Berlin Wolf (13 page)

It had been almost five days since he had moved to the summer house. Kurt had returned three days ago and yet there was no indication as to when or whether they would be able to move back to the house with Aunt Berta, Franz and Albert. Since Kurt's homecoming, Franz had only managed to sneak away and see Peter and Wolfi once.

Meanwhile at the Weiss house, Franz was unhappy and deeply concerned. Herr Weiss had briefly deposited Kurt at the house, shaken hands enthusiastically with Franz and wishing both well, departed on his war duties once more, only stopping to whisper in Aunt Berta's ear.

From the very first Franz had taken an instant dislike to Kurt. He tried not to show his feelings. He just did not trust him. As always Aunt Berta saw the best in everyone and encouraged them all to get along, as they were now related.

Kurt was a boy of fifteen. He had striking blonde hair with deep blue eyes. He was tall and thin, but athletic. He looked like the perfect image of the Nazi youth.

However when he disliked or disapproved of anything his face took on a hideous sneer that transformed an otherwise normal countenance into something resembling a gargoyle. Worst of all he talked as if he were Goebbels himself, constantly referring to ‘hideous Jews', ‘filthy communists' and ‘enemies of the state'. Great Britain and her Allies were the ‘Western terrorists'. Not yet a fully fledged member of the Hitler Youth (Berta had prevented him being press-ganged), he nonetheless always wore the emblems and badges of the movement. Whenever a senior party leader such as Goebbels or Göring or Hitler spoke on the radio, he would stand right arm raised in the Nazi salute, paying homage to the wireless set. Often when a broadcast finished he would sing the ‘Flag Song' of the Hitler Youth, or worse still the hated ‘Horst Wessel Song'. His prized possession was an authentic Luger pistol with real bullets.

‘This weapon was presented to me by an officer of the SS. It was a prize for my brilliant recital of the Nazi ideology. It has already been put to good use against our enemies,' he boasted. ‘The Oberleutnant told me himself.'

Often, ignoring Aunt Berta's pleas, he would wave the gun about, pointing it at Franz and screaming ‘Are you an enemy of the Reich?'

In the midst of conversation, Kurt would interject with tit-bits of ‘important detail'. ‘The Führer is a hero. He was wounded in the First World War. At his birthday parade in 1938 the Führer stood arm aloft for five hours without any break whatsoever; the Führer is an animal lover who has decreed humane conditions for transporting cattle by railway; only the Führer foresaw the betrayal of the Reich by the November Criminals in 1918.'

Worst of all, Kurt, who enjoyed all the comforts that Aunt Berta could bestow on him, repaid her kindness by berating her for ‘undermining the war effort'.

‘Don't you know how the heroes at the front are making sacrifices for all Germans? All you do is complain about shortages of this and that. It will be different when we are victorious.'

For Franz disguising his repulsion was impossible. He winced whenever Kurt railed against the ‘enemies of the state' and clenched his fist when the Jews were similarly denounced.

The main reason Franz detested Kurt was that he seemed to spy on him wherever he went. He could not leave the room to go to the toilet without finding Kurt waiting for him at the door. And though he had no proof, Franz was certain that he had been into his room and searched through his property. His precious new ID card was moved from where he had left it.

It was soon obvious to Aunt Berta and Franz that with Kurt in the house they could never divulge Peter or Albert's religion. In fact Franz was quite clear that Peter must never meet Kurt. As yet he had not had the heart to mention any of these fears to his friend.

* * *

It was near the end of February and for Kurt the only topic of conversation was the impending victory for the Greater German Reich and how it would be great to celebrate it on the Führer's birthday. Berta, Franz and Kurt were in the drawing room after dinner. Music was playing in the background, Berta was embroidering a tapestry, Franz was reading and Kurt was dispensing his wisdom on why Germany would inevitably win the war.

‘We Germans are the master race. The lesser nations of the world cannot possibly hope to overcome us.'

Franz bit his tongue. ‘The master race lost the last war. Goebbels has a club foot and Himmler is short, fat and virtually blind. Some master race!' he thought. Casting a quick glance at Aunt Berta, Franz got up.

‘I feel a little unwell. I think I will go to bed,' he said.

Kurt looked at him with contempt. The new German superman was not permitted to feel unwell.

Once in his room, Franz peaked through the gap in the door. As suspected, Kurt was at the top of the stairs. He waited for fifteen minutes and then looked again. This time the sneak was gone so he locked the door to the bedroom and proceeded to climb out the window, over the large balcony and down the ivy onto the drive.

It was many days since he had seen his friends and tonight more than ever he wanted sane company. On tiptoe, and as silently as possible, he crept from the drive out into the street. It was a little after nine o'clock. It was dangerous to go out at night, although he was comforted by his new identity papers. Within half an hour he was at the summer house. He gave the signal of his arrival by hooting like an owl and waited for Peter to open the door onto the verandah.

‘Franz!' Peter was thrilled, if surprised to see him.

Inside they talked for hours with Wolfi lying at Franz's feet. He missed both of his friends so much. The house was wonderful, yet occasionally he thought they would be better off in the woods.

Finally, Franz came to the real purpose of his visit.

‘I'm afraid with Kurt around it is not safe for you at the house.' As Franz told his friend about the detestable Kurt, Peter was not surprised. He had suspected as much when he had heard nothing about his return.

Shrugging his shoulders and with a heavy sigh he said, ‘Ah well I shall have to stay here or go back to our den'.

Franz was pleased when he referred to it as ‘our den'. At about eleven o'clock the two boys said their goodbyes.

‘Best if you stay here, for the time being,' Franz said, with a tinge of envy. He stepped off the verandah and into the woods. As he did so the noise of a twig snapping in the bushes caused him to stop. He stood absolutely still for several minutes. Nothing. Just silence.

‘You're getting paranoid,' he castigated himself, and continued his journey back to the house.

The following day, whilst Peter and Wolfi shared breakfast, at the house Aunt Berta and Franz were finishing their ersatz coffee. With Franz's agreement, they had reverted to drinking this artificial sludge as, to use Berta's words, ‘Why waste it on Kurt? He only disapproves of our luxuries?' A more important consideration was that Kurt might query where she had obtained such a precious commodity.

Kurt was not with them. He had left earlier that morning, muttering under his breath about some parade or other. Neither Aunt Berta, nor Franz really cared what he was doing. Franz was free to visit Peter for the second time in two days and Aunt Berta was free from the constant Nazi propaganda. She regretted that she could not accompany Franz. She had become very attached to Peter in their short time together and secretly wished Kurt was more like him. Only one more week and Kurt would be gone. That was the news that had greeted them that morning. He was to go into a specialist training camp for future leaders of the Reich.

‘Soon I will be able to do my bit in the East, upholding the honour of the Fatherland,' he announced, then left.

Aunt Berta had wanted to argue with him and deny permission to go, but it was futile. He would soon be sixteen and she was unlikely to be able to stop him. And if she was being entirely truthful with herself, he had become so obnoxious she could hardly stand to look at him, let alone listen to the constant nonsense that he spouted.

Rising from the breakfast table, Aunt Berta went to her writing desk and began to scribble a letter to Peter. In it she wished him well and looked forward to the approaching day when she could entertain him once more. She signed it ‘your loving Aunt Berta'. In a post script she wrote ‘Have patience my darling. Germany will come to its senses and we will rid ourselves of these idiots.' She handed the letter to Franz.

‘Take this to my poor Peter along with a food parcel from the kitchen.'

As Franz was filling a bag in the kitchen with Albert's assistance, a loud knock came at the door. It sounded like a boot against timber not a normal rap. Albert had been in service so long now that he instinctively knew the difference between a friendly knock, a curious tap and an aggressive arrogant banging.

‘It's the Gestapo!' he said under his breath.

Most people rang the bell, they always banged the door angrily. Sometimes they did not wait for a reply. Albert hurriedly left the kitchen to greet the visitors. As he approached the front door he looked anxiously behind him.

‘Hide Franz! Quickly! I don't like this,' he whispered.

From behind the kitchen door Franz could see the hallway. He watched as Albert slowly opened the door. Kurt barged rudely past him followed by two Gestapo men, easily identified by their long black leather overcoats.

‘Where is he? Where is that traitor Franz? I know he has been hiding a Jew. He will take me to him.' Grabbing Albert by his lapels he bawled into his face ‘Where is he? Where is he?'

One of the Gestapo agents pulled Kurt away from Albert and began searching the house. Fortunately he went straight upstairs.

‘I must warn Peter,' Franz thought and crept out of the kitchen.

He ran as quietly as he could along the adjoining corridor towards the rear of the house. Through the window he could see more Gestapo men stationed outside.

‘Trapped!' Franz was desperate to leave the house. For the moment his only way out was guarded. He had to hide in the secret compartment between the dining room and the drawing room. Luckily all the Gestapo agents inside the house were already upstairs with Kurt and he was able to slip into the space without fear of being caught. He remained still and waited. His breathing seemed almost as noisy as the footsteps on the stairs.

‘Where's Aunt Berta?' he wondered.

As he stood there in the dusty secret compartment, his question was soon answered. In the drawing room he could hear raised voices. He could just discern Aunt Berta's incensed tone.

‘This is an outrage! Do you know who my husband is? You will pay for this.'

Placing his eye to a tiny hole in the oak panels, Franz was just able to see into the room. He touched the letter in his pocket. It was gone!

‘I have dropped it,' he thought anxiously. ‘If they find it Aunt Berta will be arrested!'

The thought of this kindly lady in the custody of these thugs was too much for him to bear. After what seemed an eternity he heard another voice well known to him. It was Kurt.

‘I know you have a summer house and there is a Jew hiding there with his filthy Jewish dog. You have betrayed your country and your people. When we find him, and we will, he will tell us everything you have done.'

‘Kurt, my little Kurt, I am your mother why do you speak to me like this?' Aunt Berta pleaded more softly.

‘My mother is dead. I have no mother and no father. The Party and my country are the only family I have.'

With this parting remark, Kurt stormed out of the room followed by the two agents. The front door slammed violently. Franz left the secret compartment and rushed to Aunt Berta. They hugged each other briefly.

‘I'm all right. I'm all right,' she reassured him. ‘Go quickly! You must warn Peter and Wolfi! If you cut through the woods you might get there first.'

‘What about the letter? I have lost it and they may come back,' Franz replied, unsure what to do.

‘You mean the letter I have been standing on for the last ten minutes?' Albert smiled. ‘One of those thugs kicked it by accident and didn't notice. I couldn't pick it up in full view.'

‘Well done Albert,' Franz said, relieved and rushed from the house.

He ran as fast as he could, taking parallel streets rather than the most direct route to avoid being caught, but he was on foot and they were in a staff car. He knew he could never possibly get there first.

‘If I can at least get close enough to shout a warning,' he thought.

Out of breath and chest pounding, Franz ran and ran and in half the usual time, emerged from the woods into the garden of the summer house. He vaulted the fence and sprinted across the rear lawn. He was about to shout to Peter when he halted on the spot.

‘No. No! I was too slow!'

From his position he could see Peter held on either side by the Gestapo agents, with Kurt grinning behind. To the side of the house was an army lorry with a canvas back. There were at least five or six soldiers by the front of the house. They had grabbed Peter even as Kurt had been in the house.

One of the soldiers was struggling to hold back Wolfi who was fighting to get to Peter. He was muzzled and clearly distressed. Kurt walked over to Wolfi and kicked him viciously in the side. Wolfi yelped in pain, causing Peter to turn round.

‘I will teach you to be a proper German dog, not a Jew lover!' Kurt screamed.

‘Leave him alone!' Peter shouted and tried to wrestle free.

Peter's anger only served to encourage Kurt even more. He swung his foot to kick Wolfi once more. Wolfi reared up on his hind legs, pulled over the soldier who let go of the lead, then ran towards Peter.

‘Run away boy! Run!' Peter shouted.

Wolfi understood this command. It was against his natural instinct, but he had practised it with Peter and Franz. He turned reluctantly away from Peter and ran towards the fence.

‘Shoot it! Shoot it!' Kurt's voice was high pitched and screaming. The soldier took aim with his rifle.

‘No!' Peter called out, echoed less loudly by Franz, some distance away.

The soldier fired into the air just above Wolfi's head. Wolfi raced at the fence, springing high above, cleared it easily and disappeared into the trees, his lead dangling behind him. Peter mouthed the words ‘thank you' to the soldier who, embarrassed, turned away.

The last thing Franz saw was Peter being loaded into the back of the open lorry, surrounded by soldiers. His head was bowed and he appeared to be smiling.

‘He is pleased that Wolfi got away,' Franz said out loud.

Franz sat for a few minutes. He was wracked with guilt. He was now certain that the previous night he had led Kurt to Peter. There was no time for recriminations. He had to think quickly. He must formulate a plan. He walked back to Aunt Berta's house as briskly as possible. Some distance from the house he checked for signs of any more unwelcome visitors. The coast was clear. As he walked towards the front door a low whining noise came from the hedge at one side. A black furry head and two ears came into view.

‘Wolfi! Wolfi!' Franz shouted and ran towards him.

He undid the buckle on the leather muzzle and leaned over to comfort the dog. Wolfi licked his face all over with his rough tongue. ‘Don't worry boy. We'll get Peter back. I promise.' As Franz said Peter's name, Wolfi stopped licking, looked at Franz and whined.

Inside the house Aunt Berta was distraught. Her influence and wealth were such that without firm evidence, even the lawless Gestapo would not arrest her, much to Kurt's annoyance. She was deeply shocked, not just by Kurt's attitude, so much as the fact that a fifteen–year-old boy had been given so much credence and authority by grown men. It was just a matter of time before they came back to look for Franz.

While Aunt Berta was grieving at Peter's capture, Franz had gone upstairs to his bedroom. He took out the Hitler Youth uniform and quickly put it on, expressing his gratitude that they had kept it ‘just in case'. In Kurt's room he searched the bedside cabinet and in the wardrobe. At last he found the pistol brandished at him so often by Kurt. He placed the Luger in its leather pouch and attached it to his belt. He brushed his hair, cleaned his face and checked his appearance in the mirror. He made one final detour into Peter's old bedroom and removed an object wrapped in a cloth from within a bedside cabinet.

Downstairs in the kitchen he polished his boots and the Nazi badges on his shirt. With some wax, he cleaned the two leather belts he wore, one diagonally across his chest. By the time he had finished he looked like the perfect model Nazi. When Aunt Berta saw Franz she was horrified.

‘What are you going to do? You will be taken again. You must flee,' she begged.

Franz touched her arm gently and in a soft voice said: ‘Dear Aunt Berta. Peter saved me, now I must try and save him. If not I must join him. I cannot desert him.'

‘B-b,…but what can you do?' she pleaded.

‘I can try,' he said, ‘I must try.'

‘Then wait here just a few minutes longer, I want to help too,' and wiping her tears dry, she left the room.

Franz shifted impatiently from one foot to another. Aunt Berta had been gone for almost twenty minutes and every second was vital. When she reappeared she was clutching a velvet bag. It was stuffed with banknotes, more than Franz had ever seen. In a separate bag inside were four or five white diamonds.

‘Take these,' she said. ‘You may need to bribe a few people. There is a car waiting outside.'

‘A car?' Even resourceful Franz had not expected this.

‘Yes. Take Albert as your driver,' Aunt Berta replied.

She so wanted to travel with him. She knew she could not. She was too well known and the authorities must be aware of the earlier visit to her house. There was also the problem of Kurt. He could return at any moment.

Franz was concentrating so much on his immediate plan that he did not question where Aunt Berta had found a car, and not just any car. Outside a large silver limousine was waiting. Inside sat a fur-clad lady, in her thirties with ruby red lipstick. She was at the wheel.

‘Aunt Berta told me you need a favour,' she said nonchalantly. ‘Take my car. There is enough petrol for about three or four hours driving. I would quite like the car back, if you can.' With that she got out of the driver's seat. ‘Oh and it might be an idea to put this on the front.'

She handed Albert a small red and black swastika flag. Adjusting Franz's knotted cravat, she bent over and kissed him on the lips, swivelled elegantly and walked towards the house. As she sashayed in her ankle length dress, high heels and fur coat across the lawn, the door opened and Wolfi ran towards Franz.

‘Not this time Wolfi,' Franz said. ‘You'll have to stay here.'

Wolfi would have none of it and seconds later he was sat upright on the back seat looking out the window, his claws digging into the expensive green leather.

In the back of the limousine, Franz could not quite believe what was happening. Just a few weeks ago he was living wild off game and fish and now he was being chauffeured in luxury. If his mission had not been so serious he might have enjoyed himself.

The swastika-bedecked limousine with Albert the chauffeur, resplendent in morning suit, proved invaluable. Very few outside the ruling elite were able to travel in this style and the message sent was that this was someone very wealthy, or very powerful indeed. The young boy in uniform must be the son of someone special. As a consequence they were not stopped at any checkpoints, until they arrived at Prince Albrecht Strasse. This was the infamous headquarters of the Gestapo where many detainees simply vanished.

As they pulled up to the barrier, a sentry leaned forward to speak through the open driver's window.

‘Papers!' he demanded.

‘Papers always papers. What an outrage! If my father were here you would be sent to the Russian front,' Franz sneered, waving his new identity card about. His privileged upbringing had given him many examples of the rudeness of the aristocracy. ‘Your father? Who, who is your father?' the soldier stammered.

Franz was about to reply, when Albert leaned over and said calmly, ‘Put it this way if anything happens to the Führer, he will be the new Führer.'

The sentry went white and ordered the gate to be opened, saluting at the same time. Albert drove under the raised barrier, outwardly a model of composure. Inside, however, he and Franz were now extremely nervous. They had to hope that they would not be challenged, also that they did not encounter Kurt. For the moment they had decided that Wolfi was safer in the car.