25
Gerlich residence
Haidhausen
“SOPHIE! SOPHIE! YOU HAVE to see this!” Fritz Gerlich came in through the front door of his house, holding groceries from a shop two blocks away, and a newspaper under his arm. “He responded!”
Sophie, on her knees with a hand sweeper, still searching for tiny shards of glass, looked up with an exhausted expression. “Who responded?”
“Who? Hitler, that’s who! In the Post. He wrote a letter to the Munich Post. You know what that means?”
“No. What does it mean?” she said with no enthusiasm, struggling to her feet with a moan, a hand on her back.
She hadn’t slept; neither of them had. It had taken until dawn to board up all the broken windows, nailing pieces of wood over the openings, and right the upended furniture, though the cushions had all been torn open.
The dining room table had collapsed in the middle from the axe hacking by the brownshirts.
The wood floor near the table was destroyed from the fire, leaving a dark black scorch.
It would almost surely have to be replaced.
Thank God for the brandblusser—fire extinguisher—to contain the fire, or they might not have had a house left.
At least the small kitchen table remained intact. Gerlich put the food there. “It means we’re making a mark,” he said. “We have him on the run.”
Sophie reached into the bag. “I’d dare say the Nazis have us on the run, love. Wouldn’t you?” She glared at him. “They nearly killed you. They nearly destroyed our home. And you’re declaring victory? Have you completely lost your senses?”
Gerlich bowed his head. “I understand, Soph. If this weren’t important—”
“Am I important, Fritz?” she cried. “Are we important?”
“Of course—”
“Because if you don’t stop, they won’t stop.
And the more you threaten them, the more harshly they’ll respond.
” She pulled him toward her by the lapels of his coat.
“They’ll kill you, Fritz. And if that isn’t enough to scare you, if you’re so damn committed to some ill-fated journalistic ethic that you’re willing to die for the cause, then how about the fact that they’ll kill me, too?
Does your wife factor in anywhere in this calculus? ”
“Sophie, my dearest.” He put his hands on her cheeks. “This is just what they want. They want to cow us into submiss—”
“Well, then consider me cowed.” She removed his hands and walked back toward the dining room. Then she stopped and turned. “I love you, Fritz, but don’t ask me to stand by and watch you put a gun to your head.”