Chapter 43

July 18, 1932

Trude had the week off and I took a few days from electioneering to be with her. It was late Monday morning and we were still in bed. “Tell me about the famous Lilian Harvey. Did you sleep with her in this bed?”

“I took this apartment after we split. In fact, you are the only one who has ever stayed here.” I swung my legs over the edge, and sat up, hoping to end this line of talk.

Trude grabbed my hand. “Come back. If you don’t know by now, let me tell you that I am not the jealous sort. I’m interested in what type of person she was, because she is so famous.”

I leaned back. “There were days she was nice and days we battled. She didn’t approve of the party or the Führer’s program for Germany.”

“Then she was a fool. We need a strong leader like Hitler.” But she wouldn’t stop there. “She was beautiful and all that, but what about her soul? Was she a good person?”

I did not want to unlock those memories. I hesitated. “Lilian was fair to everyone. She treated minor actors as if they were major stars. She never had to throw a tantrum to get what she wanted. Directors did kowtow to her because most of her movies were successes. In private, she only acted out with me. She couldn’t stand the fact that I would cancel our plans and run to Munich whenever the Führer needed help.”

“Was she a good German?”

We both knew what that meant. “To the extent that she wanted Germany to get out from under the Treaty, she was like everyone else. But supporting the party? No! Not even after she wanted the party to help when her bank account was in danger. Did you know that Goebbels once asked her to make a film for the party?”

“Don’t tell me, she refused? Then she’s dumber than I thought. It’s better that she went to America.” Thankfully, that ended all talk about Lilian Harvey.

We dressed, grabbed a cab, and caught a movie at the Kintopp. We emerged into the bright sunlight and set off for an intimate café nearby. Two blocks later, we heard a cacophony of metal clanging and glass breaking.

“What’s that?” asked Trude.

Then a scream pierced the air. I stepped into the street and saw a band of wild-eyed, uniformed SA tumbling through the streets toward us. I grabbed her elbow and spun her around. “We need to get out of here.”

“Why run from them? They’re Brownshirts. Tell them who you are. They won’t harm us,” said Trude.

“You expect a riotous band of men to stop what they’re doing because we ask them to check our ID cards? Let’s get out of here.”

We turned in the opposite direction, rounded the corner prepared to run, when a ragtag group of Reds brandishing truncheons and chains headed our way. Some had pistols in their waistbands. There was no place to hide.

I grabbed her hand. “C’mon.” We sprinted back toward the Brownshirts. “I’m Obergruppenführer Richard. There are two-dozen Communists coming our way. They are armed and looking for trouble.”

He raised his billy club. “And I’m Heinrich Himmler. Where’s your party uniform?”

There was no time to waste; I pointed to Trude’s collar. “See her swastika? She’s one of the BDM leaders!”

As he peered for a better look at Trude’s pin, he saw the oncoming hooligans rushing towards us. He whipped around, shouting to his comrades. “Here they come! You two get behind us.”

The Brownshirts charged. Surprised by their attack, the Reds broke ranks, but were quick to regroup. They surged forward and managed to push the Brownshirts back.

I grabbed Trude. “Let’s get out of here,” but we didn’t have a chance. Three Reds had circled behind us. A fierce blow clobbered me on the back of my neck. I fell to my knees, twisted onto my back, and kicked the Red in the groin. He dropped the pipe as he doubled over. I scrabbled to my feet and came down hard on the back of his neck with the side of my hand. He crumpled to the ground. A kick to the temple made certain he was finished.

Trude was in trouble. She had drawn a party dagger from her purse and struggled against two Reds who had backed her against a wall. One smashed her right forearm as the other twisted her left hand. She screamed in agony. Her knife clattered to the pavement. She lunged to retrieve it and was slammed into a pipe jutting from the wall causing her to collapse in a heap.

I tackled the Red closest to me and drove his head into the pavement. There was the telltale crack of nose cartilage being crushed. I yanked his head up by his hair. Teeth had pierced through his lips. Blood was everywhere. His eyes had rolled back; he was unconscious and no longer a threat.

The last Red tore at Trude’s clothes as she lay there. In one move, I lifted him and hurled him through a storefront window. I dropped beside Trude; her right arm was broken and her left shoulder appeared dislocated. I grabbed the assailant’s pipe, ripped off part of my shirt, and lashed it to her arm as a splint. I fashioned a sling from the rest of my shirt for her left arm.

She moaned from the pain.

“You’re going to be all right. I’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

I helped her to her feet. She took one step and collapsed. I scooped her up in my arms and headed away from the melee. When I found a cab, I ordered the driver to take us to Charité Hospital. “And fast.”

Inside the emergency room, I dropped Alfred Hugenberg’s name, knowing the head of UFA studios would get Trude immediate attention. It worked. I stayed in the patient waiting area while they whisked Trude to X-ray, set her broken arm, and performed a closed reduction on her dislocated shoulder. While Trude was treated, another physician examined me to make sure the blow to the back of my head was nothing more than a bruise.

Sometime later, a doctor found me in the waiting area, holding a bag of ice to my bruise.

“How is she?”

“Her arm and shoulder will mend fine. She received quite a blow to her head. The left orbital bone was fractured and there was a contusion that turned the whites of her left eye red. We bandaged it closed.”

“Will she be able to see all right?”

“She asked about her glasses.”

“In the excitement I forgot to look for them.”

“No matter. She may need a new prescription after she heals. We have a great staff, but we can’t give patients individual attention all night.”

“What can I do to help?”

“It’s important to wake her every couple of hours. Make certain she is coherent and can focus. I don’t think there is any cerebral bleeding. Neurologically she seemed fine, but we can’t be too careful.”

Hugenberg’s name was magic. Trude was placed in a private room. She fell into a deep sleep. I watched her chest rise and fall, taking slow, rhythmic breaths. There was an IV in her right hand. Her left eye was bandaged shut, the skin around it already deep purple.

I roused her for the first time around midnight. Trude opened her right eye and smiled. “I hope the other guy looks worse than me.”

“I guarantee his mother won’t recognize him.”

“Thanks for saving me.”

“We saved each other. Don’t talk. The doctor asked me to wake you every couple of hours. Get some rest now.”

Even in pain, she managed to pucker her lips and blow a kiss. Within seconds, she closed her eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

I returned to my chair, comforted by Trude’s soft, even breaths. Sitting there, hearing the night sounds of the hospital, the clanging of metal trays, the wheels chirping under rolling carts, and an occasional muffled cough or nighttime cry brought back memories of this hospital all those years back. I pictured the austere room, the ceiling, how I struggled to walk; then I drifted to my days at Pasewalk, and the man in the bed next to me, begging for anyone to help take him to the loo. Now, with elections two weeks away, that man might become the German chancellor.

“Friedrich. Friedrich.”

In my dream, someone called my name. I awoke with a start. “What do you want, Trude? I’m here.”

A nurse’s hand was on my shoulder. I looked up. The face had grown round, the hair streaked with gray. “Anna?” It was nearly thirteen years, but there she was, standing next to me.

“I’m covering for someone tonight. I glanced through the doorway. It’s hard to miss you even though you’re slumped in a chair in a darkened room. Imagine my surprise to find you here.” She motioned to follow her.

Trude continued to breathe in a rhythmic, sleep state. She appeared to be at peace, at least as much as she could be. I thought it safe to leave for a few minutes.

Anna stepped back and surveyed me. “You look well, except for that bruise on your neck.” She touched it; her fingers were soothing. “How have you been?”

There was a gold band on her ring finger. “You’re married?”

She smiled, the creases deeper than before. “I became a cliché. I married a doctor.”

“Is it anyone I might know?”

She shook her head and then nodded toward the room. “Is she your new friend?”

“Trude? Yes, we’ve been seeing each other for a bit.”

“Is it serious?”

“Neither of us is ready to commit. We’re both too busy.”

Her face tightened. “Friedrich, I know that you’re associated with that Jew-hater, Adolf Hitler.”

Hearing this from her lips gave me a jolt. “How did you find out?”

“Every once in a while the camera catches you in the background behind Hitler. I am one of the few who understand why you limit your public exposure. But why him? You’re better than that.”

“Am I?”

“I used to think so. I’d still like to think so.”

“Maybe you never really knew me and that was our problem.”

She took a tiny step back. “I didn’t tap you on the shoulder to stir up old memories. I wanted to say hello to someone who had once been my friend.”

My defenses throttled down. Maybe Anna had touched upon something I had been trying to justify in my own mind for some time. “I’m sorry. Challenging me about why I am with Wolf and the others, well, it surprised me. That’s all.”

“Who’s Wolf?”

“Hitler. He called himself that when we first met in Pasewalk. The thing is, Anna, when I left you, I had no place to go. Then I remembered that Wolf was the only other person I knew or could remember. He was in Munich. I found him, joined his entourage, and watched him take a nascent band of men to the brink of taking over Germany.”

“And you think this is a good thing?”

I looked her square in the eyes. “With all its warts and obvious problems, I do.”

“Cracking people’s skulls is more than mere blemishes. But I’m not going to stand here and debate you. Perhaps you see something in your Wolf that I can’t understand.” She searched down the hall, signaling she had said all she wanted to say. “I need to return to my patients. Before I do, one last question: did your memory ever return?”

“Not a shred.”

“Aren’t you still curious as to who you really are?”

“I was in those first few years. Now? I’m not sure I want to know anymore. I’ve lived so long as Friedrich Richard that I can’t imagine any other life. I’m not sure I want to discover a bunch of relatives who would expect me to get to know them. I don’t need ghosts to appear.”

I was rooted to the spot, guilty that I still owed the apology I tried to give her when Wolf and I were in Berlin during the ill-fated Kapp Putsch.

“Anna, about what happened . . .”

She put her finger on my lips. “Don’t say anything. It’s not necessary. I remember I told you that I should never have gotten involved with you. It was true, but not in the way I made it sound. You were so young, and I was so lonely after my husband died. I knew all the shortcomings and pitfalls starting up with you. But you were there, so handsome and vulnerable. I couldn’t admit that we were never meant to succeed.” She looked down and twisted her wedding band. “I’ve been over you for a long time. Life has been good to me. I’m happy now.” Then she looked up. “I hope you are, too.”

I stepped toward Trude’s room, stopped, turned, and kissed Anna on the cheek.

She touched the spot. “What was that for?”

“For being you. Your husband is a lucky man.”

July 19, 1932

I woke Trude every two hours as instructed. Each time, she opened her good eye, smiled, spoke a few words of encouragement, and then lapsed back into a deep sleep.

“What kind of soldier are you, sleeping on guard duty?”

The voice was familiar. My lids fluttered open. Morning sunlight filled the room. I rubbed my eyes only to see the pale face of the deputy president of the Berlin Police etched in concern.

“Bernhard. What are you doing here?”

“This may be the last time we can meet,” he whispered.

His words didn’t register. “How did you find me?”

“We broke up the fight that sent your lady-friend here. When I heard that a big man took out three thugs, well, it sounded like someone I knew. I made some inquiries and learned that you were here with your friend. How is she?”

“Mending. The doctors reassured me her injuries would heal without lasting damage.” Now more awake, I sat straighter. His first words hit home. “What do you mean, ‘the last time we can meet?’”

Weiss shook his head. “Not here,” he checked Trude’s sleeping figure. “There is an empty room down the hall.”

Moments later we were in the unoccupied room where I was perched on the edge of the bed and Weiss took the only chair.

He spoke first. “Papen was supposed to head a caretaker government until the next elections. But that does not appear to be the case. Did you know that Papen wants to rule Prussia as well?”

“Are you certain?”

“Are you forgetting I have people everywhere? Papen’s so-called cabinet has voted in secret to authorize it. President Hindenburg will soon sign the decree that allows the Reich to take over the Prussian government. When he does, this will end the only democratic government left in Germany . . . not to mention its independent police.”

This had so many implications. “Who is behind this?”

“Kurt von Schleicher is moving all the pieces.”

“I should have known.”

“I have to confess I was surprised Hitler gave in to Schleicher when he heard the new cabinet would be headed by an aristocrat.”

“What choice did he have? They were not about to make him chancellor.”

“At least Franz Gürtner was named minister of justice. That must have made Hitler happy. As I recall, it was Gürtner as the Bavarian minister of justice who made sure your friend could use the putsch trial in ’23 as a speaking platform, guided the court to a mild sentence, and then made certain Hitler had an early release.”

“Hitler was already a hero to many.”

“Was he a hero with his niece?”

“That’s old news. Why go there?”

“Oh, I know he didn’t pull the trigger, Friedrich, but character does matter. Sleeping with his own niece while chasing seventeen-year-old girls matters. It tells us the sort of man he was . . . and still is.”

“Where are you going with this, Bernhard? Why did you really come here?”

“Because there is no one else.”

“To do what?”

“To make a difference.”

“In what way? I hold no position. I have no power. There is nothing I can directly do.”

“That may be true for now, but it may not always be so.”

“Perhaps if we gain a majority in the Reichstag . . .”

“I can’t see that happening,” said Bernhard. “There are too many parties for anyone to gain a majority. That includes your Nazis.”

“Then what are you talking about, Bernhard?”

“The country cannot continue this way. The paralysis, as you call it, caused by this gaggle of parties has to end. The only answer is for a strong man to emerge. My belief is that it will be Hitler.”

“That’s what we have been angling for. But you of all people . . . why do you say this?”

Rather than answer directly, he mentioned that Hindenburg was tired and had no desire for another term but felt he had no choice. Then he said, “You must be aware that the aristocrats have no intention of keeping Germany as a republic. They all believe—Papen included—that God has ordained them to rule Germany.”

“Hitler is no different. He has been clear that once he becomes chancellor, he intends to get rid of democracy. I support him in this.”

“You do now, but there will come a time when you won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Because the man who saved the old Jew in the street, who rallied to his friend when he thought Goebbels was persecuting him . . . is not like the others who surround Hitler. Look at the malevolent dwarf Goebbels, the morphine-addled Göring, or the off-balance Hess.”

“But . . .”

“Let me finish. None of them can ever be the voice of reason. Not a one will temper anything Hitler wishes to do. And there are worse rising in your ranks.”

He could only mean Himmler and Heydrich. I held up my hands to stop wherever this was leading. “You’re placing too much on me.”

Weiss sighed. “Perhaps I am.” Then he stood and looked deep into my eyes. “There is no one else, Friedrich.” He held my gaze to emphasize all that this implied, and then handed me a card.

I looked at it. “I already have one of yours.”

“Turn it over. I’ve written my sister’s phone and address on the back. While I expect to be removed from office in a day or two, I still have connections. There may come a time when you need my help or simply want to speak with me.”

Bernhard thrust out his hand. “Good luck, Friedrich. It is not likely we will meet again. May God give you strength.”

After clasping hands, the diminutive deputy president of Berlin’s police slipped through the door. I stood holding the door open, and stared at his back until he rounded the corner and the clicking of his heels faded away.

The quiet was momentary. The faint sound of a distant siren pierced the stillness. An announcement was made calling nurses and doctors to the emergency room: scores of wounded were coming in from another street fight. I felt Bernhard Weiss was right in one thing: a strong leader must emerge to save Germany from itself.