Volk (7 page)

“At night there was a torchlight procession. The drumbeat grew deafening, compelling every foot, even among those who only watched. I had never experienced a more moving demonstration. The beat and image pulsed in my brain long after the marches passed. I could hardly sleep.”

“Yes.”

“Then came the Party Day of Unity, and the Youth Rally. This was the biggest moment of all. My troop was one of those privileged few to march in the sight of the
Führer
. And Adolf Hitler spoke directly to the Youth, praising the boys for their past achievements and for their attainment of the important goal of discipline. Only discipline and obedience, he said, would make us fit to issue orders later in life.”

“Yes,” Krista repeated. Then, as his hand crossed the top of her bared thigh and headed inside: “Someone might see.”

She had finally balked! He had been getting worried.

Then she stood, adjusted her skirt, and sat sideways on his lap, her skirt falling down outside. “But now they can't,” she murmured, and leaned in to kiss him.

Ernst stiffened his jaw to prevent it from dropping. She was not objecting. What was he supposed to do now?

She had to be bluffing. She was too conformist to break with convention. She was trying to make
him
back off. Where would he be, if she succeeded? So it was a contest between them, and he had to win it if he wanted to be free of her.

She was right about one thing: no one could see his hand under her skirt now. The contest would be invisible. Where would she stop? He would find out. He moved in and touched the slick satiny surface of her buttock.

But meanwhile he talked, because it was the sound of their voices that reassured family members elsewhere in the house. Silence would occasion an investigation. “I remember the very words Hitler spoke. ‘We want to be a peace-loving people, but at the same time courageous,' he concluded ringingly. ‘That is why you must be peaceful and courageous too. Our people must be honor-loving; you must learn the concept of honor from earliest childhood.' For all of us in the audience had learned the consequence of dishonor, as practiced by the Allies after the War. The
Volk
would set a new and perfect standard for all the world to behold and try to emulate. ‘You must be proud,' the great man continued. ‘Proud to be the youthful members of the greatest nation in the world. But you must also practice obedience. You must learn to overcome hardship and privations. There must be no class distinctions among our people; never let such notions take root among you.' And, with a flourish, he finished: ‘All that we expect of the Germany of the future, we expect of you. We shall pass on, but Germany will live in you.'”

“Oh, yes!” Krista agreed. Ernst wasn't sure whether she meant agreement with Hitler's words, or with the progress of his hand, which was now far beyond the bounds of propriety.

He carried on. “The applause interrupted the great man frequently during his speech. Now the cheering was deafening. The Hitler Youth anthem played, and the
Führer
shook hands with the most favored Youths. Among those was mine. I was afraid the very bones of my fingers would shake apart as I shivered with excitement. I remember thinking
The rotten bones are trembling
, and being horribly embarrassed at the very notion. I didn't matter, but I would have hated to soil Hitler's hand with rotten bones. But his grip was firm, and mine seemed so too. ‘Fine job!' the
Führer
murmured, giving me a brief, meaningful glance. Then he went on, leaving me half stunned. The great man had spoken personally to me, and looked me right in the eye!”

“Oh, that must have been Heaven!” Krista agreed enviously, the muscles of her legs tightening against his hand. “To shake
his
hand!”

It had been, indeed. Yet this present moment had a certain devious similarity, for her body was also having an electrifying effect on his hand. He was beginning to hope that she
wouldn't
balk.

“It was,” he agreed. “I was half-dazed in off-moments for days thereafter. That was when I read
Mein Kampf
and learned about the Jews.” He didn't say that he had since had cause to doubt that all Jews were of that nature.

“More,” she said.

Yet again he was surprised. Did she mean more about his life, though the high point of it had passed with that meeting with Hitler, or more of what he was doing under her skirt? Or both? He was about to have to concede defeat, because there was not much farther he could afford to go without hopelessly compromising himself as much as her.

“There is not much, and I think you know it already. I graduated from the Youth at age eighteen, and was ready for my national service. But then my father was transferred to America. That was a separate experience, and one I value.”

“And now you are back, and I am so glad to have you back,” she said. “As I have been trying to show you.”

She had indeed. “Now I am twenty, and am subject to military service,” he said. “Later I can complete my education at a University, perhaps at Frankfurt.” Actually the
Führer
despised those who studied as weaklings, unfit for the
Volk
, unless they specialized in something technical or agriculture. While Ernst would never criticize Hitler, he hoped that his own interest in higher education would not be considered too large a blemish on his character. “I will seek a term in the regular army or the SS. Unless my father is able to exert influence and get me into a university immediately. It is not that I am unpatriotic, but that I think I can best serve the Fatherland by completing my education first. So it seems likely that I will not be here at home long.”

“Is this a polite riddance?” she asked.

“I thought it might be,” he said, taken aback again by her candor.

Krista turned her head to face him, and spoke with intensity. “I have gone as far as you dare, right here in your straight-laced uncle's foyer. I have matched you in this game of touching, Ernst. I know you thought nothing of me before, and I knew I did not have much time to make an impression on you. But I have changed in everything but this: I still love you. I think I can be good for you, if you will let me. But I will let you go without a murmur, and not bother you again, if you can tell me right now that you will never, under any circumstances, love me back. Speak those words, Ernst, and you will be rid of me forever.” She gazed into his eyes, challenging him directly. Her thighs squeezed his hand.

Ernst returned her gaze and opened his mouth. She had offered him exactly what he wanted. But he found that he could not speak the words. She was beautiful. She was ardent. His hand was captive between her legs, and his eyes were captive to hers. “You have not matched me, Krista, you have beaten me,” he confessed. “I am interested in you, now, and can not say I will never love you.”

“Then will I be your
Mädchen
?”

He shrugged, not because of indifference, but because he had no way to deny her. “If you wish. For now.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “Then I am yours. For now.”

He remained surprised at this development, but oddly satisfied. His family would be pleased at the success of their ploy, but that was the least of it.

Then there was the tread of someone approaching the foyer. They sprang apart as if there had been an explosion between them, and were abruptly decorous.

“I've got to do it,” Lane said.

“But thee knows I can not support thee in this,” Quality protested. “To go needlessly to war—”

“Would you prefer to have Hitler take over all of Europe and then threaten America?”

“I have no liking for the Nazis, as I have said. But there must be a better way than war. Even should it come, thee has better things to do than to get involved in the quarrels of others. Thee has another year to go to obtain thy degree. With that, thee could do far more good in the world than thee could ever do by pointless fighting.”

“Not if Hitler overruns the world while I'm studying!”

She paced the floor of the lounge. “We do not know that Hitler truly seeks world conquest, or that he could be successful if he tried. But if war should occur, there are others already under arms. Thee has no need to seek combat.”

“How does that saying go?” Lane asked rhetorically. “All that is necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing.”

“But thee can do something! Thee can complete thy education, and then work with greater effectiveness for peace in the world.”

He gazed somberly at her. “You can't concede that maybe prevention is better than cure?”

“It is bad education that leads to much mischief. I prefer to deal with the underlying problems of society before they lead to war. Fighting is not prevention; it is a sign that the wrongness has proceeded too far. I would have preferred to have treated other nations in such manner that they never experienced the frustration that caused them to turn to their worst elements for salvation. Perhaps even now there can be amelioration and healing.”

“I think it is way too late for that. Hitler is a cancer that will kill the body of Europe. Now he must be cut out, painful as the process may prove to be.”

She looked at him, shaking her head, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. “Then I fear we must agree to disagree, Lane. I can not support thee in this.”

He went to her. “I love you, Quality. But this is a matter of principle.”

“And I love thee, Lane. But it is principle for me too.”

“I know it is. I always liked your pacifism. But I just see this business a different way. Maybe—maybe we should separate for a while, in principle, each doing what we feel is necessary, and when this ugly business is done there won't be that difference between us any more, and we can marry. I want you to keep my ring.”

“Maybe that is best,” she said. “I will keep thy ring.”

Then they kissed, and spoke no more of war. But both knew that a fundamental break had occurred.

•  •  •

They finished their terms, and then drove to Canada, because there Lane could train as a pilot and later transfer to the Royal Air Force in England. He was determined to qualify, because he knew that that was where the action would be. England was right on the edge of Europe, and would soon feel the consequence of Germany's militarism. Its air force would be the first in a position to strike back at the Nazis. Though France put on a brave front and had its Maginot Line, Lane had little faith in that. The Germans could go around it or blast a hole through it. The Great Wall had not stopped the Mongols from invading and conquering China, and walled cities had not survived gunpowder. Air power was the strength of the future, and he was determined to be part of it. Quality understood all this because others had spoken of it; despite her agreement of silence with Lane, she listened to whatever she knew related to his interests. She couldn't help it. But the information only strengthened the rift between them. How much better it would have been for the Mongols simply to have lived in peace with the Chinese, and the energy expended in building the Great Wall used for the mutual improvement of life.

Lane was accepted into the program. Quality bade him a tearful farewell outside the induction station, exactly like any other girlfriend, but they both knew that their separation was deeper than physical. They would be apart, yes, and he might get killed in action, but whether apart or together, alive or dead, their difference of principle remained as a gulf between them. Would that disappear when the war did? She wasn't sure.

Now it was time for her to return home. She had a bus to catch, but did not hurry. Somehow she was loath to return home alone, as if this made her culpable. She was strangely out of sorts. Why did she feel so guilty, when she had done what she could within the bounds of propriety to dissuade Lane? There was nothing she could do to mitigate the situation of the world.

She purchased a newspaper, knowing this to be merely another excuse for delay. There she saw a picture of a bombed out city, with children crying in the street. It reminded her of Guernica, in Spain, where her correspondent had died.

Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She
could
make a difference! She made her way to the nearest Friend's Meetinghouse and found the caretaker. “I must go to Spain,” she said. “To help the children.”

•  •  •

It was arranged. She took passage on a steamer to England, where she joined the Friends' Service Council. They tried, gently, to dissuade her from her intent, because the situation in Spain was what they termed “uncertain,” but she was firm, and they did need volunteers, and she spoke both French and Spanish. She was qualified.

First they taught her to drive, because she would have to do it where she went. It was a crash course, almost literally, before she got the hang of it. They had her do it in a car, a small truck, and a large truck, because she had to be able to drive whatever was available.

The British vehicles had the driver on the right side, and drove on the left side of the road. “But on the Continent it will reverse,” they warned her. “Don't get confused.”

“I'm already confused,” she replied. But in due course she got the gearshift and clutch coordinated, and learned the international hand signals and general road signs, and was appropriately nervous about the level of petrol in the gas tank.

She wrote to Lane, c/o his Canadian unit: “I have learned how to drive! I love thee.”

She learned that mail could take from two weeks to two months to reach England from Spain. Both the Republicans and the Nationalists practiced censorship of letters. Workers sometimes had to go to France to send important confidential documents. Diplomatic pouches of the American and both Spanish governments were used to expedite some mail. Important letters were sent to several offices, with requests to forward it, in order to ensure delivery of at least one.