Chapter Seven
The mirror became a window into a foreign world. I watched Meg in all types of moods. Usually her room was where she went to hide from me. I hardly ever allowed her to go to the kitchen anymore when it was not to serve my guests or myself a meal. I was sure that she probably ran to her Jewish friends when I was out of the house, but that did not concern me.
I forced her to go through the same ritual of undressing me as I had on that first night. I was fascinated by the effect I caused when I later spied on her in the mirror. Some might call it an obsession. I, however, saw it as a sort of research-study.
I had left a working radio in the attic, and Meg eventually found it. At first she used it to listen to news of the campaign in Russia. But sometimes she would turn on some music and began to sing in a low voice and lightly dance about the room. When she thought that someone was coming up the stairs, she would quickly turn the thing off and shove it behind the bed. The short endings to these little bouts of pleasure greatly disappointed me.
Sometimes I found her praying, but she usually said her prayers in silence. Once in a while she would begin to talk to her god aloud, pleading for it all to end. At times like these I felt a little remorseful for torturing her so; but when it came time for me to undress I could not resist making her do it again.
Once she managed to sneak Genia up to the attic, and they conversed for a long time about the war and life before the war. Meg made promises to get Genia and Danka to safety. Perhaps to Switzerland or England.
I frowned as I watched this scene. That little wretch thought she could use me to bring them to safety, I was sure of it. Well, she would have to do a lot more for me than she had been doing if she thought I would even think about risking my neck for two Jews.
Many of the SS were displeased with my housing five Jews on my premises. They thought that I was being somewhat sympathetic to their position. In reality, they were cheaper to hire and less likely to complain. I had employed many of them at my armaments factory before thousands of them were deported in October of 1941 for the same reasons.
If any of the Jews working for me escaped, I could be blamed. I could wind up in a prison camp.
One night while Meg was taking off my cravat I asked, "Meg, what do you think of the war?"
"The war?"
"Yes. Who do you think will win?"
She started to take off my cufflinks. "The Germans are doing very well in Russia."
"That is not what I asked. I want your opinion."
She went over to the bureau and put the cufflinks away, then came back and sat down. She started to unbutton my shirt, but I stopped her. She was surprised, but not as surprised as I was at myself. "Your opinion, Meg."
She looked at her hands. "I honestly don't know."
"Who do you want to win?"
Meg wrung her hands in despair. I could almost see her turning the answer over in her mind. "I know what you're thinking," I continued. "You're thinking, 'What's the right answer?'"
She looked at me helplessly. "Professor, you already know my answer. Why can't we just leave it at that?"
"Suppose the Russians came marching into Berlin tomorrow. Would you turn me in to them? Would you tell them to shoot me?"
Apparently this question was even more uncomfortable than the last one had been. Meg opened her mouth in surprise. "What? What a ridiculous thing to say!"
"So you're admitting that you would tell them to shoot me like a dog," I persisted.
"No, I... I never said anything of the sort!"
"Would you turn me in, have me killed?"
"I... no," she said uncertainly.
I could not help laughing at her. "For such a good actress, you are quite a lousy little liar, my dear."
Her face turned red. "Well, what do you want me to say?" she snapped.
I wondered myself. What had I been hoping she would say? I wanted to think that I had not really wanted her to say anything, just make her answer difficult questions that would trap her in a corner and make her say things she did not want to say to further destroy her sanity. Anything she said wrong could always be used against her if she ever came begging to me to help Danka and Genia.
But perhaps I had been hoping that she would say that she would rather I live than die a criminal of war. Maybe I had been hoping for one of those little redemption speeches, like the one she gave to me when she had been stabbed by a poisoned blade and was having hallucinations. I remembered the warmth of her little body as I held her by the fire to keep her warm.
Suddenly I snapped out of that peaceful image. My thinking had no logic to it. It was ridiculously far-fetched. Meg was poisoning my mind.
"Damn it Meg, why do you have to be on your guard around me all the time?" I growled.
"Why can't you just leave my life alone?" she said quietly. "Leave me and everyone else in it alone?"
"Why, leave you alone? Leave Basil alone? And Dawson?" I laughed. "Sure, I'll leave them alone!"
Meg looked up quickly at me. "They disappeared in Vienna... Where are they?" she cried. "You had something to do with it, didn't you? Didn't you?"
I grinned. "The world was saved from yet another Communist."
She seemed confused. Finally realization hit her. "You told them he was a Communist?"
I lit a cigarette. "Actually, the Gestapo found his attitude to be extremely Marxist. I had nothing to do with the arrest."
"And Dawson? What about him?"
"He was arrested along with Basil."
She seemed stunned. "Are they... dead?"
I laughed. "Why should I tell you?"
Meg glared daggers at me. "Can't you be compassionate for once?"
"Compassion comes at a price nowadays, Fraulein."
"What?"
I laughed again.
"If I do something nice for you, you have to do something for me," I said.
"That's not how it works, Ratigan."
"In this day and age, it does."
She became quiet. After a few moments, she said, "What do I have to do for you to get you to tell me anything about Basil and Dawson?" she said in an angry singsong manner.
I got up and began to walk around the room. "Well, what could you do for me?" I said teasingly. Meg grimaced. I walked behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped a bit at my touch. "Kiss me."
She spun around. "I beg your pardon?"
I smiled wickedly. "You heard me. Kiss me."
"You... you will tell me the truth? About Basil and Dawson and their whereabouts and their fates?"
"Yes."
"Fine," she whispered grudgingly, more to herself than to me. She got up and walked up to me, placing a small kiss on my cheek.
I raised an eyebrow, enjoying the idea of dragging out this task of hers. "That's the best you can do?"
Meg's face was a deep shade of red. She stood up on her tiptoes and gave me a peck on the lips. But as she pulled away I grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed her against me, pressed her lips against mine. Her face was hot and her small body was shaking once again. She pulled away from me, but I grabbed her and kissed her a second time.
Finally I let her go. She held on to the back of the couch as if for support. "Now tell me," she said softly, her voice shaking.
I rested my hands on her shoulders, her back still facing me. Then I leaned in close to her ear. "Basil's in Buchenwald. Dawson's in Auschwitz."
She spun around. "I never saw Dawson..." she began.
"He arrived shortly after you left, my dear."
"Are they alive?"
"As of now," I said.
Meg's eyes betrayed panic and worry. "They're not going to kill them?"
"A Communist is a Communist is a Communist," I grinned.
"How can you support a government like this?"
"Well, I'm not Communist, so why should I care what they decide to do to the Communists?"
"What if they come after the sewer ra-..." she stopped.
I knew what she had nearly said. "What was that?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous.
"Nothing," she whispered.
"Nothing?" I gripped her arm and began to step toward her. She cried out a little because my claws were digging into her skin. "What were you going to say?"
"Please let go," she begged. "Please..."
"Is there something strange about my appearance, dear?"
"No... Nothing at all!"
I shoved her into the door. "Get the hell out of here. GO!"
She pulled the door open and stumbled out, her feet pattering against the floorboards as she fled to her room.
