Berlin Wolf (23 page)

Although relaxed, they still knew that caution was required. In each apartment block or house anyone might report suspicious goings on to the Gestapo, either for revenge or financial gain or even from jealousy. With their own resident spy their ability to come and go had been greatly eased. As a further precaution they agreed that Lotte would place a large white vase in the bay window, if the coast was not clear.

Lotte's husband was due to leave for the East in a few days and they would be able to congregate at the apartment again. Lotte had one more plan to simplify things before he left and they were to put it into action the following day.

It was three o'clock on the next afternoon. Lotte was perched on the edge of the sofa, pouring coffee and handing out slices of cake. The cake was made with replacement flour and some of its contents were a little suspect, but it was edible in spite of it.

Lotte had two young visitors, handsome in their naval uniforms. Both their faces were weather beaten and sun-tanned from their time at sea. One face was in fact genuinely brown and healthy from a spell in the outdoors, the other required a little rouge to achieve the desired effect. Next to the naturally sun-tanned sailor was a large black dog which lay attentively at his feet, hoping for a piece of cake. It had stitches in its hind quarters.

The three friends chatted happily about old times and distant relatives. In the middle of memories of their own childhoods, the door of the apartment was flung open and the master of the house strode in. He did nothing in a calm or normal manner.

‘What's this? Who are these people? What's that mutt doing in my house?' he fumed.

Lotte was by now in front of him and kissing him on his cheek. Peter and Franz, as befitted naval ratings, were on their feet standing to attention.

‘Oh darling. Don't be so rude. These are my cousins from the country. You remember? I have told you about them. Ah yes, of course, you never listen. Typical man! They are on leave. Then they are departing on active service. The dog is a war hero. Peter has adopted him. Look he was injured in the service of the Führer,' she said, handing him a cup of coffee.

‘Oh. Yes. Of course. I forgot,' he replied meekly.

The accusation that he never listened had hit the mark. He had met few of Lotte's relatives. They were strict Lutherans and had not approved of her choice of career. Nor had they approved of her marriage to such an older man. As an afterthought and by way of appeasement he said, ‘I'll see the dog gets a medal.'

Peter and Franz looked at each other a little concerned. They were uncertain whether he was serious. He might want to know the dog's story of heroism.

Lotte promptly saved them any concerns: ‘The dog does not need a medal. It needs a home while Peter is back at sea. It can't go on ship with him. Why don't I look after him? You are away so often and I get lonely. He's well-trained and he can protect me,' she pleaded.

Without much more persuasion, the powerful man, who boasted he could smell a Jew, had agreed that they could stay for dinner and sleep in the apartment. Better than that, Wolfi could stay whilst Peter was at sea. He, however, would be out that evening at a business engagement. Lotte wondered what her name might be, the ‘business engagement'. She no longer cared. Her husband's work and his attitude had sickened her for some time. She wanted to divorce him, but he was too important to their rescue attempts. Recent events proved this fact.

In the space of a few days this significant cog in the Nazi war machine had unwittingly safeguarded the fate of three Jews and not only accommodated another, wined and dined him to boot.

As Peter and Franz, honoured guests now, ate and drank the especially fine meal, Peter thanked his good fortune. Wolfi was recovering quickly and he was now officially resident at Lotte's apartment. If the dog was pleased he gave no sign as he dozed noisily under the table, after a large dinner of lamb bone and gravy.

‘There's something we need to discuss.' Lotte's tone was unusually pessimistic and immediately caught the attention of her companions. Wolfi sidled over to her and lay at her feet.

It was a warm afternoon in July. The close knit group was in the woods, gathering berries and enjoying the sunshine. Unusually Lotte had joined them. She appeared embarrassed as she spoke.

‘We are broke.'

They were shocked. Lotte had always seemed to have an unlimited supply of money.

‘My husband is extremely wealthy, but he looks after his money very carefully. Everything I buy for the house is from an allowance. Everything I own is actually his, even the jewellery.'

‘What about all the petrol to travel to Switzerland with Berta? The money for the stolen identity cards? Peter's chauffeur outfit? All the other things you have paid for? How did you mange that?' Franz asked.

‘Oh that was my savings from my time in the movies. I had hoped to use them one day to leave Eric.'

Peter stood up and walked over to Lotte. He took her hand in his and said, ‘Thank you. Thank you Lotte.' He already knew that she had paid for the blood transfusion. Only now did he know it was her own money she had used to save Wolfi. The bribe to Herr Klein had wiped out most of the little money she had left.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I have been trying to hide it from you. I hoped something would turn up.'

‘Nonsense my girl. It's our fault for never asking.' The Professor's words were echoed by Peter and Franz.

They set to thinking of ways to raise funds. Without money they would be severely limited in the number of people they could help.

Peter spoke first. ‘I still have my mother's jewels. They are worth quite a lot, I should think.'

‘No Peter,' Lotte replied, ‘you will need them for after the war. Besides I am sure that the Professor will confirm that there is so much jewellery, especially gold in the market, that the prices are not very high.' She winked at the Professor, determined that Peter would keep the one thing that he still had of his parents.

The Professor confirmed what she said. It was not in fact a lie. So much property had been ‘confiscated' from the millions of Jews transported and stolen by soldiers, officials and employees of the Reich, the market was indeed flooded with gold, silver, diamonds and other precious stones.

‘Whatever money it raises, it could be enough to save another life.' Peter was determined that it was his turn to make the sacrifice. The end of the war could still be a long way off and he knew that his parents would approve of the intended use of Mama's jewels.

‘That may not be necessary,' the Professor interjected. He was pacing up and down playing with the ends of his moustache. His audience was intrigued as he warmed to his theme.

‘One of my contacts was telling me just recently that there is still a thriving market in rare stamps. Collectors apparently are so obsessed that they will pay top prices. Especially abroad. Now I know we may not have any rare stamps, but I imagine the same applies to works of art, such as old masters. Most people are worried what will happen to our currency if we lose the war and so anyone with money prefers to invest it elsewhere. In your dining room Lotte I noticed an oil painting. It is the one of the hunting scene. I examined it recently and if it is genuine it could be worth a lot of money.'

Lotte's face brightened. ‘Oh it's genuine. No doubt of that.'

She knew the one he meant. She had no interest in art whatsoever, although she could recall the day her husband returned with the painting, wrapped in paper. It was about a year before the war after the annexation of Czechoslovakia. He had been very pleased with himself. When she had expressed her dislike of the painting, he had simply agreed. It was hideous to him too. No matter, it was their financial future in the event of war. And it was not the only picture he had plundered from the occupied territories. He had tried to keep it from her, no doubt as he suspected she intended to leave him. She knew he had more pictures stashed away somewhere. She just did not know where.

‘We can't take the painting in the dining room, but if we can find his cache, we could sell those. As long as he does not trace it to us we should be safe. He can't exactly go to the police to report it.' Lotte was excited as she spoke, seeing a way out of their financial difficulties.

Peter stood in silence. He looked pensive. When he eventually spoke, his words surprised all except the Professor.

‘Those paintings have almost certainly been stolen from Jews like my parents. They are family heirlooms and should be returned to their rightful owners.'

‘Peter my boy,' the Professor said, placing his hands on the young man's shoulders. ‘Of course you are right. However, the original owners may not even be alive. If they are, they can be reunited with their property when this war finishes. Until then is it better to use them to save many more lives or leave them to those who have stolen them in the first place? We
must
make use of them.'

Peter did not argue. He was no longer thinking of family heirlooms as reluctantly the idea that his parents may no longer be alive dominated his thoughts.

‘What will we do about money in the meantime?' Franz said. ‘It could be months before we sell any paintings, if we ever find where they are?'

‘Don't worry. We'll survive for a few more weeks. If we are careful,' Lotte replied, ‘In the meantime I will write to Aunt Berta. I am sure she will help.' Lotte was suddenly much happier. She was thinking about those paintings.

Thankfully, within a week of sending her letter, Berta had responded and with a very generous cheque, written on her Swiss bank account. She had understood the hidden meaning when Lotte had written that the boys were ‘doing well if a little undernourished; that is only to be expected with the shortages. We struggle on regardless.'

The clandestine rescues could continue as normal for many months to come. In spite of the new wealth, Lotte did not forget the prospect of finding the hidden works of art.

* * *

As the summer months of 1943 passed, Peter and Franz continued to fish the lakes and trap game. Whenever possible they would pick fruit or mushrooms and gather chestnuts. They became so successful that some of the produce was bartered for other items they needed. They still had printing paper to make many more identity cards and they had since obtained a new supply of ink. Franz was particularly careful not to waste either paper or ink and scolded himself ferociously if he ever made a mistake. His skill was such that these occasions were few and far between. The chemicals for developing photographs were close to running out, though they hoped to barter for more.

‘Herr Riesen' was much more comfortable in his new abode. He soon gained the admiration of the residents by remaining in the building, even during air raids. It was to protect their property from looters, he had claimed. It was actually to avoid close scrutiny of his children and himself in the confined space of an air raid shelter. The devotion to duty even prompted some of the residents to make gifts of extra food for the children and the occasional bottle of schnaps for him. One even wrote to the authorities praising this ‘fine patriotic Aryan, a great example of National Socialism'. His original worries as to his abilities in maintenance were unfounded as he quickly adapted to the new skills required. The children's non-attendance at school he explained away by saying that they were being privately tutored at home. It was costing him a fortune, but it was worth it. This selfless sacrifice for his ‘darling children' attracted yet more praise. The only danger now facing Herr Riesen was his popularity. Everyone loved him so much he was seldom left alone.

In the period since Wolfi's injury the chance to rescue anyone had seldom presented itself. In the main their actions had consisted of providing forged papers to those who required them. Most fugitives were cautious and slow to trust anyone. It was sometimes the most they could do to submit to being photographed. None were permitted to leave without some sort of food parcel, some money and whatever clothing was available.

To reduce the chances of detection and arrest, Franz had located a new venue for their forgery and photography. It was ideal. It was in the basement of a nearby block. The majority of the building had been destroyed and outwardly it appeared that only a pile of rubble remained. It took a very close inspection for anyone to discover the entrance through the huge pile of concrete and bricks. It was so well disguised they had contemplated whether to use it as a hideout for some of those they were attempting to rescue. In the end, their forgery activities were so important to their plans they decided to keep it separate from their other work.

* * *

‘This is perfect Franz. Completely uninhabited with plenty to hunt. And no chateaus or peacocks to attract the tourists. Plus an old stone ruin that can easily be rebuilt. Best of all, it is so difficult to land a boat that very few will even try.' Peter was pleased that their long search for a new camp was over.

They were standing on top of their newly discovered island paradise. It was a small island in the Havel, where the river widened to form a lake. It lay a short distance below the island of Schwanenwerder and was only to be reached by private boat. It was situated away from any of the ferry services that conveyed day trippers to the other islands of interest.

Apparently inaccessible, they had found the one approach to the island that allowed a small boat to land. As the water flowed swiftly down one side, on the other, it moved at a more sedate pace. On the southern tip of land where the two bodies of water met, a whirlpool was created. Provided a boat approached at the right angle to the swirling water, it was in fact possible to turn inwards to the shore and moor out of view in a small inlet of rock. Only by crossing the whirlpool and continuing on this one course was the inlet of rock visible from the water. On the other side of the small island the land fell sharply to the water and the banks were guarded by heavy foliage, that from the water appeared impenetrable. This foliage served to hide the activities of anyone living on the island from the outside world.

Where possible Peter and his friends would try and provide the ‘u-boats' with new identities and hence the prospect of ration cards and accommodation. With the new papers and proper lodgings there was some chance of survival, although the daily search for food would continue.

Not everyone could be helped in this way. Some poor souls were so dejected and dispirited and physically weak, that they had no realistic hope of surviving in everyday Berlin society. Some like ‘Robin', were convinced that their ‘Jewish' appearance was such a giveaway, they would not risk using even the most genuine of papers and so were forced always to remain in hiding. For this category of u-boat, those permanently hidden from view, life was especially hard. Never being able to wander freely outside; always disappearing when the doorbell rang or the door was knocked; constantly whispering for fear neighbours might detect their voices; the never diminishing fear of discovery; the uncertainty as to whether and when it might end: all of these restrictions led to an overwhelming feeling of imprisonment and hence depression and despair. For all u-boats two matters constantly occupied their minds: when will I next eat and how long can I stay here?

‘At least we can stop worrying about anyone wandering off and getting caught,' Franz commented.

‘Yes, I suppose that is an advantage. I just hope they don't feel trapped here,' Peter replied.

They were conscious that those living on the island might have the feeling of swapping one type of prison for another.

Whilst Peter and Franz were checking the new hideaway, Lotte was making an important phone call.

‘Of course it's urgent. I wouldn't ring otherwise. Tell him it's his wife. I am not going to tell you what it is about. Now just put me through to my husband.' Lotte was on the verge of losing her patience with the operator. Eric was in a meeting and not to be disturbed. She wondered what her name was, this ‘meeting'.

‘Yes! What do you want now?' Eric balled down the telephone line, ‘More money no doubt?'

‘Sorry I bothered to ring,' she replied. She tried to sound concerned. ‘I just thought you might like to know about the visitor earlier. He was asking about that horrid painting in the dining room. You know? The hunting scene. Anyway goodbye.'

‘Wait darling Lotte. Wait!' Eric pleaded, his manner suddenly altered. ‘Tell me about this visitor. Who was he?'

‘Oh I can't remember his name. Actually there were two of them. They were both wearing those hideous black leather coats and hats, you know that the Gestapo like.' Lotte was beginning to enjoy her husband's discomfort.

‘Don't speak to anyone. Anyone! You understand? I will be home tomorrow.' Eric slammed down the phone. Lotte smiled. He had taken the bait. Peter's idea had worked. So far.