The Watcher (2 page)

I handed the picture back to Adrie, who placed it carefully on the walnut armoire. “Did he know . . . about me?”

“Of course. He was always interested in how you were growing and what you were doing.”

“Was he a nice man, Adrie?”

“Oh, yes. He was a fine German officer.”

I already knew that. In fact, that was all I knew. What I wanted to hear was what he was really like. Was he kind? Was he gentle? Was he funny? Would I have loved him? Would he have loved me?

We went out to the terrace, where Frieda had set up a breakfast of pancakes and sausages for me. Adrie had already eaten, but she sat opposite me drinking a cup of coffee. The food was delicious and I was so hungry, I asked for seconds.

I said,
“Sehr gut, Frieda,”
which Adrie told me to say and means “very good.” I hoped Frieda knew I meant it.

Shortly after breakfast, Frieda brought the skirt and blouse to me—all beautifully pressed and ready to wear.
“Danke,”
I said with a big smile. I had come to realize how
sehr gut
it was to have Frieda cooking and ironing for us.

Adrie went inside to dress, and I was alone on the terrace. The table was set under a maroon-and-white-striped awning that extended the length of the terrace. Although the July morning was hot, under that awning it was cool and comfortable.

Across the street was a park surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence that stretched all the way up to the next street. The tall lush green trees of the park stirred in the light summer breeze, and the sun sent shadows through the leaves.

Suddenly, for an instant, as the wind parted the branches and foliage behind the park fence, I saw a face! I
stood up, straining to see better, but just as quickly, the branches and leaves gathered together and the face was gone.

It must have been an illusion,
I told myself. The sun and the shadows, along with moving leaves had given me the impression of a face. That was all it was—an illusion. I shivered and brushed the eerie feeling aside.

Adrie and I took the bus to the Wertheim department store in the Leipziger Platz. The store filled up at least two or three blocks, and looked about six stories high—almost like a city by itself.

“This is the largest department store in Europe,” Adrie told me when we stepped off the bus.

Canvas canopies, painted with green leaves and branches, hung above the sidewalks along the wide street, concealing the sky. “From the air, this looks like a forest,” Adrie explained. “If enemy planes come, they'll never know this is downtown Berlin.”

“Has Berlin been bombed?” I asked.

“Yes, we were bombed, but it wasn't much of anything. However, it angered our Führer, and he ordered forty days of bombing Britain. The British called it ‘the Blitz.' ”

“Oh, I saw pictures of the Blitz in the news. The Germans bombed homes and hospitals—”

“Served them right,” Adrie interrupted. “The British won't be trying that again.”

“I hope not.” After all, I lived in Berlin now.

Once inside the store, it was easy to put the war, bombs, and fear aside. I loved to shop, and needed many things.
We started with underwear, and Adrie bought lovely undies, nighties, and pajamas for me. Then we moved on to the next department and picked out shoes, then sweaters and a jacket.

I hated the black shorts and white sleeveless shirts with black swastikas on them, and those ugly brown skirts that were the proper uniforms for girls. “I don't want to join those groups,” I said. But then I added quickly, “Considering that I cannot speak German, the girls will know I'm American, and they'll hate me.”

“You'll learn our language quickly because you are living here now. It's the way babies learn to speak. They hear a language over and over, and before long they've mastered it.”

“Isn't there something else I can do here instead of joining a girls' youth group?”

“We'll talk about it later.”

I was disappointed when she purchased the uniforms anyway.

In the dress shop, Adrie bought me skirts and shirts and an adorable red-and-green-striped peasant dress with a white bodice and puffed sleeves, with an attached lace-trimmed apron.

“You are a true German in this Bavarian
dirndl
, with your blond hair and blue eyes,” Adrie said with an approving nod. “Now we'll have lunch at the little café on the first floor.”

We sat in a booth and ordered chicken salad—
Huehner Salat
—and tea.

“The government took ownership of this store because it was originally owned by Jews,” Adrie explained as we waited for our order. “Now all the employees and buyers are Aryans.”

“Why did they take away this store from Jewish owners?”

“Jews are outlawed in Germany now. In fact, it is a crime for Germans to marry Jews. You should keep that in mind.”

“I have no intentions of marrying anyone. I'm not even fifteen yet.”

“In any case, you are a German—an Aryan—and you need to keep that blood pure.”

I had no idea who the Aryans were, but I didn't need to ask because Adrie was about to tell me.

“Aryans are a purebred race that lived years ago. Scandinavians and Germans, and some English, too, are descendants of that perfect race. Usually they are handsome, blond, blue-eyed, and fair skinned, like you.” She leaned over the table and spoke with a fervor I didn't understand.

“Above all things remember this: You have pure German blood for many generations on both sides of your family.” Adrie sat back and folded her hands. “Don't ever forget. This is your heritage because you are one hundred percent German.”

“I won't forget, Adrie,” I promised.
How could I forget when she keeps telling me all the time?

We had so many packages, we took a taxi home. Frieda met us at the door and helped me carry my packages up to my room.

Frieda had been cooking all the time we were gone, and something smelled delicious. We sat down at the oak table in the kitchen while Frieda ladled out beef stew into white bowls and set them on the table. Then she cut fresh bread that she had made herself, and served it on a platter next to a crock of butter.

“Butter?” I asked, looking at Adrie. Back in the States, it was practically impossible to buy butter since the war.

Adrie nodded. “The real thing—not that awful white margarine substitute. I am able, fortunately, to buy many luxuries. I'm rewarded well for the work that I do.” She took a slice of bread, spread it thick with butter, and placed it on my dish. “Here you go. Enjoy it.”

I didn't know exactly what Adrie did for work—but this wasn't the time to ask and I was too hungry to care. The stew was thick with meat, carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. I hadn't had a real substantial meal with meat in a long time—not even back in the States—but we didn't lack anything here, and I devoured two bowlfuls.

After a dessert of baked cinnamon apples topped with sweet nutty syrup and whipped cream, Adrie said, “Tomorrow you will come with me to my office downtown. There you will meet Admiral Canaris, who is—as you say in America—my boss.”

Although I was curious about Adrie's work, I was sure I'd be bored. “Are you positive you want me to go with you?”

“Of course. I'm positive. Admiral Canaris often asks about you. I was told he has a surprise for us.”

“A surprise? For us?”

“Yes. But now it's time for you to go to bed.” She stood up, dismissing me.

I would have liked to stay up longer, but I could tell Adrie was finished with me. It was as if she were checking me off her list of daily duties.

“Thank you for all the beautiful clothes you bought me, Adrie,” I said before leaving.

“You're welcome,” she answered. “Sleep well.”

I went to my room, put on my new pajamas, turned out the light, and looked out the window. My room faced the park, which was dark now. For a moment I recalled the face I had seen amid the foliage.
It was simply a mirage,
I told myself as I climbed into bed.

Still, it really had looked like a face.

T
he next morning after breakfast, Adrie reminded me of our visit to meet with Admiral Canaris. I hoped it wouldn't take long.

“How come Admiral Canaris isn't on a ship? An admiral is a naval officer, isn't it?”

“He was in the navy in the last war. Now he is the head the
Abwehr
military intelligence unit.”

“Intelligence? Does that mean he's a genius or something?”

Adrie laughed. “Well, he is a brilliant man, actually,” she explained, still chuckling. “He has a position of great importance.
Abwehr
is the department that hunts out those who are working against our Führer.”

Things were beginning to fall into place. Adrie was a spy and she worked for the German government as a spy in the United States. They had found out and wanted to catch
her. And that was the reason we had to run away.

“Oh, so
Abwehr
is a spy organization?” I asked.

“Go get dressed and don't ask so many questions.”

I wore a new blue skirt, shirt, and jacket along with matching shoes, and Adrie wore a deep blue suit, so we sort of matched. She called a taxi, and we drove through downtown Berlin to the
Abwehr
office. Of course, there was no sign on the door advertising the fact that this was a Nazi spy organization. It didn't seem different than any other office that I'd seen. However, there were signs on some doors that indicated no one was allowed through unless they had priority clearance. Adrie translated for me.

I think I was expecting the need for a top-secret code to open the door, or a bookcase that swung open to a hidden room. But then, when I looked at Adrie, she wasn't like a spy I might have seen in a movie. I didn't think she ever had one of those spy raincoats with lots of pockets or a wristwatch that was really a radio. She looked more like a professional journalist or maybe the president of some big company.

Admiral Canaris was a small man, quiet-spoken, and very sweet. He didn't seem to me one bit like a top spy person—or whatever his title was. He smiled and shook my hand firmly and spoke softly to Adrie. She told him I didn't speak German, and he nodded agreeably. They spoke back and forth, and I could tell some of the conversation was about me because they would look at me. I heard the word
Unterseeboot
and knew Adrie was telling him about our trip across the ocean in the submarine.

After some conversation between them, I noticed a look of surprise, followed by disappointment on Adrie's face.
What had he told her that caused her distress?
I wondered.

Admiral Canaris then took a key from his desk and motioned for us to follow him outside to the parking lot at the back of the building. He took us to a shiny two-door silver-gray car. He unlocked the doors and motioned for Adrie to get into the driver's seat. Admiral Canaris stood by, explaining various switches and gears and turning on the windshield wipers, the lights, and the horn. Adrie started the engine, and after she said
danke
a dozen or more times, I realized then that he had given her the car.

The admiral opened the passenger-side door and signaled for me to get in. Then, standing back, he gave us a little salute, pointed to the driveway, and went back into the building.

“This was the surprise. We have an auto!” Adrie whispered. “And what a beauty!”

“It looks brand-new,” I said, admiring the leather seats and shiny knobs and equipment. “What kind of car is it?”

“It's a 1939 Opel Kapitän. There haven't been new cars in Germany since 1940. Now we don't need to call a taxi for every little thing.” Adrie concentrated as she drove out to the road and pulled in to a line of traffic.

“How come he gave it to you?”

She shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “I guess I can thank you for this. Since you are living with me now, he
thinks it will be better that I don't travel outside of Germany for a while.”

“Because of me?”

“Well, not just because of you,” she explained. “It's more likely because my face has been plastered all over newspapers in America and England since we were nearly captured back in Maine. It would be dangerous for me to work outside of Germany now. In any case, he gave me the car for everyday use, as well as for future
Abwehr
assignments I might have in this country.”

As we turned onto the Autobahn, the busy highway Hitler had built, Adrie gave a little whistle. “This is a powerful car. It's one of the last government-owned automobiles. There aren't many left, so I'm fortunate to get this beauty. It will make up somewhat for the projects I was hoping to get.”

Projects she hoped to get.
So it was because of me that she wouldn't get them.