The Children's War (15 page)

“Look,” Herr Reusch finally spoke up, “if you need to see your lady friend at night, let me know, I’ll write some sort of pass for you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he responded, hoping he sounded more thankful than he felt, “but you must understand how demeaning that would be for me.”

“Why?” they asked in concert.

“Whatever our political masters say, I am an independent and fully human adult. To essentially have to ask for your permission to see a woman . . .” He opened his hands. Certainly it would be clear to them now.

They were perplexed. “Whatever is the problem with having us write you a pass?” Herr Reusch asked, his voice carrying a hint of sourness at Peter’s ingratitude. He apparently had not considered the impracticalities involved: what sort of excuse would suffice after curfew, how Peter would explain Maria’s presence, and so on. Herr Reusch only wanted to know why his offer to help had been so rudely rejected.

Peter looked into the two faces of convention: good people, kind people, totally oblivious people. He felt the task was beyond him and he settled for an easy way out. “There’s no problem. Don’t mind me, I’m just a bit unnerved by what happened. Anyway, there’s no need anymore, we broke up last night.”

That was, of course, a lie. That evening Peter went to see Maria again. The relationship had grown tedious for him and he had, until his conversation with the Reusches, contemplated ending it, but now he felt more determined than ever to continue seeing her. In any case, he needed to return her papers to her before they were missed.

She saw him waiting by the newsstand and met him within a few minutes. When he handed her the documents, she breathed, “Oh, thank God!” but did not venture further comment on the night before. She tucked the documents into the pouch she wore around her neck, tucked it back under her blouse, and then began talking, too loudly, about some incident in the bakery.

Peter interrupted her. “I’m fine thanks.”

“What?”

“And you’re welcome.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” he sighed, exasperated by his own idiotic attempt at sarcasm. “Just from now on, two rules, if you want to continue our meetings.”

Something in the tone of his voice penetrated enough for her to ask, “What?” with a little more seriousness than usual.

“No more talking outside of my room—not one word! And while we’re walking-back and forth, you hold on to my arm and stay next to me. No wandering into the light. Got that?”

“Yeah,” she agreed sullenly.

For good measure, he grabbed her arm and held it tightly as they walked back to his room. Several times she began to interrupt the silence, but he clapped his hand over her mouth each time, and eventually she got the subtle hint, and in this way they managed to continue their clandestine liaisons without again being harassed by the local constabulary or any other officious sort of night prowler.

16

J
ULIA STOPPED PROWLING
the street near the entrance of the club and rifled through her purse. She found her lipstick and a small mirror and took a moment to apply another layer of deep red to her lips. Nothing seemed to be going right, not this stupid job, not her stupid life. Though she had spent the past months secure in their mountain retreat, Olek had, despite her pleas, continued patrolling. Even worse, he had begun training as an infiltrator, studying to perfect his accent and his mannerisms, making forays into the towns to do observational work, accompanying senior members of the Underground on their missions in order to gain experience and confidence. He had even spent two months with Zosia’s eldest brother, Ryszard, living at his house, working in his office as a gofer, learning the ways of the enemy, learning to fit in without drawing attention to himself. Olek had returned full of ideas and enthusiasm, convinced of his invincibility. He had also fallen in what he called “love” with Ryszard’s eldest daughter, a girl whose warm good looks belied an icy soul. Julia whistled her anger through clenched teeth. It was too much, the boy was only sixteen!

Julia blamed Adam and Zosia for a good portion of Olek’s behavior. They were so breezy about the dangers, so jovial about the risks! When it came to their work, they acted half their ages. They disappeared into the morning mist with their stilettos and their guns and emerged days later with grins and anecdotes about their accomplishments. Zosia even took the baby along with her so that
she could continue nursing! She enticed Olek with gruesome tales of evil men writhing as they died in her arms, of traitors and blackmailers begging in vain for mercy, of having to wash blood off her chest before she could put the baby to her breast; it was exactly the sort of nonsense that would appeal to a teenage boy.

Mindless of the risk that any student faced by attending, Adam took Olek into Krakau to visit the illegal class that he taught there; he helped Olek with his weapons instruction; he encouraged him into strenuous physical training. Did Zosia teach Olek her computer skills so that he could work from within the bunker? No! She encouraged him to enroll in her self-defense classes, she taught him her knife-fighting skills! Adam and Zosia, the terrible twosome! They held court in their luxurious two-room flat, the one Zosia had wrangled to keep after her parents had vacated it to go to Göringstadt; they both held seats on the Council now, they both were ridiculously decorated and promoted to ranks that were inappropriate to their youth. They were the blond-haired, blue-eyed golden couple with their precious little golden-girl daughter . . .

With the thought of Joanna, Julia stopped her mental diatribe. Joanna was a wonderful baby, a four-month-old bundle of toothless smiles and irresistible belly laughs, and Adam and Zosia obviously loved her dearly. Julia sighed. It was pointless chiding them or anyone else for the fact that Olek did not want to live his life safely cosseted by the mountains. He was a healthy young lad surrounded by suffering and injustice and felt that he could do something about it. She herself had once felt that way, why should her own son be any different?

Like herself, he had never seen what peace was like, he had never had the opportunity to live a normal life. Like herself, he was a child of their interminable war. A war that ebbed and flowed, that sucked their lives from their very bodies, that sucked their souls and their consciences into a void. A war that left nothing of those it touched except empty shells of suffering or mindless perpetrators of the brutal order it had established. Only a core resistance remained, flickering with its faint light of hope in the future. Was it any wonder her son wanted to be part of that small hope? He would not voluntarily avoid the dangers involved, she would simply have to remove him from the situation. America was the answer. If she could take him to America, then he could live a normal life and he could understand that one did not need to kill or risk death and torture just to maintain one’s honor. In America there was that elusive creature: peace. He would learn what the word meant there. All she needed was money. Dollars. American dollars.

Julia ignored the passersby who shot contemptuous glances at her tight skirt and low-cut blouse, and she looked up at the glowering Berlin sky. Soon another August storm would be upon them. How the time had flown since her last visit to Berlin! She had spent the months training a replacement and doing other mundane work. The Council had kept their word, when this job was complete, when her replacement felt comfortable with his duties, then she would be done with this nonsense. That, however, would not solve her problem. It was not
enough for her to be safe, she wanted her son to be safe as well. Was it really such an awful thing for a mother to want?

She flung the lipstick back into her purse and rummaged until she found her hip flask. Casting a quick glance around, she took a clandestine swig and put the bottle back into her purse. She noticed that her hands were shaking as she pulled the zipper shut. Things had not been going well. She and her apprentice had already successfully covered all their other target sites, but each had been difficult, and each had left her both emotionally and physically drained. This last target had been particularly problematic. They had had three setbacks, the first being nothing more than an intrusive patrol, but Julia had felt spooked and had abandoned their attempt for that evening. Their next try was frustrated by a bomb scare that saw the entire area they were trying to enter cordoned off. On the third attempt, they finally reached the house that abutted a private club that was favored by high-level officials, but there was construction at the site and the house was being torn down. Julia had stood across the street from the house, her fists clenched in frustrated rage, as she saw her plans go awry yet again.

She checked her watch and swore. Another five minutes to kill before the club opened. Other prostitutes were gathering, waiting to bribe the staff when they opened the door so that they could be let inside. Rather than concentrate on the details of the job ahead, Julia’s mind strayed yet again to her long-term plans. First, she would need papers, tickets, and money to get into Switzerland—that would not be terribly difficult. A few favors could be called in, or she could just ask the Council for that sort of largesse or she could fabricate some reason for the travel. Whatever. It was once she was in Switzerland that things would be difficult. A direct application to the Americans for permission to immigrate was unlikely to be granted: their record on refugees was chaotic at best, and they were growing increasingly touchy about letting foreigners in, for whatever reason. She could, of course, apply to visit, but a traveler’s visa for a Reich citizen would be next to impossible to obtain. So, she would need papers for her and Olek indicating they were from some neutral land, and she would probably have to arrange travel to the American Union from that land. That would require some forward planning and considerable bribes. Once they were in America, they needed to get a lawyer and seek asylum, and that, she presumed, also cost money. Or maybe living underground for a few years and applying for legal status later, during an amnesty, would be the safest course? She could imagine what would happen to them if they failed in their bid for asylum and were deported back into the Reich—if they survived interrogation and did not betray themselves as members of the Underground, Olek would probably be inducted into a punishment battalion and she would be sold to some industrialist to slave out the remainder of her days in some airless factory.

The doors to the club were opened and Julia pressed forward with the other women to gain admittance. Technically no women were allowed inside, but the rules were bent when a sufficiently pretty woman offered a sufficiently substantial
bribe at the door. The club was an attractive location—all the highestranking members of the local government offices belonged to it, and once a lady arranged a liaison with one of those men, she could be set up for years, even life. Anecdotal tales abounded of this or that lady who had not only been taken on as a mistress but who had ended up married and had settled into society as a proper wife of a high-ranking Party member. Even foreign women stood a chance of gaining an entróe into society in this manner, and Julia noticed a few around her who spoke accented German. She did not; she spoke high German without a discernible accent and carried papers that indicated she had been born in Hannover.

When it came her turn, the doorman sized her up rather critically. She was attractive, but perhaps he noticed her relative maturity compared to the girls who pressed themselves determinedly forward against her. Julia smiled knowingly, winked at the man, and indicated with a glance at her hand that the bribe was conveniently predivided into two piles—the one he could split with his fellows and the other he could keep for himself. He was already studying the next prospective entrant as he grabbed the money into his left hand and gestured her into the bar with his right. Julia ducked into the dim room, took a few steps away from the door, and waited patiently as her papers were examined, she was frisked, and her bag was searched. As she waited, she pulled out her metal cigarette case, took a cigarette out for herself, and offered one to the security guard. He accepted and smiled broadly when she lit it for him. He finished his inspection and motioned her onward. She threw the cigarette case back into her purse and, entering into the public bar at the front of the club, took in her surroundings. She had some time to kill before her partner would show up—they had decided late evening was the best time to try to approach their target, and he did not need to be there until then. Julia, however, had decided to come in early so she could inconspicuously join the crowd at the door and so she could scout the premises and the clientele at her leisure.

The evening passed amusingly enough. She placed herself in an advantageous location and allowed the men to initiate the conversations. Halfway through the evening, having been treated to a substantial amount of fine cognac, she agreed to join a table of revelers as they celebrated the retirement of one of their comrades. The guest of honor was a well-kept man with silver hair and a ready smile. By virtue of her age relative to that of the other girls at the table, Julia fell naturally into the role of his companion, and as the evening progressed, she ended up sitting on his lap and nuzzling his ear playfully. His hands hovered near her without actually touching her, and finally she decided to help him overcome his shyness and gently grabbed one of his hands and placed it boldly on her breast. He blushed but did not remove it. She laughed good-naturedly, and the rest of his companions joined in teasing him for his old-fashioned manners.

“We’ll miss you, Heiner. I’ve been told your replacement is nowhere near as subtle,” one of them remarked.

“Do you know who it’ll be?” Heiner asked.

“A fellow named Vogel.”

“Andreas Vogel? He’s older than I am!”

“No, Karl Vogel. No relation. He’s in Paris now, but he’s Berlin by career.”

Julia stopped nuzzling. Dreamily, she pressed her face close to her companion’s, but her mind was whirling. They continued to talk about Heiner’s replacement and then about his plans for the future, all the while drinking toasts, all the while moving their hands over their playful, willing companions. Julia enjoyed being touched, she enjoyed the physical sensation despite the emotional barriers that she necessarily kept in place. She had learned her host had been working in the Security Ministry, she had learned he was relatively well-placed. Given that information, she knew that in his work he could be neither gentle nor shy. He was involved in some of the dirtiest work for one of the dirtiest governments on the planet, and despite his old-fashioned manners and his blushing timidity, he was, no doubt, a swine.

She ran her fingers along his neck, stopping momentarily to feel the place where one could sink a stiletto directly into the cerebral cortex. A quick, almost painless death. It was better than he deserved. She felt herself growing excited and was surprised by that. It had been years since she had felt anything other than dread, and here she was, sitting on the lap of an irredeemable pig, feeling aroused! It was, she realized, the mention of Karl’s name. He was a pig as well: selfish, vain, brutal to subordinates, groveling to superiors, but he had been a passionate lover in his day and the thought of him, Olek’s father, had brought back a flood of memories.

It also brought a brilliant idea to mind. Karl was moving up in the world— that was obvious. He was still fairly young, only forty, and he was moving into the position being vacated by this fossil; that was a good sign that his career was progressing well. He probably had money by now, probably a lot if his father-inlaw was finally dead or if they had come to terms at last. He also had power and access. He could get his hands on hard currency, and through him she could arrange her and Olek’s ticket out of the country!

Heiner turned his attention to her suddenly. “I, er, what if, um, well, do you think we could move to one of the private rooms, young lady?”

Julia could feel how hard he was against her thigh. She glanced at the clock: there was plenty of time. “I’d love to,” she answered. The party broke up with various couples disappearing to the private “apartments” made available to club members. These were little more than tiny rooms used for private dinners, important discussions, and clandestine meetings. Each had a large, comfortably wide couch, a small table, and several chairs.