Anna Engel Untold Story
I am a prisoner. Not in any obvious way but I'm still a prisoner nonetheless. Sometimes having those lines defined for you with stone walls, shackles, and crap food not even a dog would eat is much easier than the constantly shifting and sometimes completely vanishing line I must tight-rope walk every day. Not that I would trade places with any of the prisoners that reside here. I don't have to be present in the room where their agonized cries and screeches come from to know I should be relieved my prison is one of fake smiles, fake allegiances, and not-so-fake desperate hope that I don't get caught in my rebellious actions.
I would like to say I was forced into this role of faux fascism but I can't and be honest with myself. I tell myself I'm no good to the resistance dead. And not just The Resistance, but to any resistance against the Third Reich. I tell myself that I'm simply waiting for the moment to strike without having my subterfuge become known to my captors. But when my hand still stings hours later from the slaps I give prisoners to keep up appearances or when I force myself to pen at the end of every report bearing my name the lie "Heil Hitler," saying that I'm doing so because I must, chafes against my mind as the deception that it is.
I glance down to the glowing blonde head of the prisoner I'm currently in charge of watching. She looks up at me expectantly, pausing in her furious scribbling. Those eyes. It's almost as if she knows what I think and is simply waiting, biding time until I show her something. Some sign that my thoughts will somehow become actions. But I fear that if I take that step, my prison walls will transform from intangible gestures to all too real walls of stone and rope binding my hands and ankles to a chair while they ply me with needles and hot irons. I shudder at the thought of what I know this prisoner sitting before me has been through. What I fear I will go through should I commit myself to a cause I believe in but with a mind screaming at me that the risk is not worth my life.
I break eye contact before Thibaut notices and reach for a cigarette from my dress pocket, consequences of smoking on the job be damned. I need it. I need it right now most of all. Besides, it's dull, smoky smell might actually mask the God awful stench currently pervading every nook and cranny of this place. I put the thin paper to my lips and light it, taking a long drag with my eyes closed wishing I was anywhere but here. I feel her eyes on me and somehow, I know that she knows. Knows that her time is almost up. I saw the order sitting on von Linden's desk just yesterday demanding that she be transferred. We both know where she will be taken and what will likely happen to her when she gets there. Such is a fate I would never wish upon anyone, not even my worst enemies.
'La résistance peut aider. Laissez votre réponse dans la serviette pliée sous la table au Café de l'enfant. Saisir la liberté!'
"The Resistance can help. Leave your reply in the folded napkin under the table at the Kid's Café. Seize Freedom!" The words run through my head. I want desperately to tell Julie that Maddie lives but I don't know how. It was Maddie who gave me the tube of lipstick with the message tucked neatly into the side of the lid. I want to go to them for help but I find myself waiting. For what, I don't know. I've already done many things that would get me a cell right next door to Julie's but they have all been such small, innocuous things. Simple things that could have been innocently done from someone not knowing any better. Right…I don't even believe that. I begin to sigh then catch myself.
Our eyes meet again and I can tell that she is no longer writing anything of real value. That's she's simply trying to give herself a stay of execution. Afraid to finish but more afraid not to. I lean down to offer her a cigarette. She takes it from me and allows me to light it for her. I've read this work of hers myself and half of what she's written about me isn't even near the truth. She covers for me so that I do not get into trouble with von Linden. She slowly finishes the cigarette as she finishes reading the scattered pages before her. Under guise of outrage, I tell her that she's writing nonsense now and I take the pen from her hand. With a sigh of defeat, she shuffles the pages together and looks up at me absent that spark of fire and hope that I've always seen sparkling behind her eyes. I almost cry when I see that look on her face and somehow, my resolve hardens. I know what I must do and I will do it. If anything, so that Lady Julie's suffering won't have been in vain.
I quickly put the pen to the palm of my hand and write something I know will tell her that I am ready to help her in the only way I can. I'm no fool. I know hidden amidst the story she has penned for us are instructions for something. Her mission, perhaps. That she, despite the hopelessness of her situation, would still keep up the attempt to complete whatever her mission was astounds and impresses me. As I pick up the crumpled pages of her "confession," I flash the palm of my hand to her:
72 B4 CdB
Quickly, before the ink can dry, I rub my fingers against the inside of my hand to smear the ink, making it illegible. As I begin shuffling the pages I'd just taken from her she speaks.
"That's mine," she says.
I know she's talking about what I had written on my palm. The archive reference I had seen written in her own palm that morning she was caught and I was forced to chloroform her. Knowing Thibaut would think we were simply talking about the pages I now held tightly to my chest, I answer her.
"What use is it to you?"
"No use," she answers back. "Not any more. But if I could…"
"What would you do with it?" I ask quietly, knowing she was talking about the building plans stored under that archive reference number for this very hotel and her own scattered notes about the Hotel of Butchers. "What should I do with it?"
She narrows her eyes on me, assessing me for my true intent, I'm sure. I hope my eyes reflect exactly how resolved I've become in carrying out her wishes. She suddenly has this light in her eyes I haven't seen there in weeks.
"Set fire to it and blow this place to blazes. That would be the best thing to do with it."
My hands tightened on the stack of paper held to my chest.
Her instructions.
Her eyes now hold a kind of challenge in them, an accusing squint, almost as if she dares me to not do as she instructs me.
"Anna the Avenging Angel," she suddenly says, and barks out a laugh, as if to mock me but I know she had seen what I had wanted her to see. I would do as she has asked me.
"Well, it's your problem now."
I nod my head slightly, enough that only she would notice then did the only thing I could think to do so as not to draw notice to our little deceptive discussion. I backhand her and curse her for wasting time by writing such nonsense at the end of the work. With confident determination, I smartly collect myself and leave her room, a plan already formulating in my mind. I know exactly what to do.
******
Julie was transferred yesterday. And yesterday was the day I became a full-fledged traitor. I left a note detailing where and when Julie could be retrieved on her way to the facility they are transporting her to. It was surprisingly easy to sit there at the café, other hotel/prison staff and other various soldiers and locals all going about their business as I secretly worked the napkin free from under the table leg and added my treasonous note before replacing it. My hands shook the entire time and I could feel sweat trickling down my neck, despite the chill of the morning.
I just hope that they will believe what I had to say and that I can count on them for the next part of my plan. If not, I fear not only will I get caught, but that Julie's work will go unfinished. My mind drifts back to the damning pages of Julie's confession hiding in the top drawer of my desk, awaiting my "translation" before I hand it all over to von Linden. Well, even if they don't believe me, I must take that chance. My plan goes into action tonight, one way or the other.
*****
"You must do this for me, Evette. Those pages must make it out of here," I say as I pinch the cigarette between my fingers and take a long drag. I know von Linden's landlady was secretly involved in the Resistance. A fact she knows I uncovered and purposefully kept secret for her.
"Mademoiselle Engel, oui, yes, I want to do this for you but what if I get caught? What do you think will happen to my family?"
"I'm not saying there isn't risk here, but this needs to happen. I'll make sure he's not anywhere near his study so that you can get the pages out. Just use your laundry basket and put some dirty sheets over them or something. It will work. It has to work."
"And when he asks what happened to them?"
I can tell she's made up her mind to help, despite what could happen if she gets caught, but a mother can't help but worry about her family. I get it. I say whatever I can to appease her doubts.
"Well, then you simply say you had thought it garbage that could be used to burn in the furnace. Act dumb and innocent. God knows, you've already got that down pat! You've been doing that acting routine for several months now."
The corners of her mouth twitch in either humor or contempt, I'm not sure which and I don't really care. If she wants to take my statement as a threat that I will turn her in, fine, as long as she does what I need her to do.
"Oui, je comprends. I will do it."
I sigh with relief and leave her to her duties.
Tonight then.
******
I carefully finish underlining the last few words of Julie's "confession," and glance up guiltily when I hear someone passing the door to my office. "…through the cellars and out to a little stone courtyard where there is a gate to the lower lane." The glossy red of the ink underlining the words reminds me of blood and I shiver with a mixture of excitement and fear. Before I lose my nerve, I quickly gather up the pages and shove them in the top drawer of my desk. I just need to wait until von Linden is leaving before I place them on his desk. Evette will do the rest.
*****
I told Haupsturmfuhrer von Linden that one of the prisoners requested to see him. I implied that they might be willing to talk but only to him. It was the only thing I could think to do to ensure that he wouldn't be anywhere near his study when Evette sneaks in and retrieves those pages.
I smile lightly to myself and close my office door behind me to head home for the night. With luck, Julie will have already been rescued and safe with her best friend. With hope, those pages will make it to Maddie's hands and La résistance along with the British will be able to finish out the mission they had sent her here for.
And hopefully at our meeting tomorrow, Maddie will see how truly sorry I am for everything that was done to her friend. I will see this Hotel of Butchers burned to the ground. For you, Julie.
*****
It's done. The pages made it out and I've made contact again with Paul and Mitraillette. The meeting is set for me and Maddie to meet. I truly hope their rescue went as planned. Please, let Julie be alright. I'm setting off for the café now to meet with Maddie. God, how she must hate me. But I must tell her what I know of Julie. That she never gave in. She never gave up. And her thoughts were always of her.
*****
She's dead. God, what a goddamn waste of life! Maddie asked me about helping to blow up the Hotel of Butchers and I asked if that is what she truly wanted. The fire blazing in her eyes was answer enough. I must say, for someone with so little training in espionage, when Maddie was introduced face to face with von Linden, she somehow managed to keep her cool. And I somehow managed to not shiver with revulsion when he tucked my hand through his arm. Do I want to blow up the Hotel of Butchers? God, yes!
Tomorrow.
******
They did it! They actually pulled it off. That nightmarish butcher house is nothing but smoking debris and ash. I only wish I could have seen it first hand. I got my transfer orders this morning - I'm heading to Berlin for a few weeks of training and then on to my new assignment, in which I'll do everything I can to undermine and destroy it. I know I play a dangerous game but to not play it would be a betrayal to my soul, a far worse crime than a betrayal of my country.
I heard that von Linden committed suicide a few days ago when it was discovered that he had been inadvertently helping Julie bring down the Hotel of Butchers. I must say, that was the first time I had genuinely smiled in weeks. God, I miss Julie - even though I had only known her for a handful of weeks, I had seen some of the most raw and genuine aspects of her character and person during that time and I am still in awe of her to this day. I don't think I shall ever forget her. I admit that my continued resistance fighting is mostly due to her. Bravery certainly does come in many forms and I just hope that I can be half as brave as Julie and Maddie.
I'll keep going. I'll keep fighting. For you.