Page 24 of Winter of the World (The Century 2)

Von Kessel was equally direct. "We are a Catholic party, and our first duty is to protect the position of the Church in Germany. That's what people hope for when they vote for us."

Lloyd frowned in disapproval. His mother had been a member of Parliament, and she always said it was her duty to serve the people who did not vote for her, as well as those who did.

Walter employed a different argument. "A democratic parliament is the best protection for all our churches--yet

you're about to throw that away!"

"Wake up, Walter," Gottfried said testily. "Hitler won the election. He has come to power. Whatever we do, he's going to rule Germany for the foreseeable future. We have to protect ourselves."

"His promises are worth nothing!"

"We have asked for specific assurances in writing: the Catholic Church to be independent of the state, Catholic schools to operate unmolested, no discrimination against Catholics in the civil service." He looked inquiringly at his son.

Heinrich said: "They promised the agreement would be with us first thing this afternoon."

Walter said: "Weigh the options! A scrap of paper signed by a tyrant, against a democratic parliament--which is better?"

"The greatest power of all is God."

Walter rolled his eyes. "Then God save Germany," he said.

The Germans had not had time to develop faith in democracy, Lloyd reflected as the argument surged back and forth between Walter and Gottfried. The Reichstag had been sovereign for only fourteen years. They had lost a war, seen their currency devalued to nothing, and suffered mass unemployment: to them, the right to vote seemed inadequate protection.

Gottfried proved immovable. At the end of lunch his position was as firm as ever. His responsibility was to protect the Catholic Church. It made Lloyd want to scream.

They returned to the opera house and the deputies took their seats in the auditorium. Lloyd and Heinrich sat in a box looking down.

Lloyd could see the Social Democratic Party members in a group on the far left. As the hour approached, he noticed Brownshirts and SS men placing themselves at the exits and around the walls in a threatening arc behind the Social Democrats. It was almost as if they planned to prevent the deputies leaving the building until they had passed the act. Lloyd found it powerfully sinister. He wondered, with a shiver of fear, whether he, too, might find himself imprisoned here.

There was a roar of cheering and applause, and Hitler walked in, wearing a Brownshirt uniform. The Nazi deputies, most of them similarly dressed, rose to their feet in ecstasy as he mounted the rostrum. Only the Social Democrats remained seated, but Lloyd noticed that one or two looked uneasily over their shoulders at the armed guards. How could they speak and vote freely if they were nervous even about not joining in the standing ovation for their opponent?

When at last they became quiet, Hitler began to speak. He stood straight, his left arm at his side, gesturing only with his right. His voice was harsh and grating but powerful, reminding Lloyd of both a machine gun and a barking dog. His tone thrilled with feeling as he spoke of the "November traitors" of 1918 who had surrendered when Germany was about to win the war. He was not pretending: Lloyd felt he sincerely believed every stupid, ignorant word he spoke.

The November traitors were a well-worn topic for Hitler, but then he took a new tack. He spoke of the churches, and the important place of the Christian religion in the German state. This was an unusual theme for him, and his words were clearly aimed at the Centre Party, whose votes would determine today's result. He said that he saw the two main denominations, Protestant and Catholic, as the most important factors for upholding nationhood. Their rights would not be touched by the Nazi government.

Heinrich shot a triumphant look at Lloyd.

"I'd still get it in writing, if I were you," Lloyd muttered.

It was two and a half hours before Hitler reached his peroration.

He ended with an unmistakable threat of violence. "The government of the nationalist uprising is determined and ready to deal with the announcement that the act has been rejected--and with it, that resistance has been declared." He paused dramatically, letting the message sink in: voting against the act would be a declaration of resistance. Then he reinforced it. "May you, gentlemen, now take the decision yourselves as to whether it is to be peace or war!"

He sat down to roars of approval from the Nazi delegates, and the session was adjourned.

Heinrich was elated, Lloyd depressed. They went off in different directions: their parties would now hold desperate last-minute discussions.

The Social Democrats were gloomy. Their leader, Wels, had to speak in the chamber, but what could he say? Several deputies said that if he criticized Hitler he might not leave the building alive. They feared for their own lives, too. If the deputies were killed, Lloyd thought in a moment of cold dread, what would happen to their aides?

Wels revealed that he had a cyanide capsule in his waistcoat pocket. If arrested, he would commit suicide to avoid torture. Lloyd was horrified. Wels was an elected representative, yet he was forced to behave like some kind of saboteur.

Lloyd had started the day with false expectations. He had thought the Enabling Act a crazy idea that had no chance of becoming reality. Now he saw that most people expected the act to become a reality today. He had misjudged the situation badly.

Was he equally wrong to believe that something like this could not happen in his own country? Was he fooling himself?

Someone asked if the Catholics had made a final decision. Lloyd stood up. "I'll find out," he said. He left and ran to the Centre Party's meeting room. As before, he put his head around the door and beckoned Heinrich outside.

"Bruning and Ersing are wavering," Heinrich said.

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