Читать книгу Her Hidden Life - V.S. Alexander - Страница 9

The Berchtesgaden train station was smaller but grander than Berlin’s. The Nazi banners hung in strict vertical rows, offsetting the large columns inside, giving the building a formal Roman look. Off to one side, a gold door glittered. It appeared to be reserved for dignitaries. A black eagle perched on a swastika was rendered in bas-relief on its surface. Perhaps it was the entrance to a reception room for important people visiting the Führer; after all, this was the final stop for those invited to his mountain retreat.

I looked for my uncle Willy and aunt Reina and saw them standing near the entrance. We exchanged Nazi salutes. My uncle seemed happier to see me than my aunt. He was a pear-shaped man with a potbelly, who still retained the red hair and freckles of his youth. Some of the spots had blossomed into brown blotches that spread across his face. He held his police cap in his hand. My aunt’s smile seemed forced, as if I were the unwanted stepchild who had come home for a visit. She was elegant and cultured, compared to my more affable uncle. My father had told me that he found my aunt and uncle a strange match. I was young then and never questioned their attraction, but now as I stood before them their differences showed clearly.

After we swapped greetings, my uncle loaded my bags into their small gray Volkswagen. I took my place in the backseat. I could see little of the mountain scenery as my uncle drove, with the exception of dark peaks that shot up through the broken clouds into an ebony sky. I had only been to Berchtesgaden once when I was child.

My aunt and uncle lived in a three-story Bavarian-style chalet wedged between a small restaurant and a butcher shop on a crowded street not far from the town center. The Alpine influence was everywhere. Their home was tall, but not as wide as a chalet you would find perched on a mountainside. I got out of the car and breathed in the crisp mountain air. It was hard to believe I was in the same country as Berlin.

We took off our coats and left my luggage near the door. Uncle Willy was dressed in his local police uniform with the swastika on his left arm. Reina wore a cobalt blue dress with a fastened collar. A diamond brooch in the shape of a swastika was pinned above her heart. A large black-and-white portrait of the Führer hung over the fireplace where his solemn, solid figure brooded over the dining room. My aunt had sewn a table runner covered with swastikas. Reina was Spanish and a supporter of Franco, and Italy’s Mussolini as well. Everything in their house was fastidious according to the Nazi ideal of Germanic perfection. Nothing was out of order. The furniture was polished to a brilliant shine and symmetrical in its placement. I felt as if I had stepped into a fairy tale, something out of the ordinary and surreal in its effect. It was like being at an art exhibition – beautiful, but not home.

The evening was cool, so my uncle stoked the fire. Aunt Reina served a beef stew and bread, and we enjoyed a glass of red wine. The stew was light on meat and vegetables, more broth than anything, but it tasted good. I was hungry from the trip. The meal was heartier than the vegetable dishes my mother cooked these days. Eggs and meat were scarce all over Germany, especially in the cities.

We talked about my parents and our relatives. We spoke briefly of the war, a topic for which Willy and Reina had only smiles. Like my mother, they were convinced we were winning and Germany would be victorious over our enemies, particularly the Jews. My life had been so sheltered, with people of my own kind, my own few friends, that I had never thought much about the Jews. They were not part of my life. We had no friends, no neighbors, who were Jewish. No one we knew had ‘disappeared.’

Uncle Willy said the right to our Lebensraum was as indelible as our heritage. When the Jews and the Bolsheviks were removed, the land would be Germany’s to populate. The East would produce the food, the minerals and the raw materials the Reich needed for its thousand-year reign. His face beamed as he talked.

Aunt Reina surveyed her perfectly laid table like a queen. ‘This crystal came from my home in Spain.’ She tapped the side of the glass with her nails. ‘When it’s safe to travel, I will take you to my birthplace; it’s such a beautiful country. The Allies are doing their best to flood us with propaganda. Despite that, we know the Führer cannot be wrong.’ She glanced at the portrait over the fireplace and smiled. ‘We will be victorious. Our men will fight until the final battle is won.’

I nodded, having no taste for the topic, because I was an ordinary German girl with little of the sophistication of my aunt. She was unlike any woman I had ever met – more opinionated than my mother, and with a soul of tempered steel. Nothing I could say or do could influence my aunt’s and uncle’s thinking or the outcome of the war. Even my few girlfriends were more concerned with their jobs, making money and getting along. We hardly ever talked of the war except to note, with longing, the misfortune of boys being shipped off to battle.

After my aunt and I cleared the dishes, we sat up for another hour in the living room until Uncle Willy nodded off. Reina declared the evening at an end when my uncle began snoring. I carried my bags to my second-floor bedroom, which looked out over the street. The third floor housed the attic, a room my aunt used for storage.

The town lamps were out, but a few muted window lights shone underneath the blackout shades. Past the buildings a mixture of dark and light fell on the terrain. The mountains displayed varying tones of black: the rock dun and dense, the forest lighter in its darkness. The clouds swirled overhead and sometimes a shaft of light shot through them like a luminous arrow. I couldn’t tell if it came from the ground or the heavens, but it momentarily lit the clouds as if an electric torch had been placed inside them. I stood at the window and found it hard to pull myself away from the view. Magic and myth filled the air in the Obersalzberg. No wonder Hitler had decided to construct his castle on the mountain above Berchtesgaden, his Berghof.

I unpacked a few things and then sat on the bed. As much as I admired the beauty of Berchtesgaden, I was a stranger in my aunt and uncle’s house. I went to bed thinking of my comfortable room in Berlin and my parents. They would be in bed now, the shades down, the lamps out. Frau Horst would still be awake, smoking a cigarette and sipping her cognac. She never went to bed without having a drink.

The silence in my room was eerie. In Berlin, particularly before the war, when the wind was right, I heard trains and their lonely whistles. I always wondered where they were going, but I was content to stay in my bed, rather than dream about travel. Cars rumbled by, horns blared, at all hours. The city hummed. I would have to get used to the quiet. Quite unexpectedly, I missed my tree-lined street and the hellos and small talk from our neighbors.

By the next morning, all pleasantries with my aunt had dissipated.

‘You must get a job if you want to live here,’ Reina told me in a voice filled with the heaviness of iron. The comforts of the previous evening evaporated as she served me a bowl of porridge with a little goat’s milk. There was no butter on the table and I didn’t dare ask. ‘We can’t afford to feed another mouth, and your parents aren’t in a position to send money. You must work or find a husband. The Reich needs strong male babies for future service.’

I was shocked by her demands, but they weren’t entirely unexpected. ‘What would you have me do?’ I said. ‘I can’t walk the streets looking for a man.’

Creases formed around Reina’s mouth. ‘I am not suggesting you be a whore,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Wanton women damage the Reich and pervert our soldiers. A man’s seed should be saved for children. You must find a job – something you can do, or have talent in. Do you have any talent?’

I thought hard before answering. I’d never had to do much around my parents’ house except clean and mend. Sometimes I cooked, but rarely. My mother commanded the kitchen. ‘I can sew,’ I finally replied.

‘Not enough money. And work here would be scarce. All Berchtesgaden women know how to sew, probably much better than you.’

My aunt’s lack of confidence in me stung. However, her tactic was succeeding. I sank into my chair and questioned my own lack of initiative. My parents had never forced me to work and I assumed that the small jobs I did around the house paid for my keep. Perhaps I was wrong.

‘What good are you to the Reich?’ My aunt placed her hands on her hips and stared at me. ‘Every citizen must be productive. You should be ashamed and so should your parents for raising such a worthless girl. Perhaps it would have been better if you’d stayed in Berlin. Your father is such a worrywart.’ She shook a finger at me.

Whatever fondness I held for my aunt was rapidly diminishing. We had spent little time together and the prospect of more than a few days portended disaster.

‘I will look for work after breakfast,’ I said.

My aunt’s eyes brightened. ‘That’s a good girl. There must be something you can do.’

I was not convinced.

I helped my aunt with the dishes, then took a bath and unpacked the remainder of my things, although I felt no certainty about staying. Wanting to look smart, I picked out my best dress. I hadn’t applied for a job in several years and felt woefully unprepared. My aunt presented me with a writing pad and pen, both covered in swastikas.

The clouds had cleared overnight and the sun’s rays bore down in full spring strength; still it was cool enough to wear a jacket. The mountain air and dazzling light quickened my step after the unpleasant conversation with my aunt. I looked to my right and was thrilled to see the Watzmann, whose beautiful serrated peaks loomed over the valley like shark’s teeth protruding from the earth. The white snows of winter still clung to the heights of its rocky face. Everywhere I looked there were forest and mountains. Berchtesgaden was so different from Berlin, where everyone felt on edge.

I wandered down the street, past shops with empty windows. Many were shuttered or boarded up completely. I even stopped to read a local broadsheet for employment news, but no jobs were listed. How did my aunt expect me to get a position with so many shops out of business or selling only rationed goods and services? No window signs seeking job hunters were visible, except for the butcher’s next to my aunt and uncle’s. A few measly bird carcasses hung on hooks behind the counter. The butcher wanted a helper with strong shoulders, to help clean and lift. I couldn’t see myself gutting birds or cleaning up bloody messes. Besides, it only made sense that the shop owner would want a man who could haul heavy slabs of beef, as scarce as they might be.

My parents had given me a few Reichsmark to pay for necessities. They expected my aunt and uncle would feed and house me at no cost. That, of course, was wishful thinking and only partially true. I guessed it was my uncle Willy, the head of the house, who allowed me to come to Berchtesgaden over the objections of my aunt.

I stopped at a restaurant and looked at the menu. Sausages, which probably came from the local butcher shop, looked good to me. The savory meat was a special treat and was hard to get anywhere now. I sat at an outdoor table and wondered whether I should use my parents’ hard-earned money for such an extravagance. I needed something to cheer me up, so it didn’t take me long to decide. The owner took my order for one sausage and fried potatoes. The sausage was served bubbling in its own juices on a warm plate. The smell of the fried potatoes reminded me of the way my mother used to cook.

After I ate, I was unsure what to do. In two hours, I had scoured most of the town with no luck. I walked aimlessly for a while, enjoying the scenery until I saw my uncle walking toward me.

‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, and rubbed his belly.

I pointed to the restaurant where I’d had lunch. ‘The sausage was excellent.’

He pulled me aside into the shade of a shop’s awning. ‘I talked to your aunt after you left.’ He frowned. ‘Don’t pay attention to her. She can be gruff at times. She’s trying hard to protect us from the war.’

I nodded. ‘I’m grateful for what you’ve done. Otherwise, I would have no place to go.’

He lifted a finger as if he were about to lecture me. ‘I’ve called upon a few people this morning. Being a policeman and a Party member opens doors. Apply at the Reichsbund and I’ll take it from there.’ He tilted his head toward a building down the block draped with Nazi flags. ‘Don’t be shy. Go on. I’ll work my magic.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek.

I left him, smiling, and walked to the Reichsbund, an office of the civilian service. I stared into a window crowded with books, banners, placards and Nazi publications.

Beyond the window, a woman dressed in a gray uniform sat at a desk. She looked up from her work as if she’d sensed my presence. Uncle Willy’s courage bolstered me. I stepped inside to see what positions might be available. The woman’s blond hair was pinned back in a rather strict style, but she was otherwise pretty, with high cheekbones, blue eyes and a thin nose. She was the kind of person you wanted to like. I supposed that was why she was in her position.

I inquired and she asked me to take a seat in an oak chair in front of her desk.

‘I’m from Berlin living here with my aunt and uncle, but I need work.’ I blushed at my inadequacy.

She stopped writing in her book, placed her pen in its center and closed the cover. ‘May I see your identification papers? Are you a Party member?’

I wondered why I had not joined the Party long ago. If I thought about my loyalties, I fell in line with my father, who was non-committal at best, a silent critic at worst. Still, I needed work or I might be forced to return to Berlin. ‘My papers are at home with my aunt and uncle. I’m not a Party member.’

She eyed me rather suspiciously, but then, sizing me up, she must have judged I was no threat to Nazi politics. ‘Who are your aunt and uncle?’

‘Willy and Reina Ritter. They are Party members and live near here.’

She clasped my hands like a schoolgirl chum. ‘I know them very well. They’re fine upstanding people, a credit to all loyal Germans. What’s your name?’

I told her and she listened raptly to my history. As I talked she took out another book, making notations on what I said. When I was through, she asked me to stand in front of a black screen near the back of the room. She took several pictures of me with a flash camera. These, she said, would go to her superior when they were developed.

‘Is there anything I can do – that I would be qualified for?’ I asked.

‘There’s nothing in this district,’ she said. ‘You’re not qualified as a bookkeeper, or as a gardener, for construction, or a locomotive engineer. Many women already serve the Reich, so positions are limited.’

I sighed. Reina would not be pleased.

The woman saw my frown and said, ‘But that doesn’t mean this interview was for nothing. The Reich always has work for its people whether or not you are a Party member.’ She looked at me like a patient teacher. ‘If you were as supportive as your aunt and uncle, we could look upon you more favorably.’

I rose from my seat. ‘Where can I join?’ I asked as sincerely as I could, yet something inside me rebelled at the thought of being a Nazi. My mother had once admonished my father for not being ‘stronger,’ a man who thought more like the Party leadership. In order to get a job, I would have to adopt my mother’s thinking.

She pointed to a desk across the room. ‘Herr Messer will be here Saturday. Come see him.’

I walked out of the Reichsbund somewhat encouraged, although I didn’t want to face my aunt, because I still had no job prospects.

Reina was in the kitchen when I arrived, so I sneaked up the stairs to my room and put my feet up rather than face her.

About forty-five minutes later, I heard my uncle open the door and greet my aunt.

I found them sitting in the living room. Reina was shocked that I was home, but greeted me with a smile. ‘Willy told me the news. I’m sure something good will come of your interview.’

Uncle Willy lit a cigarette, exhaled and said, ‘I’m certain of it.’

That night at dinner, we talked of my aunt’s childhood in Spain and how she and my uncle had met at a hostel in the Italian Alps. Willy had lodged there for a political gathering; Reina was staying overnight with a group of hiking friends. They saw something in each other that members of my family couldn’t see.

The conversation died the same time as the fire and we went to bed about ten. I spent several hours worrying about work until I finally fell asleep. The next morning I went out again, but found nothing. Again, I dreaded coming home with no job. When I arrived, I found my aunt and told her the bad news.

She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, oddly calm considering her fervor for my search. ‘The Reichsbund called this afternoon. They want you to report in the morning. Apparently, they have a job for you.’ She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek with her cold lips. Later, I asked Willy if he knew what the position was, but he shook his head.

That evening, we celebrated with wine. My aunt allowed me to call my parents to give them the good news. Frau Horst and my parents shared a phone in the building. My mother seemed pleased. I couldn’t tell what my father was thinking. I told them I was planning to join the Party. My father replied, ‘Do what you must to survive.’

His words cast a pall over my celebration.

I wasn’t a fortune-teller, but I wondered how dire my circumstances might become as a worker in the Reich.