Prague Counterpoint

  The pattern had been set, Otto thought as he listened to the exchange. The blueprint of deceit had been written by Niccolo Machiavelli in 1498. Men were waiting to be deceived then, and now a greater deceiver had again entered the world. The simple-minded statesmen who believed in truth and honor would be the first to fall; they would lead their nations into the power of this twisted wisdom.

  “The night we marched into Austria we made one demand.” Hitler was raging now. “When the office of Schuschnigg met our demand, we made yet another and another and another! They met them all, but still we marched, and the world sipped tea and watched without a word! We have proven the theory! And now we have only to follow it, and the world is Germany’s own garden!”

  The raging voice dropped to a pleased and quiet whisper as the Führer turned to gaze out the window onto the streets of Vienna. His mouth turned slightly upward as he remembered the cheers of the multitudes. “You see, this garden of ours is made up of many small details. Many intricate flowers together make up the beauty of our Reich. Already the great hand of fate tends to these small details for us.” He rose on his toes and clasped his hands behind his back in pleasure at his metaphor. “Here in Austria, the criminals who sought to undermine our plans for the purity of the Aryan race are already being delivered into our hands and brought to justice.” He turned now to face the awestruck little band who hung on every word. “Well you may remember the first days of our war against the church. Those men fought against our plan of eugenics and opposed the destruction of the weak, the simpletons, those half-human monsters, and those who gave them birth!”

  Otto remembered well the plan of the Nazi Party to separate the weak from the strong among the German people. Those with a deformity were registered and sterilized. Mothers and fathers who had given birth to a child with a defect were registered and sterilized. Some shadow of freedom had remained then, and news of protests by church leaders had filled the newspapers. The fierce debate between those who would eliminate the weak and those who would protect them had finally ended in thousands of arrests. Yes. That issue had once been as strong in Hitler’s Reich as the hatred against the Jews. Now that those who were judged as deficient had been put in their place, the Reich had turned to the problem of the Jews.

  Hitler’s eyes seemed to radiate with the news he was about to give his faithful believers. “I am pleased to tell you today that yesterday as I stood on this very balcony and spoke to the masses, fate delivered into our hands one of the most violent of our former enemies! Surely you must remember the journalist Kronenberger of Hamburg! Ah yes! The case was quite interesting. Twins. His wife delivered twins. One was perfect and the other a monstrosity with only half a face! He refused to let the monster die a natural death at the advice of his doctor, even though this . . . thing . . . barely had a mind and was unable even to speak! Then, on the ground that he and his wife were Catholic, he refused sterilization of the child. He fought it publicly in the courts, and even after his arrest and release, after the death of this woman, he fled the country, taking the monster and the normal child with him.” He paused dramatically.

  Otto could see on the faces of every man in the room that they remembered the case well, as did Otto.

  “So!” the Führer continued, “yesterday as I spoke, the criminal was captured. He fought, and after threatening the lives of civilians, he was killed by our brave Gestapo! A voice against our plan for the master race has been silenced! I take it as a sign that as I raised my voice for the unity of the Greater Reich, such vileness was destroyed at that instant!”

  There was a question on the face of one of the men. Hitler saw it instantly. ‘Well?” he said impatiently.

  “Where are the children of this Kronenberger fellow, mein Führer?” the young man asked.

  “We assume still in Vienna. It is of little importance. They will be found. They are on the list with other fugitives and criminals. They cannot hide! Two small boys, and one with only half a face! One a half-human monstrosity! We control the city of Vienna now! Every building will be searched. Every concierge has been charged with a duty to report not only this case but others like it. They will not escape to whine about their misfortune to the other nations of the world. I can guarantee this!”

  He dismissed the notion of their survival with a wave of his hand. “The same force that brought Walter Kronenberger to his bloody end will also bring his two offspring to us.” Now he stared upward as though trying to remember something more urgent. “I use this only as an example of those small details that Providence is sure to complete for us! Today it is the larger plan that we consider! This I promise you who are faithful: What was done in Austria will soon be accomplished in Czechoslovakia as well! Indeed, it is our destiny to crush out the weakness from among us and to rule the world, with the perfection of the German race!”

  ***

  Like a prisoner playing a hand of solitaire, Leah once again laid out the contents of the envelope on the table. Two passport photos for Charles and Louis. Expired German identity papers. A father’s note of hope and farewell to his sons. The few shillings that had tumbled out onto the pile were not enough to purchase even one child’s ticket to the Tyrol. It was all they had, however, since Leah had not brought even pocket change out of the Judenplatz.

  Wearily, Leah rested her head in her hands and studied the note Elisa had left for her. Delicate letters on the page still trembled with the fear and excitement that had flowed from Elisa’s pen.

  Dear Ones,

  What joy that you have found your way here! We waited until we could wait no longer. My father has come out and we must take him home. I leave you food enough for a week. Stay here and I will be back. My prayers and love are yours. E.

  At least here was some hope. Hold out for a week until Elisa comes back. Stay off the streets, out of sight, far from the raging brutality that must surely consume itself as a fire consumes dry wood and then dies!

  Leah sighed and glanced toward the sleeping children. The sons of Walter Kronenberger were kindling for the Nazi inferno. She herself was dry wood. As long as they remained in the German Reich, the flames would seek them out. Did she dare wait even a week for Elisa? Or would it be better to take the boys to the Tyrol now and then return to Vienna until she could gather some ransom to buy Shimon’s freedom? And what if Elisa did not come back?

  Three times this morning, Leah had tried to telephone some colleague from the orchestra, only to be cut off by an official-sounding voice stating that the telephone system was being reorganized and phone calls for private use were verboten! Not only was Leah totally isolated, she was also entirely responsible for the safety of these two small boys.

  She stared at little Charles, who slept a sound and untroubled sleep. Probably this was the only time the little boy was unaware of his deformity. Merciful sleep, Leah thought, caressing him with her eyes. May his dreams be sweet.

  Hours ago, when she had first examined the contents of the envelope that had been in the boy’s sock, the name Kronenberger had sounded in her memory like an alarm. How could anyone forget the haunting eyes of the child in the newspaper, the child judged by the Nazis to be “unworthy of life” and marked for sterilization? The father had carried on a courageous battle with the help of a priest and their Catholic congregation. Doctors had been brought to testify that in the case of twins, such problems could and did arise, but that did not mean the child was a monster as the propaganda of the Nazi paper proclaimed. In the end, Leah recalled, the child’s father had been arrested. The priest had also disappeared. The parochial school of the parish had been closed after charges of immorality had been leveled against priest and nuns and anyone else who had dared stand for the rights of this one child.

  The child’s mother, pregnant again and guilty of having produced a racially unfit child, was forced to have an abortion, from which she died. A curtain of silence had fallen over the case as it faded from the minds and memories of the public. Such events were commonplace
now. Most believed that Walter Kronenberger should not have rocked the boat. He should have submitted without protest. After all, hadn’t his resistance led to the destruction of his priest? the parish school? And how many lives were destroyed in the bargain?

  Leah put her fingers to her lip and tried to imagine what it must be like to be only five years old and despised for something you had no control over. How she ached for this child! She had seen this pain in his eyes. And she knew that these children would not have been sent to her—a Jew and therefore also “unworthy of life”—unless they were in grave danger.

  She quietly made herself a cup of tea as she thought through to an inevitable conclusion. Little Charles had indeed been a symbol of resistance against tyranny. There had been many such symbols, all of whom had quietly disappeared into the Nazi abyss. It was a certainty that if the Nazis realized that this child still lived, they would also ordain that he disappear forever. They would not want to risk that he might escape to freedom and somehow stir people’s memories once again. It would not do to have the people beyond the borders of the Reich ask, “How could such a thing be? And could this happen to me?”

  Leah leaned against the counter and cradled the cup in her hands. “He is just a child,” she whispered. “Not a symbol. He is only one sad little boy.”

  15

  Duty

  Uniformed SS men stood at attention on either side of the entrance into the new Nazi headquarters in the Vienna Ballhausplatz. Only a few weeks before, the Nazi swastika had been forbidden in Austria. Now it was everywhere.

  Thomas presented the papers identifying himself as a member of the army intelligence unit under the command of Admiral Canaris.

  “Second door to your right, sir,” the SS guard said in a brisk, official monotone. He raised his hand and clicked his heels. “Heil Hitler!”

  Thomas returned the salute, then strode past the row of black-shirted soldiers who lined the foyer to the staircase. The murmur of conversation filled the room. Records of the former Austrian regime had fallen into the hands of the Gestapo, and now newly appointed administrators swarmed into their offices in the same building where Dollfuss had been assassinated four years earlier. The Nazi takeover of Austria had failed then, but now the same men who had gone to prison for their involvement in the plot were firmly in control of Austria.

  Thomas wondered if his own grim emotions were evident as he walked by the excited members of Austria’s Nazi Party.

  The offices of the Austrian Military Intelligence Department were much larger than Canaris’ Berlin office. The anteroom was decorated sparsely. The painting of the slain Chancellor Dollfuss was propped against the wall, and Hitler’s picture had been put in its place.

  A plump, pleasant-looking woman of about fifty was already hard at work typing memos for Admiral Canaris. It was a minute before she looked up to acknowledge Thomas. She smiled and spoke with a German accent rather than Viennese. It was obvious that the admiral had brought her in from Berlin to fill the position.

  “Major von Kleistmann.” Thomas clicked his heels together in correct military fashion.

  “Ah! He is expecting you! And Colonel Oster is with him now, Major von Kleistmann.”

  So, Canaris was not alone. Colonel Oster was second in command to Canaris, but Thomas was uncertain of the man’s sympathies. Oster was probably a man Thomas could trust, but he felt uneasy now just the same. “Will they be long?” Thomas glanced at his watch. He was desperate to go to Elisa’s apartment. “I came here immediately from the airfield as I was instructed.”

  “I think they both wanted a word with you.” She opened the door and stepped in. Seconds later she held it wide and smiled brightly at Thomas.

  “Shut the door behind you, Frau Porte,” Canaris called to her.

  Thomas snapped to attention before his two superiors and gave the Nazi salute.

  Oster, a tall, slender man about the age of Canaris, smiled coolly, then reached out and pushed down the outstretched arm. “Please, none of that,” he said dryly.

  Thomas looked at him in wonder, then back to Admiral Canaris. “Colonel Oster is one of us, Thomas,” Canaris explained. “Salutes are not necessary.”

  Oster laughed. “Haven’t you noticed that every arm in Austria is suddenly spring-loaded? Let an SS officer walk by and up pops the arm. Heil Emil!”

  “Emil?” asked Thomas, feeling a wave of relief.

  “Emil is the colonel’s nickname for Hitler,” Canaris explained.

  “I am the son of a pastor, you see,” Oster said with a wry smile. “There are other names one might use for our darling leader, but Emil keeps me from using profanity. A little trick my father taught me when I banged my thumb with a hammer once.”

  Thomas liked Oster, but such outspoken resistance to Hitler made him nervous. Always before, such things were talked about in more obscure terms. When men mentioned duty and loyalty and justice, the absence of those qualities in Adolf Hitler were an unspoken condemnation of his laws and politics. No one had ever created a nickname for the beast.

  “Emil.” Thomas grinned in spite of himself.

  “Of course each of the letters stands for something,” Oster continued brightly. “I will leave that to your imagination.”

  In spite of the seriousness of the moment, Thomas found himself working out the meaning of each letter. The combination of profane words was endless. The colonel was a brave and defiant man, not to mention witty. But now that Hitler had taken Austria without so much as a peep out of the Western powers, the best that could be done was to mock him privately among those one trusted totally. Apparently, Oster trusted Thomas, even though the two men had known each other only casually.

  Admiral Canaris had filled Oster in on the details of Thomas’ useless trip to Cannes to see Anthony Eden and Churchill. That was why he had been called to come to Vienna now. The mission Thomas had undertaken had been a total failure. The spring-loaded arms popping up all over the city, with frightened cries of “Heil Hitler,” were evidence of that failure.

  “Sit down, Thomas.” Canaris motioned toward a chair. Oster sat casually on the edge of Canaris’ desk. He looked amused, even though there was nothing left to be amused about. “There is a reason we called you here.”

  “I came on the first plane as you instructed,” Thomas began.

  “Good!” Oster replied. “Now there are more German officers in Austria than in Germany. There are more Germans in Austria than Austrians. All the Austrians are under arrest anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” The amusement in Oster’s voice vanished. Suddenly he was angry.

  “It is the Austrians’ own fault!” Canaris replied in a surly tone. “Seventy percent of our army vehicles broke down on the way into the country. If these fellows had shown the courage of their grandfathers, we would still be on our own side of the border!” His gray eyes flashed beneath the heavy brows. “So, now instead of Hitler coming as the maniac he is, they have hailed him as a hero! And this, Thomas, after you have risked your life to warn the British that Hitler planned to take Austria by force. ‘No bloodshed,’ the Germans are saying now! ‘Not one drop of blood in the takeover!’ But this week alone there have been seventy-seven thousand arrests in Austria by Himmler and the Gestapo! Jews are still being rounded up by the thousands, and . . . what can those fellows on the other side of the Channel be thinking? We would have arrested Hitler for endangering the peace of Germany if only someone had stood up to him.” Canaris was red-faced now. Fury flashed in his eyes, even though his words were spoken in a near whisper.

  Oster’s bemused expression returned. “They brought Emil flowers when he rode into Vienna, Austrian flowers. No doubt plucked from Austrian graves. It was really a funeral march, you know. A funeral!”

  “The whole world has gone mad.” Canaris tapped his fingers on his desk. “They’ve given the madman just what he wanted. Every senior officer in the German High Command warned Hitler that the army was not ready to march. Told him such a move would star
t a war. And now he crows and struts and shakes his fist at us.” Canaris paused as though he could see some scene reenacted before his eyes. “But we are not finished, von Kleistmann.”

  Thomas felt helpless as he listened. “Admiral?”

  “I speak of the older generation of officers. Men the age that your own father would have been had he lived. He was a good and decent man. A loyal German. As you are. I know that there are others among their generation who feel as we do. Hitler has proclaimed that his is a movement of the young generation of Germany. If brutality and lawlessness are a trait of the young, then perhaps he is right. But there must be men among you, Thomas, who remember their fathers and the ways of their fathers. The ways of justice and morality.”

  Thomas knew a dozen among his closest friends who spoke in quiet disapproving tones about Hitler. “Yes. There are many.”