Page 88 of Hell to Pay
And my Pumpernickel is a success! “You could make a meal of it,” a customer named Frau Neumann tells me. She has the air of somebody who used to be stout. It’s the solid way she stands, feet planted, although of course nobody is stout now. She has the disposition as well of a woman who enjoys the pleasures of life. Like many, she’s lost a son and a husband—I’ve met almost nobody free of such losses—but she gets on with things in a most cheerful and resolute way. Heartening, really.
The children still talk about Joe and his orange and chocolate bar and chewing gum. Dr. Becker still talks about the cigarettes. For me? It’s the canned meat I miss, and for some reason, Joe remains in my mind as well. He was in such pain, and still, his eyes were kind, especially when he shared out that food. He seemed so happy to do it.
1 May 1945
Frau Neumann’s nemesis is Frau Lindemann, who is a stringy, sour sort of party—a dark cloud behind every silver lining! She had enormous news to impart today. Mussolini is dead—captured trying to escape the country along with his mistress, both of them shot and hung by their heels in the town square—imagine the ignominy, and how the preening, struttingDucewould have hated it! We’d all heard that rumor, but she now swears she heard “reliably”—how reliably?—that the generals have surrendered in Italy and Austria, and most startlingly, that Hitler is dead.
Frau Neumann scoffed, “Him? Wishful thinking. He thinks too highly of himself to let himself be killed. Would he so cruelly deprive the world of his saintly presence? Still hiding in his hole, I’ll wager.”
Frau Lindemann, of course, flushed deep red and insisted loudly that she was correct. “See if I’m not! And you should show some respect. The Führer resisted the enemy to the last. He died for us! All he ever wanted was to make Germany great, and so he was doing until the Bolshevists and World Jewry combined to defeat him.” Frau Neumann answered jokingly, which drives Frau Lindemann mad, and Andrea and I thought we should have to jump between them.
Also, how is “World Jewry” meant to be so powerful? You could as easily say “World Christianity,” for surely most of those in power are Christian, at least in the West. Are there a great many Jewish lords and ladies in England, then, and enough Jews in Parliament to dominate it? If so, Miss Franklin certainly never told me. I have no idea about America.
Joe, it seemed, had no more certain information.
May 1, 1945
Dear Dad,
Well, we’ve taken Munich, and what a mess it is. Bombed to absolute rubble, and the population living in the cellars like rats.
I’m trying to find some humanity, but I look at these people in all their seeming normality, remember them screaming for Hitler in the newsreels, their right arms stuck out in front of them as he ranted about the Jews, and I can’t. Maybe I’ll find my footing again. I’ll have to, if I’m to be of any use here—an interpreter has to come across as neutral or even sympathetic, or nobody talks to him.
The soldiers are surrendering in droves now, any arrogance gone—pretty dejected bunch—and the civilians are looting. Somehow, everybody seems to know where the Nazis kept the good stuff. They tell me they’re hungry, their children are starving, and I want to say—you haven’t seen starvation, and your children are alive. I don’t say it, but I want to. My pity is gone. I also don’t much care about the looting.
Those non-fraternization orders are fully in force again. “The Germans may seem friendly,” we’re told, “but keep in mind—they were all for Hitler. They might look like us, but they don’t think like us, so stay away.” I suspect they’re also worried about VD! “Non-fraternization” is one way of putting it. For once, I have no trouble keeping my distance.
Back to the landscape—the railroad yards here are masses of twisted iron, and the stations are so many piles of rubble. How did Hitler hold out this long? And why?
We hear that Berlin is taken, but at least right now, it’s only arumor. As far as we know, the war goes on. We’re an occupying force now, though, not a fighting one. People smarter than me will decide how to restore order, how to feed the people, including the German POWs—there doesn’t seem to be a lot of agricultural land still producing here; seems they trucked in all the crops from the conquered countries and let their own land be bombed to bits. The Army will also have to figure out how to get all those slave laborers back where they came from, and bring wrongdoers to justice—if there can be such a thing. I’m glad I won’t be part of it.
Everyone’s talking now about when we’ll get home. I doubt we’ll come home as the same men.
Love to Mom,
Joe
And me again, in the diary:
4 May 1945
Everyone abuzz today with the news. Berlin is definitely taken; it was announced on the wireless. Admiral Dönitz is Chancellor, but the war, as far as we know, continues. Who is fighting it, though, and where, with the Allied forces seemingly triumphant everywhere? All very confusing.
As for Hitler—there are four rumors at the same time, and most people don’t know which to believe.
The official announcement—Frau Lindemann was right about that, and wasn’t she crowing about it! “It is reported from Der Führer's headquarters that our Führer Adolf Hitler, fighting to the last breath againstBolshevism, fell for Germany this afternoon in his operational headquarters in the Reich Chancellery.” That sounds as if he was shot by the Red Army.
The second idea: The announcement of his death was a ruse put out to stymie the Soviets; Hitler has actually escaped to the south and is regrouping his forces in Bavaria. He’s certainly not anywhere around here! Is he meant to be in Berchtesgaden? They’ll have a job prying him out of there—the place is at the top of a mountain, and if he has SS troops with him … Shall I confess that I hope Joe won’t be among those who pursue him? Only in this book will I admit that. Frau Lindemann seems perfectly capable of coming after me for it! The woman is beside herself. Her husband is SS and serving in Poland. How many SS there do seem to be in that place! I haven’t heard any rumors about Joe’s stay with us, fortunately; the neighbors were hiding with their blackout curtains drawn when his friends came for him, and the boy across the street, whose name is Axel, apparently got such a scolding—and more than a scolding—from his mother for slipping out into the battle and popping off with his pistol that he hasn’t dared speak of what he did there. His mother is one of those who just wants the whole thing over and insists she never supported Hitler in the least. She is ostentatiously civil to Dr. Becker. He tells me with a wry smile that it’s quite remarkable how many Germans have always objected to Hitler’s treatment of the Jews. They’ve objected very silently, it seems.
