Volk (32 page)

“I see you know of me,” Heydrich said in English. “Come now, I am not as bad as all that.”

“I did not speak of you to her,” Ernst said, alarmed. “I told her nothing.”

Heydrich ignored him. He concentrated on Quality, to her discomfort, seeming to take in every aspect of her. “And you wear the swastika! That is good; it will protect you, as it protected him.” He paused. “The bruise,” he said sharply. “Who hit you?”

She felt mesmerized. She knew that even had she been one to lie, it would have been useless to try to fool this man. She wished that the last vestige of the bruise had faded, or that she had thought to cover it up with powder. “Ernst hit me. Before he gave me the swastika.”

Heydrich turned a sharp glance on Ernst. “This is not the conduct of an officer of the SS! I forbid it! You must treat this pretty young woman with the utmost courtesy at all times. Can you remember that without a memo?”

“Ja,” Ernst said, abashed.

“After all, in love and in revenge woman is more barbarous than man. You do not wish her to seek your downfall.” He glanced again at Quality. “Do you not agree,
Liebling
?”

“Nietzsche had no respect for women,” she replied.

His brow lifted. “You recognize my quote from Nietzsche? Why do you condemn him?”

“I don't condemn him. I just don't regard him as any authority on women. He said that man thinks woman is profound, because he can never fathom her depths, but that she is not even shallow. If he had ever come to know a woman who wasn't syphilitic, he would have had a better opinion.”

Ernst turned his face away, perhaps horrified by her impertinence to his superior, but Quality had already realized that Heydrich respected mind more than subservience. If he had come to take her back to an awful camp, at least he would know she had a mind.

Heydrich smiled. “Now I see why Ernst selected you. And what do you think of Wagner?”

“The composer? I love his work, but I have not heard a lot of it.”

“You must listen to more. The
Führer
approves.” His eyes flicked around the room again. Then he switched back to his staccato German, addressing Ernst, who answered reluctantly. Their dialogue continued.

Quality, evidently dismissed, retreated to a corner and sat, waiting for the conclusion. What was Heydrich's purpose here? Was he going to take her away, or was she incidental? She had the unmistakable impression that his interest in her was not casual. That chilled her, but she knew she was helpless.

Then, abruptly, Heydrich was departing. “We shall meet again,
Fräulein
, when we have more time for Nietzsche.” He was gone.

Quality felt the tension draining from her. “What does he want?” she demanded.

“He wants the truth about Admiral Canaris,” he said heavily. “And I have given it to him.”

“But I thought thee worked for Canaris.”

“I do. But my real job is with Heydrich. I fear I have gotten Canaris in trouble.”

“Trouble? How?”

“I have learned that Canaris is employing a full Jewish agent in Tangier.”

“Heydrich hates Jews?”

“No, he helped a Jewish fencing instructor to emigrate to America. He was proficient in fencing, so has respect for it. He simply regards Jews as faceless objects that must be removed from Germany, as Hitler wills. But the fact that Canaris is using Jews in his operation means that Canaris is suspect. I believe he is loyal, but this counts against him.”

“Thee is a spy for Heydrich, against Canaris?”

“Yes. I wish I were not.”

“So Heydrich is not going to take me away?”

“Oh, no, Quality! He doesn't care about you.”

“Yes he does. But I don't know how.”

“I fear I do know. I hope I am wrong.”

“Then what is it, Ernst? Can I avoid it?”

“It is his way to blackmail his most important subordinates. He believes he can not trust any man completely unless he knows something about that man that must not be revealed. Now he has that hold on me. Perhaps I should feel privileged, that I am important enough to him to rate this treatment.” He smiled without pleasure.

“What hold?” she asked, perplexed.

“I prefer not to say.” He was obviously distressed.

“Thee must tell me, Ernst, if it concerns me.”

He closed his eyes in pain. “It is my love for you. I must obey him absolutely, because if I do not, he will destroy you, and therefore me.”

“Oh, my,” she said, horrified.

“I think he knew all along. He was the one who sent me to Barcelona to investigate the Quaker relief effort there. He knew of you from my personnel record. He has an uncanny memory for key details. He must have known I would try to protect you, once I knew you were in Spain. I invoked his name when I took you from Gurs. I thought they did not check, but now I suspect they did, and he gave you clearance to go with me. It is the way he works.”

“But he could not know we would fall in love!” she protested.

“It is exactly the kind of thing he
does
know. He is a genius in the manipulation of people and power. He wanted this hold on me, and now he has it.”

“Oh, Ernst!” she cried, chagrined. “What have I done to thee!”

“No, my love, no, I would not have it otherwise! I wish only that he had not known.”

“There must be truth,” she said, pained. “If it is to thy commander I owe my rescue from Gurs, and my stay with thee, and the love we share, then I must thank him, though his motive be unkind. I owe him my life and love.”

“Can good come of an ill motive?” Ernst inquired bleakly.

“It can, and ill can come of a good motive. We do not comprehend the ways of God.”

“Certainly I do not!”

She smiled, cheering him, understanding his confusion. He had never professed the kind of faith she had, yet he was as good a man as any who had faith.

Still she was sorry that her presence placed him in this peril. She knew that there was intrigue among German officers, with each striving to get ahead at the expense of others, and she was chagrined to be the mechanism by which Ernst had become vulnerable.

A few days later there was a peremptory knock on the door. It was during the day, while Ernst was at work. She did not answer, as was her policy; Ernst had stressed that no one who lacked a key should be admitted during his absence.

“
Liebling
! It is Reinhard.”

Quality suffered a siege of panic. That was Heydrich, Ernst's terrible superior! What could have brought him here?

“Do not fear,” Heydrich called. “I have brought you something. Open the door.”

She could not deny this man, for his anger could cost Ernst terribly. With dread, she unlocked the door.

The Nazi officer stood there holding a box. He was in civilian clothing, as he had been before, which meant he was not advertising his presence here. He stepped into the room. He carried the box to the table and set it down. “Lock the door again,
Liebling
,” he said without looking at her.

Quality's hands were shaking as she did so. It was obvious that the man had timed his appearance for Ernst's absence. What dreadful thing did he have in mind? She knew she was helpless to prevent it, because he could readily arrange to have her killed.

Heydrich brought out a knife as he turned to face her. Quality felt a thrill of horror. He was going to kill her right here, if she even screamed!

“
Fräulein
, what do you expect of me?” Heydrich asked, looking surprised.

Pleading would be useless; this was a completely cynical man. She could save only her dignity, for what little it was worth. So she gave him a direct answer. “I expect you to rape me, and to kill me if I protest.”

He laughed. “You misjudge me,
Liebling
. I am merely opening the box.” He proceeded to use the knife to cut the string and cardboard. “While it is true that I like women, I do not impose on those committed to other men, and I am distressed that you suppose I would deplore your being hit by Ernst while intending violence on you myself. I assure you that this is not my way. Certainly not when a lovely woman is protected by her swastika.”

She was not completely reassured. “Then what is your intent?”

“Only to charm you.” He had the box open, and put away the knife.

“I am not to be charmed into what I do not wish to do.”

He glanced at her again, smiling. “Then you have nothing to fear from me.”

“But Ernst has!” she said boldly.

“Ah, he has told you of my way.”

“It's a terrible way!”

“It is a practical way. It obviates deceit. In my profession this is necessary. Now I can truly trust Ernst, and so there will never be any problem. As Nietzsche says, what is good is all that heightens the feeling of power.”

“And what is bad is all the proceeds from weakness,” she agreed. “Therefore I am bad.”

He laughed again. “I am not so sure of that,
Liebling
. You have the power of your faith. It shines through you, making you the envy of all women. I am a connoisseur in such matters. Now take away the box as I lift it out.”

Hesitantly she took hold of the box, and pulled it free of what he held. She set it down, then looked at the thing on the table. “A Victrola!” she exclaimed, surprised.

“And a record,” he agreed. “Wagner. Power is good, and music is power, and Richard Wagner is the true prince of music. You appreciate Wagner, therefore you are also good.”

“This is for me?” she asked, stunned.

“And for Ernst, while the two of you are here. Have no fear: Adolf Hitler endorses Wagner. You may listen with impunity.” He brought out a record. “Only his shorter pieces are here, I regret. The
Ring
is too much for a mere machine.”

“But why?” Quality asked.

“I do not wish you to know me only by hearsay, which is not kind. I prefer you to know me for what I am.”

“But what do you care about my opinion? I am nothing.”

“Ernst has good taste. He has given up a remarkably beautiful, obliging, and well pedigreed woman, for you. I suspect you are a woman among women, when you show your nature. I shall fathom that nature.”

She focused on one part of what he said. “He gave up Krista?” Somehow she had not thought of this, of the insistent girlfriend she had displaced.

“He is an honorable man. When he loved you, he broke with her. She was most annoyed.”

“He said nothing to me about this!” Yet of course Ernst would have done it.

“And he said nothing to her about you. He merely told her that he felt it was better that they no longer associate. She remains suspicious of his motive.”

“I never intended this!” Quality cried, though another part of her recognized it as inevitable. How could she have married Ernst, even symbolically, and expected him to continue dating another woman? Such deceit might be required for appearances, but not when that woman loved him.

Heydrich was watching her, as if he could read her thoughts in the manner of ripples across her surface. “You love him, of course.”

“Yes. But—”

“As Nietzsche clarifies, love is a disguised desire for possession. The will to power.”

“But I would not think of—”

“And humility is protective coloration for the will to power.”

“No! I do not want to harm anyone.”

“The strong woman defines her own morality.”

Everything he said was quoted from Nietzsche. She gave him a direct stare. “Distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful,” she said, quoting another maxim of Nietzsche.

He laughed. “Ah! She fights back at last! She is not quite the pacifist she pretends.”

“There is no virtue in silence; all unuttered truths become poisonous.” That was more Nietzsche. “Punishment tames man, but does not make him better.” But Heydrich was right; he had made her oppose him, to fight fire with fire. She was indeed not truly pacifist, in words, and had never been so. She realized that now.

“Now listen to your music. I will see you again, if you are amenable.” Heydrich walked to the door and waited until she came to use her key to let him out. He departed without ceremony.

She locked the door behind him, feeling weak. She had never anticipated such a visit! Yet the man seemed sincere. He did have her in his power, and knew it, yet he had chosen to bring her a gift instead of shame.

She told Ernst of the visit, when he came back. “He is an educated and sensitive man,” he said. “But also a will like steel. He is letting us know how completely we are in his power.”

“But the music is nice,” she said. There were several records, and the pieces were indeed pretty, with the power to move the heart and spirit.

In February came disaster for Ernst's nominal superior, Admiral Canaris. Ernst tersely explained to her what had happened: Himmler had received the word that Ernst had relayed to Heydrich about the Jew Canaris employed in Tangier. Himmler had gone to Hitler and accused Canaris of favoring Jews. Hitler, outraged, had summoned Keitel, who was the Chief-of-Staff of the German armed Forces, and ordered him to dismiss Canaris. Keitel had done so. Canaris was replaced by a Vice-Admiral within Abwehr. Thus had Ernst effectively served Heydrich, to the Admiral's cost. But he was saddened and disgusted. “It is true, there is a Jew—but he is an effective operative, working loyally for Germany. Canaris is merely trying to do the best job he can, using the best people. He is not disloyal or incompetent, and he does not deserve to be so callously cast aside.”

In the following days Canaris fought back. He went to Keitel, who refused to intercede on his behalf. Finally he went directly to Hitler, and in that interview was able to get himself reinstated. But the experience nearly destroyed him.

“He is despondent and morose,” Ernst reported as the situation unfolded. “He no longer pays attention to detail. He seeks solace in Roman Catholic mysticism. He visits Spanish churches. He speaks of retiring and buying a coffee shop in some little Spanish town.”