Page 67 of Hell to Pay
“The café in the train station was open,” I said. “The hotel restaurant was open. Nothing else will be open. No shops, no museums.”
Ben looked dismayed. “So are we supposed to, like, wander around outside, or what? What do people do all day?”
“Personally,” I said, “I plan on going to Mass.”
“Oh, great,” Ben said. “Church.”
I had to laugh. “A picnic in the park, perhaps? The Grosser Garten is very beautiful, and there’s also a zoo.”
Ben looked horrified. “The zoo? I’m notnine.”
“Plus, cruelty to animals,” Ashleigh said.
“The cinemas,” I said, “will be open as well. I propose, though, that we forget about the tiara for the weekend and go to Nuremberg today.”
“What’s in Nuremberg?” Ben asked.
“The next part of the story,” I said. “And the place I’d like most to see now.”
Sebastian asked, “How far is that?”
I laughed. “Well, you know—it depends how you’re getting there. It took me almost two months, but I imagine you’ll do it more quickly.”
Alix had been tapping away at her phone. “Two hours and forty-five minutes. Or, of course, faster, the way Sebastian drives. I’d say that I’d drive, but that back seat is going to be pretty cramped for you, Sebastian.”
“I’m happy to drive,” Sebastian said, “if it doesn’t compromise your principles. That would be a long day, though. How about if we find a hotel for a couple of nights and come back Monday morning?”
Ashleigh said, “Uhhh …”, and Sebastian said, “With, of course, a room for the videographer. What’s our view count now?”
“One million, six hundred thousand, two hundred seventeen,” Ashleigh said. “But who’s counting?”
The drive, as before, featured absolutely nothing familiar. I spent the time thinking about the diary entries and letters I’d read last night, the ones that had all but leaped off the page to tell me, “You’ve come all this way. How can you leave withoutgoing to Nuremberg?” Because Joe and I had been converging on the same spot in April 1945, one from the east and one from the west.
First, Joe.
April 10, 1945
Pretty deep in now, Dad, right in the heart of Germany. The Nazis have to know the jig’s up, with the Brits and the Red Army and us all closing in, but they go on making their armaments and throwing them at us all the same. They care more about that than feeding their people, it seems to me. We liberated a factory yesterday making ball bearings, the whole thing manned by slave labor. Poles this time, both men and women. I guess they’re free now, anyway, but how does the Army feed them and get them back home? Some of them are pretty well starved. I wonder about the kids—where are they? You can bet the Nazis didn’t ship them here with their parents. When we took the town, those folks came out of their bomb shelters and hugged and kissed us. Better than getting shot at!
Slave labor—I can’t wrap my mind around that one. Sure makes me wonder what the Krauts are doing to their POWs. And, no, to answer your last letter (which was from two months ago—the mail takes its own sweet time, but boy, is it good to hear your name called out during mail call), you don’t have to worry. We’re doing all right by our own prisoners, following the rules. I’m sure you’re right that war can bring out the monster in any man, but we’ve got some good officers here—and good NCOs to lay down the law! You can count on me for that.
Love to Mom,
Joe
Both of us had written our next entries on the same day. Mine went like this:
14 April 1945
Staying in a convent in the countryside. At least it hasn’t been bombed! You’d think the nuns would be nicer, though, especially to Catholics (myself real and Dr. Becker and the children false, but they don’t know that!), but maybe they’ve been through too much to be nice anymore, because they weren’t at all happy about having us stay a second night, even when I showed them how little money I have left. Still, it’s a bed of sorts, a roof over our heads, and thin soup and the terrible Kriegsbrot,which, yes, still tastes terrible even when you’re half-starved. I think it must be the sawdust.
We heard a rumor today that Roosevelt has died. The man who told us swore it was true: he’d heard it on the wireless from Goebbels himself, who’d said exultantly, “It’s written in the stars that the second half of April will be the turning point for Germany, and here it is—the Angel of History has spoken! Just as in the Seven Years’ War, with the Miracle of the House of Brandenberg that saved Prussia from collapse. Why, weren’t Russia and Austria both on the very doorstep of Berlin itself? And then, suddenly—withdrawal! Didn’t Tsarina Elizabeth die, and Peter III come to power, as if ordained by God? Didn’t Russia then switch sides and return all the occupied Prussian territory? So it will be with us, for this is our destiny. Again our enemy attempts to encircle us. Again the head of the snake is suddenly lopped off, and, this time, not a friend to Germany but a weakling is put in its place. Again the Russians are discovering the treachery of their ally, and remembering the friendship they formerly enjoyed with Germany, the alliance that served both our great nations so well. I tell you, my friends, that we are not defeated, but on the very brink of victory!”
“Na ja,” Dr. Becker said diplomatically. “We’ll see.” That was morethan I could say. I just wanted to laugh. Russia would suddenly become friends with Germany? Why, exactly?
I don’t know whether this is good news for us or bad. Most likely, it makes no difference. In any case, we must leave tomorrow. I think we must take a train if we can. It will cost money we could spend on food, yes—if there were anything to buy! But walking is such an effort on an empty stomach, and Dr. Becker is still very frightened. We’re too exposed here, in the countryside. No, I really think it must be the train, and Nuremberg.
Joe had a different reaction to the news.
