Page 66 of Hell to Pay
She spread her hands. “Dr. Becker is a fine man. But?—”
“But,” I said, “you have a brother-in-law and a son-in-law in the SS.” Then, in another of those moments I’ve experienced throughout my life, when my tongue gets away from me, I said, “I’m not sure it will go well for the SS after the Allies win. You see from the bombing how angry they are. The shoe may be on the other foot then.”
I regretted it instantly, as I always do—how good it feels in the moment to say such things, and how bad afterward!—and said, “Forgive me. If I’m correct, and if I can be of any help to you at that time, please know that I’ll help you as you’ve helped me.”
“But—” Frau Langbein was goggling a bit. “But they’re only soldiers following orders. Soldiers won’t be held responsible. And responsible for what? Guarding a prison camp? Don’t the Americans, the British, the Red Army all have prison camps too?”
I didn’t know the answer, and I didn’t have time for a philosophical discussion. “I don’t know,” I said. “I know very little, actually. I was speculating only. But we’ll go. No time to lose. We’ll pack our things and go now, while it’s dark and we won’t be seen.”
Frau Langbein stood. She wasn’t crying now, but full of determination. “Max will take you in the cart. Take them to … to …”
“To Schnabelwald,” Herr Langbein said. “It will take us acouple of hours on the back roads, and they won’t be looking for you there. I know a fellow with a barn, and he’ll give you shelter for the rest of the night. You can take the milk train in the morning. Go to Nuremberg. It’s in a terrible state, but that’s better for this. You won’t attract attention in Nuremberg as you do here, and nobody will know you.”
Frau Langbein nodded. “Yes. To Nuremberg. I’ll make some sandwiches to take with you.”
“I can’t endanger you like that, though, Herr Langbein,” I said. “We’ll walk.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “I’ll hide you under blankets if I must—or better yet, I’ll fill the wagon with hay, and you can burrow into it. If anybody stops me—and why should they?—I’ll be delivering the hay to my friend, who’s run out. That’ll seem true enough. It was a bad winter, and his pastures aren’t as lush as mine. If you hear voices, take care not to sneeze.”
“At night?” I said.
He shrugged. “I’m afraid of the bombing raids. I’ve heard the Americans bomb during the day, and I didn’t want to be anywhere close to Nuremberg if they do.”
“And if they come here?” I asked.
“If they come here,” Frau Langbein said, “I’ll tell them you returned to Dresden. That’s natural, isn’t it? I’ll tell them that Elsa’s story is nonsense, but it doesn’t matter, because you’ve returned to your palace and your people. They’ll believe that. If theGauleiterhad a palace, he’d never leave it, I’ll tell you that! The man’s a coward and out for himself.”
“But Frau Biersack,” I said.
“Frau Biersack,” Frau Langbein said grimly, “will say what I tell her to, if she knows what’s good for her. Or she’ll be out on her ear. And I’ll remind her that when the Americans come, they’ll ask who’s done bad things. Who’s turned in their neighbors. And that if she doesn’t want me to turnherin, she’ll hold her tongue.”
By the time I finished the story, the others had finished their cake. I said, “That was my lowest moment. How I blamed myself for my lack of self-control! Would Frau Biersack have said anything to those people if I hadn’t been so rude to her?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sebastian said. “Some people look for grievance.”
“Yes,” I said, “but you don’t have to hand it to them on a platter. The next day, when we were sheltering in a barn again, because there’d been Gestapo on the train and we’d climbed off it well before Nuremberg, when I wondered how much harm I’d done, whether Dr. Becker would survive my impetuous tongue …” I sighed. “Yes, that was the low point. If something happened to the Langbeins, too! How would I ever forgive myself, after their kindness?”
“So did something happen?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” I said, “but not by my hand. Two days later, the Americans bombed Bayreuth, and then they bombed it again. The second time, the bombers aimed for the marshaling yards north of the city. The Langbeins’ village was north of the city, too.”
Silence. “Then …” Ben said.
“I went back,” I said, “once the war was over. Once I could. It was a direct hit. There were no survivors.”
31
ALLES KAPUTT
The next morning at breakfast, there Ashleigh was again, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, asking, “So what happens today? Do you think you’ll hear from the board?”
“No,” I said. “Most definitely not. It’s Saturday.”
“So?” she said. “Like, they’re not going to click the button to send you the contract or whatever, just because it’s Saturday?”
“Yes,” I said, “I mean exactly that. It won’t happen tomorrow, either. In fact, nothing will happen tomorrow. Nobody works on Sunday in Germany. It’s a legal day of rest.”
“But we came here on Sunday,” Ben said, “and things were open.”
