For a moment I wondered what Goebbels’s several children would think about their father’s crimes when, one day, the Nazis were history.
Goebbels nodded. “You’re right. No one should have to go through life bearing that kind of cross. The lie would certainly be kinder in this case. And it might be hard for her to play the leading role in this film knowing her father was a monster like this man you met.” He thought for a moment. “She’s in Zurich right now. With her useless fucking husband. You’ll have to go there and speak to her in person.”
“What’s he like?”
“Dr. Obrenovic? Rich. Very rich. Old. At least — much older than her. He’s everything you might expect of a Swiss lawyer, apart from the fact that he’s vaguely related to the former king of Serbia.” Goebbels snapped his fingers. “You know?”
“I know. Alexander the First. The one who got himself assassinated in Marseille.”
“No, actually that was another Alexander. Alexander of Yugoslavia. I’m talking about Alexander of Serbia. But as it happens, he also managed to get himself assassinated, by some army officers in 1903. What a people they are for assassinations, eh? Like something out of Italy under the Borgias.”
“You want me to go to Zurich?”
“Well, I can hardly go myself. I think the Swiss government might have something to say about that. Besides, it might be a nice break for you after Zagreb. Zurich has some fine hotels. That’s one thing the Swiss do very well. In all other respects they’re as much of a bloody nuisance as the Serbs and the Croats. But for the Swiss, we could have offered Mussolini and Kesselring our immediate support in the present crisis without a second thought. As it is, we’ll have to send troops the long way round through Austria and France.”
“I’ve never been to Switzerland,” I said. “But it’s got to be better than Croatia.”
“I’ll speak to the Foreign Ministry,” said Goebbels. “Have them fix it up for you to go there immediately. No, wait a minute. There’s none of them who strike me as particularly competent. I met the new undersecretary the other day — a man named Steengracht von Moyland. Another damned aristocrat. Utterly mediocre. No, I’ll speak to Walter Schellenberg, in SD Foreign Intelligence. After all, you’re SD, too. He’s smart. He’ll know the best way to get you into the country. And the best hotel, too, probably. I’ll say one thing for Schellenberg, he’s a well-traveled man, considering we’re at war.”
“Might be nice, at that,” I said.
“There’s just one problem, as I see it.” Goebbels grinned. “You’re going to have to get married.”
I heard myself swallow. “Married? I don’t think I understand.”
“Oh, it’s quite simple. The only way our government can make absolutely sure that any citizen will come back here from somewhere like Switzerland is if they have family in Germany. Which you don’t. At least not yet.”
“I don’t think that’s about to change very soon,” I said.
“Don’t say that, Gunther. Take it from me, the love of a sweet woman is one of the great pleasures of life.”
“Perhaps that’s true but there’s no woman who’s sweet enough to take me on right now.”
Goebbels stood up and almost disappeared as he limped behind his desk, where he began to turn the pages of a file. “What about this woman you’ve been seeing?” He pulled a page out of the folder and came around his desk again. “The schoolteacher at the Fichte Gymnasium on Emser Strasse. Kirsten Handlöser.”
“What about her?”
“Couldn’t you marry her? She’s single.”
“There’s the small matter of her not being in love with me. And my not being in love with her. Frankly, sir, I don’t want to be married.”
“Perhaps. But there’s this to consider. More importantly. For her, anyway. Which is that you’d be doing her a favor.”
“How’s that?”
“Quite apart from the fact that as a woman it’s her patriotic duty to be married and to have children — like my own wife, Magda — you’d also be keeping her out of trouble.”
I stiffened. Whatever was coming around the mountain clearly was going to be something I didn’t like. I was beginning to understand that in real life Goebbels operated in the same schizophrenic way he did in his public speaking: seductive and persuasive one minute, intimidating and coercive the next.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked.
Goebbels uttered a harsh sort of laugh.
“There is only one kind of trouble in Germany, Gunther. The serious kind. It seems that a week or two ago some SD men turned up at her school, to conduct a sort of survey. They were asking questions about why none of the girls in her school have chosen to be evacuated from Berlin to a KLV camp. To escape the bombing. The KLVs haven’t been as popular as might reasonably have been supposed. Anyway, it seems Fräulein Handlöser was less than complimentary about the sort of boys that are to be found in these camps. She even suggested that any decent parent would avoid sending their girls to a KLV at all costs. I’m afraid that she’s going to be questioned again about her whole general attitude. There are some who might regard what she had to say about the Hitler Youth as antisocial behavior, under the 1939 Decree Against National Pests. Under the War Offenders Decree, what she said might even count as undermining the war effort. She could easily find herself doing six months at Brandenburg Prison, to say nothing of losing her job at the school. Of course, it would certainly count in her favor if an SD man and a Party member — albeit a new Party member — were to marry her. Yes, even if the SD man were you, Gunther. It would demonstrate your good faith in her. Especially as I myself would certainly send a letter to the SD to tell them of my confidence in you, as well as to bless your union. Which would count as a reference for you both. And thereby remove any possibility of a prison sentence.”
“Suppose she doesn’t want to get married? Suppose she sees six months in prison as the lesser of two evils?”
“Did I say six months? It could even be worse than that. The war isn’t going so well right now. It might just be that some judge like Roland Freisler decides to make an example of her. He’s become rather severe of late. You heard what happened to those idiotic students in Munich. And to Max Sievers.”
I nodded.
“So, it’s up to you to convince her, isn’t it?”
I chose my next words carefully. “It’s kind of you to take an interest in my personal affairs. But there’s just one problem as far as I can see it. And it’s perhaps one reason why I haven’t married before. At the risk of a prosecution for antisocial remarks myself, there’s this stupid thing called the Bride School, which all SS and SD brides are obliged to attend, to prevent the men from marrying unsuitable women. Quite apart from the fact that unsuitable women are the only ones I’m ever really interested in, there’s the fact that the women attending the school have to study childcare, sewing, obedience in marriage, and, at the end of it, there’s a certificate issued without which the marriage is deemed invalid. Something like that, anyway. Apparently all that takes several months. I can’t see how I can get married in sufficient time to go to Switzerland as quickly as you want.”
Goebbels folded his arms and looked thoughtful, the way I’d seen him do when making a speech on the newsreels.
“Yes, I remember now. More of Himmler’s mad ideas about blood and matrimony. As always, he makes the master race sound like a matter of getting the right badges in the Boy Scouts. Look, I’ll speak to Schellenberg about this, too. I’m sure there’s a way around this nonsense.” He grinned. “Besides, Dalia’s husband — Dr. Obrenovic — will feel a lot more comfortable about a handsome fellow like you meeting with his wife knowing that you’re a happily married man. And so will I. Yes. I’ll make a respectable fellow of you yet, Captain Gunther. Nothing is impossible when you put your mind to it.” He laughed. “Nothing is impossible. Try to remember that when you’re in Zurich. Just make sure you bring Dalia back. Even if you have to kidnap her.”