The Arms Maker Of Berlin Part 27

It was a relief to get rid of the paper, especially after the risks Kurt had taken to acquire it-swiping his father's keys from a pants pocket long enough to make a wax impression, getting a set of copies made by a shady old Bolshevik in a Kreuzberg tenement, dodging the night watchman and his snarling dog, lugging the d.a.m.n box through the dark along the rat-infested wharves of the Hohenzollern Ca.n.a.l, and, finally, hauling the dangerous cargo to the meeting aboard the S-Bahn.

But now it had come to nothing. The meeting had been under way for only half an hour when the excitable Dieter, posted as a rooftop lookout, cried out from above: "Polizei! Five of them, and they're coming up!"

Fortunately, Christoph had devised elaborate contingency plans for just such an emergency, although the box of precious paper had to be abandoned. They climbed to the roof to make a breathtaking crossing of the back alley to a neighboring building, on a span of stout but wobbly beams. To Kurt, the blackness below seemed bottomless, especially with the cold wind rushing up his trouser legs. He was surprised no one fell.

Christoph then pulled in the planks behind them while everyone clambered down the stairs of the rear building. This allowed them to emerge into the streets one block over from where the cops were still trudging upstairs and shouting orders.

They scattered in twos and threes, but even then the police had nearly caught his threesome. Thank goodness Kurt had removed everything from the box of paper that might have identified its source. With his sister's wedding still on hold, his father was already nervous enough about official scrutiny without being linked to this.

Kurt looked across the subway car to offer Liesl a smile, but she didn't notice. She seemed badly shaken. Her eyes were huge, as if the night's drama had come as a complete shock. He fought back a surge of anger. "What did you expect?" he wanted to shout. "This is not a game. This is exactly what we bargained for!"

Just as quickly the thought disappeared, and he wanted to hold and protect her. But he couldn't, of course, with Hannelore in the way. Liesl leaned across the aisle to speak. Hannelore and he bent forward to listen. Their three heads nearly touched.

"What do you think happened tonight?" Liesl whispered. "Were we betrayed?"

"No one in our group has the guts to betray us," Hannelore said scornfully.

No one but her, she meant. She had often criticized their timid progress.

"Dieter said something to me just before the meeting, about one of the neighbors acting suspicious," Liesl said. "He said someone from next door was prowling around outside. Maybe they heard us and thought we were thieves, looting the dress shop."

"Dieter," Kurt said with disdain. "He should have told everyone."

Hannelore nodded. Dieter was one of the few subjects they agreed on.

They broke their huddle and sat up again, beginning to relax. That was when Kurt noticed a propaganda poster just above Hannelore's seat. It featured the ubiquitous duo of loose-lipped troublemakers, Frau Knoterich and Herr Bramsig. The Frau's uncanny resemblance to Hannelore, along with his giddiness over their narrow escape, provoked a sudden burst of nervous laughter.

"How can you possibly find this funny?" Hannelore whispered. "We barely made it."

The heads of a few pa.s.sengers turned their way.

"Sorry. It's just that-" No, he'd better not.

"Well?" A challenging tone, as irritating as ever, so he took the plunge.

"It's the poster above your head. I couldn't help but note the resemblance."

Hannelore turned to look. Unfortunately, so did Liesl. As if that weren't bad enough, a foul-smelling old man seated near Kurt began laughing in a succession of wheezes.

"You're right!" the fellow exclaimed. "She is is Frau Knoterich. It's her doppelganger!" Frau Knoterich. It's her doppelganger!"

Liesl must have also been giddy, because to Kurt's amazement she, too, laughed.

Hannelore was outraged, but the reddening of her cheeks only sharpened the resemblance, which sent the old man into a fresh gale of laughter. As the subway pulled into the next stop she stood angrily and flung open the doors.

"You two," she said loudly, "can just ride home with all the n.a.z.is!"

The other riders turned away in shocked silence as she disappeared across the platform. The old man stood nervously and shuffled to another seat. When the car was under way again, no one spoke, which made the two-minute ride to the next stop seem more like ten. Liesl and Kurt scampered out of the car, and to their relief no one followed. As soon as the train departed they burst into laughter and fell into each other's arms.

"My G.o.d, but that was close," Liesl said. "Of all things for you to think of at a time like that. Frau Knoterich! What made it worse was that the old guy next to you looked like Herr Bramsig. I felt terrible for Hannelore, but I couldn't help myself."

"Oh, she'll get over it."

"Yes, but will she get over you?"

"So you've noticed she doesn't like me?"

"And also that the feeling is mutual. Even at the meetings you never agree. What's wrong with you two? Don't we all want the same thing?"

Yes, Kurt thought. We all want Liesl. And for now, at least, he had her to himself.

Twenty minutes later they reached their bicycles and pedaled off to Liesl's house. On arrival Kurt discovered more good fortune. Liesl's parents were still away, visiting friends. Liesl's sister was gone, too. A night that had careened so close to disaster suddenly seemed full of promise. Such were the fortunes of wartime, Kurt supposed. Nothing was certain. Luck was all.

When Liesl turned on the light, yet another pleasant surprise was revealed.

"Look!" she cried. "Chocolate!"

It was true. An entire bar, perhaps half a pound, poking from butcher paper with only a corner missing. You could already smell it, like something from another era.

"My mother said she'd have a surprise for us, but this is amazing."

"I haven't had any chocolate since ..." Kurt paused.

"Since when?" she asked.

He had been about to say, "since December," when his father and he had attended yet another holiday party at the Stuckarts' house. But he didn't want her to know that he still kept in touch with Erich. Did she really expect him to give up everything from his past life? Besides, if he changed his habits too much, people would get suspicious. He was sneaking around enough as it was. Tonight his parents thought he was seeing a mindless Heinz Ruhmann comedy at the Ufa-Palast, on a date with Heidi Falken, whom he hadn't spoken to in ages.

"Oh, I don't know. A long time."

"Mmmm," she said, taking the tiniest of bites. "Here."

She broke off another piece and held it out. He opened his mouth, and she placed it on his tongue. Kurt licked a bit of melted chocolate from her fingertips, and she smiled. He was about to follow up with a kiss, but she abruptly backed away and refolded the butcher paper.

"We should save it. We can divide it when everyone else is home."

Her voice was quieter, and he could tell she was still a little fragile. Understandable. One stumble and they would have all been sitting in Gestapo interrogation cells by now, down in the bas.e.m.e.nt on Prinz-Albrecht-Stra.s.se.

"How 'bout some music?" he said, flipping on the radio.

Maybe that would calm her down. With any luck the stations wouldn't be playing the nationalist dreck that had recently dominated the airwaves. Three days of national mourning had followed the announcement two weeks ago of the German surrender at Stalingrad, and ever since then the radio had played little more than dirges and marching songs. And of course there was never any jazz or swing, not the real stuff, just the counterfeit local version that had been approved for public consumption. Lately everyone seemed too cowed to show any joy, lest some officious snoop decide you weren't "supporting the troops" in a suitably serious manner.

But there was no music tonight, only a familiar hectoring voice backed by an obliging crowd. It was Goebbels, shouting something about the new plan for victory in the east.

"So much for that idea," Kurt said, reaching for the Off switch.

"No, wait. I want to hear it. We need to know what he's up to. Please."

Well, that would certainly end his chances for the evening, Kurt thought. Nothing quite like the venom of the Cripple to get a girl out of the mood. He sighed and took a seat, sagging onto the Folkertses' leather couch, which smelled like her father's pipe tobacco. At least the chocolate was good. The taste lingered sweetly on his tongue.

"Did you hear that?" she hooted scornfully. "He said we should all try to emulate Frederick the Great, right after saying that by the end of the Third Silesian War he was fifty-one years old, had no teeth, suffered from gout, and was tortured by a thousand pains. Well, that should really inspire the ma.s.ses."

The problem was that the ma.s.ses did did sound inspired-over the radio, anyway. Kurt wondered who was in the audience. Handpicked Party loyalists, perhaps, although there sure were a lot of them. As if in answer to Kurt's question, Goebbels began describing the crowd gathered at his feet. sound inspired-over the radio, anyway. Kurt wondered who was in the audience. Handpicked Party loyalists, perhaps, although there sure were a lot of them. As if in answer to Kurt's question, Goebbels began describing the crowd gathered at his feet.

I see before me a cross-section of the whole German people in the best sense of the word! In front of me are rows of wounded German soldiers from the eastern front, missing legs and arms- "Then how are they clapping?" Liesl said derisively.

Behind them are armaments workers from Berlin tank factories- "Good G.o.d," Kurt said. "This must have been what they were talking about the other day at the office. An order came in to send at least a hundred workers to the Sportspalast tonight. That's them you're hearing-Bauer employees, screaming their lungs out. Too bad they didn't send some of the Poles instead. They'd have eaten him alive."

"Your dad's using captured Poles?"

"Czechs, too. A whole boxcar arrived just the other day. Jews, mostly. Sticks and bones. Some didn't even make it off the train, and they smelled like an outhouse. I wonder where they sleep at night, because it's not like we have anyplace handy."

"Where do do they go?" they go?"

"A government compound, I guess. Some sort of barracks. Who knows?"

"It's probably horrible. You should find out. Do something about it."

"Liesl, not even my dad can tell Speer and Sauckel what to do with guest workers."

" 'Guest workers.' You make it sound like they're glad to be invited."

"How do you know they aren't? Have you seen the newsreels from Warsaw? There's nothing left of the place."

She shook her head, but said nothing more, apparently unwilling to argue the point. Or maybe she was just exhausted, because she sagged against him on the leather cushions. The warmth and pressure of her body produced an immediate reaction. An erection stiffened against his trousers.

"Listen to him now," she said.

The Cripple had raised his voice to a tumult. Kurt could easily picture the wiry man's emphatic gestures, elbows thrust out at right angles as he waved his forefinger like the barrel of a Luger. It might have all been silly and melodramatic if not for the crowd, which was lapping it up, roaring a huge "Ja!" at every command. He was exhorting them with a series of questions now, appealing to their deepest need for vengeance.

I ask you, do you want total war? If necessary, do you want a war more total and radical than anything that we can even imagine today?

"Ja!"

Even Kurt almost shivered. But given what they had endured earlier that evening, the worst moment came a few seconds later.

Do you agree that those who harm the war effort should lose their heads?

"Ja!"

They sounded like they meant it. Liesl pressed closer and turned her face to his.

"I'm scared, Kurt. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I will ever stop being scared. Not after tonight."

"It will be better in the morning," he said, stroking her hair. "It always is. We'll go for a walk in the Grunewald. Enjoy some of that fake sunshine you see on the tree bark."

She shook her head, as if that was no good at all.

"Sometimes I think we'll never even survive the year. Not just us. Everyone. Either the police will take us away or some bomb will blow us all to pieces."

His arms were around her now, and her face rose to his.

"Tell me that if they ever come for me you will do everything you can to save me," she said. "Promise me."

"Of course I will. I promise."

"And that should be true for your family as well. Your sister. Your mother and father. We must all do everything in our power to save each other from the madmen. No matter what happens, no matter what the risk."

Her eyes pleaded, on the verge of tears. Her emotions had reached a peak, and they were alone. No parents. No Hannelore. Just the two of them pressed together on the soft leather couch in the dim glow of a single lamp. He kissed her, and she responded with urgency. And when, a few moments later, he slipped his hands beneath her sweater she didn't resist as she had in the past. Instead, she pulled his shirttail from his trousers and slid her own hands up his back, pressing closer.

Kurt was not particularly experienced in these matters. The closest he had come before to s.e.xual conquest had been in the backseat of Erich's car with a girl from their school who was said to be available to all comers, although she had only let Kurt briefly slide his hands to the tops of her thighs.

But at that moment with Liesl experience was no longer necessary, because matters took on a momentum of their own. They moved as if racing against time, one step leading to the next until his pants were off, and then her undergarments. Then he was climbing atop her, groping for position. Her hand guided him into place as she stared up at him, the vow they had made still evident in her eyes. Life or death, and this was their choice.

His movements were a little awkward at first. And just when it was seeming perfectly natural and comfortable, it ended all too quickly. But that, too, was okay, because she smiled and ran a finger down his chest, then softly kissed his lips, his nose, his eyelids. It was almost holy, a consecration of their promise.

"I am glad," she whispered. "Glad that we did this."

The radio had moved on to a marching song, with a drumbeat like the tramping of a thousand boots. They lay still, as if to let this army pa.s.s by their hiding place, and when the song was over she said again, "I am glad we did this."

"I am, too."

Outside, the sound of laughter. Cheerful voices were approaching up the sidewalk.

"My parents!" she cried.

She grabbed her clothes and ran for the bathroom. Kurt b.u.t.toned his shirt and pulled up his trousers. Whoever it was had stopped, even though the chatter continued. Of course. They had gone out with neighbors and were now saying good-bye. It gave him just enough time to cram his shirttail in and buckle his belt. His socks were still on, and he jammed his shoes on just as the door opened. Liesl's father gave him a puzzled look.

"Where is Liesl?"

"She's, uh, in the back. She should be right out."

Liesl's mother smiled and said h.e.l.lo, although her father still seemed wary. He had clearly been brought up short by the idea that Kurt and Liesl had been here alone. Thank goodness everyone stank these days, enough to cover all the telltale smells. And thank goodness the lights were low, so that they couldn't see the flush of his face.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad." Liesl appeared, smiling, hair combed. "How was your evening?"

"Ah, too much wine," her mother said, "but that's a nice problem for a change."

She was obviously too jolly to notice anything untoward, although Liesl's father was now looking everywhere, eyes darting, as if studying the evidence.

"Kurt and I just got back," Liesl said. "But he can only stay long enough for a bite of chocolate. We both took a little nibble right when we came in."

"That's what it's here for, so please do. Just don't ask me how much I paid for it while your father is in the room."

This finally coaxed a smile from the man, and Kurt breathed easier. Two close calls in one night. But the earlier episode made this one feel like a lark.

Liesl walked him outside, and rose on her toes to kiss him goodbye. Such a momentous day, and now the perfect ending-an embrace beneath the sheltering pines. He searched her face in the glow from the window. Was there a touch of regret? Perhaps. But there was also an unmistakable freshness, the excitement of new territory, a look that said there would be more time together just like this and no one could stop them.

The thought kept him content all the way home, even as he pedaled into a wintry headwind. There was a nervous moment when a pair of cops stopped him on Kantstra.s.se. But they were only checking ident.i.ty papers, and by the time he reached Charlottenburg he was even toying with the idea of another raid on the office paper supply.