The Children's War (29 page)

28

“Y
OU’LL
NEVER GUESS WHAT!”
Elspeth bubbled as soon as Karl came through the door. She surged forward to hug her husband, nearly tripping on Peter as he took Karl’s things and handed him a cigarette.

“You’re right,” Karl said without interest, “I haven’t a clue.” He looked tired.

“Mother’s coming to visit! For two weeks. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Ach, is it that time of year again?” After his cigarette was lit, Karl moved toward the sitting room, with the obvious intent that Elspeth would join him, but she waved her hand at him.

“Can’t rest now, there’s so much to do. Peter, come! There’s more cleaning upstairs. Hurry up.”

As Elspeth rushed off, Karl caught Peter’s eye and muttered, “Better you than me,” with something like bemused pity.

On the morning of Elspeth’s mother’s arrival, Peter carried her bags into the guest room that had been so meticulously prepared for her and, as ordered, unpacked their contents. As he unfolded her clothes and placed them into a drawer, Frau von dem Bach came into the room. She was somewhat taller than average for her age, and she carried herself with an aristocratic arrogance that her daughter could never hope to achieve. Her hair was a natural chestnut with streaks of gray, and she wore it on top of her head as if to emphasize her height. She looked around appreciatively at the neatly made bed, the fresh flowers in the vase, the odor of cleanliness. Everything and everyone had been rearranged to make sure she had a suitably furnished guest room, and as a result the room sparkled.

She complimented the room, then turned to watch what he was doing. “No, no, that goes down there,” she said, indicating that she wanted some clothes in the bottom drawer, “and those go in there.” She pointed to the wardrobe.

He nodded, finished unpacking her luggage, and turning to leave, asked, “Will there be anything else,
gnädige Frau?”

“Come here.” Frau von dem Bach beckoned with a finger. “I didn’t get a good chance to look at you in the station.”

She had seated herself in the chair near the bed, and he came to stand by her. She eyed him for a long moment, then regally ordered him to turn around for her. After he had complied, she observed, “You’re as tall as a German, that’s unusual. Most of the working English I’ve seen are little runts. Why’s that?”

It wasn’t clear whether she was asking why he was tall or why most English weren’t. He didn’t even agree with her observation, but he chose to answer, “Malnutrition can do terrible things to people.”

“So you think they’re malnourished?”

“I think the island produces too much for export,” he answered obscurely.

“You don’t think your people are treated fairly?” It was less a question than a statement.

He hesitated, then said simply,“No.”

“I wonder what the people in India would have to say about that.”

“I have no idea.”

“Alas, it is the age-old complaint of all colonial regions. I suppose your British
Empire would have known about that; you know, like when Ireland was exporting food during the potato famine,” she commented slyly.

“Yes, that was emphasized in history class.”

“The invincible British Empire! Ach, and now the tide has turned against you.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Apparently,” he answered, unsure of what she wanted from him.

“So where do you think all that food goes?” she asked with no obvious intent.

He hesitated, then deciding to throw caution to the wind, stated dryly, “Your son-in-law seems to manage to consume a fair amount of it.”

She released a controlled little titter. “Yes, he has grown in recent years! He used to be quite trim—handsome, even. I think his work is less strenuous than it used to be. I gather, from what I hear, he used to keep in shape by beating people up. Now”—she studied her fingernails—“he uses his brain, so he does absolutely nothing at all.”

Peter did not smile.

“Ah, yes”—she noticed his lack of response—“but I don’t suppose you find that very humorous, do you?”

“No,
gnädige Frau.
Is that all,
gnädige Frau?”

“Not quite. Let me see your papers.”

He handed them to her and watched as she perused them.

“Your history begins with your criminal conviction?”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.”

“But you existed before that.”

“One would assume so,
gnädige Frau,”
he answered with subdued humor.

“So where is the rest of your documentation?”

“With Herr Vogel,
gnädige Frau.
In his study.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Well, tell me, what does it say? Do your parents know what you’ve been up to?”

“I was a foundling.”

“An orphan?”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.”
He stopped himself from saying that at least that was his current story.

“I’m surprised you weren’t adopted, what with your hair and eyes and all.”

He shrugged. It was not up to him to explain the machinations of the SS Lebensborn, the SS division that abducted and Germanized suitable children from inferior races.

“But they certainly taught you good German in any case.”

“All the orphanages use only German,
gnädige Frau.”

She continued to study the pages. “Still, they had no intention of you ending up like this, did they?”

“We were raised to serve the Fatherland,
Gnädigste.
I can only hope I am doing that now,” he replied ironically.

Frau von dem Bach sniffed her amusement, then tapping the documents, said, “It’s not in here. What’s your name?”

“Peter,
gnädige Frau.”

“I meant your last name—and I don’t mean Vogel.”

“I used to be called Halifax.”

“Halifax? As in
Lord
Halifax?”

A little laugh broke free at that. He shook his head and bit his lower lip to try to control his expression.“No, as in Manchester, Coventry, Leeds, Halifax.”

“Cities?”

“Nuclear cities.”

She cocked her head in confusion.

“They named foundlings after the nearest city. I guess I was found near Halifax.”

“I see, so you’re the product of a nuclear dump. Hmm.” She dropped his papers onto her lap as if they were useless and studied his face as if searching for traces of his history. “Working class?” she asked suddenly.

“I don’t know. As I said, I was found abandoned.”

“That’d be my guess, despite your height,” she continued as if talking about the lineage of a racehorse. “Just my daughter’s type. She has a weakness for peasant strength, just like that husband of hers.”

He did not know what to say to that.

“You know what the problem was,” she said as if he had asked a question, “the British got rather untidy about keeping track. So many upstarts from the lower classes! Democracy—what a mistake it was! It started this whole messy business. Now, everything’s turned around, the leaders follow and the followers lead!”

He remained silent.

“Tell me,” she said, suddenly changing tack, “you were convicted for a relatively minor offense. What was it, leaving the Reich without proper authorization?”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.
That was my second criminal conviction.”

“Ah. What was the first?” she asked, her head tilted with interest.

“Draft-dodging.”

“What did that get you?”

“Twenty years,” he answered without betraying his bitterness.

“And this second conviction merited a death sentence?”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.”

“And the permanent markings.” She nodded at his arm.

Realizing that he was in violation of Elspeth’s rules, he rolled down his sleeves. In answer to Frau von dem Bach, he said, “Yes, they indicate I live under a stay of execution.”

“Interesting. So no retirement for you?” she asked, referring to the tendency to release forced laborers into society to fend for themselves when they were no longer able to work.

“No. When I cease to be useful, I will be shot,
gnädige Frau,”
he stated with calculated bluntness.

“A rather draconian punishment,” Frau von dem Bach commented as she fanned herself with his papers.

“People have been killed for less,
gnädige Frau.
Much less.”

Frau von dem Bach smiled at his brazen innuendo. “I don’t think we bothered to convict
them
of anything.”

“I guess not,
gnädige Frau.”

“Anyway, we don’t talk about that, do we,” she intimated, taking yet another step in their intricate pas de deux.

“Apparently not,
gnädige Frau.”

Frau von dem Bach shifted in her seat. “So rather than kill you, they reinvent you. What a very efficient use of bodies.”

“If you think my labor is being used efficiently, yes.”

“You don’t think lighting my son-in-law’s cigarettes is gainful employment?”

“I wouldn’t dare to comment on the methods of my superiors.”

“Wisely so.” She glanced back at his papers. “Not only a condemned convict, but also, quite conveniently, of inferior blood. Don’t you find it odd that they can magically discover after all those years that you are, and presumably always have been, subhuman?”

“I have never attempted to understand your justice system. Or whatever you want to call it.”

She sighed, signaling that she had finished amusing herself. “Neither have I,” she admitted, handing the documents back to him, “neither have I.”

“May I go now,
gnädige Frau?”

“Yes, of course.” She winked at him. “I think I’ll nap a bit. Come and get me for dinner.”

29

“T
WO
WEEKS, YOU SAID?”
Karl moaned.“Hasn’t it been two weeks yet?” He set down his empty glass and pointed toward it meaningfully. Peter refilled it with whiskey, then resumed standing by the wall.

“She’s not leaving until Sunday, dear,” Elspeth answered patiently. “Do try and be polite until then.”

Karl sputtered, “She’s an arrogant old cow with stupid, old-fashioned, and impractical ideas! Her and her stupid society!”

“You thought highly of our connections when you wanted to marry me.”

“Lot of good that did. They cut us off completely. Investigating me like that!”

“I know,” Elspeth soothed. “But they couldn’t understand us. They thought I was deceived by your blond hair and pretty black uniform.”

“They were angry I was landless. Called me a nobody!” Karl snarled. “As if my political background was worthless!”

“Well, to them it was, dear. Anyway, it was a long time ago. They were just concerned for my welfare.”

“That’s not what you said at the time!”

Elspeth eyed Peter as if wondering whether she should continue their conversation in front of him. He ignored her, staring blankly at the minute hand on the mantel clock as it slowly approached twelve. It would chime then and their inanity would be drowned out for a few blessed seconds.

“I was angry, yes,” Elspeth admitted to Karl, clearly deciding that Peter was sufficiently inanimate to not merit further consideration. “But now that Daddy is long dead, and we are married, isn’t it time to let bygones be bygones?”

“Dying like that! He cheated me out of my revenge!” Karl fumed. “He was so bitter at our marriage, I bet even the damn maggots can’t stomach eating his sticky white remains.”

“Karl! That’s disgusting! Whatever you thought then, it’s time to let it go. Mother has tried to rebuild the bridges—can’t we work with her?”

Karl sputtered again. “Why should we?”

“Mother likes hearing about your promotions. Maybe you could tell her more about your work.”

“She just likes to keep an eye on my career because she’s afraid one of these days, I’ll be powerful enough to get her back for her meddling.”

“Karl! You wouldn’t!”

“Of course not, darling,” Karl replied smoothly. “Of course not.”

Elspeth gave Karl a baleful look, then stood and walked over to the door. “She said she’d join us for a drink. I wonder . . . Oh, there you are!”

Frau von dem Bach swept down the steps and into the sitting room as if into a grand reception. She kissed Elspeth on the cheek, gestured toward Peter for a cognac, then seated herself, saying, “Don’t bother to stand, Karl.”

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Karl replied, settling deeper into his armchair, and gesturing to Peter to get him another cigarette. “In fact, that is just one more positive benefit of our revolution, no more of this silly class nonsense.”

“Oh,” Frau von dem Bach replied, eyeing Peter smugly.

“Peter, lower the shutters!” Elspeth snapped testily. “Do I have to tell you everything?”

“Yes,” Karl continued,“we’ve recognized the superiority of all Germans as the Aryan nobility and we no longer look down on those who work. It did not go far enough though. We really need even more fundamental changes.”

“How so?” Frau von dem Bach asked without interest.

“We should have cleaned house more efficiently. We got rid of the damn Jews and all those other troublesome types—the Communists, the religious zealots, the foreigners, you know . . .”

“Uh-huh.”

“But we should have cleaned out the aristocrats as well. Wiped out the goddamned gentry and the intelligentsia! Just like we did in Poland.”

Both Elspeth and her mother looked at him aghast. “Karl! What are you saying?” Elspeth asked in horror.

“I think, dear, he’s forgotten that we are all good Germans as well,” Frau von dem Bach commented as she accepted the cognac from Peter.

“Oh, I only meant the troublesome ones,” Karl soothed unconvincingly. He downed his whiskey in a gulp.

“No, you clearly said ‘like in Poland,’ ” Frau von dem Bach reminded him, sipping her cognac. “If I remember correctly, it was decided that they were all troublesome—the Polish gentry was exterminated nearly without exception.”

“That’s because they thought they were noble, but there is only one
Herrenvolk,
and that is the Germans!”

“If
all
Germans are the natural nobility of the Aryan races, then how can there be a German nobility?” Frau von dem Bach asked pointedly.

“There can’t!” Karl sneered. “We should have followed Stalin’s lead on that. He purged Soviet society of its disloyal elements very efficiently. The kulaks certainly learned their lesson.” Karl smiled to himself and added quite admiringly, “Seven million disloyal Ruthenians in one single terror famine. Seven million and the world hardly blinked! You’ve got to admire the guy. Now that’s a way to keep order!”

“Since when do we take lessons from the Communists?” Frau von dem Bach asked archly.

“Since they have the right idea!” Karl slammed his fist on the end table.

Elspeth interrupted, “Peter—refill our drinks! Can’t you see Herr Vogel’s is empty? And top mine up.”

“Ah, I do so like Mozart,” Frau von dem Bach commented, obviously following-Elspeth’s lead and trying to change the subject.

“I don’t care for all that highfalutin crap music. Who wants to hear it anyway?” Karl snarled, then gulped down the whiskey Peter had just poured and motioned for another.

“Karl, dear,” Elspeth soothed, “it’s what’s playing on the television now. Don’t you hear it? Don’t you like it? I thought you liked this station in the evening.”

“Oh, that, yeah, yeah. What I meant was . . . Yeah, I like it, I just don’t know the stupid names. Isn’t it enough to listen? Who needs the names of this stuff.”

“Yes, that’s quite observant of you,” Frau von dem Bach cooed, “certainly one can enjoy the essential beauty of the music without knowing the composer.”

“Damn right!” Karl snapped. “After all, knowing the names of all those composers and that sort of crap didn’t help that traitor down the street, now did it?”

“What?” Frau von dem Bach looked to Elspeth for clarification.

“I think my husband is referring to our neighbor. He was a very cultured man. A real gentleman. Loved his books, had a vast collection of music. Anyway,
last month, his son turned him in for listening to illegal broadcasts. He’s in prison now. Or at least that’s the last we heard.”

“His son?
His very own son?”

“Yes, sad, isn’t it?” Elspeth agreed reluctantly.

“I can’t imagine one’s own child doing something so horrid!”

“Mother, it was for the state.”

“Still, children owe their parents loyalty.”

“I suppose . . .” Elspeth fell uncomfortably silent.

“There’s even a famous quote about ungrateful children,” Frau von dem Bach remarked pointedly.

“You mean, ‘A disloyal child is sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ ” Karl asserted pompously. “It’s Goethe!”

Frau von dem Bach looked at Karl as if deciding what to say. Elspeth bit her lip nervously.

“ ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is, to have a thankless child,’ ” Peter quoted quietly in English from where he was standing. He realized, too late, that he had spoken aloud. Frau von dem Bach nodded slightly; Karl and Elspeth stared at him nonplussed. He translated for them, then added, “It’s from Shakespeare.
King Lear.”

The silence was deafening. Elspeth sat stock-still. Frau von dem Bach glanced curiously from Peter to Karl and back again as if, heretically, comparing their intellectual capabilities. Karl ground out his cigarette, stood, and walked over to Peter.

Peter met Karl’s glare with an even expression. “I just thought
mein Herr
might like to know,” he said, aware that Karl was already so furious that there was no point in apologizing.

“You self-satisfied, arrogant little worm!” Karl hissed in a cloud of alcohol. “You think you’re so damn intelligent, don’t you! You think you’re better than me, don’t you, you swine. Well, I’ll show you how useful all that learning is. I’ll show you who’s better here. You’ll regret those words!”

“I already do,” Peter replied truthfully.

“Karl, Karl,” Frau von dem Bach interrupted. “Your class is showing, Karl. Leave him alone. Come, sit down, join civilization. He
was
right, after all.”

Karl spun to face her, nearly losing his balance. He glowered at the women, but was unable to summon up any appropriate words.

“Darling,” Elspeth interjected softly, “please. We’re having a nice chat. Just forget it. Please?”

Karl took a deep breath. He looked from one woman to the other. Finally he said, “I’m going out.” He turned back toward Peter and mouthed, so that the women could not see him,
Later.

After he left the room, Elspeth sighed and shook her head. There was a moment of awkward silence, then Elspeth ventured, “Perhaps you’d like some tea?”

“Child, how in the world—”

“Mother, he is my husband. I will not hear a word against him in this house!”

“I’m not trying to break up your marriage, dear. God knows with seven children you don’t need that! But really, Elspeth, how do you put up with such nonsense!”

“Oh, he didn’t mean anything by that.” Elspeth nodded her head toward Peter.“He wasn’t going to hurt him.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“What then?”

“His comments about our people.”

“Our
people? I left that all behind when I married Karl. You and Daddy saw to that,” Elspeth retorted bitterly.

“Elspeth! He was talking about murder! Haven’t you any idea?”

“He was exaggerating.”

“He said ‘wipe them all out’!”

“Oh, that was referring to the Poles.”

“Elspeth,” Frau von dem Bach’s voice grew soft, “you don’t know much about what went on then. Maybe we should have told you more, but we were afraid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you know—we lost friends. Relatives even!”

“Relatives? How could we lose relatives? They were Slavs! They’re not like us! They are a different race, an inferior race!”

“Borders, child, are lines drawn on a map. As a class, most of us mixed freely, visited each other’s estates, married. Our names reflected chance histories; our language . . . well, we preferred French.” Frau von dem Bach glanced at Peter and muttered, “And now it is the servants who speak more than one language.”

“Decadence,” Elspeth declared.

Frau von dem Bach chose to ignore her. “I can still remember my mother and father finding out about all that went on there. They were horrified to learn that belonging to a landowning, educated class was equivalent to a death sentence in German-occupied Poland!”