CHAPTER 17
My heart felt as if it had stopped, but somehow my legs stayed steady.
Garrick stared at me, his blue eyes cloudy and dull like those of a dead fish, his mouth turned down in a scowl. He’d aged since I’d studied him closely a year and a half ago at Stadelheim. We’d all grown older, and perhaps no wiser. His dazzling smile had disappeared; his face, if only for cruelty’s sake, fractured by furrowed lines.
He blinked and then moved on, inching his way down the line, looking back at me every few seconds. Perhaps my disguise had held.
After the inspection, the four SS men gathered near the center of the room and talked. We stood in our line, awaiting our dismissal, not daring to disturb the officers’ conversation.
After a few minutes, Garrick called Inga forward and spoke with her as the other officers filed out of the building.
Inga pointed to me and dismissed the others in line. “The officer standing near the door wants to talk with you,” she said with raised eyebrows.
Garrick, the brim of his SS cap shading his face, let me pass by.
A cold rain pattered down, so we took shelter under the overhanging roof, Garrick bundled warmly in his gray coat, me shivering in my work dress. The frigid wind sent gooseflesh rippling over my arms and legs. Garrick scrutinized our surroundings; a few prisoners smoked while huddled against the wall of a nearby barracks.
He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, thumped it against his left palm, withdrew one, and lit it with his silver lighter. The smoke curled away in the wind, but not before he was able to take a deep draft into his lungs. He studied me, his eyes losing their dullness a bit as the smoke curled from his nose. The other SS officers made a brief appearance on Lagerstrasse and then disappeared into a barracks.
“What is your name?” he asked.
I was certain he had recognized me, but I continued my charade on the slim chance he hadn’t. “Gisela Grass.”
“Gisela . . . Gisela . . . that name doesn’t sound familiar.” He touched a curl on my wig. “You remind me so much of someone I used to know.... Do I remind you of anyone you used to know?”
My instincts told me to stare at him the way he was staring at me, not to drop my gaze or display my fear, but I felt myself slipping, the ease of surrender being less effort than the constant strain of hiding. Yet, an urgent voice inside my head, pushing me to stay alive, kept me from giving in.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know you. Is that all you wanted—my name? It’s cold and I’d like to go inside where it’s warm.”
“I’ll tell you when you can go inside, Natalya.”
I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest, refusing to give him more information, my body shaking under the dripping roof.
He fingered my scalp and lifted the wig, which was pinned to my own hair now that it had grown out from the severe cut I’d been given.
“The hair and the powder to lighten your skin can’t hide who you are,” he said, leaning against the wall, his face taking on a blank look of resignation. “I’ve searched for you for months and, now that I’ve found you, I don’t know what to do with you.”
I half expected him to strike me or drag me off to a waiting car, where the guillotine or the hangman’s noose would be next.
“That doesn’t sound like you, Garrick,” I said, acknowledging his discovery. “You killed a mother cat and helpless kittens to infiltrate the White Rose—why would I expect any less punishment. Go ahead . . . take me away.” I held out my hands.
“I have a surprise for you, Natalya.” He puffed on his cigarette and looked out on the rain collecting in large puddles on the muddy road. “I didn’t kill those cats—they were already dead—except for one—Katze. I’d hoped to scare you into a confession. I actually had the absurd idea that you might join me in rooting out other traitors . . .”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, lowering my hands. “You wanted me dead—everything you said to me was a lie, even your professions of care and concern.”
He slaked the water from his coat. “On the contrary, I wanted you alive because I did care for you—a silly fascination, I see now, because it’s a tricky maneuver ridding yourself of a painful unrequited love. Obsession can be deadly, particularly to the one who holds it in his heart. I don’t care whether you believe me. I’m telling the truth.” The bright, laughing smile I’d seen so often remained hidden; the flare of the blue eyes muted by the slow burn of despair and resignation. “The war is over, Natalya. We all know it, but we’ll fight to the last man.” His lips curved upward in a thin smile. “I really would like to know if Katze and Frau Hofstetter are alive.”
“Are my parents alive? I saw you with them at the park. I passed by you.”
He laughed. “Oh, so it was you. I saw your father lean forward on the bench, but I couldn’t hear what he said. He lied, of course, when I asked him. I don’t know if your parents are alive. Others have taken over the case.” He puffed on his cigarette. “I didn’t think you that brazen—to seek them out—but now I know better. You’ve done far worse. The SS wants you because you killed the good doctor. You are a powerful woman, Natalya. A powerful woman wanted by the Reich.”
I lowered my gaze and huddled near the kitchen door hoping to find some warmth from the room. “Why the change of heart, Garrick? Has your transfer to the SS softened you?”
“Is that all you have to ask?” He flicked his cigarette onto the road, where it landed in a puddle with a smoky sizzle. “The Reich assigns you where it feels you’re needed. I was the one who kept you alive, just as Willi was allowed to live those extra months after his trial, the authorities hoping there would be more betrayals, followed by more deaths. In your case I was wrong. You remained stubborn to the end.
“By the time Dr. Kalbrunner was executed, I had no say in your case. You had failed to root out the traitors—Kalbrunner being one. I could no longer save you. My own loyalty to the Reich came under suspicion. Dr. König was ordered to end your life . . . I objected . . . every ploy I could think of, every argument I presented, was rejected by those in command. I was outranked and outnumbered. I had to let you escape my heart . . . and my mind.”
“I had no choice with Dr. König,” I said.
“I know . . . I admire your resourcefulness, Natalya.” He drew closer to me. “I don’t know if I could have made it out alive under such circumstances, but you persisted.” He shook his head. “König wasn’t a big loss—the sterilizations and euthanasia were supposed to have ended years ago, but some doctors have an itch they can’t cure when it comes to their power over others. I understand that now. König never proved anything except how easy it is for humans to die. However, the SS was not pleased by his murder.”
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked, knowing he held my life in his hands.
He chuckled. “The other officers and I came for an inspection. . . to size things up. I’m not even sure they know or care about you.” He flicked the rain from his cap. “I’m going to let you remain here at Stalag VII-A. In a way, I guess it’s as much like being in prison for you as for these POWs residing on Lagerstrasse—you have to be Gisela, don’t you, Natalya? There is no going back.”
I sighed with relief that Garrick was going to let me live, but he was right. I couldn’t flee the camp, because I had nowhere to go except Manfred’s; I couldn’t reveal my true identity because I might be recognized by other Gestapo and SS officials; and, perhaps most telling, I didn’t want to leave the man who had taken me into his home and heart.
“Thank you for letting me stay,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. Thank the Allies. They’ll be here in two months, maybe sooner. We all know that. Hitler doesn’t believe it. He rails against his generals and his staff thinking his ravings will somehow turn the tide of a war he can’t win.” He shook out another cigarette but didn’t light it. “Before you think I’m too generous, that I’ve gone soft, I do have one more thing to tell you.”
I stiffened, bracing for some terrible revelation. The rain lashed the roof in a sudden downpour from the blotchy clouds.
“I’m tired of death,” Garrick continued. “When we met, I wouldn’t have believed such words would ever come from my mouth, but they have. I’ve seen death where I least expected it, and I’ve marveled at those who resisted—the traitors—who went to their graves with such calm dignity and grace. They didn’t shudder, they didn’t fall into a heap; they shed a few tears for their loved ones and called out for freedom. Their strength comes from the heart . . . and from the soul. I felt that kind of courage from you the first time I met you at the synagogue.”
I felt little sympathy for him, despite his admission. “You deceived me, Garrick—you took advantage of me, and you betrayed my friends. The White Rose and I have paid the price over and over for letting you into our lives.”
He grasped my hands. “I won’t say I’m sorry because you wouldn’t believe me. . . . My parents are dead. When I saw their bodies blasted and burned by the bombs, I knew that I’d been wrong—and weak, while others had been strong like you. They were good Germans, Natalya.” He sighed. “So, go your way. Hide, live, until the end of the war, but know that the SS wants this camp destroyed and every prisoner in it dead before the Allies arrive. We will fulfill that duty if we can. We’re here today to formulate a final solution for the problem of Stalag VII-A.”
I withdrew my hands from his and leaned against the door, shocked by his words.
He stepped out from under the eave, into the lane, and looked toward the sky, the drops splashing on his face. “It’s glorious to live in your time, to know the moon and the stars, sunrise and sunset, good weather and bad. I treasure every day because my time is running out. I’ll be back when the SS returns to the camp.” He turned to me, his coat spotted with rain. “Perhaps I’ll see you again. Do what you must to protect yourself.”
He raised his hand in the Nazi salute and stalked off to find his comrades.
I pressed myself against the door and stood for a few minutes, watching, waiting, for Garrick to change his mind and return with the other SS men. However, a short time later, the sleek black sedan splashed down Lagerstrasse toward the camp entrance. Their time at the Stalag had ended and I cried as I watched them go.
I returned to the kitchen and warmed my hands in front of the baking stove, while swiping the rain from my damp dress. Inga and the others said nothing, but gave me odd looks as if I had risen from the dead. In a way I had.
Garrick had left me with the knowledge that the SS was sworn to destroy the camp. What could I do?
* * *
That night, I told Manfred what had happened with Garrick. He was seated on the floor in front of the woodstove, next to Schütze, and I could tell from his stunned expression that my news had caught him off guard. Despite the warmth of the house, the gleam of the oil lamp, his back and shoulders sagged under the weight of my revelation.
“I’m astonished that he let you go,” Manfred said.
“He still harbors some kindness—love, if you want to call it that—in his heart for me, but, more than that, he knows the end’s at hand. There’s nothing more the Wehrmacht can do.” I left the chair and settled on the floor next to him, running my fingers through the dog’s warm fur.
“Love . . .” He rested his hand on mine. “Some days I think love has fled from the earth, leaving only evil behind. Today is one of those days.”
“We’re safe and warm . . . for the moment.”
He placed his right palm gently on my face. “Moments are all we have . . . only moments.” His voice broke and he choked back sobs.
I cradled him in my arms and Manfred collapsed against me. I was glad to offer comfort when he’d done it so often for me.
“I’m grateful for you, Natalya. I didn’t want to tell you the bad news I heard from another contact—a man I barely know—but after Garrick’s visit I must. Gretchen’s been arrested—taken to Stadelheim. Perhaps that’s why the SS was here, because they found something in her apartment . . . who knows. If they connect me to her . . . and then to you . . .” His head drooped and the words sputtered out, “If I’m arrested, I’ll never talk. Your secrets will die with me; but, you must take care of Schütze and the farm.”
I kissed him on the cheek for being as quietly courageous as my friends in the White Rose. “Of course I would, but let’s not predict the future. It’s just as likely that they will come for me.”
We sat in silence, listening to the logs pop in the stove, watching the gentle rise and fall of Schütze’s breathing, mourning with mute voices what the Third Reich had destroyed. In my time at Stalag VII-A, I’d seen prisoners explode in rage, shaking their fists at God because of their imprisonment and the constant specter of death. Their anxiety and terror were palpable. All but the most hardened Nazis, who, like Hitler, believed that Germany would win the war, lived with the same suffocating apprehension. Now, the pressure was mounting with the Allied approach. No one knew what would happen to the camp.
My mind ran in circles, trying to think of a way to survive the SS extermination. Finally, a desperate thought struck me.
“I’ve never met the Commander, Colonel Burger,” I said. “What if we tell him what the SS has planned? Do you think he’d stand to see the camp destroyed and thousands of men killed? If he has any shred of decency, any kindness in his heart, he’d want to make sure his prisoners were spared.”
Manfred considered that. “Burger might stand up to the SS. . . . I can’t say for certain, but I don’t have a better idea.”
“Arrange a meeting—it’s worth a try.”
He broke from my grasp. “He’ll never believe me—a worker who happens to know that the SS is planning to destroy the camp and execute the prisoners? He’ll think I’m insane.”
“Make him believe—tell him that I overheard them talking—I’ll go with you.”
He tapped his forehead. “Good . . . good . . . yes, you should be there. He’ll want to know how I got this information.”
“Then it’s settled.”
He drew me close and kissed me. “I’m afraid, I’ve fallen in love with you,” he whispered, resting his head against my cheek.
I returned his kiss. “Don’t be afraid. Let’s make the most of the time we have . . . make love to me.”
He rose from the floor, extinguished the oil lamp, and led me to the bedroom. We undressed and slid under the covers.
I was hesitant at first, even though I’d slept in Manfred’s bed for weeks. I had to force my father’s voice from my head—chastising me for having sex before marriage. But Manfred’s strong hands gathered me in with an extraordinarily gentle touch, and my body shivered as he ran the tips of his fingers from my head to my feet.
We moved from friends and partners to lovers in one night, knowing each other’s bodies in a way I’d never experienced. He had been with women before; I was a virgin. Of course, I knew anatomy, having studied it and worked with men in the field hospital. In that respect, sexual characteristics were familiar.
As he entered me, I grasped his back and forced his body down upon mine. A sharp jolt in my groin shifted swiftly from pain to pleasure.
Making love, the intimacy of being close to a man I cared about, reinforced how precious life could be, especially in this time of war. We were in love and consummating our union—an act, an emotion that transcended our pasts. Now was all that mattered, for the future was an uncertainty.
I raked my fingers across his back and kissed his shoulders, face, and lips. Every nerve in my body fired in unison and the dark, colorless bedroom, exploded into a shower of stars and blue electric waves that rocked me until, spent, I sprawled across the bed.
Manfred captured me and snuggled against my back, our chests heaving until our breathing subsided.
After a time, I turned to face him.
He put a finger to my lips before I could speak. “We have each other. No one can take that away.”
I believed his words—no matter what happened—no matter that I was wanted by the Reich—we had become one and our love could never be ripped apart.
I held his face in my hands, kissed him, and reveled in every second that we had together.
Our love deepened as the hours passed, and the night lasted forever.
* * *
Three days passed before we could get in to see Colonel Otto Burger. Meanwhile, life at the camp continued on as it had since I’d arrived. Prisoners were transported to Munich to clear the streets of debris and repair the rails; the black market thrived, especially for baked goods from farmers’ wives; prisoners bathed at the cold-water spigot at their barracks, huddled against the rain, took in the sun when they could, and passed the time by walking the barbed-wire lanes.
I never told Inga about my conversation with Garrick, although she and everyone on staff who had seen the SS officers were intrigued by what had happened. More than a few eyebrows rose when Manfred arrived to take me to the Colonel’s office.
“Are you prepared?” he asked as we left the kitchen.
“Yes.” My stomach fluttered with nerves.
“Let me start the conversation, but if he asks you questions answer them. I’ll try to put him in a good mood.” He tugged my hand. “Be sure to give the salute like a good Nazi.”
I gulped deep breaths as we walked down Lagerstrasse, passing through a secondary security gate, traveling past the food storage and equipment sheds until we arrived at yet another checkpoint. A work area and the Commander’s headquarters stood nearby.
Manfred announced us to a guard who scratched our names from a clipboard and then opened a waiting room door. Nazi banners and slick photographs of high-ranking Reich officials hung in this long, narrow space, making it the most pompous room I’d seen since my transport to the Palace of Justice. For a few minutes, we sat in comfortable chairs until another guard opened the Commander’s door and motioned us in.
Colonel Burger didn’t look up when we entered. Writing, he sat behind a large walnut desk, papers and books spread across its top. A desk lamp provided what little light there was in the room, because heavy red drapes covered two slender windows. He was a stern-looking man with thin lips, slick-backed hair, and eyelids that turned down at their corners, giving him the appearance of someone always on edge, or peering over their shoulder for the next bit of trouble—much like spies portrayed in films. A framed portrait of Hitler hung behind his desk, which I focused on once and then ignored.
Two red silk chairs had been pulled in front of his desk. We gave the Nazi salute to the Colonel and then sat, as the guard had told us, until the officer officially recognized us. Burger kept us waiting for several minutes, his pen scratching across the open ledger, his eyes shifting over the work in front of him.
Finally, he looked up and said, “Voll, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Commander,” Manfred replied.
Burger closed the book, put down his pen, and waved the guard out of the room. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to run a camp bursting with prisoners—most of them officers who believe they deserve special treatment—and, at the same time, figure out how to feed the additional thousands this camp was never intended to hold, while operating under the strict guidelines of the Reich?” His eyes flickered in the light, his gaze piercing us with its studied intensity.
“No, sir, I don’t,” Manfred said, “It must be a difficult job, but I know the prisoners appreciate all you do for them.”
He pushed his chair back from the kneehole so he could stretch his legs. “Funny, I’m never the recipient of those good feelings. All I hear about are problems—the plumbing isn’t working, the food is slop, the black market is inflating or devaluing the camp currency, depending on the day. It’s not an easy job, Voll.” He smiled and leaned back, the epaulets on his uniform flashing silvery green. “But you didn’t come to discuss my problems. I’ve been told by my adjutant that you have information you’d like to share with me—about the SS?”
Manfred clutched the chair’s armrests. I sent him a silent wish of encouragement.
“Yes, I’d like to report what was overheard when the SS officers toured the camp four days ago.”
“I’m aware of their visit. Proceed.”
“This is hard to put into words, sir.”
“Out with it, Voll. Believe me, I’ve heard it all since I began armed service in 1914.”
Manfred drew in a breath. “The SS intends to destroy Stalag VII-A and execute its prisoners, rather than have it fall into Allied hands.”
The Colonel rubbed his jaw, picked up his pen, and scribbled on a piece of paper. “Why would the SS tell you this? How are you privy to their dealings?”
Manfred started to answer, but I placed my hand on his arm. “I overheard them, sir. I know what they said.”
“And who are you?” Burger asked.
“I’m Gisela Grass. I work in the kitchen.”
He bit into the end of the pen and considered what I’d said. “You were close enough to hear them—there can be no mistaking their words?”
“No, sir, I heard them distinctly. That’s why they were here—to survey the camp and find the best way to carry out the extermination.”
“Did they know you were listening?” His pale features reddened as if he were either embarrassed or outraged by my claim. “This cannot be true.”
“They spoke the truth because they were unaware I was listening.”
The Colonel rose from his chair and strode to an easel that held a large map of Germany. Like most high-ranking Nazi officials, he embodied the perfect picture of power and conformity in his uniform, the wool smoothed to a sheen, his boots polished to a gloss. He stood in front of the map with his back to us. “The Allies are closing in. It’s no secret these days. All you have to do is look to the skies.” He turned to us and pointed to the map, his eyes burning with fiery vindication. “The Red Cross knows about Stalag VII-A because I made the decision to inform them that more than seventy thousand prisoners are held here. Why has Moosburg been spared from bombs?” He poked a finger into his chest. “Because I had the courage to speak.”
Manfred leaned forward. “I told Gisela it was because of you, sir, that we had been spared. You can stop this planned slaughter if you put your mind to it. Thousands would be saved.”
The Colonel sat on the edge of the desk, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his thoughts, his eyes dimming, I supposed, from the realization that all might be lost no matter how many objections he raised, no matter how hard he tried to save the camp.
“I can only do so much,” he said. “In the meantime, we must carry on.” He pushed himself off the desk and walked toward us. “I think, young woman, it would be wise for you to keep out of earshot of the SS. They don’t tolerate spies.”
I rose from my chair. “Yes, but I will always be on the side of right.”
“A noble thought, but easier spoken than done,” the Colonel replied, unaffected by my effrontery. He shook hands with Manfred and then with me. To keep up the ruse, Manfred and I saluted the Hitler portrait before the Colonel escorted us to the door.
As we walked back to the kitchen, I asked Manfred, “Do you think he believed us?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “The Colonel may know more about the SS’s plans than he’s letting on.”
At that moment, the faint whir of aircraft sounded and we looked up to see waves of American bombers flying in straight lines overhead like black locusts. Everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing and stared at the sky. All we could do was pray that the day would come soon when we would be liberated.