Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel (27 page)

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Authors: Thaisa Frank

BOOK: Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel
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I have to work, said Maria, who was in fact reading.
No one works here, said Gitka. And Die Gnädige Frau hardly knows we’re here.
This was how she referred to Elie, who was in fact leafing through her dark red notebook. Her face was pale, and she bit her lower lip. Dimitri sat on a high stool next to her, sorting stamps.
You see? said Gitka. She doesn’t eat. She doesn’t sleep. And she never laughs unless she’s talking to the little mouse. All she thinks about is him. And she never cared if we worked anyway. So let me teach you something.
She led Maria to a room on the back wall of the main room—the room where Elie had lived before moving in with Lodenstein. It was dark, cavernous, cool, surrounded by the mine on three sides.
This is the first place that’s soundproof, said Gitka. Except it’s never empty.
She opened the door wider, and Maria saw Niles Schopenhauer on top of Sophie Nachtgarten.
The point is, my little friend: never come here to talk.
I never did, said Maria.
Good, said Gitka. So now you never will.
She led Maria from the large mahogany door, past the wrought-iron benches and the kitchen. It was mid-afternoon, and the artificial sun listed toward the west, dappling the artificial pear tree and the rose bushes in front of the Solomons’ small and peculiar house. Lars, who was standing by the door peeling an apple, waved at them. They walked further down to the dead-end of the street where there was a wall of earth. Gitka guided Maria’s hands around the
trompe l’oeil
—a perfect arch that camouflaged the tunnel. She traced one of Maria’s fingers around the metal key hole.
It’s a door, she said when Maria looked confused. And it leads to the second place where everything is silent. But it’s locked, and no one has the key. Besides, who’d ever want to? It leads to a tunnel where the Gestapo take people from town and shoot them.
You don’t scare me, said Maria. I came from a place much worse.
But her fingers were trembling as she traced the door. Gitka smiled and didn’t answer. She turned around and stopped at a door opposite the Solomons’. It opened to a small room piled with wooden crates stamped
Geantwortet
.
This place is soundproof too, Gitka said. But they store the letters here, so no one tries to fit inside.
I never knew it was here.
Well, now you do. Forget you saw it.
Then Gitka led Maria to the smallest water closet and opened the overhead vent. She pointed to a stool and told Maria to climb into the opening. Maria said she didn’t understand, and Gitka said
if you get up on the fucking stool, you’d see what I mean
. Maria got up on the stool, and when they had settled themselves in the jagged dark Gitka said:
This is where you come when you need to say something you don’t want anyone to hear.
Maria said, Fine, thank you.
She was about to climb down when Gitka came so close Maria smelled her cigarette-breath, her incongruously expensive perfume, and the slightly mildewed odor of her fur coat. Gitka touched her with her hand, and Maria felt her nails. They were long, and Maria could almost see the red nail polish in the dark.
Wait, said Gitka. Because I have this soundproof thing to say to you. You can have Parvis Nafissian. But stay away from Ferdinand La Toya.
I never thought of going near him.
Good. Keep it that way.
Someone came into the water closet and took a long, languid piss. Then someone else came in and began to climb up into the vent.
It’s occupied, said Gitka.
I’m sorry, said a voice. It was Elie Schacten. After she left, Gitka lit another cigarette.
I bet she’s lost ten pounds since he’s gone, said Maria. All she does is worry.
All of us do, said Gitka. Believe me. She’s not the only one. She exhaled, and the air filled with smoke. So—are we clear about Ferdinand?
Yes, said Maria, who didn’t say she hated his cigars.
Good. Then we can leave.
Gitka ground her cigarette into a wall, and they climbed down into the water closet. Gitka pulled her coat around her shoulders and put another cigarette in her long black holder.
Not everybody wants young ginch, she said.
After Elie Schacten was banished from the vent, she walked down the cobblestone street with General-Major Mueller, who had arrived just fifteen minutes ago, unannounced, to—in his words—see how Elie Schacten was doing. Elie was panic-stricken. She pulled Dimitri to the coats against the wall and whispered to a Scribe to hide him at the Solomons’.
Mueller had been lucky, he’d told Elie: he hadn’t gone to the front, but stayed in the Reich Chancellery working on a special project. When he mentioned the project, he closed his eyes, exuding intrigue. He worked in an underground library, he said, where precious documents were stored. And that was how he’d heard Lodenstein was in solitary confinement: no, not in the regular jail, but in a cell that looked like a waiting room. Goebbels threw him in the minute he showed up. And then he’d let him out so he could take that fool of a philosopher to Auschwitz. But now two prisoners were missing. And it was all over the Reich that Lodenstein had taken them. Who knew what would happen if they caught them? And this is why Mueller came to the Compound, when he knew Elie was alone. He wanted to console her.
Who knows where they went? said Mueller. Lodenstein may never come back.
Maybe they’re only rumors, said Elie.
Goebbels doesn’t spread rumors, said Mueller.
But why didn’t the Commandant stop him? said Elie.
Mueller pulled his eyebrows together.
Goebbels and the Commandant have a score to settle. So probably nothing will happen. Yet.
Elie suggested they go to the vent to talk in private. She planned to climb up first and shoot Mueller through the eyes so he would never discover Dimitri or threaten anybody in the Compound again. While they walked down the cobblestone street, she remembered what Goebbels had told her about shooting people.
Your hand is just talking to the trigger. It’s only the gun that’s doing it.
She thought this while she hurried him past the Solomons’ house and into the water closet. But the vent was occupied, so they had to retrace their steps. Elie let Mueller hold her arm.
They passed the Solomons’ house again. Dimitri, who was by the lead-paned window, ducked, and Elie pointed to the cumulous clouds in the sky. She made her hand rigid to keep it from shaking.
What was that? said Mueller, looking at the window.
The Solomons’ cat, said Elie.
Since when did those Jews have a cat?
Months.
What’s it called?
Mufti.
A cat with a name like that should stay outside, said Mueller.
They’d come to the end of the hall. He sat on a bench near the mineshaft. He patted the space next to him.
Sit down, he said. I want to know how I can help you.
Elie forced herself to sit down, and Mueller pressed his ring against her shoulder—so hard it felt like he was stamping her flesh. La Toya stuck his head from the main room, and Mueller glared at him.
Who can talk near this joke of a workplace? he said.
No one, said Elie. Let’s go upstairs.
And this time
, she thought,
nothing can stop me from shooting you.
Mueller hugged her in the mineshaft and walked up the incline, holding her hand, saying they were doing a minuet, and it was a shame the bed made the room too small to dance. But when they got to the door, he leaned against the doorframe, and his face crumpled like a paper bag.
My good man, he said, as though he was talking to the air. I thought you’d left us forever.
Elie turned and saw Gerhardt Lodenstein standing by the clerestory windows. She had thought she’d never see him again. Yet now he stood in front of her—intact, vibrant—like people who’ve died and appear in dreams. He hadn’t shaved and was wearing his rumpled green sweater, which he’d rummaged for quickly, throwing his compass on the bed, scattering socks on the floor. This delighted Elie, who normally hated clutter. It convinced her that he really was back. She raced over to him, he took her in his arms, and she started to cry. Mueller fussed with a medal on his coat. Eventually he said:
I hear you had quite a journey.
Lodenstein looked at Mueller as though he was about to say something dangerous. But he managed to smile and shake Mueller’s hand.
It was good of you to come, he said.
How could I not, with poor Fraulein Schacten alone and you going through such dreadful things?
You mean the rumors that fly around like crows? Nothing was dreadful. Even that green waiting room.
Mueller plucked at his medal again, and Lodenstein picked up the duffel bag Mueller had brought in anticipation of spending the night.
I wish I could offer you brandy. But they want you back in Berlin.
What do you mean?
I don’t know. It’s secret, like all your missions.
Elie heard the conversation as if she were in a trance. She walked outside with the two men, and they crossed the stone path, their boots making sharp noises. A wind blew fresh snow in their direction, and Elie held Lodenstein’s arm, afraid he’d disappear if she didn’t hold on to him. When they came to Mueller’s Kübelwagen, Mueller grabbed the duffel bag from Lodenstein and threw it on the ground. He took out his knife. Elie put her hand on her revolver.
Are you satisfied, my good man? Mueller said.
With what? said Lodenstein.
The results.
No one’s satisfied these days, said Lodenstein.
Really? Mueller took out a handkerchief and began to polish his knife as though he was buttering toast. People just aren’t themselves anymore, he said.
Goebbels seemed to be.
That’s because you don’t know him as well as I do, said Mueller. He cleared his throat. By the way, an extra cat’s not a problem. Or maybe even a kid—although that could turn out to be serious. But two fugitives are different.
That’s why we don’t have them, said Lodenstein.
Good, said Mueller. Because one of these days Goebbels really will visit. Except he might send someone who looks just like him. Or there will be ten people who pretend to be him. What I mean is—you’re asking for trouble.
I don’t know what you mean.
Maybe you can play Persian Patience. But you don’t know how to bluff, said Mueller. So I think you do know.
He held his knife up to the sun—Elie could see light quivering in the blade. He put it away, moved closer to Elie, and took Lodenstein by the sleeves. Elie saw his greased hair and smelled his loathsome pomade.
The Reich’s just like any other office with a mission, he said. In the long run, people die when they show up in the wrong places. And so do the people who hide them.
Only a fool doesn’t know that, said Lodenstein.
Then there are some fools around here, said Mueller.
Lodenstein smiled and shook Mueller’s hand. It seemed twice as large in its leather glove.
Have a safe journey, he said.
Mueller took off, his Kübelwagen rumbling like a dangerous beast. It turned the bend, and Lodenstein rushed Elie to the hut, saying it was cold. The light had shifted to a milky haze—dusk, a time of half-sleep, where the edges of the world begin to lose their hard outlines. Lodenstein walked to his jeep, and Elie saw a confusion of blankets in it, unearthly cloth that seemed to move by itself. Then she saw two figures emerge—so thin and insubstantial, they could have been smoke or shadows. Lodenstein shrouded them in more blankets. Then all three walked toward the shepherd’s hut. Elie began to shake when she heard the ice crack. It was as though a spring had uncoiled inside her, as though every moment she’d ever lived was coming together at once. The figures came to the door.

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