At the beginning in Berlin, Drayst would find friends in the hotels around the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof, and in the so-called Offizierspensionen where call-girl syndicates operated. In Munich the number of registered prostitutes was much smaller than in Berlin, about four hundred as compared to six thousand, but the difference was reduced by the Bueffetmamsells, the waitresses in the third-class bars. These were a Bavarian institution rather than a German one, and until he was transferred to Berlin, taken off Special Projects, and required to conduct multiple interrogations day and night, the rewards and loving attentions of the girls in the Sendlinger Torplatz had been completely satisfying.
As time went on, Jewish prostitutes became more and more difficult to find, and it became necessary for Drayst to wait later and later in the night to find and overpower Jewish women night workers. He did this because he had to, despite the SS penalty of death by firing squad if he were caught, the supreme penalty provided by the Reichsfuehrer SS to prevent race defilement within the proud corps. Drayst was soon past caring about that. He had to do what he did, and as he entered the women in bordellos, in furnished rooms, in alleyways, or behind hoardings he would plead with them to love him. But after a while his lust took a more sophisticated form: he would beg them to forgive him and then—because he had to protect himself from being charged with such a heinous crime even if they could find it in their hearts to forgive him—he would have to strangle them anyway.
Eleven
Paul-Alain von Rhode-Kusserow was born on the twelfth of November, 1934, at 2:46 A.M. in the Krankenhaus Westend in Charlottenburg-Berlin. He was not baptized, though the decision not to do so shocked his Calvinist aunts. His aunts thought the baby was the image of his father. His father thought he looked exactly like Paule. Paule was certain he strongly resembled her own father. His nursemaid, Clotilde Grellou, who had traveled from Paris for the event, agreed with Paule.
Paule was so happy to see Clotilde again that as soon as they were alone she wept in her arms, asking, “How is Paris? How is Paris?”
“Just the same, Madame,” Clotilde said. “Terrible weather when I left. Gray and cold.” She patted the top of Paule’s head. “Please don’t cry, Madame. You mustn’t be so homesick.”
“You’ll see, Clotilde,” Paule wept. “You’ll see.”
“Everything is fine at the Cours Albert, Madame. Mme. Citron keeps everything fresh and clean with just one girl, and she does the cooking herself.”
“Have you heard from Miss Willmott?”
“She’s gone to America, Madame. She always sends us cards on our saint’s days.”
Clotilde had brought a letter from Maître Gitlin.
2 November, 1934
My dear Paule:
Can you tell me when you might return to Paris for ten days or so? As you may remember, your father had commissioned Rufin Portu to paint your portrait on the occasion of your 23rd birthday, now one year passed. Portu is anxious to start work. He has a frightfully busy schedule, and since he was paid in full at the rates which he commanded twelve years ago—a sum equal to approximately one percent of what he is paid today—he wants to paint you before his prices soar even higher and increase his anguish. Please advise me as soon as you can.
With all my love,
P. Gitlin
Paule answered at once.
15 November, 1934
Dear Maître:
Please relieve Rufin Portu of his obligation. I won’t return to Paris for the reason that were I to leave Germany I don’t think I could ever bring myself to return. Please do not let that convince you that I am miserable here. I have a wonderful marriage and a beautiful son, but mastering the customs and reactions of a foreign country are quite as difficult as you said they would be. The point is, I am adjusting—I am trying to learn to be German for Veelee and for Paul-Alain, and I will make it. Were I to disturb this progress by dropping myself into the middle of France—but it disturbs my progress even to write of that. Enough to say that you must not expect me, neither must Portu, for whom it would have been such a great honor to sit.
Warmly,
Paule
Clotilde walked the baby sometimes, and made its formula sometimes, and did its laundry sometimes, but mostly Paule did these things. She spent almost every waking hour with Paul-Alain. She had been nervous about going out into the streets alone after being struck by the storm trooper, and because the pressures on Jews had grown greater each day. No one mentioned these things—and possibly because no one could think of how to begin such a conversation. But Gretel and Gisele took turns looking in on Paule every other day and taking her out whenever she consented to go—for shopping excursions or to sit among a bustle of people at the Café Kranzler or the Bender. Eventually, Paule realized how worried they were about her, and by making a painful effort she broke the spell of her fear by inviting both sisters to lunch with her at the Adlon, walking there by herself through the Brandenburg Gate. She strolled along the Unter den Linden, whose linden trees the Nazis had transplanted to widen the avenue for parades. The trees were now closer to the building line, and as they were shorter than the street lights, the avenue was now known to Berliners as Unter den Lanternen. Veelee telephoned her every day, sometimes twice a day. He arranged for surprises to be sent to her by mail from shops and by army messengers. But his assignment had become more and more time consuming, and despite his concern he could not get to the city more than twice a week.
At the time of the Weimar Republic, the short thirteen years and a few months from 1919 to 1933, Wuensdorf had been a training college for army athletes and the garrison for a training battalion of infantry. In 1933 the training battalion was turned into a mobile training unit, and hence had more officers and NCO’s, as well as six squadrons to a battalion rather than the normal four. Wuensdorf garrisoned two battalions equipped with armored cars and light Panzer I tanks. As a full colonel, Veelee commanded one of the training battalions, a unit comprising fifty-eight armored cars and tanks, with thirty-four officers under his command. His immediate superior was Major General Wilhelm Schneider, Kommandeur der Panzerschule, who in turn was under the command of Lieutenant General Lutz, the Inspekteur der Kraftfahrtruppen. Paule had decorated the three rooms on the first floor of the village pub which were Veelee’s quarters when work kept him steadily at Wuensdorf. At the end of each instructional round which turned out newly trained tank men, when all the tests were over and all the reports on officers and men had been written, Veelee would hold a staff blowout at these quarters. A batman stayed in the apartment permanently and there was a driver for his staff car or for his own sports car, which would take him home to Berlin as often as he could get away, but this rarely happened because his days were packed and exhausting. He was responsible for all inspections: officers’ field work, their handling of tanks, their drilling of tank crews and gunnery, and the appraisal of their written assignments on tactical problems; the inspection of each unit’s organization for combat and the requirements of the supply columns for various types of tanks; the fitness of tanks and armored vehicles and the testing of armor plate. His instructional work consisted of supervising the work of all other instructors and of presiding at the weekly meetings for discussion of Panzer tactics. He also sat in on classes.
Veelee tried to bring two or more of his officers back to his quarters each evening for a relaxed talk about the more difficult tank maneuvers, so that he could judge and note their grasp of their work and their qualities of both leadership and improvisation. In this way he could be sure that his final reports on them were as accurate and fair as possible. Often he would smile with grim humor over the highest rating which could be passed along in a written report on an officer: “This officer is possessed of a sound ambition.”
Veelee’s day began at nine A.M., when the staff car arrived to drive him to either of his two offices—if it was a day when no particular field exercise was to be held. Veelee was one of the outstanding tank experts of the world. He h
ad had a part in the construction and development of the German tank since 1925 and had been a member of the tank corps during the time when it was necessary for the technicians to test German tanks within the Soviet Union. He had begun in the Kleintraktor, which was nine tons and had one 3.7-cm. cannon; presently he was testing the Panzer II of 9.5 tons and one 2-cm. cannon.
As luck would have it, General Schneider was hospitalized in Berlin with appendicitis when the Fuehrer, with General Guderian, the German tank corps commander, arrived unexpectedly at Wuensdorf one April day in 1934. The instant they left Veelee telephoned the hospital to report the triumph to General Schneider. To his enormous relief General Schneider was suffering postoperative hardships and could not have visitors or accept telephone calls until the following morning. Veelee leaped into his staff car and told the driver to take him home as quickly as possible.
The day of the tank men was at hand at last, and he was eager to tell Paule about it. The Fuehrer’s visit was not unexpected; it was just that he had arrived two days early. Tank men had been fighting a running battle with the High Command for survival and growth for over ten years. General von Fritsch had been adamant about tanks. “The armored corps is just a dream,” he had said. “Those who claim it has great strategic value are all liars.” Categorically, General Beck had made the High Command’s objection most clear, saying, “The vehicles’ armament will not allow them to salute properly on parade. Besides, you are too fast; how are you going to direct it all without telephones?” By radio, Guderian had said, “Nonsense!” Beck had retorted, “A radio will never work in a tank!” General von Stuelpnagel had informed Veelee sadly, “Neither of us will live to see German tanks in action.”
But now, if the Fuehrer could be swung over to their side a truly mobile, mechanized tactical striking force could be developed. The tank men were convinced of the superiority of their weapon.
Sitting Paule down carefully and pouring a large cognac for each of them, Veelee explained the triumph in which he had played a leading role that day. “Out of the blue,” he said excitedly. “For some reason he hates to keep to an advance schedule.”
“He knows that if he did someone would shoot him.”
“I don’t think he has any illusions about his enemies, if that’s what you mean. He knows the Communists are waiting for their chance.”
“Communists? Hah! They’ll have to stand in line just like anybody else.”
“Do you want to hear what happened today or not?”
“I’m sorry, Veelee. Yes—please. Forgive me.”
“Now listen carefully. The exercise was scheduled for the morning he was supposed to show up, and that couldn’t be accelerated. He understood that. So instead of the actual exercise, I conducted him through the plan on the large blackboard in the briefing room. He was fascinated; his eyes were actually glittering. He let me talk on and I could tell that Guderian was very impressed with the Fuehrer’s reactions.”
“Well? Then what happened?”
“When?”
“After you had finished explaining the exercise to him.”
“Paule! That’s the whole point! He came to life. He was absolutely vitalized. He began to take over from me, he improvised, he even changed my tactical plan, but he actually seemed to know what he was talking about. I mean, I’m sure he had insisted on a briefing before he came, and of course my plan had been on file at the Ministry for sixty days, but the important thing is, he understood it. He was working with tanks and he knew what it was all about. I mean, what would be the sense of trying to impress me, a colonel at a cavalry school?”
“But what did he say?”
“He yelled.” Veelee tried to imitate the Fuehrer’s voice. “‘The Mobile Force commander must send his motorized infantry brigade ahead and seize that bridgehead on the river!’” Veelee stabbed the air with his forefinger. “He kept hitting the map on the wall and he yelled, ‘The tank brigade must follow not later than fourteen hours behind them and harbor in the woods lying behind the bridgehead. Orders for subsequent moves must be given on reaching the harbors.’”
“What’s so tremendous about that?”
“Darling, we need this man! If there is ever going to be a Panzerarmee it will be only because we are able to get his support. If we depend on our own High Command we’ll be lucky to get bicycles! That’s what’s so tremendous about the way he said what he said.”
“Oh.”
“And he followed right up. He grabbed the pointer away from me and he pushed me into a chair and he—”
“He pushed you?”
“Oh, what the hell, Paule—he was excited. He pounded that map with his hand and he brought that exercise to life for us. He had everybody so hopped up that they almost fell off their chairs just thinking about the promotions that would be falling on us when the big tank expansion program started. God, it was like being at war. His voice tore into us.” Unconsciously Veelee began the imitation of the Fuehrer again. “You can see that the bridgehead would be occupied without opposition, that the tank brigade would occupy its harbors with only slight difficulty—but, having lost the element of surprise, it would be unable to proceed with the role allotted. Consequently, we must withdraw the whole Mobile Force. Otherwise the enemy’s divisional column would be placed across the line of supply of the tank brigade and would cause havoc among the non-fighting vehicles.” Veelee belted the cognac. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“I guess so. But what about Thursday when you take the exercise into the field? The actual operation when each side is trying to win the maneuvers?”
Veelee’s eyes left her face, returned again, wavered, then left again. “Everything will happen exactly the way the Fuehrer said it had to happen,” he said, stiffly.
Paule was silent for a moment, and then said, “Darling. Veelee, darling.”
“Yes, Paule?”
“You did wonderful work today.”
“Yes … Well, he shook my hand when he’d finished, and his staff people applauded, and he said I was a capable tank officer, and then he left, on the double. Guderian stayed behind for a second, and he grabbed me by the shoulder and said, ‘He is now committed to tanks. Keep him that way.’ Then Guderian went racing off too. It was an unusual morning.” He poured another cognac slowly.
“And you will arrange for it to happen the way the Fuehrer said it should happen?”
“You heard what Guderian said.”
“Well, the fact that one exercise is spoiled doesn’t mean anything compared to the future of the tank corps, does it, darling?”
Veelee’s face was wooden and his eyes were still turned away from her. “Although the conclusions drawn from the exercise will be largely negative, they are nonetheless valuable,” he answered.
Paule thought of her child and of all the false courage she had assumed because she knew that the army would protect them against destruction by the Fuehrer. She could not count on the army any longer. It had been corrupted. Veelee had been corrupted. It had happened so swiftly that they had not yet discovered it about themselves, and they had delivered themselves and their fate into the Fuehrer’s hands. It must be happening everywhere. The U-boat men were probably just discovering that the Fuehrer understood their problems and would help them against the admirals who wanted only more battleships; infantry commanders were being “understood” in their problems with the air force; and of course the air force was already getting an overwhelming budget of understanding. In the end, every unit of the Wehrmacht would be made to feel that only the Fuehrer really understood its problems, and his price for his understanding and support would be that collectively they would not be able to deny him anything. To the military, their work was the sun and the moon and the stars; to the Fuehrer they were only a few molecules in his hammer.
Twelve
They must get away soon, she told herself every morning as she awoke. The time was coming nearer when Veelee would need to examine his tanks and his world without Jews in the comp
ound of violent men at Wuensdorf. He would have to make a choice; she could see no other way and she thought about nothing else. Before the worst happened she would ask for the protection of his love for her and Paul-Alain and speak of their situation once and for all. They must leave Germany if they were going to survive. They had to emigrate, but where? Not to France. If they went to France Veelee would not feel that he had solved the problem. Where? Though she moved from one solution to another, she was unable to put her anguish into words, to take the action which she knew was their single salvation.
Paule slept less. Whenever she awoke in the night she would run to the baby’s room to reassure herself that he was safe. The more concerned she became with safety the lighter she slept. She was pale, there were dark circles under her eyes and the new hollows in her cheeks made her seem more starkly beautiful. Because she was determined not to admit to anyone—not to Veelee, not Gretel, not Gisele, not Clotilde, not to anyone—that she was frightened and ill, her manner became more and more sarcastic about the Fuehrer and his government. No matter where they might be or with whom, she felt compelled to explain to new acquaintances and old friends that she was a Jew.