When the Doves Disappeared (29 page)

The railing shook as Juudit leaned on it, and I had to let go. The stairs groaned under the weight of her uncontrollable giggles. A door downstairs opened and closed. Someone had peeked out into the hallway. I grabbed Juudit by the shoulder and shook her. The smell of her Baltic baron, his heat, his sickening stench, came out of her gaping mouth, and I had to put one hand over my nose, the other hand squeezing her arm until her delicate elbow popped. She didn’t stop, her laughter jerking through my body, mocking my powerlessness. I had to keep her quiet, but I didn’t know what to do, feeling her close to me, like a little bird in my hand.

“Are you trying to get us caught? Do you know what they would do to you? Is that what you want? Is that what you’re hoping for?”

I tried to listen with one ear for the downstairs neighbor or any noise from outside. Maybe someone had already called the police, maybe we should empty the apartment, but there were still hours to go before the truck arrived. I fumbled for my Walther and my shaky balance faltered. Juudit was limp, not even trying to get loose. We fell onto the landing. Her light body was on top of me, my hand still clutching her arm. Her open mouth closed over mine, her breasts pouring out of her blouse. It was so silent that I could hear the change in her odor, salty as sea stones, her tongue like a slippery tail swimming into my mouth. My body betrayed me, my hand let go of her arm and moved to her hips, and then the thing happened that shouldn’t have happened.

WHEN WE GOT OUTSIDE,
I adjusted my clothes several times. Juudit washed her hands in the freezing water of the rain barrel. We didn’t look at each other.

“Do you think the neighbor will call the police?”

“The neighbor?”

“Your neighbor came to the door.”

Juudit may have flinched. “No. She knows my mother. I’ll go talk to her once we’re back inside.”

“Should we pay her off?”

“Roland, she’s a friend of my mother’s!”

“These days you have to pay even your friends. There are all kinds of people coming and going, and I assume your mother doesn’t know anything about what’s going on.”

“Roland!”

“Pay her something!”

“I can give her some ration stamps. I’ll tell her I don’t need them.”

I took hold of her wet hand and pressed it to my lips, which still tasted of the pure sweetness of her mouth. Her skin smelled like autumn, like raindrops on a ripe apple. I fought back a sudden desire to bite her hand. Where had the smell of her German gone? She smelled like my land, like she was born in my land, like she would molder in my land, my land’s own bride, and suddenly I needed to ask her forgiveness for how hard I’d been on her, so many times. The stars sifted through the clouds into her eyes, and her eyes were like forest doves bathed in milk. Darkness covered my awkwardness; I didn’t open my mouth. Tender feelings didn’t fit the time.

I put my hand on her neck and wrapped a curled wisp of her hair around my finger. Her neck was soft, like peacetime.

Reval, Estland General Commissariat, Ostland National Commissariat

E
DGAR GLANCED AT
SS-Hauptsturmführer Hertz sitting beside him. Hertz leaned against the Opel’s headrest, his graceful, manly legs spread. He looked tired of traveling; he was constantly checking his watch, clearly wanting to get where they were going and back to Tallinn as soon as possible. It was a bad sign. Edgar had prepared himself well for the visit. Up-to-date figures waited in his portfolio, neatly arranged. He’d organized a tour to present the progress at the Vaivara manufacturing facility. And there were other matters that needed to be resolved. He’d made arrangements ahead of time with SS-Obersturmführer von Bodmann regarding which things to emphasize. He should talk about prisoners of war—without them it would be tough for Vaivara to succeed. The next prisoner convoy list was once again full of Jewish names. This was a manufacturing camp, administered by the Organisation Todt military engineers—Jews weren’t under their jurisdiction. But there was nothing Edgar could do about it unless the others agreed to discuss the matter. They had to find a solution, to get Hauptsturmführer Hertz to listen to Bodmann. He was the head physician of the camp, after all. But Edgar’s mind kept coming back to Hertz and Juudit’s relationship. In this same car, the man’s hand had lifted to touch Juudit’s ear; Juudit’s hand had
perhaps been on this door handle, her handbag on that cushion. On this very seat, Juudit had bent toward her lover, nestled against him, pressed her cheek to his collar insignia, the hem of her skirt perhaps revealing her knees, where the man had perhaps put his hand, Juudit calling him by his first name.

The Hauptsturmführer’s collar wasn’t smudged with powder this time, his uniform braid didn’t smell of a woman who’d rubbed up against it. He would return to Germany or tire of his war bride before long, like they all did. But the gesture of his hand when he’d brushed Juudit’s ear still troubled Edgar. The city was swimming with finer ladies, but Juudit had managed to catch a man who could slurp up oysters in Berlin while meting out death sentences in Ostland, a man whose accuracy with a Parabellum would no doubt be just as amazing. She’d caught a man fit for someone better than her. The situation was problematic.

Edgar leaned against the car window, which banged his forehead with every bump. It felt pleasant, shook his thoughts into place, shoved the brain-corroding obsession to the back of his mind. He had never been this close to Hertz—SS-Hauptsturmführer Hertz. The driver’s neck was sturdy; his voice was ringing as he hummed and sang. Juudit hardly would have discussed her marriage, but how would Hertz feel if he knew her husband was Mr. Fürst? He would hate him, that went without saying, and it was exactly what Edgar didn’t want.

“Bauführer Fürst, I heard that you’ve had some problems with food smuggling—some of the Todt men bringing food for the prisoners.”

“It’s true, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer. We’re trying to break the chain. On the other hand, the subversive activity can be kept to a minimum if—”

“We can’t allow any exceptions. Why are they doing it?”

Edgar concentrated on staring at the collar insignia. He didn’t want his words to come out wrong. It wasn’t clear what kind of answer Hertz wanted—something to reinforce his own opinion, something in opposition to it, or something else. The memory of Juudit’s gesture brushed Edgar’s temple again and he wished he knew what kinds of conversations she had with Hertz. Was she an honest lover, or did she tell him what he wanted to hear?

Edgar coughed. “These people are an unusual case, a disgrace to the
race. But it’s possible they were attempting to bring food to the camp for Estonians only, not for Jews.”

“According to the reports, local people were giving them food as well when they were sent to work outside the camp. Where did such sympathies come from?”

“Outliers, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer. I’m sure they mean to feed only the prisoners of war. They know that the Jews led the destruction battalions here in 1941. The State Commissariat for Internal Affairs and the Bolshevik Party were led by Jews, we all know that. The politruks and the commissars were all Jews. Not to mention Trotsky, Zinovyev, Radek, Litvinov. The leaders’ Jewish backgrounds are well known! When the Soviet Union occupied Estonia, the country was flooded with Jews. They were particularly active in the political reorganization, Herr SS-Hauptsturmführer!”

Hellmuth Hertz opened his mouth and breathed in, as if he were going to comment on the tone of Edgar’s defense. But then he didn’t. Edgar decided to take a risk.

“Of course the situation is affected by the fact that some Estonians knew people in the destruction battalions, and those people weren’t Jews.”

“I’m sure there were non-Jews among them, but the most important ones, the ones who made the decisions—”

“Were Jews. I know.” Finishing Hertz’s sentence was cheeky, but Hertz didn’t seem to notice. He just took out a silver flask and two schnapps glasses. The sudden brotherly gesture delighted Edgar, and the heat of the cognac dispersed the doubts he’d felt in formulating his answers. He couldn’t be completely sure whether Untersturmführer Mentzel had kept quiet about his activities during the Soviet days, although he’d given his word. The irony was that Edgar’s experience during his years with the Commissariat for Internal Affairs had proved abundantly practical in his work at Vaivara, which was why he dared to assure the Germans that the labor transports would go without a hitch. And they did. He’d had many stimulating discussions on the subject with Bodmann, who had an interest in psychology. People were too afraid of trains. Every car was a reminder that if the Germans withdrew, the next trains would take Estonians straight to Siberia. Some daredevil might bring some bread and water if a Jew managed to tear open a window and thrust a mug out, but Edgar
didn’t report those incidents, even to Bodmann. Some risks were necessary for the sake of productivity. But what if Hertz’s comments about the destruction battalions were meant as a hint? He of all people knew that the talk of Jews in the Soviet army was greatly exaggerated, but did saying so make Edgar questionable? Or was he worrying about nothing—was he just infected by the Germans’ worried mood? All around him, faces were growing taut and shrunken, day by day, like mushrooms drying in the oven.

SS-HAUPTSTURMFÜHRER HERTZ
carefully lowered his shined boots onto the muddy ground of the camp, his nose wrinkling slightly. Edgar glanced at the guards, among them many Russians, which was good—they wouldn’t recognize him. SS-Obersturmführer von Bodmann stepped into the administration barracks as soon as Hertz and Edgar arrived. Greetings, the clicking of heels. Bodmann and Edgar exchanged a glance—they would get right down to business as soon as the formalities were over. Bodmann and Edgar had been on a first-name basis ever since Bodmann realized that they shared the same concerns about what was needed for the camp’s success. Sometimes it seemed as if they were the only ones who cared if it succeeded. The labor force was weak and a typhus epidemic had taken a heavy toll; a saboteur had even collected lice from the infected in a matchbox and purposely spread the infection. Bodmann had sent repeated requests for clothing and medicine, but to no avail. If Edgar saw locals giving food to the prisoners, he looked the other way, since there was no danger of being charged for dereliction of duty. The German engineers who had been stationed there with their families, on the other hand, were amazingly strict. An engineer’s wife had beaten the Jewish cleaning woman senseless for nothing more than swiping the key to the bread box. With Bodmann he could at least discuss the food problem—with the engineers he clearly couldn’t.

“Every prisoner should bring in two cubic meters of shale per day, and from that we can extract a liter of oil in two hours.” Bodmann’s voice was raised. “Do you understand how the Reich suffers if even one worker provides inadequate input? And it’s happening too often. The prisoners of war are physically stronger, but the Jews from the Vilnius ghetto are in
such a weakened condition that I need more supplies to get them in working shape. Bauführer Fürst, please explain the situation.”

“The business owners don’t want Jews. Even if it is a question of just a few thousand, compared to tens of thousands of prisoners of war, delegating the labor is challenging. The prisoners of war are so much more desirable, the results are so much better when we can use able-bodied workers.”

“Exactly. Hauptsturmführer Hertz, we’ve repeatedly inquired about what to do with the elderly—has anyone read our reports? Why should whole families be sent from Vilnius? In some families there are no physically capable men at all,” Bodmann said.

“Send them somewhere else,” Hertz barked. Edgar noted a slight lack of respect in his tone. Bodmann was the SS-Obersturmführer, after all, and the leader of the camp.

“Out of Estland, you mean?” Edgar asked.

“Out of sight, wherever you like!”

“Thank you. That’s exactly what I wanted to know. We haven’t received any confirmation for such an action in spite of our requests and Mineralöl-Kommando Estland has promised us more laborers. We need usable workers.”