The Serpent's Egg (3 page)

Adam’s editorial ended with a rallying cry. Arvid read it aloud. “Rise Up! Rise Up! Take a stand against the NSDAP regime. ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.’ Edmund Burke (1729-1797).” He scratched his balding head. “Don’t you think we should reverse those sentences, Adam? And ‘Nazi regime’ might be better than ‘NSDAP regime.’”

Adam took the sheet from him. “You’re right, my friend. Best to end with the call to action. Rise Up! Rise Up! Take a stand against the Nazis. I’ll draft it again.”

Adam was the creative member of the team, an experienced journalist with two novels to his name. Arvid, on the other hand, held a senior position in the Ministry of Economics. He was as intelligent as anyone Adam had ever met, but really, he was nothing more than a glorified civil servant.

Adam was happy to make the small changes. He had many friends in the theatre – playwrights, directors and actors – who would take umbrage if anyone interfered with their work, but compromise was the secret to successful collaboration, and this was Arvid’s show, after all.

Adam greeted the world with an open, smiling countenance, unlike Arvid, whose neutral look always incorporated a permanent frown. Arvid’s wife, Mildred, often mirrored her husband’s earnest, concerned look, and Adam shared a private joke with his wife, Greta, that, without his spectacles and pipe, Arvid would be indistinguishable from Mildred. It was a tad cruel, but it carried a grain of truth, for Arvid and Mildred were like two sides of a coin. They dressed alike, and Mildred had an irritating habit of finishing Arvid’s sentences.

Adam handed the final version of the leaflet to Arvid who checked the editorial for the last time. “I like it. Our most explicit leaflet yet. We must do a double print run.”

“Good sentiment, Adam, but where are we going to get enough paper for that? We barely have enough for a normal run.”

Mildred Harnack came in from the kitchen carrying the precious Hectograph plate cleared of ink and gelatin, ready to receive the new master. “Leave that to me, gentlemen. Herr Goebbels’ office won’t miss another couple of reams.”

Arvid shook his head. “You’ve been pushing your luck as it is. I won’t ask you for any more paper this month.”

Adam held his tongue. Mildred Harnack had a history of depression. She had only recently returned from America where she’d undergone treatment. He wouldn’t ask Arvid to put any more pressure on his wife.

“You can go home now, Adam. I’ll work on the master plate overnight.” Arvid rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. It had been a long night.

Adam reached for his jacket. “I’ll get back in the morning early to give you a hand with the print run.” He shook hands with Arvid before slipping out through the back door.

“Give my best to Greta and the baby,” said Mildred.

It was dark outside, and windy, but mercifully the rain had eased. Adam headed east. Mildred was a rock. Weighed down with worries about the failing health of her mother in the United States and her own insidious depression, she still had time to consider others.

#

Baby Ule was exercising his lungs on Greta’s shoulder.

Adam barely had time to take off his coat before Greta was barking orders at him. “Get me a towel. He’s dribbling all over my blouse. Check the bottle. It should be warm enough now. And find me a fresh diaper.”

Adam did as he was told. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He’s been screaming the place down for about thirty minutes. What kept you?”

“We finalized a broadsheet.” There was too much noise to say any more. He checked the temperature of the milk on the back of his hand, as she’d taught him to, and passed it to her.

Greta offered it to the baby and the screaming stopped abruptly.

Adam shook his head in amazement. “He must have been hungry.”

“He can’t have been hungry. I fed him an hour ago.”

“He seems to have a healthy appetite.”

Greta rolled her eyes. “He should be sleeping. Look at him.”

Ule’s eyes were wide open, watching Greta, listening to every word.

#

Later, they lay together in bed and shared a cigarette.

“You’re more energetic than you look, old man.”

“Thanks. You’re not too sluggish yourself.”

She laughed. Adam melted at the sound. He framed his next statement with care. “We have a new source.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ll laugh when I tell you, but I think she will have a lot to give us.”

“Her? A female? Who is she?”

“Her name is Frau Krauss. I’d like you to visit her as soon as you can.”

“Where is she based? One of the big ministries?”

“Not officially.”

She propped herself on an elbow to look at him. “Enough of the mystery. Who is this Frau Krauss?”

“Her professional name is Madam Krauss. She’s a psychic, a fortune-teller and a palmist.”

Greta nearly dropped her cigarette on his chest. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s no joke.”

“Are we really that desperate?”

“Don’t dismiss the idea, Greta. Madam Krauss’s clients come from every level of government, the Wehrmacht, perhaps even the Gestapo. You’d be surprised how many of our leaders are superstitious enough to share their plans with a fortune-teller. I am convinced she will be a treasure trove of useful intelligence.”

“Arvid has gone along with this?”

“Indeed. Mildred found her. You know how superstitious Mildred is.”

Chapter 7

June 1938

Max took an Autobus the 110 km to his family home in the medieval town of Lutherstadt Wittenberg, recently renamed in honor of its most distinguished 16th Century resident.

The Noack family residence was situated at the edge of town, a terraced house built over two centuries earlier that still retained many of its original leaded windows. His mother lived alone. She followed a strict routine that permitted Max just four visits per year. This was his second scheduled visit of the year.

He had a key, but in deference to his mother, he knocked on the door and waited. She opened the door, then turned on her heels without a word and went back inside. He followed her into the front parlor and found her sitting on the sofa reading a book.

“Hello, Mother, how are you?”

No answer.

“Are you all right? Is everything all right?”

She waved a hand at him. “Listen to this. ‘Peoples deprived of democracy have to suffer dictators for which they carry no blame. Societies with a free vote get the rulers they deserve.’ What do you think of that?”

“Very insightful, Mother. What are you reading?”

She set the book aside. “Sit. Tell me what your life has been like since I last saw you.”

He moved to join her on the sofa.

“Not here. Sit over there.” She pointed to the upright piano. Max pulled out the piano stool and perched on it.

He told her about Anna’s determination to get married and their visit to Madam Krauss. At the mention of a fortune-teller, Frau Noack launched into a long story about how a visit to a fortune-teller had changed her life. At least the story had some connection to the conversation.

That story came to a halt half-told. And then she answered his original question. “I’m well. The town council keeps me busy, and my mind active. Is that the only suit you have? You know they finally agreed to rename the town.”

“I heard that, yes. I have another suit for work.”

He stopped by a Brauhaus for a quick beer before taking the autobus back to Berlin. She had offered him neither food nor drink. She would give him anything he asked for, of course, but it would never occur to her to offer. His visit had lasted less than an hour. Nothing of substance was discussed. And no emotions were displayed. A childhood memory bubbled up. He’d fallen from his bicycle, grazed his knees. His mother’s reaction: “Big boys don’t cry.” His childhood was peppered with small incidents like that. Displays of emotion were strictly taboo in that house.

Chapter 8

June 1938

The distance from Adam and Greta’s apartment to Kurfürstenstrasss was a little over two kilometers. Greta was happy to push Ule there in his pram. The weather was fine and the exercise would do her good. Since giving birth in January, she was having difficulty getting back to her ideal weight.

She made two stops along the way at the houses of friends, taking the pram inside on each occasion. At each stop, she extracted a few copies of the latest leaflet from their hiding place in a secret compartment in the base of Ule’s pram, and handed them over. Her friends were eager to read the uncensored news and some to help with further distribution.

Upon her arrival at Kurfürstenstrasss, she took a table outside the Brauhaus, ordered a half-glass of Helles beer, and observed a succession of Madam Krauss’s visitors come and go. Several of her visitors wore uniforms. It seemed Arvid was right. This woman could be a source of valuable intelligence.

Lulled by the motion of the pram, baby Ule had slept all the way there. He began to stir. Greta rocked the pram and he drifted off again.

Observing a lull in the fortune-teller’s traffic Greta finished her drink and set off to Madam Krauss’s house. She knocked on the door. When there was no response, she pushed it. The door swung open. She backed into the house, pulling the pram inside.

“Come in, come in,” called a voice from a room at the back of the house. “Leave the pram in the hall. Come to the back parlor.”

Greta could see no one. She assumed Madam Krauss had an arrangement of hidden mirrors that allowed her to see into the hall. She checked Ule. The infant was sleeping peacefully.

The back parlor was dimly lit, a log fire in the grate casting flickering shadows around the room. Madam Krauss sat behind a table wrapped in a dark shawl. She waved a spindly hand to invite Greta to take a seat at the table.

“I have been expecting you. You are Frau Kuckhoff?” The voice, though cracked by age, carried authority.

“Greta Kuckhoff, yes.”

The old woman placed a deck of cards on the table. “Touch the cards, Greta. Shuffle them if you like.”

“I’m not here for a reading, Madam. Adam said you might have some information…?”

“I have a few snippets for you, but first, the reading. Shuffle the cards, child.”

Greta shuffled the cards. Madam Krauss picked them up and dealt out the top five cards, arranging them in a cross on the table.

#

Greta thanked Madam Krauss for the reading. It was composed of generalities for the most part, but there were a few grains of truth mixed in that planted a seed of doubt in Greta’s skeptical mind. How did she know that Greta’s birth sign was Sagittarius, that Greta’s marriage to Adam was his third, and that his first two wives were sisters?

Madam Krauss listed a number of her regular customers. There was a colonel from the First Cavalry Division, a high-ranking Kriegsmarine officer and a Luftwaffe major, both stationed in the office of the Supreme Command of the Wehrmacht, the OKW, in Bendlerstrasss. Her clients also numbered government workers from several ministries. A rich pool indeed!

“These men and women tell you things about their work?”

“Not usually, no. But if I can gain their trust they will often give me glimpses into their working lives, and sometimes if I’m lucky they may include sensitive military information.”

A scream from the hallway signaled that Ule had woken. Greta ran to him. She picked him up and rocked him on her shoulder. He continued to cry. Greta took a bottle from the pram and asked Madam Krauss if she could heat it. The old woman directed Greta to the kitchen. While waiting for the bottle to heat Greta placed the baby on a blanket on the kitchen table and changed his diaper. Warm and clean and with a fresh bottle to suck on, Ule was soon content.

Madam Krauss admired the boy. “He’s a big baby. He’ll make his mark some day.”

A warm glow of pride filled Greta’s chest. “How can you tell? He’s only six months old.”

“See the way he watches you while he sucks. That’s a sure sign of intelligence. And you and your husband are writers, are you not?”

“Yes, My husband is a writer and a journalist. I’m a journalist.”

“There you have it. A creative, intelligent child. He will make his mark, certain as night follows day.”

Once Greta had settled Ule in his pram again, Madam Krauss offered her a sheet of paper containing several pieces of minor intelligence that she’d collected from her clients.

Greta handed it back. “Never put anything in writing, Madam. Surely you realize how dangerous it is to write anything down. You must memorize anything you think might be of value and pass it to me by mouth.”

“I’m not sure I can manage that. My memory’s not as good as it used to be.”

“Practice makes perfect. You’ll soon get used to it. Now read me what you have there and I’ll commit it to memory.”

Madam Krauss had little enough to offer. Most of it was petty gossip or uninformed speculation. Greta selected a few items and absorbed them. When she was happy that she had everything that might be of value to the network, Madam Krauss threw the paper into the fire and they watched it burn.

Chapter 9

June 1938

Greta stood up and bid Madam Krauss goodbye.

“Before you go, Greta, I have something else for you.” Madam Krauss handed over Max and Anna’s
Ariernachweise
. “These two young people want to get married, but they’ve been turned down by the Ethnic and Racial people. I believe you have friends that have helped others in similar situations. Can you help them?”