Street Dreams (44 page)

“Lunch is not ready.’’ Anika flailed birdlike arms. “I do apologize.”

Rina smiled. “It’s not a problem.” Up close, Anika was wrinkled, her face furrowed and drooping with fatless skin. But her
blue eyes sparkled, as did her teeth, though Rina suspected they were dentures. “The food smells wonderful, Miss Lubke, but
unfortunately we can’t eat it. We’re kosher—”

“
Ach!
But of course.”

“I insist that you eat when it’s ready.” Rina inhaled deeply. “I’m sure it’s my loss. What is it?”

“
Hvidkälsrouletter
—cabbage roll with meat. I can make up some vegetarian.”

“No, no, no,” Rina said. “Please don’t bother. If you want to serve us anything, I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

“And you, Lieutenant Decker?”

“Tea is fine.”

“
Kommt sofort!
Right away.” She moved with a sprightly walk. A minute later, she returned from the unseen kitchen. “I put the water up to
boil. Marta is in church. We were odd—Lutherans in Bavaria. The state is very Catholic, their churches rococo in style because
it is near Italy. Also, there were many Russian aristocrats in Bavaria, so the churches have that onion-dome Russian architecture.
Inside, they are filled with marble and gold, with angels and cherubs floating in a sky that is painted on the ceiling. It
is not my idea of Heaven.”

Her speech had the singsong inflections of those who spoke Nordic languages.

“Anyway, Marta will return soon. Ah, the kettle boils. I’ll be back.”

After she left, Rina whispered, “How old is she?”

“Eighty-four or -five. Maybe even closer to ninety.”

“The woman has energy.”

“So does your mother. They must have grown them strong in the Old Country.”

Rina tapped her toe. Neither she nor Peter had sat down. Anika came back with a tray. “Sit, sit. Please.”

Decker sat. The sofa was as uncomfortable as it looked, with its stiff back and no lumbar support. By using pillows, Rina
managed to ease herself into a decent position. Anika poured tea, then perched on the edge of a chair, her spine ramrod straight.

Maybe discomfort was a cultural thing.

Rina sipped tea. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“Thank you for contacting us. I must say I was very shocked. Who thinks to hear from seventy-year-old ghosts? That’s how long
it has been since your mother I’ve seen.”

“I can understand how surprised you must have felt.”

“Very.” She poured herself a mug of tea and sipped slowly. “It brought back memories very hidden. I don’t remember your grandmother’s
death individually, but the deaths as a group I remember. I think that they scared my mother. Soon after your mother moves
away, we move … to Hamburg.”

“You told me you married an Englishman,” Decker said. “How’d that happen?”

“
Ach,
such a long and
traurig
story.”

“‘
Traurig
’ is sad,” Rina said.

Decker said, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Anika smiled. “But you didn’t. I wrote to you in my e-mail that I married an Englishman.” She thought a moment. “The people
are all dead. I’ll tell it to you. In Hamburg, I met my husband when I was seventeen.”

“The Englishman,” Rina said.

“No, no, a German man. We got married. It was not happily ever after like the
Bruders
Grimm. Right after the wedding, it is 1933 and Germany elects Hitler, who brings us into war. No excuses, Germany deserved
what it got because our parents elected the demagogue.”

She shook her head.

“If you asked any German people after World War Two if they voted for Hitler, they all say no. No, no, no, we didn’t vote
for him. Nobody voted for him! No one knows how he got power!”

She waved her hand disgustedly in the air.

“My husband was drafted and captured as a POW. He was a
staatsbeamte
—a civil servant—but because his title contained the word ‘
staats,
’ the English thought he was some important state official. In a camp, they put him with others that had
staats
in their title. They played cards and talked philosophy the entire time. Meanwhile, from him I don’t hear … maybe a year.
I am young and stupid, and after the British invaded the North, I get younger and stupider and fall for an Englishman because
he wears the winning uniform. I blame my parents. If they had not moved, I would have probably fallen in love with an American
soldier. I would have been better off.”

Rina smiled and nodded, but Decker shrugged confusion.

“Toward the end of the war,” Rina explained, “Germany was being blitzed from three fronts: the British in the North, the Russians
in the East, and the Americans in the South. That’s why the Russians liberated Auschwitz and the Americans liberated Dachau.
So she’s saying that if she had stayed in Munich, which is in the South, she would have met an American.”

“Ah, I see,” Decker said.

Anika sighed. “I get a divorce from my poor German husband, who can’t believe that his young wife runs off with the enemy.”
A sigh. “I hurt Hans very bad. Later, I hear a very nice girl he re-marries. They have four children. He is very happy … much
happier than me. Serves me right. Where was I in the story?”

“You just divorced your German husband,” Decker reminded her.

“Ah, yes. I marry Cyril Emerson and moved to a small town in Devonshire. You can think how much the English working class
loves a German girl. I was miserable. So then we move back to Hamburg, and he is miserable. Finally, we reach a compromise.
Hamburg is not so far from Denmark. So we move to Copenhagen and we’re both miserable. Still, we live in Denmark for thirty
years. I birth two sons who move to America. So at fifty-six, I divorce Cyril, return to the name Lubke, and off to America
I move. To St. Louis because Marta is living there.”

“How did Marta wind up in St. Louis?”

“Her husband was an executive in Anheuser-Busch. Marta loves St. Louis. I don’t like St. Louis. It is searing hot in the summer
and bitter cold in the winter. Snow is nice, but the city has no mountains except the Ozarks … very sorry mountains. Ten years
ago, I came to Solvang for a visit. After being in Copenhagen so long, it was very familiar for me. I loved the cooler temperature.
I love the real mountains. Here, a home I found. Twice a year, I visit Marta. Twice a year, Marta visits me. She gets the
good deal.”

Rina laughed. “I think so.”

“Would you like more tea?”

“I’d love some more tea,” Rina said.

Anika picked up the teapot and disappeared into the kitchen.

Rina held in a laugh. “What a character!”

“She has a personality,” Decker said.

She came back several minutes later with scalding hot tea. “Ah, the steam, the aroma … only thing English do well is tea.”
She poured three refills. “I try to think back that far, Mrs. Decker, to the time of the deaths. It was a very peculiar time.”

“How so?” Rina asked.

“All of Germany was imploding. Munich was no exception. The city was in terrible chaos, and the deaths made even more chaos.
München held much militaristic presence, of uniforms and armies and parades. It was the birth home of the Nazis, yes, but
they were not the only political party. There were many and every group has its own flag, its own identity. Every party is
color coded. Brown for Nazis, the Social Democrats are green, Communists are red or black shirt with red bow ties. Then there
are the royalists. The Bavarian monarchs were expelled by the Communists in 1918, but many relatives remained and dressed
in old
Bayerischen
royal uniform for every parade on every occasion. There were always demonstrations in Konigsplatz … in every public square.
I go to a school in Turkenstrasse—”

“My mother’s
schule,
” Rina said.

“Yes, your mother’s
schule,
too. Next door was the seat of the Nazi newspaper
Volkischer Beobachter.
We used to see the Brown Shirts goose-step. A few times Hitler, too. It was all part of the show. Looking back as an adult,
I was very frightened, I think, because these groups used to come to the
schule
and talk. They ask about our parents—what they did, who they knew, what newspapers were at home. The newspapers in Europe
are different than newspapers in America. They are political-party papers, so by asking about the newspapers, the groups know
the parents’ party affiliation. So when the deaths happen, like your grandmother, Mrs. Decker, the talk is that maybe your
Omah was on the wrong side politically.”

“Do you think her murder was political?”

“After the first one is found, everyone says that yes, it must be political. Everything in Munich was political. There were
several other murders of young women that were political, one very famous—a farm girl named Amalie Sandmeyer who was murdered
by the
Fememord,
a very secret right-wing group. Everyone is afraid of the
Fememord.
”

“Why was Amalie Sandmeyer murdered?” Decker asked. “Was she a spy?”

“On the contrary. She was a working girl and was too naive to realize what was happening. Weapons at the time were illegal
in München. If you find weapons from World War One, to the police you must bring them. But all the groups have secret caches.
Amalie found a secret cache of weapons, and like the dumb good girl she was, she reported it to authorities. The problem was
she found a Nazi cache and the police had many members in the National Socialist German Workers Party. Everyone knew her murder
was political.”

Anika drank her tea and appeared to collect her thoughts.

“But then another is found dead. Then it was your grandmother. By then, mothers tell their daughters never to walk the streets
alone. That there are madmen other than Hitler.”

“I found my grandmother’s
mordakte—
her homicide file,” Rina said.

“
Mein Gott,
how did you find?”

“It’s a long story. But her file was found with those of the two others murdered before her. The cases were all packaged together
in one big box apparently. I was sent a copy, not the original.”

“What was in your grandmother’s file?”

“Not much,” Decker said. “A pathology report, interviews, witnesses, crime scene report. Comparison of her murder to those
of the two other women—Marlena Durer and Anna Gross. From what I could tell, the police investigation was pretty primitive.
Do you remember any other murders?”

“There were two more after your grandmother, Mrs. Decker. Then we move. But the last I remember well because it was a young
girl who lived near me in Schwabing. Her name was Johanna, a little older than I was but close enough in age to truly frighten.
Ach,
it was terrible murders in a terrible time that only got more terrible before it got better.”

The woman had turned red and was panting hard.

Rina said, “Thank goodness it’s in the past, Anika.”

“Yes …” The old woman took a few moments to steady her breathing. “Yes, it is all in the past and every day I walk past mountains,
sky, and beauty.” She exhaled loudly. “Your grandfather did a good deed when he moved your mother away. The other families
stayed, the motherless children receiving not pity but suspicion: ‘What did your mother do to deserve her death?’ If you want
my opinion, Mrs. Decker, I say your grandmother was murdered by the same hand, even if the women were different. Thinking
about it … it was all so much the same.”

“Any idea who might have done it?”

“
Ach,
no, sorry. A madman, a political man, a man who was both mad and political. You choose.” Anika clenched her jaw. “There was
one investigator … he talked to us. I remember him well—strong, blue eyes, and black curly hair. He had … I don’t know … a
swagger in his step … a charisma. He spoke softly but with much intensity. If we see anything, if we hear anything, we must
tell him. He was terrifying and appealing at the same time. I don’t remember his name.”

“Heinreich Messersmit?” Decker tried.

She shrugged.

“Rudolf Kalmer?” Decker paused. “Axel Berg?”

“Maybe that was it. I wonder what happened to him?” She waved a bony hand in the air. “Now he’s dead. They’re all dead. I
should be dead.”

“God forbid!” Rina said.

Anika smiled. “I was glad when we moved. Hamburg was different—a free state, a port city, more international, less Bavarian.
And the beer in Hamburg is stronger.” She looked at an empty wrist.

Decker said, “It’s twelve-ten.”

“Marta should be here soon,” Anika repeated. “Maybe we take a walk?”

But just then, the door opened.

Marta was definitely Anika’s sister, having the same wrinkled face, same long jawline, and white hair, except she had it tied
into a bun. She wore a fitted blue suit but had orthopedic shoes on her feet. She met Rina’s eyes, then clamped a hand over
her mouth. “Oh
mein Gott,
it is Marta Gottlieb!” Tears welled in her blue eyes. “I can’t believe …”

She started to cry. Anika said, “My sister is emotional.”

Rina held out her hand. “I do look like my mother.”

But Marta was weeping too hard to respond. Anika hit her shoulder. “Stop!”

“You stop!” Marta choked back. Finally, she took Rina’s hand and clasped it. “How is your mother?”

“Mama is fine. Very fine and very well.”

Marta exhaled. “We were very good friends once. A lifetime came between us.”

“I know.”

“She was in Auschwitz?”

“Yes.”

“
Ach
… terrible, terrible.” She brought her hand to her chest. “Such a strong woman. If anyone could survive, it would be Marta.
I would have surely died.” She wiped her eyes. “It smells good, Anika. I am hungry.”

“They can’t eat. They are kosher,” Anika explained.

“Yes, yes … I should have thought of that.”

“It’s really fine,” Rina said. “Peter and I have to start heading back. We still have a young child at home. How long are
you staying in town, Mrs. Wallek?”

“Marta, please. This time, I stay through August. A long time. I must see your mother. Please. It would do well for me. I
think it would do well for her, too.”