The Roses Underneath (28 page)

Anna felt like she was playing a role in a bad play. “Well, all right, Herr Schneider, it’s my husband. He’s caught in the Russian sector, you see, and would like to join me here in Wiesbaden. That was our plan, once I got settled. He’s a doctor and could not leave his patients. But now that things are falling into place, it’s time for him to join us here. Of course we do not have the funds for a train ticket or even the gas needed for a car. He could get transport through the Red Cross or the UN people, but that could take months. Right now he can’t even afford the travel papers he would need to leave the Russian sector. It all costs money, as you know.” She clutched her bag and sighed. It really was a bad performance.

Schneider looked at Schenk and nodded. “Go on.”

“So I was wondering if you could—would—help me divest of a valuable in order to raise the funds we need.”

“What kind of valuable?”

Anna leaned in. “A painting. A landscape. I think it would be of interest to you. And I’d be willing to let it go for very little in order to have my family back together. I mean it’s just a painting after all. It’s useless to me.”

Before Anna knew what was happening, Schenk grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the door, holding her close with a painful grip. Schneider followed behind, fumbling with his hat and muttering apologies.

Anna’s heart pounded in her chest. No one seemed to care or notice that a man was dragging a woman out onto the street. She tried to keep up with his stride but his hand twisted the skin on her arm and made her contort to keep her balance. He pulled her up the street until they were well away from the hotel’s lights and activity.

“Keep on walking,” he said as he let go. “Don’t stop.”

Anna was glad to oblige. He walked alongside her looking straight ahead. “Surely you were not so stupid as to attempt to discuss such a matter under the noses of the
Amis
just now. Please tell me you are not that dumb, Frau Klein,” he snarled. “In your job you must be familiar with the rules of Paragraph 51 of the United State Military Code? Our new law of the land? Cultural objects may not change hands. Not even among friends,” Schenk said. “I can’t imagine why you would ask us to participate in such a transaction.”

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking him.” Anna jerked a finger over her shoulder at Schneider, who came panting up behind them. She stopped walking. “If you don’t mind, this is between me and him. I don’t much appreciate your manners.”

Schenk chuckled. “Silly girl. All right, you talk to him. Ludwig, fill me in later. I’m going home.” He held up a palm and turned north toward the old city.

When he was gone, Anna exhaled. “Look, Herr Schneider I am desperate. I know I could lose my job and end up in jail, but my daughter needs her father. Of course I would be forever in your debt if you took on such a risk on my behalf.”

Schneider snorted. “In my debt? My dear girl, in such a transaction it would be standard for me to receive a percentage of the sale.”

“Of course, yes, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“Look, Frau Klein, this is dangerous. The
Amis
are policing cultural property very closely. Well, I don’t need to tell you that,” he laughed. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you are not setting me up?”

Anna stepped in closer. She towered over the little man. “Setting you up? Why on earth would I do that? Herr Schneider, I’ll be honest with you. The
Amis
are done with you. Your file is closed. I saw it myself. They have no intention of hiring you. But a few good words, perhaps even from my aunt, an affidavit, could help you. Any day now they are going to realize they are in over their heads and they’ll be looking around for help. You know how it is. You get desperate, you break the rules. And you could find yourself working with the greatest art in the world. I held a Rembrandt in my hands today. Don’t you want to make sure those masterpieces stay in Germany? That these valuables get returned to the right hands? To German hands? You can tell them what you know. Make it up, they can’t tell the difference. You tell them something belongs in the Nationalgallerie in Berlin or the Staedel in Frankfurt or to some private collector friend of yours, what other authority do they have? The records are all gone,” she lied.

Schneider looked skeptical but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. Anna hoped it was greed. She kept going.

“But if my husband can’t get here, I will have to leave and be with him. Maybe as soon as next week. So if you want my help, you will have to do this for me first. But time is short and there are only so many jobs available at the Collecting Point.” She looked at the clock on the storefront behind him. “Now, I really have to go.” She turned away. “Good evening Herr Schneider. Please let me know what you decide. You know where you can find me.” She began walking, taking long strides to put distance between her and the little man.

The grunting and snorting took a good minute to catch up with her. “Frau Klein, just a moment,
please.” Schneider took her elbow. “May I see the item?” he asked.

“You may see it if you agree to the transaction,” Anna snapped. “I am coming to you in good faith. As a friend.”

“Perhaps you can tell me more about it? In case I were to know a buyer?”

Anna paused. “It’s a landscape, as I’ve said. That’s all I will tell you.” She looked over his head and waited for the next round.

“How do I know the
Ami
didn’t put you up to this?” he said.

Anna grit her teeth. She waved her hand for him to step closer. “Trust me, Herr Schneider. No one over there is thinking about you or me. They’ve got what they came here for. You think the
Ami
gives a damn about you or what you do? They just want to get their hands on the art. But if you help me, I’ll help you. Maybe you can still make a difference.” She sounded like Cooper.

Schneider let the offer lie for a moment. An internal debate distorted his face into a series of grimaces, as if he was trying to dislodge something stuck between his teeth. Finally, he waggled his head and negotiated himself into agreement.

“All right. You bring me the item tomorrow at the Nassauer Hof. You come alone. If I even smell the hint of a rat or an
Ami,
I will deny everything, and I am not above denouncing you. I have come too far through this mess to be tripped up by some half-baked scheme. This is not a game. You want to put your family back together, you’d better be on the up-and-up. Do you understand?” He spat the words from a contorted mouth and for an instant, Anna saw the Ludwig Schneider of 1939, all self-interest and desperation.

Anna nodded. “And this is just between us?”

“Just between us.”

Anna squared her shoulders and extended her hand. “Shall we say seven o’clock? Tomorrow?”

When Anna entered, the apartment was quiet and dark. It was 7:45, nearly Amalia’s bedtime, but no one was home. The bed was made and the dishes were put away.
The Snow Queen
lay open on the sofa. Anna looked around and felt disoriented. She wondered what she should feel. Alarm? Concern? Nothing? She went to the window and looked down onto the street. Long shadows contradicted the bright sky above. There was no sign of either Amalia or Madeleine. She stood for several minutes, hoping they would turn the corner from the Rheinstrasse, maybe with a loaf of bread or some other explanation for their outing. When they did not appear, Anna turned back to the room, looking for a note or some other clue. She looked at the clock again. Maybe they were visiting Frau Hermann downstairs. As she fished her key out of her bag, a knock at the door startled her.

Relieved, she walked to the door, ready to give her daughter a stern talking to.

A second knock came. Authoritative.

“Frau Klein? Anna Klein?” a voice called.
Americans
.

“Yes?” Anna felt the air go very still.

“Open up. United States Military Police. Open this door right now.”

She froze. For a flash she hoped maybe it was Cooper playing a joke on her.

“Right now, ma’am. I’m not saying it again,” the voice barked. She heard footsteps and then a second voice, consulting quietly.

She pulled the door open and peered through the crack. The MP on the other side was built like a tank, all bottom-heavy with a tiny turret for a head.

“Yes?” Anna’s throat tightened. “What’s happened?”

“You’ll need to come with me.
Down to HQ. Someone needs to have a word.”

“What? Why? Is this about my daughter?” She took a step back and held on to the
door frame with her right hand.

“Just come with me, ma’am. Bring your papers.” The MP shifted his weight and the old wooden floor of the landing creaked. His colleague stepped into Anna’s view. He was a taller, thinner figure, his face long and heavy with disdain.

“Let’s go, Fraulein,” he said and moved his hand to his holster.

Anna lifted her chin. “It’s Frau. I must leave a note for my family. Is that allowed?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just make it quick,” the short one said.

“Where are you taking me?”

The tall one sighed. “HQ at Paulinenstrasse. Hurry it up.”

Anna scribbled a note for Madeleine and left it on the small table next to the door. She took her bag and went out, locking the door behind her. The tall MP grabbed her arm and pushed her to the stairs. “Let’s go. Jesus Christ.”

“Take it easy, Matthews, she’s coming,” said the other one.

Anna could feel condemning eyes peering through the peepholes and cracked doors as they went down the stairs. Outside, the tall one gripped her arm harder, as if she would try to escape, and pushed her into the waiting jeep.

“All right,” Anna snapped. “I’m coming.” She pulled her arm free. As she righted herself, she saw Frau Hermann standing in the gate to the courtyard, wiping her hands on a towel as if she had just come straight from her kitchen sink. Anna tried to call out to ask about Amalia but the jeep pulled away and made a u-turn toward the city. Anna’s heart thrashed in her chest and her hands went hollow. These were not the MPs from the Monuments Men unit. She had never seen these men before. She clutched her bag on her lap and planted her feet to keep from sliding around the back seat. People on the street looked at her, some with pity, some with barely concealed triumph. They turned onto the Wilhelmstrasse, passed the Collecting Point, and then drove down the Luisenstrasse. Anna looked for Amalia and Madeleine’s faces in the long evening shadows

“Excuse me, sir?” She tried to lean forward as the jeep lurched. “You know I am the only guardian of a small child. I can’t be away all night.”

“Tell it to the judge,” the bad-tempered one grunted.

She tried again. “Also, I work at the Collecting Point. For Captain Cooper? Henry Cooper? All my papers have been checked.”

“Lady, I can’t help you. We were just told to pick you up.”

“Who? Who told you to pick me up?”

“Look, I did you a favor and didn’t cuff you in front of your neighbors. But you need to shut up and stop asking questions.” His head swiveled and he shot her an angry look.

Anna slumped back in the seat. Cuff her? Her mind was frantic. Had someone denounced her?
People denounced each other, telling the Americans about some Nazi past of a former friend or neighbor that may or may not be true, just to get revenge, she knew that. But who? And why? She tossed around the possibilities. Maybe they had the wrong Anna Klein. It was a common enough name. She exhaled and tried to calm herself.

When the jeep came to a stop in front of an old estate, now the plush headquarters of the U.S. Forces European Theater, she dared to breathe a small sigh of relief. With its gardens and colonnades it was hardly a prison or torture chamber. Still, it was very high level. The big MP with the small head pulled her out of the car and marched her inside where he deposited her on one of a wooden chair, one of many lined up along the wall of a large entry foyer. “Stay here,” he said and walked to the front desk. He talked with the young officer, gesturing toward her and signing some papers.

Anna looked around. The place was spotless with all new chairs and desks—a far cry from the hodge-podge of the Collecting Point. A large American flag hung from the ceiling and a smiling Eisenhower gazed down from the photo on the wall. His peacetime portrait. The new American president, Truman, was next to him, looking earnest but benign, like a kindly uncle. People in crisp starched uniforms came and went—the women in WAC uniforms and men with squeaky shoes.

Next to her an old man sat resting his hands on a wooden cane. A threadbare suit hung on his frame and threatened to swallow him. He caught her eye and glared. The clock ticked just past 8:30. Anna hoped that Amalia was now home safe and sound and that Madeleine was comforting her, maybe lying in bed and reading her book. That was the best-case scenario. If they got picked up after curfew they would be taken to some police station overnight. Maybe Madeleine had fallen ill and Amalia had tried to get help. Or something could have had happened to Amalia. They could be at the hospital. Or worse. Anna’s insides wrenched.