Eva (40 page)

The
Anlaufstelle
in Steingaden was a small animal hospital just south of the village, run by the local veterinarian, a man who looked to be in his late fifties, but whom Willi suspected was considerably younger. He limped because all the toes on his right foot had been amputated after they had become frostbitten at the Russian front.

It had been at Stalingrad, he told them, during the bitterly cold winter of ’43. He had been a member of the
Veterinärkompanie
attached to the 71st Infantry Division of Fieldmarshal Paulus’s 6th Army. On the door, sentimentally painted in black on a circle of carmine, the colors of the Veterinary Corps, was the military symbol denoting a veterinarian hospital: the serpent staff surrounded by a horseshoe.

The veterinarian, Gustav Klingmüller, was outgoing and talkative to the point of being garrulous. Once he had checked their identities to his satisfaction he had told them what pretty nearly amounted to his life’s story.

It was a beautiful, sun-filled day—the best of the Bavarian summer—with a few fleecy, white clouds accentuating the brilliant blue of the sky. They were making their way leisurely along a dirt road in a wagon drawn by two horses. Klingmüller had told them they would not be staying overnight at the hospital, but would spend the night in a place which was run by the
Achse.

“It is a famous place,” he said proudly. “You will see. In happier times—may they return, God willing—many tourists came to admire it.”

“A famous place,” Eva asked, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“It is a church,” Klingmüller answered her. “A glorious work of beauty and splendor for the worship of our Lord. Perhaps you have heard of it. It is the Pilgrimage Church of Our Flagellated Savior. It is called
Die Wies.”

Eva was delighted. She had heard of
Die Wies.
She had always wanted to see it. But even though she told Klingmüller that she knew about the church and its colorful history, he insisted on telling them all about it. In reverent detail. It took most of the half-hour ride.

They listened to how in 1730 two of God’s men from the Premonstratensian Abbey in Steingaden had fashioned a Christ figure from fragments of ancient wooden sculptures of various saints, wrapping the joints in canvas and painting the figure. It showed vividly the bloody violence done to Our Lord and they had called it the Flagellated Savior. They had at first carried it around in processions on Holy Days, but so frightening and ghastly was the image that it aroused too deep a compassion, too great a grief in the faithful, and the figure was put away.

And he told them how it stood, forgotten, for years in the garret of the innkeeper’s house in Steingaden, until it was discovered by a peasant woman who took it to her farm, called the Wies Farm, where she prayed to it. And the miracle happened.

He crossed himself.

On June 14, 1738, on the tortured face of the Flagellated Savior, tears could be seen brimming in the eyes!

The pilgrims came, then, to worship the holy image—and from a small rural chapel rose the magnificent church of today.

Even though she knew the story, Eva was moved. Tears, she thought. What tears would the Lord not weep were he to see what had been done to her beautiful, her beloved Bavaria.

“A room has been set up in the crypt under the church,” Klingmüller told them. “You will stay there until your transportation is ready. Tomorrow. Only the caretaker knows of the place.”

“I suppose he can be trusted,” Willi said.

Klingmüller laughed. “No man can be trusted, my friend,” he said. “This one no less, no more than others.”

He gave Eva a sidelong glance. “Your wife will soon make you a happy man,” he said knowingly to Willi.

“
Die gnädige Frau
is not my wife,” Willi said quietly. “I am merely her—protector.”

Klingmüller nodded sagely. “So,” he said. “The wife of— someone else, then. Someone else who soon will be made proud and happy, not so?”

“
Herr
Klingmüller,” Eva said, uneasy with the conversation. “What will happen to the little puppies—after the mother dies?”

The veterinarian shrugged. “Who, these days, can afford to keep a pet that cannot take care of itself?”

Eva fell silent.

The day was all at once less bright.

The road that led through a forest suddenly opened up onto an expanse of green meadows—and there stood the
Wies.
A massive, rather graceless structure, Eva thought, with dark, high-ridged roofs and a single clock tower.

But her sad mood was instantly dispelled when she walked into the church.

Her first impression was of being overwhelmed by light. Then whiteness and gold. And finally a profusion of incredibly elaborate ornamentation and inspiring frescos in glowing colors. It all took her breath away. It was a glorious manifestation, she thought, of the homage Germany and her people offered up to their God. Eight pairs of soaring columns, red, blue, and purple marble, supported the magnificent vault over the choir, and here, above the high altar, set in a gilt-framed encasement, stood the holy figure of the Flagellated Savior.

She let her eyes roam around the bedazzling church in awe and delight, exulting in the intricacies of the capitals and cornices, the sculptured cartouches and carvings. She marveled at the exquisite detailing on the spectacular pulpit with its rich and delicate ornamentation.
Be doers of the word and not hearers only,
read the inscription on the balustrade. Her thoughts went to her Adolf.
He
had been a doer. A doer for the glory of his Fatherland and for his beliefs. Unconsciously she placed her hand on her abdomen. Would his son have the same burning courage and convictions?

The little hidden room in the crypt deep under the church seemed doubly dark and somber after the airy brightness of the nave above.

Eva had a bleak thought of the terrible sewer and the caves at the Harz. Once again she was to be shut away in the dank darkness beneath the surface of the earth. At least, this time, it would be only for one night.

“
Herr
Klingmüller,” Willi asked the veterinarian, “how will we travel on the next leg of our journey? I presume it will take us across the Alps?”

“Quite correct,” Klingmüller acknowledged. “The next
Anlaufstelle
is in Italy. In the town of Merano. Just south of the Austrian border. Merano is an important collecting point on the route. Three branches of the
Achse
go off from there. One goes to Naples and Rome. One to Genoa. The main one to Bari. You will enter Austria at Scharnitz, pass through Innsbruck, and cross at the Brenner Pass, a beautiful trip this time of year. You will both enjoy it. Then, down to Merano.”

“I hope the crossing will not be too strenuous,” Willi said, with a glance toward Eva.

“Not at all, my dear fellow,” Klingüller assured him expansively. “In fact, I might as well tell you, you and
die gnädige Frau
will travel in style. By the safest, most risk-free and unexpected means possible. You will be above suspicion.”

“You intrigue me, Herr Klingmüller.”

“Only by intention,” the veterinarian laughed. “But I will tell you. You will be travelling as representatives of the International Red Cross.”

“The Red Cross!” Willi was astounded.

Klingmüller nodded. “We have a—an excellent working arrangement with certain officials at the Bavarian Red Cross Relief Center in Innsbruck. The mission of the center is to trace missing persons and help to repatriate them whenever possible. They also distribute food parcels. Extensively. We, on our hand, have the means, both the finances and the right connections, to make it attractive for those officials to transport our people to our centers—no questions asked.” He grinned with huge self-satisfaction. “I helped set it up,” he said. “It is a
prima
arrangement, not so?”

Willi nodded. He was impressed. The organization was even more resourceful than he had imagined. But, then, that was, of course, typical of the SS.

“When you leave here,” Klingmüller continued, “it will be in a Red Cross vehicle, flying a Red Cross pennant. No hiding in cramped and dirty quarters.
Die gnädige Frau
will be quite comfortable. You will have special Red Cross passes made out in four languages,” he chuckled, “showing that you are transporting food parcels to Red Cross centers in Italy—and you will have a Red Cross armband on your sleeve. You will, as I said, be above suspicion!”

He limped toward the door. He turned. “Should you need assistance with anything while you are down here,” he said, “there is a bell next to the door. It rings in the caretaker’s rooms. Do not hesitate to use it. His name is Johann. Johann Meister.” He grinned at Willi. “Johann
can
be trusted, my friend,” he chuckled. “As far as you or I.”

And he was gone.

Willi looked after him. He had only wanted a simple answer to his question about transportation, not a lecture on the entire operation of the
Anlaufstelle
and its contacts. Not that it had not been illuminating, he thought wryly.

He wondered vaguely how a man as talkative as Klingmüller could make a reliable
Anlaufstelle
agent.

He shrugged. That, thank Providence, was
not
one of his concerns.

Gustav Klingmüller guided his wagon through the gate into the yard behind the veterinary hospital and pulled the horses to a stop at the stable.

With only slight curiosity did he notice a motorcycle parked near the main building. A customer, no doubt. Someone with a dry cow or an impotent rabbit. Although he could not think of any local who had a
Schnauferl,
as the Bavarians called a motorbike.

The man who had been waiting for him was a stranger. Rugged, with commanding self-assurance, he now stood before him. He had that certain arrogance of a man with power who used it to instill fear in others, Klingmüller thought. He had seen that arrogance before. Often. In the SS officers at the Russian front. Most of them had lost their arrogance—before they lost their lives. He looked with curiosity at the burly man who stood with unbending legs planted solidly on the floor.
The elephant has joints, but none for courtesy.
The phrase whipped through his mind. He smiled to himself. It had been many years since he had read Shakespeare. But phrases that had impressed him still shot up from the depths of his memory when something triggered their release.
Troilus,
was it?

He smiled at the big man. “
Sturmbannführer
Strelitz,” he said, “you have impressive credentials.” He glanced at the document the man had given him. He had recognized the signature on it at once. He handed the document back to Strelitz. “Yes,” he continued, “very impressive. But it will not get you across the border and into Italy, will it?” he chuckled. “No matter. I will have the proper papers for you tomorrow. Meanwhile, I can put you up here at the hospital for the night, and get you on a transport tomorrow. You will be safe here. Of course, we do have another safe house, away from here, but it is occupied by other travelers at the moment.”

Strelitz had been about to interrupt the man’s long-winded monologue to correct his impression that he was merely another
Achse
traveler. He held off. He had wondered where Eva Hitler and her escort were. He had the feeling that if he just kept quiet, he would find out.

Klingmüller went on. “It is a young couple,” he said. “Johann is taking care of them. My comrade, Johann Meister, who operates this
Anlaufstelle
with me.” He nodded pensively. “A rather intriguing couple it is, at that,” he observed.

Strelitz was instantly alert. He knew, of course, who the couple was that Klingmüller was talking about. But what did the man mean by an intriguing couple?

“Really?” he prompted. “In what way?”

“You will see for yourself tomorrow, my dear Strelitz,” Klingmüller answered him. “So I might as well tell you, is that not so? It is a young man and a young woman. She is well along in her pregnancy, six months plus, I should judge. But they are not married.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Unusual is, my dear Strelitz, that a woman is traveling the
Achse
at all,” Klingmüller said. “She is, in fact, the first female traveler to come through here. Unusual is also that the young man who is no
Lack’l
—not an uncivil fellow—should call himself her protector.”

“You think he is the father after all?”

Klingmüller laughed merrily. “Not at all, my dear fellow. There is—something else.” He limped over to a large, battered icebox standing in a corner of the room. “Would you like a nice cold beer, Strelitz?” he asked pleasantly. “I can use one myself. It was hot, riding in the sun to the
Wies
and back.” He opened the icebox. “We have our own ice plant in Steingaden,” he said. “I keep a few bottles of nice Bock beer in the icebox with my laboratory specimens.”

“
Bitte
—yes, please,” Strelitz said. “A beer would be welcome.”

“Would you like a bite to eat? I have some nice
Datschi
—or some
Blun’sn?”
he asked, using the Bavarian dialect words for fruitcake and blood sausage.

“
Danke
—no, thank you. A beer will be fine.”

Klingmüller took out two bottles of winter-brewed, dark brown Bock beer. “From the
Bayreuther Bierbrauerei,”
he said proudly. “An excellent beer.” He opened them.

“You said something else was unusual about that young couple,” Strelitz prompted again. He took the beer offered him by the veterinarian. Both men drank straight from their bottles.

“There is,” Klingmüller confided. “I find it most interesting that a pregnant woman should travel the
Achse
escape route. With a bodyguard—
protector.
It made me wonder, you can well imagine, Strelitz, it made me wonder
who
she is—and even more, who is the father of the child? Intriguing, not so?”