooner or later he’ll find it. We thought it would be the Czechs, but Hitler was handed what he wanted, so now, maybe, the Poles. Lately he screams at them, on the radio, and the Propaganda Ministry puts stories in the newspapers: those poor Germans in Danzig, beaten up by Polish gangs. It isn’t subtle.”
“If he goes for them, the British and the French will declare war.”
“Yes, I expect they will.”
“They’ll close the border, Christa.”
She turned and, for a moment, met his eyes. Finally, she said, “Yes, I know.” A last look at herself in the mirror, then she returned the comb to her purse, hunted around for a moment, and brought out a piece of jewelry, holding it up for Weisz to see. “My Hakenkreuz, all the ladies wear one, out where I live.” On a silver chain, a swastika made of old silver, with a diamond on each of the four bars.
“How beautiful,” Weisz said.
“Von Schirren gave it to me.”
“Is he in the party?”
“Heavens no! He’s old, rich Prussia, they hate Hitler.”
“But he stays.”
“Of course he stays, Carlo. Maybe he could’ve left three years ago, but there was still hope, then, that somebody would see the light and get rid of the Nazis. From the beginning, in ’thirty-three, nobody here could believe what they were doing, that they could get away with it. But now, to cross the border would be to lose everything. Every house, every bank account, every horse, the servants. My dogs. Everything. Mother, father, family. To do what? Press pants in London? Meanwhile, life here goes on, and in the next minute, Hitler will reach too far, and the army will step in. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. This is what von Schirren says, and he knows things.”
“Do you love him, Christa?”
“I am very fond of him, he’s a good man, a gentleman of old Europe, and he’s given me a place in life. I couldn’t go on any longer, living the way I did.”
“Everything else aside, I fear for you.”
She shook her head, put the Hakenkreuz back in her purse, closed the flap, and snapped the button shut. “No, no, Carlo, don’t do that. This nightmare will end, this government will fall, and
Later, she dressed by the light of the streetlamp that shone in the window, then went into the bathroom to comb her hair. Weisz followed and stood in the doorway. “How long will you stay?” she said.
“Two weeks.”
“I will call you,” she said.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow.” Looking in the mirror, she turned her head to one side, then the other. “At lunchtime, I can call.”
“You have an office?”
“We all must work, here in the thousand-year Reich. I’m a sort of executive, at the Bund Deutscher Maedchen, the League for German Girls—part of the Hitler Youth organization. A friend of von Schirren’s got me the job.”
Weisz nodded. “In Italy, they go down to the six-year-olds, make fascists of children, get them while they’re young. It’s awful.”
“It is. But must is what I meant. One must take part, otherwise, they come after you.”
“What do you do?”
“Organize things, make plans—for parades, or mass gymnastic exhibitions, or whatever it is that week. Sometimes I have to take them out to the countryside, thirty teenagers, for the harvest, or just to breathe the air of the German forest. We have a fire, and we sing, then some of them go off hand in hand into the woods. It’s all very Aryan.”
“Aryan?”
She laughed. “That’s how they think of it. Health and strength and Freiheit, freedom of the body. We’re supposed to encourage that, because the Nazis want them to breed. If they don’t wish to marry, they should go and find a lonely soldier and get pregnant. To make more soldiers. Herr Hitler will need all he can get, once we go to war.”
“And when is that?”
“Oh, that they don’t tell us. Soon, I would think. If a man is looking for a fight, sooner or later he’ll find it. We thought it would be the Czechs, but Hitler was handed what he wanted, so now, maybe, the Poles. Lately he screams at them, on the radio, and the Propaganda Ministry puts stories in the newspapers: those poor Germans in Danzig, beaten up by Polish gangs. It isn’t subtle.”
“If he goes for them, the British and the French will declare war.”
“Yes, I expect they will.”
“They’ll close the border, Christa.”
She turned and, for a moment, met his eyes. Finally, she said, “Yes, I know.” A last look at herself in the mirror, then she returned the comb to her purse, hunted around for a moment, and brought out a piece of jewelry, holding it up for Weisz to see. “My Hakenkreuz, all the ladies wear one, out where I live.” On a silver chain, a swastika made of old silver, with a diamond on each of the four bars.
“How beautiful,” Weisz said.
“Von Schirren gave it to me.”
“Is he in the party?”
“Heavens no! He’s old, rich Prussia, they hate Hitler.”
“But he stays.”
“Of course he stays, Carlo. Maybe he could’ve left three years ago, but there was still hope, then, that somebody would see the light and get rid of the Nazis. From the beginning, in ’thirty-three, nobody here could believe what they were doing, that they could get away with it. But now, to cross the border would be to lose everything. Every house, every bank account, every horse, the servants. My dogs. Everything. Mother, father, family. To do what? Press pants in London? Meanwhile, life here goes on, and in the next minute, Hitler will reach too far, and the army will step in. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. This is what von Schirren says, and he knows things.”
“Do you love him, Christa?”
“I am very fond of him, he’s a good man, a gentleman of old Europe, and he’s given me a place in life. I couldn’t go on any longer, living the way I did.”
“Everything else aside, I fear for you.”
She shook her head, put the Hakenkreuz back in her purse, closed the flap, and snapped the button shut. “No, no, Carlo, don’t do that. This nightmare will end, this government will fall, and
Similar Books
