Volk (29 page)

He drove her to Germany. It was a two day journey, with a night in Paris. The hotel there had a bath adjoining the room, and he was glad for that, because Quality stank of the camp and her own forced lack of hygiene. On the way they talked, as they had in Spain, and he kept her supplied with food. Freed of the environment of the camp, she was willing to eat, and she did so voraciously. That was part of the reason he maintained the dialogue: to distract her, so that she would not feel guilty for eating, and stop.

“We can talk freely here,” he told her. “But not in my apartment. Anyone might overhear, and if it became known that I am trying to save you for an American airman, it could be very bad for us both. You must seem to be a captive woman, chosen for her appearance, afraid to try to flee. Since you do not speak German, the pretense should be feasible. If anyone can hear, I will treat you with contempt, a creature of no value. You will have to do menial tasks, and after the hopelessness of your situation is apparent, you will do shopping for me. If I can arrange temporary papers for you.”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

“My apartment is not large, but there is an alcove where you can have privacy. I will give you my bed, as before, and—”

“No.”

He glanced at her, surprised. “It is the best I can do.”

“No, thee must not give me privacy,” she said. “Thee would not do that for a kept woman. Neither would thee put her in thy bed, with thee elsewhere. She would share thy bed.”

“But—”

“I trust thee, Ernst.”

He was silent, knowing that she was right. The role had to be correctly played, or it would be obvious that it
was
a role. But how was he to share his bed with her, when already she intrigued him in a manner he needed to expunge?

They drove rapidly north through France. Ernst's Abwehr authority eliminated challenges, and there were no delays. Even so, it was late by the time they approached Paris.

“Will thee have to report to the SS headquarters here?” Quality asked.

“It is not necessary. Surely you do not wish to put in an appearance there!”

“Surely I do not,” she agreed wanly. “They might recognize me. I was there to arrange for food for the Jews being transported to Spain. They took my money, but the Jews wound up in Gurs and similar camps.”

“Spain would not admit them,” he agreed. “I am sorry your trip was for nothing.”

“It cost me more than money,” she said. “That was when I was arrested. Perhaps it is God's punishment.”

“I thought Quakers did not believe in that sort of thing. In a retributive God.”

“We do not define our beliefs in that way. I thought I did not believe that, but I did sin.”

“Sin?”

“I told a lie. It was not the first time.”

“To help a man escape death,” he said, catching on.

“Yes. But still a lie. A sin. I have meditated much on that. I have learned the consequence of it.”

“I think I would disagree with you on much else, but I appreciate your problem. I am doing something similar by taking you from that camp. I would not do it were I not afraid that there is no acceptable alternative.”

“Yes. Thee understands.”

They were silent as he threaded his way through Paris to reach the hotel where his room was reserved. “You understand the way this will appear,” he reminded her.

“Thee has a prisoner, nominally for questioning, actually for entertainment.”

“Yes. Another lie we share.”

“Is it, Ernst?”

“A half lie. I did claim you for questioning, letting them believe otherwise.”

“Is it otherwise?”

He was taken aback. “You said you trusted me.”

“I do, Ernst.”

“Then I do not understand.”

She smiled. “Perhaps I am teasing thee. I meant that possibly thee does find my company entertaining. Thee said thee enjoyed it before, in Spain.”

He relaxed. “That is true. But knowing that for you this is necessity rather than pleasure, I did not think of it that way.”

“It is both, Ernst.”

He did not answer, again. Her words had touched him deeply, but he feared misreading their implication. She could not know that his feeling for her was verging on the forbidden. She was his friend's fiancée.

He took her to his room without ceremony or apology. Officers did sometimes take women to their rooms, and it was not wise to question them about this.

There was no need for a meal; they had been eating fairly steadily while driving. Ernst locked the door, then guided her to the bathroom. She made a little squeak of delight when she saw the fancy tub.

“Wash yourself, woman,” he said gruffly in German. “But do not waste water. There is a war on.”

She did not speak German. This was his reminder that they could not trust the seeming privacy of the room. “Ja,” she said. That much German everyone knew.

Ernst turned on the radio fairly loud and tuned in the news to help cover the sounds of her bathing. He tried not to picture her naked. It was no business of his. He had taken her from the camp to safeguard her health and life, and he intended to safeguard her dignity too. She must never know his illicit fancy.

In due course she emerged, wrapped in a towel. She went to the bed and got in.

Ernst turned off the radio and went to use the bathroom. There were her clothes, washed and hung up to dry as well as they could. He realized that he would have to get her new ones; hers were so worn as to be on the verge of uselessness.

He stripped and washed at the sink. Then, in underclothing, he returned to the room. He saw her towel folded beside the bed. She was well over to the side, leaving space for him. He remembered what she had said about sharing the bed. That applied in Paris as well as in Berlin.

He got in and turned out the light. He would ignore her proximity as well as he could.

But in the darkness her hand came across. Her cool fingers touched his shoulder. They squeezed it, lightly, once, and retreated. It was her way of thanking him, since it was not safe for her to speak.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

•  •  •

Ernst woke before dawn. He got up, used the bathroom, and dressed. He felt Quality's clothes: they remained damp. She would have to don them anyway. At least she and they were now clean; the smell was gone.

She remained asleep. He knew she was recovering from the privation of the camp. She would need more sleep and food. But now he had to rouse her, for they had a long day's drive to Berlin.

“Woman, wake,” he said gruffly in German.

Her eyes opened. They were blank for a moment as her mouth tightened in apprehension. Then she oriented, and smiled up at him. She flung back the blanket and sat up before he could turn his back. He saw her small breasts against her gaunt ribs. She had lost more weight than he had realized. He should have taken her out of Gur before this.

He faced away as she got out and walked around the bed to the bathroom. In a very short time she emerged, wearing her damp clothing.

He had donned his overcoat in the interim. Now, afraid of the effect the outdoor chill of the morning would have on her, he took it off and put it around her shoulders.

She shook her head no, but he insisted. What good would it be to save her from the camp, if she died of chill? The coat fell to her ankles, protecting all of her body.

He led her out of the room and down to the lobby, where he checked out. The clerk ignored her. They went on out to the car. He started the motor, then turned on the heater. “Eat,” he said in English, digging out the remnant of bread and cheese from the prior day.

“Thee is circumspect in commenting on my appearance.”

“No self-respecting SS officer would settle for an emaciated woman. Not in Berlin.”

She nodded. “I had not thought of that. I will try to achieve the required plumpness.” She ate with a will, and later in the day slept in the seat.

He stole a glance at her. It was probably his imagination, but she seemed to look better already.

They reached Berlin late at night. He took her to his room, and she stripped immediately and got into the bed. He was tired from the long drive, and did the same. Again her hand touched his shoulder; then he slept.

It got cold in the night, and the hotel was not sufficiently heated. Ernst was used to it, and his thick blankets normally were enough. But he became aware of Quality shivering. She was lean and weak, and needed more.

He got out in the darkness and found his overcoat. He spread it over her, then got back in himself. But still she shivered. Could she have some illness? What more could he do? Insulation did not help enough; she needed heat.

“Please—may I?” she whispered. “In the camp, we protected each other from the cold.”

“Ja.” He hoped he understood her correctly.

She moved over toward him, then lay against him, as close as she could get, her arm and leg half across his body, her head beside his. He put his arms around her, drawing her in, and drew the covers in close. She was so light and thin! Then he lay quite still.

Her body was cool, but gradually it warmed. “Thank thee,” she whispered, and slept.

He found to his surprise that he could relax. He was doing his best to safeguard her, and had found the way to secure her from the cold. He was well fed and healthy, and had body heat to spare. He was sharing it with her. In this situation he had no sexual inclination; his fear in that respect had proved to be groundless. She was not an object of sex appeal, at this time, but of pity.

•  •  •

In the morning he disengaged and tucked the blankets closely about her. Then he did calisthenics, unkinking his arms and warming up. It was a regular morning ritual, and he saw no reason to change it; those in the neighboring rooms were used to this morning noise. No need to alert them to any change in his situation; soon enough they would realize that he had a woman in his room.

When he finished, Quality was awake. She lay huddled in the blankets, watching him. Embarrassed, he quickly dressed.

Then he recovered his overcoat. He made a gesture of eating: he had to go out to purchase food. He brought out his key and gestured as of locking the door: he would lock her in. She nodded. She understood that she could not go out alone.

He went to a store he knew, and bought bread, cheese, milk, lettuce and as an afterthought, chocolate. The proprietor lifted an eyebrow but did not comment. An SS man could indulge himself if he chose.

He also bought a newspaper—and discovered that Germany had declared war on the United States of America the day before. He had gotten Quality out of the camp just in time.

Ernst brought the food to his room. Quality had dressed, then wrapped herself again in a blanket. Her eyes were big under the impromptu hood the blanket formed. He showed her the chocolate. “Eat,” he murmured. “It will make you warm.” He ate only sparingly himself, saving the food for her, because he could eat elsewhere.

Then he left for the Abwehr, locking her in again. This was the way it would have to be. This set the pattern for the following days. He found books printed in French and English and brought them to her. Several were by Nietzsche; he doubted that she wanted more of that, but there was no great assortment cheaply available in those languages. She welcomed each new book, and evidently read it. She had little else to do during the days he was at work.

The first evening when he returned he found her sitting by the window, gazing out. He set down his groceries and books and came to stand close behind her. “That is
Tiergarten
,” he said in a low voice, in Spanish. “The ‘Animal Garden.' A popular park. I chose this room because of that view.”

“Tiergarten,” she repeated. “I thank thee, Ernst, for that view. It cheers me.”

“Eat,” he said gruffly in German. “I must go out again.”

In an hour he returned with assorted items of clothing for her. He knew the fit would be imperfect, but he couldn't leave her in her inadequate original garments. One of the items was a nightgown, so that she would not have to sleep naked again, and would have what slight additional warmth it provided. She made a pleased exclamation when she saw it, and that night she wore it. Now she seemed ethereal rather than thin, and angelically attractive. He did not dare compliment her appearance, for fear his sincerity would betray his feeling.

The days passed, and she began to recover her flesh, but Ernst knew it would be months before she was restored to full health. In the interim, there were other problems. Once a week the hotel's cleaning woman came through; she had a passkey, and he could not keep her out. So he dealt with the potential problem forthrightly: he went to the manager.

“I have a woman in my room. I rescued her from a camp. She does not speak German. I want her left alone, and I do not want word of her presence spread. There may be additional expense to the hotel because of her occupancy. I hope this will cover it.” He proffered a suitable amount.

“There will be no problem,” the man said, pocketing the money.

“And I would like to have a second key. Here is the deposit on it.”

He got the key. Then he gave it to Quality. She was no longer a prisoner, physically, though without papers this made little difference.

Another problem was Krista. The Christmas season was coming up, and though the official Nazi line frowned on the religious aspect, the celebration was allowed. Krista would have time off, and so would he, and she expected to share it with him. She hoped to come to his room, if not for a night, at least for a few hours. That would be extremely awkward.

“Who is Krista?” Quality inquired when he tried to explain why he would be absent much of the time.

“My female friend. She would like to marry me.”

“I wish you well.”

He found himself uncertain. She had not said “thee.” Then he realized that she meant the plural. “She is a fine young woman. Any man should be well satisfied to marry her.”