Yay! It's up!
I have also went back and edited Ch. 34. Nothing changed plot wise, but some of the word repetition and awkward phrasing has been cleaned up, as well as a couple of paragraphs added to make the flow better.
4/10 I went back to look at Ch. 34 and only like 1% of the changes I made were saved by the site! *sobs* So don't read it yet, I will redo it and post another note when it is changed.
4/24 Its finally updated!
Kaufering.
The sign is planted along the road, innocent-looking among the glowing leaves of autumn. My hands twist together in my lap. Henrich's arm is across the seatback from where he sits next to me, his hand resting lightly on the back of my neck despite the amount of distance I've put between us. I ignore it silently.
"Pull over here," Dr. Mueller directs the driver from the front. "This is a good spot to start."
The doctor has been sullen in the months since the telegram. Sullen and cold, even compared to before. My sudden obstinacy grates against his moods and the summer had been long and painful. Even Henrich has been quiet around him, wary of his worsening disposition. I think he is looking forward to his SS training and freedom from us.
Not that it stops him from inflicting the worst upon me. At least the cooling weather means long sleeves to cover the rings of bruises around my arms in the shape of his hands.
My thoughts must come across my face and his hand tightens slightly on my neck, making me shudder. He looks to me crossly.
"Don't pull any of your shit this time, Caroline. Do what you are told and be nice."
We are going to this place as a last resort. I'm supposed to understand that if I don't start cooperating again I am going to end up somewhere like it. A subversive. Just like my parents.
I am not sure if I would mind. I deserve it after what I've done.
Henrich is still glaring reproachfully at me and I give him wide, toothy smile sarcastically in return. "Like this?"
His fingers dig into my neck and I hiss in pain.
"Stop it, you two," Dr. Mueller growls at us, throwing his door open. "Get out, Caroline."
I cooperate only because for the time being it is easier than dealing with his anger. Tersely, he orders me to stand by the sign while the driver puts film in the camera. The spot on my neck where Henrich grabbed is hot and throbbing and I know I'll have another mark to cover. The scar on my temple is beginning to fade to pink so for once I don't have to turn that side of my face away during pictures.
"Smile," the driver calls out, holding up the camera. I flick my eyes over to Henrich, who scowls while he leans against the car, smoking. Testing my luck, I flash that same horrid grin. His expression devolves into a glower.
The flashbulb explodes. "Perfect," Dr. Mueller exclaims, for a moment looking less gloomy than usual. "I am glad to see that you have finally decided to come around."
Hiding my sneer with a solemn nod, I make my way back to the car. Henrich throws his cigarette away and gives me a rough shove back into the rear seat. "Yes," he confirms derisively in my ear, "how wonderful of you."
He is probably going to make me pay later. I don't reply to him and turn my head to watch out the window as we pull away and continue towards the camp.
As the road winds through the woods the driver opens the vent windows against the midday sun warming the stuffy, airless interior of the car. With the sudden breeze comes a distinct acidic tang that grows more powerful as we get closer to our destination. It immediately burns my throat and makes my eyes water.
"What is that?" Henrich asks loudly, fishing out a handkerchief to press to his nose. Dr. Mueller doesn't acknowledge him.
Ahead, a column of black smoke rises in the sky and the smell grows chokingly worse. The driver shifts in his seat uncomfortably, a green tinge coloring his face.
Apprehension curls in my stomach and I screw my fingers together again.
The road ends at a set of locked gates and a barbed wire fence stretching as far as I can see. We slow to a stop as a flurry of movement appears at the tower overlooking our car and a moment later a guard dressed in black rushes out to meet us. Dr. Mueller rolls down his window and the guard's eyes sweep through the car, lingering on me until Dr. Mueller shoves a wallet of credentials in his face to break his gaze. Henrich's hand is suddenly back on my neck, this time possessively.
"We are the Mueller party, here for a scheduled tour," the doctor says sourly.
"Of course," the guard responds, recovering and taking the papers. Flipping through them quickly, he looks in the car again. "It is a pleasure to have you here." His eyes meet mine for a second time. "Especially you, Fraulein Alsbach. I must warn you that you might be inundated with autograph requests." Cracking a smile, he hands the wallet back to Dr. Mueller. "The men here have been looking forward to your arrival."
He's harmless, but Henrich nearly growls next to me.
"I am sure they are," Dr. Mueller cuts in before Henrich can cause a scene. "If you would be so kind as to show us the way…"
The guard clears his throat and points somewhere past the fence. "Give me a moment to tell them to open the gate and you can drive through. Take your first left and park in front of the administration building at the end. The kommandant will meet you there."
Dr. Mueller gives a curt nod and rolls up his window without offering thanks. As the gates creak open he twists back to face us.
"Control yourself, Lehmann," he snaps. "We can't afford another mess up like the Wolf's Lair."
"He was fucking drooling over her!" Henrich says back just as angrily. "You are the one who won't make her wear the fucking engagement ring."
I set my jaw as both of their gazes fall to me and we start forward into the camp. "I won't."
Henrich's hand balls into a fist. "You're fucking mine, Caroline. It's past time you accept it."
"Never," I hiss back.
He grabs my arm, tugging me over towards him. "You little bitch – "
"Enough!" Dr. Mueller roars and Henrich lets go of me immediately. "I'm sick of this and of both of you. Henrich, if you want to join the SS grow up and conduct yourself like an officer. No more cursing and grabbing women in public. Caroline, if you are going to be stubborn so be it. You and Henrich are going to be married the minute we return to Berlin."
I feel my jaw drop and fall back against the seat. This is not the plan. I have more time than – "What? You said that you were going to wait –"
"I know what I said. But if you are going to behave this way your eighteenth birthday won't come soon enough. Prussia was a disaster and you on the verge of ruining this too. Maybe being married to Henrich will straighten you out once and for all. I don't want to hear another word about it."
Henrich turns towards me, his expression slimy and delighted. "Well, I must say that is the best news I've ever heard, dear," he jeers.
Before I can respond we are stopping in front of the administration building and I'm pulled out. A fat man, his chest shiny with metals and ribbons, waits for us at the entry. He starts talking as soon as he sees us, but his words are lost in the teeming anxiety rapidly muffling everything except my racing pulse in my ears. Married. Henrich and I are actually going to be married. Probably before the week is out.
I feel his presence next to me, hot and disconcerting. His authority would supplant Dr. Mueller's and the slow torment until now is going to become constant, unstoppable suffering. He'll break my fingers until I wear the ring. He'll break my body until I am disposable. He'll break my will until I am nothing but a slave.
I can't let that happen.
We are walking, Henrich holding onto my elbow firmly, and the fat man pointing out things as we go. The smell is intensely awful but he doesn't seem to notice. Even Dr. Mueller wipes his nose carefully. Remotely I hear the kommandant point out the guard's quarters, more administration buildings, and the employee mess. The area seems empty except for us.
The sun is bouncing off of Henrich's blonde, oiled air, bright in a mirror shine. Staring at him I remember our last night in Berlin before coming here. Merciless and brutal in the unhelping isolation of my hotel room. Locks don't stop him now. Neither does my resistance, sober – unlike the first night – and unrelenting no matter what.
I'll kill myself before I take those vows.
The leader of our little tour group swings around the corner, leaving the staff area for the main yard of the camp. Unlike the buildings behind us this space is teeming with people.
The rotting and diseased air hangs over them in a toxic cloud.
The kommandant makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, presenting the sight before us like a prize in a lottery drawing.
Henrich stops pulling me and I stop moving. The writhing, recoiling collection of men before us move in a real play of Dante's Hell, a scene of horror and disgusting perversion of basic human dignity presided over by men in uniforms identical to my own. As I suck in another sharp breath of the venomous poison curling around us I take in the spectacle of absolute, abject suffering.
I was not blind. Nor was I stupid child any longer. I knew what was going on. I knew what the Final Solution entailed.
But somehow it never seemed real. It was something done Somewhere Else to Other People. Something that earned my pity and faint revulsion, but not something I could afford to take a stand against and certainly not something I could voice an opinion in opposition. Dr. Mueller may tolerate my current disobedience for whatever reason, but softening once more towards Jews?
A shudder claws down my back. There are things he would do that even I was still afraid of.
It was easier before, though. When the Jews were pictures in the books and fuzzy memories from my previous life. Shouting anti-Semitism on command took nothing because it meant nothing. Just words that I knew would spare me the physical pain I was so tired of bearing. The beliefs that came along with them? By the end of the camp that was lumped in with my depressing defeat on everything else I capitulated. Everyone was dead and life meant nothing. What did it matter what I thought?
But ignorance was a blissful dream bound to shatter as soon as I accepted the one thing damning me for eternity. If only I had known. If only I realized how much worse it was going to get and that the mental sacrifices I made then would compound my misery now. If I held out, even silently, at least I would have my own moral righteousness to give me comfort in the unending and unbearable days.
But I didn't.
I killed my mother. I hated Jews. I became a Nazi.
Now I have nothing but condemnation to haunt me when I close my eyes. Condemnation all the more deserving by what is faces us as we stand behind the smiling, bragging kommandant.
Poor men. Human beings, broken down and ground into unspeakably wretched ghosts.
They dirty, slovenly, and wasted to bones. They rush to and fro across the yard with their heads bowed and their shoulders curved forward. Their eyes never leave the ground and they don't react to our presence. Buzzing from place to place, carrying tools or running with their hands empty, they are like an ant hill that has been stepped on, moving furiously and frantically if ultimately fruitlessly.
Jews.
Imprisoned and enslaved. Dying before me, slowly with every breath shortened by starvation and hardship.
By us.
By me.
The Final Solution in practice and it is more horrible than I could have ever conceived. Not that this was any excuse. I had none. I was complicit in the genocide executing itself directly in front of me the moment I gave in I stepped on that stage and said that oath.
What have I lowered myself to? What part of my decency as a person have I sacrificed?
All of it.
The face of it is revolting and wrenching, physically throwing me forward until I'm bent in half, arms wrapped around my middle and my forehead at my knees. The face of what we have done and what we accomplished. What our glorious and brilliant Fuhrer has convinced us to do.
Racial extermination.
What is happening was distant in the black and white of the books and newspapers. Simple to dismiss and continue to wallow in what directly made me depressed. I understood that the Reich was Germany's return to glory. Our victories were what we deserved as restitution for the wrongs of The Great War. I, along with every German, wanted to return to our place in the sun we deserved according to our history books. Our Lebensraum.
But through this? Doing this? This…this was not what victory looks like.
This is evil. This is the wrong side of history.
We are the enemy. The ones who must lose for the good of everyone else. Everything was backwards and upside down. Do villains become self-aware? Is there ever a moment when one realizes the magnitude of destruction and criminal violence his will has caused?
My God. I had been so wrapped up in the day-to-day of my circumstances that I allowed myself to be completely oblivious. Me, the daughter of people who knew what the stakes were and sacrificed their lives trying to do the right thing.
And in their memory I turned a blind eye to everything and spilled their blood with my own hands.
Henrich is cranking me back upright, whispering furiously in my ear. We are in the back of the group, behind the other camp officers and Dr. Mueller. No one notices that I'm nearly falling until his angry tone breaks over the din of the desolation happening before us.
"Frauline Alsbach?" the kommandant calls. "Are you alright?"
I wipe my face with my gloved hands. They come away wet.
"This is her first visit to a concentration camp, sir," Henrich answers for me. "I'm afraid the sights and… odors might be a touch overwhelming."
His hurting handle on me belies his apologetic tone.
"Of course," the man answers, his voice condescending and unimpressed. "I have found it hard for women to understand what we are doing here. They don't have the stomach for war or for what it takes to achieve total victory."
He gives an arrogant smile and I can't force myself to glare back. He lives here and walks among this every day. How can he possibly rectify this with his own humanity? How depraved does he have to be to do this to these innocent people?
But my knees are still quivering and I'm grateful that he continues to drone on about the camp rather than call me out further. I immediately blink my eyes to clear them when I catch him looking at me again. I won't have another mouth-breathing Nazi officer treat me like a dumb, tepid piece of meat.
I need to figure out what to do.
"I don't want to stress Frauline Alsbach further by taking you into the crematorium," the kommandant continues, chuckling, "but it was designed to be the first of its kind – able to handle volumes before now unknown. Auschwitz-Birkenau has four crematoria that handle 60,000 units a year each. Ours handles 90,000 alone."
Henrich's hold on me stiffens as if he expects me to collapse again. I nearly do. Units. Not bodies, not people. Units. 90,000. There weren't that many prisoners total in this place. How many more were going to come? How many more were going to be sentenced to death?
Shoes scrape on gravel and we are moving forwards, into the ill-fated mass of Jews. There are shouts of orders and everything stills suddenly and severely. Frozen, they stop in the middle of their movements, their heads lowered respectfully towards us. As we drift through this motionless sea of men, Henrich dragging me along and the kommandant bloviating onward, I look around helplessly.
What can I do? What can I, one person who can't even help herself, do?
"Ahead of us in the work house. The Jews have proven to be proficient workers given the proper motivation. This one produces ammunition – 50,000 rounds last month. A camp record."
We enter a building that ads a layer of metallic vapor to the stench of destruction. The workers stop immediately much like the ones outside. A line of presses, steaming and roaring, fill the open space in neat rows. At their feet sit boxes of freshly made bullets. The prisoners here doff their dirty cloth caps and bow towards us. Their slight figures tremble at our presence. Powdered lead and aluminum coats their skin, giving them a silver hue on their already ill pallor. Disgust roils through my chest. This is intolerable,
"The men here look emaciated, Herr Kommandant," I finally say, pulling myself away from Henrich. "Are they fed the same rations as the civilian munitions workers?"
The kommandant's smile dims slightly and Dr. Mueller whips his head around to glare at me, patent exasperation on his face.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Henrich whispers to me again. His hand cuts into the flesh of my arm once more but I don't let myself react.
"No, Frauline," the kommandant answers slowly. "The civilians are hard workers and patriots. They need no further enticement to maximize their output. The common Jew does not possess these qualities, so we must do our best to try to incentivize them to work despite their natural disinclination. Food has been shown to be the most effective method to do this."
"But aren't you naturally diminishing the possible amount of bullets they can make? After all, starving men can't possibly work as quickly or accurately as fully energized ones. It seems counterintuitive."
"Caroline…" Dr. Mueller warns lowly in my other ear, coming to stand on the other side of me.
"To one inexperienced in the way of the Jews, perhaps," the kommandant rebuts. "But you must understand, Frauline, that a Jew won't work without it being a life or death matter."
"Well these men are working and they clearly are still dying, so where is the incentive?"
Henrich goes rock still beside me, his grip cutting off my circulation. Dr. Mueller grabs my free arm equally painfully. There is a tense pause. The kommandant's smile has disappeared.
"Do not mind her, Herr Kommandant," Dr. Mueller fills in, speaking quickly. "Her duties have been mainly concerned with the war effort on the home front thus far, not with the Jewish question. This tour was to introduce her to this aspect of our efforts and I'm afraid she simply doesn't understand. Please forgive us."
"Of course," the man responds after another pause. "I can see why you selected her for the propaganda, Mueller – such a pretty face and wonderful Aryan features. But perhaps next time choose one with a little more sense, right?"
I open my mouth to tell him being pretty and dumb is better than fat and sadistic, but Henrich suddenly wraps a tight arm around my waist. The movement pinches the fresh, deep bruise along my back he gave me when he threw me against a bedpost the night prior. I flinch, the words withering in my throat with the ache, and he takes the opportunity to forcibly laugh towards the rest of the assembly of men. "Yes, lesson learned. Please continue and I shall take a moment to try to explain this to her. We will catch up to you shortly."
Smile tentatively back in place, the kommandant nods in assent and proceeds towards the door at the far end of the row. One meaningful look at Henrich later Dr. Mueller leaves us to follow. That's when I realize that whatever is about to happen is going to be ugly despite the fact that we are in public and Dr. Mueller's lecture not half an hour ago.
As the door closes and Henrich and I are left alone I brace myself for what he is going to do. In the corner of my eye I see the Jew closest to us swallow nervously, looking furtively at us as he keeps his head down.
"Return to your work!" Henrich barks at everyone. Without hesitating they turn back to the presses and the loud grinding of mechanical gears starts up once more.
"What do you think you can do to me here?" I mutter towards him, pushing back the automatic trepidation he causes. His mouth curls downward.
"You think you are so smart. Do you even remember why we are here? Do you want to end up in a place like this?"
Has he been to one of these camps before? Not that he has shown much compassion or empathy ever, but he hasn't so much as blinked at what we are seeing. "Look at these people! How can you be okay with this?" My voice rises over the whistle of steam and clanking of metal.
He scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be? They are Jews. You were fine with it until now, so don't get all fucking holier-than-thou with me, Caroline."
"I wasn't told – I didn't realize –"
Henrich pushes me back, until I'm against the wall behind us. "You knew exactly what this was, Caroline. It's exactly what we were taught. You were shouting answers just as loudly as I when we were asked what should happen to the Jews. Cold feet now just makes you a coward."
My eyes search through the room again, watching their skeletal figures work the machines. "You don't know what it's like to be slowly starved, Henrich. It nearly drove me mad and I was only deprived a few weeks. This is barbaric –"
His hand grips my chin, yanking my face back until he is only a breath away. His other grabs the hair at the base of my neck, painfully holding me in place. Pressing me against the wall, his words are low and furious.
"This is what has to happen, Caroline. Just like what happened to you and what happened to your parents had to happen. We aren't going to tolerate these Jewish swine ruining our country just like we aren't going to allow subversives like your family help them. If you don't see that then perhaps we need to have a longer conversation somewhere more private, wouldn't you agree? If Dr. Mueller's training didn't beat the partisanship out of you then I will."
"Let go of me," I shoot back at him, eyes watering. "Your threats don't scare me."
His face moves in even closer. The smell of him is repellant. "You are going to get sent to a place like this, Caroline. We are at the edge of giving up on you."
"Then do it. Dr. Mueller can't afford the embarrassment of admitting failure, not after I've become so popular. And do you want it known that your wife is here? Prove that you aren't bluffing and do it," I spit at him.
His response is to let out a furious grunt and swing my head back until it hits the wall with a loud crack. White flashes explode behind my eyes and when he lets go of me I feel my knees hit the hard concrete floor.
"You are lucky we are short on time," he growls. "Put yourself back together and meet me back outside. We need to take photographs." I hear him stomp away and the door slam shut shortly afterwards.
Sometimes, in the floating comfort of unconsciousness, the dead stay silent. Sometimes they break their tormenting haunts away for a flashing moment of welcome peace. It used to be those moments were filled with nothing but blank and quiet nothingness. Now they contain Joe.
"Caroline."
The voice is hollow and distant, ringing from the outside of the closed sphere containing us, and easy to ignore.
This should be as painful as any other memory of things lost and destroyed, but only elation and warm affection infuse the bright and blurred air. Rather than a nightmare to be borne until an awakening rescues me, I cling to the sight of him in front of me and feel my physical self curling deeper into the cradle of my knees.
The sky is blue and clear. He stands before me, the tall grass of a field brushing his knees. I'm walking towards him, slowly but steadily in the strangely static atmosphere. We are back at my home – the barn is to my right, erect again and undamaged. I can't turn my head, but I know the house behind me has four walls once more.
Joe doesn't move or speak as I approach, looking at me intently. He is in his uniform, but unarmed and without his helmet. His chestnut hair falls on his forehead.
"Wake up."
I pass the fence to enter the field but don't feel the usually sharp blades on my bare feet. Everything is fuzzy and muted in this strange place, this preternatural fantasy.
"Caroline."
He is neither smiling nor frowning, but his stare is intense and soft. I'm glad to see him like this, without the look of cold hatred that has been marking his face. One of his hands stretches out as I reach him, his fingers closing around my own and his smell, comforting and familiar, pierces my heart with an unrequited ache.
I can't move my mouth to speak, despite the overpowering desire to tell him how I regret everything that has happened and how I sorry I am that I hurt him. The world here is utterly silent, without even the sounds of the birds and insects that normally inhabit this field. His other hand rises to gently cradle my head, pulling me into his chest.
"It's going to be okay," he says, breaking the soundless ether. His lips touch against the shell of my ear.
I know this just a hallucination, the advent of an illusion from a desperate and deranged mind. Deep down I also know things aren't going to be okay, not at all. But for a second I let myself believe this mirage and this false reassurance, burying my face in the coarse canvas of his jacket and letting his arms surround me in an embrace filled with my both my own heartache and my wish that things had turned out differently.
He speaks again. "It's going to be –"
A crashing sound shakes the clearing, cracking the blissful magic like an earthquake shattering a set of bone china into a thousand pieces. Before I can raise my head an icy, wet wave splashes over us, dissolving the field. Recoiling, I grab onto Joe but he disappears, turning into mist, and my fingers close around empty air. For a moment I'm falling, plummeting through the sudden blackness towards the complete unknown and choking on the sudden water filling my nose.
"Caroline!"
With a sudden lurch straight I cough, blinking in the sudden brightness.
Dr. Mueller stands before me, holding an empty, dripping bucket.
My clothes stick to my skin, hair drips in my eyes, and I realize that I'm soaking wet. It immediately intensifies the uncomfortable coldness of the room and my hands tingle with numbness. Reaching down, Dr. Mueller hauls me to my feet by my collar and tosses me into a chair that has been brought in. "It's time for you and I to have a talk."
I cough again and sputter, but my jaw has healed overnight and when I answer my words are only slightly slurred. "I don't think we have anything left to say."
He sits in another chair across from me. "Oh, I think we do."
Furiously shaking my head, I sit up in the seat. "I'm not going to go along with your plans this time. I'm done with this."
His face twists into an ugly expression. "You think that is for you to decide?"
"There isn't anything else you can do to me. No one else alive you can blackmail me with. All that's left is to kill me, so go ahead." He wouldn't, I knew, and it was enigmatically enjoyable to rub it in his face. His refusal to admit failure.
Pausing, he considers me for a moment. "Why did you do it?"
The same old bullshit. I shove my hair out of my face, looking at him challengingly. An icy shiver shakes through me and cross my arms over my chest to try to keep what body warmth I can make. I don't speak.
"Answer my question."
"No."
Dr. Mueller rocks back in the chair, his chin wrinkling as his mouth turns down. "No?"
"No. I told you, I'm not going to help you. I'm not answering these questions."
There is another short pause of silence before Dr. Mueller opens his mouth again. "Henrich was right. That American gave you quite the courage."
"He didn't give me anything."
"Really? You had your problems, but I must say this is quite the icing on the cake." He angles his head in question, eyes flashing. I glare at him.
"When has this ever not been a fight? It's time to admit that I am never going to be the robot you want me to be. You may have brainwashed me when I was a child, but I know now exactly what you are and what this is. Your treatment, your mind games, the terrible things you made me do – you created this mess yourself, so don't go asking why this has happened."
"Is that what you think?" His face is tight, barely holding on to his cold expression. "I don't remember you complaining when you were dressing yourself in Chanel, touring Europe, and living like a queen on my dime – "
"Are you joking?" I drop my arms, staring at him incredulously. "Are you joking? What was I supposed to do? Ask for more beatings? Ask to be sent back here to be tortured even more? Nice clothes and hotels do not mean that somehow everything else you did to me didn't happen!"
"What I did to you, Caroline?" His voice is rising too, filling the bare room. "What exactly was that? I hardly had to do anything – the slightest nudge in the right direction was all you needed."
"I had no choice – "
"You decided that hunger was more important than those ridiculous ideas your parents taught you. You decided to call your father a traitor at his execution. You wrote those propaganda speeches and smiled in the photographs. You pulled the trigger and murdered your mother in this very room."
"How dare you!" I leap to my feet, charging over to him. "Are you insane? I was a child you manipulated!"
He looks up at me from his chair. "And, until recently, it worked like a charm, didn't it? You do realize you weren't my first subject, don't you?"
Suddenly my eyes are burning, the memories and pain gouging fresh wounds into my insides. I turn away quickly and don't answer.
"None of the others got nearly as far as you, my dear. One starved. Another hung herself with a bedsheet. You went along swimmingly. Why do you think that is? I didn't change my techniques. I just had to find the right girl who would be primed for what I wanted to do. Why do you think that was you?"
Why? Why was it me? Why wasn't I stronger? "That – my…my choices were cooperate or die. I guess I was more scared of death than you."
He makes a tsk tsk noise. "The others didn't have that problem. If they thought our Fuhrer was wrong they had no hesitation in sacrificing themselves rather than accept our truth. Even the other girls at the camp – ones who were already passionate believers and were there knowing the consequences for failure – failed before you did. Tell me, as the daughter of partisans, how did you explain it to yourself that you beat a bunch of Nazis at their own game to climb out on top? If you were just an innocent victim, how did you accept that you became a Nazi even Hitler himself approved of?"
Dr. Mueller was doing what he did best – twisting and distorting things until I was turned around and not even sure of my own thoughts anymore. I round back towards him, shaking the muddle from my brain. "I'm not going to let you do this again."
"Do what, my dear?"
"Confuse me. Somehow convince me that you are right. I know exactly what trick you are pulling. I'm not proud of what I did. It's been something I've been trying to make amends for."
I realize my mistake when his face alights with sudden understanding. "Ah! So that is where this Jew soldier fits in! Looking for some sort of divine forgiveness, were you?" he chortles, seemingly amused. "I'm afraid you are far past that."
I press my lips together, not allowing Joe to be pulled back into this conversation however right Dr. Mueller may be. "My point is that I would have never been this position in the first place if you hadn't gotten involved."
"I can't argue against that, but," he runs a thoughtful finger over his mustache, "without me you would have been lined up and shot with the rest of them that night."
My lips are dry and cracked when I lick them. "Yes, I know."
His expression darkens at my capitulation. "You've always had a choice," he tells me again scornfully. "I couldn't have stopped you from ending it if you were actually serious."
This time it's my turn to laugh. "Yes, my choice. Why didn't realize it? I could have stopped the torture of the camp. I could have declined to join the Party. I could have refused to do the propaganda. I could have prevented Henrich from raping me. All I had to do was blow my brains out. Why didn't just go through with it?"
"I would say that the fact you are still here proves that somewhere, deep down, you wanted this," he presses. "Doesn't it?"
Wanted this? Wanted this? I baulk at his absolute ignorance and resolute conclusion that somehow I could still be convinced to return to the faithful Nazi I used to be. He's insane.
He takes my silence as a victory and relaxes, crossing one leg over the other. "So there is no point in arguing any further, is there? Sit down."
The shivering in my arms and legs increases.
I hate him. I don't move.
"Sit down, Caroline," he orders, a hard line creeping into his voice.
Slowly shaking my head, I stay where I am. "I'm done taking orders from you."
Unfolding himself from the chair, he stands to hang over me threateningly. "Do you want to go down this road again?"
"What are you going to do? Henrich isn't here to be your stupid violent pawn against me. Want to beat me again yourself? Starve me? Go ahead."
He clicks his teeth together. "Do you really want to find out?"
"Go ahe– "
Unexpectedly he's closes the distance between us. He doesn't touch me, but his sudden proximity is imposing all the same. I ready myself for the hit, but he doesn't raise his fist. Standing there for several long seconds, he merely peers down at me, his black eyes unreadable.
"You don't know the half of what I can do, Caroline," he says quietly. "But I will promise you that you are going to be one of us again before the week is out."
"Try me," I challenge in response.
With a dark laugh he turns to head for the door. The sound is chilling and horrible.
"I will, my dear. Trust me, I will."
The tour drags on. I don't speak again. I don't draw attention to myself.
Instead I linger behind the others, breathing that smell of rotten decay and looking at the victims of our despicable cause.
I know if I do something it will be the final straw. If I am discovered Dr. Mueller's wrath would be uncompromising and unforgiving. In all likelihood the consequences would be deadly and spell the end of my pitiful existence. Even if I was the most popular figure on the planet I wouldn't be spared.
But something has to be done and after all that has happened my own sense of preservation is, at best, self-serving and meaningless.
We turn another corner and are back at the Administration building.
"Dinner is being prepared," the kommandant says, leading us up the steps.
Inside is quiet and dark, the air clean and smelling of paper. It is completely opposite from the pestilence outside. I stare up at the swastika banner hung over my head. Henrich and Dr. Mueller both relax, easing back into the world of tea service, small talk, and marmalade sandwiches easily and quickly despite – or maybe because of – the uncivilized ugliness of what we just saw.
We enter a dining room and Henrich pulls out my chair with all the manners he always displays when we are around higher ranking officers. Dropping heavily into it, I don't acknowledge anyone else. It doesn't matter; the conversation flows over my head with ease. My outburst is forgotten. I'm back to being just pretty decoration.
The door opens again and a second group of officers enters to join the meal. The man who met us at the gate is among them and Henrich goes rigid beside me as he comes in my direction.
"Frauline Alsbach," he greets, reaching for my hand. "It is a pleasure seeing you again so soon."
I'm not sure if my return expression is a smile or a grimace. His mouth brushes the back of my hand and I resist the impulse to yank it back.
"Do you mind if I can be so bold as to sit next to you? I'm afraid I must admit that I have been waiting your visit with overwhelming excitement."
I can feel Henrich gathering to object on the other side of me when Dr. Mueller answers. "Of course, Obersturmführer Rheinenmurh. I'm sure Frauline Alsbach is overjoyed to meet such an ardent fan."
Henrich shuts his mouth with an audible click and turns to glare at his plate. I shift in my chair as Rheinenmurh settles on my left side. Sandwiched between them, I can already feel the jealousy and competition filling the air. This has all of the markings to be a dreadful meal.
And it is. Rheinenmurh – or Karl, as he insisted I call him – peppers me with flirtatious small talk through the soup course and the mains. I make the motions of listening, throwing in a "ah" or "that's nice" to keep up appearances. He tells me of his childhood in Munich, the first time he saw a picture of me in an issue of Der Pimpf magazine, and how he joined the SS at seventeen. I have no interest in who he is. He's a guard at a concentration camp. It's difficult to even give him the token acknowledgement of the occasional nod.
Henrich, on the other hand, forgoes the conversation happening around the table to listen intently to us, edging closer and closer until he is nearly pressed against my side. When Karl leans in to tell me about how he gained an Obersturmführer rank so young Henrich responds by looping his arm around the back of my chair. I'm so stiff and tense that the muscles of my back are burning. It's stifling being crushed from both flanks by their raging egos. Grabbing the butter, I start tearing apart a roll.
"Ah, Herr Lehmann, it is an honor to meet you as well," I hear Karl say as he bends around me. "I hear you may be joining our ranks soon. It is about time, eh? I imagine you can't wait."
It is a slight, right out of the gate. Karl, with his neat black uniform, putting Henrich, in his Party khaki, in his place.
Henrich nearly hums with anger.
"Yes," he answers coolly. "As soon as Caroline and I are married I plan on taking my commission. I hope to be placed on the front. Perhaps you can tell me, Obersturmführer, what it is like in battle? I am morbidly curious about what I am getting into."
Henrich isn't going to request a battlefield post. I know that and he does too. He is too much of a coward and even he realizes he doesn't have the temperament. But the insult is pointed. Being in the SS is commendable, but fighting our enemies as true soldiers is more so, especially compared to the comfortable life the SS regiment has here. Henrich may not care that he won't rise to that level, but as Karl's eyes harden I realize that he does and that he underestimated Henrich.
"The Jewish problem has taken up the majority of my efforts, I'm afraid," Karl finally replies tartly. "But I am sure we will eventually be rotated up to the front and I look forward to doing my part. After all, there is no difference between killing Jews and killing Russians or Englishmen, is there?"
The bread goes dry and choking in my mouth. I cough hard. A warm hand rubs my back, painfully smarting the bruise there, and when Henrich makes a noise low in his throat I see that it is Karl touching me.
Highly improper in any circumstance. Scandalous in this one.
"Are you quite alright, Caroline?" he asks me. Another cough seizes my throat at the addition of blunt informality and I cover my mouth with my napkin rather than answer. Calling me, a high-ranking female Party member whom he just met, by my first name is nervy and a clear challenge.
In my peripheral Henrich clenches his knife and fork tightly, not moving. Dr. Mueller breaks away from his conversation across from us to look over.
The rage radiating off Henrich is red hot, burning into me with the force of a tangible fire. "You will please refer to my fiancé as a proper Fraulein, Obersturmführer. It would not do you well to insult her in such as way otherwise," he growls lowly, carefully laying the flatware back on the table and drawing his hands, knuckles white from the tightness of his grip, towards his lap.
The heat of the hand withdraws from my back but I don't look at either of them. The inexplicable feeling of slowly being suffocated squeezes at my chest. I snatch my water glass, taking a deep gulp.
"I meant no offense," Karl answers, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I confess my concern for her wellbeing temporarily trumped my manners. But perhaps I was amiss since you did not seem to be alarmed. She must have spells often for you, as her intended, to not offer assistance immediately."
I nearly choke on my water too. Good Lord, I need to get away from these two before I get caught in the midst of a ridiculous fistfight. Tellingly, both of them seem to have forgotten about my existence as they talk above me. I lean forward further, clearing their line of fire.
"It was a mere cough," Henrich snorts dismissively. "Had there been a true emergency of course I would see to her welfare at once. As I am sure she can confirm, rather than risk embarrassing her by jumping at the slightest sniffle she would prefer attention when she truly needs it." He takes a drink of his own water. "Perhaps when you find a woman of your own someday you will realize that they do not prefer to be treated as fragile glass. A true German woman is tough as nails. Every woman has her own battlefield, as our Fuhrer says."
Karl leans back in his seat, his eyes sharp even as he bows his head in momentary surrender. "Of course, Herr Lehmann. I have heard you are a quick study of our Fuhrer's writings and I must compliment you on living up to your reputation. Our cause is fortunate to have such a formidable fighter on our side." He turns to me. "Forgive any fuss on my part, Frauline, or any transgression I unwittingly committed."
I nod quickly, taking another drink, and the three of us fall silent, Henrich smugly smiling in victory. But the peace is short-lived – the Obersturmführer isn't finished. Henrich had woefully underestimated him as well.
His smooth voice reaches me once more. "The magazines were filled with gossip when your engagement was announced but had little actual information on the details. Now that we three know one another I would love to send my formal congratulations for the wedding, but when is it? No one seems to know a day, even after all these months you have been engaged."
I freeze, the glass still to my lips.
Henrich drops his fork again and sucks in an outraged breath. "I'm afraid your card won't reach us in time. The ceremony is taking place as soon as we are back in Berlin," he murmurs warningly.
Karl feigns a disappointed frown. "That is such a shame. I had no idea it was so soon. You must be unable to contain your excitement, Frauline Alsbach. May I see the assuredly glamorous ring Herr Lehmann has bestowed upon you? Although I doubt it could equal you in beauty it must be a sight to behold yet. You deserve nothing less."
He has a pleasant little smile on his face, one reserved for polite conversation at garden parties like this one would be if it weren't in the middle of a man-made hell. He also knows I'm not wearing a ring. I'm sure that was the first thing his eagle-eyed gaze noted.
I clank my glass back on the table.
"We are getting the ring sized," Henrich nearly bites at him.
"This close to the ceremony? My, that is quite the risk – "
I rise quickly, breaking off this degenerating tête-à-tête by forcing them to stand as well. The other men at the table follow suit, staring at me expectantly for disturbing the cheese course.
Fumbling for my pocketbook I mutter, "I must see to the powder room," quickly at them before spinning around to exit through the swinging door behind me. I hear them settle back in their chairs while the chatter resumes and shove my way through the door.
A loud crash of dishes sounds as the door collides with someone on the other side.
As if this couldn't get any worse.
The conversation goes quiet again at the table and I swallow nervously. The door swings back shut and I don't hear anything else.
Oh, no.
"My goodness," I say jovially over my shoulder at the table, faking a smile. "This door is more dangerous than it appears. I hope I didn't knock anyone out." The mood relaxes with my high-pitched giggle and as they turn away again I pull the door inward to slide through to the other side.
Taking a relieved breath to be out of there, I look at the mess on the floor in front of me. The coffee service. It is silver so it didn't shatter like porcelain would, but coffee is in a quickly growing puddle the wood floor.
A young woman is on her hands and knees, trying to mop it up. She is wearing a maid's outfit, but her skin and bones frame tells me everything I need to know before I see the yellow star on her blouse.
"I'm so sorry," I tell her, crouching down to help.
"It is my fault, miss. I will have a fresh service out in just a moment" she says quietly, keeping her head down.
I frown. "Nonsense. I'm the one who barreled through the door." I begin to collect the cups and saucers that have scattered and put them back on the tray she had dropped.
Her throat bobs as she sees this and her hands shakily clench around the towel. "Please do not trouble yourself. I will get this cleaned up. I am sorry for the inconvenience."
"Please, it is not an inconvenience," I reach for the tipped pot that held the coffee. "The longer I stay out here the less time I have to spend in there –"
Her fingers reach the handle the same time mine do and she jumps at the contact, her head jerking up to face me.
Large brown eyes. Grown weary with the ensuing years, but those same brown eyes.
We drop the pot simultaneously, gaping at each other.
She… she was supposed to be… dead.
Dead.
"Anne?"
Thank you for your patience! And also the wonderful and supportive reviews regarding my AN, particularly the guests and maya since I can't respond to you individually. You guys are the greatest :)
mngirl - Thanks for the review on Ch. 34! I glad it was believable, lol, because it was crazy to write!