Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel (13 page)
Read Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel Online
Authors: Thaisa Frank
So in late spring of 1943 Scribes began to bring water themselves, with only Lars to watch them. This upset Stumpf, but he couldn’t disagree with Lodenstein when he said the Compound was the safest place at this stage of the war, and no one would try to escape.
The first time the Scribes went to the well there had been a great sense of celebration. Sophie Nachtgarten, whose claustrophobia sometimes made her walk the cobblestone street for hours, said it was the first time in months she’d been able to breathe. Ferdinand La Toya and Gitka Kapusinki did a mazurka. Parvis Nafissian and Sonia Markova lay at the edge of the forest.
Now, almost a year later, going to the well was so routine most Scribes took fresh air for granted—except for Sophie Nachtgarten, who bribed Lars with cigarettes so she could come up as many times as she wanted. Other Scribes carried water twice a day, usually in pairs.
But after Stumpf announced the arrival of a girl who would answer letters from children, Gitka Kapusinki, Ferdinand La Toya, Sophie Nachtgarten, and Parvis Nafissian took turns holding a pail. Gitka wore a bright red scarf over a black fur coat from an indeterminate animal and smoked a cigarette from a long cigarette holder. La Toya smoked a cigar and wore a long black coat, which made him look like a piece of topiary because he was tall. Sophie wore a green embroidered scarf over a blue velvet jacket—she hated the confinement of warm clothes. And Parvis Nafissian, who combed his immaculate beard with water from the well, wore a bomber jacket and carried a mirror. They crunched over the ice and talked.
What an asshole, said Gitka, meaning Stumpf.
He had to get someone to write that letter, said La Toya. And I think it’s Mikhail.
He’d never do anything for Stumpf, said Sophie.
How else can you explain it? said La Toya. Suddenly a kid’s at the Solomons’ and Stumpf announces it. I bet the two of them made a deal. And it started with Heidegger’s wife.
How do you know? said Nafissian.
Elie told me, said La Toya. Her name is Elfriede. Elfriede Heidegger.
The name sounded funny. They laughed.
Elie says she’s quite the hausfrau, said La Toya. Blond braids around her head. A Party member in good standing.
How does Elie know? said Nafissian.
La Toya shrugged. The other three understood. Sometimes Elie alluded to her past, never mentioning names. Now and then dusk would remind her of dinner with her family. Or the smell of fresh ink and paper of being a student at Freiburg. She never told anyone her real last name. Or that she had a younger sister she missed every day. But they all knew a small part of who Elie was before she came to the Compound and were relieved they’d never read Heidegger closely and would find it hard to answer the letter.
His wife bothered Goebbels so much, said La Toya, they had a meeting. So now Goebbels has another mission here—a letter to the living.
They’d come to the well and stopped to look at the woods and drink water from the tin dipper. Sophie waved at Lars Eisenscher who was keeping watch near the forest.
How awful that the woods are so frightening, she said. When I was a child, the woods were amazing in winter.
They could get more frightening if Mikhail tries to answer that letter, said Nafissian. Heidegger’s no fool—he’ll see through something fake. Maybe we should have tried to answer it, after all.
We would have made a mess of it, said Sophie. And Mikhail’s studied Heidegger, so his letter won’t seem fake.
Gitka and Nafissian stopped to light more cigarettes; La Toya relit his cigar. The wind rose at their backs as they took turns carrying the bucket to the Compound. Nafissian said it created the impression they were traveling.
Don’t be ridiculous, said La Toya, nobody travels here.
If the wind blows hard enough, they will, said Nafissian.
Let’s make a run for it, said Gitka, laughing.
To where? said La Toya.
To the end of the world, said Gitka.
Dearest Bendykta,I don’t have much time to write because I have to work. Please come quickly.In haste and love,Lucas
Dieter Stumpf never had any intention of getting Mikhail’s niece himself because if he went to a safe house, he might be recognized and shot. Besides, it was more important to be sure as many dead as possible received answers to their letters. So he asked Elie Schacten to get the girl.
Her name is Maria, he said, handing her the address of the safe house, and a note to her from Mikhail. And Mikhail will write the letter if we get her. You know Mikhail. Always a bargain.
Of course I’ll get her, Dieter, Elie said.
I knew you would. You rescue everyone.
I’m only doing this for you, said Elie.
Stumpf leaned close and basked in her tea-rose perfume.
Let’s keep it between us for now, he said, touching Elie’s arm. Lodenstein doesn’t give a damn about this letter, and he hates bargains. He might try to stop you.
Elie, who had already decided that more than one bargain was at stake, agreed. She went upstairs and told Lodenstein there was an influx of mail at the outpost. Then she held out her wrist so he could tie the red silk ribbon.
Do you think this place runs by itself? he said.
No, said Elie. What makes you think that?
Because sometimes you act like it does. I wonder if you know how many notes I send Goebbels to make him happy.
Dear Goebbels: We love your stories about winning the war. Keep them up. And your denials about the Final Solution are breathtaking.
Dear Goebbels: We love your stories about winning the war. Keep them up. And your denials about the Final Solution are breathtaking.
I’ll bring you something special, said Elie.
Just come back, said Lodenstein.
He walked her to her jeep, and she drove off on the unpaved road. It was treacherously slick. But when she turned to the paved road, she wasn’t relieved because there were other cars, and no rescue was without danger. On her last foray, Elie had hidden three children under a marble statue covered with blankets. Everything had gone smoothly until an SS officer at the Swiss border began to uncover the statue. Elie said it was for Frisch—a banker she thought he’d know. He pressed her arm, she pressed back, and an erotic current passed between them. Go! he’d said. And go quickly!
She kept looking in the rearview mirror—an endless stretch of road and cars. She felt remorse about lying to Lodenstein and was haunted by a vision of him running to keep up with her.
Maria’s safe house was in a town due south of the Compound and—to Elie’s relief—she had to take a road that forked off the main highway. She drove by farms and a dense forest, where she saw a man and a child behind a tree. She thought about the Angel of Auschwitz who had bargained a laboratory for a life. She wondered if a letter could do the same.
The town with the safe house was a patchwork of commerce and neglect, like other towns that hadn’t been bombed beyond recognition at this stage of the war. It dipped into dilapidated structures then bloomed into islands of prosperity. One street had boarded-up buildings throbbing with misery. Another had elegant shops. Yet another had a train station where people held suitcases. They were dressed in good coats, but Elie knew in less than a week they’d be wearing striped uniforms. She parked the jeep in a crowded section and began to walk. A jeep with a swastika in front of a safe house would attract attention.
Light snow began to fall—swirls of white on grey. The streets widened, narrowed, widened again, expanding and contracting, as though they were breathing. Nothing felt quite real to Elie—not the sky, or the air, or a coffeehouse where customers drank from incongruously large cups of ersatz coffee. People hurried by, surrounded by pale grey air—the only thing that seemed to hold them together. Elie passed a muddy street with a chain-link fence followed by a row of prosperous houses. The town was breaking up, and she felt she was breaking up with it. It began to snow thickly, surrounding everyone in white.
We’re only bound by veils
, Elie thought,
fragile accidents of cohesion
.
We’re only bound by veils
, Elie thought,
fragile accidents of cohesion
.
No one was quite visible in this snow, and for a moment Elie imagined she saw her sister. She wore a dark red coat and kept her hands in a white muff. She smiled then disappeared.
Near the outskirts, streets were arranged in a circular pattern. Elie passed grey row houses, brick buildings, more row houses. The last were close to where Maria was hidden. But before she made the last turn, a Gestapo officer stopped her, said he’d lost his watch, and asked the time. Her heart began to race, and her answer—
Fourteen hours and twenty minutes
—sounded like a confession. He thanked her and asked if he could help find an address. Elie said no, she was just taking a walk. He asked for her papers—she was aware of his fleshy hands—and was confused when she showed him the red silk ribbon.
Fourteen hours and twenty minutes
—sounded like a confession. He thanked her and asked if he could help find an address. Elie said no, she was just taking a walk. He asked for her papers—she was aware of his fleshy hands—and was confused when she showed him the red silk ribbon.
What are you doing at the outskirts? he asked.
I work with Goebbels, said Elie. And I’d be shot if I told you more.
The Gestapo officer shook his head. Goebbels would never shoot such a beautiful woman. Only the undesirables: shot or guillotined. Take your pick.
He laughed when he said
Take your pick
and told Elie she reminded him of his wife. Then he took her arm and walked with her far away from the row houses, to a city park where the bare branches of a linden tree were covered with ice. They walked to a statue of Hitler, then slowly around the park. Eventually the Gestapo officer looked at the watch he’d never lost and said:
Take your pick
and told Elie she reminded him of his wife. Then he took her arm and walked with her far away from the row houses, to a city park where the bare branches of a linden tree were covered with ice. They walked to a statue of Hitler, then slowly around the park. Eventually the Gestapo officer looked at the watch he’d never lost and said:
My God. I’ll be shot if I don’t get back to my post.
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