CHAPTER 6
Lisa arrived at the station on time at eight thirty, her hair damp and disheveled from the blowing snow, the suitcase clutched in her right hand. She must have noticed the congregated SS men, because she chose a seat at the entrance near the newsstand, far away from me. Other travelers had gathered, whether to escape the snow or to travel to Munich I wasn’t certain.
I hoped to catch Lisa’s eye, but she turned away as soon as I looked her way. I had no choice but to sit, pretending to be interested in the paper, knowing that communication was impossible.
All passengers, except the SS men, were called for a security check. As I passed through the inspection, I fought hard to control my nerves. The leaflets were a heartbeat away from being discovered. Fortunately, the guard seemed bored by his late shift and gave me a cursory look. Lisa was behind me, but I paid no attention to her.
Our train backed onto the track a few minutes later, the cars and engines coated in white, rivulets of meltwater pouring down their metal sides as the warmer air of the station struck them. This time, I boarded first, the heated car sloughing the chill from my body, as I searched for a seat away from the SS. The conductor herded us down the aisle, pointing out empty seats. “It’s snowing all the way to the border,” he said.
I found a spot in the middle of the car. Not long after, Lisa walked past and took her place a few rows ahead of me. She carried the suitcase, which, I hoped, contained only her clothes. I prayed that she, unlike me, had been able to drop all the leaflets.
The conductor asked for my ticket, marked it, and moved on to Lisa. After he left, I glanced back over my seat, and stunned by what I saw, turned quickly around. Rows of SS men had gathered in our car, many standing in the compartment or at the entrance of the one behind, a few smoking, one passing a flask to another. I surmised that the Reich was holding a high-level meeting in Germany, possibly in Munich or Berlin. Lisa and I were surrounded by the very men we were fighting against.
The train pulled away precisely at nine and soon we’d left the city behind for the dark countryside. With little outside light passing by, the windows turned into black mirrors. I caught sight of my reflection in the glass: face drawn, eyes gray, looking as if I needed a bath and a great deal of sleep. Sweat broke out on my forehead from the car’s heat but I didn’t dare take off my coat with the unsecured leaflets inside. I unfastened its top buttons and fanned myself with the newspaper, keeping the treasonous material hidden from the SS. As time drifted by, my eyes grew heavy and my head nodded to my chest several times before reflexively jerking me awake with a snap of my neck.
After one violent jerk, my eyes shot open and adrenaline coursed through my body. The same guard who had questioned Lisa on our journey to Vienna stood in the aisle beside her, the suitcase in his hand. I heard snippets of their conversation over the wheels’ muffled churn on the snowy tracks.
“I thought you were staying in Vienna with your aunt,” the man said.
I took off my glasses and slipped them in my pocket to present a different face, and then raised the newspaper so I could just look over it.
“Oh, you remember me,” Lisa said with a laugh, trying to make light of the situation.
I, once again, offered a silent prayer that all the traitorous material in the suitcase had been delivered.
He glowered and leaned toward her. I didn’t catch what he said, but Lisa answered, “My aunt . . . her sister . . . showed up unexpectedly . . . no room, so I decided to return to Munich.”
His eyes swept over the car and I looked down, avoiding his gaze. “Open it,” he ordered. I didn’t dare look up. My palms broke out in a sweat, and, for a moment, I thought I might pass out from the car’s heat.
The locks clicked. Finally, I raised my head. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the suitcase.
For the second time in one day, the guard inspected the suitcase. His arms dug into it with vigor. Lisa’s dress and nightgown were soon draped over the back of a seat in front of me in the course of a thorough inspection. Was he doing so for the benefit of the SS men because he wanted to show off in front of his superiors?
He asked Lisa to stand, which she did, and he ran his hands over her from head to toe. Satisfied with his search, he locked the case and withdrew a notepad and pen from his pocket.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Lisa Kolbe. . . . You’ve seen my papers.”
“I asked only for your name, Fräulein,” he said severely. “I’d advise you to keep your mouth shut.”
He wrote on the pad and then stuffed it in his pocket. “Have a good journey,” he said in a cold voice. “I trust I won’t see you tomorrow.”
Lisa turned to him. “No, I’ll be at home studying. Thank you for your diligence, Herr . . . ?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He turned abruptly and rushed past me on his way to the back of the car. Looking straight ahead, Lisa took her seat. I turned briefly to see the guard encircled by the SS men.
Not more than a minute had passed before one of the officers in his black coat, cinched leather belt, and chest strap, strode up to Lisa. He introduced himself, pushed his pomaded hair back with his hand as he leaned over, and then spoke loudly enough that several rows in the car could hear what he was saying. “Fräulein Kolbe. It’s unusual for a young woman to make a round trip to Vienna in one day, especially one from Munich. I would like your address . . . in case I need to get in touch with you at a later time.”
Lisa complied, after which, the officer stuck out his arm in the Nazi salute, turned and walked away.
We traveled past Linz and then to the border. I moved closer to the window and curled up in my seat with the newspaper partially covering my face, my buttoned coat concealing the damning leaflets that I carried.
* * *
We arrived in Munich sometime after three in the morning to a deserted station except for guards at their posts and sanitary workers pushing mops and brooms. The SS men departed in black Mercedes sedans lined up on the street; Lisa brushed past me silently without giving me a look.
I thought about dropping the leaflets in the women’s bathroom, but, even at the early hour, I felt that would prove too risky. I took a taxi home, where Katze greeted me with several long meows. Fighting exhaustion from the long day, I searched for a safe hiding place for the leaflets until I could figure out what to do with them, finally placing them in an envelope and securing them to the underside of a dresser drawer. They seemed safe, surrounded by wood.
Frau Hofstetter knocked on the hall door the next morning before sunrise. Groggy from only a few hours’ sleep, I threw on my robe to find the rigid woman scowling at me, the folds of her sagging face cast in shadow by the lone hanging bulb. Her ruffled housecoat and mismatched slippers indicated that she had suffered a distressing night.
She cleared her throat and then began, “Fräulein Petrovich, you have a cat in your room.”
I’d been caught, and it was useless to pretend otherwise. I looked toward my bed, where Katze slept, curled in the warm, comfortable folds of my blanket. “Yes,” I replied meekly.
The Frau had little patience considering the early hour. “The next time you leave that cat alone for the day, and half the night, warn me, otherwise I shall send you packing. Also, you’ve neglected your duties.”
I sagged against the door. “I’m sorry, Frau Hofstetter. I was called away to help a friend. I’ll start work as soon as I get dressed.”
She harrumphed and scratched her gray, frizzy hair. “I have no problem with cats—I had one myself for many years. Herr Hofstetter hated it . . . I think that’s why I liked it so much.” She rubbed her hands. “At any rate, the poor thing was lonely, missing you all day, so it . . .”
“. . . Katze.”
“Katze never shut up. I’d be happy to feed him, perhaps even play with him, if you’d allow me to do so.” Her lips formed a brief smile, which faded quickly.
“That would be wonderful, Frau Hofstetter. He was given to me—the poor animal had no home—normally he’s no trouble at all. I didn’t know I was going to be away so long. I kept meaning to tell you about him . . . ask your permission, that is . . . but I’ve been so busy.”
She straightened, resuming her stern stance. “I’ll expect you to honor my request.” She turned, but then looked back. “You can join me for breakfast in an hour, if you’d like—and then you can wash the dishes that have piled up in your absence.” She pointed at me. “I have money for you.”
“That would be nice,” I said. She returned to her room and I plopped on the bed next to Katze and stroked the silky white fur on his back until his purring filled my ears. “You don’t know what a lucky cat you are,” I said to him, and thought of Garrick for the first time in days.
* * *
Lisa and I didn’t speak until we were both invited to another gathering at the Scholls’ at week’s end.
“I was scared on the train,” I said to her when we were well away from my apartment and prying ears. “I didn’t know what to think when the guard questioned you and then the SS man appeared.”
“Yes, it could have gone badly, but everything was in place so I had no worries about an uncomfortable situation,” Lisa said, understating the situation in her usual manner. I took her words to mean that all her leaflets had been distributed.
“Uncomfortable?” I asked as loudly as I dared.
She shook her head as if no response was necessary. “What about you? How did your evening go?”
I told her about my encounter with the Austrian SS man, the leaflet blowing away in the wind, and my escorted trip back to the Vienna station. “I still have some of my literature,” I added. We spoke to each other in generalities, ever aware that our words might be overheard.
“We’ll have to do something about that,” she said.
A full moon hung above us, showing its glorious silver face these few days before Christmas, a holiday that most Germans, if celebrated at all, kept as a private observance. The Reich had tried its best to alter Christmas for its own use, changing its name to Julfest, replacing the star at the top of the tree with a swastika, removing any references to God and Jesus from holiday carols.
When we arrived at Hans and Sophie’s apartment, I was surprised to find that neither of them were there. Instead, Alex Schmorell met us at the door. I hadn’t seen him in months but was immediately taken in by his engaging smile and bubbly good humor. His manner reminded me of the time we had spent in Russia. “Hans and Sophie are at their parents’ home in Ulm for the holiday,” he said, inviting us in with a broad sweep of his arm. Alex smiled easily, his lean form attired in a dark jacket, high-necked sweater, and pleated pants. “We’re having a bit of a Julfest celebration,” he said, winked at me, and then captured me in his arms in a grand hug. “It’s good to see you again. Have a piece of cake—it’s hard to get these days unless you know the right people.”
I happened to look past his shoulders, across the room, where three men sat in a V-shaped wedge. The two at the top of the V, Professor Huber and Willi Graf, gestured and bent toward each other as if engaged in a fiery debate, while the other man, his back turned toward them, said nothing. Garrick Adler faced the door and cast a sour glance at me as Alex engulfed me in the hug.
“I hear you’ve been busy studying,” Alex said to me as he escorted me to the table where a holiday cake, pastries, and several bottles of wine glowed in the candlelight. “Literature studies are particularly important now.” He picked up a candle and lit his pipe, puffing a spicy, woody odor into the air.
I followed his coded language. “Yes, I’ve made a point of letting everyone know about my essay—as many as I could—even out of town.”
Alex faced me and shifted his eyes back toward Garrick, who had fixed his upon mine. “He’s still a new man, untested as far as Hans is concerned,” he whispered. “Watch yourself.” I was grateful that Alex had informed me of Garrick’s standing in the group because I’d wondered whether Hans and Sophie had decided to include him.
I nodded, poured a glass of wine, and broke away from Alex, hoping to at least draw Garrick out of what seemed an uncomfortable situation. Looking into my heart, I felt sorry for him, as forlorn and withdrawn as he seemed in his chair.
“How’s Katze?” he asked in a humble voice as I approached.
I pulled up a spare and sat down beside him. “He’s fine—such a treasure—I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“I’m glad,” he said, sporting a glimmer of his luminous smile. “Has he grown?”
“He’s getting bigger. Frau Hofstetter knows about him now.” I clutched my wineglass, knowing I couldn’t tell Garrick how my landlady had made the discovery. “Still not drinking?”
He looked down at his chest and picked at the fuzz on his heavy sweater, not saying anything for a time. “No . . . I’m not much in the mood for Julfest, or anything else for that matter.”
He raised his right hand to his temple and I caught a glimpse of his eyes, which looked as if they were filling with tears. Before I had a chance to ask him what was wrong, Professor Huber rose from his chair, walked to the table, his right leg dragging behind him, and tapped a spoon against a wineglass. Everyone turned their attention to him.
After collecting his thoughts, the professor focused his heavy-lidded eyes upon us and then began a lecture on the teachings of Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz, a seventeenth-century mathematician and philosopher who formulated his own inventive theories on nature’s harmony and its opposite, evil. I had already learned something about Leibniz in the professor’s class.
Although I wasn’t particularly interested in the subject—which made me feel as if I were in the university auditorium—I was certain the professor’s words contained messages that only those in the White Rose could decipher had I taken the time to listen carefully. Lisa had told me that the professor had erupted after a meeting with Hans earlier in the year, shouting that something had to be done about the Reich.
Instead, what captivated my attention was the professor’s personage. His small stature, pursed lips, and washed-out face belied his ferocity as an intellectual and a speaker. When the fire of oratory overtook him, it was as if a veil hiding his true personality dropped. The professor became a new man, his face contorting into agony and pleasure, his legs and arms working as one, as if the disability that plagued him had never occurred, his theatrical voice booming throughout the apartment, his skin reddening with fervor. We were all held spellbound—except for Garrick.
The professor finished his orations on Leibniz and took a small break to gulp a glass of water before tackling his next subject—Hegel. Garrick motioned for me to join him outside. I was happy to get a breath of fresh air. We walked down the stairs, and I huddled in the doorway across from him as he lit a cigarette. The smoke flared away from his mouth into the black, crystalline sky.
I leaned against the door. “What’s the matter? You don’t seem yourself tonight.” I surprised myself because I was concerned about his well-being, but I also thought I might be able to get a better understanding of his personality.
“You must excuse me,” he said. “My mood . . . has not been good lately, for I’ve seen things, heard things, that I can’t believe.”
His melancholy tone reminded me of the Russian secret I’d carried for many weeks before I revealed it to Lisa—a truth I didn’t dare reveal to Garrick. I folded my arms across my chest and rubbed them as the cold air bit through my blouse. I studied his face, the full moon’s light the only illumination to gauge the sincerity of his feelings.
“Would you like to talk? I’m a good listener.”
He took another puff on his cigarette, dropped it on the stone walkway, and crushed the smoldering tip with his shoe. “I would say this only to you . . . because I know I can trust you. . . . You are my friend.”
“Yes,” I said timidly.
He put his hand against my cheek and the warm tips of his fingers settling on my chilled skin set me shivering.
I turned my head, not wanting to encourage his affection but, at the same time, enjoying his touch. Silently, I cursed the Reich as well as my natural timidity with men. The simple pleasure of having a relationship had become too complicated under Hitler’s rule. How could I be certain that Garrick was a man I could trust, a man who could share my life? The conflicting emotions in my head and heart were too great, and, in these uncertain times, I had no clear answer to my question.
He bowed his head and whispered in a voice so low I strained to hear the words.
“I hate the Nazis. I hate Hitler.”
Those words burned into me, as if they were on fire, and I shuddered against the door. “What?”
He repeated the seven words, this time looking directly at me. His sincerity, the tortured feeling that emanated from deep within him washed over me. I wanted to reach out, hold him, express my sympathy for his feelings, but I didn’t yet dare for fear of revealing how much I agreed with him. The irony was not lost on me and I sagged from the weight of my thoughts. The truth was always hard to bear in Nazi Germany.
“Be careful,” I said. “Your words are treasonous. I could have you arrested.”
“I know.” He collapsed against the cold wall and reached for another cigarette, but struggling to hold it in his shaking hands, he stuck it back in the pack. “You could testify against me at my trial, which might lead to my execution . . . but I don’t think you will.... You feel like I do.”
I exhaled and my warm breath formed a cloud that dissipated in a fog over my head; I felt as cold and alone as the stars that shone above. I said nothing, only stared into the sky, protecting myself from his assertion that I felt as he did.
“I’m sorry. I hoped you would understand.”
“You can think what you want, but watch what you say.”
He wrapped his quivering hands around mine. “I want so much to help. I want to be part of something better than I am.” His eyes shifted toward the door and to the apartment above. “But they don’t trust me. . . . I’m sure of it. Hans and Sophie haven’t accepted me; yet, I’ve done all I can to show them I care about what they do.”
I wanted to help him, but I had to keep my distance. “What have they done? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Garrick released my hands as his anger and anxiety appeared to lift. “It’s all right. You don’t have to share anything with me.”
“I have nothing to share,” I said, shivering again. “Let’s go inside—it’s cold.”
“I’m going home,” he said. “Will you tell them good-bye for me?” He touched my cheek again, and this time I let his fingers linger longer than I should have because I wanted to feel their warmth. Perhaps, it gave him some comfort as well.
“Yes,” I said. “Please remember what I told you.” I grasped his hand gently and removed it from my cheek. “I’ll pet Katze for you.”
In the moonlight, a look that I had never seen in a man’s eyes, a look of tenderness combined with the possibility of love, touched my heart. He turned to leave, but then added, “May I take you out to dinner on Saturday?”
“Well . . .” Something within me sprang forward despite the cold night, something that required caution. I thought of many good reasons why I shouldn’t go out with him, but all of them centered on me and the monastic life I was living. Yet, it would be a chance for me to get out of my stuffy room and learn more about him. “All right,” I finally said. “Call for me at six. I should be done with my work by then.”
He kissed my cheek and was on his way, his newly lighted cigarette bouncing in orange arcs in the air.
I rushed up the stairs, excited to tell Alex and Lisa what Garrick had told me. I spotted Lisa first, engaged in a conversation with Willi now that Professor Huber had ended his discussion. Willi and I had rarely spoken and this evening was no different. He was as Aryan a soldier as Hitler could have wished for, with light hair, a strong chin and intense eyes, but who had confessed his hatred of National Socialism to Hans and Alex. He seemed a rock to me—a quiet, silent fighter whose expression always bordered on the careworn, but a man who would never betray his friends. We said hello and exchanged a few pleasantries, then Lisa drew me aside to the table.
“I was looking for you,” she said, her mouth forming a disagreeable frown. “I didn’t want to stir up trouble, though.”
“I was outside with Garrick.” I cut a slice of chocolate torte and popped it into my mouth.
“I thought as much.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” I said, although she hadn’t done so. “He was quite kind to me. I’m going out with him on Saturday.”
Her eyes widened and a look of disbelief spread across her face. “So, he is making advances.”
Anger flared in me, but I knew Lisa was only trying to protect me and the White Rose. “It’s just dinner.... He was . . . well, how should I put it?”
Lisa smirked, awaiting my answer.
“I guess the best word to describe it is ‘romantic.’” We stood looking at each other for a moment—Lisa’s eyes widened. “Look,” I continued, trying to hide my irritation. “I would never betray anyone in the White Rose, but I want to go out with him at least once. All of my life, men have taken fourth place to my studies, my nursing, and my father’s wishes. I know many women don’t think that way—particularly these days— wanting to be a mother and homemaker for the Reich.” I gave Lisa a friendly pout. “And besides, you’re not my mother . . . or Hitler.”
Fortunately, she took the jibe in the spirit in which it was given and soon was laughing with me. She filled her wineglass half-full of Riesling and sipped it. “I know. Just be careful.”
“I’m so damn tired of being careful—looking down the street, watching the street corners to see if someone is standing there, whispering to keep my voice from being heard, always wondering if someone is listening on the other side of the apartment wall.” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “It’s maddening.”
Lisa started to reply, but I cut her off. “And I know it’s the way we must live or we could be imprisoned, but how long can this war go on? How long must we live this way? It’s almost 1943 and the United States is in it now. How long can Hitler hold out? How many people have to die before Germany is rid of this tyrant?”
A hand grasped my shoulder and I stiffened, my feet rooted to the floor.
Alex rested his head next to mine and whispered, “Thank God this is a safe place to get worked up. I could tell from across the room that you weren’t happy.”
I patted his head and he laughed and swung himself beside me in a playful step. “Fascinating material on Leibniz and Hegel, but it gets tiresome reading between the lines.” He cocked his head to the side. “Huber is leaving.” The professor, putting on his coat and scarf, appeared his rather hunched self again, having expended himself on his diatribe. He nodded in a typical professorial gesture and was soon out the door, leaving Lisa and me alone with Alex and Willi.
“Want to help me tidy up?” Alex asked. “Hans and Sophie deserve to come home to a clean apartment after the holiday.”
We all pitched in and soon the dishes and glasses were washed and put back in place. Willi blew out the candles as we picked up our coats.
“I must tell you what Garrick told me,” I said as we gathered at the door. Alex opened it to make sure no one was outside and then closed it. “He said he hated Nazis and Hitler.” The room grew quiet, all of them fixed in their spots, as they soaked up my words. “He feels that Hans and Sophie have betrayed him by not letting him into their confidences. He believes something is going on and he wants to be part of it.”
Willi fastened the top buttons of his coat. “I don’t trust him—he’s too eager to be part of us.”
“What do you think, Natalya?” Alex asked. The soft, intimate tone of his voice made me think there was more to his question than a solicitation of my opinion, as if he harbored an honest affection for me.
I thought for a moment. “He sounded sincere. . . .”
“But men have a knack for sounding sincere,” Lisa said. “You should be on your guard when you go out with him.”
Alex nodded as Lisa spoke. “Going out? That’s a different story.... Yes, I’d be careful.”
“I will—you needn’t worry about me.” I pulled on my gloves, ready to end the conversation. Obviously, no one trusted Garrick.
“Following your heart could be your downfall,” Willi said. “My heart leads me to one place and there’s no trouble there.”
Saying nothing more, I opened the door and led everyone downstairs to the walk. Alex and Willi said good-bye. Lisa agreed to accompany me a few blocks before returning home.
“What did Willi mean about a place where there’s no trouble?” I asked. We walked under the etched shadows of trees, the black branches stained against the lighter colors of stone.
“He’s a devout Christian,” Lisa said. “He believes in God and heaven, and I think, in his own way, he longs to get there sooner rather than later.” She paused. “Hans and Sophie are Christians as well.... We must be the two agnostics in the group.”
Lisa knew my feelings about religion, about my on-and-off-again belief in God, so I kept quiet. I was ashamed sometimes that I used God when He was needed and then neglected Him; but, as far as I was concerned, being a good person and sometimes praying to get to heaven was radically different from being a martyr. I couldn’t reconcile Willi’s way of thinking—if Lisa was correct in judging his feelings.
We were near Leopoldstrasse when the shrill, rising cry of air-raid sirens filled our ears. I looked up instinctively but saw neither bombers nor heard the whir of engines. However, the clear sky suddenly lit up with searchlight beams crisscrossing it.
“I’ve got to get home.” She kissed me on the cheek and sprinted down the darkened street.
I ran north toward my apartment, hoping Katze and Frau Hofstetter were safe. As I neared my room, yellow light flashed behind me, like lightning from a summer storm. I watched as the bombs fell on the northern outskirts of Munich only a few kilometers away.
After one brilliant explosion, I swiveled toward the house, and, for an instant, I saw the indistinct figure of a man standing in the bushes near my window. The light faded and the form disappeared, leaving his shadowy imprint burned upon my eyes. I wondered if I had seen a phantom, or imagined a specter.
I staggered toward my door, the bombs still exploding in the distance. I found my key and stepped inside.
“Katz . . . Katze . . .” I called out. The cat had disappeared.
I bent down, looked under the bed, and found the creature shivering on the cold floor. When he saw my face, he rushed toward my arms. I lifted him up and felt a draft surging in from the window. It was a small crack, but enough to let the winter air into the room. I hadn’t left the window open; in fact, I was certain it was closed when I left for the party. Perhaps Frau Hofstetter had been in my room; after all, she could come in through the hall door, or perhaps—I didn’t want to think about it—the apparition had been in my room? I rushed to the dresser, and discovered, with a sigh of relief, that the leaflets were still in their hiding place under the drawer.
A violent knock on the inside door left me gasping for breath. Frau Hofstetter stood in her nightgown, hands over her ears, tears dripping from her eyes.
“I’m scared . . . to . . . death,” she stammered. “I don’t want . . . to be alone.”
“Come in,” I said, pulling her inside my room.
She threw herself on the bed and covered her head with my pillow. I sat beside her as Katze curled up in my arms. The Frau lifted the pillow occasionally for a gulp of air until the bombs faded and the all-clear sounded. She turned on her side and I realized from her breathing that she was asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so Katze and I slipped in bed beside her. I knew my father, still in prison, and my mother, were safe because the bombs hadn’t fallen near them.
If the truth be known, I was happy to have the Frau’s company because the image of a man standing outside my window had unnerved me. I tried to reconstruct his face from the brief seconds I had seen him, but only one made sense—Garrick Adler’s.