Chapter 21 In the Hot Seat #2
“Oh,” I said weakly. “Thank you.” The relief was flooding me to such an extent, my legs shook, and I was sure my face was scarlet.
But perhaps this was something that happened if one audited well?
Joe had never audited a class, so he might not know.
“Is this what you wished to talk to me about?” I needed to be at the bookstore by noon, but didn’t dare look at my watch; it would be very rude.
Wait. Was this favoritism? I remembered the bottom-pinching, but Joe was here beside me, and the other professor, too.
Professor Jacobson wasn’t even looking at me, but puffing at his pipe in a contemplative way as it filled the room with its sweet, smoky aroma.
Now, he shuffled through some papers in a file, not seeming in the least overcome by my youth and beauty.
“Not entirely.” This was Professor Webster. “We wanted to ask if you’ve thought about college yourself.”
“I?” I blinked. “No. I’m—well, not a refugee, exactly, but not the … the young girl I was when such a thing would have been possible.”
“Mrs. Stark,” Professor Jacobson said, his voice gentle, “you have a fine mind and have clearly been well educated. Surely this is what your parents wished for you?”
The backs of my arms were tingling with nerves now.
How could I talk about my parents? Doing so always brought emotion, and one didn’t express emotion to professors.
“Yes, of course, but—the war. The Nazis. The bombing. I’m here in America now, and very happy, truly.
Happy to work to help Joe attend college—he’s doing a course that will gain him both his Bachelor of Arts degree and his degree in Law, you know, for he is very intelligent.
This course normally lasts five years, though he hopes to do it in four, and he’s only finishing his second.
Even with the GI Bill—” I stopped, for he didn’t need to hear our personal concerns.
“And it’s such a freedom to be able to read any book one likes!
I had a friend in Germany, a sort of tutor.
He’d been a most renowned professor of literature before Hitler, and he …
I believe the phrase is, ‘took me in hand.’ I’ve learned many things already, and I’ll go on to learn many more.
As long as there are books to read, one can always be educated. ”
“Mrs. Stark.” It was that gentle voice again. “Who were your parents?”
“I— I—” I hardly knew how to go on. Was this a trap? Had they been asked to question me by the government, perhaps, because they suspected my documents weren’t genuine? Was this why they’d asked Joe to be here, too? Could I still be sent back?
“This isn’t a trick question,” Professor Webster said.
He had a keener eye and a more authoritative manner than Professor Jacobson; the privilege of belonging, I supposed.
“We’re wondering who you are, that’s all.
How such a bright—I may say brilliant—and, excuse me, clearly well-born person ended up here. ”
“Germany,” I said, truly flustered now. “The war. Joe. That is how. I was working in a bakery near Nuremberg after becoming a refugee, and Joe was wounded, and I—”
“Before that,” Professor Webster said. “I would have said that your father must be a professor, but with all this secrecy … exactly what was his rank in the Nazi Party? Was he a bureaucrat? An SS officer? Nothing will happen to you if you answer truthfully. We just need to know what we’re dealing with here. ”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I literally couldn’t speak for a moment.
When I could, what came out was a most emphatic, “No!” Most emphatic, and most loud, too.
I went on, controlling my voice with an effort and completely unable to control my face, “Would a Nazi have helped a Jewish family escape? For this is what my father did, and more. Joe has told Professor Jacobson that this was what he did, and Joe is a Jew himself! He interpreted at the liberation of Dachau and at the Nuremberg trials! He would never have accepted this. Never.”
“That’s true, sir.” Joe’s voice was absolutely steady, his face pale and set. “That’s quite an accusation. What grounds do you have to make it?”
“And maybe for that reason,” Professor Webster said, ignoring Joe to focus on me, “you told him a story he could accept.”
“And was Dr. Becker telling a story too?” I flashed back.
“Was his Kennkarte, the one with the big red ‘J’ stamped across it, a forgery? Was his terror of the Gestapo a sham? His extreme thinness, and his little son, Gerhardt, who nearly died from lack of food? You shame me, and you shame yourself with this … this dirty fiction. My father died the night before he was to report to the Gestapo for questioning. He, who refused to fly the Swastika over the palace! Who was burned half to death for his country in the Great War, who was of the most … the most upright character! Who helped others knowing the risk, knowing precisely how much he was hated by Hitler! He died, my mother died, our servants died, and all of them, all of them, I loved. You insult me. You insult my parents’ memory. This I cannot allow.”
Wait. Joe. He stood up suddenly, put his fists on the table, leaned forward a bit, and said, “You insult us both. As a Jew, I ask again—on what grounds?”
Professor Webster, not a bit ruffled, patted the air with his hand. “Oh, sit down, Mr. Stark. Nobody’s insulting anybody. We’re asking, that’s all.”
I said, fighting for control, “I apologize for my unmannerly outburst. Please don’t let Joe suffer for my rudeness. He too is a hero, with medals and … and great honor. I wasn’t raised to be … to be meek and hold my tongue, and I find it very difficult.”
“Because of that palace, maybe,” Professor Webster said. He looked at Professor Jacobson. “In Dresden.”
“The Residenzschloss,” Professor Jacobson said, and at my start of surprise, “Oh, yes, I know it. I too was born and brought up in Dresden, you see, although I studied in Berlin. Mrs. Stark—was your father the King of Saxony? He had a beautiful blonde queen, and a little daughter, too, did he not? You greatly resemble your mother, you know.”
The sweat must be visible on my forehead now.
I wanted to pull out my handkerchief, but how guilty would I look then?
I’d said “the palace.” Why, why, why could I not control my temper, and my tongue?
“He was the Crown Prince,” I said reluctantly, “when the monarchy was abolished. He was never crowned King. But please,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “please, I shouldn’t have said this.
My papers give another name. At first, it wasn’t safe for others to know, and then—well, then, it would have been seen that I’d lied.
And what of it anyway? I’m not Marguerite von Sachsen anymore.
I’m Marguerite Stark, and truly, truly, I don’t wish to be anything else.
” My hands were trembling, and my chin, too. How had I been so stupid?
“Mrs. Stark.” Professor Jacobson’s voice was gentler than ever. “We have no wish to unmask you, if your family were no Nazis. You have proof of this? Of your parentage?”
“I have photographs,” I said reluctantly. “Of my parents and my grandparents. My Kennkarte—meine echte Kennkarte.”
Joe said quietly, “Her true identity document.”
“Yes,” I said. “I had forgotten the word; thank you. And some … some possessions that were indisputably my mother’s. I can show them to you if it will convince you not to reveal my lies.”
“I too was a refugee, do you recall?” Professor Jacobson said. “But your family’s wealth? Your property?”
I shook my head, and now, I did pull out my handkerchief and blot my face.
I would almost certainly be late to work; how I hoped I wouldn’t be fired again!
“In Soviet hands now, and I don’t think they’ll give them up.
For that matter, I don’t think they’ll give up their portion of Germany as readily as the other Allies will.
If I’m wrong—” I shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll be able to reclaim some of what’s mine. But I don’t think I’m wrong.”
“I don’t think so either,” Professor Webster said. “If there’s another war, that’s where it’s going to start.”
I nodded. “I’d like to say, ‘Please don’t say that; don’t talk of war,’ but Stalin is too much like Hitler.
An ambitious man. And unlike Hitler, motivated not so much by a …
a romantic fervor for a past that never existed outside of a Wagner opera, but solely for personal power.
At least that is how he strikes me. Look how he sided first with Hitler, then with the Allies, and now is becoming an enemy again, all for power.
No, I fear my family’s treasures are gone.
But I truly am content, you know,” I hurried to add.
“Life before Joe was rather hard and very lonely, and life for all in Germany even now is very bleak. They’re starving still, you know.
Starving and cold. You may say, ‘This is what they deserve,’ and perhaps you’re right, but the children.
The babies. One can’t hold them responsible, yet they suffer most of all. ”
Joe had sat down, but he was still rigid. He said, “Excuse me, sir, but could you please tell us what’s going on here?”
“Right,” Professor Webster said. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up—going to college yourself isn’t an option? Your parents couldn’t help out, Mr. Stark? You’re on the GI Bill, I take it, but you had a year here before you went into the service, didn’t you? They must have paid for that.”
I laughed despite myself, a short, sharp “Ha!” As for Joe, he said, “No, sir. That won’t be happening.” Sounding calm, but I could see a vein in his temple that told me he wasn’t.
“It’s a pity you’re German, Mrs. Stark,” Professor Webster said. “If you were French, you’d be a shoo-in for a scholarship.”
“Particularly,” Professor Jacobson said drily, “as you’re not Jewish.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m aware that being French would be preferable. But one doesn’t choose one’s birthplace.”
“Right.” Professor Webster butted his papers into his file folder in an end-of-conversation manner.
“Then it remains for us to ask whether you’d like our help to audit a few more courses.
I’ve spoken to some of our faculty. For the Spring quarter, Professor Antonin in Biology is willing, if you want to pursue your studies after Darwin.
He has a seat left. And myself, of course, in History.
Modern American History; how does that sound? ”
“You mean,” I said, “I could audit in both these classes?”
“If somebody’s this thirsty for education,” Professor Webster said, “we like to give it to them. It beats shoving the knowledge down their ungrateful throats.” He shook his head.
“Thank the Lord for the GIs. Maybe everybody should wait to go to college until they’ve suffered a little. It sure would make our job easier.”