Volk (6 page)

Now he applied his subtle skill to Krista. “I liked it too. But the horses were better than
Mein Kampf
.”

“The horses!” she agreed joyfully. Of course a healthy girl liked to ride. But there was also the tacit confession that she had not been interested in the
Führer
's autobiography. The truth was, few youths were. Ernst himself had read it and found it fascinating— but that was because he had special interest. He was the only one he knew who had honestly gotten through it. The other boys, if they read at all, had much preferred the heroic sagas of Karl May, and Krista surely was no exception. Her body had changed remarkably in two years, but her mind had remained more constant. Copies of
Mein Kampf
were abundant—it was perhaps the most widely distributed book in Germany—and they remained clean and neat because they received almost no attention. This girl was probably a minimal reader; she read only what she had to, to set an example and qualify for a position of leadership.

“And the ghost stories were better than the propaganda,” he added.

“They still are,” she agreed. Then she picked up the significance and affected shock. “Propaganda?”

“Do not be naive,” he cautioned her. “Propaganda is not a bad word. All countries use it. In America the people are conditioned to believe in the saintliness of Roosevelt and the sanctity of the rights of all citizens, even the Negroids and the Jews.”

“The Jews!”

“And what is wrong with the Jews?” he asked, smiling.

She was so confused she splattered. “How can you—”

Ernst laughed. “All I am doing is telling you how it is in decadent America. They have almost no concept of racial purity, of
Volk
. They take pride in being a melting pot of races.”

“What do they know,” she said, relieved. “You shouldn't tease me so.”

“Pretty girls are meant to be teased.” Actually he had been trying to draw her out, to provoke her, to verify what she was now made of, so that he could come to a conclusion whether she was worthwhile to know. Ernst certainly appreciated the physical appeal, but that was superficial, like the shine on a car. More important were the fundamental attributes of personality and intellect. In addition, he was interested in exploring the currently prevailing attitude on race, for he suspected racism had been intensifying here while he had been exposed to the far more liberal attitudes of the Americans. He could make a fool of himself in Germany if he misjudged the political climate; he preferred to play it safe.

Krista, meanwhile, was blushing, pleased at the compliment. She had worked so hard for such a harvest! But she could not refer to it directly, so she continued the other subject. “So you did not associate with Jews, there?”

“I met some. I was on a college wrestling team, and one of my matches was against a Jew.” Actually, a teammate had been Jewish, but Ernst deemed it inexpedient to advertise that here. “I must confess he was a strong man; he looked almost Nordic, and he fought fair. I would not have known his origin, had he not told me.”

“And you touched him?”

Ernst laughed again. “It is difficult to win a wrestling match without touching your opponent! Jews are after all people, even as we are. It can be hard to blame them for the unfortunate accident of their birth. This one's grandfather was a Jew; he himself did not follow their abominable religion.” Even here he was skating on thin ice, for he was not at all sure there was anything inherently abominable about the Jewish religious ritual. Was it really so different, fundamentally, from the ceremonies of Roman Catholicism? Obviously the Jews and Catholics thought so, but Ernst himself was disinterested in the various forms of religion. He believed in God, but was uncertain which forms of worship God actually favored.

“A Jew is a Jew, to the sixth generation,” she said grimly. Tainted blood was extremely potent; a tiny drop of it could ruin an otherwise excellent Aryan.

“True. Yet in America it is different. Their discrimination is very subtle. Their Jews can intermarry freely with others. Some hold responsible positions; some are honored in politics or industry. To many Americans, what they term racism is a worse offense than being Jewish.”

“You must be glad to be home!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, of course—but not for that reason. If I were to live in America all of the time, I would probably come to feel as they do, to accept Jews as part of the society. Jews are people too, after all.”

“Are you testing me?” she demanded, growing worried and angry.

He was, but not in the way she thought. He was verifying her horizons, which seemed not to have expanded as adequately as had her body. “Perhaps I am merely verifying my own beliefs,” he said carefully. “I did not object to Jews at first. It was only after I read
Mein Kampf
that I realized their nature. How they infiltrate quietly into society, like worms in fresh apples. How they pretend allegiance, but actually conspire to hurt decent folk and dominate the world. Even now I concede that some Jews could be good people. But they are indelibly tainted by their blood and their heritage. A tame python might be a worthwhile pet, but it re

mains a python, and must pay the penalty of its kind.”

“What penalty?” she asked.

“Well, the python caused Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, so that she and Adam were exiled from the Garden of Eden. For that the python is accursed among animals—”

“I meant the Jews,” she said.

“The Jews? Maybe they should all emigrate to America. I do not wish them any harm. I merely want my homeland pure. A Jew-free Germany.” He shrugged. He was expressing a safe attitude, rather than his own. “But this is no subject for parlor conversation! You were telling me how it is in the Youth.”

“As if you didn't know!” She frowned. “You think I can't tell you anything new? I'll show you! Have you heard about Rommel?”

“I know of no Youth by that name.”

“Lieutenant-Colonel Rommel, stupid—the war hero. Last year he joined the Hitler Youth.”

“The war hero? Holder of the highest decoration, the
Pour le Merite
? Certainly I know of him! But the war was twenty years ago; isn't he a little old for—”

“As instructor, as advisor!” she said, laughing. “They decided to put in a real soldier, to give some practical military training. He was doing it too, organizing for sound education and character building. But our dear leader Schirach, who is no soldier, got jealous. He wants to run the Youth all by himself. Rommel told him right out that if he wanted to be the leader of a para-military force, he should first become a soldier himself. Oooo, Schirach didn't like that! So he kicked Rommel out. They called it reassignment, of course, to cover up the truth. How's that for news?”

“It's a scandal!” Ernst exclaimed. “A man like Rommel—I wish my troop had had his instruction!”

“So the Youth is not perfect,” she said smugly. “There is politics there too. You thought I was too stupid to know, didn't you?”

“Well, a girl as pretty as you doesn't need to be smart.” There was an art to temporizing.

Krista struggled with that statement, but finally decided it was a compliment. “
Now
will you tell me about Nuremberg?”

“Nuremberg is a famous city in the mountains of southern Germany, in Bavaria, some two hundred and forty kilometers east-southeast of here—”

She hit him lightly with her small fist. “Will you stop that? You know I meant when you went there, four years ago.”

“Oh, that. Four years is a long time to remember.” Actually he owed it to her; the news she had imparted about Rommel was certainly of interest to him. What a lost opportunity for the Youth! If Ernst had to enlist in the army, he'd jump at the chance to serve under Rommel.

Of course Krista hoped to go to Nuremberg herself, for the annual festivities, and she wanted the reassurance of his prior experience. He should be happy to tell her all about it; seldom would he have a more enthusiastic audience. Yet somehow he found himself holding back. Why?

He figured it out in a moment. It was because a substantial part of Krista's interest had to be in him, rather than in the subject. That was flattering, but it was time to begin distancing himself from her, if he didn't want to be pushed into more of a commitment than he desired. It was obvious that both his family and hers thought that the two of them would be an excellent match, and so they had been put together and left alone. Krista already wanted him, and she was now the kind of girl any man would want. Propinquity was bound to have effect.

But Ernst did not want to be managed. Perhaps he had indeed been corrupted to that extent by his stay in America. He wanted to choose for himself, especially in love. Also, he had become more discriminating. He now recognized in Krista certain limitations, a narrowness of outlook, that subtly repelled him. She was beautiful, but she was not the shadow of the woman that Lane's fiancée Quality was. He did not want to be bound to her.

But how could he avoid it? It seemed that everyone, including Krista herself, was determined to do it. He could not simply decline; there would be repercussions and unpleasantness.

Then he thought of a way. He would answer her, but in a way that should discourage her from pursuing him. If he could cause her to lose her interest in him, not because of any suspicion about his patriotism but for unspecified reason, he would soon be free of her without blame.

He moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “I will be happy to tell you all about it. The very memory thrills me.”

She turned into him, surprised and pleased by his action. He hoped that this was a superficial reaction. “You can imagine the excitement of preparation, the constant drilling, the competition with other units, the hope and fear of success, and of the enormous satisfaction of having your troop chosen to go to the Nuremberg Rally.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He moved his hand down from her shoulder to her hip. “As you know, the city is almost three hundred kilometers by road from Wiesbaden, because the road follows the meandering river and the contours of the land, stretching out the distance. It was a longer journey than many of us had made before, which was part of the excitement.”

“Yes!”

His hand moved slowly along her thigh. “It was a glorified camping excursion; we sang patriotic songs on the way. But in time boredom set in, for we were sixteen, with brief attention spans. The songs degenerated. Finally we got to the notorious ribald
Es Zittern die morschen Knochen
, ‘The rotten bones are trembling,' only certain portions were changed so that it became ‘the rotten bones are trembling in the ass.'”

Krista tittered. She gave no sign of objecting to the manner his hand was traveling. But she would have to, soon.

“At that point I was compelled to call off the singing,” he continued. “There could have been serious repercussions if anyone in authority had overheard.”

“I have heard of that song,” Krista said. “I don't know the words, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a chuckle. He gave her thigh a squeeze through the cloth of her skirt. Still she did not object. Could she be unaware?

“Then we encountered a contingent traveling south from Leipzig, and one of my boys yelled ‘Beefsteak!' and almost started a pitched battle between groups. For it is known that in the larger cities a good many Communist youth groups had converted to the Hitler Youth under pressure, and many Communists had joined the Nazi storm troopers. Thus we referred to them derisively as ‘beefsteak Nazis': brown on the outside, red on the inside. It takes more than a brown shirt to make a good Nazi.”

“Beefsteak!” Krista exclaimed, giggling. “That's good! You should have fought them.”

His hand continued past her knee and made the turn. He found the hem of her skirt and touched her bare leg. “But what kind of a marching exhibition would my troop have put on, if it had gotten beaten up by beefsteaks?” Ernst inquired. “They outnumbered us, and some were pretty large steaks.” But in truth he was rather proud of the episode. He hated Communism.

“True,” she said with similar regret.

“The Rally was phenomenal. It lasted almost a week, with different programs scheduled each day. There were so many people there that they filled the streets and courtyards. All day there were marches and parades, with banners and standards, the magnificent black swastika symbol of the
Volk
set in a white circle against a bright red background. There was singing and cheering in unison, a mighty chorus from thousands of throats. Bands played stirring military music; drums beat out the thrumming cadences. Emotion built up. It was terrific.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His hand was now sliding back up her leg, taking the skirt with it. Still no protest. Where was her limit?

“Then the
Führer
spoke, thundering out his enthusiasm for Germany, for the great ideals of this great nation, for the thousand year empire of the Third Reich. The crowd responded passionately, and I was one with it. ‘
Ein Reich! Ein Volk! Ein Führer!
' over and over, louder and louder. The Nation, the People, the Leader— what inspiration! The emotion of the occasion charged the air; it was as if the very soul of the
Volk
issued forth from these massed bodies. Individual response no longer existed; there was only the passion of the moment.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes shining. How could she be oblivious to the progress of his hand? He was now passing the knee again, inside her skirt. He had expected her to balk before this, to start drawing away, to be repulsed by the discovery that he was only interested in forbidden touching. That he was, in short, a typical young man. She was supposed to be turned off by this revelation, and to lose her fascination with him.