Page 34 of Hell to Pay
“It doesn’t rhyme, of course, in English,” I said. “But it’s nearly as beautiful all the same. I knew then, that morning—I don’t know how—that Rilke was right, and so was Joe. That I would love him forever, and what was more astonishing—that he would love me that long and more, until the end of time. I was sure, and I hadn’t been sure for so long. I’d been surviving, but now? I was sure.”
“Wow,” Alix said. “I didn’t realize Grandpa was so romantic.”
“Nobody could play the cello as he did,” I said, “and not be romantic. But—” I rose and went back to the sink. “If we’re going to meet this board, I’d better finish getting ready. Breakfast in the restaurant today, I think. How are Ashleigh and Ben getting on?”
“Ben’s still asleep,” Alix said after a moment. “I suspect they were up until the wee hours posting videos, because there are two more up now, about the bombing. Do you want to see?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t need to. I was there.”
16
NO MORE PRIVILEGE
I wore the Chanel suit and the pearls to the board meeting. It seemed appropriate. Alix, of course, wore what she calls “performance” clothing and I call “clothes you wear to the gym and nowhere else,” but never mind. I was the one who needed to be convincing.
We weren’t required to wait today, but were ushered back to the same resolutely plain conference room, where three men and one woman, as well as Dr. Bauer, rose courteously to shake hands. I’d describe their expressions as “guarded,” but then, royal imposters are common even nowadays, when one wouldn’t imagine anybody would care about long-lost crowns and thrones. I was introduced as Frau Stark, but that was, after all, my name. I wasn’t Princess Marguerite anymore, and that had been my own choice.
Tea was provided this time. The mugs were probably from Ikea—I suspected the table and chairs were, too, which was practically sacrilegious in this building—but somebody had taken the trouble to slice a lemon. I was halfway to special, it appeared.
“We appreciate you coming in at short notice,” thechairman of the board told me. A dry, gray, and distinguished fellow of about sixty, he possessed a polite but definite air of command. “And I trust you won’t be offended if we ask you some questions.”
“Not at all,” I said. “And I hopeyouwon’t be offended if my videographer, Ashleigh Finnegan, records my answers. She’s making a record, you see, for, ah, her, ah …”
“History channel,” Ashleigh said brightly. “This is just for background, though.”
“I don’t know,” the chairman, Dr. Eltschig, said. “We haven’t discussed this.”
I folded my hands in front of me on the table and looked impassively back at him. I’m very good at appearing impassive. Alix used to call it my “cobra stare.” I said, “Perhaps you’d like to take a few minutes to discuss it,” and tried to make it evident that I was quite happy to sit here until they were done, and also that I was going to insist. I seemed to have decided to want my story to be heard.
“I don’t suppose it can do much harm, after all,” Dr. Eltschig said. “Now, about your claim?—"
We went through it all again: my family, the war, the palace, the photos, the identity cards, the earrings. This time, though, we went beyond where I’d left things with Dr. Bauer. When I described Father’s summons by the Gestapo, every head turned.
“I hadn’t heard this,” Dr. Eltschig said, “and I know something about this period.”
“Because my father was never actually questioned, presumably,” I said.
“And soon after you discussed this,” Dr. Eltschig said, clearly not convinced yet, “the air-raid sirens sounded and you went to the cellar.”
Here we were again: the first raid, the fire, rescuing what belongings we could, and finally, my journey down to theancient depths of the palace with my father. I was glad I’d spoken of it to the others already; it would have felt too raw otherwise.
Dr. Eltschig said, “A Jewish family?” And looked extremely skeptical.
“I know,” I said. “Afterwards, as a refugee, especially once the Americans came—the stories one heard! Every German had saved a Jewish family, even though they had no idea of what was actually happening to the Jews, and they had all secretly loathed Hitler. And nobody, of course, would have dreamed of joining the Party, though they could point to others who had. It’s a wonder so many Jews were lost, with all those charitable Aryans looking out for them.”
“Precisely,” Dr. Eltschig said. “This family …”
“Dr. Becker was our family doctor,” I explained. “We had medical needs enough for a dozen among us, as my mother and I were hemophilia carriers and my father had been so terribly burned, so we knew him well.”
I told the story. Another “bite” for Ashleigh’s program, if nothing else.
I turned at last at the top of the winding stair and descended into the dark again. There was nothing else to do. Even as I longed to open the door and dash after my father, the habit of obedience was too strong. And three helpless people waited down there. Father had trusted me with the knowledge of them, and they were my responsibility now.
The thunder of the explosions, the dull roar that was the planes, or the fire, or both, were even worse this time, weren’t they? I couldn’t tell—the base of the stairs was much lower than the other cellar, which would mean we were farther from the bombs, but how to measure the amount of shakingand smoke and heat, and the fear they bring, against one’s memory?
When my flashlight picked out the three figures sitting against the wall of the antechamber, I was glad. I knelt before them to be at their level, as it seemed polite, and Dr. Becker gave a sound of distress and said, “No. Children, stand and greet Princess Marguerite. My daughter, Andrea, who is twelve, and my son, Gerhardt, eight.” Aryan names, but that may have seemed wiser when these children were born.
Andrea made aKnicks—the bobbing curtsey every German girl learned—as we shook hands, and Gerhardt gave the usual polite half-bow. I wanted to laugh, it seemed so inappropriate in these circumstances, but of course, that would be rude, so I merely murmured words of greeting and said, “Shall we sit down?” as if we were in the drawing-room and about to be served coffee and cakes. How ridiculous manners can seem at times, and yet how necessary they are.
