In the Presence of Mine Enemies (2 page)

“Into the bowels of the earth,” Willi murmured as he reached out to grab the escalator handrail. The train to Stahnsdorf boarded on the lowest of the station's four levels.

Signs and arrows and endless announcements over the loudspeaker system should have made getting lost inside the railway station impossible. Heinrich and Willi found their way to the commuter train without conscious thought. So did most Berliners. But the swarms of tourists were grit in the smooth machine. Uniformed boys from the
Hitler Jugend
and girls from the
Bund deutscher Mädel
helped those for whom even the clearest instructions were not clear enough.

All the same, the natives grumbled when foreigners got in the way. Dodging around an excited Italian who'd dropped his cheap suitcase so he could use both hands to gesture at a Hitler Youth in brown shirt, swastika armband, and
Lederhosen,
Willi growled, “People like that deserve to be sent to the showers.”

“Oh, come on, Willi, let him live,” Heinrich answered mildly.

“You're too soft,” his friend said. But they rounded the
last corner and came to their waiting area. Willi looked at the schedule display on the wall, then at his watch. “Five minutes till the next one. Not bad.”

“No,” Heinrich said. The train pulled into the station within thirty seconds of the appointed time. Heinrich thought nothing of it as he followed Willi into a car. He noticed only the very rare instances when the train was late. As the two men had done on the bus, they put their account cards into the fare slot and sat down. As soon as the computer's count of fares matched the car's capacity, the doors hissed shut. Three more cars filled behind them. Then the train began to move. Acceleration pressed Heinrich back against the synthetic fabric of his seat.

Twenty minutes later, an electronic voice rang tinnily from the roof-mounted speakers: “Stahnsdorf! This stop is Stahnsdorf! All out for Stahnsdorf!”

Heinrich and Willi were standing in front of the doors when they hissed open again. The two commuters hopped off and hurried through the little suburban station to the bus stop outside. Another five minutes and Willi got up from the local bus. “See you tomorrow, Heinrich.”

“Say hello to Erika for me.”

“I'm not sure I ought to,” Willi said. Both men laughed. Dorsch got off the bus and trotted toward his house, which stood three doors down from the corner.

 

Heinrich Gimpel rode on for another few stops. Then he got off, too. His own house lay at the end of a cul-de-sac, so he had to walk for a whole block.
It's healthy for me,
he told himself, a consolation easier to enjoy in spring and summer than in winter.

The
snick
of his key going into the lock brought shouts of, “Daddy!” from inside the house. He smiled, opened the door, and picked up each of his three girls in turn for a hug and a kiss. They ranged down in age from ten by two-year steps.

Then he lifted his wife as well. Lise Gimpel squawked; that wasn't part of the evening ritual. The girls giggled. “Put me down!” Lise said indignantly.

“Not till I get my kiss.”

She made as if to bite his nose instead, but then let him kiss her. He set her feet back on the carpet and held her a little longer before letting her go. She made a pleasant armful: a green-eyed brunette several years younger than he who'd kept her figure very well. When he released her, she hurried back toward the kitchen. “I want to finish cooking before everyone gets here.”

“All right.” He smiled as he watched her retreat. While he hung up his greatcoat and took off his tie, his daughters regaled him with tales out of school. He listened to three simultaneous stories as best he could. Lise came out again long enough to hand him a goblet of liebfraumilch, then started away.

The chimes rang before she got out of the front room. She whirled and stared at the door. “I am going to boot Susanna right into the net,” she declared.

Heinrich looked at his watch. “She's only ten minutes early tonight. And you know she's always early, so you should have been ready.”

“Hmp,” Lise said while he went in to let in their friend. Meanwhile, the girls started chorusing, “Susanna is a football! Aunt Susanna is a football!”

“Heinrich, why are they calling me a football?” Susanna Weiss demanded. She craned her neck to look up at him. “I'm short, yes, and I'm not emaciated like you, but I'm not round, either.” She shrugged out of a mink jacket and thrust it into his hands. “Here, see to this.”

Chuckling, he clicked his heels. “
Jawohl, meine Dame
.”

She accepted the deference as no less than her due. “
Fräulein Doktor
Professor will suffice, thank you.” She taught medieval English literature at Friedrich Wilhelm University. Suddenly abandoning her imperial manner, she started to laugh, too. “Now that you've hung that up, how about a hug?”

“Lise's not watching. I suppose I can get away with it.” Heinrich put his arms around her. She barely came up to his shoulder, but her vitality more than made up for lack of size. When he let go, he said, “Why don't you go into the kitchen? You can pretend to help Lise while you soak up our Glenfiddich.”

“Scotch almost justifies the existence of Scotland,” Susanna said. “It's a cold, gloomy, rocky place, so they had to make something nice to keep themselves warm.”

“If that's why people drink it, your boyfriend is lucky he didn't set himself on fire here a couple of years ago.”

“My
former
boyfriend,
danken Gott dafür
.” All the same, Susanna blushed to the roots of her hair. Her skin was very fine and fair, which let Heinrich watch the flush advance from her throat. “I hadn't found out he was a drunk yet, Heinrich.”

“I know,” he said gently. If he teased her too hard, she'd lose her temper, and nothing and nobody was safe if that happened. “Go on. Lise's trying that recipe you sent her.”

The girls waylaid Susanna before she got to the kitchen. Though she'd never been married, she made an excellent ersatz aunt. She took children seriously, listened to what they had to say, and treated them like small adults. Heinrich smiled. Come to that, she was a small adult herself. He knew better than to say so out loud.

Walther and Esther Stutzman arrived a few minutes later, along with their son, Gottlieb, and daughter, Anna. Anna promptly went off with the Gimpel girls; she was a year older than Alicia, the eldest of the three. Heinrich Gimpel stared at Gottlieb. “Good heavens, is that a mustache?”

The younger male Stutzman touched a finger to the space between his nose and upper lip. “It's going to be one, I hope.” At the moment, the growth was hard to see. For one thing, he'd only just turned sixteen. For another, his hair was even fairer than his father's. And, for a third, he'd chosen to keep untrimmed only a toothbrush mustache; the first
Führer
's style was newly popular again.

Walther Stutzman differed from his son in appearance only by the presence of twenty-odd years and the absence of even the vestiges of a mustache. As he handed Heinrich his topcoat, he asked quietly, “Tonight?”

“Yes, I think Alicia's ready,” Heinrich answered, as quietly. “I told her she could stay up late. How has Anna done, the past year?”

“Well enough,” her father said.

“We're still here, after all,” Esther Stutzman put in. A slim woman with light brown hair, she peered at Heinrich through glasses thicker than his own. Somehow, in spite of everything, her laugh held real mirth. “And if she hadn't done well, we wouldn't be, would we?”

“Wouldn't be what, Aunt Esther?” Alicia Gimpel asked, a doll under one arm.

“Wouldn't be standing out here in the hall if we expected the curly-haired
Gestapo
to listen in.” Esther's grin took all sting from the words.

Imitating her father, Alicia said, “Oh,
Quatsch!
” Anna Stutzman tried to sneak up behind her, but she whirled before she got tickled. Both girls squealed. They ran off together, Alicia's brown curls bobbing beside Anna's blond ones. They were very much of a height; though Anna was older, Alicia was tall for her age.

“Dinner!” Lise called from the kitchen. “Dinner, dinner, dinner!” Everyone trooped into the dining room. Heinrich Gimpel and Gottlieb Stutzman dropped the leaves on the table to accommodate the unusual crowd. Walther, meanwhile, fetched in a couple of extra chairs, and Susanna Weiss placed them around the table.

They all paused to admire the fragrantly steaming pork roast before Heinrich attacked it with fork and carving knife. With onions, potatoes, and boiled parsnips, it made a feast to fight the chill outside and leave everyone happily replete. Most of the talk that punctuated the music of knife and fork was praise for Lise's cooking.

Smooth wheat beer mixed with raspberry syrup went with the meal. The two younger Gimpel girls usually got only small glasses. Tonight, they found grownup-sized mugs in front of them. Francesca and Roxane proudly drained them dry, and were nodding by the time their mother brought out dessert. They munched their way through the little cakes stuffed with prunes or apricots or mildly sweet chocolate, but the filling sweets only made them sleepier. The food and beer slowed Alicia down, too, but she was buoyed by the prospect of sitting up and talking with the adults.

Seeing her daughter's excitement, Lise said, “She doesn't know yet how boring we can be, with our chatter of children and taxes and work and who's going to bed with whom.”

“Who
is
going to bed with whom?” Esther asked. “It's more interesting than taxes and work, that's for sure.”

Susanna parodied a
Hitler Jugend
song:

 

“In the fields and on the heath,
We lose strength through joy.”

 

Gottlieb Stutzman blushed almost as red as she had before. She teased him: “Why, Gottlieb, don't you hope to meet a friendly maiden when you go to work your year in the fields?”

“It is not…not practical, not for me,” he answered stiffly, rubbing a finger over his peach-fuzz mustache.

“It is not practical for any of us, as Susanna knows.” Walther Stutzman gave her a severe look. “It is also not practical for us to sing that song anywhere but among ourselves. If the Security Police hear it—”

“It's wiser not to draw the attention of the Security Police, anyway,” Lise Gimpel said with her usual solid good sense. “Even children know that.” She looked at her own two younger children, who were valiantly trying not to yawn. “After I get the table cleared away, time for the little ones to go to bed.”

Heinrich nodded to Walther and Gottlieb Stutzman. “Nice to have some other men in the house for a change,” he remarked.

“You are outnumbered, aren't you?” Walther said. “I kept the numbers even. But then, that's what they pay me for.” He held a moderately important post with the computer-design team at Zeiss.

Everyone, even the men, pitched in to help Lise cart dirty dishes and leftovers (not that there were many of those) back to the kitchen. The two younger Gimpel girls exchanged their party dresses for long cotton nightgowns. Francesca and Roxane collected kisses from the grownups, then went off to the bedroom they shared—not
without a couple of sleepily jealous glances at Alicia, who got to stay up.

 

Despite being sleepy, Alicia Gimpel felt about to burst from curiosity and excitement. She sat on the edge of the couch. Her eyes flew from her parents to Aunt Susanna or Aunt Esther or Uncle Walther or Gottlieb. As her mother had said, Alicia didn't know what the grownups talked about after she went to sleep, and she could hardly wait to learn.

Her gaze swung to Anna. She stuck out an accusing forefinger. “You've found out what this secret is.”

“Yes, I have.” Anna sounded serious enough to startle Alicia. She looked back to her father. Behind his glasses, he was blinking quickly, as if fighting back tears. Alicia saw that, but had trouble believing it. She couldn't imagine her father crying. And she couldn't imagine Anna keeping a secret from her. Her mouth twisted down. Her eyes narrowed. It was what her family called her Angry Face. Her father started to raise a hand. Before he could say anything, Anna, who also recognized it, hastily went on, “After tonight, you'll know, too.”

“All right,” Alicia said, partway mollified. But it wasn't all right. She could tell. “Why are you all staring at me like that? I don't like it!” She twisted around to press her face against a sofa cushion.

“It's an important secret, sweetheart,” her mother said. “Come out, please. It's such an important secret, you can't even tell your sisters.”

That got through to Alicia. She did pull away from the pillow and stared at her mother, her eyes wide. Her father said, “You can't tell anyone. Not anyone at all, not ever. We've waited till you got old enough so we could tell you, because we wanted to be sure, or as sure as we could be”—sometimes he was maddeningly precise—“you wouldn't give us away by telling somebody you shouldn't.”