Chapter 3 Peaceful Places
Peaceful Places
Berlin
Helene was trying to erase the graffiti painted on the library’s street-facing side. Soap dripped under her coat sleeve and
down her arm, all the way to her armpit. She shivered. This was the ninth—tenth?—time in the past six weeks that the Nazis
had left their mark, and the police simply turned a blind eye, since many policemen were also in the SA or had joined the
Nazi Party. The most recent incident had been worse than the current graffiti. Several masked SA members had thrown rocks
at one of the windows, followed by burning torches once the glass broke. They chose a time of day when a dozen children were
in the library’s playroom. Helene’s assistant Klaus had managed to get the children out in time while the rest of the employees
put out the flames. The damage could have been disastrous, but her police report had been merely filed away at the commissary.
The Nazis could do what they liked without fear of reprisal.
In poorly drawn (and poorly spelled, Helene noted) red letters, the graffiti spelled out, Comunnast Jewshish piggs. Helene was doing her best to erase each letter one by one when a cough from behind alerted her to a man’s presence. The
strong odor of paint thinner had her somewhat dizzy, so when she turned around, it took her a moment to recognize the man
dressed in a worn gray suit and dark brown hat.
“Miss Nathan, I see that the Brownshirts have been at it again. If you would put the library under our protection, we would
ensure the safety of this building and the participation of all members of the Communist Youth in your literacy campaigns.”
“Mr. Fuchs, my position remains unaltered since our previous conversations. Libraries are neutral places, and ideologies should
stay outside their doors. Within the shelves of our common home, Freud, Nietzsche, St. Augustine, and Ernst Wiechert dwell
together in peace.” Helene smiled at a fleeting vision of the authors seated together in rapt debate, as in Raphael’s famous
fresco, The School of Athens.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Our times don’t allow us the luxury of neutrality. Sooner or later one sector of Germany will
dominate the other. Which one do you want?” the toothless old man insisted. His eyes were like the black buttons of a gravedigger’s
suit.
“I don’t want either Th?lmann or Hitler. Friends who live abroad have told me what’s going on in Russia under Stalin and about
the repression in Italy under Benito Mussolini. They’re cut from the same cloth. I’m with Tolstoy: Governments can’t make
people better, but they certainly can make them worse.”
The deeper Fuchs frowned, the more his long white goatee shimmied like a billy goat’s. He liked Helene and the work she did, but those who were not with the Party were against the Party—class enemies. There was no other option.
“That traitor Friedrich Ebert used the Freikorps to stop the revolution and assassinate Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, and now the National Socialists are about to take
over!” He spewed both vitriol and spit at Helene as if she were the cause of it all.
“Please, Mr. Fuchs, lower your voice. The children are inside studying. We would love for you to bring the Communist Youth.
Here they’ll learn respect, tolerance, and love for others, though I don’t know if those are high priorities for you. Sowing
hatred will lead us all to disaster.” Helene punctuated her words as her paintbrush dripped with turpentine.
“You say you love these children, but you want to keep them poor, for the capitalists to keep exploiting the working class.
You’re just a little bourgeoisie playing savior of the world. You’d be better off in a convent. The German youth will either
turn communist or be embraced by the Brownshirts. We are the only ones who can save Germany. I’m serious—look at what happened
in Italy.”
Just then a young officer crossed the street. When he emerged from behind a milk delivery truck, Helene dropped her bucket
and paintbrush and threw herself into his arms.
The elderly communist gave the couple a disgusted look and stalked away muttering insults, as if allergic to any demonstration
of affection.
“Derek! Oh thank God!” Helene cried as he swung her around, something her body had not experienced since she was a child in
her father’s strong arms.
“I got back this morning but had to go to two meetings with the general,” he explained. His enchanting smile melted any resentment she might have felt.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and that’s what’s important,” she said, kissing and touching his face to prove he was
not a figment of her imagination.
Derek looked over Helene’s shoulder at the paint-streaked wall and then, still stroking her neck, asked, “Want some help?”
“You’d get that gorgeous uniform dirty,” she said, patting his lapel carefully.
Derek unbuttoned and removed his jacket, despite the cold. “I didn’t want to waste time changing.”
“We’ve got some extra clothes in the back.”
When the couple entered the library, the children stared at Derek’s spotless uniform in awe. One of the braver kids ran up
and gave Derek a hug.
“Otto, how big you’ve gotten!” Derek exclaimed.
The dark-complected boy grinned, and Derek put his cap on the child’s head. It swallowed him and blocked his eyes, but Otto
felt like the highest-ranking officer in Germany.
“One day will you show me your gun?” Otto asked, trailing alongside as they walked toward the back rooms.
Helene sighed. Why did men love war so much? It seemed as if they needed conflict in order to be happy.
Derek searched in his pockets and pulled out a pistol bullet. Handing it to Otto, he said, “I brought you this.”
Otto studied the projectile, a beautiful gem to his bright eyes. He hugged Derek again and ran to show it to the other boys.
“You’re incorrigible,” Helene scolded, her arms crossed. “I’ve spent years teaching these kids the importance of respect and
living together in peace, and in one second you captivate them with war.”
“You’re seeing it from the wrong end, my love. We soldiers are the ones keeping the peace. If we didn’t, the streets of Berlin would be a battlefield, like it was in 1919.”
Derek changed in the back and started working on the wall outside, while Helene met with Lena and another library employee,
Klaus, in the break room. Her assistants were growing more and more worried.
“What are we going to do?” asked Lena, who seemed ever poised for a nervous breakdown. “This isn’t downtown Berlin. Out here
we’re in the middle of crossfire.”
“Well, let’s hope that a new government will squash the violence,” Klaus said. He was always looking for the positive, and
his chubby face reminded Helene of a big white teddy bear, though Klaus’s mustache was red.
Lena rolled her eyes, exasperated by her colleague’s gullibility. Being from Bavaria, she knew better than anyone how the
Nazis maneuvered, but people from Munich, like Klaus, were natural optimists.
Helene said, “The city council isn’t going to send any guards out here to the library, and the police pay no attention. They
always tell me they have bigger problems to tend to. We’re alone and should trust . . .”
“Trust in what? In divine protection?” Lena snapped.
“Well, yes. Isn’t that what your grandfather, the Lutheran pastor, would say?”
Helene’s words annoyed Lena even more. “Well, we should at least suspend our visits to the most dangerous parts of the neighborhood.
You’re putting us all at risk.” She decided to express her mind, even though she knew exactly how Helene would respond.
“Our missions are crucial. For many of these kids, it’s the only carefree time of their week. We’re helping over one hundred kids, and a lot of them would never learn to read or write without us.”
Klaus smiled and said, “Count on me, boss. Those kids are what keep me going.”
Lena clicked her tongue. “Klaus, you’re a sentimental sucker. I really think this is going to end badly.”
“Misfortune comes of its own accord, and I’m not ashamed to choose happiness, Lena,” Klaus explained.
The smell of sweat and paint thinner alerted the group to Derek’s presence. Paint-stained clothes could not diminish his attractive
elegance.
Lena pursed her lips. He was just a conservative reactionary who had taken a passing fancy to his progressive girlfriend.
Though, she had to admit, it was true that opposites tended to attract.