The Serpent's Egg (10 page)

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When he told Anna that they were invited to a party at the American Embassy, she squealed in delight. Five seconds later she spotted the hair in her soup. “I have nothing to wear!”

The following day Anna and her best friend, Ebba, went shopping. Within an hour Anna had found the dress she wanted. Made from fine wool in cream, decorated with gold thread, it swept to the floor in a long, flared hemline. It had a plunging neckline. Ebba was entranced when Anna tried it on. “Oh, Anna, it’s stunning.”

The shop assistant agreed, saying the fit was almost perfect. It would require only minor alterations by the in-house seamstresses. She inserted some pins around the bust and waist and marked it with a piece of tailor’s chalk. “When will the gown be needed?”

“Thursday November 24,” Anna replied.

“For the Thanksgiving ball at the American Embassy,” said Ebba in a sing-song voice.

“That’s very short notice, but I’m sure we can get the work done in time. Slip it off, and we’ll sort out the details.”

The ‘details’ turned out to be 90 Reichsmarks for the dress and another 12 for the alterations. Between them Anna and Ebba scraped the money together. Anna’s clothing ration for two months was not enough to cover the purchase, and Ebba had to come to the rescue again.

Ebba was happy to help. She laughed. “You’ll be the belle of the ball. Poor Cinderella won’t stand a chance.”

Chapter 27

November 1938

On Wednesday on the stroke of 6:00 pm, Greta called to the apartment. Anna was working late at the department store. Greta was accompanied by a rough-looking man in his fifties carrying a leather briefcase whom she introduced as ‘Bruno.’

She shook Max’s hand. “That information you gave us was very helpful. We were able to confirm it and pass it on to our friends. Welcome to our group and the fight for freedom against the Nazis and justice for the people of Germany.”

What am I doing? thought Max, but he nodded. “I am with you, Frau Greta. What do I have to do?”

“There will be many ways that you can help, but you will have to prove yourself first. To start with you can help with the distribution of our leaflets. You will need false papers, and that’s Bruno’s department.”

Bruno opened his briefcase and took out two blank identity cards. He asked Max for his date of birth and added that to each of the cards. Then he pulled an inkpad from his briefcase, took Max’s fingerprints and applied them to each of the cards.

Max’s heartbeat rose a notch. “Why do you need two copies?”

“The extra copy is insurance. In case our card man has problems. Your cover name will be Gunther Schlurr.”

Bruno placed one of the cards in his briefcase. Max signed the second card with his new name. It was not one he would have chosen.

Next, Bruno removed a camera from his briefcase and took pictures of Max. As he worked, he said, “You are not yet a member of the KPD, Comrade. Have you considered joining?”

Max was alarmed at the suggestion and the word ‘Comrade.’ His nightly bouts with Karl Marx had colored his thinking a weak shade of red, but he was far from joining the KPD, the Communist Party. “Is that necessary?”

“No, not at all,” said Greta. She jerked her head at Bruno. He packed up his briefcase and left the apartment.

Greta leaned on the bathroom wall behind Max as he scrubbed the ink from his fingers. “You must never use your real name when you are engaged on Orchestra work. You must use only the name Gunther Schlurr, is that clear.”

“I understand, Frau Greta.”

“I’ve set up an appointment for you with a dentist,” she checked her watch, “in 40 minutes.” She gave him a business card: Dr. Helmut Himpel, Dental Surgeon Lehderstrasss 5.

“Why do I need a dentist?”

“He will explain. Trust me.”

#

The dentist’s surgery was near Weissensee on the far side of the city. Max left a note for Anna and set out right away. He needed to take two trams and arrived 10 minutes late. November had turned bitterly cold. Clouds of steam rose from the bodies of the passengers huddled together in the trams.

Dr. Himpel’s assistant checked his cover name, his real name and his address. Then she took his coat and escorted him into the surgery. Max sat up on the chair.

“Open wide.” Dr. Himpel was tall, slim and tanned with deep-set eyes. He wore a Lange wristwatch that probably cost the equivalent of Max’s salary for 5 years. He poked around in Max’s mouth. “Hmm, very good, very nice. You have an excellent set of teeth. I can see you look after them well. Now which one would you prefer me to extract?” He exited Max’s mouth.

Max blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, usually we can find a tooth in need of repair, but not in your case. Open wide again and I’ll tap the ones that I would suggest. Then you can choose.”

“You want to extract one of my teeth?”

“Of course. It will be replaced with the capsule.”

“What capsule?”

“The suicide pill. Didn’t they explain all this to you?”

Max shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Well, as long as you are working with the Communist Resistance you will be at risk of arrest by the Gestapo. I will place a cyanide capsule hidden inside your mouth to give you the opportunity to end your life rather than betray your friends under interrogation.”

Max broke into a cold sweat. He swung his legs from the chair. “I never agreed to that.”

“If you refuse you will have to leave the Resistance.”

Max thought about that for a few moments. If he failed to remain in the Red Orchestra, the Gestapo would never stamp and sign his Marriage Application. He had no choice. He got back onto the chair…

#

By the time he arrived back at the apartment, the Novocain had lost almost all its strength and Max was in agony.

Anna asked him where he’d been, and when she saw the look on his face, she said, “What’s the matter with you, Max?”

“Toothache. I’ve been to the dentist. He removed a tooth.”

She put a plate of cottage pie on the table. Max couldn’t touch it. He took to his bed.

Chapter 28

November 1938

Eight days later, Karl Marx was gathering dust on top of the wardrobe. Max’s mouth and jaw were still in pain, and he was having difficulty keeping his tongue from poking around in the cavity.

He received a telephone call at work.

“Herr Noack?” He recognized Greta’s voice. “This is Sister Bernadina from St. Angar’s Church in Klopstockstrasss. I’m delighted to tell you that your application to join the choir has been granted. The next rehearsal is at six-thirty tonight.”

Max’s singing voice was like a goose sitting on a rusty nail. “Who should I contact at this rehearsal?”

“Ask for Vigo.” She hung up.

He punched his card early, took some aspirin for the toothache, and hurried to the church at Klopstockstrasss. The tram was full to overflowing with shoppers

The church doors were open, but the place was deserted. He wandered around, looking at the elaborately painted statues and the relief panels on the walls depicting Christ’s journey to his crucifixion. He had been taught in school about the Roman Church’s fondness for graven images of their saints and Anna had explained the role played at Easter by the ‘Stations of the Cross’ relief panels.

The echo of a scratching sound alerted him to the presence of another soul. And he caught a glimpse of a dark-clad figure entering the vestry to the right of the main altar.

“Excuse me, Father…”

An old priest emerged. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Vigo.”

The priest pointed to one of the two confessional boxes near the back of the church. “He’s in there.”

Max thanked the old priest. He tapped on the box.

“Hello. What’s your name, sinner?”

Max objected to the word ‘sinner’, but he replied. “Max.”

“Enter the box, Max. I will hear your confession.”

Max opened one of the side doors and entered the box. It was dark inside. A panel slid open. A disembodied voice said, “You must kneel.”

Max discovered a padded hassock at his feet. He knelt down and came face to face with someone through a grille half-lit in the dim light.

“You seek absolution from your sins, Max?”

“No, Father, I’m not Catholic. I am here to meet someone called Vigo.”

“I am Father Vigo. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure, Father, I was hoping for some guidance from you. I’ve recently joined a group, but I’ve yet to discover my role.”

“You have joined the choir of the Red Orchestra, I think. I am also in that choir. Let me give you absolution and we can leave these cramped quarters. Are you truly sorry for your sins?”

“I am, Father.”

“Then I absolve you.
Absolvo te
.” He made the sign of the cross in Max’s face.

They left the confession box together and Max got his first real look at the man: about 10 years older than Max, sallow-skinned, with a bald head surrounded by jet black hair in the shape of a tonsure. A strong stubble accentuated the lower half of his face. He was dressed in a clerical collar and cassock. “Are you really a priest?”

Vigo laughed. “What gave it away?”

“I thought it might be a disguise.”

“No disguise. I really am a priest. But I’m also a member of the group.”

“A Communist?”

“Now that would be a step too far, even for me. Not many of the group are members of the KPD, you know. You’ve met some of them, I believe.”

“A couple of women and a man with a camera called Bruno.”

“Strange name for a camera.” Vigo flashed his teeth in a grin. “Bruno is a Communist, the ladies are not. What about you?”

Max shook his head. “Can you tell me what will be expected of me, Father?”

“Call me Vigo. It helps me to remember who’s Catholic and who’s not.”

“It’s an unusual name. Not one I’ve come across before.”

“My father was Italian.” Vigo laughed. “I suppose you could have guessed that from my looks.”

Now that he mentioned it, Vigo’s origins were obvious, but Max had no time for such racial stereotyping.

Chapter 29

November 1938

They sat side by side on a pew. Max palmed his father’s lighter, turning it over in his hand. “What will the Resistance expect me to do?”

“Call them ‘the Orchestra.’ Ears are flapping from every window. I expect they will ask you to carry message to our friends in cities outside Germany.”

“What sort of messages, and what cities?”

“I can’t tell you what’s in the messages, Max. I’ve no idea. They’re always written in code, and honestly, I’d rather not know. As for the cities, we have friends in Paris, Prague and Brussels.”

Secret messages in code! Framzl had said nothing about that.

“Isn’t it difficult to obtain travel permits?”

Vigo smiled. “The Communists can arrange those. They have a man who works for the railway company. Your main task will be helping with the distribution of anti-Nazi information by delivering broadsheet leaflets. You’ve seen the sort of thing the group prints?”

Max nearly said yes. Then he remembered that the only leaflet he’d seen had been the one Framzl showed him at Gestapo headquarters. He shook his head.

Vigo led the way to the vestry. The old priest had gone. Vigo opened a wardrobe containing vestments elaborately embroidered in every color. He used a key to unlock a file cabinet build into the bottom of the wardrobe and took out a bundle of leaflets. “These are for delivery. You must come with me to learn the route so that you can share my burden. We will split the route between us.”

“How often are they printed?”

“Roughly once a month.”

Max ran his eyes over the leaflet. The rallying cry was more subdued but just as unrealistic as the last one:

‘Do what you can to obstruct the Nazis. Refuse to work. If you cannot refuse, work slower, make mistakes.’

“Where are these printed?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you. That’s a closely guarded secret that you’re better off not knowing.”

Vigo pulled an overcoat from the wardrobe. The coat had wide pockets sewn on the inside. He tucked a bundle of leaflets into each pocket.

They set out together on the delivery route, knocking on doors along the way and handing over one or two leaflets at each stop. Max made a careful mental note of the route and the houses where Vigo dropped off his leaflets. There were 35 of them.

They passed a 2-man uniformed police patrol along the way. Both men tipped their hats to the priest. Obviously, the priestly garb was an effective barrier against personal searches.

Max said, “I’ll have to get pockets like yours sewn into my coat, Father.”

“That’s Vigo, remember. If we stagger our journeys, you can borrow this coat.”

Max gave a rueful grunt. “Could I borrow your dog collar as well?”

“But of course.” Vigo flashed a toothy smile at him.

Max was amused at the thought of a Lutheran dressing up as a Roman priest.

The route was arranged in a figure of eight, starting and ending at the church. At each stop on the second half of the route, Vigo introduced Max as Gunther Schlurr. The sound of his alias was comforting to hear. Vigo was fully informed. He must be a trusted member of the Red Orchestra.

Max did his best to remember everyone that he met, but by the end of the run, he had to admit he’d forgotten half of them. Vigo slapped him on the back. “Never mind, Gunther. When the time comes I’ll give you a list of names and addresses.”

As they approached the church, Vigo reached into his robe and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He offered the pack to Max.