Wildflowers of Terezin (6 page)

No, he'd eaten the last of it three days ago.

All right, then. Since eating out had become far too expensive, lately, perhaps a little diet wouldn't hurt him. If only he had something for the throbbing pain in his side where they'd stitched him up. He straightened up his open Bible and sermon notes from the corner of his desk, snapped off the light, and turned to go.

Go back to your sermons, then.

His brother's words had cut deeper than the glass that dug into his side.

Stay inside your church.

He held a hand to his forehead but the headache—like the words—would not leave him.

That's probably where you belong, after all.

For the first time since he'd accepted the call at Sankt Stefan's, Steffen wasn't entirely sure just where he belonged.

OFFICE OF THE GERMAN SHIPPING AGENT, KØBENHAVN

WEDNESDAY, 22 SEPTEMBER 1943

I know what I have to do.

—GEORG DUCKWITZ,

         IN A JOURNAL ENTRY

G
eorg hunted and pecked as well as could be expected, though if pressed he would have to admit he was as unfamiliar with the typewriter keyboard as he was with the reasoning behind Hitler's newest directive. He mumbled to himself as he composed yet another draft to his letter.

"I fear that should the current course of action be carried out as proposed, we may find . . ."

He paused, fingers suspended. We may find . . . what? That we have betrayed whatever shred of conscience remains in the German soul? He feared it was too late to be talking of morals now.

"As Nietzsche would say . . ."

He paused again. Nietzsche was a fool, in his humble opinion, but quoting him might add value to his argument with a military bureaucracy where fools and foolish dogma seemed to have taken control at every level. If they wanted Nietzsche, then, Nietzsche they would have. So he continued his letter, futile as it seemed.

"As Nietzsche would say, that this is a matter beyond good or evil, one of pragmatism alone. My pragmatic view then is that after this past summer of strikes and troubles, I sense the Danish people require just one flimsy excuse, a spark to set this country ablaze. This action is that spark."

He looked out his office window at the København harbor beyond. His eyes followed the waterfront, where he and his wife had enjoyed strolls before this wretched war. There the Little Mermaid stood watch over her harbor, though unfortunately this was no fairy tale. In less than two weeks, two German transport ships would take up station there, ready to transport Danmark's 7,500 Jews to a camp just north of Prague.

Theresienstadt.

And now nothing he wrote or said would make any difference, of that he was certain. He could quote every wretched philosopher, past or present. But why did he now bother with yet another hopeless letter of protest—especially after what he had already done to jeopardize his career? He whipped the latest sheet of onionskin paper out of the typewriter, crumpled it, and tossed it in the overflowing wastebasket at his feet. Better that he should burn the lot—and he seriously considered how he might accomplish that without drawing the attention of the København fire department.

"Is it worth it?" he wondered aloud. And when he took off his horn-rimmed glasses to rub his tired eyes, the harbor scene blurred before him. He heard a soft knock at the door just before his secretary poked her head just inside.

"Pardon me again, Herr Duckwitz, but are you certain you would not like me to type that letter for you? Because Herr Best—"

"Nein, nein." He cut her off as he rolled yet another piece of paper into the typewriter with a flourish. "I'm nearly finished."

"But sir—"

He held up his hand. No, the last thing he wanted was for his gray-haired secretary to know what had been on his mind for the past week, ever since Werner Best had briefed him on what was to happen to Danmark's Jews.

"This is one I'd rather do myself, Anna. I'm still thinking it through, and it would waste your time to have me stumbling about with my words. But thank you for your concern."

"Sir, I mean to say that Herr Best is waiting on the telephone for you."

"Oh! Why didn't you say so? Well, tell him I'm not . . ."Duckwitz paused for a moment before changing his mind."All right, then. I'll take it."

He stared at the telephone on his desk for as long as he dared, then sighed and picked it up, as if he had no idea who was on the other end of the line.

"Shipping Agent Duckwitz here."

"Georg!" Werner Best's voice boomed over the telephone, causing Duckwitz to hold the receiver away from his ear several centimeters. "Glad to hear your voice. You are here in the city, are you not?"

"Of course, Herr
Reichsbevollmächtigter."
He nearly choked on the pretentiously overlong title, which seemed quite overweight even in the language so used to lengthy compound names. Plenipotentiary of the Reich. The man who ruled Danmark's affairs with the gravity and certainty of a Roman emperor, reporting only to Hitler himself. "I'm right here in my office, as always."

"Glad to hear it." It could have been a friendly challenge, nothing more. Georg couldn't quite tell from the tone of the other man's voice. "It's just that you've been gone quite a bit, lately. How was Berlin, by the way?"

"Berlin?" Duckwitz did his best to hold his voice steady.Perhaps everyone knew he had been to Berlin. He just hoped not everyone knew why. "Yes, Berlin was . . . busy as always."

"But they didn't listen to you."

"Listen to me? I'm afraid I don't—"

"Georg, Georg. It's no secret you've opposed the evacuation plan. I know that you went there to lobby for a change."

Duckwitz swallowed hard. If Best knew that much, perhaps he'd also found out about his recent trip to Stockholm and the secret agreement he'd brokered with the Swedes to accept thousands of Jewish refugees, should the need arise.That trip, however, had not been on his official docket.

"Georg?" For a moment Best sounded far away. "Are you there?"

"I'm here,
ja.
Perhaps the connection is not so good."

If only it wasn't.

"Ah, well, as I was saying, frankly I was concerned to hear that you'd taken it upon yourself to go to Berlin. Some people said that in so doing you displayed a certain degree of . . . disloyalty."

If he knew where else I'd been this past week.
Surely he would not have to impose upon the goodwill of the Swedes for his own safety and that of his wife. But he knew the worst could happen, and the thought of escape did cross his mind.Duckwitz swallowed hard as the other man continued.

"Me? The thought never crossed my mind. You're a loyal party member. But, you know, in a way I'm glad you were able to hear all the facts straight from the Führer. That puts your mind at rest, does it not?"

Duckwitz didn't pause long enough to let the other man wonder about his muddied allegiance, though he felt his stomach turning at how much Werner Best knew about his trip, about its purpose . . . even with whom he had spoken.

"Absolutely it does." He hoped he'd added the appropriate dose of enthusiasm.

"I'm gratified to hear you say that. Then you needn't worry anymore about whether this is the best course of action. I mean to say, the
only
course of action,
ja?"

The man was so obviously probing for weakness, for a white flag. He would receive it.

"Ja," replied Duckwitz, "the Führer was very clear to say that the idea of Jews walking around Danmark free was reprehensible and must be stopped. So Danmark shall be
judenrein,
cleared of every last Jew, very shortly. We are all committed to that."

"Wonderful, wonderful. We'll discuss more details tomorrow.But this success will be a highlight in your service to the Reich."

Or the most shameful thing I would ever accomplish.
Duckwitz remained silent and kept his thoughts to himself.

"Oh, and Georg, I needn't mention the critical and confi- dential nature of these plans?"

"Of course, Herr Reichsbevollmächtigter. I understand completely."

Duckwitz wondered if there was technically a difference between understanding confidentiality and actually protecting it.

"Excellent, then, Georg. I have every confidence in you.Always have."

"And I in you, sir."

Naturally Werner Best would not know they still held two entirely divergent views as to how Danmark's Jews might be evacuated, or to where they might be taken.

Georg Duckwitz prayed Best would never find out.