Elise entered and dabbed the fingers of her right hand into the basin of holy water, then made the sign of the cross, touching her hand to her forehead, heart, and both shoulders, whispering, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.” Then she walked down the aisle, knelt, and crossed herself again.
Looking around, Elise spotted an older woman, with thick white hair twisted into a bun, walking to a side chapel devoted to St. Michael the Archangel. In the Catholic tradition, St. Michael was considered “a great prince who stands up for the children of your people.” Elise could think of no one more appropriate to whom to pray.
She dropped a coin into a small wooden box, then took a brown wax candle, lit it, and knelt on a low needlepoint-covered riser to pray, the golden-blue flames flickering in the dim light. She prayed and prayed, crossing herself again and again. When she was done, she crossed herself one last time and stood.
“Excuse me, Frau,” she said to the other woman in the chapel, who had also finished her prayers, “have you seen Father Licht?”
“In his office, I should imagine,” the woman said. “Why, child, you’re trembling! Are you all right?”
But Elise had already walked past her, eyes unseeing. “I just need to find Father Licht.”
Father Johann Licht, Provost of the Cathedral of St. Hedwig, was in his office in the brick building behind the church itself. He had an angular face and hawklike nose, skin stretched over his hollow cheekbones into straight planes, and fine, dark hair brushed back under a black skullcap. Worry lines carved through his forehead and between his brows. He’d grown up in Ohlau, the youngest of seven brothers and sisters, studied at Innsbruck, and become a priest. Since Kristallnacht, he prayed publicly for the Jews every day at evening prayer, and was under constant surveillance by the SS.
His small office was simply furnished, with a plain wooden crucifix, a framed picture of Albrecht Dürer’s Praying Hands on the wall, and a yellowing Käthe Kollwitz “Never Again War!” poster tacked up next to it. Licht sat in the wan light as he went over his notes for Sunday’s homily. Elise knocked softly on the open wooden door.
“Yes?” he said, starting. Then his gaunt features warmed into a smile. “Elise! You gave me a shock! How are you?” he said, rising. “Is everything all right? Come, sit down, child.”
Elise slumped down in the straight-backed chair opposite his desk. “I fear you won’t believe me if I tell you, Father.”
“You’d be surprised at what I can believe these days.” He contemplated her face for a moment: the pallor, the seriousness of intent, the sudden aging of her young features. “Why don’t I get you a cold glass of water?” he suggested, “and then you can start at the beginning.” He poured from a pitcher on his desk.
Elise accepted the glass and sipped. Then she told her story.
When she’d finished, Father Licht rubbed his thin hands together, then took off his spectacles. “I’m sorry to say, child, that I—we—already know about this. The Nazis refer to their eugenics program internally as Operation Compassionate Death or the Children’s Euthanasia Program. It’s run through the so-called Charitable Foundation for Curative and Institutional Care.”
Elise was stunned. “You—you know already? The Church knows?”
“Yes, the program’s headed by Reichsleiter Philipp Bouhler, head of Hitler’s private chancellery, and your own Dr. Karl Brandt, who you must know is also Adolf Hitler’s personal physician.”
Licht opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a carbon copy of a letter from a folder. “Take a look at this.”
Elise read: “I, as a human being, a Christian, a priest, and a German demand of you, Chief Physician of the Reich, that you answer for the crimes that have been perpetrated at your bidding, and with your consent, and which will call forth the vengeance of the Lord on the heads of the German people.” The letter was addressed to Dr. Brandt, and was from Father Johann Licht.
Elise was shocked. “And how—how did he respond?”
“He hasn’t. Just as no one has responded to our letters and telephone calls about the fate of the Jews. We’ve fallen into the hands of ‘criminals and fools,’ as Bishop von Preysing says. We’ve heard of what you’ve described happening, but the problem for us is that it’s never been substantiated. Most of the Catholic hospitals, as you know, have been closed. And the nuns who were nurses there have been sent to rural convents. Without absolute irrefutable proof …” He fell silent. “Elise—you are a nurse, yes?”