Munich Signature Page 10

  “The immediate closure of Jewish land purchases and Jewish immigration.”

  Georg Wand smiled approval. His gold tooth glinted. “Good. Very good! And now . . . in the Czech Sudetenland? What are your goals?”

  The answer of the Sudeten-German trainee was stopped short by the emergence of a tall black-shirted SS officer. He strode through the students and bent to whisper a summons in the ear of Georg Wand. Teaching terrorist tactics to men from beyond the borders of the Reich was a duty that fell outside of Georg’s usual assignments as a Gestapo agent. It was a hobby, really, which satisfied his wish to see military action. Now Heinrich Himmler had something more important for him to test his mental powers on.

  “Sergeant Richter will now take over the class,” Wand announced without ceremony. “I am called to Berlin. I wish you all the best of success. Heil Hitler.”

  A smattering of applause followed him from the bunker and across the field where the Mercedes burned. Wand was an excellent teacher. In times past he had made an excellent terrorist as well. But he would never belong to the SS, and this fact was the one disappointment in his life.

  ***

  Every bridge across the Elbe River was crammed with noisy throngs of Hitler Youth. Rocks and bottles, spittle, rotten vegetables, and bags of human excrement rained down on the decks of the freighter. These were Germany’s farewell gifts to the Darien Jews. This was the way the superior Aryan master race said good-bye to the subhumans of the Jewish race.

  Mrs. Rosenfelt remained across the street from the horrendous scene as the freighter moved slowly past. In her hand she held a rose, the first hopeful rose of spring to bloom. She had plucked it from her garden this morning and had planned to toss it from the bridge to Maria. A foolish gesture, impossible with the hysterical mob shouting on the riverbanks. An old woman could not hope to swim against that tide of human debris to toss one small rose in the midst of the hail of filth. Bubbe Rosenfelt held tightly to the rose as she gazed sadly at the backs of the screaming Hitler Youth. She could only hope that Maria and Klaus had somehow managed to get the children safely below decks; away from the violence of the demonstration. The decks would be cleaned up easily enough, but the young minds of the little ones might hold such a terrible memory forever.

  The old woman turned away. Cane in one hand, rose in the other, she marched quickly toward the Gothic arches of the huge Catholic cathedral that served the sailors of a thousand ports. From the building’s high bell tower, perhaps she could catch one last glimpse of Maria and the children.

  The jeering voices rose to a fevered pitch behind her. She quickened her pace until the hard cobbles jarred her bones. Breathlessly she climbed the worn stone steps and pushed hard against the iron doors. Heavy as they were, they swung in easily on well-oiled hinges.

  Her own breath echoed hollowly in the vast, deserted sanctuary. Straight ahead the marble floor stretched at least one hundred yards to an altar that once had been adorned with a crucified and bleeding Christ. Mrs. Rosenfelt remembered that Christ. Years ago the craftsmen of her factory had worked to repair the figure after it had fallen with the cross above the altar. She drew her breath in sharply as her eyes moved downward from where the cross had been. The swastika emblem and portrait of Hitler now filled the most prominent position in the nave. Scenes from the Old Testament had been removed from stained-glass windows. There must be nothing Jewish here, no contamination in the Reich church! The porcelain figure of Mary and the Christ child had been removed from behind the altar. So this is what Frau Haefner had wept so loudly about! Bubbe remembered the grief her beloved housekeeper endured when her church was desecrated by Hitler’s godlessness. Nazi banners hung from every arch, above each entrance to every alcove.

  Mrs. Rosenfelt saw it all within a matter of seconds and then turned away and hurried toward the narrow steps to her right that led up into the cathedral spire. From there she would see the freighter, the ark of her hopes. From there she would hear only the wind and the flutter of bird wings as she said her own good-byes. High above the youth of Germany who had grown rabid with hatred, she would lay down her rose.

  Each step of the long climb became increasingly difficult as she realized the effect of years. There were times when she forgot that she was old. These steep stairs reminded her. Her lungs burned, and twice she stopped to lean heavily against the cold stone wall of the spiral staircase, trying to catch her breath. Always in her mind was the thought that the freighter was slowly moving away from her, that it carried in its rusting hull everything she loved. One look, one last glimpse of them! Only a little look, God!

  The last twenty steps reared up before her. The great iron bells were plainly visible. So near! Sunlight streamed in through the open arches. Mrs. Rosenfelt forced her legs to move. One distant good-bye. She recited their beloved names now as she struggled toward the window. “Maria . . . Klaus . . . Trudy . . . Katrina . . . Louise . . . Gretchen . . . Ada-Marie . . . ”

  As she reached the light and leaned against the stone railing, she remembered the baby, the one whom only God knew. “And may you be born in a free land, little Holbein!” She wept as she caught sight of the rust-streaked ship. Small dots of color and movement marked the passengers on the deck. Among them, my family, Bubbe Rosenfelt thought. Keep them safe, dear God!

  She looked past the Brownshirts and upraised fists of the Aryan youth who still hounded the passengers from the shoreline. Her old heart pounded in her ears as she laid the rose on the stone ledge and stood watching until the freighter passed out of sight.

  The crowds below began to disperse, but Mrs. Rosenfelt remained in the church spire for a long time as the empty gray river flowed on toward the North Sea. She clutched her black velvet reticule in her hand and suddenly remembered it was still filled with peppermints she had meant to give to the children.

  With a slow sigh, she shook her head and brushed away a tear that had trickled down her lined cheek. “Be good, my little ones,” she whispered. “Sehr gut, kinderlach!”

  ***

  Murphy awoke early with his head full of lead paragraphs and bits of conversation from last night’s interview with President Beneš. Sleep would be impossible until the story was written. Strong coffee, a pen, and paper seemed more important than the rest.

  Elisa was still sleeping when Murphy slipped out of the bedroom and padded quietly down the hall toward the kitchen. He passed the room that Elisa’s brother Dieter now shared with Charles, and then he tiptoed past Theo and Anna’s door.

  He need not have bothered being so quiet. Theo and Dieter sat pensively across from one another at the kitchen table. Little Charles had carefully erected a wall of dominoes on the floor near the large gas stove where Anna stood poised with a coffeepot in her hand. The old-fashioned American-made radio in the corner softly carried an urgent and troubled voice into the room. Murphy stood motionless in the doorway. He recognized the voice as that of President Beneš.

  Anna looked up, shook her head, and then motioned for Murphy to sit down.

  “Accordingly”—Beneš was arriving at some momentous issue, Murphy realized—“since our government is challenged from without on every border, it is the decision of the government that every man between the ages of sixteen and sixty will be called up and registered to serve in the defense of our nation.”

  “Good!” Young Dieter slapped his hand triumphantly on the table. “I am sixteen! I can fight! Wilhelm is off flying his airplanes, and I am as tall as he is.”

  Anna appeared pained. She had already let her oldest son join the Czech Air Corps. Must she also offer Dieter to the cause?

  Theo cleared his throat. He nodded at Dieter. “The age limit includes me as well. We will register together.”

  Anna set the coffeepot down with a clang, drowning out half of Beneš’ last sentence. “No!” she said angrily. “I will not allow it. That I will not allow, Theo! You are barely recovered from a year in Dachau, and I—”

  “But I am recovered, woman!�
�� Theo shot back with uncharacteristic brusqueness. “I was an officer in one of the greatest air corps in the world during the last war, and I can—”

  “And now the very air corps you fought with will drop bombs on our heads!” Anna’s eyes blazed. One son was enough. Now Dieter and Theo? It was too much!

  “All the more reason I should offer my experience to the Czech military! And that I will do! I am far younger than the upper-age limit.”

  “Prison aged you ten years!” Anna was near to tears.

  Murphy started to rise. He was not comfortable in the midst of a family argument. Little Charles gaped wide-eyed at Anna and Theo. He followed their conversation like a spectator at a tennis match.

  “Come on, Charles,” Murphy said grimly to the child.

  “No!” Anna put her hand on Murphy’s arm. “Please do not go! Tell Theo—tell him we can go to America too.”

  Murphy sat down slowly. Beneš still droned on in the background, but now no one was listening to him. “To get a visa to the States is a difficult process these days,” Murphy answered quietly. He and Elisa had discussed it several times, and he was certain that she must have talked to Anna about it. “But it will not be impossible once Elisa is there.”

  “A kind thought, Murphy,” Theo answered politely, although his cheeks were still flushed with anger. “But I cannot see how we can think of leaving now when the Czechs are threatened.”

  “How can we not think of it?” Anna cried.

  Dieter drew himself up very tall and affected a stance that made him look like a young version of his father. “I am old enough to fight, Mother.” Dieter lifted his chin defiantly.

  “And old enough to be killed.” Miserable and desperate, Anna clutched her blue dressing gown over her heart. “But too young to die! Theo!” She turned on her husband. “Can you not see where this foolish loyalty will lead us? Theo—”

  Theo hesitated, as if he was suddenly unwilling to cause Anna any further pain. Then his voice became a gentle coaxing to reason. “How can we leave here, Anna dear? Have you forgotten our son? Have you forgotten that Wilhelm now serves with the Czech Air Corps? His term of service is five years. Five. We cannot leave him to fight alone.”

  Tears spilled from Anna’s eyes. All the men looked embarrassed as she sat down facing away from them. Murphy was the first to speak after a long silence punctuated by her sniffles. “Perhaps it will not come to that,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe there will not be a fight against the Nazis. The measures Beneš is taking—thirty divisions called up, and now registration of civilians. These sorts of things seem to cause Hitler to waver. He was stopped at the border in May, even without the help of the French and British.”

  “There, you see, Anna?” Theo soothed. “Just for safety.”

  Murphy saw his chance. “Yes. Yes . . . for safety, Theo. Maybe it is a good idea for safety if we at least begin the process of acquiring visas to America for you all. Just in case. It is not reflection on your courage, no more than it was for you to flee Germany.”

  “Listen to him,” Anna begged. “Here is a little sense!”

  Theo frowned, then looked at Murphy and spread his hands in a gesture that said, I am listening.

  Even Charles studied Murphy now. This was important. Murphy chose his words carefully. “That night you took the plane in Berlin, I thought there never was a man as brave as you, Theo.” Murphy meant what he said. Theo must not see himself as a coward, but rather as a target for the SS and the Gestapo if Hitler should invade Czechoslovakia. “If things should come to the worst for this place, in spite of what brave men may do to stop it, you can see that you would be among the first targets of the Nazis. You are not only a Jew, Theo, you are among those men Hitler considers traitors to the Reich. Your son is in the Czech—”

  Theo drew back angrily, even though the word traitor was not Murphy’s label, but that of the Reich for those who had fled. “Traitor! I a traitor? They have tarnished my Iron Cross! I fought for the Fatherland! I—”

  “It is Hitler who is the traitor,” Murphy interrupted. “He has destroyed the very constitution of the republic he vowed to uphold. We know that, Theo, but you see, that is the point. The Weimar Republic of Germany no longer exists. Wrong has become right, and the world is turned upside down! If that horrible law—which is not law at all but evil and madness—if it should come here, then there is nothing a good man can do but leave—or die. And this time Anna and Wilhelm and Dieter would die with you. I do not doubt that.”

  It was evident by the look of Theo’s face that he could not doubt it, either. Anna’s eyes pleaded with him as he thought for a moment, then sighed and rendered his decision. “Now we live within the protection of the democracy of the Czechs. We are bound to obey their law. Between sixteen and sixty—every man. That is what the president has declared.”

  “But, Theo!” Anna began to protest.

  Theo silenced her with a look and an upraised hand. “Let me finish,” he said calmly. “I must out of good conscience offer my experience as an air corps officer to this government. They have a fine force. Better even than the French, I think, after talking with Wilhelm. I might be of assistance in training flyers. I can be of great service here.”

  He hesitated, and Anna did not interrupt this time. There was something else he was thinking; she could hear it in his tone.

  “But I think in the interest of safety and good sense, it is reasonable, even important, that we do everything possible to obtain visas to America.”

  Anna slumped with relief. Murphy nodded, suddenly aware that President Beneš had stopped speaking and military music was being played. “A wise decision,” Murphy said. “I will pick up Charles’ medical visa this morning at the American Embassy. I will bring back the applications. There is no sense in taking chances, Theo.”

  “We have no chances left to take, do we, Murphy?” The matter was settled. “So. Anna. Breakfast for your men, eh? We will talk with Murphy. Dieter and I can register for defense at the downtown police station while Murphy visits the American Embassy. And perhaps lunch at the beer cellar near the Rathaus?”

  Murphy was disappointed. He could not join Theo and Dieter, and this had been his first real opportunity to spend time with his father-in-law. “Not today. Sorry. I have a story to write and send on to London. My interview with Beneš. And then—” he looked toward Charles, even though he had not meant to—“I have another important call to make to Paris.”

  “Another time, then,” Theo said, knowing that they were nearly out of time to spend together as a family. Very soon Murphy would take Elisa back to his country, and who could know how long it would be until they were all in the same room again?

  The coffee had only begun to percolate when Elisa appeared at the door of the kitchen, sleepy and a bit disheveled. “Oh, you let me sleep too long,” she chided Murphy, then moved to kiss Theo, Murphy, Dieter, and Charles in turn. “What have I missed so far this morning?” She hugged Anna briefly.

  “Nothing at all.” Anna nudged her toward a chair. “I have not even made the eggs yet.”

  8

  Message in a Bottle

  This morning Prague was a city of crowds and lines. Quiet cliques of desperate, worried men spoke in low voices and cast anxious looks over their shoulders as if they could see the fear that stalked them.

  Murphy parted company with Theo and Dieter at the barricade that sealed Embassy Row off from motor traffic. Beyond the barricade thousands of refugees were camped in the street and on the sidewalks. Murphy could not guess at the numbers who had come here to this street from Germany and Austria in hopes of getting a visa to . . . to where? As he picked his way carefully through the weary crowds, he stood out among them. He was clean, well fed, and his suit was pressed and spotless. Haunted eyes followed his progress toward the American Embassy. He was obviously not one of them. Not on the run. Not threatened with deportation. He was not hungry or homeless. They stood back and let him pass. He had some place to go.<
br />
  The tall iron bars of the American Embassy had become a prison that kept these desperate multitudes out. Daily Hitler raged about the thousands who had fled his tyranny. They were traitors and dangerous criminals who must be deported back to the justice of the Reich for punishment. Many nations had turned the refugees back at their borders. The French had bowed to pressure from the Nazis and were now shipping those without visas back to Germany. But the Czechs had not closed the doors. Jewish relief organizations had joined forces with Catholic groups to provide some meager meals of soup and bread to those who jammed the public parks and packed the rail stations.

  A crowd fifty men deep stood in a widening circle outside the American Embassy. From sidewalk to sidewalk they waited in a silent, expectant vigil for some sign of hope from the representatives of the goldeneh medina, the golden land across the ocean that could never be threatened by men like Hitler and his Nazis. No hope was offered. The crowds had grown since Austria had fallen in March. Each day more were added to the numbers, but still there was no word of hope. Madam Liberty, it seemed, had closed her eyes. Just as it was the night a poor Jew named Joseph arrived at Bethlehem with his exhausted wife Mary. There was no room for the homeless. And so the huddled masses remained huddled here, where the American flag waved above this one small building.

  Murphy lowered his eyes. He could not force himself to meet the questioning stares of these people. Their heartbreak and disappointment tore at him. No room? Can’t we move over a little and find room for them? What are people back home thinking of? These thousands could be absorbed and lost in one square mile of New York!

  All around he heard the cries of children, but other than those wails of small discomfort, there was no complaint from the masses. There was only silence.

  “Excuse me—” He let his American accent creep into the German words he spoke. “I am American. Bitte. Bitte.” He moved easily toward the massive gates. He let his eyes follow the black bars upward to the deadly spikes at the top of the fence and then to the flag that waved above the compound.