Chameleon
Fever (2)
Chapter
14-26
The
Story of Oskar Danzig
Master
of Disguises, Famous (Female) Impersonator
&
Esteemed Leader of the Underground
(wip)
Treason
For a while, the resistance group lay a little low
to give their new leader the chance to settle down in his role. Karl took the
time to teach his make-up techniques to some of the ladies of the group, so
that at least for that they wouldn't be so solely dependent on him
anymore.
He also issued the order that from now on, only
first names would be used to address one another. For if the Gestapo were ever
to pick you up and forced you to spill names, they could do far less with only
a first name than with a last name.
Of course most of the present members knew each
other by the full name. But at least new members would never learn anything but
their comrades' first names.
And there were a lot of new members. As fear and
grimness in society grew, more and more people decided they wanted to do
something – anything – to protest what was going on. Usually they were brought
along by existing members – friends and family.
But Karl soon noticed that some of them seemed more
interested in the thrill of danger and adventure than in the cause for which
they were fighting. Some of them - like Uwe and Harro - were converted by a few
stern discussions with Josel and Dieter and became useful helpers. Others
however were less willing to accept the bitter truth of fighting the Nazis, and
Karl was wary to include those 'cowboys' in their missions. Which occasionally
led to unpleasant scenes as they accused him of favouritism. But especially
Josel supported him through thick and thin, and even went so far as to suggest
that if they didn't have faith in their leader's judgement, they had better
leave the group altogether.
Which some of them did. Usually to start their own
resistance group, which – maybe a sign from heaven? – invariably ended up in
Gestapo hands within a few months.
It only made Karl more determined to keep his people
safe, and his missions were always meticulously planned. Marya was still their
main informer, and as his confidence grew over time, his plans became bolder
and more unorthodox. And Karl was quite proud that – although their success
rate was not 100% (it was high, but not perfect) – their casualty rate remained
steadfastly at zero.
And so the year passed with its moderate ups and
downs, and it saw Karl grow and mature in his leading role. Josel remained his
closest confidant with whom he went over every plan in detail, and whose advice
he valued greatly. And the two soon became really good friends.
Great was his shock therefore when shortly after
Christmas he went past their café on his way to the theatre, just in time to
see a black Gestapo truck drive off.
With a sick feeling in his stomach, Karl watched the
truck round the corner. Were they...?
He quickly crossed the road and pushed open the door
of Café Brunn.
His breath caught in his throat. The place was in
complete disarray – as if someone had been furiously searching for something,
not caring about what he broke in his drive to find it.
"Josel? Lena?" His voice sounded shrill,
and he nearly jumped as someone answered from behind him.
"They've been taken away. I saw it." An
elderly man stood behind him. He looked sad. "Such good people. Always
available for a friendly chat over a good cup of coffee. But I doubt I'll ever
get a cup of coffee from them again."
"Why?" Karl implored. "Do you know why
they were taken away? Or where?"
The man shook his head. "Darned pity though.
They served the best peasoup between Tegel and the Brandenburger Tor."
Karl glanced at his watch. He still had some time,
and it was quite clear that this man couldn't tell him much else that was
useful. But with two of their people picked up by the Gestapo, their entire
group was in danger.
Try to keep your mouth shut as long as possible –
they all knew the mantra for when they'd be arrested.
But it was publicly known that especially the
Gestapo could be brutal in their interrogations, and there was no telling how
long Josel and Lena – or anyone – would be able to hold out under torture.
They'd have to find a way to get them out of there, and fast!
The problem was that the café had always served as
the group's communication centre. The lunch special on the blackboard outside
had several options for messages that insiders could read simply by walking
past the café.
But now with the café out of order, they'd have to
find another way to pass on this all-important news.
"Thank you," he said absent-mindedly to
the man, and hurried off down the street. Fischer's Fish Shop was but a few
blocks away – maybe they could pass on the message with fake deliveries or
something.
Luck wasn't with him – the shop was full of
customers, and neither Berthold nor Kläre recognized him in his disguise as the
actor Oskar Danzig.
And that's when it struck him – Josel and Lena did
know him in this disguise! He often had a late lunch with them on his theatre
days, giving them the chance to discuss Marya's latest news and possible plans
born from that news. Josel and Lena were the only ones to be aware of this
disguise belonging to their leader Oskar Danzig, but with them being the ones
in Gestapo custody, that left him pretty vulnerable in this look.
Fortunately, when it finally was his turn, there
were no other customers left. "It's me – Oskar," he said quickly and
quietly. "Josel and Lena have just been picked up by the Gestapo. Can you
find a way to pass on the message?"
Kläre brought her hand to her mouth in shock, and
Berthold put down the knife he was cleaning. "It'll look a bit odd for a
fish shop, but I'll fix it right away." And he wiped his hands, grabbed a
cloth and a piece of chalk from under the counter and stepped outside.
"Here." Kläre quickly wrapped up some cold
cod. "Can't leave the shop without groceries – that'd be odd. Don't worry,
we'll pass on the word. And we can meet here upstairs tonight."
"Thanks. It'll be close to midnight before I
can make it though."
"We'll just start thinking up plans,"
Kläre promised.
With a mutual warning to be careful, Karl left the
shop, past Berthold who had erased the offers for fresh haddock, eel and
whelks, and now advertized mushroomsoup.
"Take care," Karl said to him, too, and
quickly hurried off home to change his disguise. If he was quick, he'd even
have time to call on a few of the others on his way to the theatre.
He reappeared as a burly fiftyish-year-old, and took
the road to the city centre with long strides. Only to stop dead in his tracks
when Fischer's Fish Shop came in sight. For the place was ransacked much as
Café Brunn...
A chill went down his spine. This couldn't possibly
be the result yet of Josel and Lena talking – they wouldn't act that
fast, would they?
Which meant... they must have had someone on his
trail... On anyone's trail who'd gone near Café Brunn today. So he was
the one who had led them to Berthold and Kläre and Sanne and Tobias...
It also meant that he had led his shadow straight
back to his own apartment, thus totally compromising his Langenscheidt persona.
And despite his change of appearance, there was a chance that the guy was still
on his trail. So going to warn the others pretty much equalled turning them
into the Gestapo.
No. The first thing to do was to lose this hound on
his trail. Or rather – to determine whether his present persona was indeed
being followed.
He set off again at a firm pace, his mind in turmoil.
He hopped onto a tram, hopped off again, took a bus and another bus, all the
while keeping a keen eye on his fellow passengers.
But none of them kept up with him – none even
travelled on two the same vehicles as he did. So apparently he was not being
followed at the moment. His shadow must have stayed behind watching his
apartment – not that such was much of a reassurance.
He got off the bus again and checked his watch. If
he walked from here, it wouldn't be much out of his way to go past Dieter's and
Uwe's place, and perhaps even past Benno's. The sooner the word was spread, the
better. It would probably mean he'd be a little late for work, but warning his
friends was worth a good scolding. Those nuts who paid good money to see a guy
dress up as a woman could wait.
But as he turned into the Kastanienstraβe,
he felt the colour drain from his face. There was that ominous Gestapo truck
again. And from number sixteen, Dieter and his wife were led down the gardenpath
– handcuffed and all, and prodded by a machinegun.
Bleakly, he watched the truck as it drove off in the
other direction. This couldn't possibly have happened through their following him.
Coincidence then? Or was there some other factor in the game?
He walked on again, in the direction of the
Mendelssohnstraβe. And tensed as he saw the small clump of people
talking in front of Uwe's house.
Casually, without really slowing down, he walked
past them, feigning no interest at all. But he heard enough to deduce that Uwe
had been picked up by the Gestapo as well.
What the heck was going on here? Had Josel and Lena
mentioned every name they knew the moment they had entered Gestapo
headquarters? That seemed highly unlikely...
He continued on to Benno's place, and was already
hardly surprised to find much of a copy of the situation in the Mendelssohnstraβe.
With a deep frown he hurried on from there to the
Park Theatre. Although to be honest, he wasn't even sure if it was a good idea
to go there at all. For with the Gestapo picking up his people one by one
today, they might well be waiting for Oskar Danzig at the only address where
they could be sure he'd show up.
But first of all he needed to think. To calm down
and think. And find out somehow who else had been hauled off by the Gestapo.
He took the stairs two at a time to the stage door,
showed his theatre pass to the porter and hurried on to his dressing room. And
throwing open the door, he stood eye to eye with the director.
"Mr. Danzig, I presume?" the man said
icily.
Karl immediately refound himself. "Yes. And I'm
sorry for being so late, but there was..."
"You have less than twenty minutes to
curtain!" the director coldly interrupted him as he watched his star tear
off his cap and sit down in front of the mirror.
"I know." Karl turned to face him.
"And I said I'm sorry. But if you'd still like to see the show to start on
time, I think you'd better leave me now and postpone your tirade till the
interval."
He turned back to the mirror, and heard how the director
angrily breathed in through his nose in a snort. "Superstars..." he
heard him mutter, and then the door closed with a bang.
Karl reached it in two steps and turned the key. He
never allowed anyone in his room while he was changing, for the justified fear
that they'd see the 'real' him in between his disguises.
But right now there was a greater fear in his heart.
Not only for his own sake, but for his friends' as well.
For one possible explanation of this whole thing
was, that someone had deliberately informed the Gestapo on them – with names
and everything. And the only way that could have happened so thoroughly, was if
this informer had been part of their group for quite a while. Which meant that
right now, he really couldn't trust anyone but himself. Not until he had
figured out exactly who had been picked up and who hadn't.
With his many years of experience, he easily made it
in time for the show. But he went through the whole thing entirely on routine.
Back in his dressing room he sent out for dinner,
listened to the director's promised tirade without batting an eyelid, did the
two evening shows on routine as well, and ended up with a massive headache from
all the brooding and second-guessing he'd been doing all night.
Tonight of all nights, just when he needed to be
alert and clear-headed as never before – and all his body really wanted to do
was to curl up under a blanket and turn off the lights!
He found a nearly forgotten aspirin in the back of
his drawer, and prayed it wasn't so old that it had turned toxic.
But he couldn't stay here. He had to find out what
had happened to his friends. So he gathered up his willpower and the fiftyish
man's act, and made for the stage door.
It had barely fallen shut behind him when two men in
official Gestapo black accosted him. "Ausweis, bitte."
Karl glanced from one to the other, hoping, praying
that the dark would obscure his fear.
He pulled the papers that matched his present
disguise from his pocket and placed them in the waiting hand.
He thought he sweated water and blood as he watched
how thoroughly they were studied, with frequent intrusive stares at his face to
see if the information was indeed correct. A jovial remark would be in place
right now – to show them that he had nothing to fear. But the fact was that he
was absolutely tongue-tied with fear.
The best he could manage right now was to feign
disinterest, so he forced himself to glance at the other Gestapoman. And was
surprised to see that the guy was peering the other way, toward the dark bushes
of the neighbouring park.
The instant curiosity as to what the guy was looking
at nudged Karl out of his fear induced paralysis. He followed the man's gaze,
and within seconds he had located a person – a man by the looks of it –
standing in the bushes, looking their way.
Why would a guy hide in the bushes late at night and
stare at the stage door of a theatre? Was he a stalker perhaps? Was the
Gestapoman perhaps wondering the same?
The door behind him opened again, and out came
Agnita, one of the revuegirls.
The other Gestapoman turned to her, and said,
"Moment, Fräulein. Ausweis, bitte."
As Agnita muttered something not so nice while she
dug around in her purse for her papers, Karl caught the Gestapoman looking over
his shoulder towards the man in the park again. And from the corner of his eye
– no, this couldn't be! The guy in the bushes was making a clear negating
gesture! He was...!
And indeed: Agnita's papers got but a cursory
inspection, and she was free to go.
But there was no time to dwell on that, for he got
his own fake papers thrusted in his face again, and with a barked, "In
Ordnung," he, too, was free to go.
He felt he could faint with relief, but now was not
the time for that. So he turned past the theatre, and forcibly suppressed the
urge to run away as far as his legs would carry him. Clearly he had passed
inspection, so for the moment he could move freely. And despite his pounding
head, he finally had a clue here that might help him find, maybe even save his
friends. For surely it couldn't be coincidence that the Gestapo showed up at
Danzig's theatre with a nark the same day that half his team was picked up?
He only walked one block around before seeking his
way back through the park to the theatre's side entrance. He still heard voices
through the night, which only made sense – he had been one of the first to
leave tonight, so there were still many to come.
And there was the clump of bushes where the nark was
hiding. He was itching to know who it was, and more so in the knowledge that it
was likely to be someone he knew. Someone he had trusted. Someone whose neck
he'd like to wring.
But now was not the time for that. First he needed
to know more.
So he crouched down behind the bushes, not far from
where the nark was hiding.
His head was pounding painfully, but he tried to
ignore it the best he could and concentrated on the voices at the stage door.
They were too far off to really make out anything, but his patience paid off in
the end when the two Gestapomen left the theatre and came straight to the
nark's hiding place.
There was the sound of cracking branches as that
someone stepped out of his hideout to meet his companions. And Karl held his
breath – if they'd find him here now, he'd be dead meat!
"Well, Herr Eckner," he heard one of the
men sneer. "It seems your insight in the man's disguises isn't as thorough
as you thought it was."
Karl tensed. They were after him indeed...
He heard an obvious sigh. "I'm sorry, sir. I
told you the man is a master of disguises. The only thing he really can't
change is his height. And you checked everyone within that range."
"And he slipped by us nonetheless. Well, we'll
have to come back tomorrow and pick him up as soon as he leaves the stage. I
just hope we haven't alerted him with our presence tonight."
That was it: Oskar Danzig would quit performing as
from this very moment.
The voices began to move away, and quickly, Karl
rose and followed them, carefully keeping to the grass and keeping out of sight
whenever he could. His headache was still splitting – the aspirin didn't seem
to work at all. But he wanted to know who this Eckner guy was, and if he'd let
him go now, he may never have another opportunity.
So he kept up with the three men, and when they went
their separate ways coming out of the park, Karl hurried to catch up as the
only one not in uniform took a left into the Charlottenburgerallee.
Following someone through a city centre is a lot
more convenient than through a deserted park. Especially when this someone has
no inkling that he's being followed. Karl made sure he never let the guy get
too far ahead, and followed him as a shadow as he walked straight home, clearly
not suspecting anything. It turned out he lived indeed in the part of town
where most people of the resistance group lived, and following him, Karl became
more and more convinced that there was something familiar about the guy indeed.
Something about the...
He held in his step in surprise, and then walked on
as if nothing were the matter. But some twenty meters ahead of him, on the
other side of the street, the Eckner guy had come to a halt and pulled a key
from his pocket.
His face remained in shadows though as he unlocked
the front door of a small terraced house and pushed it open.
Well, at least he knew the guy's last name and
address, Karl thought as he stamped the housenumber on his memory and looked
around for the name of the street. If necessary, he could post here all day
tomorrow to catch a glimpse of the guy by daylight. There was...
He froze. Eckner had switched on the hall lights
before closing the front door. And the man now turning back to the door to
close it was... Harro! Harro, their mechanics expert!
Alone
Now that the immediate mystery was solved, his
headache instantly came crashing down on him with such force that for a moment,
he physically staggered. Calling on all his strength, he managed to force
himself to walk on, lest Harro should look out the window and recognize the man
from the theatre. But in between the merciless blows of the sledgehammer in his
head, his mind was reeling.
Harro... He should have... He'd been with them
since... when? Before the summer at least, for he was with them when... Who'd
brought him on – had it been Olaf? Dieter? Benno? Ferdi maybe? He couldn't
remember – there had been too many. He should have... He should have...
Harro... Another one of those thrillseekers at
first. But one who'd come to realize the seriousness of the matter, and had
become one of their most dedicated people. Dedicated... to the Gestapo, yes.
Oh, what had he done, the creep, the monster, the snake, the...
But he should have known, he should have seen
it, he should have...!
Suddenly he became aware that he'd been taking the
route home. No – no, he couldn't go home! Not with the Gestapo waiting for him
there!
Or were they? Well, maybe at least. But he certainly
wasn't going to find out now.
Instead, he took the first sidestreet back to the
Königsallee, wandered back towards the city and checked in at the first still
open hotel he passed. The sleepy receptionist didn't ask any questions and
merely had him sign in (he had to think a moment to recall which papers he
carried), gave him the key and directed him to the third floor.
Up in his room, he didn't even bother to turn on the
light. He just locked the door behind him, and sank down on the bed, hiding his
warm, pounding head in his hands. If only that sledgehammer would stop
hammering around, so that at least he could think clearly...
But mere wishing for his headache to go away had no
effect, and in the end he came to the conclusion that he might as well go to
bed. Hopefully sleep would silence that awful pounding in his head.
Slowly, he took off his boots and clothes, splashed
some cool water on his face at the washstand and crawled under the blanket.
He felt slightly guilty as he cautiously tried to
find the most comfortable position on the pillow for his pounding head. For
here he was – in a bed, with a pillow and a blanket and clean sheets... while
his friends were locked up in some Gestapo jail, maybe even being interrogated
at this very moment.
Quietly, he asked them for forgiveness, explaining
to them that there was not much he could do for them at this hour of the night,
and giving them a solemn promise that he'd do everything in his power to
get them out... and suddenly the wintersun tickled his cheeks and woke him up.
He sat up with a start as both memory and the
remnants of that headache came flooding back to him. Fortunately, the awful
pounding had ceased. It was still lurking in the back, but not to the extent
that it really impaired him anymore.
Good.
He got up, and noticed the brownred smears on the
pillow. Oh brother, he'd forgotten to take off his make-up as Kurt Hagedorn
last night. Well, that was easily enough hidden. He pulled off the pillowcase,
turned it inside out, put it back on the pillow and placed it with the dirty
side down. Not perfect, but there was a good chance that it wouldn't be noticed
until it got to the cleaner's.
He got dressed, more or less fixed his features with
the few sticks of make-up he carried (the sleepy receptionist probably wouldn't
notice the difference anyway), and went down to pay for his room and leave.
And then he stood outside again, contemplating what
to do next.
Breakfast was a first necessity, but paying for the
room he had realized he didn't have much money left. Not in his pocket at
least. He really should find out whether or not his apartment was being
watched. For with the stuff he had there, he could have a serious go at helping
his friends.
And of course call the theatre with some excuse for
Danzig not to perform anymore. After all, his co-workers there were dependent
on Danzig's presence, too. If he couldn't be there, the entire show would have
to be cancelled, so the very least he owed them was a reasonable explanation as
to why their star had suddenly cleared off.
Or perhaps he ought to do that here – in case they
had bugged his telephone at home.
So he went back inside and asked the receptionist if
he could make a phonecall.
The man nodded. "There is the phone booth, sir.
But it is a payphone."
Karl dug out some change from his pocket, went into
the booth and dialled for the operator. "The Park Theatre, Herr Direktor
Brühl, bitte."
"Moment, bitte."
Silence – then, "Brühl here, guten
Morgen."
"Guten Morgen, Herr Brühl, this is Dr. Augstein
speaking from the Berlin Stadthospital. I'm afraid I have some bad news for
you."
"What?" He heard Herr Brühl draw in his
breath in shock. "My wife? My children?"
"No sir, not your family. This concerns one of
your employees: the actor Oskar Danzig."
"What about him?" The man's utter relief
was almost tangible, and Karl felt bad for having given him such a scare.
But he went on with, "Herr Danzig has been
brought in here this morning with a bad case of pneumonia. I'm afraid he will
not be able to perform for quite a while."
"What?" Obviously, that news shook the
director back to reality. "He can't! The entire show is built up around
him!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to do
without him for a while. He is in no condition to leave his hospital bed – let
alone to stand on stage all night long."
There was a rumble at the other end of the line.
"So much for getting the big star in. But I suppose it can't be helped.
Anyway, thank you for letting me know, doctor. And wishing you a good
day."
"Thank you, Herr Direktor. And a good day to
you, too."
So – that was that. And now straight home to find
out whether his apartment was indeed under surveillance.
It turned out that – unless someone was covertly
keeping watch from inside one of the apartments in the building opposite to his
– no one was paying any special attention to his apartment, or hanging around
somewhere for no apparent reason.
It did make sense of course, he figured as he took
the familiar stairs two at a time. He had thought they had gotten onto
the Fischers because they had followed him there. But the later discoveries of
the others having been picked up before he even got close to their homes
negated that. So apart from the fact that the Gestapo was looking for him, he
was still relatively safe.
Besides, after what he had overheard in the park
last night, it seemed fairly obvious that Harro was the man behind this. And it
was equally obvious that Harro was not aware of his real identity. So
much the better of course, but it did mean he couldn't use his most recent
disguises.
As he made himself a few sandwiches and a cup of
tea, he pondered about how to tackle the problem to find out who had and who
hadn't been picked up. He needed an excuse to go and call at certain houses. A
Jehovah's Witness could do that, but with the way those people had been treated
lately, it would be a rather hazardous charade. And right now he really
couldn't afford getting into trouble himself.
In the end he settled for a shabby pedlar, trying to
sell his own meagre supplies of razorblades, shoelaces, safety-pins and
matches.
The afternoon's charade was a success in that he
learned indeed that literally all his people had been picked up by the Gestapo
yesterday. All except Harro of course. Sure – he didn't know all the addresses,
but the latest members being friends and family of the older ones, a few
careful questions were usually sufficient to get the information he wanted to
know.
At least the situation was clear now: it was Karl
Langenscheidt solo versus the entire Berlin Gestapo. With the lives of nearly
forty of his friends at stake.
But before he could do anything to rescue them, he
needed to know where they were being held. There were several Gestapo offices
in Berlin – it wouldn't do to barge into the wrong one to demand the liberation
of his friends. So he went home, typed up some fresh Gestapo orders along the
specifications of some older ones he still had lying around, had a full change
of appearance, changed into the conspicuously inconspicuous dark Gestapo outfit
with the Nazi pin prominently displayed on his black tie, and marched out of
the building on his way to Gestapo headoffice in the city with a flat briefcase
handcuffed to his wrist.
It was shortly before nine in the evening when he
swiftly took the steps up to the impressive building and brought a crisp salute
to the officer sitting at the reception desk.
"Good evening, sir. What can I do for
you?" the clerk-officer greeted him.
Karl pulled his papers from his inside pocket.
"I'm Leutnant Lothar Böttcher, aide of General Stahl. I am to take some
very sensitive documents to him in Berchtesgaden, but our car broke down. I do not
want to expose these papers to a public place. Can I wait here until my men are
ready to take me to Berchtesgaden?"
"Of course, Herr Leutnant. I can even get you
another car, if you like."
Lieutenant Böttcher bared his teeth. "'Trust
no one,' General Stahl always says."
The clerk immediately backpedalled. "No. Of
course not."
"Now where can I wait? Preferably someplace
where I can get a decent cup of coffee," the lieutenant demanded.
"Of course. Why don't you wait in our
refreshment room – on the first floor, the second door to your right."
"Danke." A short nod, another Heil Hitler
salute, and Lieutenant Böttcher made his way up the stairs.
The coffee room turned out to be small, but
deserted. There were a few easy chairs, a side table with a thermos jug that
smelled of old coffee, a few mugs, and about a dozen newspapers lying around.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a
newspaper and sat down in one of the chairs with his briefcase in his lap. The
waiting could start...
In the hours that followed, only two people came
into the room. But they merely glanced at him, fetched their cup of coffee and
left again. Clearly, the coffee room at Gestapo headquarters wasn't the busiest
place in town on a Saturday evening.
But in the early hours of the morning he was joined
by two sniggering junior officers who poured themselves some coffee and fell
down in the chairs opposite.
"What's so funny?" Lieutenant Böttcher
inquired.
The two men looked at each other and burst out in a
fit of chuckles.
"Ever heard of Oskar Danzig?" the elder of
the two asked at last.
"The female impersonator? Of course I
have." There wasn't a single soul in all of Berlin who hadn't.
Another snicker. "Well, it turns out that Mr.
Danzig is a double impersonator."
Böttcher frowned. "A double...? What do you
mean?"
This time the younger of the two answered.
"Well, we've known for some time that Herr Danzig was the leader of a
rather notorious resistance group here in the city. So we went to the theatre
tonight to pick him up for some questioning, and..." Once more his mirth
overtook him, so the other one completed, "It turns out that the famous
female impersonator really is a woman!"
"What?" They must have gotten one of
the girls to play my part, just to let the show go on, it flashed through
his mind.
"Yeah, can you imagine: a woman impersonating a
man in order to be a female impersonator?"
"No wonder he was so good," Karl commented
wryly.
"Now what would we call such a person?"
the younger Gestapoman mused. "Perhaps a female male female impersonator?"
"The length these superstars will go to – just
to attract attention," the other one said.
"Well, she'll sure get all the attention she
wants tomorrow." The younger man snickered and leaned forward in
confidentiality. "Major Lüpertz was as cross as a swastika, for it soon
became clear that this girl knew absolutely nothing about any resistance
activities. Which means he now really doesn't have a clue where to find
the real Danzig."
"If there really is such a person," the
other one cut in.
"Of course there is," the younger man
huffed. "He may not be the Oskar Danzig, but we know for sure that
he's a master of disguises. And his helpers all claim that their leader is
Oskar Danzig."
"But they're either being incredibly stubborn,
or they really don't know anything about the guy," the older one objected.
"Eckner couldn't find out anything about him
either. But he met him regularly, so he does exist. I still say Major Lüpertz
was too hasty in shooting most of them this morning though."
Karl winced painfully, but managed to hide it in a
smirk. "You can't squeeze information from a dead body," he agreed,
pushing away the hurt.
"My idea exactly. Now he's only got a few left
to work on. They're the big shots of the group, but still..." He chuckled.
"One of them let slip that the Russian medium Marya works for Danzig as
well. Remember her?"
Böttcher frowned. "I believe so. Isn't that the
one the Führer recommends so highly that all his generals are fighting over
her?" So Marya had been implicated as well. That was valuable knowledge.
"Yeah, that's the one," the Gestapoman
continued, and took a sip of his coffee. "It's certainly possible – she
did start her Berlin career from the house of one of the resistance
people."
"It would be a bit of a scandal if it were
true," the other guy commented. "I mean involving the Führer and all.
I think Major Lüpertz wants some more proof before stirring up that hornet's
nest."
Böttcher chuckled. "I sure wouldn't want to be
in his shoes if it turns out he's wrong."
"No, certainly not!" His two companions
chuckled, and returned to their previous subject about Danzig being a lady
after all.
But Karl was suddenly on tenterhooks. Set off by the
information about Marya, a plan was hatching in his brain. A desperate plan,
especially if he had to do it on his own, but at least it was a plan.
But he couldn't just run out of here while his two
informants were still chatting away over their coffee – that'd be awfully
suspicious.
So he forced himself to stay relaxed in his easy
chair, sipping his coffee, listening to the two indefatigable twaddlers and
occasionally throwing in an off-hand remark of his own.
But finally, finally they got up, left their
mugs on the table, wished him goodnight and left the room.
Tense as a spring, Karl waited for their footsteps
to recede. Then he made for the door, inched it open and listened for any human
presence in the corridor. When all remained quiet, he reclaimed his Gestapo
lieutenant role, buttoned up his overcoat, and went quickly down the stairs as
if the building were his daily workplace.
There was still one obstacle to bypass to get out of
here – the clerk at the reception desk. But luck was with him for once today:
the clerk who had let him in had been relieved by someone else who merely
looked up, nodded, and let him exit the building without asking any questions.
Time was now of the essence. He took a taxi to the
corner of the Königsallee three blocks past his own apartment. From there he
hurried home, unlocked the by now rather irritating briefcase from his wrist,
sat down at his typewriter to fix some new orders, and then went to remove all
his make-up and went out.
It was awfully early in the morning, and the city
was fast asleep. But Karl knew of one address where he could always go for
help: Father Werner's vicarage.
As soon as the door opened at his insistent
knocking, he opened his mouth to...
And stared.
"Yes?" the young man before him said
encouragingly.
"Who are you?" Karl blurted out.
"I was looking for Father Werner."
The young man in the doorway hid a large yawn.
"He's been replaced. I'm the priest here now. Father Kreutz is my
name."
"Replaced? When? Where?"
"A few days ago. Not sure where they sent him,
but it certainly wasn't a friendly little parish for him to keep spreading
about those silly rumours about the Party."
Father Werner had been picked up, too, Karl's brain
bleakly translated.
Which meant he was now totally, entirely, completely
on his own. No friends. No allies. No colleagues – no one.
"Oh. Thank you," he mumbled, and turned to
go.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
the replacement priest called after him.
Karl looked back. "I don't think so. Sorry.
This really called for Father Werner's expertise – he knows the situation and the
people. I don't think you'd be of much help, coming in without that
knowledge."
"Alright. Well, good luck then, and good
night."
The door was closed, and Karl stared at it for a
moment. If anything, those last words made it crystal clear that this Father
Kreutz was no real priest. Or if he was, he probably held Mein Kampf in
higher esteem than the Bible.
Just wishing him 'good luck'...
He quickly hurried home, his mind arguing with
itself whether or not it would be a good idea to go on with this plan all
alone. Father Werner – if he had indeed agreed to come along – wouldn't have
had to do much, but his mere presence as an aide would have given Karl's
character credence.
But now?
There was no one left to ask unless he'd pluck
someone off the street at random. And that didn't strike him as a particularly
good idea either.
So now he had the choice between taking the risk of
going in all alone, or giving up his friends altogether.
His jaw tightened as he leapt up the stairs to his
apartment. Giving up his friends was simply not an option.
Even if it was practically suicide to try and get
them out.
Rescue
But first he needed a complete make-over in order to
get back into Gestapo headquarters.
Twenty minutes later an aristocratic man in a
colonel's Heer uniform came down the stairs again and calmly walked towards
town. But instead of following the Königsallee, he turned left towards the
barracks of the Luftwaffe.
It was approaching 5.30 now. Everything in the
military camp was still quiet, but it wouldn't be long before the loud bell
would chase the young soldiers out of bed.
But now was not the time to contemplate on that. He
was here to get a car – or better still: a truck. And he knew there were always
a few vans parked out in the street here at night.
With one of his small burglar's tools he opened the
door of the first truck. A glance in the back to make sure he had no
unsuspecting hitch-hikers, and then he pulled free the wires that – if
connected – would start the truck without a key.
He had a grim smile as he recalled it had been Harro
Eckner who had taught them that trick. Harro... the snake, the traitor, the...
But that could wait. First he had to get his people out.
Without anyone bothering him, he drove off towards
Gestapo headquarters. (Amazing what you could get away with, simply by
pretending it's the most normal thing in the world to do...) The truck was
heavy, and more difficult to steer than an ordinary car, so Karl took no
chances and drove very carefully through the still sleeping streets of inner
Berlin.
And there was his destination.
He parked the van at the bottom of the stairs,
released the contact, made sure the cardoor was unlocked, and with a quick
prayer ("This time it's just You and me, Lord. So let's get them.")
he took the stairs for the second time that night to report to the
receptionist.
"Guten Morgen, mein Herr," he greeted the
man affably. It was still the same one as when he had left the building a few
hours ago.
He brought the Heil Hitler salute, which the man
silently reciprocated.
"What is your business?" the clerk asked
sourly.
"I'm Colonel von Le Fort, the aide of General
Atzorn."
The clerk raised his eyebrows. General Atzorn was
one of the biggest big shots in Germany – and Marya had had some dealings with him
recently, so Karl was quite up-to-date with the General's relations and
position in society.
"Papers, please," the clerk requested, and
the noble visitor handed them to him.
"In Ordnung," the clerk mumbled with an
air of disappointment after a short but hawkish study of them. He gave them
back to the Colonel and inquired in a still morose tone, "What is your
business then, Colonel?"
"Well, word has reached the General about Oskar
Danzig's resistance unit being held in custody here, and – this is true,
isn't it?" he interrupted himself.
The clerk nodded.
"Good. But we were left to understand that the
lady Marya was not among them. This is also correct?"
The clerk shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know
their names. You'd better speak to Major Lüpertz himself. He is the one in
charge of the case."
"Excellent. Will you please inform him then
that I wish to speak with him on behalf of General Atzorn? You may tell him it
is a matter of great importance."
A frugal look was his share. "I'm afraid the
Major is not available at the moment, Herr Colonel. He's been in consultation
all night."
The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it about
time for a break then? Besides, I represent General Atzorn in this matter.
Would he let the General wait?"
The look turned to ice. "We shall see." He
picked up the phone and dialled a short number. "Krug? This is reception.
I have an envoy of General Atzorn here who insists on speaking to Major Lüpertz
right away. Go ask him if he wants to be disturbed, okay?"
A long pause, in which the Colonel leisurely looked
around and admired the stucco-work and the architectural intricacies of the
hall. "Beautiful building," he commented quietly to the sour
receptionist. "Very tasteful indeed."
The receptionist gave him a glare, but turned his
attention back to the telephone. "Ja? Was? Nein? Gut. Heil Hitler."
With a menacing little smile he turned back to his visitor. "I'm sorry,
but Herr Major does not wish to be interrupted. Not even by the envoy of
General Atzorn himself."
Suddenly the Colonel straightened himself to his
full impressive height and thundered, "Well, if the mountain won't come to
Mohammed...! Take me to him – now!"
The toad of a receptionist withered under this giant
vocal attack. "But... but... Herr Colonel, he..."
"I said now!"
"J... jawohl, Herr Colonel... But I warn you:
it's at your own risk!"
"I don't care. Take me to this man, or you
will suffer the consequences of the General's wrath as much as he will!"
"Of course, Herr Colonel. Follow me,
please."
Keeping the anger in his step and the controlled
blaze in his eyes, Colonel von Le Fort followed the boor down an arched
corridor that ended at a heavy, iron-studded door, guarded by two men.
"The good Colonel here insists on having
a word with Major Lüpertz this very moment," the clerk murmured with
anticipated gloat. "Please escort him down into the dungeons to see the
major."
The two guards exchanged a glance, but the one on
the left took out a heavy key, opened the door, and gestured for their guest to
follow him.
An awful smell – damp and fuggy and rotten – hit him
in the face as he followed the guard into the dark hole. There was no light,
but the guard took a torch from a holder in the wall before pulling the heavy
door shut. "Careful now, Herr Colonel," he mumbled. "It's rather
slippery here."
By the light of his torch they descended the
twenty-four steps down into this present-day hell. It was eerily quiet – only
from the right somewhere came the muffled sound of voices.
It was exactly the direction in which the guard took
him. Karl dreaded every step. Any moment he expected to step on some forgotten
bodypart, left lying around to rot – not that he saw any in the light of the
torch. But it was just the entire atmosphere that brought back some of the
spooky horror stories he secretly used to read as a young teenager. The ones
you read merely to challenge yourself to deal with some horrible nightmares the
night following...
The guard stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked
loudly. A little shutter was shoved aside and an annoyed, blond face appeared.
"What now?"
"Um..."
Karl heard gasping sobs in the background, and a
knot formed in his stomach. Was that one of his people?
"Na?" the major demanded.
"Um, well, the Colonel who was sent here by
General Atzorn didn't want to wait, sir. He wants to talk to you. Now –
he says."
The major's eyes flitted to his face, and Karl kept
his gaze steady. "Yes, I am Colonel von Le Fort. And I suggest you grant
me a few minutes of your precious time, Herr Major." The way he
stressed the Herr-title did not bode well for the major, and angrily, the
Gestapoman ordered the guard to open the door for him.
"Na? What is this?" he demanded as he
stood opposite his unwanted visitor with his hands defiantly on his hips.
Once more, the Colonel straightened to his full
height, which made him easily a head taller than the major. "You are Major
Lüpertz, I presume?"
"Ja. Und?"
"Major Lüpertz, General Atzorn, who is my
direct superior, has received word that you have captured practically the
entire resistance unit of the man known as Oskar Danzig, and he commends you
for that.
"However, the General happens to know that the
lady Marya – the Russian medium – has connections with these people."
"That is no news to me. So?"
"Herr Major..." The Colonel leaned forward
a little in an attempt at confidentiality in these horrid surroundings.
"Just between the two of us, Herr Major, General Atzorn is madly in love
with this lady Marya. In fact, he wants to marry her. But General von
Weitershausen has filched her away from him, and he is desperate to get her
back. He sent me to take Danzig's people to him, so that he may personally
question them on the matter. He is certain they should be able to tell him how
to contact her."
"Hm. Then why doesn't he come here himself to
question them?"
"But Herr Major!" The Colonel looked
shocked. "The matter is far too delicate for that. No, no, these people must
be brought to his place. Now – today! And once he's done with them, he
says he'd be happy to release them back to you."
The major gave him a suspicious glare. "It
sounds awfully fishy to me. Where are your orders?"
The Colonel pulled them from his pocket, and Major
Lüpertz studied them by the light of the guard's torch. "Hm. It looks
authentic enough. At least the signature is real."
"Of course it is." Over the years, Marya
had collected dozens and dozens of authentic signatures from the big shots. And
it really didn't take all that much practice to copy them.
The major was still studying the orders.
"Still, it is highly unusual," he persisted.
"Herr Major, it is unusual because it's such an
awkward situation. It might easily lead to a scandal. And seeing that this
would involve not just the two leading military men in the Third Reich, but
even our esteemed and beloved Führer who originally promoted this Marya
wherever he could..." A significant pause. "Personally, I don't think
it would be a good idea for the General to marry this woman. But who am I to
gainsay the biggest military mind beside the Führer? Or to waylay him in his
search for the woman of his heart?"
The major looked half convinced. "Okay, I'll
let him have one of them."
"All of them," Colonel von Le Fort
insisted sternly. "My orders are very clear. I have to take all of
Danzig's associates to see the General. There is no telling which of them can
help him find this woman."
The major smirked. "Well, there's not all that
many left. We shot most of them yesterday. To set an example for other
maladjusted troublemakers in town."
"All the more reason to let me have all those
that are left. And heaven forbid that you shot the ones who did know how to
contact this woman."
The major flinched. "Alright, all of them. But
I do want them back."
"Of course." When the cows come home.
"Now will you please line them up for me?"
Major Lüpertz gestured to the guard, and together
they opened four adjoining cells.
Karl kept his face carefully placid as four human figures
were dragged out by the light of the torch – caked in blood and dirt and
unmentionables.
"Well, here you are," Major Lüpertz said.
His face got that suspicious look again. "Where are your men? Or do you
intend to guard them all by yourself?"
The Colonel sighed. "Herr Major, if you don't
believe me, why don't you call General Atzorn yourself? I'm sure he'd be
delighted to confide in you all the secrets of his personal life."
The major blushed a little, and the Colonel
continued, "And I assure you I am more than capable of handling a handful
of shackled and broken prisoners by myself. I have my gun. Now the key, if you
please."
"The key?"
"Of their handcuffs of course! How can I
shackle them to the van if I can't open their handcuffs?"
"Oh. Yes." A small key changed hands, and
the Colonel ordered, "Now quick – march! Get them upstairs and into the
truck. I don't want the General to be kept waiting any longer than
necessary."
That took some doing, but with the help from the two
guards and the major, the four men got hauled into the back of the truck and
were securely shackled to the side rail.
With a proud Heil Hitler greeting, Colonel von Le
Fort took his leave, and with a happily rumbling motor the van moved away from
the kerb to destinations unknown.
It wasn't until they had left the city behind them
that Karl pulled over and stopped the truck in a quiet spot. In the dawning
twilight he opened up the canvas flap that gave him access to the back of the
truck, and crawled into the cold space on all fours.
There was a moan to his right. He had no flashlight
to see who it was, so... "It's okay. It's me – Oskar. You're on your way
to safety."
"Oskar?" An icy cold hand sought his, and
he grabbed it. Firmly. "Didn't they get you, too?" It was Volker.
He shook his head. "No. They almost did, but I
got away. Are you okay?"
"They told me they shot you," came a
cracked voice from his left.
Karl turned to him. "Josel? Is that you?"
"Yes. I think so."
Karl heaved a sigh. "Well, I've been told by
two different Gestapo sources that they shot everyone else. Everyone but you
four."
A shallow sigh from ahead. "At least they've
been spared this hell." It was Dieter. And next to him was Berthold –
Berthold Fischer from the fish shop. He was mercifully asleep. Or unconscious.
Carefully, Karl stepped around them in search of
valuable commodities. But all he found were a few blankets, which he tucked in
around his friends with care.
"Water?" Josel whispered.
"I don't have any – I'm sorry. I'll get some at
the first open shop we pass," he promised. He got up. "We better get
going. I'll have to leave you shackled to keep up appearances in case we get
stopped. But with a bit of luck, you should be well cared for and in relative
safety before midday."
"Where are we going?" Volker inquired in a
tired voice.
"Neustadt, near Kiel," was the answer.
"And from there hopefully to Denmark."
It took some doing to convince Father Kilius that he
really was the same guy as the one who had brought seven dying retarded
children here three years ago. But Karl knew too many particulars to be
doubted, and of course the good Father was willing to help the four badly
abused men who so wholly unannounced had arrived at his doorstep.
And Karl was more than a little grateful that at
least one old friend was still where he was supposed to be.
Together, they helped the four men into the shed,
and Father Kilius washed their wounds and helped them drink some hot broth. All
but Berthold, who indeed seemed to be unconscious.
Karl helped Father Kilius to the best of his
abilities. And cleaned up and getting a little warmer, at least three of his
friends looked a little better already.
Josel pulled him down on his knees by his side.
"Oskar, what are you going to do? Will you come to Denmark with us?
I'm sure we can find a way to keep fighting from there."
Karl shook his head. "It's tempting, I admit.
But I've got some unfinished business in Berlin."
Josel's bruised eyes searched his face. "You
know who's responsible for this, don't you. Who betrayed us." It wasn't
even a question.
And Karl nodded. "But he won't get away with it
– I promise."
A shallow sigh. "Then promise me
something, too." He paused, holding his friend's eyes. "Don't do
anything stupid, okay? I'd like to see you again some day."
Karl had a sad smile. "I'll try."
After a few hours' nap in Father Kilius's easy
chair, Oskar said farewell to his friends and gave them a poste restante
address for them to drop him a line how they were doing.
However, with no one left for him in Berlin, he wasn't
quite sure what he was going to do with himself next. Danzig was certainly out
of the question, Marya had been compromised, his entire resistance team had
been eliminated or removed... What else was there in Berlin for him, other than
his taking care of Harro, and the Gestapo who by the sound of it was still
looking for him?
Well, he'd think of something. But first he ditched
the stolen Luftwaffetruck not far from the port of Rostock, changed back to his
own inconspicuous Langenscheidt persona with the help of some clothes he had
borrowed from Father Kilius, and took the train back to Berlin.
Justice?
Returning to Berlin, he got a bit of a chuckle when
he caught sight of the tabloids.
"OSKAR DANZIG IS A SHAM"
and
"Famous
Female Impersonator Is A Woman:
OSKAR – OSKARIA!"
It jumped out at the passers-by with big fat letters
on the front pages.
So that's what those two talkative Gestapo guys had
been on about. Apparently, Lüpertz had been so pissed off over his failure to
grab the 'real' Danzig, that out of spite he had sold the story of Danzig being
a female to the press. Probably to get back at the female version of Danzig,
but if Karl Langenscheidt had any insight in the mind of the public, this news
was likely to only double Danzig's popularity.
But at least it freed him from the role.
Well, good riddance. He never wanted to dress up as a woman again in his
life!
To his silent surprise, nothing had really changed
in the city. People just went on living, working and meeting over a beer as if
nothing had ever happened. But then, maybe it hadn't – not for them.
But for him, things were violently different. It
already started when he came home, turning the lock behind him and entering his
living-room.
It seemed terribly empty. Empty – and lonely.
Which was rather odd, for as a precaution, he had
never, ever had anyone over here for a visit. He knew where to find his
friends, and for him, that had been enough.
But now there was nobody left.
Nobody – except that detestable Harro Eckner.
He sank down in his favourite chair and hid his face
in his hands. Don't do anything stupid, Josel had said. Was it
stupid what he wanted to do? Or rather, what he felt compelled to do?
He felt he could cry for his friends. Benno, Olaf,
Lena, Tobias, Sanne, Kläre, Uwe – Schattner... Shot, like bloody animals.
He felt he could cry for the four he had managed to
rescue from the Gestapo, and whom he would probably never see again.
He felt he could cry for Father Werner, taken away
to Lord-knows-where, and he didn't have the faintest idea where to start
searching for him.
But boys don't cry, he had always been taught.
And focusing on being furiously, excruciatingly mad
at Harro, feeling that he could wring the guy's neck with his bare hands for
what he had done... it made it easier somehow to hold back the tears.
He decided to give it a few days, so Harro would
begin to feel safe. In the meantime, he sent a sweet little note in Marya's
name to General Rommel, explaining that she had been called away to Paris on
urgent family business, and apologizing for not being able to meet him anymore
any time soon. For even though Marya had been compromised, the damage done was
certainly not beyond recall. At least not for someone with her
connections and skills. And anyhow, her familiarity with the big brass might
still prove to be useful at a later date.
The few days pause also gave him the chance to study
up on the subject he was about to put into practice. From early morning till
late at night he sat poised over his thrillers and detectives, taking note of
every little detail that might trip the bad guy. There were bound to be other
pitfalls of course, but these mistakes at least he should be able to
consciously avoid.
He decided to put his plan into action the following
Saturday afternoon, when Harro was likely to be home after work.
So that afternoon, he dressed in the inconspicuous
dark Gestapo outfit (but put the party-pin in his pocket for now) and sat down
at his dressing table to fix his features. His hair a few shades lighter, with
some distinctive grey at the temples. A sleek comb-over. Some wax to elongate
his ears. His face a little paler, a little thinner, ending in a rather pointy
chin. Thin, narrow lips, the nose a bit smaller, defaced by an ugly inflamed
pustule. The eyebrows slightly longer and blonder, the eyes small and shrewd,
with wrinkles that sure hadn't developed from laughing. A small scar on his
stubbly neck (he hadn't shaved all week to create that effect). Sharp lines
above the nose and from the nose's wings to the corners of the mouth, and as
usual, it was a total stranger looking back at him from the mirror.
He nodded grimly to his reflection, and got up to
get his coat. The papers in his pocket, money in the other, the gloves, the
hat, today's accessory, and he was ready.
With a decisive click he pulled the front door shut
behind him. The stairs, the street. He strode down to the Königsallee at a grim
pace, and took the tram to Köpenick on the other side of Berlin. A garage was
easily found, and shortly afterwards he sought his way back to Harro's place in
a rented car, and with the party-pin proudly displayed on his tie.
And there was the house. And as the car pulled up to
the kerb, the last remnants of Karl Langenscheidt disappeared and made way for
Major Simon Schamoni.
He got out of the car, slammed the door shut and
strode up to the door of number fifty-two.
A pretty woman opened at his knock, her eyes growing
wide as they immediately noticed the tell-tale party-pin on the visitor's tie.
And under his rigid Heil Hitler greeting, Karl
suddenly wavered. He had never considered the possibility that Harro might be
married – perhaps even had kids?
But he forced himself to steel his heart. Harro had
been the cause of nearly forty families losing their loved ones. The guy didn't
deserve any compassion.
"Guten Tag, gnädige Frau," he snarled,
clicking his heels and bowing stiffly, as if being courteous and polite didn't
come easy to him. "I am looking for Herr Eckner. Is he home?"
"Yes," came Harro's wary voice from
further down the hall. And there he was. "What is it you want?"
"Herr Eckner." Another Heil Hitler
greeting – deftly returned – and more clicking of the heels. "My name is
Simon Schamoni. Major with the Brandenburg Gestapo, section two. I was referred
to you by Major Lüpertz – you know him well, I believe."
"Yes." Still wary.
"We have apprehended a man in Joachimsthal this
morning whom we have reason to believe to be the notorious resistance leader
Oskar Danzig. I have been told that you may be able to positively identify him.
This is true?"
Eckner hesitated. "I might, yes, but I can't
guarantee that I'll be able to. I've met him quite often, yes, but the man is a
master of disguises."
"But certainly you can give it a try. So I'm
here to escort you to our Joachimsthal jail. To have you try and identify this
man as Danzig."
Harro glanced at his wife. "Alright. I'll come
with you." He took his jacket down from the coat-rack and his wife helped
him into it.
"Be careful, honey," she whispered as he
buttoned up his coat.
"Sure." He kissed her on the forehead, and
followed the Major out to his car.
They drove off in silence, and it wasn't until they
had exchanged the city of Berlin for the woods of northern Brandenburg that
Schamoni opened the conversation. "I understand that you were responsible
for rolling up Danzig's entire gang."
Harro smiled a little. "That's true. Well, sort
of. I only passed on their names to Major Lüpertz. He did the rest."
"May I ask how you collected that information?
Surely you must have gone undercover and joined them to find out so many names.
I heard there were some forty people involved."
"Yes, I did join them. At Major Lüpertz's
request. I suspected one of my friends to be involved, and with some carefully
placed remarks, I got him to sound me out on whether I would like to join the
resistance movement. And of course I said yes."
So that's how it happened – Lüpertz had suspected
something, and sent in Harro to try and infiltrate. And Harro had lured someone
into introducing him. The snake, the...
"It was kind of fun actually," Harro
continued. "Danzig is a bit stuck-up of course, and he had a couple of
people around him who said 'amen' to anything he said..." (Is that how
it had come across? It certainly wasn't true...) "...But once he
accepted me and saw that I had some skills he could use, he let me participate
in their operations now and then. And believe me – even though I didn't support
their cause, blowing up things really is cool!"
Schamoni had a thin smile. "I can
imagine."
They were both silent for a moment until Schamoni
asked, " And this Danzig character – you never found out who he was?"
Harro shook his head. "I tried to follow him a
few times after his work in the theatre. But that was hopeless – there was no
knowing what he'd look like from one day to the next."
Schamoni nodded. "That's what it says in his
dossier, too. The man must be leading a double life, and maybe even more than
one. For according to our records, there is no person named Oskar Danzig."
Harro agreed. "I don't think any of his
followers knew his true identity either – not even his closest confidants. All
they knew of him was that he was the famous female impersonator. But nobody
seems to know who's behind that role either."
Schamoni raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Didn't I
read just last week that the infamous female impersonator Oskar Danzig is
really a woman?"
Harro sighed. "A trick from the real Danzig no
doubt."
"Oh? How so?"
"Well, Major Lüpertz told me that the theatre's
director insists that he had been called by some doctor from the Stadthospital
that morning, who told him that Danzig was in hospital with pneumonia. But no
calls had been made from the hospital to the theatre all day – not even in the
past three months. And the operator's logs traced the call back to a small
hotel in Charlottenburg – to a man named Kurt Hagedorn with a fake address, who
had stayed there for only that night."
"And they think this Hagedorn might have been
the real Danzig," Schamoni summarized.
"Yes. Besides, he matches the description of
one of the people who left the theatre by the stage door that night. And
according to the theatre's director, this girl who played Danzig's part was
only filling in for him because they didn't want to cancel the show. So the
real Danzig is still at large."
A thin smile. "Maybe not. And that's where you
come in today."
Harro smiled. "It'd be my pleasure."
They drove on again in silence, until Major Schamoni
turned into a metalled road leading deeper into the woods.
"Where are we going?" Harro inquired as
small stones were jostled about, hitting the fenders with irregular clangs.
"We have our special facilities in some nearly
forgotten barracks here in the woods," Schamoni explained. "Nice and
secluded, so the passers-by aren't bothered by a scream or two."
Harro paled visibly. "You mean a torture
chamber?"
"We prefer to think of it as intensive
questioning," the major replied smoothly. "But not to worry – we
won't put you on the rack."
"What r...?" Harro closed his mouth –
apparently unwilling to learn what kind of rack the major meant. Instead he
asked, "You haven't tortured him yet, have you? I mean intensive
questioning," he amended quickly.
"A little," Schamoni admitted. "So
far, he's frightfully stubborn. But that only adds to the challenge, doesn't
it?"
Harro made no reply, and looked at the dilapidated
concrete blocks up ahead among the trees. The gloomy light of a late winter
afternoon did nothing to improve the impression of death and decay.
Suddenly the car came to a halt. "Come,"
Major Schamoni told him.
They got out, and sought their way through a
veritable sea of nettles and scratchy brambles.
"Coming from Joachimstal, the place is easier
to reach from the other side," Schamoni excused their difficult approach.
And indeed, when they rounded the building, they stepped out into a large
overgrown clearing.
Harro looked around at the knee-high grass and the
muddy, unused dirt road leading off through the trees. "Not many people
coming here, are there."
"Well, Danzig does."
Harro turned back to him. "So where..."
A fierce, totally unexpected punch on the jaw sent
him reeling, until he tripped and tumbled down on his backside.
"What...?" he began to ask in askance. But looking up, straight into
the muzzle of an unwavering revolver, he knew the answer.
"You're Danzig."
"Yes."
With that, the situation seemed to have reached a
stalemate. For several awfully long minutes, neither man moved or spoke a word.
It was Harro who at last broke the silence. "So
what are you going to do – shall we remain frozen in this tableau till kingdom
comes?"
Karl made no reply. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on
his fiend, with his finger tight on the trigger... but what now? He had
visualized this, even acted it out this past week – a dozen, a hundred times.
But to really do it in practice... To shoot a man...?
Harro seemed to sense his hesitation, for slowly, he
began to get up. And saw his suspicions confirmed as Danzig stepped back.
He smiled – a little superior smile. "You're no
killer, are you."
"Hands up," was all he got in reply.
Obediently, Harro raised his hands to shoulders'
level, and slowly, he began to move toward his nemesis. "You're no killer,
Oskar," he spoke gently, inching closer and closer, forcing Karl back even
further. "I know you aren't. So why don't you put away that gun, and we
can work this out between the two of us."
Karl stepped back again. And again. He knew he was
quickly losing the upper hand in the situation, even though he was the
one holding the gun. But to actually look the guy in the eye and shoot
him...!
"Put – down – the gun, Oskar," the smooth
voice in front of him droned. "You won't shoot me. I know you won't."
His hand was trembling uncontrollably, and he placed
his left hand over the right to steady the gun. "Don't move," he
ordered shakily as Harro came yet another step closer.
The feet stopped moving forward, but now the hand
approached him – a giant, spidery hand, totally out of proportion, trying to...
"Give me the gun, Oskar."
A shot echoed off the concrete walls behind him, and
as in slow motion, Karl saw the man in front of him topple over backwards. His
eyes were mesmerized by the little hole in the jacket – a hole that was
surrounded by a quickly growing stain of bloodred.
Some rustling, a thump, and there he lay –
motionless at his feet.
Slowly, as in a trance, Karl lowered the revolver.
His eyes were still locked on that little hole with the red stain around it. It
was about the position of the heart, he distantly noted.
But the guy was still breathing, wasn't he? He
clearly heard the gasps of... No, that was his own breathing – irregular and
wheezing. The guy lying there at his feet in the long grass didn't move at all.
He must be...
He looked down at his hands. They were holding a
gun.
A gun.
He was holding a gun.
And there, at his feet...!
In a sudden panic, he shook the gun out of his hand
as if it were a snake. He hadn't... he had't...! Had he?
Without thinking, he tore off across the clearing
and into the woods – further, further from... Crashing through the undergrowth,
jumping ditches, clawing his way up on shallow hills, leaping over logs and
branches in his way, he just ran blindly on, with only one goal: to get away –
as far away as possible. Not from that place, no – from what he had done...
The woods of northern Brandenburg are extensive, and
it wasn't until he had violent spasms in his side and he was gasping for air
that he allowed himself to drop down on all fours and crawl in under a dense
rhododendron bush. And there he curled up, shutting out the world, hoping to
become invisible.
"You're no killer," Harro's voice
taunted him.
Well, now he was. He had killed a man. Shot
a man in cold blood. Knowingly and deliberately murdered a man.
"What am I turning into – a professional crook?"
he had asked Schattner at the time.
Well, now there could be no doubt anymore. Karl
Johann Langenscheidt was more than just a petty crook – he was a real criminal.
A killer. A murderer. And the fact that it had been done for justice – as a
payback for Harro being ultimately responsible for the death of nearly forty of
his friends... Somehow, that suddenly was of no importance at all anymore. All
that counted was that he – Karl Langenscheidt – had deliberately killed
a man. 'Killed' – as in 'ending a man's life'.
Suddenly the tears couldn't be stopped anymore. Don't
do anything stupid, Josel had said. Well, he had done it.
And as the floodgates opened to give an outlet for
his shame and remorse, the grief about Schattner and Father Werner and Olaf and
Tobias and all those others finally sought its way out as well. And by the time
he became aware of his surroundings again, it was dark.
Hamelburg
"Karl," she whispered, lest the other Karl
would overhear. "Karl, lie still! Stop the fidgeting – you're only making
it worse!" She struggled to hold down his shoulders, to at least keep the
body with the ugly shotwound steady, but it only made the patient more frantic.
"One of those febrile nightmares, no
doubt," Karl's gruff voice said from behind her.
"So help me to keep him still! You heard what
the doctor said!"
Karl squatted down beside her, but did nothing to
help her restrain their wounded leader. "Maryse, I bet he's been through
enough these past years to merit some horrible nightmares. Maybe you should
just... you know, hold him. Gently. Like a parent comforting a child
with a nightmare."
Maryse glanced at him. Maybe he was right. After
all, he had raised three children of his own – two of which had been killed at
the front. He'd certainly have had his share of experience with nightmares.
She released her grip on Karl's shoulders, and
hesitantly pulled him half upright in her arms.
The effect was instantaneous. He clung to her as if
he were drowning, his too slender body jerking with gasping sobs.
"Ssh," she murmured over his shoulder.
"It's okay. You're safe. Just hold on and you'll be fine."
A moan welled up from deep inside him. "I'm
sorry, Harro," Maryse made out. "I'm sorry..."
She closed her eyes and held him tight, the poor
burning head resting against her cheek.
Harro... She knew that story alright...
Stiffly, he rolled over and sat up. Where was he?
And what time was it?
The latter question was easily answered by peering
at his watch by the dark light of the night. Around half past seven, the hands
told him. Not exactly night yet.
The other question was less easy to answer.
'Somewhere in the Kienhorst Woods between north Berlin and Joachimsthal' was as
close a guess as he could get. He knew where the place was when coming
from the city. But he had no idea in what direction he had run off from there
this afternoon. Or even whether he had run in a somewhat straight line.
But no matter in what direction he had run, going
southwest should eventually bring him back to Berlin. But in these dense woods,
it was impossible to make out the stars, even in winter time, thus crushing
that option as well. Besides, the sky had been covered all day, so it was
doubtful whether there would be any stars at all tonight.
No. The best thing to do was probably to simply stay
put, and seek his way back at dawn, when at least he would have some idea where
he was going.
The night was long and chilly. Occasionally he crept
out of his hide-out and walked around a bit – to stretch his limbs and get a
little warmer.
But he always crawled back under the rhododendron
bush, for the semblance of shelter and seclusion it gave him. And there he sat,
with his knees pulled up to his chin, trying with all his might to block the
image of the little hole with the growing red stain around it from his mind.
Yet the harder he tried, the more persistently it
haunted him – enlarged, up close, zoomed in.
In a way, Harro had been smarter. He had just passed
on names, and had let Major Lüpertz take care of the dirty work. He
hadn't stood eye to eye with the people he had killed, having to pull the
trigger himself and watching blood spread from a sudden little hole in their
clothes as they fell.
He screwed his eyes shut. That fit of crying
certainly had left him much calmer. More rational. But he wasn't sure whether he'd
ever be able to live with himself again...
When dawn came, he crawled out of his hiding place,
and set off cross country in what was an approximately southwestern direction,
until he found sandy track heading the same way.
That is – until he passed a farmer who openly stared
at him, and then quickly walked on.
What – ? Was it written on his forehead that he had
killed a man?
No – good heavens! Of course, his make-up! Crying
wasn't the wisest thing to do in make-up in the first place, and brushing at your
tears was about the biggest no-no there was. He probably looked enough of a
fright to scare a scarecrow.
There were indeed a few whitish smears on his gloves
and his sleeves. Which meant he really had to find a mirror before he could get
back to civilization. Even the rearview mirror in the car would do.
The thought stopped dead in its tracks. The car – he
had to go and pick up the car! That was one of the not so little
mistakes that could give you away: leaving your belongings at the scene of the
crime. Okay, the car wasn't technically his, but if the police were a little
determined, they might trace the man renting it back to his apartment building.
Not a good idea. So much for his studying up on the small
mistakes...
And he suddenly remembered another not so little
mistake: he had dropped the gun before he had run off. He was absolutely
certain there were no fingerprints on it – he had thoroughly cleaned it
beforehand, and never taken off his gloves yesterday – but still...
Which meant he was now obliged to do the one thing
that often became the downfall of the villains in the books: he had to return
to the scene of the crime.
He didn't want to. He really didn't want to.
He'd much rather avoid the place by a hundred square miles.
But apparently it could not be helped. He had to go
back there to pick up the car and the gun. That is of course, if the police
hadn't been there before him. And if he could find the place at all...
He wandered on in an approximate southwestern
direction, avoiding human contact (not that many people would venture into
these woods on a chilly Sunday morning in January), and debating with himself
whether or not he should simply turn himself in to the police.
When he passed a small lake that lay there as smooth
as a mirror, he took out the few sticks of make-up he carried and squatted down
at the margin to fix his features. The result sure wasn't perfect, but at least
he wouldn't scare the living daylights out of people anymore.
Now that he was presentable again, he sought his way
back to the nearest path or road. Only to discover that he knew this
road – he had come out maybe half a kilometer past the turn-off to the
place.
So he crossed the road and made his way back to the
deserted barracks through the woods.
All was quiet there. Dreadfully quiet. No sound but
that of the rustling leaves and cracking dead twigs under his own boots.
Had they found Harro yet? Were they lying in wait
for the killer to come and pick up his car and his gun?
The car was still there – he could clearly make it
out on the path.
But to retrieve the gun, he'd have to go around to
the other side of the barracks. Past Harro's body – his dead body, with
the tell-tale little hole in it.
But first he crouched down behind some bare bushes. First
he wanted to know if the place was being watched. With policemen patrolling and
taking pictures and samples and everything.
He waited half an hour. An hour. An hour and a half.
Two. But nothing moved around him, save for the branches in the breeze and an
occasional bird or small animal in the dead leaves on the ground.
And finally, finally he mustered up the courage to
go and take a look.
Carefully he stuck to the trail of crushed and
broken nettles they had made the day before. Sherlock Holmes may still be able
to deduce that someone had taken that path again much later, but fortunately
Mr. Holmes didn't work for the Berlin police.
As he came to the side of the building, he slowed
down more and more. What if Harro hadn't really been dead, and was now waiting
for him in an ambush to jump him on the neck?
He shuddered, and brought back the image of the
little hole and the motionless man at his feet. No doubt about it – he had been
dead.
The knowledge still didn't stop the shudders as he
reluctantly inched his way to the corner of the building. A deep breath,
closing his eyes for a moment, and... Good Lord, what...?
His stomach turned, trying to throw up its contents.
But after twenty-four hours without food, there wasn't much left in there to
throw up.
He spat out the bitter juices in his mouth, and
cautiously, warily looked again.
It was true. It wasn't his imagination. There, in
the flattened long grass, lay a bloody carcass – eaten bare to the bone.
The wolves, he realized. Or other beasts of prey that
lived here in these woods. Oh God, this wasn't what he had intended...!
Then again – what had he intended to do with
the body?
He realized now that – for the first time in years –
he hadn't quite thought his plan through. He had been so intent on shooting
Harro that all his plans had stopped cold at the moment that would have been
accomplished.
But even now – even if it hadn't been ravaged
by the wolves – even now he shied away from the thought of handling, even
touching a dead body to bury it properly. Not to mention having to do so in
yesterday's panic.
But all in all, he still had to go past the hideous
bloody carcass to fetch the gun. So he took a deep breath, estimated the
distance, screwed his eyes shut and edged his way along the rough walls of the barracks.
Peering through his eyelashes – yes, he made it.
Now he had to look for the gun, and preferably
without looking at the carcass.
Luck was with him – it lay but a few feet to his
right. And picking it up, he also noticed the glimmer of the spent cartridge a
little further off. With those things out of the way, and with the body in such
a state, his pragmatic self argued that it would be practically impossible for
the police to even suspect that the man had been shot before the wolves
got to him. Let alone prove it.
Another deep breath, eyes screwed shut, and he edged
back along the wall until he had rounded the corner of the building.
"I'm sorry, Harro," he breathed.
And he really, really was.
In the end, he didn't turn himself in. He kept
telling himself that he would as soon as there would be a mention of a man
found in the woods of Kienhorst, ravaged by wolves.
But it remained strangely quiet. Almost as if it had
never happened. Almost as if no one cared.
But he knew all too well that there was someone who
cared. Someone who had probably lived in fearful anxiety ever since her husband
hadn't come home from his trip with this Major Schamoni to go and identify
Oskar Danzig.
At last he simply couldn't stand it anymore. He
didn't have the guts to go and tell her in person, but at least he could end
her limbo by letting her know that her husband was dead.
Aware of the many pitfalls when making a message out
of newspaper letters, he made sure he never touched any of the papers without
gloves, and he burnt all the leftovers in the stove as soon as he was done.
And sometime during that night, a woman sneaked up
to Harro's house, and left a short, clipped out message in its mailbox. 'Your
husband is dead. My condolances,' it read.
A few days later he could finally collect the letter
he'd been waiting for himself. Carefully worded as one had to do nowadays,
Josel brought both good and bad tidings.
'Dear Friend,
Finally a word from us. And I have to start with bad
news: B didn't make it. He finally passed away yesterday, without ever waking
up. He will have found peace now, and happiness in the reunion with his wife
and his children.
We others have recovered pretty well. V has returned
to Germany, to go and live with relatives in S. D and I have decided to stay
here for now, helping new arrivals to settle in, and to help our new friends to
find fosterhomes for them. The language is quite a barrier, but we're learning.
I hope everything is alright with you? Let me know
how you handled that problem we last spoke about if you can. If you should get
yourself into trouble now, we won't even be able to return the huge favour you
did us the last time, so please, be careful!
We do miss our homes and our old friends, though
somehow none of what happened seems to be quite real. Maybe we are too far from
our old lives to truly realize what has happened. Or maybe we just don't want
to think about it. But we'll be fine, I'm sure.
Please let us know how you are faring. You can
contact us by poste restante in Rödby.
Take care, my friend, and thank you for everything.
May God bless any path you take.
Your friends.'
Slowly, Karl lowered the letter and stared out of
the window. Of course Josel wanted to know what he had done about the
'problem'. His words at the time – 'Don't do anything stupid' – clearly
indicated that he had suspected what his friend was planning, and didn't
particularly approve of it.
Yet he had done it.
Or had he?
Sometimes he seriously wondered if indeed he had
done it. Shot and killed Harro Eckner, and finding his body ravaged by wolves
the next day. If it hadn't been just a nightmare. A dream. Not real.
Granted, the place wasn't exactly as busy as central
Berlin. It could be a while before someone took that path to those disused and
dilapidated barracks again, especially at this time of year.
But surely his wife must have reported his going
missing? After all, it wasn't like he'd been swiped off 'in Nacht und Nebel'
for Nazi purposes, which they always hushed up.
So why hadn't some large scale search been launched?
Like they usually did when people went missing? And Major Schamoni had
mentioned Joachimsthal in her presence, so they did have something to go on.
Occasionally he even toyed with the unbearable
thought that he'd been wrong. That Harro's cooperation with the Gestapo had
been a ruse, a smokescreen, and that they had uncovered his deceit and were
actually content to be rid of him. It would explain why there was no public
search for him, but it didn't make any sense at all for Harro's own role in
this. For if he was a double agent, who really worked against the
Gestapo, then what good would it do for him to turn in an entire resistance
group?
All in all, Karl Langenscheidt became a bit of a
recluse after all this. He still went out for groceries of course, but the rest
of his time he spent pacing his apartment, morbidly reliving the horror of his
undetected crime. If only there'd be a few lines in the paper – just
to give him some semblance of closure...!
Until one afternoon, when he felt he was slowly
going crazy with nothing to do, and decided to throw out all his female
clothing. After all, if he were never to dress up as a woman again, what did he
need those for?
It felt incredibly good to tear those hated
female clothes off their hangers and stuff them in boxes. Karl Langenscheidt
was a male, and he wanted to know it, too!
But when he came to Marya's many evening dresses, he
hesitated. Some of the ones he had gotten from Marya's big shot admirers were
really beautiful. Couldn't he... Shouldn't he... like... save them for his
future wife?
As he pondered how to explain these dresses to a
possible wife, he was suddenly flooded by an overwhelming longing to settle
down somewhere. Somewhere quiet – a small house in the country, with a loving
wife and a few children and a dog and a coopful of chickens... Just living
together, in peace and quiet. As if today's horrid problems never existed.
He heaved a sigh and sank down on the footend of his
bed. Perhaps what he needed was a break. Just to get away from it all for a
while.
And what better place to go than the carefree
vacation home of his childhood?
A note to his uncle was quickly dispatched, and the
reply arrived by return post: of course he was welcome to come and stay with
him for as long as he wished! Just let him know with which train he'd arrive,
and he'd be there to meet him.
A nearly forgotten warmth spread in him. It had been
way too long – three years in fact – since he had last seen his godfather. Or
any of his family for that matter.
Maybe it was time for the prodigal son to return
home. To leave the big bad city behind – a place where he had no friends left.
Perhaps he could find that small house in the country, and find a wife, and
settle down there and have a few children and so forth. He still had the gold
in his old Swiss account – that should be more than enough to buy himself that
little cottage of his dreams.
Thinking equalled doing in this case. So he gave his
notice to the landlord, packed up his belongings (and in the end decided to
keep much of the female stuff for that future wife anyway), sent it off to be
stored in Düsseldorf for now, and met his uncle at Hamelburg station on a
Friday afternoon in mid February.
As they looked the other over before they had their
traditional bearhug, both uncle and nephew noticed that the other had gotten
visibly older these past years. Maybe the uncle noted it most acutely. But he
didn't say anything – not yet. If his godson wanted to talk about it, he would
– in time.
Karl settled into his old room, and came down to the
kitchen to a hearty supper.
"We've got to rush a bit," Uncle Frank
said. "I've got a wedding to perform in forty-five minutes. Come to think
of it – you're a legal adult now, aren't you? Would you mind being a witness? I
believe we're still one short."
Karl chuckled. "Do I know them at all?"
"Not likely. They just moved here. Actually,
they pretty much eloped. For he is Jewish, and the girl's parents are dead set
against them marrying."
Karl heaved a sigh. "Can't blame them under the
circumstances. A friend of mine in Berlin was married to a Jewish girl, too.
They were all taken out and shot." He visibly repressed a shudder, and
immediately felt his uncle's kind, searching eyes on him.
"You can talk to me, Karl. You know that, don't
you?"
He nodded without looking up. "Maybe
later."
His attending the wedding that night turned out to
be important in that it got him straight back into his old business of helping
Jews to get out of the country. For only a few weeks after the wedding, he was
only just in time to help the groom get away from the Gestapo. But when
the guy pretty much seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and
his young wife was being continuously harassed by the Gestapo as to where her
husband was hiding, he ended up helping her deal with the menace and they
became close friends. So close in fact, that when Magda shortly afterwards
discovered that her husband had gotten her with child before he had had to
flee, the town was convinced that Karl was the father, even though he had never
touched the woman.
In the meantime he had found his little dream
cottage in the woods south of Hamelburg. Besides, it felt good to stay close to
his uncle, so he had bought it and moved in there. It was nice and secluded,
too – an ideal base for destructive raids on registrar's offices where all the
information on people's descent was kept.
But as it goes, one thing led to another. Soon he
had gathered a few people around him with whom he once again did everything
they could manage to thwart the Nazis and help innocent people to get to
safety. At least Hamelburg had the distinct advantage of being close to the
border, making it so much easier for people to get out before they were grabbed
by the Gestapo.
Mostly out of habit, he only ever met these new
friends in disguise, and under the name of Oskar Danzig. But he was adamant
this time that he wanted to keep the group small – to give him the chance to
really get to know everyone.
One of these people however was his playmate from
childhood, Udo Steinmetz. Having spent all his school holidays in Hamelburg
before he was old enough to work in the factory, he had made a few friends
here, too, at the time. Of course he hadn't seen Udo for many, many years. But
as Oskar Danzig, he always had to be a little extra alert around him, in order
not to let slip anything that would give away his true identity to his
childhood companion.
Meanwhile he became aware that it would be a good
idea to have some funds flowing in again, too. Trying to get a job as an
'ordinary' actor met with as little success as ever. Throwing out a cautious
feeler about Oskar Danzig however led to the usual fervent enthusiasm, and
immediately the theatres were fighting again to engage him.
It was a bit risky of course, with the Berlin
Gestapo being onto the famous impersonator equalling a notorious resistance
leader. But he was fortunate enough to have a reliable source of information in
the local Gestapo headquarters, where Monika (the eldest of Hasso the miller,
one of his new resistance team) worked as a secretary. Having access to all
files, she could assure him there was no national wanted notice out for Oskar
Danzig. Apparently they limited their search to the Berlin area, or – although
less likely – they had given up altogether.
So as long as he stayed away from Berlin, and Monika
kept an eye on things at Gestapo headquarters, he should still be able to make
the necessary money out of his fame.
And with a sigh he resumed the job he thought he had
sworn off for good. Oh well, at least it was easy money. An extremely well paid
job that would allow him not only to cover his own expenses, but also to help
Magda provide for her coming baby, as well as for Jews and others to get out of
the country.
And in hindsight, it was a good thing that he did go
back to his old job. For if he hadn't, he might never have met the love of his
life...
Maryse
"Maryse?"
Still cradling her loved one in her arms, she looked
up into Karl's concerned eyes.
"I really can't stay any longer. Will you be
alright on your own? Or shall I ask one of the others to come out here?"
She shook her head, and carefully lowered their
burning hot leader down onto the sofa again. "I'll be fine. I can wait for
Papa Bear here." Her eyes darted back to the highly feverish man on the
old sofa. He had calmed down from that nightmare, yes, but... "I just hope
he will be fine, too..."
An encouraging hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure
he will be. Our Oskar is as strong as a bull."
A weak smile was all he got in return, and with another
encouraging nod he left the dilapidated house to go to work.
And Maryse went back to changing the cold cloths on
the patient's forehead, chest and neck. They seemed to have little effect, for
her Karl was really burning up. But since there was nothing else she could do
for him, she just kept exchanging the cloths. Just to do something to
help him – anything. For even reducing the fever by half a degree might
just make the difference between...
Suddenly she lost all self-control and burst out in
violent tears. In despair, she fell down on her knees beside the low sofa and
cradled the sweaty, feverish head in her arms again. "Karl... Oh, Karl, please...!
Please don't die on me!"
Her hot tears mingled with the perspiration
trickling down his redhot face. They soaked the cool cloth on his forehead as
well. But she had to – somehow she had to get it through to his
unresponsive mind that she couldn't face that ordeal again. First Oskar – and
now...?
Her mind screamed...
She remembered that day as if it were yesterday –
the first time they met. She had been working as a cloakroom attendant at the
theatre in Duisburg since the summer, and had been severely disappointed (to
put it mildly) to learn that the theatre had engaged something as cheap as that
notorious female impersonator Oskar Danzig for the holiday season. No doubt the
shows would be sold out without exception – but what kind of morals did it show
her employers to have?
She had discussed the matter at some length with her
seasonal colleague Helga Lindner – there was little else for them to do during
the hours of the show, when their sole responsibility lay in the guarding of
inanimate coats and hats.
"What decent guy would ever even consider such
a career?" she had poned.
Young Helga's reply had been unusually thoughtful.
"Maybe it was out of despair. You know, with the depression and no job and
all that. If he knew he was good at this sort of thing... For I bet he's making
a lot of money."
"I'm sure he is. Those famous guys always
do." She had sighed. "But really, I wouldn't want to see his show if
I got money into the bargain. A guy dressing up as a woman – yuck!"
Helga had grimaced. "Well, I do suppose he is a
bit... you know – odd. I can't see a real man doing this kind of thing,
no matter how desperate his situation."
To that, she had whole-heartedly agreed.
As cloakroom attendants however, they had absolutely
nothing to do with the performers, so it was a bit of a surprise one day when
during the break between the matinee and the early prime time show a strange
creature exited the auditorium, and looked around as if searching for someone.
Helga peered at the figure. In every way that
mattered it looked like a woman – only she didn't move as a woman.
The woman who wasn't quite a woman now came in their
direction, and when she came closer, Helga recognized the face from the posters
– it was Oskar Danzig himself!
She cast a quick glance behind her, but Maryse was
busy checking the cloakroom tickets in the back of the room.
And there was Danzig. In full fig, with make-up and
clothes and wig and all – only the high heels were replaced by comfortable
slippers. Yet he really did not look like a woman.
"Fräulein, do you happen to know where I may
find Herr Direktor Künneke?"
She smiled despite everything. "I haven't seen
him tonight, but he might be in his office," she replied.
"Upstairs, right?"
"Yes. Second door to the left."
"Thank you." He turned and crossed the
hall with long, very unfeminine strides.
"Was that the Danzig guy?" she heard
Maryse ask behind her while the man in question took the stairs two steps at a
time.
"Sure was." Helga chuckled. "And he
doesn't look like a woman at all. If you ask me, that show is one big
hoax."
They shared a grin, and went on with their work.
Only to look up when swift footsteps on the stairs echoed through the hall
again. Echoes that stopped so abruptly that the lady-guy causing them nearly
came tumbling down the last few steps – he caught himself just in time.
Maryse watched him skeptically as he slowly made his
way back to the auditorium. With him being so engrossed in looking their way
that he walked right into the wall, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the two
ladies.
"And that is supposed to be the
superstar," Maryse commented wryly once he had disappeared.
Work went on as usual after that, and it took
several days for the younger, more romantic minded Helga to discover a new
pattern in their customers.
Most of the regular workers of the theatre left
their coats and hats in their care as well. And since a few days, a person had
been added to the little group that arrived well before the first show, and
didn't pick up their coats until after all the public had left the building.
"I think it's him," she whispered
under her breath as Maryse had given out one of the last coats to a dark,
thirtyish young man with striking blue eyes.
"Who?"
"The guy who just came to collect his coat. I
think it's Oskar Danzig himself!"
"So?" Maryse glanced in the direction her
latest customer had walked off to. He was just pulling open the heavy door to
the auditorium again. But looking in their direction, he raised his hand in a
hesitant greeting, and Maryse gave him a cool nod in reply.
Helga hadn't missed the exchange of course, and a
radiant smile lit up her features. "If you ask me, he's absolutely smitten
with you!"
Maryse raised her eyebrows. "A guy like that?
Don't be silly."
"But how else would you explain that he nearly
fell down the stairs when he first set eyes on you? And then walked into the
wall? He certainly wasn't that clumsy a few minutes before that, when he came
to ask for Herr Direktor Künneke. And ever since that day, he suddenly began to
leave his coat and hat here, and it's getting rather obvious that he's making
sure that I'm busy and you're not when he comes to collect his stuff, so that you
are the one who will attend him!" she concluded in triumph.
"Don't be silly," Maryse repeated curtly.
"And besides, even if he was interested in me, I assure you I'm not the
least bit interested in him."
"It is a bit gross, yes," Helga admitted.
"A female impersonator? But I think he's rather cute as himself.
And you don't have a boy-friend, do you?"
The pained expression that crossed her colleague's
face caught Helga by surprise. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I
didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
Maryse took a deep breath and forced her lips into a
conciliatory smile. "It's okay. You didn't know."
"Didn't know what?" Helga hesitantly pressed
on. "Do you mean you do have a boy-friend?"
"I did have one," Maryse told her, her
voice strangely quiet. "We were engaged to be married. But he got killed
in an accident at work, less than two weeks before the wedding."
Helga gasped. "That must have been awful!"
Maryse shrugged a little. "It's been nearly
five years now. You learn to live with it. I just... haven't been able to get
interested in other men yet." She grimaced. "And definitely not in a
man who goes around parading as a woman every night."
Nothing more was said on the subject, but Helga made
sure she kept an eye on the situation. The pattern indeed kept up, day after
day, but perhaps she had been wrong in calling it to Maryse's attention. For as
soon as Danzig approached the cloakroom, Maryse's professional friendly smile
froze on her face, and she always dealt with the guy as quickly as possible, in
an icy politeness that would not allow one word to pass her lips that was not
strictly necessary.
Danzig in turn never said much either, though he
regularly gave the impression that he'd very much like to. Clearly the poor guy
was intimidated by Maryse's iceberg attitude, and instead he contented himself
with letting his eyes follow and admire her every move.
Until one evening when Helga was holding the fort
alone, when instead of just collecting his coat and hat and leave, he came to
lean on the cloakroom counter and asked – very casually, "Isn't
your colleague here tonight?"
Helga smiled – men were so transparent. "No,
it's her night off," she informed him.
"Ah." An awkward pause. "She um...
she isn't spoken for, or...?" Nonchalance itself, albeit rather
floundering. "I mean... a boy-friend or something. Or does she? Have one,
I mean?"
It did seem a bit out of line to tell him about the
dead fiancé, so... "Not that I know of."
"Ah. Good." He remained silent, but stayed
where he was, letting his eyes roam over the near empty hall as if to search
for inspiration.
"How was the show tonight?" Helga inquired
at last.
"Fine," was the absent-minded reply.
She decided to put the cat among the pigeons.
"For you are Oskar Danzig, aren't you?"
That certainly got a reaction out of him. "How
did you know?"
She chuckled. "Rather obvious really. When a
man dressed as a woman comes to ask for the director, and when he nearly falls
down the stairs the moment he lays eyes on my colleague, followed by walking
into the wall because he's looking at her instead of where he's going...
When from that day on, an unknown guy who is not a regular worker here begins
to leave his coat and hat in the cloakroom, making sure it's always my
colleague's turn to attend him... And even though they barely exchange a word,
he just can't keep his eyes off her... Yeah, I'd say it's fairly obvious that
you must be the same guy as the one who walked into the wall and nearly fell
down the stairs."
A sheepish grin crossed the guy's face. "You're
right – if you put it like that, I suppose it is fairly obvious." A sigh.
"It's just..." A shake of the head. "There's just something
about her, you know – something really special. And apart from that, she's
absolutely gorgeous..."
Helga smiled. This only confirmed that the guy was
absolutely potty about Maryse. For although her colleague certainly wasn't
ugly, she would never have imagined anyone using the word 'gorgeous' to
describe her appearance. Oh well, one can't argue about taste...
But Danzig claimed her attention again. "Does
she know, too? Who I am, I mean?"
"Of course she does."
Another sigh. "That might explain why she is
acting to rebuffing towards me." He looked up. "Has she said anything
to that effect perhaps?"
Helga nodded. "And I'm afraid it wasn't very
flattering."
Danzig scowled and looked away.
"But you've been doing this work for
years," Helga pointed out. "Surely she's not the first lady to be put
off because you dress up as a woman every night."
"That's true, but usually it doesn't bother me.
I have my own reasons for doing this." He raked his fingers through his
dark hair with a sigh. "Things just get a little complicated when the
woman of your dreams judges you by your not so respectable job as well."
Helga had a knowing smile. "How do you know
she's the woman of your dreams? You barely know her."
"She doesn't know me either, and yet
she's adamant that she doesn't like me." There was something accusatory in
his tone.
Suddenly, Helga had an idea. "Then why don't
you try and change her mind?"
He gave her a flabbergasted look. "How? She
won't even talk to me, and whenever I try to say something, I get completely
tongue-tied under that icy glare of hers."
"So write to her instead." Helga's face
lit up at a sudden inspiration. "You could start courting her – the
old-fashioned way! You know, leaving her little presents and notes and flowers
and stuff. Maybe walking her home later on. That sort of thing. Girls usually
love that."
Danzig perked up a bit. "That's an idea.
Anything special you know that she likes?"
Helga thought for a moment, but truth was she hadn't
known Maryse all that long and she couldn't really come up with anything.
"Alright, I'll think of something.
Only..." He hesitated. "Do you think it would be okay if you told me
her name?"
Helga saw no problem in that. "Her name is
Gotthardt. Maryse Gotthardt."
"Maryse?" Danzig raised his eyebrows at
the unfamiliar name. "M-A-R-I-..."
"M-A-R-Y-S-E," Helga corrected him.
"And I'm Helga, just in case you'd like to know."
An embarrassed grin was her reply. "Sorry. I'm
not exactly courteous to you tonight, am I?"
And Helga chuckled in return. "Don't worry, I
understand. Now you just go courting that colleague of mine, because believe it
or not, no matter how cold she's been treating you so far, she really is a very
nice girl. So go for it!"
Truce
The following day, the courting started officially. Unnoticed
by everyone, someone had left a tiny little boucquet of flowers on the
cloakroom counter. They were tied together with a red ribbon and carried a
small card. 'To Fräulein Gotthardt, the most beautiful girl in all of
Germany.'
"Sweet," Helga commented, faking
ignorance. "Looks like you've got an admirer."
Maryse sighed. "That Danzig guy no doubt. He's
just changing tactics."
Well, one could hardly expect instant success, so
Helga watched with interest how her colleague reacted to a small bag of candy
the next day, followed by a keyring with an M, a sweet postcard with a ladybug,
a fluffy little teddy-bear the size of her little finger, a piece of vanilla
fudge in the shape of a heart, more flowers, this time with a little note
describing in some detail why he thought her so lovely...
Maryse's reactions varied from being plain irritated
to being involuntarily pleased, and Helga was eagerly looking forward to her
own night off. Surely Herr Danzig wouldn't pass up the chance to talk to his
sweetheart in private!
And in spite of the occasional irritation she
expressed, the little attentions at least seemed to have mollified Maryse a
little towards her admirer. Now if only she'd let go of that frostiness of hers
whenever she set eyes on him...
Danzig seemed indeed to have been thinking along the
same lines, for he was rather early to come and collect his coat and hat that
night. And once that had been attended to, he attempted to further the
conversation with the same line he had used on Helga the week before.
"Isn't your colleague here tonight?"
He got literally the same answer, too. "No,
it's her night off." Though without the smile Helga had granted him at the
time.
"Ah." He looked down at his hands,
fumbling with his hat. "Did you..." A breath for courage before
rushing out, "Did you get your present today?"
"Yes, I did. Thank you. I love chocolate."
He looked up with the beginning of a smile at those
hope ingiving words – only to freeze to the spot as he became aware of the
stern expression on the face of his dreamgirl.
Maryse leaned over the counter a little, to keep
their conversation as private as possible. "Look, Herr Danzig, we both
know what you're getting at with those presents and stuff. And I'm flattered
that you like me so much, but it's not going to work. I'm just not interested.
So you better quit this courting nonsense before it gets embarrassing."
There, that came out pretty well. She'd been rehearsing that little speech all
night...
Meanwhile, Danzig's face displayed both hurt and
indignation. "Not interested – my foot! You've never even given me a
chance – you're merely judging by appearances! How can you insist you're not
interested when you know absolutely nothing about me?"
"I know that you like to dress up as a
woman."
An exasperated sigh. "I don't 'like' to
dress up as a woman. It's merely my job."
"Some job," Maryse sneered. "What
kind of guy would pursue a career like that?"
All shyness forgotten, he leaned in over the
counter, making her instinctively back away a little. "The kind of guy who
uses the talent God has given him to raise money to help innocent people who
got into trouble through no fault of their own," he hissed at her in
anger.
"Oh, right." Maryse raised a mocking
eyebrow. "Is that a new eufemism for saying you've got a few illegitimate
children to provide for?"
The moment the words had left her mouth, she knew
she had gone too far. Danzig all but bounced back – he was absolutely livid.
But before she could open her mouth to apologize, he
snapped with barely controlled fury, "You got yourself some company
walking home tonight, Fräulein." With that, he turned on his heel and
stalked away, leaving his coat and hat on the counter as a threatening promise
that he'd be back.
Maryse hid her face in her hands for a moment. What
on earth had possessed her to say such an awful thing?
She knew she had some talent for biting sarcasm – it
had gotten her into enough trouble over the years. But this had been plain
insulting. You don't go around accusing people at random, and especially not
about such sensitive stuff as illegitimate children – how low was that? And
totally unfounded as well!
She sighed. And now she could look forward to a good
scolding – or worse: an angry wordfight – of a good twenty minutes duration. But
perhaps if she apologized right away, perhaps it would take the worst of the
wind out of his sails. He might even reconsider the walking home with her that
way.
It turned out she had some time for remorse, for
Herr Danzig didn't show his face again until the caretaker came around to lock
up the place. He took his coat and hat without a word, waited till she got
hers, and they left the building together in an icy silence.
Before the key had turned in the lock behind them,
Maryse jumped at her task. "I'm sorry, Herr Danzig. I'm really sorry for
what I said back there. It was totally uncalled for, and nothing you ever said
or did to me would justify my saying such awful things. It just slipped from my
mouth without thinking. I'm really sorry."
He eyed her quizzically. "Why do you hate me so
much that you automatically assume the worst of me?" he asked, his
previous anger totally gone.
Maryse looked away. 'Hate' wasn't quite the word for
it, but... "You know why."
"Because I dress up as a woman for work."
"Yes."
He sighed. "Believe me, Fräulein, I'm well
aware that it's not the most respectable trade in the world. But as I said, I
have my reasons to stick with it, even though I don't exactly enjoy the
work." He looked around. "By the way, which way do we go? I have no
idea where you live, so you're going to have to lead the way."
Maryse nodded to the right, and they set off
together in silence.
"So why do you do it?" she asked as
they had walked on for several minutes without exchanging a single word.
He glanced at her. "Do you recall the
Kristallnacht?"
She shuddered involuntarily. "More than I care
to recall."
Her reaction was sufficient for Danzig to know that
she was no staunch defender of the Nazi ideologies. "I've been living in
Berlin these past years," he told her quietly. "And on a smaller
scale, things like that had been going on there for years. Some of my best
friends there were Jews..." He paused to gauge her reaction, but he got
none. "...And no matter what the propaganda ministry says, they're perfectly
normal, friendly people."
"I know." Maryse sighed. "So were our
next door neighbours. But that night... I don't know. They were taken away, I
think. We haven't seen them since. And the place was completely trashed."
Danzig nodded in understanding. "That's what's
been happening in Berlin, too. And I couldn't just stand by and watch. So I
started helping Jews and others to get out of the country. But the only way to
raise the money to do that is for me to stay on as the famous Oskar Danzig.
Theatres are outbidding themselves to engage him, and in doing so, they provide
me with the means to help innocent people to get to safety. And that's the only
reason Oskar Danzig hasn't been buried in oblivion yet. No matter how much I'd
prefer to do just that, because for myself, I'd much rather work as an ordinary
actor."
She looked up at him. "Now I feel even more
awful about what I said. Can you ever forgive me?"
He smiled a little. "Don't you worry – I've
already forgiven you. There was no way you could be aware of the truth,
so..." He sighed. "Your words just hit a bit too close to home at
this particular moment. I'm helping a friend of mine in my hometown at the
moment. She married a Jew, but the Gestapo came after him, so he had to go into
hiding. We completely lost track of him – he might well be dead. But shortly
after he left, my friend realized that she was with child. His child of
course. But since I'd been around her place a lot to help her after he left,
the town is convinced that it's my child she's carrying."
Maryse couldn't help a chuckle. "Uh-oh..."
"Uh-oh indeed." He sighed. "The baby
is due any day now, and I suspect they'll need some financial support, too, for
a while." Another sigh. "It simply means that I can't quit as Oskar
Danzig just yet. Too many people are dependent on the money he brings in."
"I understand." She wondered how many
people he was talking about, but it wouldn't do to ask.
They walked on again in silence, until Danzig
suddenly pleaded, "I do hope you will keep all this to yourself though.
May I... Can I rely on your discretion not to mention any of this to anyone?
Not even to your parents, or your best friends?"
She nodded. "Not a word. I promise."
A grateful glance in her direction. "Thank
you."
"There is one more thing I'm curious about
though."
"Yes?"
"I understand why you kept Danzig going, and
why he still can't quit performing. But how did he come about in the first
place? How did you become famous as a female impersonator?"
Danzig chuckled with embarrassment. "Well, to
go back to the very beginning: I was cajoled into it by my friend in
order to raise the money for us to go to an important football match." He
paused for the hilarity that statement always caused, and then continued to
relate briefly how a talent scout had picked him up, how he'd been performing
in a hotel in the city during the holidays, and how he had hoped to bury Oskar
Danzig in oblivion once he was called into service, but was forced to revive
him in order to pay for his mother's stay at the sanatorium. "And after
she died, it simply expanded into helping others with the money I made."
She nodded. "I understand. But what did your
parents say?"
Danzig shrugged. "I've never known my father – he
was killed in the war before I was even born. And my mother... I made her
believe I was working in a fancy hotel. I never told her the truth. And no, I'm
pretty sure she would not have approved. The rest of the family – my sisters –
don't know any better either. It's one of the reasons why I try to keep Oskar
Danzig and my true identity completely separate. They'd be mortified if they'd
ever find out."
She snickered. "I can imagine."
He looked at her. "So – do you still hate me?
Or...?"
She looked up. "No. I don't hate you. In fact,
I believe I even admire you for sacrificing your own wishes in order to help
others."
He grinned. "That sounds a lot better."
"Still," she felt obliged to point out.
"That doesn't mean I'm head over heels in love with you. But at least I
wouldn't object to getting to know you better now."
"And that's all I ask for now." His eyes
glittered in the light of a nearby lantern. "I can accept it if you don't
like me once you've taken the trouble to get to know me. But just dismissing me
out of hand because of my job – no." He chuckled. "I just couldn't
accept that when I like you so much myself."
Maryse sighed. "It wasn't just that, you
know."
"What then?" He stopped walking to search
her face. She seemed rather pale, but maybe it was just the light.
Maryse kept her eyes carefully averted as she took a
deep breath for courage – and another. And another. "It's your name.
Oskar," she confessed at last.
"What about it?" he asked gently.
And finally, she looked up into his concerned eyes.
"You've been very straight with me tonight, Herr Danzig, so I feel I owe
it to you to be straight with you in return. I..." She faltered, but
started again. "A few years ago, I was engaged to be married. But less
than two weeks before the wedding, my fiancé was killed in an accident during
the construction of the Autobahn between Düsseldorf and Köln. His name..."
A difficult gulp. "His name was Oskar."
Silence.
"I understand," Danzig spoke at last.
"Or I think I do. You resent me for using his name."
She shook her head. "Not just you – anyone. I
know it's silly. It's quite a common name after all, but..."
"It's not silly. It's quite logical, I
think." He paused for a moment. "Tell you what – I think it can be
remedied quite easily in this case. After all, Oskar Danzig is only a
stagename. So why don't you think of me as Karl instead?"
"Karl?" She sounded puzzled.
"Yes, Karl. It's my real name. And you're only
the third person on this planet to learn that Oskar Danzig's real name is
Karl."
She stared at him in surprise. "Then who are
the other two? You said your mother didn't know, and..."
He smiled. "One is my best friend from
childhood – the one who got me into this mess. The other is my bank manager.
Both have been sworn to secrecy, so I'm going to ask you, too, to promise never
to use that name in public, okay? There you'd better stick with Herr Danzig if
you want to avoid calling me Oskar. But under the circumstances, I wouldn't
mind being Karl for you in private."
She blinked away a tear, moved as she was at the
lengths he would go to to spare her pain. "Thank you... Karl."
A warm smile. "You're welcome."
"And you may as well call me Maryse."
He nodded. "Thank you... Maryse." He took
her hand for a moment and squeezed it gently as in reassurance. "And now
that we understand each other, how much further to where you live? I must say I
don't like the thought of you having to walk this far through the city every
night after midnight. And on your own?"
She found a chuckle. "Actually, we made a bit
of a detour tonight. It's really only twenty minutes. And Helga – my colleague
– lives in this direction, too, so we usually walk together."
And Danzig smirked. "May I conclude then that
you actually rather enjoyed our talk?"
A smiled, "Perhaps" was his only answer.
But when she lay in bed later on – wide awake
because there was simply too much for her to digest for sleep to come – she
suddenly realized how vulnerable Danzig – Karl – had left himself to
her. If she were to go to the Gestapo with what he had told her about helping
Jews, he'd probably be picked up in a flash and never heard from again. In a
way, he had placed his life in her hands.
Was that plain stupidity, or...? But he didn't
exactly come across as stupid. Besides, he'd have to be pretty smart to keep
his Danzig persona and his true identity so entirely separate for so many
years.
And that's when it hit her – the realization that
apparently to him, his incognito was worth more than his life. That
is how much he disliked his work as a female impersonator. He had readily
entrusted her with his 'criminal' attempts to help Jews, even though one word
from her could cost him his life. But he had realized that – in order to get
her to allow him to court her – it was necessary to tell her the true reason
for his despicable line of work.
But if it hadn't been for her telling him about her
distress over his using the name Oskar, she was sure he would never have
revealed his real name to her – at least not yet. And then still only his first
name. Which was a rather common one, so it didn't really give her anything to
go on to figure out his true identity.
She lay down again in amazement. And – strangely
enough – with a faint sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the knowledge that not
only did this man entrust her with his life in order to win her heart – he had
even begun to share his most precious secret with her.
Could it really be possible that he loved her that
much?
Courtship
Despite careful fishing, Helga never really learned
what had transpired between her colleague and the famous female impersonator on
her night off. But whatever it was, the outcome certainly had been positive.
The courting now continued openly, and whenever
Oskar Danzig showed his face around the cloakroom, Maryse was sure to greet him
with her warmest smile. He now was usually one of the first of the theatre
personnel to come and collect his coat and hat after the last show, and
invariably he stayed chatting at their counter till their work was finished,
too.
He then walked both the ladies home, first past
Helga's place, and then – with a detour whenever the December weather permitted
– to Maryse's place.
Apart from that – and without Helga's knowledge –
they regularly had a late lunch together before reporting to work, and all in
all, Karl and Maryse got to know one another pretty well.
To her own surprise, Maryse found that she actually
revelled in the situation. At the age of twenty-seven, and after having lost
Oskar, unconsciously she had already begun to resign herself to a life of
spinsterhood. Her pain had simply been too raw to make her attractive to any
other man – as if she had even wanted to replace her dearest Oskar.
Yet here was a guy who thought the world of her –
who openly admired and attended her, and who had placed his very life right in
her hands just to get her to allow him to court her.
And although she didn't exactly feel the passionate
love for him that she had shared with Oskar, she found she very much enjoyed
his company and his attentions. She felt comfortable and at ease around him,
and the mere fact that she could still inspire such love and devotion and
admiration in a man worked as balm on her wounds. In fact, she sometimes
reflected that – given time – she might very well learn to love her
present admirer as much as she had once loved Oskar.
And despite his disgusting line of work – of which
at least she knew it served a worthy cause, and that his heart wasn't really in
it – the prospect of perhaps one day pursuing a more intimate relationship with
this guy whom she at least regarded as a really good friend, and who loved her
to pieces in return, was certainly worth entertaining as an alternative to
spending the rest of her life as a spinster.
It was her own decision however to keep this budding
maybe-romance a secret from her family. At least for now. For it would
certainly arouse suspicion if she could only tell them her lover's first name.
And the news that their daughter was dating (more or less) a guy who worked as
a female impersonator was likely to be received with even less enthusiasm.
Fortunately, she had been working long enough in
this job for her mother to have given up waiting for her daughter to come home
well past midnight nine nights out of ten, so nobody really noticed that she
regularly came home later than usual nowadays. And for the rest, she resorted
to the subtle subterfuge of telling half-truths, and then only when being
asked. It wasn't that she enjoyed deceiving her parents, but keeping them in
the dark seemed the most profitable course of action for all parties concerned
– at least in this early stage.
So when Karl asked her out for the first night after
Danzig's show ended, she simply told her family that she was going out with a
few of her colleagues – thus avoiding the etiquette of Karl having to come and
pick her up with all the complications that would entail.
She looked forward to the evening with both
anticipation and trepidation. For after tonight, with Danzig's show moving on
to other theatres in other cities, their encounters were bound to become
scarce. And she already knew she would miss her new-found friend terribly.
And then there was Karl's promise that tonight she'd
finally get to see the 'real' him. "The personality you've gotten
acquainted with these past weeks – that is me," he had assured her.
"But as Oskar Danzig, I'm always in disguise. This isn't really
what I look like."
To prepare her for the change, he had begun to alter
his appearance a little every day. And it had been most unsettling how a tiny
little change in his features gave him a totally different look.
"Almost like a chameleon," Helga had
breathed when they both had failed to recognize him because of a mere change of
the shape of his eyebrows.
Which meant she was rather apprehensive of their
meeting tonight. Would she even recognize him? And what if his new, his real
face didn't match the Karl she had grown so fond of?
And last but not least, there was her evening gown.
She hadn't given it much thought at first, but now that she had taken it out
from the back of her closet, memories of the times she had last worn it were
flooding her mind.
Oskar... Putting on that gown
that she had only ever worn to go out with him... in order to go out
with another man... It felt like closing a chapter she wasn't sure she was
ready to close yet.
But life goes on, as people said, and here was a new
man vying for her attentions. It would have been easier if she'd had another
gown to go with it. But as it was, she only had this one, and there was no one
in the house she could borrow one from.
Tears pricked behind her eyes while she got ready
for her first date in five years. She didn't want to cry – Karl deserved
better on this one special evening together than a girl with her head in the
past. But alone in her bedroom with the memories connected to these clothes, it
sure wasn't easy...
Her father's admiring smile when she came down the
stairs however warmed her heart. "You look lovely," were his words as
he took in his daughter's fancy appearance.
She gave him a somewhat teary smile, and got an
encouraging nod in return. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. You have a good
time now, okay?"
He understood how difficult this was for her – so
much was obvious. But she was grateful he didn't actually mention it.
"Thank you, Dad. I will. And I believe there is my taxi."
The taxi brought her all the way to Duisburg's twin
city Essen, and stopped in front of a classy restaurant next to the Grand
Theatre. Karl had given her the money for the fare, since it was mainly for his
sake (less chance of recognition) that they were spending the evening outside
Duisburg.
So she paid the driver, and was pleasantly surprised
when a helpful hand assisted her to get out of the car. A doorman of the
restaurant, she presumed – until she looked up to thank the man. The guy was in
evening dress, and his baby-blue eyes truly feasted upon her appearance. Could
it be that...?
"You look absolutely stunning..." he
breathed.
She peered at the unfamiliar face in astonishment.
"Karl...?"
A slight nod and half a smile. "Yes. This is
me." His eyes still hadn't let go of her.
Hesitantly, Maryse searched his face, trying to find
something familiar in what apparently had to be the real version of her friend.
But apart from the colour of his eyes, there was nothing to remind her of the
Karl-Oskar Danzig who had been courting her this past month.
First of all he looked at least ten years younger –
more like the twenty-four years she knew he counted than the thirtyish look
Danzig had sported.
The second major change was his overall appearance.
She had known Danzig with a somewhat southern look: dark, sleek hair and with a
slightly bronzed complexion, with which the blue eyes made such a beautifully
striking contrast.
Today instead, he stood before her with thick,
goldenbrown hair and a much more northern, fair complexion that – once you'd
seen it – seemed to suit his eyes better.
Add to that the minute changes in the shape of his
nose, his eyes, mouth, cheeks, eyebrows, chin, jaw, even his ears, and it was
like going out with a perfect stranger.
He left her the time to take in his features, until
at last she said quietly, "I can barely believe it's you..."
An awkward grin. "Well, it's me alright."
"Without any make-up or anything?"
"Nothing. Just plain old me." He shivered
in a cold gust of wind. "But perhaps we should go inside? We've got two
hours to gaze at each other over dinner before the show begins." He
offered her his arm and chuckled, "And believe me, I'm going to do as much
gazing as you tonight. You look absolutely breathtaking!"
And so they gazed at each other while they chatted
over dinner, and by the time they finished dessert and got ready to go to the
Grand Theatre next door, Maryse had more or less managed to coalesce the
stranger's looks with the Karl she knew.
Karl had tickets for the operetta version of Cinderella,
and if you've never seen traditional German operetta, then words cannot convey
the feast it provides for both eye and ear. Its colours, its dancing, singing
and laughter make you forget your troubles for a while, and it's practically
impossible to leave the theatre afterwards without feeling thoroughly happy.
Karl and Maryse enjoyed the show each for their own
reasons – Maryse because she hadn't seen a theatre show in years, and Karl
because he loved watching other actors at work. He even went so far as to
explain to her in some detail the techniques used by some of the characters
when they were having a drink in a nearby café-dansant afterwards.
"Karl, please!" Maryse moaned at last.
"I just loved the entirety of it; I don't need to have it dissected!"
Karl chuckled. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry.
Occupational hazard, I'm afraid."
She snickered at that.
"But I would love to play the wicked stepmother
one day," he mused. "A character so bad that it's funny – that's
always a rewarding role."
"I'd rather see you play Prince Charming,"
she countered.
"Not half as much fun," was his opinion.
"But why don't you?"
"What – play Prince Charming?" A grin.
"Only if you will play Cinderella!"
"Ha ha. I mean playing in operettas in general.
The ugly stepsisters were men – surely you could use your talents there."
He shook his head. "The acting and dancing
wouldn't be a problem, but it takes a better voice than mine to do operetta. By
the way, speaking of dancing..." He already pushed back his chair.
"Would you care to dance?"
It was about 3 a.m. when a grumpy taxi driver
delivered them both at Maryse's home.
"Aren't you going back to town?" she
wondered as she saw him pay the driver.
He didn't answer her until the taxi had driven off
and they were all alone in the dark and quiet street. "I'll walk. I just
wanted to say goodbye to you without extra eyes." He took both her hands
in his. "You will write to me, won't you?"
"Prince Charming, Poste Restante, Hamelburg
GPO," she promised. "And from next week onwards to Koblenz GPO
instead."
A sad smile. "My Cinderella..."
Tired and a little careless as she felt by now, she
was just contemplating if it would be a real breach of propriety to snuggle up
to him for a moment when he suddenly bent over to her and lightly kissed her on
the cheek. "Good night, Maryse. And thank you for a wonderful
evening."
She blushed like a schoolgirl. "Thank you
instead," she insisted.
But he already spun her around and directed her up
the garden path. "Now get inside with you. I'm sure such lingering
goodbyes are great on a summer evening, but in January they'll just cause
pneumonia."
She chuckled. "Then you better get going,
too." Once more she turned back before entering the house. "Thank
you, Karl. For... for everything." And with that, she quickly disappeared
inside – because she suddenly felt the tears streaming down her face.
Quietly, suppressing her sobs as best as she could,
she went into the living-room and closed the door behind her. The warmth from
the stove still lingered in the room, and she huddled in front of it with a
plaid to profit optimally from the glowing coal. Things just seemed so cold and
bleak all of a sudden...
The door cracked open, and there was her mother.
"I heard the door. My, you guys made it late... Did you have a good
time?"
Maryse merely nodded, and her mother noticed the
tears. And she sat down next to her daughter and took her crying child in her
arms. "It's okay to cry, honey," she hushed her. "Every first
time is difficult."
Maryse frowned through her tears. What was she
talking about?
"I'm sure Oskar would be very proud of you, you
know that? I certainly am – the way you've picked up your life again, and now
you're going out again and meeting new people..."
New people. Karl. She wasn't crying over Oskar at
all – in fact, she had barely given Oskar another thought once she had been in
Karl's company tonight.
No. What seemed unbearable to her now was the
prospect of not seeing Karl for weeks – maybe even months.
So perhaps after all these years, perhaps she was
finally beginning to move on...
The letter-writing started the following day, and
took place on a practically daily basis in both directions.
Now that the busy holiday season was over, Helga's
seasonal job had ended and Maryse had the cloakroom to herself again. For one
or two shows a day, that was quite manageable. And instead of knitting her way
through her long and lonely guarding hours, she now used them to write long
letters to her friend. And of course to reread the latest one she'd received
from him that day.
But there was one letter in particular she kept
going back to – the one where he explained (at her request) what had possessed
him to leave himself so completely at her mercy by telling her about his
helping Jews, at a time when he barely knew her, and she certainly hadn't given
him much reason to trust her so implicitly.
After I ran off following that sneer about
illegitimate children, he wrote, I realized that your prejudice against
my job – and therefore against me – was far too strong for me to be able to
change your mind the normal way: step by step, in regular encounters. We didn't
have time for that, for the show would be moving on to other cities in only a
few weeks time. And chances of my ever seeing you again after that were very
slim. Besides, so violent as your prejudice was, I sincerely doubted you would
grant me the light of day to even be in your company, and not even years would
have been sufficient to get you to change your mind about me. So how was I ever
to make you see who I really was, and in such short time, too?
The only way I could think of to accomplish that was
to tell you the truth about my job. Dangerous, yes. Especially since – like you
say – I barely knew you. But as crazy in love as I was with you (and still
am!), I simply couldn't stand the thought that after D having messed up so much
of my life already, he was now going to stand in the way of my finding the
woman of my dreams, too! For here you were, dismissing me out of hand, and only
because of that hateful D again!
I knew it was a gamble, and believe me: I was well
aware that I was taking a grave risk with my own safety. I had no idea what
your sentiments on that subject were, so I made sure to sound you a bit
on it before revealing anything really incriminating on my part. You may recall
that it wasn't until after you pretty much openly agreed with me about
there being nothing wrong with our mutual friends that I told you what I did
for them.
Yes, it was a gamble – and fortunately I won. But I
knew for sure that – if I hadn't taken that gamble, I would have
tortured myself for the rest of my life with the question, "What
if...?" So for once I decided to fight for something I wanted for a
change. If I could put my life in danger for other people's sake, then why not
for the sake of my own happiness?
People might say that you could have been lying to
me at that time. That you were deliberately drawing me out to give away my
secrets, so you could pass them on to the bullies.
But in that, I felt secure. I may not have known you
all that well at the time, but it would only take a half decent judge of
character to realize that you are one of those wonderful people who are honest
almost to a fault. It's one of the things I love most about you, you know that?
Your reflex will always be to tell the truth. Everyone has the decision at any
time to either tell the truth or tell a lie. But for people like you, that
decision is made by default. It doesn't even enter your mind that you could
tell a lie – you will always tell the truth, simply because that's how your
mind works.
Mind you, that doesn't mean you are incapable of lying
and deceiving. Or keeping a secret. When you have some time to think things
over, I'm sure you are very well capable of such things when it suits your
purpose. (Like what you told me about your dealings with your family regarding
me!) Still, your first, your instinctive reaction will always be honesty –
simply because you are honest almost to a fault! And believe me: that is
a character trait that's very easy to pick up – even in people you don't know
all that well.
I'm not sure if I've ever even had that laudable
trait myself. If I ever did have it, life must have bred it out of me
thoroughly over the years. Necessity in my situation, yes, but still... Believe
me when I say I love you all the more for it, and I promise you I will do my
utmost never to lie to you either.
But to get back to your question: based on that
trait of yours, I knew you wouldn't lie to me that evening. And if our opinions
on the matter had turned out to be sadly incompatible, then of course I
wouldn't have told you what I told you now. In that case, I probably would have
resigned in remembering you as the most lovely and beautiful girl I had ever
met, but sadly out of my reach.
But boy am I grateful that things turned out the way
they did! That you agreed with me, and that you were willing to listen to my
explanation and in the end you even went so far as to say you admired me
for what I did! I don't think anything anyone has ever said to me has mattered
more to me than your final approval that night. And your acceptance of me,
despite my job.
So imagine if I had let D and my eternal overcaution
rule me on the subject of my heart... It sure would have been the sensible
thing to do, yes, but sometimes you have to take a risk to get what you really
want. Even if it means risking your life. And when the reward is as lovely and
worthy as you, believe me: I would risk it all over again, every day of my
life. Just so you would allow me to be with you.
Could there really be lovelier words to read?
She was also delighted to learn that Danzig's
schedule outside the holiday season wasn't as packed as what she had
experienced here in Duisburg, allowing him to occasionally go home to Hamelburg
for a day or two, in which he invariably included a few hours in Duisburg.
"Can't do that when I'm playing in München next
month, but Koblenz, and later on Dortmund are close enough," he told her
over a bowl of steaming soup in a cosy café after they'd been ice-skating
together one morning.
"Then we'll just enjoy the opportunity to meet
while we can, and resort to writing even longer letters when we can't
meet," Maryse decided.
"But tell you what." Karl grinned.
"I'm in discussion with your Herr Direktor Künneke about coming back to
Duisburg for the summer."
"Mm, I'd like that. It's rather boring to walk
home by myself after work. You spoilt me through and through, you know
that?"
He chuckled. "Then I'll walk you home again every
night. And you better make sure the competition knows it!"
An innocent smile. "You mean Peter and
Friedrich and Marius and Simon and Christian and Achim and...?" She
chuckled as he leaned over the table in a mock threatening pose.
"Don't you dare toying with me, young lady!
It's bad enough that I can't see you anywhere near as much as I want to,
without having to worry about you being swamped with other admirers."
And they both laughed – secure as they felt that the
other was happy with their present status quo. Without heaps of other admirers
to complicate things.
But was Karl really? Maryse sometimes wondered.
Happy with their present status quo, that is?
His behaviour and his letters clearly showed that he
was as much in love with her as ever. But after she'd told him about Oskar that
first night, he had respectfully given her the time and the space she needed to
get used to the idea of another man being in love with her. At least that's how
she interpreted it.
But for how long would that be sufficient for him?
It was obvious – even though he had never really
mentioned it – what he was aiming at in the long run. But was she capable of
loving him like that?
She sure liked him very much. She loved being in his
company, and missed him like crazy those long weeks when he was away. But love
him the way she had loved Oskar? Spending the rest of her life at his side –
did she really love him that much?
Besides, no matter how much he had told her about
himself in his letters, he still hadn't entrusted her with his last
name...
She was pondering the problem again one morning in
May, perusing through her by now impressive collection of loveletters. Being
home alone, she had laid them out on the dining table, rereading bits and
pieces here and there, and trying to figure out her own feelings towards the
author.
And so engrossed was she in her private musings,
that she didn't notice her youngest brother coming in until he picked up one of
her precious letters and read out loud, "'My dearest Maryse!'"
She jumped up and lunged for his hand holding the
letter. "Evert! Give it back!"
But as brothers do, he held it out of her reach and
read on. "'I really loved your latest letter. Read it six times
already! I'm glad you have...'"
With a very unfeminine leap she recovered her
letter, and quickly gathered up the others in their box before her brother
could lay his hands on them.
But he already stooped down and picked up one that
had fallen off the table in the consternation. "'It's getting awfully
late, so I'm off to bed now. I can't wait to go to the post office tomorrow and
get your new letter! But for now, I'll just try to summon some happy dreams
about you. Sleep tight, my dearest Cinderella. Love – your Karl.'"
Evert snickered as she pulled it out of his hand. "Cinderella? You
got a lover, sis?"
"Mind your own business." She closed her
box with a decisive snap.
"And are all those letters from him? My, this
Karl sure is a great writer!"
"Mind your own busines!" Maryse repeated
sharply before retreating to the stairs to put away her treasure under lock and
key in her room.
But she knew the cat was out of the bag, and it was
no surprise when her mother carefully broached the subject the following day
during the dishes. "Evert told me about those letters yesterday."
Maryse merely sighed, but made no reply.
"So who is this Karl?" her mother probed.
Another sigh. "A really sweet guy. But really,
Mum, it's too early to seriously discuss him. We're not really... dating...
if you know what I mean."
An ironic little smile. "He's just been sending
you heaps of letters, has he?"
Suddenly the need to get a fresh pair of eyes to
look at her problem overtook everything else. "I don't know what to
think of it, Mum. He's a really sweet guy, and I believe he is very much in
love with me. And I do like him a lot, I really do. It's just – it's so
different from how I felt at the time with Oskar, that I just don't know what
to think of my own feelings..."
A long silence ensued in which several dishes passed
through both their hands.
"Maryse," her mother spoke at last.
"The only reason why it feels so different is because it is different.
You're not the same innocent girl anymore that you were five, six years ago –
before you had to deal with losing Oskar. And of course this Karl is different
from Oskar as well – they're different people. So no wonder your feelings for
him are different, too."
She let her daughter mull that over for a few
minutes before asking, "Have you told him about Oskar?"
Maryse nodded. "Right away. I tried to scare
him off with it, because I wasn't interested in him at all at first. But he kept
at it and he sort of... well, grew on me." She smiled. "He
makes me feel so special, Mum... And so... beautiful... I had never imagined
anyone could ever make me feel like that again."
Her mother had a knowing smile, for those words
conveyed more of her daughter's feelings than that entire monologue she had
held before. Besides, her poor bereaved girl deserved a man who made her feel
real special. And the mere fact that this unknown Karl was able to do just that
already pretty much prepossessed him in her favour.
"That's good," she said therefore.
"He sounds like a worthy suitor, Marysia-mine. And if he truly loves you,
he'll grant you all the time you need to straighten out your feelings."
Maryse put down her tea towel and hugged her mother.
"I know." A sigh. "I know he loves me very much, and he's been
ever so patient and understanding. It's just my own doubts and indecision that
are driving me crazy."
Her mother patted her on the back. "I'm sure
you'll figure it out. Meanwhile, you may tell him from me that I'm really
looking forward to meeting him."
Maryse chuckled. "That might be difficult – his
job takes him all around the country. That's why we've been writing so
much."
"So what does he do?"
A gulp. "He's with a theatre company."
"You met him at work then?"
"Yes." Please, stop asking...!
"And what's his name? Karl...?"
"Just Karl for now."
The look she got was exactly what she had always
envisioned when determining once again not to tell her parents about Karl just
yet. "Just – Karl?"
"Mum, please!" She closed her eyes
for a moment. "I know you're going to tell Dad, and I know that he'll want
to do a thorough check-up on him. I know he means well, but I don't want
him to. Not yet at least."
Her mother regarded her in worried puzzlement.
"Why not, Maryse? Is there something...?"
"No! No, nothing is wrong. It's just that I
really need to work this out on my own. I'm nearly twenty-eight years old, Mum
– I'm not a child anymore. Try and have a little faith in my judgement,
okay?"
Seeing how her mother's worry only increased at
that, she elaborated with a touch of despair, "The point is, that Dad
would probably already have heard of him through his work." That was the
trouble with having a journalist for a father – he knew everyone, and
could get to the bottom of anything that caught his interest, no matter in how
many mysteries it was shrouded. And she didn't want him to ferret out
and expose Karl's true identity – not unless Karl told him himself that he was
the man behind the despicable Oskar Danzig charade.
"But this is my life, Mum. I'm going to
have to make up my own mind, don't you see? Without Dad's well-meant
research into his background. But I promise – once I've figured it out, you and
Dad will be the first to know."
A long silence as mother and daughter battled at
stares. The mother was the first to give in. "I suppose you're right –
you're not a child anymore. The problem is..." She sighed. "No matter
how old you are, you will always be my child." She hugged her
daughter tight. "And all I want is for you to be happy."
Maryse closed her eyes. "I know."
Her mother forced a smile on her face. "Then
let me wish you all the wisdom in the world to make the right decision
regarding this Karl. And remember – if you want to talk about it, I'm here,
okay?"
She nodded.
But the only one with whom she wanted to talk things
over now was Karl himself. And with the way things were rapidly growing over
her head, she could even – for the very first time – imagine herself taking
refuge in his arms. Even ensconcing herself against his chest, and feeling safe
and cared for and loved in his embrace.
But Karl was in far away Leipzig...
The summer brought a welcome surprise. Not only
would Oskar Danzig be performing first in nearby Düsseldorf (allowing them lots
of opportunities to meet) and then in 'her' theatre in Duisburg, the show he
was putting on was the popular farce Charlie's Aunt – in which a guy
dresses up as his friend's aunt to help him out of a pickle – and of course
instead only gets him deeper into it. Which meant that Karl was going to play a
parody on his own Danzig character, and unlike Danzig's regular shows, that
was something she would dearly like to see!
Of course it took only one word from superstar Oskar
Danzig to get Herr Direktor Künneke to find a replacement cloakroom attendant
for the opening night in Duisburg, and for the first time since she'd met him,
Maryse got the chance of seeing her dear friend on stage. And she absolutely
loved him in this comic role.
He smiled from ear to ear when she told him as much
in his dressing room afterwards. "And all thanks to you, you know that? I
wanted you to be able to come and see me without feeling grossed out. And
comedy is what I've always really wanted to do. So with Charlie's Aunt, I
thought I'd strike a compromise between what the audience expects of Oskar
Danzig, and my own wishes for you and myself."
"And it's a marvellous solution," she
assured him. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in this play a hundred times!"
Karl chuckled and began to remove his stage make-up.
"I'm afraid not even Oskar Danzig could talk your Herr Direktor Künneke
into that without you losing your job."
Maryse made no reply – intrigued as she was to see
the face she knew to be Karl's 'real' one emerge from under the make-up.
"Karl," she began at last. "Haven't you ever been tempted to
make yourself look really handsome – perfectly handsome, I mean – and
then present that to the world as your natural look?"
He looked at her in the mirror and heaved a sigh.
"Not really."
"Why not? You could have had all the girls in
town chasing after you if you wanted. I would have thought that was every young
man's dream."
He turned to face her, very gravely. "Maryse,
if you have to go around in disguise all the time... believe me, your own face
becomes very dear to you."
Silently, she studied his face – pretty much the
'real' face with which she still wasn't quite familiar. "Yes. I suppose
you're right," she finally conceded. "I suppose it's different when
you're forced to do it all the time."
He smiled. "I can make you look any way
you like," he offered. "Though I really cannot imagine a prettier
face than your own."
She snickered. "Maybe some other time."
Not with what she wanted to tell him tonight...
She came to lean against his dressing table and
watched him transform himself into the look she was the most familiar with:
Oskar Danzig off-stage. To her surprise, it only took him a few minutes.
"It's like brushing your teeth," he
explained as he got up. "At last you can do it on auto-pilot." He
disappeared behind the screen to change back into his own clothes, and a few
minutes later he turned off the lights and they made their way to the front
hall.
"Did you bring a coat or anything?" Karl
asked.
She smiled like a content cat. "Of course I
did. I left it in the cloakroom."
"You just couldn't resist, could you."
Karl chuckled.
So she picked up her coat, he helped her into it,
and a moment later they wandered off through the summery city center together
in companiable silence.
Without discussing it, they took the route to one of
their favourite hunts this summer: the pedestrian railway bridge across the
line to Wesel. Very few people ever used that bridge, so it was a perfect place
for private conversations.
Maryse leaned on the balustrade, looking down at the
dark railroad track below, and Karl followed her example.
"Karl," she began at last.
"Hm?" He looked up.
"If I tell you something I'm sure you
would love to hear – will you tell me your name then?"
"Langenscheidt."
"What?"
"My name. It's Karl Langenscheidt."
Totally taken aback at such a quick result to her
request, Maryse just stared at him to the point that he felt obliged to explain
that he was tired of playing hide and seek with her. "Besides, how can I ever
expect you to learn to love me one day when I don't even show my trust in
you?"
She had a quiet laugh of amazement. "Will you
believe that that was exactly what I was going to tell you?"
It was his turn to look puzzled. "What?"
"That I love you." There, that came out
easier than she had expected.
The reaction was not quite as coherent though.
"You what? I mean... you do?"
"Yes," she simply said.
He could scarce believe it. "You mean you
really do love me?"
"Yes."
"Honestly?"
"Honestly!"
The next thing she knew she was being twirled around
in his arms. But even when he put her down again, he held his tight grip on her
– almost as if he were afraid she was going to escape.
"You're really serious?"
"Yes! How often do I have to tell you?"
She laughed – laughed with a carefree happiness she thought she had lost long
ago.
And he shook his head in amazement. "Every
twenty seconds, I guess." A happy sigh. "Oh boy..."
She smiled, her eyes beaming at him. "I love
you."
"I love you, too." And he drew her into that
embrace she had been longing for ever since that revealing talk with her mother
– the embrace that made her feel so loved and happy and secure and cared for...
The embrace in which she finally came home. To Karl Langenscheidt.
Because she had finally come to realize that no matter what, his love was all
she really wanted.
And as their lips found each other for the very
first time – hesitant but oh so eager – she just knew that all would be
well. At Karl's side, she could finally have a second chance at life.
And there was not a doubt in her heart that they
would be the happiest couple on God's earth.
The happiest couple or not, the 'no matter what' had
turned out to be an awful lot.
The very next day, her father was sent to Berlin as
correspondent, and both her brothers were called under arms. Karl somehow
miraculously (through his own doing) escaped that fate for now, but when less
than a fortnight later Poland was invaded, it became all too clear that their
courtship would not be as carefree as young lovers tend to hope for.
Especially not when Maryse learned that her Karl was
actively involved in a perilous sabotage and resistance movement in the
Hamelburg area...
Gently, she stroked the matted goldenbrown hair off
his forehead and brushed away her own tears.
Yes – no doubt that Hitler had to be stopped. The
question was, at what cost? And why did he have to be the one to put his
life on the line all the time? Hadn't she lost enough loved ones to this
insanity already? Her father, both her brothers, and in a way even her first
fiancé...?
She recalled every emotional wordfight they had had
on the subject over the years. And there had been many – especially in the
beginning. Even to the point that she had told him (well, yelled at him) that
she couldn't stand living in fear for his life all the time, and if he intended
to continue like this, he would never see her again.
That particular fight had indeed ended in their
breaking up. But if knowing just a little had been terribly hard on her,
knowing nothing at all about Karl's escapades turned out to be plain torture. Knowing
that he went out there, risking to get shot or captured – or worse... and she
might never find out?
It had been a relief for both of them when she had
finally gone back to him. Already, the ties that bound them had been too strong
to be so easily severed, and Karl had been ready to promise her anything,
if only she'd come back to him.
Nonetheless, it had taken an awful lot of convincing
to talk him into letting her be a part of their activities, 'to keep an eye on
him'. But seeing that his objections to her participating were a perfect
match for her objections to his own involvement, he really had had no choice
but to give in – no matter how reluctantly.
Joining the small group that met under the disguise
of an amateur drama club (with the shameful average of staging less than one
play a year...), she had gained a whole new insight to his character. To these
people, he was an inspiring leader, an unorthodox but thorough strategist, and
a superb drama coach training them in character play, pokerfaces and
improvisation. He was their friend as well as their hero, and it didn't take
her particularly long to realize that he held himself personally responsible
for their lives and their well-being.
Like that time the night before Udo was to join the
army.
Heroism
Having been an exceptional student throughout his
youth, Udo had been granted deferment of his military training in favour of his
studies in chemistry and engineering. With no inclination for the military at
all – and even less so under Nazi rule – he had just extended and extended his
studies, and up till now he had never seen a military barracks up close.
Without the slightest military training, he had felt
secure that he wouldn't be called into service to be sent to the front. What
use would they have there for a scholar who didn't even know how to handle a
gun?
But it turned out he had been basking himself in
false security, for in the fall of 1940, he got his call-up to report to an
infanterie regiment in Köln in two days' time.
"Why didn't I think of that?" Oskar
reproached himself when Udo showed him the papers. "Oh man... Udo, I'm
really sorry. I didn't realize... I've been stupid."
Udo shrugged. "Why? There is nothing you
could have done about it, is there?"
Oskar rubbed his face. "I might have been able
to help you stay out of the army indefinitely. Or at least away from the
front."
That certainly peaked Udo's curiosity.
"How?"
Karl sighed and looked the orders over. It had been
a while since he had received his last one, but they were bound to get back
onto him as well. The others of the group were fortunately either too old or
(still) too young to run the risk of being sent to the front, but Udo... Why
didn't he think of that?
"How do you manage to stay out
then?" Udo cut into his thoughts. "You've had military training,
haven't you? So they're bound to want you even more than they want me."
"By faking severe medical problems," his
friend replied, deliberately ignoring the second question. "According to
my medical file, I suffer from frequent and severe asthma attacks. Plus a few
other minor things. I even got a real doctor to sign the certificate. So far
it's kept them at bay."
"And you could have gotten something like that
for me, too?"
Oskar nodded. "Asthma is fairly simple to
simulate. Scary, but simple. And they really have no use for a soldier who has
to focus on his breathing to the exclusion of everything else. And that's bound
to happen when an asthmatic has to be out in the field in all weathers, day in,
day out."
Udo's face lit up in hope. "Can't you teach me
how? Then maybe when I start showing the symptoms out there in the field,
they'll send me straight back home!"
"It wouldn't hurt to try," Oskar agreed,
and they spent the rest of the evening pretending they couldn't breathe.
"So what about tomorrow?" Oskar asked as
they were about to part, exhausted from their pretended struggle for breath.
"Are you still coming with me? I can understand if you'd rather stay home
that last night. I can ask one of the others – that shouldn't be a
problem."
But Udo shook his head. "No. I'm coming with
you. One last honourable deed before I have to sell my soul to that devil in
Berlin."
A grin from his friend. "Good. I'll pick you up
around eleven."
Everything had gone textbook perfect. They had
hidden the car in the woods, far enough from the fence that a starting motor
would not draw attention in the quiet of night.
They had approached the estate from the side, climbed
over the eight foot fence without being noticed and sneaked through the
landscaped garden up to the lordly manor-house.
Behind the third window from the left on the ground
floor lay their booty: a large supply of blank ID cards – a treasure for those
helping victims of a cruel system to get away.
The ground floor windows were at the height of their
shoulders, but with Udo using himself as a stepping stone, Oskar had no trouble
reaching the window's lock, and a moment later he pulled himself up and inside.
He gave Udo a hand pulling himself up on the window-sill, and pulling the
window shut behind them, they surveyed the room.
Lots of cabinets and drawers. The blank ID cards had
to be somewhere in this room – but where?
Without a word, they each started on one side of the
room, looking through every drawer in every cabinet. It was Udo who found what
they were looking for. Quickly, they filled the silk black bags they had
brought and helped one another to tape them around their belly and lower back.
The remains were put back where they came from, all
drawers closed, and after a final look around, Oskar pushed open the window,
climbed up on the window-sill and jumped down, followed close on his heels
by...
A raw cry of pain echoed through the night, freezing
him to the spot. The loud gasping sobs following made him immediately turn
back.
"What'd you do?" he hissed as he knelt
down by his friend.
Udo opened his mouth to (probably) answer, but all
that came out was an irrepressible howl of pain that Oskar quickly stifled.
"Keep it down! I know you're in pain, but it
wouldn't exactly improve things if they find us here."
In reply, Udo grabbed his arm and dug in deep in an
attempt to deal with the excruciating pain in his leg.
"Good. That's better than screaming. Come on,
I'll help you up. You think you can stand?"
Udo shook his head, and out of nowhere he suddenly
emptied his stomach the wrong way up.
"Oh boy..." Karl took hold of his friend's
shoulder to steady him, his mind feverishly trying to assess their options. He
was no doctor, but judging by Udo's reaction, this was more serious than a mere
sprained ankle. Far more serious. If only he could get him to the relative
safety of the woods, instead of out here in the open at the side of the lawn.
But no matter what option they chose, Udo had
to get up in order to get away from here. "Come on." He took his
friend under the arms and hauled him up, supporting him with his own body as
best he could.
It got another barely stifled scream out of Udo, but
he was too occupied dealing with the pain to object to his being pulled to his
feet.
"Let's see." Holding him steady, Karl
inspected Udo's legs. The right one didn't seem to give him any trouble, but
the crooked and twisted shape of the left was almost spooky. Double fracture at
least, he presumed. And the way it dangled there, as a useless appendage...
"You broke your leg alright," he said,
trying to get a pinch of humour into his voice. "We better get you to a
doctor. Come on." He placed Udo's arm around his own neck and took a
careful step towards the woods.
But Udo positively howled, and Karl nearly dropped
him in his hurry to clamp a hand over his mouth.
"Ssh! Keep quiet!"
Udo shook his head in despair, and Karl felt how he
tried to lower himself to the ground again.
"Come on. I'll carry you. Put your arms around
my neck and hold on."
That went better, although having Udo's gasps and
ragged breathing in his ear made him expect his poor friend to throw up down
his neck any moment.
He was heavy as a dead weight though – he probably
weighed more than Karl to begin with – and Karl was relieved to reach the edge
of the woods he'd been aiming for.
"Careful. I'm going to lower you to the ground
now. Make sure you land on your right foot."
A far too audible gasp, a quick turn, and he
carefully helped his friend to sit down with his crooked leg in front of him
instead of under him.
Udo seemed barely aware of him anymore, engrossed as
he was in surviving the pain and trying his utmost not to scream. The way he
clawed in the ground and pulled at his hair and breathed in gasps through
clenched teeth were clear indicators of just how much pain he had to endure.
Karl regarded his friend with a worried frown. For
what now?
In theory he should be able to carry him all the way
back to the car – if it wasn't for that eight foot fence.
The only entrance without a fence was the main gate
– but that was guarded. They were lucky enough that the security on the grounds
was so slack, but they'd never get out of that main gate unnoticed.
He spied around into the night, but it was hard to
make out anything definite against the black of the trees. Maybe he should just
go and see what he could find. And find out how to take on the guards.
But first... He pulled up Udo's black sweater and
quickly tore off the silk bags with his share of their booty.
"What...?" Udo gasped.
"Ssh. I'll take them. There is not much chance
of them finding you here, but if they would, it's probably better to get caught
as a trespasser than as a thief." By hook or by crook he managed to use
the now useless tape to tie the additional full bags around his body, and
tugged in his sweater just to make sure he couldn't lose them. It really
couldn't escape anyone's notice now that he was hiding something under that
sweater, but it would just have to do.
"Now why don't you lie down – all the less
chance of them seeing you," he suggested in a friendly whisper. He brushed
away a few twigs and branches and...
Wait. Branches? A sudden memory from childhood
rushed to his mind: vacation in Hamelburg, and Udo who had wanted to practise
for his first aid badge for the boy scouts. How old had they been – nine maybe?
And they had gone to the woods, and he had to be the victim who broke all his
arms and legs, so Udo could practise splinting them with branches. For that was
important – broken bones had to be splinted as soon as possible to keep them
steady and to relieve the pain for the patient. Or something like that.
"Hold on – I'll be back in a sec."
There were enough branches lying around, but it took
a while in the dark to locate two straight and sturdy ones of approximately the
right length.
"Here," he said when he returned.
"Remember your boy scout training?" And he bit his lip. Darn it – how
was Oskar Danzig to know that Udo had been in the boy scouts?
Fortunately, Udo was too engrossed in the pain to
notice this unpardonable slip of the tongue. So he knelt down next to his
friend, placed the branches on either side of the crooked leg (which already
caused some extra gasps from the patient), and pulled off his belt. Sliding it
under the crooked leg and...
Udo screamed.
Quickly, Karl clamped his hand over Udo's mouth.
"Keep it down!" He waited for his friend to gather what was left of
his wits, and then whispered, "A broken leg needs to be splinted,
Udo. It helps for the pain. Now I'm going to have to get this belt around it,
and..."
Udo grabbed his arm and shook his head. Fervently.
"Don't touch," he panted.
Karl regarded him doubtfully. "Are you sure?
They say it relieves the pain somewhat – to steady the bones."
Udo just shook his head again and pushed him away.
A sigh. "Alright. Your choice." Carefully,
he removed the branches again, and put his belt back on. "Now I'm going to
scout the grounds to see what's the easiest way out of here. So why don't you
lie down. Less chance of them seeing you."
Even the process of lying down clearly represented
hell for Udo, but once he'd settled down a little, Oskar got up and whispered,
"Now you stay here and keep quiet. Don't worry, I'll be back. And I
promise you: I'll get you out of here and to a doctor, even if I have to carry
you on my back all the way to Hamelburg, okay?"
Udo nodded slightly.
"Don't worry. I'll be back shortly." With
that, he disappeared in the shadows, and quickly made his way back to the
mansion.
He hesitated a moment in the shadow of the
monumental stairs leading up to the front door. Would it be useful to check
inside? He might find a uniform or two that could fool the guards and help them
escape. On the other hand, who would believe them to be officers, with their
sootblack faces? They'd need a good scrub to get that off, which would leave
him – Danzig – without his disguising make-up as well. Not a good idea –
scratch the uniforms.
He moved stealthily on, rounded the corner of the
house... and stopped dead in his tracks. That was it – the solution, or at
least the beginning of a solution to their problem: a car!
Silently he approached the vehicle, and pulled the
window-latch opener from his pocket. Not the most ideal instrument to open a
car door, but it would have to do.
It took a few minutes, and in his eagerness he
scraped the paint a few times, but finally the door clicked open.
Quickly he climbed in and pulled the door almost shut.
He had to think first now.
First of all, the distance from here to where he had
left Udo was at least five times the distance he had carried him before. It'd
be difficult, but he should be able to manage that without having to put him
down for a rest halfway.
Moving the car to Udo would be easier of course, but
that was far more likely to attract the attention of the guards at the gate.
Okay, so let's assume he could get Udo in the car.
What next? Just drive off and barge through that barrier past those guards?
Yeah, right, they'd be after them in a second, and
probably start shooting. Too risky.
No, he'd better go and scout out those guards as
well.
Ten minutes later he nearly tripped over his friend
as he sought his way back through the woods. "Udo! How is the pain?"
"Awful," Udo grated out through clenched
teeth.
Karl squatted down beside him. "But I've found
us a way out. A car!" he whispered. "Come on – it's all ready and
waiting for you."
He began to pull his friend up in a sitting
position, and Udo moaned loudly. "Not carry me again?"
"Yes. Sorry. Too dangerous to bring the car
over here."
Not quite succeeding in stifling his gasps and
cries, Udo was helped up by his friend, and instructed to put his arms around
his neck and not to let go before he was told to. "It's quite a bit
further than before, so hold on!"
Staying in the shadows as much as he could, Karl
quickly moved past the house. But gradually, as the weight of his friend seemed
to increase with every step, he began to slow down, clenching his teeth in
determination not to have to rest halfway and put them in extra danger out here
in the open. And with Udo half crying in his ear...
By the time he reached the car he was positively
staggering, and had to steady himself on the hood to keep his balance.
"Careful," was all he brought out before he let go of his load. But
all he managed to do at first was to keep his gasping friend upright while he
struggled to catch his breath.
But then he opened the door on the passenger side.
"In you go. You think you can do that?"
Pushing himself up on the carseat was manageable,
though he barely managed to hold back another howl of pain the moment he sat
down. But the real trouble began when they had to get his puppet-like leg in.
Karl already bent over to take hold of it to help
him, but Udo pushed him away. "Don't touch," he ground out.
Karl waited for him to do it himself then, but Udo
made no move to do that. The twisted, eerily limp leg just dangled there,
completely out of shape, and Karl tried hard not to stare at it. It made him
feel uncomfortably queasy. Instead he focused his attention on his friend's
contorted face. "You're going to have to pull that leg in, mate. We
can't drive like that."
Udo moaned softly. "Can't. Touch and I'll scream."
Karl gulped. This was rough, but if they'd want to
get out of here... "Then you clamp both your hands over your mouth to
stifle that scream, and I'll put your leg in."
"Nooo!" Udo half cried.
But Karl forced himself to be inexorable, no matter
how hard it was in the face of his friend's agony. "Hands over your
moth," he ordered sternly, and put one of them in place for him already.
"Ready? Now bite down hard and..." With a swift move he manoeuvered
the wobbly leg inside, while Udo only half managed to clamp down on his scream.
As Karl straightened himself and grabbed his
friend's shoulder to comfort him, Udo was finally straight-out crying. "It
hurts," his friend choked out. "So bad..."
Karl squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. But
seeing how Udo didn't know what to do with himself for the pain, he sent up a
fervent prayer that they just hadn't made things worse...
He watched him for a moment, but as things barely
seemed to settle down, he squeezed his friend's shoulder again. "The sooner
we get you to a doctor, the better. I'll go and take care of the guards now.
I'll be back in ten minutes max, and then we're off, okay?"
Udo gave no recognition that he had heard Oskar's
words, so with a worried look, Karl squeezed his shoulder once more, closed the
door of the car and disappeared in the shadows.
It was several hundred meters to the main gate –
probably their salvation from the guards there reacting to Udo's screams.
He had already figured out how to take the two
guards, so he went over the fence just around the corner of the grounds, and
approached his first target through the trees on the public side. From tree to
tree he moved, but only when the guard walked away from him. A steady ten pace
forth, ten pace back. And at his turning-point on this side of the gate, he was
out of sight from the other guard who was lounging in the sentry box.
So the next time he came around... Karl tensed for
the jump and... a chop in the neck and the man went down without a sound.
And back to the shelter of the trees he went, to
wait for the other guard to come and see what his colleague was up to.
Every second he had to wait for that guy was exactly
one second too many. With Udo in such agony back there... But he had to wait
till the man came this way – there was no way he could approach the sentry box
himself without being seen.
And finally... finally he came. "Heinz?
Heinz, what are you... Heinz!" Quick footsteps, the man bending down over
his fallen comrade, and the next moment he joined him in dreamland.
Karl swiftly ran past them and lifted the barrier.
There was no telling how much time he had before the guards would wake up –
probably very little. Tying them up would take too much time, so instead he ran
as the devil back to the house, jumped into the car where Udo was still
gasping, connected the wires he'd already pulled free the first time, and with
a roaring motor he steered the car along the dark driveway.
There was the barrier. From the corner of his eye he
saw the two guards already sitting up, jerking into action as the car sped past
them in a right turn onto the road.
Well, at least they made it this far.
Suddenly he felt Udo's hand grasping his arm. He
glanced aside. "What?"
"Back seat," Udo croaked. "My leg...
back seat."
Of course – why hadn't he thought of that? On an
ordinary car seat, that wobbly leg had no support at all. No wonder it hurt so
much more. The back seat at least would act as a splint by itself – sort of.
He nodded as a new plan came up in his mind.
"Hold on. We'll fix it in a minute." And he turned into the woodlane
where they had hidden their own car. "We'll just wait and see if they're
coming after us," he said quietly. Not that they could see the road from
here, but that wasn't necessary: within a few minutes they heard a car race
past in the direction they had been going.
Karl grinned. "Good. Then let me open the door
first, and then I'll help you over, okay?"
It was still a very painful exercise for the
patient, but after that first disaster, Udo did his utmost to keep his wits
about him this time. He had already learned the hard way this evening that his
own cooperation – excruciatingly painful though it may be – actually made
things easier on himself.
But no one could be more relieved than Karl when his
anxious question whether the patient was more comfortable now was met with an
affirmative nod.
"Then let's get you to a doctor right
now!"
And he started the motor and turned left – blatantly
past the manor from which they had just escaped. And past one of the guards who
stood staring down the road in their direction... and barely gave them a
glance.
Dr. Bauer wasn't surprised at all to be called out
of bed at 3.30 in the morning – after all, that's part of the job.
He was a tad surprised however to find a black-clad
stranger on his doorstep with a sootblack face to boot.
He chuckled. "Well, good morning, Krampus!
You're a bit early this year, aren't you?"
The stranger grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that.
But my friend in the car here has broken his leg – by the looks of it in two
places at least. Can you please help him?"
Dr. Bauer tied his dressing-gown. "Let's take a
look at that leg first." He took a pair of scissors from his bag by the
door and followed his nocturnal visitor to the car. He clambered into the
narrow space next to the backseat, mindful not to touch the black-clad legs on
the seat. "Now let's see." He looked up into the eyes of his
shivering patient. "Well, well, if it isn't young Udo Steinmetz. What have
you been up to tonight, my boy?"
Udo made but a faint grimace.
"Now let's see. And you better look the other
way for a while, because judging by the crooks I already see, this will not be
a pretty sight."
He swiftly cut up the black pants under Udo's gasps.
And sucked in his own breath. "Sorry, lad, but I'm not going to meddle
with this. I'll give you a painkiller, and then I'm going to take you straight
to Düsseldorf. This is a specialist's job."
He got out of the car and turned to the hovering
stranger. "So how did that happen?"
"He was sleepwalking and fell down the
stairs," Karl deadpanned.
Dr. Bauer raised an eyebrow. "Face first into
the coal-shed, I presume?" He shook his head. "And you got equally
dirty trying to get him out, right? Nice story for Düsseldorf, mein Herr, but
what really happened?"
Karl sighed. "I didn't see it myself. He jumped
down – less than two meters it was – and must have landed wrong."
"And you've been carrying him and dragging him
around quite a bit, am I right?"
Karl took a deep breath to respond, halted himself,
and then simply said, "Well, I couldn't leave him there, could I?"
The doctor nodded, with a smug look at the bulging
black sweater. "I get the picture, yes. Now you stay with him; I'll be
back in a moment."
He was back in a minute, with a blanket, the
promised painkiller, some soap and a wet cloth. He handed the latter two to the
stranger. "Now if you can make him look a bit more presentable – like he
really came straight out of bed? The sleepwalker story is believable – adding
the coal-shed is not."
Karl grinned, and got to work on his friend's face
as soon as te doctor had administered the sedative and went back inside to get
dressed.
Udo subjected himself to his friend's scrub-down
without protest. The sedative was already beginning to kick in, making him
drowsy and reducing the infernal pain in his leg to a mere unpleasant throb. He
was vaguely surprised to realize how exhausted he was – merely from trying to
stay on top of the pain?
"Feeling a little better?" Oskar asked as
he sat back on his heels – apparently finished with the clean-up job.
He nodded vaguely, trying to remember what he wanted
to ask. "What... what coal-shed?"
Oskar grinned. "Your cover-story. And forget
about the coal-shed. You were just sleepwalking and you fell down the stairs –
got it?"
Udo nodded. "Got it." He grimaced. "I
bet I'm going to be cooped up in hospital for months..."
"We'll come and visit you," Oskar
promised. "And look on the bright side: they won't be sending you to the
front any time soon."
Udo even produced a small chuckle. "You'd
almost think I engineered this on purpose. You know, secretly, without knowing
myself."
"Subconsciously," Oskar supplied.
"Yes. Though I'd wish I'd had chosen something
a little less... painful. Like..." He shrugged. "I don't know."
Oskar smiled. "And I'll see if I can arrange
one of those bad health certificates for you, too, in the meantime, okay?"
Udo closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes. Please
do. I don't want to go and shoot at people. Especially not in the name of the
bloody Führer." He looked up. "You think my leg will be
alright?"
A sad shrug. "I don't know, mate. I'm not a
doctor. You'll have to wait and see what the doctors in Düsseldorf say."
Another sigh. "Well, at least if I end up in a
wheelchair, they'll never send me to the front."
"You're not going to end up in a wheelchair,
Udo." There was Dr. Bauer again, with a too large pyjama top to exchange
with Udo's telltale black sweater. "This mishap might leave you with a bad
limp, but that's about it. So don't worry your head off about
wheelchairs." He helped the patient to change into the pyjama top.
"Alright. Ready everyone?"
Karl got out of the car and closed the door.
"Aren't you coming?" the doctor asked in
surprise.
The stranger shook his head. "I'd better not. He's
in good hands now. I'll come and pick up the car some time tonight, okay?"
Dr. Bauer frowned. "As you wish." But
suddenly his eyes narrowed. "The car – it isn't stolen, is it?"
A quick, disarming smile. "Don't worry, it's
not." He nodded to Udo. "Take care, my friend. I'll see you
soon."
With a final wondering glance at the stranger, Dr.
Bauer brought the motor to life, and Karl watched it drive off on its way to
the hospital in Düsseldorf.
And then he turned on his heel, and sought his way
home by the backalleys of Hamelburg.
Stalag 13
It was nearly three months before Udo was released
from the hospital in Düsseldorf. Three months of which he spent most of his
nights in terror.
For England was fighting back, and one of their most
noticeable strategies were the nocturnal bombing raids on German military and
industrial targets.
The industrialized Ruhr area, with Düsseldorf as one
of its main centers, was in easy range of the British bombers, and the city's
industries took a heavy beating nearly every night. But everyone knew by now
that – be it by accident or on purpose – bombs didn't always fall where they
were supposed to fall...
In those months, he had come to fear the howl of the
air raid siren more than anything else. The hospital did have a spacious air
raid shelter for the more mobile patients and the staff. But he was anything but
mobile – heck, with his leg in the traction, they couldn't even move him with
bed and all!
Which meant that every time that air raid siren
started to howl, he was left to the mercy of fate.
But the worst had been the times when all his
roommates were mobile enough to get to the shelter, and he was left entirely
alone in the dark ward, with bombs whistling all around him...
Still on crutches, he was welcomed back into the
small circle of their so-called drama club with a little celebration. His
friends had put together their sugar and butter rations, Hasso the miller had
provided the flour, and where in the world had they got hold of the real
whipped cream that prided the cake with, 'Welcome Home'?
"Don't ask," Maryse warned him in
mock stern as she served him a second helping. And so coy as they all were
about it made Udo suspect they hadn't exactly procured it the legitimate way.
So he said, "Well, no matter how you got
hold of it, this was just what I needed after all that hospital food. You guys
are the best!"
Oskar gave him a warm grin. "Good to have you
back, mate."
It was still a few more months before he was allowed
to hand in his crutches, leaving him to walk with a considerable limp. But
according to Dr. Bauer, that was as much psychological as it was physiological.
"That leg is as good as new. Now it's all a matter of training it again to
do its work. And of course to learn to trust it again – that is probably the hardest
part."
But it gave Karl an idea, and he took his friend
aside before the next 'rehearsal' of their never to be staged play. "Hey,
now that you're mobile again, why don't you volunteer for service as guard in
the new prison-camp?"
Udo raised his eyebrows. "Uh-uh. My medical
certificate proudly declares me unfit for military service. And I'm certainly
not going to volunteer for anything."
"Your medical certificate declares you unfit for
marching, parachuting and work on unstable floors, like on a ship. That pretty
much excludes every branch of the military for you, but none of these things
are required for guarding prisoners in a prison-camp."
"But why would you want me to guard prisoners?
I'd much rather go back to my studies."
Oskar sighed. "Udo, be reasonable. The Nazis
control our science nowadays. If you go back to the university, with your
background in chemistry and engineering, I'll bet you a thousand marks that all
they're going to allow you – to force you to do is design new weapons
for chemical warfare or something like that. Maybe even split the atom. Is that
what you want?"
Udo's face darkened. "No. But that still
doesn't explain why I should go and guard prisoners."
"Okay, let me lay it out for you. First of all,
your deferment in favour of your studies is obviously forfeit, since you
already got drafted before you broke your leg. Right now, you have the
choice of either going to work for the Nazis in your field of expertise, or
you're out of work. You've already vetoed the first option, and being out of
work means at your age that they're going to get back onto you for the military
pretty soon – despite your medical certificate. It's likely to keep you away
from the front, yes. But they need people behind the lines, too. And what
better place for a guy with a bad limp and no military training than a
prison-camp?"
Udo shook his head. "I follow you so far – now
you're talking gibberish again. Why would you want me in a
prison-camp?"
"To help the prisoners to escape of course! And
then we take over – we provide them with papers and civilian clothes and maps
etcetera, so they'd stand a much better chance to get out of Germany!"
Udo frowned as he digested that. "But they're
prisoners!" he objected.
"That doesn't mean they're criminals,"
Oskar countered. "The camp here is a Luftwaffe camp, so they're bound to
be fly-boys who survived being shot down. That doesn't make them criminals. And
we could help them to get back to their own side so they can help fight the
Nazis again."
Udo was silent.
"And if you volunteer for duty,
mollifying them by stressing you want to do the very little you are able
to do for the bloody Fatherland in your condition, there's a good chance you'll
be granted your request to be stationed right here in Hamelburg, close to your
family and friends. If instead you wait till you get drafted, there's no
knowing where they might send you."
Udo sighed. "I still don't like it, but I see
your point. And I'll think about it – that's all I'll promise you for
now."
His rehearsing his role as the pathetically impaired
young patriot, eagerly offering his humble services for the glory of the
Fatherland with Danzig the following weekend was the result, and within a week
of Oskar's first mentioning it, the new Private Steinmetz reported to the
camp's Sergeant of the Guard for duty.
"He's as round as a barrel," he reported
to his friends when he saw them again a few days later. "But I believe
he's a good guy. They say he's the president of the Schatzi Toy Company, and
when the Nazis confiscated the factory to convert it for their own purposes, he
got posted here. But he admits himself that he doesn't even keep his gun
loaded."
Oskar chuckled. "At least that solves your
problem with the shooting. Can't hurt anyone with an empty gun."
"So how many escapes were there this
week?" Young Franz's eyes sparkled with the anticipation of meeting real
flyers – he'd love to become a pilot himself one day.
But Udo shook his head. "None. One guy tried to
go over the wire, but he got caught before he was over and got thrown in the
cooler."
"What's that – the cooler?" Maryse wanted
to know.
"Kind of a large, concrete bunker with no
windows," he explained. "That's where the prisoners get locked up for
a while if they've been really bad."
"Like trying to escape," Hasso nodded.
"Yes. Or calling the Kommandant names. Things
like that."
"And what's the Kommandant like?"
Udo shrugged. "I haven't seen much of him yet.
Rumour has it that he's furious about being posted here, and that he's pulling
every possible string to get back to the glory of the front. But most of the
guards are pretty happy to be stationed here, away from the front. They're not
such a bad bunch."
"And have you had any contact with the
prisoners yet?" Maryse asked.
He shook his head. "So far, I've only been
guarding the entrance to the Kommandant's office. And that's a horribly boring
job – I can tell you that!"
Soon he began to leave digging tools and wirecutters
in unobtrusive places. They always disappeared in record time, but even though
the number of attempted escapes increased indeed, the number of ultimately
successful ones remained a mere trickle. It was frustrating to know that their
clandestine center to assist escaped POW's would indeed be able to make a
difference – if only the escaping prisoners knew about it! But he could hardly
put up a notice in the rec hall, saying,
Attention all prisoners!
If you're in need of ID papers, civilian clothes, maps and anything you need
for a successful escape,
head to the windmill along the road to Glückenheim as soon as you bust out of
camp.
Confidentiality guaranteed!
So far, he had had very little contact with the prisoners.
He hadn't been assigned the responsibility for a certain barracks yet, and all
he ever got to do was standing guard at the Kommandant's office, guarding the
front gate, and guarding from one of the watchtowers. And having witnessed up
close how strictly the Kommandant adhered to the non-fraternization rule, he
was wary to provoke the man's ire by all too obvious attempts to talk to the
prisoners.
If only he would be able to talk to anyone who
seriously planned to escape...! But how was he to know who was planning
such things?
No – as far as he was concerned, the idea of helping
escaped prisoners was laudable, but it didn't quite work in practice.
But he dutifully reported the goings-on in the camp.
"Two men were caught this morning when their
tunnel collapsed right on top of them."
"We got a visit from the overall boss of the
Luftwaffe camps yesterday – a Colonel Burkhalter. He's even rounder than
Sergeant Schultz!"
"We're getting Americans in the camp now,
too."
"The prisoners are showing a sudden fondness
for gardening. If you ask me, it's a smokescreen to hide sand from their
digging a new tunnel. I wonder when it's going to collapse again."
"You wouldn't believe what I saw yesterday: the
flagpole suddenly grew by at least a meter! I bet the prisoners have built a
radio, and are using the flagpole for an antenna. I'd love to see how they
managed that!"
"There were a couple of big shots from Berlin
visiting today. They've been in the Kommandant's office for hours."
"We're getting a new Kommandant tomorrow. A
Colonel Klink. Major Wieland has finally been granted his wish: he's been
transferred to the front."
"That rolled beef Burkhalter came to visit
again today, together with some civilian guy. They've been talking in the
office for the entire afternoon, and nobody was allowed to go in – not even
Sergeant Schultz."
"We got a black prisoner the other day.
His name is Kinslow or something like that. It was really embarrassing, for all
the guards were staring at him as if he were a monkey in the zoo. And the
prisoners, too. But I wonder how he got here. I thought the Americans didn't
want the blacks on their planes?"
"We got an American colonel now. I
thought this camp was only for the lower ranks, but apparently not. So far he
hasn't been out of the cooler yet, but he looks real smart. I bet he'll break
out of camp within a week."
"The American colonel hasn't escaped yet.
The guards are putting bets on how long it will take him. I've already
lost."
"The American colonel hasn't escaped yet.
And there was some real hush-hush meeting in the Kommandant's office yesterday.
With extra guards and everything."
"The American colonel still hasn't
escaped. And Colonel Klink has put an ad in the paper for a secretary with good
English skills. Something for you, Maryse? You're fluent in English, aren't
you?"
She nodded. "It might not be such a bad idea
actually," she mused. "With all those secret meetings and visiting
big shots you're always talking about. Who knows what I could overhear as an
innocent secretary?"
Karl stared at her in appalled disbelief. "You
got to be joking..."
She looked up. "Why? I've got several years'
experience as a secretary, and my English is of a near native level,
so..."
"How come?" Udo interrupted her.
"Where did you learn to speak English so well?"
"I spent much of my childhood in London. My
father was a correspondent there," she told him.
"But really, Maryse," Danzig brought their
attention back to the heart of his problem. "A secretary in a prison-camp?
With hundreds of horny men who haven't seen a woman in I don't know how long?
That isn't asking for trouble – that's plain begging for
trouble!"
She patted his hand. "Udo can escort me from
the gate to the office and back. You trust Udo, don't you?" She couldn't
quite keep the teasing tone out of her voice, and it sure wasn't lost on her
boy-friend.
"Well, you can mock me all you want, but
really, you have no idea what a prison-camp full of males is like."
"I've never been in one, no." Maryse crossed
her arms over her chest in feminine defiance. "Have you?"
"No, but..."
"But Udo has," she cut in. "So Udo,
what's it like for a young woman to work in an all-male prison-camp?"
Udo grinned. "I wouldn't know – really. I don't
think I've ever seen a woman in camp as long as I've been there – be it young or
old."
Karl threw up his hands. "I rest my case!"
He shook his head. "You're not setting a foot in that camp, Maryse.
Not as long as I have a say in it."
"Well, who says you have? I'm sure the Kommandant
would guarantee my safety. Wouldn't he, Udo?"
Udo opened his mouth to reply, but Karl beat him to
it. "And who says that Kommandant wouldn't try to have his way with you
himself? It's been done before, you know – the classical tale of the boss and
his secretary."
Suddenly she stood. "Ka... Kindly remember,
Herr Danzig, that you don't own me. Not yet. I know you mean
well, but I'm sick and tired of you trying to protect me from every possible
danger – real or imagined. So whether you like it or not, I'm going home right
now, and I'm going to apply for that job. And there is nothing you can
do about it. Good night."
They both stared after her as she grabbed her coat
and hat and marched out of the room.
As soon as the door fell shut behind her, Karl raked
his fingers through his dark hair. "Oof... I blew it. Big time." He
sagged in his chair.
But, "I wouldn't worry," Udo tried to
cheer him up. "Women are like that sometimes. Let her blow off some steam,
and all will be right as rain again tomorrow. You'll see."
"But I really don't want her to go and
work in that prison-camp." He looked up. "What's that Kommandant
Klink like?"
Udo shrugged. "Seems a decent enough fellow.
Fiftyish, half bald, reasonably smart. But I haven't seen him around the ladies
of course."
Karl groaned. "Udo... can't you intercept that
letter of hers for me? Please?"
"How? I never come in the office."
"Can't you accept the mail when you're guarding
the office?"
"The postman always takes it in himself."
"Then who does come in the office?"
"Regularly, you mean? Well, as I said: the
postman – but he just drops off the mail and leaves. And Kommandant Klink of
course, and Sergeant Schultz. And Colonel Hogan."
"Who's that?"
"The American colonel I told you about. Since
he is by far the highest in rank among the prisoners, he serves as a sort of
liaison between the prisoners and the Kommandant." Better not mention that
going by the general standards, most ladies would probably describe the
American colonel as 'dashing'... "Look mate, you're probably worrying
about nothing. She hasn't even got the job yet."
Karl merely sighed.
"I know you want to keep her safe," Udo
continued with his unsollicited advice. "But as long as you don't marry
her, she's under no obligation whatsoever to do what you want her to. So why
don't you?"
"What – marry her?"
"Yes. You love her, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you? Marry her, I mean."
Another sigh. "I can't. It wouldn't be prudent
at a time like this – not to mention totally impractical with my double role here.
I want to marry her the very day this blasted war is over. But for now I just
want to keep her safe. Out of trouble. It's bad enough that she insisted on
joining us. If she'd be married to me, she'd be toast the moment they pick me
up. Better keep that link unofficial for now. No matter how much I'd
love to make her my wife."
"But that does mean there is nothing to stop
her from standing up to you occasionally," Udo pointed out. "But
don't worry. I'll try and keep an eye on the secretary situation, okay?"
Karl's worries were indeed for nought, for only a
few days later, Udo reported that the Kommandant had hired his new secretary: a
pretty young lady named Helga Lindner.
"Helga Lindner?" Maryse reacted.
"What does she look like?"
She rolled her eyes when Udo made the universal
hourglass gesture in reply, but Danzig grinned.
"Can you be a little more specific
perhaps?" she demanded.
"Why? Do you know her?" Udo wanted to
know.
"I might. Remember?" She turned to her
boy-friend. "That girl who worked in the cloakroom with me when we first
met."
Karl frowned. "You mean the one who cajoled me
into courting you?"
Udo burst out laughing. "Now that's a
story I'd love to hear!"
Oskar waved him away. "Some other time. But
yes, I do believe her name was Helga, yes."
"Helga Lindner," Maryse confirmed,
and turning back to Udo, "So what does she look like? Apart from
her perfect figure."
"Real pretty," Udo admitted. "The
bluest eyes, a perfect round face with the sweetest smile, silverblond
hair..."
Oskar snickered. "Sounds like you're madly in
love with her yourself."
And Maryse nodded. "Well, it sure sounds like
her."
Oskar shook his head. "Then I do hope she knows
what she's getting into..."
She hit him playfully in the chest. "You
worry-wart. But I'd sure like to see her again. Who knows – perhaps she
could be our liaison in the Kommandant's office and tell us all about the
secret meetings and stuff."
"Speaking of secret meetings," Udo picked
up. "The weirdest thing has happened this week. At first I didn't even
dare to believe that it really did happen, but since I've seen it happening again,
I'm pretty sure by now that it did happen after all."
Oskar raised his eyebrows. "You're speaking in
riddles, my friend. What are you talking about?"
"Well, this week, me and one of the other
guards have been following the Kommandant on his heels when he goes around to
collect the reports for roll call. Now the prisoners have assigned places for
roll call, so the barracks' guard can check them quickly and efficiently."
"I bet they love to mess up that efficiency
though," Oskar grinned.
"They do, but that's not the problem. It's the
man standing behind Colonel Hogan. Usually it's a tall, gangly young man with
dark curly hair and dark eyes. But last Sunday, suddenly there was a fortyish
short stocky man standing in that place. It was the marked difference between
them that caught my attention, but at first I thought I was imagining things.
The next morning the dark young man was back anyway."
"Maybe he's an impersonator," Maryse joked.
"With that difference in height? Anyway, two
days later he was missing from roll call again, and in his place stood a
tall blond guy. Now I got really curious, and I studied all the men in the
line. But unless he was hiding in the barracks, the dark young man wasn't
there. And the odd thing is, I saw him in town that same evening, calmly having
dinner at the Hofbrau!"
"So? He escaped. Good for him."
"Yes, but the next morning he was back in camp
again! Now how do you explain that?"
Maryse shrugged. "He must have been
caught."
"Then why wasn't he thrown in the cooler?
Besides, I've asked around at the camp, and there haven't been any
escapes this week. Two attempts, yes, but they barely got over the wire. So
what was that guy doing in town, and why did he go back? And how?
It just doesn't make sense! And how come Sergeant Schultz – who's their
barracks' guard – doesn't even notice that it's a different man every other
night?"
Mystery
They both watched Danzig frown in concentration as he
tried to connect the odd facts somehow. "What army is he in?"
"American."
"How long has he been in the camp?"
"I don't know. There are too many prisoners to
keep track of every individual. I hadn't particularly noticed him before, but
that doesn't mean he wasn't there."
"Do you know his name?"
Udo shook his head.
"And you're absolutely certain it was the same
guy you saw in town the other night."
"Ninety-nine percent or more, yes."
Oskar rested his chin in his hand. "Could it be
that he has a doppelgänger?"
"That still doesn't explain why Sergeant
Schultz didn't notice him being replaced by someone else twice. He certainly
isn't stupid."
"Maybe that was just a prank," Maryse
ventured. "And he didn't want to get the prisoners in trouble by telling
the Kommandant."
"Does the Kommandant know all the
prisoners?" Oskar wanted to know.
Udo shook his head. "From what I've seen, I
think he only knows Colonel Hogan on sight. And the black man of course –
everyone knows him."
"Hm. And that tunnel you mentioned a while back
– has that been discovered yet?"
Another shake of the head. "The prisoners are
still busy with gardening, and I think most of the guards should be smart
enough to realize it's got to do with them hiding the sand from digging a
tunnel. But it hasn't been found yet." He chuckled. "If I would, I
would probably do my utmost to look the other way."
Maryse snickered. "And if all the guards
do that..."
They shared a grin.
But Oskar was still pondering the little mystery
they had on their hands. "The only logical explanation I can think of is
indeed that it's all a coincidence: the prisoners were pulling a prank, the
Sergeant didn't want to snitch on them for such a minor transgression,
and..."
"Minor transgression?" Udo
protested. "Roll call is to check whether all the prisoners are still
there! If that guy was missing...!"
"Yeah, yeah, but it could be just a prank,
right?"
"Well... yes."
"And if the guy has a doppelgänger in town...
It has to be. I mean, what prisoner in his right mind would escape and then
go back into the prison of his own accord? Not to mention how he
could manage that without being noticed by the guards. If that tunnel isn't
finished yet..."
"Or maybe they do know," Maryse suggested
quietly.
"What?"
"Maybe the guards do know," she repeated.
"If he's one of them – like a plant or something. A spy."
Udo gave her a flabbergasted look. "What on
earth would the Nazis want to spy on the prisoners for?"
"Well, you said he was in the same barracks as
that Colonel Hogan, right?"
"Yes. And?"
"A colonel is pretty high, as far as I know.
Isn't he?"
Oskar nodded, and she continued, "So maybe
they're trying to pry military secrets from him. There must be a reason why
they put him in this camp, with only low-ranking soldiers."
"And you think some of the guards help this man
to sneak out at night to report his findings to the Gestapo or something,"
Oskar concluded in a low tone.
She shrugged. "It could be. I don't
know."
"That still doesn't explain why Colonel Hogan
doesn't seem to be bothered at all by the guy's occasional exchange for another
prisoner," Udo pointed out.
Another shrug. "I don't know. But I find the
idea of a perfect double rather far-fetched, too."
Oskar sighed, and rubbed his face. "I'm getting
a headache of this. It just doesn't add up no matter how you look at it.
Udo – you think you could keep an eye on this guy?"
"Which one? Colonel Hogan or the other
one?"
"The other one. And if he disappears again, let
me know. Then we go to the Hofbrau together and find out if it's really
him."
"If he does go there again of course. But I'm
occasionally on duty at night as well."
"Then tell them you've got a headache or a
toothache or whatever. I need you to identify the man for me. I want to
see what he's up to."
Udo nodded. "And I'll see if I can swap my
shifts, so that I'll be accompanying the Kommandant again at roll call next
week."
And so it was arranged.
And they didn't have to wait long. Only two days
later, Private Steinmetz already barged into Maryse's, panting, "He's
missing again, that dark young guy! There was a blond one in his place, but not
the same one from before!"
"I'll get... Oskar."
"And please ask him to bring a civilian jacket
that goes with Luftwaffe blue. If it really is this guy, I'd rather not have
him recognize me as one of the guards."
She nodded.
A quick phonecall, and within ten minutes a stranger
appeared at the door, holding out a dark blue jacket. "This should go with
the blue of the tie, I think. Would you like me to give you a bit of a
make-over as well?"
"Sure."
It certainly wasn't the first time that they only
recognized their leader by his words, but Udo still found it a bit eerie.
"Don't you find it disturbing that you don't even recognize your own
lover?" he asked Maryse as Danzig knelt in front of him.
"Hold still, will you?" the latter
ordered.
And Maryse replied with a sigh, "Well, you do
get used to it over time – a little. He still surprises me regularly." She
watched with interest how – with only a few lines – Karl completely changed the
characteristics of Udo's face. He had taught her the basics last year, and they
had spent a merry evening at the time with her experimenting on his face. Maybe
she should ask him to teach her some more, just as an excuse to...
But Karl already got up. "Come on, let's
go." All business-like.
And Maryse sighed as the front door fell shut behind
the two men. Clearly, tonight was not going to be one of those scarce cosy
evenings when she could have him all to herself. When she could just forget
about the war for a while, and just enjoy his company, his talk, his laugh, his
arms around her, his sweet kisses...
"There he is," Udo nodded under his breath
as they entered the taproom.
Oskar followed his gaze. "Corner?"
"Yes."
But first they ordered two beers at the bar, and
made their way to a free table across the room from the mysterious prisoner.
Strategic seating gave them both a good view of the man at the corner table,
and after a few minutes of sipping their beers in silence, Oskar inquired
quietly, "You sure it's him?"
Udo nodded. "Positive."
"Good." He began to tell his companion a
wild tale about a friend of his whose model train set had exploded. "And
all he had done wrong was accidentally putting one of the points out of order.
But when the train derailed at full speed, it toppled over and suddenly it
exploded!"
"So I heard," Udo nodded. "I wish I
could have seen it. I hope he didn't get hurt though?"
"No, he's fine. Fortunately, he wasn't standing
on top of it when it happened. He's okay."
"It was just the end of the train set,"
Udo summarized with a grin. "And it clearly shows that electricity is no
child's play. I hope your friend has learned his lesson."
Oskar grimaced. "I'm sure he has."
They were silent for a while after this exchange –
which really was a veiled way of acquainting Udo with last night's sabotage
caper. Udo's assignment as campguard meant he had to miss out on quite a few of
their raids for rationbooks, ID cards and war sabotage, but they did keep him
up-to-date on the bigger feats. Like accidentally blowing up a munitions train.
Udo began to relate some minor events out of the
life of a prison-guard, and as they slowly sipped their beer, they both noticed
how totally at ease their man was. He had finished his meal, and sat there
browsing through the day's paper with a glass of wine as if he dined here every
night.
It happened no less than four times that he was
approached by another customer, and one of them – a small, elderly man Udo
thought looked familiar – sat down with him for several minutes and had a
hearty chat with him.
But all in all, the man's attitude was inconceivably
carefree for an escaped prisoner in enemy territory.
"He obviously knows those people," Udo
commented.
"And more importantly – they know him. I
don't know what he is, Udo, but he's no ordinary prisoner."
Udo glanced at him. "A double agent or
something?"
Oskar nodded.
They both looked at the guy again over their
beerglasses.
"He looks like a pleasant enough fellow
though," Udo pointed out.
Oskar grimaced. "So would Hitler if he'd ever
allow himself to smile."
Udo hid a snort in his beer. "I doubt it,"
he brought out and wiped away his sudden moustache. "You know, maybe we
should go and talk to the guy. Draw him out. Start talking about the weather
and move on from there."
"Hm."
"Or better still: let Maryse do that."
Oskar's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Maryse? Why
her?"
Udo snickered. "Because a young man is more
likely to inadvertantly spill secrets to a pretty girl than to other men. Come
on... everybody knows that!"
"Hm." He had to admit Udo had a point
there. Hadn't Marya constantly proven just that – even with older men?
But there was no time to contemplate on that now,
for on the other side of the room, their person of interest had folded up his
paper and gestured to the bar for his bill.
Oskar put down his beer and got up. "You pay
for our drinks and wait till he's gone – then you go home. I'll go after
him." He left a half-mark coin on the table and quickly disappeared
outside.
Hiding in the shadow of the trees to the side of the
square, he glanced at his watch. Half an hour to curfew – a logical time for
anyone to go home.
And there he was, carrying a bulky, pretty heavy
package that instantly peaked Karl's curiosity.
He allowed the man to cross the small square before
setting off after him. It wasn't busy in the streets anymore at this hour, but
there were still enough people around to make him inconspicuous.
Following him then on the same, then on the opposite
side of the road, Karl was led straight out of town by the mystery man. Along
the Hamelburg Road no less – the unpaved country-track that led past the
prison-camp indeed!
The dark shadows of the trees made detection
difficult for his prey, and the sandy ground smothered all sounds of footsteps.
Karl carefully closed the distance between them a little – to make sure he
wouldn't lose him in the woods. The bridge forced him to widen the gap again
however, but once he thought it safe enough to hurry over, he was just in time
to see his man disappear in the woods on the right.
He hurried to catch up with him, but it was hard to
tell in the dark exactly where he had left the road.
Putting his trust in his lucky star, he began to
seek his way through the wide maze of pine trees. The ground was covered with a
carpet of pine needles, and surprisingly devoid of twigs and dead branches –
but then, the trees were very tall here, with the only side branches being at
the very top. At least it made the going easy and pretty much soundless. He
just hoped he wouldn't accidentally stumble into his mystery man.
Ahead of him there was light – both strong steady
lights and the sweeping dance of movable searchlights. That must be the camp.
After snooping around there a little while it was
being built, he hadn't been back to the camp since, even though it was less
than a ten minute walk from his house.
And there, against the background of light, he
noticed his man again, too. It would be impossible for the guards to see him,
looking from the light into the dark. And besides, who would be looking for
someone breaking into a prison?
He crept closer and closer over the sound absorbing
needle carpet. For just as the guards couldn't see the mystery man, the mystery
man would not be able to see him either – as long as he stayed behind
him.
The man seemed to wait for something. Karl crouched
down behind one of the pine trees, and watched how he studied the camp from
behind some bushes at the wood's edge. What was he waiting for?
He winced at a sudden dull 'plop' beside him.
And another. And another. A big drop on his head, his back, his hand... Oh
great, seems like a nice little cloudburst was about to come down on him.
Before he had even finished the thought, the
floodgates of heaven were flung wide open, and within twenty seconds flat he
was absolutely drenched.
Whether the sudden rain was what the mystery man had
been waiting for, or whether he just wanted to get inside, will – I suppose –
remain a mystery forever. In any case, the guy suddenly jumped up with his
package, ran across the few meters that separated the camp from the woods
and...
Karl could scarcely believe his eyes, and seriously
questioned if he saw this correctly through the curtain of pouring rain.
But against the strong lights of the camp, it really
looked like the guy simply... raised a section of the outer fence,
pushed in the package, rolled under it himself, and let the fence fall back in
place. And then the same procedure with the inner fence, before he jumped up
and disappeared in the shadows between the barracks.
Karl shook his head in disbelief. This couldn't be
happening...
He pushed himself to his feet. Maybe he should...?
Quickly, he made his soggy way over to the bushes
where the mystery prisoner had been waiting. You could oversee much of the clearing
from there indeed, but with the rain still coming down by the bucket, it was
hard to make out anything definite in the distance. And that went for the
guards, too, of course, so if he wanted to try it...
He waited for the searchlight to pass again, and
quickly he crossed the few meters to the fence. This was where the guy had
entered the camp, right across from that building.
He almost grabbed in the barbed wire in his
eagerness to try and raise the fence, but then he noticed the black rail at the
bottom. Muddy and slippery in the rain, but... Yes, he could easily lift it,
and with it raise the entire section of the fence! Amazing...
It didn't bode well for the mystery man's
affiliation though. For if the prisoners knew about this easy escape route,
surely they would be flying out of here by the dozens?
A fierce dog's bark nearby brought him back to
reality, and he quickly retreated to the bushes. The rain was beginning to
subside, but there was still no other guard in sight save for the one on the guard
tower some fifty meters away. Perhaps they were taking shelter from the rain,
too?
And as he trudged back through the dark and dripping
woods to the Hamelburg Road – on the alert not to run into anyone with his
rained out make-up – and from there along a familiar track to his own place, he
decided that this mystery certainly merited further investigation. If the guy
was indeed a double agent who was to pry military secrets out of this Colonel
Hogan... Or whatever was going there. Heck, for all they knew,
the Allies could be running an espionage unit from inside that camp, with
Sergeant Schultz and that Colonel Hogan as the leaders!
He unlocked his front door, wrung out his clothes
the best he could, and stepped into the hall.
And chuckled to himself. "Espionage from inside
a POW-camp – yeah, right. You've been reading too many thrillers, my boy!"
Charades
Hamelburg was just the right size of town for this
work, Karl reflected as he watched a squirrel hurry across his lawn. It was
small enough to be familiar with most of its inhabitants' faces, yet big enough
for a new face not to attract attention. It was a commodity they frequently put
to good use by going around in disguise on some mission themselves. Without
anyone wondering who they were and what they were doing here.
But this was different. If he'd follow Udo's advice
– and the advice certainly made sense – then either he himself had to go in
dressed as a lady, or they'd have to send one of the girls indeed.
His instinctive reaction was for him to dress up and
go in himself. He hadn't done any female impersonating since the outbreak of
the war, and to be honest, he was every so happy to have left that episode of
his life behind him. Still, for the good cause?
But he had to consider Maryse as well. Up until now,
he had run his resistance group here along the same lines he (and Schattner
before him) had done in Berlin. In short, that meant the men went out risking
to get caught or shot any moment (as Maryse so eloquently put it), and the
women provided the necessary services behind the scenes: fake papers, fake
orders, fitting, fixing and cleaning uniforms, distributing the seized ration
books, running messages and the likes. Dangerous enough if they'd get caught,
but not nearly as provocatively dangerous as going out stealing and sabotaging
in commando black or Nazi uniform. After all, they are women.
But his girl-friend had revolted against this
division of labour from the very beginning, and her insisting on applying for
that secretary job in the prison-camp had only been the most recent example. It
wasn't so much that she resented his trying to protect her; no, it was much
more her continuous fear for his life that made her so rebellious and –
in her own words – drove her half insane. In a way, she was as protective of
him as he was of her, and he was sure that deep down, she would very much
prefer to take over all his missions if she could – if only to keep him
safe.
Alright, and there was the matter of her simply
being too smart to be content to sit back and let others (e.g. men)
solve all the problems. It certainly was one of the things that made her so
special, but it did come at a price: he did have to deal with her sometimes
almost feministic arguments.
He raked his fingers through his hair as he looked
out over his small garden where the squirrel was back, juggling a few
beechnuts. Juggling a love-life with perilous resistance work sure wasn't easy.
Maybe that's why the spies in the books were always bachelors. Or perhaps they
retired as soon as they found the girl of their dreams?
But he had no intention of giving up the fight yet.
And giving up Maryse simply was not an option. He had been miserable enough
those few weeks when she had jilted him because of his resistance work – it
would take an awful lot for him to even consider risking that again.
It did mean however that he had to try and keep her
happy, and this might just be an occasion to let her have a share in the 'real'
work. Not too dangerous for his own peace of mind, and at the Hofbrau he
could easily keep an eye on her. More than one even, if they were to put the
other plan into action right away.
Upon being asked, Maryse immediately agreed to do
it. (Not that Karl had expected any different.) "But with all those other
people at the Hofbrau, I don't want to do it as myself. You know how people
talk."
"Of course. I was thinking of going in as a
shady blackmarketeer myself. Then you could be my glamorous sister who gets
bored with the business talk and goes in search of other entertainment."
She grimaced. "Glamorous, you say? Karl, I
don't have anything glamorous."
"But I do. Come." He led her down into the
cellar under his house, where large boxes were piled up to the ceiling.
"What's this?" Maryse inquired.
"My play-clothes, so to speak." He pulled
down one of the top boxes in the corner and opened it for her. "I'm not
that much taller than you, so I don't think they'd need much altering to fit
you."
Wide-eyed, Maryse touched the expensive dark green
silk. A myriad of glitters shifted as the material moved in the light of the
bare bulb. "Karl..." she breathed. "How... Where did you get
this?"
He smiled a little. "I've got a few dozen of
them. And they'll all be yours one day, I hope."
With delicate fingers, Maryse lifted the dress out
of the box. It had a few creases and folds from being stored so long, but
still... "It's beautiful," she whispered, her eyes feasting on the
elegant cut.
"And I bet it'll be even more beautiful with
you in it. Why don't you try it on?"
"What – here?"
"You can use my bedroom." He already
pushed her towards the stairs.
But, "Your bedroom? Karl, I don't think
that's..."
He grinned. "Well, at least it has a full
length mirror. Don't you want to see yourself in this? And I promise I won't
peek until you let me in yourself."
"But where did you get these beautiful dresses?
Did you use them for Danzig's show?"
"Some of them, yes. But most of the real
expensive stuff is Marya's."
"Who is that? No." She sighed. "Don't
tell me. She's another one of those female impersonator acts."
He gave her a lopsided grin. "You said it.
Marya was a Russian astrologer who was quite a success with the big brass in
Berlin. And they kept showering her with dresses and furs and jewelry and I
know not what – both to entice her to stay with them, and to poke out the eyes
of their envious colleagues."
Maryse nodded. "I get the picture. And apart
from the dresses, you got a lot of useful information out of them, too, I
bet."
"Of course. That was the whole idea."
With a resigned shake of the head, Maryse went
upstairs with the dark green dress, and Karl whistled appreciatively when she
came down to the living-room again.
She smiled hesitantly. "Isn't it a little too
short?"
"Of course not. You've got lovely legs, so use
them to your advantage. With a bit of luck, he'll be so engrossed in looking at
your legs that he'll answer any question you ask him without realizing
it."
Maryse grimaced. "I'd rather you men would
notice more of me than just my legs."
"That's your personal pride as Maryse Gotthardt
speaking. But she's not going to the Hofbrau this week – Tatiana Bülow
is. And her job is to get that mystery prisoner to talk. And I don't
care whether it's her legs, her dress, her conversation, her laugh, her smile,
her eyes, her décolleté or anything that does it, as long as you can
lure him into talking."
She smiled. "I get the picture."
"So how is the dress? Do you need to alter
it?"
"It's perfect." She chuckled
mischievously. "I've always wanted a man whose clothes I could
borrow."
"And shoes – do you have shoes to go with this?
I don't think we have the same size there."
"No, I've got shoes." She made a
coquettish twirl for him. "So how do I look?"
"Lovely." He caught her in his arms and
kissed her. "Far too lovely in fact to let you go out of the house. But I
promise you – I'm personally going to deck any male who pays undue attention to
you!"
She grinned. "Except our mystery man of
course."
A chuckle. "Except him, yes. I may defer that
till later."
The next time Udo noticed the mystery man having
disappeared from the camp, he had unfortunately only just come on duty, and
there was no way he could warn his friends that night. And before his shift was
over, the guy was back in camp.
But a few days later, Udo's shift ended shortly
after an impromptu roll call in honour of the newly promoted General Burkhalter
– a roll call where the mystery man's place was occupied by a young guy in blue
RAF uniform!
So he went straight to Maryse's once he was
off-duty, and within fifteen minutes the threesome was together, preparing for
their night out. They had already brought their play-clothes (as Oskar called
them) here a few days back, and it didn't take long for them to get changed.
"By the way, I found that part of the fence you
were talking about," Udo told Oskar as they changed into their somewhat
gaudy blackmarketeer outfits in the kitchen.
Oskar sighed. "You couldn't resist, could you?
I hope you didn't draw attention to it?"
"Of course not. I simply swapped my nightshift
from the watchtower to the compound. Most guards like to be up on the
watchtower and play with the searchlight, you know. But Sergeant Schultz is
still favouring me with standing duties instead of walking duties. But it's
nice to be able to walk around sometimes. And in the dark I can even let go of
my limp – they can't tell us apart from up the towers anyway."
"So what did you find out?"
"It's definitely new – much newer than the
fence itself. And you can't lift it entirely – only maybe half a meter. Enough
for a person to roll under it."
"And its location?"
"Behind barracks 6. Which is indeed pretty
close to barracks 2 where Colonel Hogan and our mystery man are housed."
"I can't say I'm surprised. Well, perhaps he
can shed some light on it tonight."
They went back to the living-room where the light
was better to do Udo's make-up, and Udo whistled when Maryse joined them again
wearing the dark green dress. "Hey, Herr Bülow, you didn't tell me your
sister was that pretty. Can I ask her out for a date?"
Maryse gave him a tense little smile, but Oskar
warned him in mock stern to watch it. "I vowed I would deck anyone who
paid undue attention to her tonight, and I have every intention of keeping that
promise!"
Udo flashed Maryse a grin, and once his make-up was
taken care of, he left the house by the back door to go and keep an eye on the
situation at the Hofbrau.
"Come on, your turn." Karl gestured to the
chair, and hesitantly, Maryse sat down. She didn't have all that much
experience with the result of Karl's magic fingers on her own face, and it was
with some trepidation that she left her appearance at his mercy. Who knows what
she'd look like in fifteen minutes time? Different of course, but how
different? In what way?
She felt Karl's soft fingers rubbing something into
her cheeks, and suddenly he asked, "Scared? You're so tense."
She shook her head. "Not scared. Nervous maybe.
I'm not exactly a born flirt."
"I know." He smiled. "It's one of the
things I love about you. So just talk to him like you would to any young man.
Don't overdo it. You'll be fine, I'm sure."
He finished the job in mutual silence, and then sat
back on his heels to view the result. "It's not you – it's a piece of
art," he observed. "But a lovely piece of art you are..."
Maryse picked up the small handmirror – and her jaw
dropped at the sight of her reflection. Mysterious, exotic, excessively
beautiful... Looking back at her from the mirror was the kind of seductive
young lady that would win a beauty pageant in America. Was this really her
– thirty-plus year old Maryse Gotthardt from Duisburg?
Then perhaps those girls in the beauty contests had
rather plain faces, too, and were merely 'made' beautiful by a make-up
artist?
"Like it?" Karl asked.
She nodded, and shook her head – and nodded again.
"It's beautiful. But as you said, it's not me. It'll be rather awkward to
go around looking like this, I think. As if my face doesn't match me."
He smiled. "You'll get used to it. And I
promise you it will be easier than you think. People will treat you based on
what they see, and your reactions will almost automatically adapt to their
approach. So..." He got up and extended his hand to her. "Shall we
go, my dear sister?"
Karl recalled how apprehensive he had been
that first time he had walked through his hometown dressed as Katinka Kordeva.
And how Peter's continuous advice and reassurances that everything would be
fine only had made him more nervous – right until the moment the curtain rose
as they entered the café.
So instead of pushing it with Maryse (who was far
less of a natural actor to begin with), he just left her to her own thoughts as
they walked along the narrow streets of the town center, and limited his
reassuring her to an occasional wink or a squeeze of her hand.
She sure did attract attention though. Heads turned,
men stared, women appraised her... And when some officer even tipped his hat
for her, she finally found her smile.
"That's the spirit," Karl whispered.
"And there is the Hofbrau. Are you ready, Tatiana?"
She took a deep breath. "I hope so."
"Then go get him!" He pushed open the door
and let her enter first.
There was not an eye in the room that did not
instantly turn to her, and Maryse felt a fiery blush creeping up to her cheeks
under the layers of make-up. Suddenly she felt terribly awkward in this
glamorous charade, and wooden and uncertain under all this attention, and she
was sure she was going to trip or wrench her ankle or...
But there was Karl's hand at her elbow, casually
guiding her to the back of the room where the disguised Udo raised his hand.
Udo stood when they approached his table. "Herr
Bülow. Fräulein," he bowed formally, as if they hadn't parted less than an
hour ago.
"Herr Elsner," Maryse said quietly in
return as she made a slight curtsey, and she extended her hand to him as she
had seen the grand ladies in the movies do.
Udo pressed a gallant kiss on it, and couldn't keep
his eyes off her as Karl took her (his) fur cape and pulled out a chair for her
to sit.
"You look absolutely wonderful tonight,
Fräulein," Udo said with clear admiration in his voice.
"Thank you, Herr Elsner." Maryse folded
her hands on the table and furtively looked around. It was around dinnertime,
and quite a few tables were occupied. "So who is it?"
"He's not here yet."
"What? You mean we...?"
"Calm down – it's still early," Karl
admonished her.
"Easy for you to say," she hissed. "I
had myself all worked up to have a go at him – and now he's not here?"
"We'll just be ordinary customers and have some
dinner first."
"I didn't bring my ration book. But I don't
think I could eat anyway."
"Are you sure? I can cover for your rations –
no problem."
"Thanks, but my stomach is one big knot. I'm
sure I couldn't eat a bite anyway."
So the two men ordered, and while Maryse filched
some small bits and pieces from their plates after all, Herr Bülow and Herr
Elsner kept up a lively conversation about – of all things – cars. She had no
idea either of them was so knowledgeable on the subject – or were they? But
boring it certainly was, and it made Udo's sudden nudge, "There he
is!" all the more welcome.
Maryse (or Tatiana) followed the young man with her
eyes as he made his way to one of the empty tables by the wall. An old man
stopped him for a moment, and their talk ended in a hearty laugh before the
mystery man continued towards the table he had chosen for tonight.
She turned a bit in her chair to have a better view
of him. And found he was actually rather cute. Mid twenties by the looks of it,
with a pleasant, open face and a ready smile.
She waited till he had placed his order with the
waitress, and then she slowly rose to her feet.
Immediately all the eyes in the room were upon her
again, but now that her task was tangible, she saw only one man.
And he saw her, too...
With slightly swinging hips she approached his
table, and struck the provocative pose Karl had taught her. "Hello
gorgeous."
The mystery man quickly let his eyes wander from her
top to toe and back before replying, "Hello gorgeous yourself."
Maryse fluttered her eyelashes at him, but it felt
totally unnatural, so she quickly amended it with a smile. "Mind if I join
you?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you with those
guys over there?"
A careless wave. "Just my brother and his
associate." She rolled her eyes and gracefully sat down across from him
without a real invitation. "They've been talking business all night. And
business is so boring..."
He flashed her a smile. "You're so right."
So far his German was perfect. Perhaps if she'd draw
him out a bit more...? He really looked way too nice to be linked to the
Gestapo. "So what brings you to town?"
A grin was her reply. "Business."
She sighed with exaggerated suffering. "Men...
All they talk about is business... Business and war and cars!"
He rested his elbows on the table and whispered
conspirationally, "I wouldn't mind talking about something else with you,
Fräulein...?"
"Tatiana," Maryse supplied. "Tatiana
Bülow. And the one with that awful orange tie over there is my brother – Louis.
And you are...?"
"Tappert," the mystery man said.
"Hugo Tappert, at your service, Fräulein."
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance,
Herr Tappert," she murmured formally.
"Likewise." He half stood and bowed for
her.
After that, they both were silent for a while. It
was obvious that Herr Tappert was feasting on her fake features. But no matter what
Karl said, she was simply not accustomed to such attention, and she found his
overt interest in her rather disconcerting. True – she could really bask
herself in Karl looking at her like that. But a total stranger? Was that
something the real pretty girls had to put up with all the time?
So she shyly looked away, doing her best to make it
look like aloofness.
But her task was to get him to talk, so...
"Could it be that I've seen you here before?"
He shook his head. "Impossible. Someone as
pretty as you... I would have remembered."
"But you do come here more often, don't you? I
saw you greet that old man when you came in."
He shrugged. "An old friend. I'm a travelling
salesman – I've got friends and acquaintances in every town in this area."
She played a bit with her bracelet, then picked up a
beerspill and twirled it between her fingers. "Girl-friends, too, I
suppose? A good-looking guy like you..."
He grinned. "I've been saving myself for
someone real special."
She raised her eyebrows in fake ignorance. "Who
might that be?" This was finally becoming a little easier.
"Someone like you, for example," he
replied.
"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "My
brother would never allow it. He lets me talk to men – but no more than
that. Unless..." She shrugged, and glanced back at Karl and Udo.
"Unless I can get a business deal out of it of course." She gave him
an innocent look. "So what is your business?"
"Pencils," he deadpanned.
"Pencils?" She shook her head.
"Peanuts. My brother is in cars. Now that's real business. One sale
and you're comfortably off for months." But she was quickly running out of
inspiration here, so she made the sign for Karl to come and rescue her: tugging
her hair behind her ears.
He was at her side before Herr Tappert had even
concluded his counterargument about selling pencils.
"Tatiana, is this man bothering you?"
"Louis! What are you doing? This is none of
your business!" This part at least had been properly rehearsed...
"It is my business. I will not have my
sister being trifled with by some shady stranger. Come." He took her by
the arm and forced her to get up.
"Sorry. Nice talking to you," Maryse still
said over her shoulder to Herr Tappert as she was dragged back to her own table.
"Keep it up a little longer – people are
watching," Karl hissed as he dropped her unceremoniously on her chair.
So instead of heaving the sigh of relief that begged
to be released, she pouted. "I'll never find a husband if you keep
dragging me away from men."
"You don't need a husband – you've got
me," he retorted.
"That's not the same."
They kept up the brother-sister bickering for quite
a while, occasionally with Herr Elsner adding his two cents as well. But hand
over hand it petered out, and once their volume was down far enough not to
attract attention anymore, Karl whispered, "What did you find out?"
"He says his name is Hugo Tappert, a travelling
salesman in pencils – though I'm not sure if he was serious about those
pencils. His German is flawless, with a strong Düsseldorf accent. And the
German way of introducing oneself comes entirely natural to him. I'm fairly
sure he is German."
Udo and Oskar exchanged a glance.
"Plan B?"
"Plan B."
Udo disappeared to make a phonecall, and when it
looked like Herr Tappert was nearly done with his meal, Herr Bülow asked for
the check, and a few minutes later they stood outside in the quickly cooling
evening.
"There's Hasso." Karl nodded to the trees
at the shorter side of the square, where their friend the miller was waiting in
the car. "You know what to do, sis."
Maryse nodded. "But you two be careful,
okay?"
A few minutes later she sat in the front seat next
to the driver, and Udo and Oskar had taken up their respective places in the
shadows close to the Hofbrau. The waiting game could start...
It was around the same hour as last time – shortly
after dark – that the mystery man left the tavern.
But this time, Oskar and Udo were immediately on his
heels. "Herr Tappert, I believe?" Oskar inquired with a threatening
edge to his voice.
The man made a move as to turn around, but the
sudden sensation of a revolver pressing against his back clearly made him
reconsider.
"Good. Now if you would be so kind as to come with
us for a moment? We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Herr Tappert didn't say a word, but obediently went
as he was directed. Until they were in the shadow of the trees, when... A
sudden turn, a fist connecting with his assailant's jaw, a gun scattering over
the cobblestones... And a soundless sigh as Udo hit him over the head with his
gun.
"Oof..." Oskar picked up his revolver and
quickly bent over their fallen hostage. "Is he out?"
"I think so."
"Quick then."
Together they carried the young man the last few
meters to the waiting car, and manoeuvered their unconscious prisoner onto the
back seat. They both took their place on either side of him, and off they went,
blindfolding and tying him on the way.
Hasso deliberately made a bit of a detour, but in
the end he stopped by the windmill. "I'll get him," he said, and
under the watchful eyes of his comrades, he threw Herr Tappert over his
shoulder and carried him into the woodshed.
He was placed on a straight-backed chair and –
unconscious or not – held at gunpoint as they freed his hands and tied them
again behind the back of the chair. A thorough body-search produced a small
gun, a pocket-knife, and papers in the name of Hugo Anton Tappert that,
according to Oskar, looked real enough to leave open the option of them being
fake.
Udo had lit the paraffinlamp in the corner, making
sure to keep the light low so it wouldn't give away human presence in the shed,
and in the half-light the three men studied their sagging prisoner.
"I hope I didn't hit him too hard,"
Udo muttered with a hint of worry in his voice.
"He'll be alright," Oskar assured him.
"He might well be faking it now, to learn as much about us as he can.
So..."
Udo nodded. 'No talking', was his motto
tonight. For unlike Oskar, he wasn't very adept at disguising his voice, and
they certainly couldn't risk this so-called POW to recognize the voice of one
of the guards.
"He's a feisty one," Hasso agreed.
"Maybe we should tie his ankles to the legs of the chair, too. To avoid
him pulling a stunt like the one he did back there."
Oskar nodded, and once that was taken care of, Hasso
took his leave. "Good luck with him. I'll go and get the lady home. You
guys just shout if there's trouble, okay?"
Once Hasso had left, Oskar removed the mystery man's
blindfold. After all, he had already seen them at the Hofbrau, and soon the man
began to show signs of coming around. A few moans, a few vigorous shakes of the
head, a jerk as he realized he was tied to something, and Herr Tappert opened
his eyes.
"Guten Abend, Herr Tappert," Oskar
drawled. "I'm sorry we had to knock you out, but we really wanted to talk
to you in private."
The guy gave him a blurred look. "What... About
your sister? I didn't even touch her – honest!"
"Good for you, but that's not what we want to talk
about."
"What then?"
Oskar leaned in on him. "We'd like to ask you a
few things about your business with Stalag 13."
The prisoner raised his eyebrows. "Stalag 13?
Where is that? Oh, wait... Isn't that the prison-camp just outside town
here?"
"Exactly. We know that you belong there, and
yet you don't belong there. Do I make myself clear?"
"Not really," the guy muttered.
"Then let me spell it out for you." Oskar
began to circle him – slowly, like a beast of prey. "Witnesses have seen
you leaving the camp and going back into the camp through the wire. And
without being bothered by the guards. And we would like to know: what is a
German civilian doing, posing as an Allied prisoner-of-war, and going in and
out of the local prison-camp several times a week?"
Hogan
The would-be prisoner-of-war shrugged. "I don't
know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on. Don't give me that nonsense, will
you? We know you pose as a prisoner in Stalag 13. That'd be odd enough in itself,
but you're also walking around town and meeting friends as if you've lived here
all your life. So clearly you are not a prisoner-of-war – you're a
native German. And then you go back to the prison out of your own free will. A
little too many oddities, don't you think? So what is your game?"
The guy sighed. "Look, I'm sure you've got me
mixed up with someone else. So why don't you let me go and we'll just forget
this... this misunderstanding."
Oskar shook his head. "Sorry, pal. No mix-up.
We followed you from the Hofbrau back to camp the other night, so it's no use
denying."
Their mystery man contemplated this. "And
what's your angle in this?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you think I'm an escaped prisoner, the
logical thing for you to do was to turn me in. Or to take me back to camp
yourselves. But you brought me here instead. Why?"
"You're no escaped prisoner. An escaped
prisoner would want to get out of here as fast as possible. He wouldn't stop at
the Hofbrau for dinner and a chat with his friends – if he had any around here
in the first place. And he certainly wouldn't return to his prison out of his
own free will."
The man had an impudent grin. "Oh yes, he
would. Have you ever tasted the food in that camp? Believe me – if you were a
prisoner there, you'd take every opportunity to go and have dinner at the
Hofbrau!"
"But you're no prisoner – you're German,"
Oskar stated with deadly finality.
Herr Tappert's face opened up in disbelief.
"Noooo... Whatever gave you that idea?"
Oskar rolled his eyes. "Don't be coy with me,
Herr Tappert – or whatever your name is. Anyone within a 100 kilometer radius
will immediately recognize your accent as Düsseldorfian. You're no Allied
prisoner – you're a native German."
Herr Tappert gave him a textbook version of a
puppy-dog look. "Then why did you grab me?"
"I told you: to find out what your game is in
going in and out of the prison-camp. So why do you do it?"
The man shrugged. "For fun?"
"Very funny."
"Well, it's certainly fun to fool the
guards."
Oskar shook his head. "Really – even my
grandmother could come up with a more plausible reason. Now tell me: why do you
pretend to be an Allied prisoner? Who are you working for?"
"I could ask you the same thing," the man
muttered.
"But I'm asking you."
A sigh. "Look – why don't you just drop me off
in the prison-camp and have this over and done with?"
"And then you simply go back to your game,
coming and going from the camp? No way. Not unless you tell me why."
"Why should I? What business is it of yours
anyway?"
"Well, you can tell me, or you can tell
the Gestapo. Whatever you prefer."
Herr Tappert's eyes narrowed. "Since when is it
a crime to escape into a prison?"
"So why don't you quit beating around the bush
and tell me."
A defiant glare was all he got.
"All I'm asking for is a sensible explanation
for your odd behaviour. You give me one, and I may very well let you go. But if
you don't give me one, I'll be forced to conclude that your actions can't bear
the light of day, which means it'd be my duty as a German citizen to turn you
over to the authorities. So what will it be?"
No reaction, and after a while, Oskar resumed his
circling of their prey again. It had a tendency to make people nervous, he
knew, and now that Herr Tappert was beginning to refuse to answer...
But the guy remained as cool as a cucumber – yet
another hint that he must have been trained in such tactics. And who else but a
dyed-in-the-wool villain would be trained to withstand intimidation techniques?
It did mean of course that this could become a long
battle. But at least as long as they held him here, he couldn't do much damage
as a Gestapo spy in the camp, and this Colonel Hogan would be safe.
They could of course turn him over to the Gestapo
right now. The Gestapo certainly had its useful sides if you knew how to
exploit them, and it was generally known that they wouldn't hesitate to arrest
their very own people if appearances happened to be against them. And such was
fairly easily arranged.
But he'd rather know what the guy was up to before turning
him in. For if the Gestapo or whatever agency he worked for were so interested
in this American colonel, they were bound to send in another informer once
Tappert was out of the way. And as long as they didn't have a clue as to what
the Nazis or the army wanted from the American colonel, there was little they
could do to help protect the man.
The night dragged on – often in silence,
interspersed with more question-and-answer exchanges that got them nowhere.
"What time is it?" Udo mouthed when Oskar
slowly came walking in his direction again.
Oskar glanced at his watch. "Twenty past
three."
"He's awfully stubborn, isn't he."
Oskar grimaced, and opened his mouth to respond...
... when suddenly the door of the woodshed was
kicked open with a clang and a calm voice ordered, "Hände hoch."
In a reflex, Oskar spun around and trained his gun
on the black-clad intruder instead – but not without hearing his friend gasp,
"Colonel Hogan!"
Colonel Hogan? ! ?
Before he had quite processed the thought what the
heck the American officer from the camp was doing here, the man raised an
eyebrow and said – in an utterly laid-back fashion – , "So you know me,
huh? Well, that saves us one round of introductions." He gestured for his
companion – a black man (the black man from the camp perhaps?) – to
close the door behind them.
With the American colonel training his gun on them,
and Oskar keeping the two intruders covered with poor Herr Tappert caught in
the middle, the atmosphere was close to boiling point. But Karl ventured nonetheless,
"Are you trying to escape?" Perhaps he needed help...?
But, "Not really," was the slow reply.
"We came in search of our friend here."
Karl gasped in shock as the truth hit him. For if
the American colonel was a friend of that spy Tappert...! "You're
Gestapo, too?" Of course – his perfect Berlin accent, being out of camp
but not escaping... Oh God, what had they gotten themselves into?
He heard Udo's ragged breathing behind him – or was
it his own? And Tappert's surprised exclamation, "Gestapo?" And the
Colonel's calm, "Don't worry, we're not from the Gestapo. And neither are
you, I gather."
"I don't believe you." This war was
turning totally crazy. Wasn't anybody who he was supposed to be? What
with Tappert's highly suspicious behaviour, and this American colonel being a
friend of his... And now they had another so-called prisoner outside the
camp who spoke German like a native and claimed he was not escaping...?
He grabbed his gun with both hands to steady his
aim. He was totally at a loss now as to what was going on here – but there was
no doubt they were caught right in the middle of it, and things did not
look good. Oh God, please...! Please don't force me to shoot another
man...!
"Look." The tall black man behind the
treacherous colonel stepped forward and held out his empty hands. "I'm
with him. Do I look like Gestapo material?" And he spoke
perfect German, too! What was this war coming to?
Karl's eyes darted back and forth between the
treacherous colonel and the calm black man. He felt like a deer caught in two
sets of headlights – almost too scared to think. But there was something about
the black man that... "No," he croaked out. "I suppose you're
not Gestapo."
"And I assure you, neither are my friends
here." A pause, in which Karl's eyes darted back to the American colonel
again. For if he was not Gestapo – then what was he? And Tappert?
"Take it easy now," the black man
continued in an almost soothing tone. "We're not here to harm you, so
let's put away those guns."
The American colonel glanced at his black helper,
but did set the example by putting his revolver in his belt and showing them
his empty hands. Amazing how he simply did what the black man said...
And Karl wavered. Technically he had the upper hand
now, but things had developed so totally beyond his grasp... "So what are
you? What's going on here?"
"We're in the escape business. We help
prisoners escape," the American colonel replied.
"By having them go back to the prison-camp
every time? That's insane. I don't believe you." Karl tightened his grip
on the gun.
"Colonel, perhaps you should let me handle
this," the black man spoke softly, and in English.
He got a curt nod from his superior officer in
black, and the black man held out his hands again. "We are not Gestapo. We
are Allied soldiers who are secretly stationed at Stalag 13. Our orders are to
help other prisoners escape, and to sabotage the German war effort as much as
we can."
"From a prison-camp?" Karl shook his head.
"Impossible. That's crazy."
"I know. And as long as the Nazis think it's
impossible and crazy, too, it's the perfect cover."
Never taking his eyes off the black man, Karl mulled
that over. Contrary to that shifty colonel, he found it difficult to distrust
the black man. He had an air of such quiet integrity about him, that...
"And seeing how scared you two are of the
Gestapo," the black man continued softly, "I would be very much
surprised if you were not on the same side as we are. Fighting against
the Nazis. Am I correct?"
Almost against his will, Karl nodded, followed by
Udo.
"So why don't you put away that gun now. We're
fighting for the same cause. We're not going to hurt you."
Slowly, still wary, Karl lowered his hand – but he
didn't put the gun away. "And what about him?" he asked with a nod to
the still tied-up Tappert. "He's German, isn't he? And he's been in and
out of the camp several times these past weeks."
Tappert glanced at the Colonel, and at his approving
nod he finally explained his odd behaviour. "I'm not German – I'm
American. But I grew up in Düsseldorf, where my father worked at the American
consulate. So that's why I speak German fluently. With a Düsseldorf accent to
boot."
Of course – why hadn't they thought of that
possibility? Maryse's English... "And why do you keep going back to the
camp? Don't you want to escape?"
"I can't. Like he said, we're stationed here.
It's our job to help others escape. But we have to stay put, to
make sure the operation keeps rolling."
Karl let that sink in for a moment. The whole idea
was still crazy as far as he was concerned. But if – as the black man had
pointed out – the Nazis thought so, too...
"One of his tasks," the black man picked
up, "Is to try and make contact with people outside the camp. People who
don't agree with the Führer's ideologies, and are willing to help escaping
prisoners along on their way back to England. I guess you could say he was
lucky today, in that you found him instead of the other way
around."
Oskar and Udo exchanged a glance. Apparently they weren't
the only ones to have come up with the idea of helping escaped prisoners to get
back to England.
"Do you think you might be able to help us,
too?" The black man's question was tentative – as if he wanted to give
them every opportunity to turn down the request.
Oskar's eyes went from the black man to 'Herr
Tappert', and to Colonel Hogan. "Maybe," was his equally tentative
answer. It would fit in perfectly with what they usually did in helping people
to get away, but still... "How do we know this is not a trap?"
The American colonel sighed. "Look, I know the
times are such that one can't blindly trust a stranger. But you've already come
to the conclusion yourself that my black friend here couldn't possibly be
Gestapo. So why should we be Gestapo? We need the help from
people like you – people outside the camp who are willing to oppose the Nazis.
And since you already admitted you're fighting them, too, wouldn't it be more
effective if we'd work together?" A pause. "And I promise you, you
won't have to tell us any more about what you do than what you're comfortable
with. The less we know about each other, the less we can betray. But that
doesn't mean we can't work together to fight that devil in Berlin."
Another silence as Karl carefully considered his options.
The fact of the matter was of course, that if this really was a trap,
Udo and he were already in way over their heads. But if these guys were genuine
(and the black man certainly seemed to be), he could easily see a million
things they could do to help them. So perhaps...
"Perhaps we should show them our operation,
Colonel," the black man suggested to his superior officer. "That
should convince them that we're not working for the Nazis."
Colonel Hogan nodded, and Karl looked questioningly
from one to the other. "What operation?"
Turning back to him, the black man explained,
"Our set-up back at the camp. We're building everything we need there –
underground of course. A radio that can reach London, a printing press, a varied
stack of uniforms, a dark room with photographic equipment..."
Underground? Karl's curiosity was instantly peaked,
and judging by the hastily swallowed sound behind him, so was Udo's.
"Alright," he said slowly. "I'll come
with you. And if what you show me convinces me that you're genuine in your
fight against the Nazis, you can count on us to help you whenever we're able
to. But..." He nodded at the American-German still tied to the chair.
"He stays here. If I come back safely, he'll be free to go." After
all, if they were willing to take the risk of going out of camp at night to
search for this guy, he must be pretty important to them. Too important to try
anything with him in return.
"A little insurance, huh? Alright," the
Colonel agreed. "But we better get moving then. We'd prefer to have him
back in camp by roll call. Saves us some trouble."
Karl nodded and turned to his friend. "Will you
be alright with him?" he asked under his breath.
Udo nodded.
"And remember tonight's motto, okay? These guys
are sharp – we can't risk it."
Another nod, and Danzig was ready to go.
As he had expected, the two American 'prisoners'
took a pretty much straight route cross country to the camp. In fact, they
passed pretty close by his house.
But nothing was said on the way – too dangerous with
possible patrols lurking in the woods at a time when civilians were supposed to
be in their beds, or at least inside the house. And certainly prisoners were
supposed to be in their prison-camp...
And there it was, lit up brightly in the dark of
blacked-out Germany.
The two Americans squatted down behind some bushes,
and Karl followed their example. They were some twenty meters from the fence,
and he could clearly see one of the guards patrolling with a fierce looking
German shepherd. But they weren't anywhere near the place where you could raise
the fence. Or would the camp have more secret entrances?
"I'm afraid we're going to have to blindfold
you now," Colonel Hogan whispered. "For the same goes for you: what
you don't know, you can't spill."
Karl opened his mouth to say that he already knew
about the fence, but with the blindfold already covering his eyes, he decided
he might as well play along. It was a giant leap of faith, but if they were
ever to work together, they had to start trusting each other somewhere.
They had already entrusted him with the information about their escape
business – now it was his turn to learn to trust them in return.
He was pulled upright, and two hands guided him what
seemed to be further to the right.
"Get down!" Colonel Hogan hissed.
For a few moments they hovered low by the ground –
then he was pulled up again. "Quick! Raise your leg high and find the
rungs of the ladder. Kinch will guide your foot there."
A ladder? He did as he was told, and felt someone
take hold of his foot and place it on a narrow surface that could be a ladder.
The other foot came logically beside it, and sensing the other man just below
him, he carefully began to descend into... into what? Underground, they had
said, but...?
And there was the bottom – sand by the feeling of
it.
He was pulled aside a little, and he heard someone
else coming down the ladder and jumping down the last bit. And then his
blindfold was pulled away, and as he stepped into his line of sight, Colonel
Hogan grinned, "Welcome to our underground department." There was a
hint of pride in his voice, and looking around, Karl could easily see why. The
tunnel's ceiling was high enough for a grown man to go upright without feeling
the urge to duck, and the rough sandy walls were far enough apart to allow two
people to walk together.
"Wow," he breathed. "When you said it
was underground, I envisioned something narrow and low – of crawling height.
But this...!"
"That's the size of an escape tunnel. But we
don't dig tunnels to escape – we work here," Colonel Hogan explained.
"Come on, I'll show you around."
Karl followed him through the sparsely lit tunnel,
with the black man taking the rear. It was hard to estimate the distance, but
it was quite a walk before they came to a better lit room. A room full of radio
equipment, with a man with headphones on sitting on duty in the midst of it.
"LeBeau and Newkirk back yet?" the Colonel
inquired with him.
The man at the radio shook his head, and Colonel
Hogan turned back to him. "This is our radioroom. Our radio has quite a
good range: we can talk to a submarine in the North Sea, and with them as an
intermediate, we communicate with our headquarters in London. But we're working
on a better antenna. It'd be easier if we could communicate with London
directly."
Karl was visibly impressed. "Where did you get
all this equipment? Or did you bring that with you when you got stationed here?
No," he corrected himself. "That's hardly possible. The guards would
have taken it before you were brought here."
Colonel Hogan nodded. "We get regular supply
drops from London. And..."
"In the camp?" Karl half exclaimed in
surprise.
"No, outside in the woods. So we go out of camp
at night to pick them up."
"And they never catch you?"
Colonel Hogan chuckled. "Only when we want them
to." And the black man grinned at him.
"But..." Karl frowned as he tried to make
sense of the situation. "Surely the Kommandant of this place must be in on
it, too, then. Isn't he?"
"Nope. Well, sort of," the Colonel
immediately amended his instinctive denial. "Of course he doesn't know it,
but without him, we wouldn't be able to function properly. A little flattery
and a lot of manipulation go a long way with Kommandant Klink – we can get him
to do exactly what we want. In fact, he's a great asset to the Allied war
effort."
"And so is Schultz, our barracks guard,"
the black man added.
Another chuckle from Colonel Hogan. "It took
some time, but we've trained him to 'see nothing, hear nothing and know
nothing'. He adheres strictly to it – if only because it'd be his neck,
too, if they'd ever find out what's been going on here right under their
noses."
"Oh boy." Karl couldn't help laughing.
"And the other guards – have you trained them, too?" Udo had never
said anything about that.
"Nah. Not really. We've checked them out of
course, and any guard we don't like gets transferred out. The bunch we
have left either follows Schultz's lead, or they're too stupid to question
what's going on around them."
If Udo heard that... Colonel Hogan definitely had a
marvellous set-up here. But if he didn't keep his overconfidence in check, his
underestimating the enemy would soon end in disaster...
He looked around. There were about half a dozen more
dark openings in all directions. More tunnels? Other rooms?
Colonel Hogan followed his gaze. "Yeah, we
intend to have a tunnel connection to every important building in the camp,
including every barracks. Just in case, you know. At the moment..." – he
gestured to the right – "...we're working on a tunnel to the Kommandant's
private quarters. Should come in handy one day."
He led the way into one of the other openings.
"And this is our printing room, where we print anything from pamphlets to
Gestapo orders, and from ID cards to money." He picked up a batch of
Reichsmark notes and let it rustle under Karl's nose. "Practically
indistinguishable from the real stuff. It comes in handy when you have to bribe
people who don't deserve to get rewarded."
Karl peered at them. "Can I see?"
"Sure." The Colonel held out the whole
handful to him, but he took only one banknote and held it up in the light of
the oil-lamp.
"Are you an expert perhaps?" the black man
asked with obvious interest.
Karl shook his head. "No more than your average
German citizen. I just wanted to see if I could notice the difference. But I
can't." He handed back the note, and said, "Alright, I believe you.
What can we do to help you?"
Colonel Hogan raised his eyebrows. "You believe
us because of the fake money?"
"No, because of all these tunnels. There is
absolutely no point whatsoever for the Nazis to set up a vast tunnelsystem like
this under a prison-camp. Though I still don't understand how having a prisoner
escape and then go back into the camp helps the other prisoners to escape."
Colonel Hogan grinned. "We'll get to that. Now
let's see..."
It was about half an hour before roll call when
Olsen returned – through the emergency tunnel this time. He found Hogan and
Kinch in the radioroom. "Hi guys. I'm back."
"Are you alright?" Hogan inquired.
"Yeah, sure." He chuckled. "They fell
all over themselves apologizing for holding me hostage all night. It turns out
they thought I was a Gestapo spy, planted in the camp to pry military secrets
out of you."
"Yes, he told me." Hogan shook his head.
"Still, considering how much they did find out about your comings
and goings, I think we may count ourselves very lucky that they are on our
side. Which means you will have to be a whole lot more careful when you
go out, understood?"
Olsen nodded. "I had already figured that, yes.
What draws their attention, can draw the attention of the Gestapo as
well."
"Exactly. So keep that in mind, okay?"
Another nod. "I will."
"Okay, then let's compare notes. We still have
the mystery of these guys recognizing me."
Kinch shook his head. "I don't think we can
assume that they both recognized you on sight, sir. The other one – the
silent one – certainly did. But the guy who came back here with us may simply
have heard of you from his friend."
Hogan nodded. "That's true."
"He's probably one of the guards," Olsen
suggested.
"That's the most likely explanation, yes,"
Hogan agreed. "The question is: which one? I wasn't aware that we had
any guards with connections in the underground?"
Kinch cleared his throat. "If I may,
Colonel?"
"Sure. By all means."
"When we were in that woodshed, I got a gut
feeling that the guy who recognized you was Private Steinmetz. I know he didn't
look anything like him, but something about him reminded me of him."
"Steinmetz? You mean the guy with the
limp?"
"Yes. And it would fit in with his known
behaviour of leaving wirecutters and digging tools around the camp."
"But he didn't have a limp!" Olsen
protested.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. They both walked perfectly
normal."
"Hm." Hogan stroked his chin. "We'll
have to look into that. And the other guy, this Oskar Danzig..."
"Oskar Danzig?" Olsen interrupted
him.
Hogan grinned. "What – you've heard of him,
too?"
"Of course I have! The greatest female
impersonator in the history of mankind!" He chuckled as a fond memory
surfaced. "He was playing in a hotel in Düsseldorf when I was what –
fifteen, sixteen? And my friend and I sneaked in there one night to see the
show. Without paying of course."
Hogan nodded. "I've seen him, too. In Berlin. I
remember he was so convincing that I seriously wondered if he really was a
guy."
"Well, now you know. But he didn't seem too
pleased that you remembered him though," Kinch pointed out.
"No. That's true. Well, we better leave the
past the past then, and treat him for what he is now – a possibly valuable
ally." He grimaced. "Who at least has promised not to blow up any
more munition trains in our faces."
"So that was him, huh? Glad that mystery is
solved." Olsen chuckled. "I've got to say I'm impressed though. Some
group they have – a worldfamous impersonator, and on top of that a girl so
gorgeous you wouldn't believe it..."
Kinch raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that
girl wasn't Danzig himself – in disguise?"
If looks could kill...
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I just like to play with them.
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