Chapter 30 The Value of Self-Control #2
I wouldn’t care nearly as much that the war wasn’t over yet, I told myself, if I could spend the time here, where Dr. Becker had resumed daily lessons with the children and begun treating an ever-growing trickle of villagers, and even townspeople from Bayreuth now, who’d mysteriously found their way to our door with their eye and skin complaints, their infected splinters, their worrisome coughs and their babies’ troublesome ears.
He’d struck up a friendship with the pharmacist in Bayreuth and was able to prescribe again, and I’d never seen him so relaxed.
His face looked younger, less drawn, and as for the children?
Last night, Gerhardt had told his father, “I don’t want to hear that baby story.
Read the exciting one instead, please, about Aladdin and the forty thieves.
” Gerhardt, making a request! Someday soon, he might even venture into the little park, where boys could be seen kicking a ball back and forth. Boys who hadn’t forgotten how to play.
That night, I was fast asleep on my couch, in the middle of a confused dream about cowboys and Indians, after staying up too late reading a novel about the Old West—it was rather silly, but very exciting—when Frau Langbein came into the living room, and a minute later, Herr Langbein joined her.
I sat up and said, “Has something happened?” My first thought, of course, was for their son in the East. It didn’t occur to me to wonder why they’d come and tell me about it, of all people.
Herr Langbein said, “Please excuse us, Princess, for disturbing you.” He was in his trousers and shirt, but his hair was rumpled as if he’d been in bed. No wonder. It had to be the middle of the night. Frau Langbein was in her dressing-gown, her hair in a braid down her back.
“Of course,” I said automatically. They had that expression on their face that tells you it’s bad news. “How can I help?”
Herr Langbein sat with a sigh. Frau Langbein stood and twisted her hands together. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I think you must leave.”
I blinked. “Do you—do you need the room, then? Your son—”
She made a dismissive gesture. “No. I wish that were the reason. No, Elsa—Frau Biersack—has found out something, or thinks she has. When she went to market yesterday—” She stopped, then went on.
“She was talking loosely, I suspect, complaining about you and the doctor, and she met a woman from Dresden—there are many, many refugees in Bayreuth, as it’s one of the few places that hasn’t been bombed—and—” She stopped.
“And she’d heard of me,” I said. “Well, that’s no surprise, is it?”
“No,” Frau Langbein said. “Well, yes, she had, but she’d also heard of Dr. Becker.
‘Isn’t that the old Jew,’ she asked her companion, ‘who used to mope about the place in his shabby coat and star? Why he wasn’t shipped off long ago, I never understood.
’ Her companion said, ‘He had an Aryan wife, I heard. These mixed marriages ought never to have been allowed. Are your family Jew-lovers, then?’ she asked Elsa.
And Elsa said, ‘No, of course not. My husband is with the SS in Poland. Do you imagine we’d have a dirty Jew in our house? ’”
Frau Langbein stopped, and after a minute, Herr Langbein said, “I’m afraid she went to the Gauleiter and asked him to look into it.
She told us, ‘What will it do to Fritz’s position if it comes out?
What will it do to ours? They’re as like as not to send us all to a concentration camp!
They should never have come here, endangering us all!
’” He paused and seemed to think, then said gently, “I don’t know if it’s true, but if it is—I don’t think you’re safe here. I’m sorry.”
Frau Langbein was crying into a handkerchief now.
As for me, I was on my feet, a panic I hadn’t felt since that terrible night in the cellars trying to overtake me.
I forced myself to breathe more slowly, to be calm, and said, “I’m very sorry to have put you in danger.
I’m afraid that I myself am not the safest person, either.
My father was wanted for questioning by the Gestapo when he died. ”
Frau Langbein lifted her head and said, “What?”
I’ve never felt so wretched, or so small.
“My mother told me that night—that night before the bombing—that to come here would be to endanger both of you. All of you. And I came anyway. I couldn’t think of where else to go, but that’s no—” I realized I was twisting my nightdress in my hands—I was wearing an old one of Karin’s, who was larger than me—and forced myself to hold still and finish.
“That’s no excuse. I’m sorry. I’ll go wake Herr Becker, and we’ll leave.
” How urgent it felt! I wanted nothing more than to run out into the night. To run and hide.
Frau Langbein said, “Nonsense,” but I wasn’t sure she believed it. “Of course we would have been proud to shelter the King and Queen.”
“But not so much a Jew,” I said.
She spread her hands. “Dr. Becker is a fine man. But—”
“But,” I said, “you have a brother-in-law and a son-in-law in the SS.” Then, in another of those moments I’ve experienced throughout my life, when my tongue gets away from me, I said, “I’m not sure it will go well for the SS after the Allies win.
You see from the bombing how angry they are.
The shoe may be on the other foot then.”
I regretted it instantly, as I always do—how good it feels in the moment to say such things, and how bad afterward!—and said, “Forgive me. If I’m correct, and if I can be of any help to you at that time, please know that I’ll help you as you’ve helped me.”
“But—” Frau Langbein was goggling a bit. “But they’re only soldiers following orders. Soldiers won’t be held responsible. And responsible for what? Guarding a prison camp? Don’t the Americans, the British, the Red Army all have prison camps too?”
I didn’t know the answer, and I didn’t have time for a philosophical discussion. “I don’t know,” I said. “I know very little, actually. I was speculating only. But we’ll go. No time to lose. We’ll pack our things and go now, while it’s dark and we won’t be seen.”
Frau Langbein stood. She wasn’t crying now, but full of determination. “Max will take you in the cart. Take them to … to …”
“To Schnabelwald,” Herr Langbein said. “It will take us a couple of hours on the back roads, and they won’t be looking for you there.
I know a fellow with a barn, and he’ll give you shelter for the rest of the night.
You can take the milk train in the morning.
Go to Nuremberg. It’s in a terrible state, but that’s better for this.
You won’t attract attention in Nuremberg as you do here, and nobody will know you. ”
Frau Langbein nodded. “Yes. To Nuremberg. I’ll make some sandwiches to take with you.”
“I can’t endanger you like that, though, Herr Langbein,” I said. “We’ll walk.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “I’ll hide you under blankets if I must—or better yet, I’ll fill the wagon with hay, and you can burrow into it.
If anybody stops me—and why should they?
—I’ll be delivering the hay to my friend, who’s run out.
That’ll seem true enough. It was a bad winter, and his pastures aren’t as lush as mine.
If you hear voices, take care not to sneeze. ”
“At night?” I said.
He shrugged. “I’m afraid of the bombing raids. I’ve heard the Americans bomb during the day, and I didn’t want to be anywhere close to Nuremberg if they do.”
“And if they come here?” I asked.
“If they come here,” Frau Langbein said, “I’ll tell them you returned to Dresden.
That’s natural, isn’t it? I’ll tell them that Elsa’s story is nonsense, but it doesn’t matter, because you’ve returned to your palace and your people.
They’ll believe that. If the Gauleiter had a palace, he’d never leave it, I’ll tell you that!
The man’s a coward and out for himself.”
“But Frau Biersack,” I said.
“Frau Biersack,” Frau Langbein said grimly, “will say what I tell her to, if she knows what’s good for her.
Or she’ll be out on her ear. And I’ll remind her that when the Americans come, they’ll ask who’s done bad things.
Who’s turned in their neighbors. And that if she doesn’t want me to turn her in, she’ll hold her tongue. ”
By the time I finished the story, the others had finished their cake. I said, “That was my lowest moment. How I blamed myself for my lack of self-control! Would Frau Biersack have said anything to those people if I hadn’t been so rude to her?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sebastian said. “Some people look for grievance.”
“Yes,” I said, “but you don’t have to hand it to them on a platter.
The next day, when we were sheltering in a barn again, because there’d been Gestapo on the train and we’d climbed off it well before Nuremberg, when I wondered how much harm I’d done, whether Dr. Becker would survive my impetuous tongue …
” I sighed. “Yes, that was the low point. If something happened to the Langbeins, too! How would I ever forgive myself, after their kindness?”
“So did something happen?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” I said, “but not by my hand. Two days later, the Americans bombed Bayreuth, and then they bombed it again. The second time, the bombers aimed for the marshaling yards north of the city. The Langbeins’ village was north of the city, too.”
Silence. “Then …” Ben said.
“I went back,” I said, “once the war was over. Once I could. It was a direct hit. There were no survivors.”