Jacob's Oath (33 page)

As for Sarah, she walked with her arm around Jacob’s waist. Their hips rubbed as they
walked, she pulled him to her so tight that their thighs met and they could have been
walking on three legs. It was a funny film, but funny sad, and although she had laughed
throughout, it was the sadness that remained. It was the sadness that touched her
most, for it was her own sadness that was brimming over.

Before they had left the room Jacob couldn’t understand why she had insisted on taking
a bath. You’re so perfect, he had said, don’t change a thing, you smell divine. But
it was the disgusting smell she had wanted to wipe from her body. She couldn’t kiss
Jacob with the Rat’s odor in her pores, she needed to scrub herself clean.

And now as she walked so closely with her lover, she found herself at peace with her
choice. To save Jacob from himself, to save their love and their future, she would
take the deed upon herself, she would find the strength, she had to, she who couldn’t
hurt a mouse. She would do it not from hate or lust for revenge or anything negative,
but for something positive, to save themselves. She had talked about something similar
with Hoppi. They had discussed the question “When can a good person do a bad thing?”
That was when they had to steal food to live, and to steal it from people who already
didn’t have enough. But at least they had ration cards to get more. And they were
Nazis who would have reported them to the Gestapo in an instant. Why should they care
if the Nazis had enough food? They had agreed: We are good people and we are doing
a bad thing for a good reason.

Is murder the same? she wondered as she withdrew her arm from Jacob’s waist and took
his hand. Jacob looked down at her and smiled. “Love you,” he said.

Sarah cried that night as they made love, and so did Jacob. Their tears mingled on
their hot, damp faces as they kissed and trembled in each other’s arms. It was their
tenderest moment: They held each other so tightly they could hardly move, joined at
the belly, as if for the last time.

THIRTY-THREE

Heidelberg,
June 12, 1945

Morning light glared through the parted curtain and stung Jacob’s eyes. He turned
away and covered his head with the pillow, struggling for sleep after a disturbed
night of uneasy racing thoughts and distant images that danced behind his eyelids.
Until one sensation erupted so sharply it jolted him awake. He sat up and opened his
eyes and jerked his head from the blinding light. It was the Rat. And his thought
was: Today’s the day. And it came to him: All night as they slept, the steel club
called from beneath the bed.

Still … last night … he closed his eyes in pleasure and lightly kissed Sarah’s arm.

“Good morning,” she murmured. Uuuhmuhhin … “What time is it?” Uuuhtiiissseeet. So
much to do today.

“Would you like to go for a walk this morning?” Jacob said, squirming. “The castle
gardens are beautiful, everything’s blooming. We can have lunch afterwards.”

A knot had already formed in his stomach and he lay back with his hand on his belly,
trying to calm his guts. It would be a long day, he needed to keep busy. If only he
could tell Sarah, but she would try to stop him and she’d be right, too. He knew it
wasn’t much of a plan but, given that the Rat was leaving within a day or two, it
was the best he could do. He felt like crying. He might never see Sarah again. If
the Germans arrested him, anything could happen. They could take him to the station
and beat him and claim he had resisted arrest, tried to escape. Very unfortunate.
Shot attacking an officer.

He shook his head. Stop it. If there was any danger of being caught he knew what to
do. Run to the Americans, turn himself in. He’d be safe there. When they heard the
story, they’d give him a medal.

Or turn him over to the Germans. No, they couldn’t. Could they?

And also, what is the best way to hit his head, downward or from the side?

Sarah plodded to the bathroom naked. “Nice idea, but can’t. Busy. For the interview
this evening.”

“Why this evening? Why so late?”

“Dinnertime, apparently they’re very busy, they want me to help, I think. Something
like that. I don’t really know but I said I would come then.”

“Don’t forget the curfew, it’s a long walk from Weststadt.”

“There’s a tram now.”

“Oh, good.”

After breakfast Sarah told him she had to see the chaplain in half an hour. They had
arranged to talk about some volunteer work.

“You’re in demand,” Jacob muttered, feeling nauseated again. He hurried into the bathroom
while Sarah finished dressing. “Back here this afternoon?”

“Yes, darling, bye.”

He heard the door close and came back to the bed, wiping his brow. He leaned down,
searched with his fingers beneath the bed, and found the club. The steel was cold
to the touch, so he held it against his forehead.

*   *   *

Sarah walked along the Neckarstaden above the river until she came to the steep stone
steps that led down to the concrete wharf. They hugged the wall with a sheer drop
on the outside of about five meters; enough, the townfolk hoped, to prevent the periodic
flooding of the Neckar from inundating the lower part of the Old City.

She paused at the top, looking over the side. To the east, upriver, the sun hung above
the treeline of the forest and sparkled on the damp roofs of the town, chasing the
night chill from the streets. She had to shade her eyes with her hand to see the shadow
of the castle against it. She looked away. When the sun set in the west, it would
be directly downriver, over the other bank. That would be at about eight o’clock.
They would meet at sunset and by nine, earlier even, it should be dark.

She hoped so anyway. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his eyes. She was about
to do something that would change her forever. That she could never share with Jacob,
would always keep a secret … or would she? When they were old and it didn’t matter
anymore, would she take Jacob’s wrinkled, veined hand and say, Jacob, I have something
to tell you? Remember the Rat? It was me. I did it. To save you. To save us. Would
she do that? Could she? Should she?

Sarah sniffed and smiled tightly. Don’t be melodramatic, girl. But it was true. She
looked at her hands, turned them around, rubbed her palms together. Tonight, tomorrow
morning, she would be a different person. Better? Worse? Did it matter? What mattered
was that Jacob would not do it, for he would be caught and their lives would fall
apart, again, so soon after the horror from which they had rescued each other.

No. Not again. She wouldn’t let their lives be destroyed again.

What if it didn’t work? What if she was caught? Sarah looked out, across the river,
at the woods on the other side, at the low line of homes fitting snugly in the hillside.
I’d like to live in one of those homes one day, she thought, with Jacob.

But if they catch me?

She shook her head. They can’t, she thought, they mustn’t. They won’t.

But if they do?

Sarah thought of something Jacob had said to her when they argued. “If I die, what
does it matter? How many times can a man die? I died so many times in Bergen-Belsen.”
She hadn’t said so at the time, she didn’t want to encourage him, but really, he was
right, when he said, anyway, what could they do to him if he killed the Rat? They
wouldn’t put him to death. A survivor takes revenge on a notorious SS camp guard.
A slap on the wrist. They should give him a reward.

But that wasn’t what frightened Sarah the most. She wasn’t too worried about Jacob
getting caught. It would just be a matter of time till they were together again. No,
it wasn’t that that scared her. What terrified her, what had made her reach the decision
that went against every fiber of her being, was that she didn’t think Jacob could
do it. The Rat was a beast, and if Jacob attacked the Rat, she was afraid it would
be Jacob who would be killed.

Sarah sighed and sat on one of the benches. There were three, two meters apart. They
might not be alone this evening. Probably every young lover in town would be there
to watch the sunset. She sighed again. It would have been the perfect place to sit
with Jacob.

*   *   *

Two kilometers away, at that moment, Jacob neared the alley. It was off Bergheimerstrasse,
just past the Lutheran church, which was on the other side of the street. He walked
with a purposeful step, eyes fixed ahead, and he was thinking that he didn’t care
anymore. You can only dither so much. Finally, you have to act.

He felt the reassuring cold of steel against his leg. He had brought it just in case,
to get used to the feel and weight of it, and if he had an opportunity he would take
it, but his plan was to scout out the area and return in the afternoon.

He had never seen Seeler alone in the mornings. He had always been in the company
of friends or one of his parents. But later, when he went to the beer garden, apart
from the first couple of days, he was usually alone and he always returned alone at
night, around eight o’clock, no doubt before the hotel kitchen closed. He never seemed
drunk, but after a few beers he should be slower to react.

Jacob turned into the alley and stopped, facing the street. From here to the left
turn into Kirchstrasse and the hotel was about another seventy-five meters up the
main street. He stretched out his arms. The alley was about two meters wide. He turned
and peered along it. The usual mess and garbage and stray cats. He walked down to
see where it went. The farther he walked, the sharper the stink of cat urine until
it opened onto what seemed a wasteland, a neglected space among three residential
blocks. Perfect. No reason for anybody to walk through. He could wait and not be bothered
by anyone. He walked back to the other end and thought it through.

He would see Seeler coming from a distance. As he came opposite the alley he would
grab him by the coat and pull him in and hurl him against the wall. Seeler slowed
by drink, the element of surprise, the shock of his aggression, all that should give
him a second or two of advantage, maybe three. Not more. In that time he had to pull
him in, raise the club, and smash his head. But really smash it, a knockout blow right
away, and then finish him off on the ground.

What if he missed him and he walked by? You’d have to start on the street and drag
him into the alley. Or do it all on the street. A very bad idea. Jacob heard himself
saying: Don’t miss him!

But what if he’s on the other side of the street? Let’s hope not. So far he’s always
been on this side. But if he is, cross the road, follow him, do it there. No other
choice.

Either way, whatever happens, the best place to run is back down the alley. Yes. Jacob
walked up and down the street a few times, judging distances, times, wondering how
busy the street would be. Most people would be home by then.

He followed his escape route down the alley to the empty space and saw three exits,
one through each tall building. He walked to each and realized it was also perfect.
To escape, all he had to do was run down the alley, walk quickly across the open ground,
not to attract attention, pass through the middle building, and he’d come out on the
other side at Alte Eppelheimerstrasse and just stroll away.

If he was lucky nobody would see him. And if they did, they wouldn’t chase him down
such a sinister alley. He could soon disappear into the crowd.

With a light step, Jacob walked to University Square for a beer. He almost smiled
to himself. Maxie, this could work …

*   *   *

At the round Stammtisch by the bar, Adolf collected the plates after the Seelers’
breakfast, while Hans sucked and searched for remnants with his tongue. His mother
had laid her hand on his and his father heaved a sigh that wobbled the length of his
body. Herr Seeler opened his mouth to continue but Hans indicated toward Adolf. When
the clattering ended and Adolf walked carefully away, balancing plates and leftovers,
Wolfgang Seeler said his piece. Trudi had tears in her eyes. “But it’s so far away.”

Wolfgang shook his head sadly. “I know. But the boy’s right. There’s an organization
to help. He has to go. Somewhere faraway, at least till we know what will happen here
next.”

“I’ll never see you again,” Trudi said tearfully, stroking Hans’s forehead. “My baby,
my little baby.”

At that Hans laughed. “Come on, Mutti, look at me, I’m not your baby anymore.” He
took her hand and sucked her middle finger. “Mutti, drinkie, drinkie, I’m hungry,
I’m hungry.”

She pushed him away with an attempt at a smile. “You know what I mean. You’ll always
be my baby.”

Her husband snorted. He leaned over to the bar and lifted the ceramic top off a large
plate and put the plate on the table. “Here, Hans, eat this instead. Something to
remember us by.” Lebkuchen, the Seeler gingerbread specialty, not only at Christmas
but all year round. Hans took one and savored it. “Mutti, it’s the tastiest ever.”
Frau Seeler smiled as if she had been blessed by the pope in St. Peter’s.

Her smile spread further, she looked as if she would burst, when Hans told them his
news. “I’m seeing that girl tonight. Gertie Haas. The one who came for the job.”

“Really?” Trudi said. “She’s so lovely.”

“Yes, isn’t she,” Hans said. “And I can see exactly what you’re thinking.”

“Maybe you will want to stay after all,” his mother said. “She’s beautiful and kind
and honest, she would make a perfect wife…”

“Aren’t you getting a bit carried away?” her husband interrupted. “They haven’t kissed
yet.” He turned to Hans. “Or have you?”

Hans shook his head with a tight grin. “Not yet, no.”

“Oh, I’m so excited. Of course she’s going to work here, she would do wonders for
the place, laughing and talking to everyone, oh, Hans…” Trudi took his hand between
both of hers. “It’s time to marry, you’re thirty-two…”