The Children's War (100 page)

As they searched, the lieutenant suddenly asked, “What about the briefcase?”

“It was locked,” Zosia answered authoritatively. “It could not have been in there.”

They accepted this without comment and continued their search. After another half hour had passed, the captain suggested, yet again, that Zosia might want to relax for the duration, but she politely refused, staying irritatingly alert. Finally the captain came up to her and said, “It’s not here, he must have already passed it on to an accomplice.”

“Really, Captain! Don’t you think that inventing accomplices stretches the imagination a bit? After all, there’s no one here but
Wehrmacht
officers and guests of the major, and they would never indulge in such behavior!”

Stung by the repetition of his words, the captain stated coldly, “We will have to interrogate him.”

Zosia realized she had overplayed her hand. With a conciliatory smile she suggested, “Perhaps I could simply pay you the price of the silverware and that way you could make reparations.”

“We will have to interrogate him. That is the only way we’ll get the truth out of him.”

“Look, you’ve searched everything, you’ve wasted our time, you’ve caused me enormous stress. It is time to admit your mistake and release him. We need to get home,” Zosia fumed.

“We will not do that,
gnädige Frau,”
the captain responded. “We need to question him. It is standard procedure.”

Zosia grit her teeth as she considered her options. Finally she conceded. “Fine, you can ask him yourself about the silverware. Go ahead.” She gestured helpfully toward Peter.

“We will do it at headquarters.”

“You will do it here and in my presence!” Zosia demanded.

The captain glared at her, then he walked over to his lieutenant. “Do you know who she is? Is she someone’s daughter?” he asked desperately. Though he had spoken in an undertone, Zosia had no trouble guessing his words.

The lieutenant shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think she’s anybody, but if we get him to admit to something in her presence, then it won’t matter, will it.”

The captain nodded thoughtfully, then paced back to Zosia. “All right,
gnädige Frau,
we’ll do it here, but it’s not something for a lady to watch— this isn’t a tea party. We’re investigating a crime and we’re used to dealing with criminals using methods which they understand.”

“I understand. And I’m sure you understand that you are dealing with an innocent man. You have no evidence against him and you have two stout character witnesses for him, so be careful how you treat him!”

“He’s an
Untermensch!”
The captain slammed the table with his hand, his exasperation finally showing.

“But he’s mine and I’ve—I treat all my subordinates with civility. Do you understand?” Zosia had nearly said “and I’ve grown fond of him,” but decided that that might be interpreted as being too close to violating some race law.

“Frau Móller, you are getting dangerously close to hampering my investigations. There are standard procedures for questioning this category of suspect. They have no incentive for telling the truth, so we must give them one. You may not like that, but that is the way it is done. In point of fact, your very presence here is a hindrance, as we know from long experience that your boy will say whatever he thinks pleases you. So, if you wish to stay in the room, I will graciously allow that, but I must insist that you keep quiet or I will have you expelled!”

Reluctantly Zosia nodded. This compromise seemed the best she could hope for. “I’ll be quiet, Captain, but don’t forget that I am watching you!”

She sat on the sofa, across the room from the three of them. They began gently-enough, seating Peter in one of the upright chairs, facing Zosia, and draping his bound arms over the back. For a moment they were stymied as they searched for a bit of rope; they finally settled on the heavy cord used to hold back the drapes and used that to tie his wrists to the spindles on the back of the chair, thus keeping him securely in place. As the lieutenant tightened the knots, the captain asked Peter, almost seriously, if he was comfortable. At this Peter raised his head—he had been staring downward—and looked the captain full in the face for the first time. He nodded slightly as if to acknowledge that he understood the question was meaningless, then he turned away, letting his eyes meet Zosia’s before they turned downward again.

As if this were his cue, the captain slammed his fist up under Peter’s chin. As Peter’s head snapped backward, the captain leaned forward and shouted from only inches away, “You will answer all questions appropriately! Do you understand?”

Zosia had jumped to her feet, but she forced herself to sit back down.

Peter lowered his head back to a normal position, his eyes closed as he struggled to control his anger. Quietly he answered, “Yes,
Herr Hauptmann.”

The captain glanced back at Zosia, then proceeded. “Good, good. Now, tell me, do you understand the charge against you?”

“Yes,
Herr Hauptmann.”

“Good, very good. Now, tell me, why did you steal the silverware?”

“I did not steal the silverware. I have stolen nothing.”

The captain bit his lip at this as if in serious thought. He paced away from Peter, then dramatically, he turned on his heel and surveyed the suspect. The lieutenant stood next to and a bit behind Peter, silently intimidating by his proximity.

“You’re lying,” the captain stated. The lieutenant smacked his fist threateningly in his hand, but the captain shook his head slightly. “I want you to tell me the truth. Just tell me what I want to hear,” the captain continued not unkindly.

“I did not steal any silverware,” Peter answered almost mechanically.

“Maybe it was to buy cigarettes?” the captain suggested helpfully. “We know you do these sorts of things. It’s all right, you know. You can admit it.”

“I did not steal any silverware.”

“Then how do you know it was stolen?” the captain cleverly asked.

“You’ve told me about it. Maybe you’re lying,” Peter replied unwisely.

The captain’s eyes widened at that, and the lieutenant stepped forward and backhanded Peter. Zosia winced and shifted uncomfortably, but remained seated.

“What if I were to tell you we have a witness?” the captain asked.

“I know you don’t,” Peter asserted, not in the least bit deferential, “because I did not steal the silverware.”

The lieutenant glanced back at his boss, saw him nod, and slugged Peter in response.

Zosia cringed, half turning away.
It’s not a request,
she heard herself say. How could she have been so stupid?

The captain walked forward, and the lieutenant fell back to make room for him. The captain lifted Peter’s chin. “That hurt, didn’t it?” When he received nothing more than a glare in response, he added softly, “Just say you did it.”

Peter continued to glare at the captain. Zosia saw how he had to swallow something, saw a trickle of blood dribble from his mouth. She also saw how furious he was and understood why he had so senselessly provoked the captain. This angry, useless bravado was, she realized, one of her first glimpses into his real personality. It made her sick at heart to watch. Her own impotence, his reckless bravery, shades of Adam.

“I said, just tell me you did it,” the captain repeated.

She hadn’t been there for him, Adam had faced his fate alone.

“If I had stolen anything, don’t you think you would have found it?” Peter asked provocatively.

The lieutenant swung his fist into Peter’s ear for that.

And now she was useless for Peter. He was suffering before her eyes and she could do nothing at all.

“You’re being very clever, but that’s not good enough,” the captain snapped angrily. He grabbed a chair and swung it into position next to Peter’s, and then
straddling the back in a casual, almost friendly manner, he sat down so that he could lean forward, his face only inches from Peter’s ear. “You don’t need to tell us where it is. Just admit you stole it. That’s easy, isn’t it?”

How could she have got him into this? Oh, God, why was she so helpless now!

“I didn’t steal it,” Peter whispered.

Zosia felt a pain in her hands. Looking down, she realized she had been twistingher fingers around each other until they hurt. Carefully, as if they belonged to someone else, she unwrapped them.

“Come, come. Admit your crime, you’ll feel better.” The captain’s voice dropped and he added in a confidential whisper, “You know exactly what I want to hear, you know exactly what to say. It’ll go much easier for you if you just do as you’re told. It’s always that way, you know. It’s always much easier. Just tell us that you stole the silverware. All we need is for your mistress to hear your confession. Then she can go home and we can take you in. It will be easy after that. We’ll type up our report, and before you know it, you’ll be back home. It will all be over with.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Peter stubbornly insisted. The lieutenant slammed a fist into his face. The captain pulled back in alarm. Zosia closed her eyes in pain.

With a warning glance at his lieutenant, the captain leaned forward again, close to Peter’s ear. “A simple yes!” he pleaded quietly. “Just one word. Say it. Just say it.”

Peter remained silent.

“Captain—” Zosia began.

“Frau Móller,” the captain interrupted, glowering at Zosia, “any interruption is an interference in police work. I can arrest you for that.” Zosia fell silent and the captain turned back to the prisoner.
“Wahrheit macht frei,”
the captain hissed at him. The truth will set you free—it was a cruel pun on the concentration camp motto:
Arbeit macht frei.

“Then you’ll be interested in knowing,” Peter said, meeting the captain’s look, “I didn’t steal anything.” It was an obvious challenge.

The lieutenant raised his fist, but the captain shook his head. He leaned back, confused. He had expected denials, but certainly nothing of this sort. He stood up and stepped back as if trying to regain control of the situation. “We don’t like hurting you. Just tell us the truth and we can stop. Please.” The captain paused, raising his eyebrows expectantly, but Peter remained silent.

“Don’t be stupid, just admit it. Now!” the captain exclaimed.

The lieutenant tensed, awaiting the captain’s signal, but the captain turned to Zosia instead. “Tell him it’s all right to confess. Tell him!”

“I can’t do that. But, Captain, don’t—”

“Fine!” the captain snapped angrily, and gestured to the lieutenant.

Zosia bowed her head rather than look. She hadn’t been there for Adam, and now, again, she was useless! Over and over she heard Peter’s objections in her head, heard her flippant dismissals of his concerns. She thought of how they had
talked afterward, of all the wonderful, intelligent conversations they had had, of how he had confessed his love to her in a confusion of languages. She remembered falling asleep in his arms that first night, the desperate need in his voice as he told her his story. She remembered how he had worked the evening before, the intense look of concentration on his face as he had struggled to rapidly untangle the code. The way he put seed out for the birds in the depths of winter, how he allowed himself to be “ripped off” when bargaining with the local villagers. The cheerful chatter of his office, the way his face lit up whenever he saw her.