Berlin: A Novel (8 page)

'I didn't know you two had got together recently. Congratulations.'

'Recently? Did you hear that?' Nadja gave her husky stage laugh. 'We were a couple before you ever came along, my dear. With interruptions, I admit. Ultimately a change did us both good, isn't that so, Erik?' It was Nadja's little triumph over the younger woman.

'Well, I must go. Thanks for your advice, Nadja. And thank you very much for the parcel you sent. Erik.'

Her car wouldn't start. Karin tried the choke and the starter in vain. Like other outstanding figures in the world of the arts, she had the coveted red chevron on the number plate indicating that she was allowed to drive a motor vehicle.

'Hello. Fraulein, so the little miracle won't oblige!' A young man grinned at her. He was swinging himself nimbly along on two crutches: his left leg ended just below the hip. He wore a gold Wounded badge on his jacket. 'Let's have a look.' He opened the bonnet, rummaged about inside the engine and called, 'Try starting it now.'

The engine caught, chugging. Karin leaned out of the window. 'What was it?'

'Fuel connection worked loose. I tightened it up for now, but you'll have to get it seen to by a garage or it'll come off again. Hey, don't I know you? Yes, wait, I remember. You're Verena van Bergen. I've seen you in the movies.'

'Nice to be recognized! And what's your name?'

'Paul Kasischke.'

'Pleased to meet you, Herr Kasischke. Come on, get in. Where can I take you?'

'To my mother. She works with the cows.'

It was not far from Breitenbachplatz to Dahlem City Farm, a state property that had survived the merging of the village with the city of Berlin. Karin let the Number 40 tram pass, then turned into the farm and helped her passenger out of the car.

'Got a moment to spare? Ma would just love to meet someone from the movies.'

Karin followed him awkwardly. Her fashionable wedge heels made walking on the cobblestones difficult. It was easier in the cowshed. Six women looked up from the cows they were milking at the elegant apparition in a hat and silk stockings. She didn't fit this setting.

'Ma, this is Verena van Bergen. She gave me a lift and now she'd like to say hello to you.'

Karin offered her hand with unaffected good humour. 'Good day, Frau Kasischke. Your son has been most helpful. My car wouldn't start.'

Frau Kasischke looked her up and down. 'I've seen you in the pictures. Thanks for giving my boy a lift. He can't walk too well. They gave him a nice gold medal, though.' There was no missing the bitterness in her voice.

'I'm really sorry. If there's anything I can do to help ...'

'Maybe the pretty lady from the movies can give us a hand with the milking?' joked one of the women.

'In her smart gloves,' said another.

'Here, hold these.' Karin stripped her gloves off and handed them to Frau Kasischke. Without any embarrassment, she hitched her dress up well above her knees and sat on the milking stool with her legs wide apart. A steady stream of milk gushed into the bucket.

'What do you know, she's one of us!' someone said, impressed.

Karin stood up. 'Goes to show how easily you can be mistaken, right? Good day, ladies, and many thanks, Herr Kasischke.' She turned the car and drove off. What would become of him after the war?

She heard Nadja saying, 'The war's lost.' Was she right? Should she go and make that comedy in Prague? Conrad's offer was tempting. She had a date with a photographer at three o'clock. There was time for a flying visit to Lore Bruck. A second, independent opinion wouldn't hurt.

'How nice of you to visit your old teacher.' Lore Bruck was touched. 'It's so quiet here now. All our young lovers and future character actors are at the Front. Imagine, Karin, Erwin Meinke from your class is a lieutenant-colonel now. And the girls have almost all been recruited for war work too. But your work is just as important. Now of all times we need actors who can personify the essence of the German nature.'

'That's why I'm here. I want your advice, Frau Bruck. The Minister would like me to take a dramatic role in a movie directed by Conrad Jung, as a German estate owner's wife. Nadja Horn thinks the war's already lost, and if I play a part like that it could count against me later. Would you give me your honest opinion?'

Lore Bruck laughed the warm, motherly laugh that had comforted a whole generation of students. She took Karin in her arms. Her generous bosom was warm. 'Oh dear, oh dear,' she sighed. 'Fancy my little girl facing such a dilemma!'

Just as quickly, she pushed Karin away again, crying, 'Let's open my last but one bottle of Rheinhessen and talk about old times. Do you remember how you always used to imitate me? Your impersonations were little masterpieces, though I didn't like to tell you so straight out.' Lore Bruck chuckled. 'I recognized your talent even then.'

They leafed through old albums full of press cuttings from Lore Bruck's days on stage. Karin pointed to the photograph of a striking male profile, inscribed to Lore. 'He looks interesting. Who is he?'

A man called Max Goldmann. As a director he hid behind the Aryan name of Reinhardt. Went off to America some time ago.'

About my question . . .' Karin reminded her old teacher as she left.

It will all work out, I'm sure. Just follow your own instincts, my child.' Lore Bruck pushed her out of the door, and then hurried to the telephone.

A British air raid that went on for hours kept the tenants of Number 25 Hohenzollerndamm down in the cellar half the night. Karin was still fast asleep when her bell rang at eight in the morning. Two men in long, grey leather coats and felt hats were standing outside. Geheime Staatspolizei. They showed their badges. 'Frau Karin Rembach, known as Verena van Bergen?'

'Yes?' An odd feeling came over her. She had heard of the Gestapo, as you might hear of a shadowy phantom. And now its envoys were at her door.

'May we come in?'

You can see I'm not dressed yet. Can't you come back later? What's it about, anyway?'

'Urgent business. So if we may ...

Reluctantly, Karin let her visitors in. 'Please sit down. Excuse me for a few minutes.' She disappeared into the bathroom, and quickly dressed in the adjoining bedroom. 'There, I'm at your disposal now.'

'We must ask you to come with us,' said the elder of the two men.

'Why? Have I committed a crime?' She received no answer. 'I shall complain to Reich Minister Dr Goebbels.'

'That's up to you. Come with us, please.' Downstairs a black Mercedes was waiting. and took them to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. They went up flights of stairs, and along corridors with well-polished floors. A tall, double door opened. A young man with short, dark-brown hair rose from behind a large desk. He was wearing a well-cut, dove-grey uniform with a black collar and silver tabs, and elegant boots. 'Thank you so much for coming, Frau van Bergen. I am Standartenfiihrer Hofner.' His accent was Bavarian. He clicked his heels as if he were in a Prussian officers' mess and kissed her hand. 'Please sit down, dear lady.'

Karin breathed again. This didn't sound like an arrest.

Hofner sat down at his desk again. 'I enjoyed your last film. We need something cheerful to help us relax in these difficult times.' He carefully drew a long-stemmed rose in a slender crystal vase closer to him. 'But we also need firm confidence and an iron will to victory. Those are the very words of Reichsfi hrer Himmler, who called me this morning.' He breathed in the scent of the rose. 'It has been reported to him that the actress Nadja Horn gave it as her opinion that the war was lost. Can you confirm that Nadja Horn made such a comment to you?'

'Lore Bruck!' Karin exclaimed.

'Frau Bruck is an upright National Comrade and a good friend of the Reichsfuhrer. There can be no doubting her word. Or yours either, I assume, Frau van Bergen.' There was a dangerous undertone to the Standarten- fi hrer's words.

Karin had bent her head. She said nothing. Hofner wasn't letting go. 'I put it to you that yesterday, in her apartment on Breitenbachplatz, Frau Nadja Horn said to you, word for word, "The war is lost".'

'Nadja Horn didn't mean it like that. It was just idle chatter. She hadn't thought about it, she was talking at random. That's how we actresses sometimes are.'

The StandartenfUhrer handed her a formal document. 'We have prepared your witness statement. Kindly read it and confirm its accuracy by signing.' Karin read the few typed lines. They were indeed accurate. 'The authorities concerned will consider your interpretation of Frau Horn's behaviour, to the effect that it was thoughtless rather than malicious,' added Hofner in a detached voice. Karin signed. Hofner countersigned the document, and put an official seal on it. 'Please wait a few minutes.' The StandartenfUhrer left the room.

Karin thought of her friend and patron. This couldn't be too serious. Lively Sabine Sanders had got off with just a fright. At Theo Alberti's birthday party, she had persuaded a make-up artist to stick a little moustache on her upper lip, and acted a take-off of Hitler that had everyone bent double with laughter. But someone had reported it to the Gestapo. The rising young actress had spent an uncomfortable half-hour with the police, and was reprimanded by the Reich Chamber of Cinema. Karin felt sure that Nadja would get no worse than a similar reprimand.

It was ages before Hofner came back. Once again, he was civility itself. We disturbed you very abruptly, I'm afraid. Please forgive us. May I invite you to breakfast at Borchardt's?'

'That's very kind of you, Herr Hofner, but unfortunately I have to go for some sound recordings in Babelsberg.' Karin forced a smile.

'I understand. Professional duties take precedence. My men will escort you home.' A kiss of her hand, a click of his heels, and she could go.

Back home, she went straight to the telephone to tell Nadja about Lore Bruck's infamous behaviour. The housekeeper answered, in great distress. 'They've taken Frau Horn away. Handcuffed like a criminal.'

Karin realized what had happened. StandartenfUhrer Hofner had kept her waiting so that she couldn't warn Nadja. 'Calm down, Frieda. It won't be as bad as all that.'

But how bad would it be? Karin fetched her car from the garage. Dr Jordan would know what to do.

Diggers were at work in Brandenburgische Strasse. A British air mine,' she was told. A four-engined Lancaster can't carry more than one of those things. They weigh about four tons.' The bomb had flattened three buildings. 'There wasn't so much as a little finger left of the folks down in the cellar,' the policeman on duty told her, diverting her along Konstanzer Strasse.

Jordan's legal chambers were on the first floor of a grand building in Liitzowstrasse, which was still unscathed, other than by the impact of an anti-aircraft shell which had failed to explode at a height of three thousand metres.

'I'm afraid you don't have an appointment. Frau van Bergen. I'll see if I can fit you in.' The secretary spoke quietly into the intercom.

She had to wait quarter of an hour before the padded double doors opened. Jordan showed his visitor out. It was Heinrich George. Karin recognized her famous colleague at once. George shook hands with all the ladies in the outer office, including Karin herself. The great thespian had taken her for one of the typists.

'Frau van Bergen, how are you? Come in. I'm rather pressed for time, but how can I help you?'

Karin came straight to the point. 'Nadja Horn has been taken away by the Gestapo because of something silly she said. I'd never have thought that Lore Bruck would pass it on.'

'Lore Bruck and her friend Ida Wiist are the most notorious informers in the business,' said the lawyer, with scorn in his voice. 'Well, I'll undertake Nadja Horn's defence.'

'Her defence? Will such a silly thing come to court?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Will she be fined?' Dr Jordan said nothing. An unpleasant presentiment formed in Karin's mind. 'Expulsion from the Reich Chamber of Cinema and a ban on practising her profession? No, they'd never dare. Nadja is very popular with the public. There'd be a storm of protest.' Jordan still said nothing. 'Surely not prison?'