The rest of the house seemed empty. He took up residence in Thomas’s study, and thought about a stroll to the Press Club for beer and conversation. He was writing a note to leave behind when Thomas came in through the door with — miracle of miracles — three bottles of beer in his briefcase.
‘A gift from a Russian major,’ his friend announced proudly. He opened two of the bottles with his Swiss Army knife.
‘A successful day then,’ Russell suggested.
‘You could say that. The Soviets have given me a huge job, printing the new schoolbooks for Berlin’s lucky children. According to my major the German comrades in Moscow have been hammering out the texts since Stalingrad, and the approved versions have finally arrived.’
Russell was interested. ‘What are they like?’
‘Oh, what you’d expect. The world through Stalin’s eyes. I haven’t had time to look them over properly, but the history books are a hoot. Guess how they deal with the Nazi-Soviet Pact?’
‘A regrettable necessity?’
‘You’re joking.’
‘You’re right — I wasn’t thinking. They don’t do regrets, do they?’
‘They don’t. And the Pact, it turns out, was a figment of our imagination. It’s not even mentioned. The Germans didn’t attack the Soviets in 1939 because the Soviets — all thanks to Comrade Stalin — were much too strong.’
‘And 1941?’
‘Hitler was desperate, Stalin was ready, but the Generals let him down.’
‘Amazing.’
‘And deeply depressing. The Nazis feed our children with one set of lies for twelve years, and now the Soviets come along with another set.’
‘Wait for the American text books.’
‘Oh, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’ Effi said, coming in through the door. She gave them both a kiss and sat down. She looked tired out, Russell thought, but her eyes lit up when Thomas offered her a bottle of beer.
Russell explained about the text books.
‘Don’t talk to me about Americans,’ she said. She reached in her bag for the sheaf of papers. ‘This is what they’re calling a Fragebogen. And I have to fill the whole thing in before they’ll even consider letting me work.’ She passed it across to Russell, who slowly thumbed through the pages. ‘“Question 21”,’ he read out loud. ‘“Have you ever severed your connection with any church, officially or unofficially? 22: if so, give particulars and reasons.”’ He looked up. ‘Why on earth would they need to know that?’ He read on. ‘There’s a long list of organisations here, everything from the Nazi Party to the German Red Cross. The Teacher’s League, the Nurses’ League, all the arts bodies. The America Institute! There are almost sixty organisations here — there can’t be many Germans who didn’t belong to at least one of them. Ah, and that’s not all. “Question 101: Have you any relatives who have held office, rank or post of authority in any of the organisations listed?” That should cover just about everybody.’
‘If it does, it’ll take them years,’ Thomas suggested gloomily. ‘But maybe we shouldn’t complain. We do want them to weed out the real Nazis.’
‘But this won’t do that,’ Russell protested. ‘This will just tar every German with the Nazi brush.’
‘Okay, they’ve gone overboard, and they’ll probably realise as much in a few months. It’ll make them more unpopular than the Russians, and they won’t like that.’
‘I don’t have a few months,’ Effi said.
‘No, of course not. I’m sorry…’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Yes?’ Thomas answered.
It was Esther Rosenfeld, whom Russell hadn’t seen since the summer of 1939. She had aged a lot, which was hardly surprising, but the smile when she saw him seemed full of genuine warmth. Leon was no better, she said, but no worse either. She wondered if Russell and Effi would like to see him one evening.
‘Tomorrow?’ Russell asked, looking to Effi for confirmation.
‘I’d love to,’ she agreed. ‘I left a lot of messages this afternoon,’ she added. ‘And several Jewish friends have promised to spread the word.’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Esther said. ‘All of you. And Leon thanks you too. He will tell you himself tomorrow.’
After she’d gone they all looked at each other. ‘I sometimes think we should make something up,’ Russell said quietly, ‘just to give them some peace of mind. Miriam must be dead — six years without a single trace — she has to be.’
‘Probably,’ Thomas agreed, ‘but we’ve only just started looking again. Give it a few more days at least.’
‘Of course. It’s just…’ He left the thought unspoken.
‘How was the meeting with your Russian friend?’ Effi asked him.
Russell grunted. ‘I’d almost forgotten about that.’ He told them about Shchepkin’s list of comrades for vetting. ‘And there are two for you,’ he informed Effi, expecting an explosion. ‘Ernst Dufring and Harald Koll.’
She took the news calmly, as if she’d half-expected it. ‘Dufring’s loyal to a fault,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve even spoken to Harald Koll, but he looks innocent enough. What?’ she asked, noticing Russell’s expression. ‘Am I missing something?’
‘What if he isn’t? What if he thinks that the Soviets are the KPD’s biggest problem?’
‘Then I lie to protect him.’
‘And later, when they find out what he really thinks.’
‘I can always say he lied to me. How could they prove otherwise?’
Russell shook his head. ‘They won’t even bother to try. This is the Soviets we’re talking about. They’ll just assume you lied to them, and take whatever action seems appropriate at the time. Darker threats, if they still think you might be useful. A cautionary death if they decide you’re too much trouble.’
‘Do you have a better idea?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I’m going to tell Strohm, but the others… I don’t owe them anything. I think I’m just going to pass on whatever they say. I mean, they must know that holding a high position in the KPD involves a level of risk. If they choose to incriminate themselves, then they have to take their chances. I’m not sacrificing myself for a few apparatchiks.’
‘What exactly are you going to tell Strohm?’ Effi wanted to know.
‘Everything. He can write the report on himself if he wants.’
It was Effi’s turn to shake her head. ‘You’ll be putting him in an impossible position.’
‘How?’
‘Once you tell him that the Soviets have forced you into this, he’ll know that you’re talking to other German comrades. And some of them will be his friends. But what can he do? If he warns them, he’s betraying you; if he doesn’t, he’s betraying them.’
She was right, Russell realised. They both were.
David Downing
Lehrter Station
Rapists and profiteers
A light drizzle was falling on Thursday morning, washing the air clear of brick dust and reminding Effi of London. Looking out the window of Thomas’ study, she imagined Zarah and Rosa walking round the foot of Parliament Hill on their way to the school, and realised she’d forgotten about Jens. Something else to do.
With half the cast filling out American forms, that morning’s rehearsal had been cancelled. Effi devoted several hours to the Fragebogen, read through her answers, and corrected those that might be considered sarcastic. Her original response to Question 115 — ‘have you ever been imprisoned on account or active or passive resistance?’ — was brief and truthful — ‘I was never caught.’ But would the Americans think she was just being cute? She added an explanatory paragraph just in case.
Was it enough? She had no idea, and was tired of second-guessing a bunch of foreign idiots. She forced the papers into her bag and set off for Schluterstrasse.
Kuhnert wasn’t in his office when she arrived, but a secretary she hadn’t met before promised to pass on the completed Fragebogen. Visiting the cafeteria for tea, she found a message from Ellen Grynszpan on the notice board: ‘Something to tell you, come down and see me.’