“Who is it?” came a quavering voice.
“It is I, Frau Mandelbaum—Ernst Klein.”
He heard the scrape of a chair being removed. Then the door opened. “Herr Klein.” The woman who stood before him wore her still-thick hair in a silver chignon. “How lovely to see you. Please do come in. Would you like a cup of what passes for coffee these days?”
Ernst hated himself for what he was going to do.
“I’m afraid no, Frau Mandelbaum,” he replied. “I have—I have a letter for you.” He took it out of his rucksack and handed it to her hastily, as though it burned his fingers.
It was a standard-sized business envelope, bone-white, with her name and correct address spelled out in neat black type. The return address was the Reich Association of the Jews.
“So,” Frau Mandelbaum said impassively, “it has finally arrived.” She opened the envelope and took out the letter and read: “The arrested are to gather at the synagogue on Wednesday, 9 A.M. Wear working clothes and bring hand luggage that is easily carried. Also, bring food for two to three days. In addition, take with you your valuables and cash. No matches or candles.”
“It’s not property confiscation, just a work assignment,” Ernst said.
“A work assignment? At my age?” Frau Mandelbaum gave a sniff. “It’s a death sentence. And you and I both know it.”
He was silent a moment, then asked, “What will you do?”
She shrugged. “What can I do?”
They both stood there, at an impasse. Then Ernst dug a clipboard and pen from his bag. “I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Frau Mandelbaum, but you are required to sign here.”
“Of course,” she said, accepting the pen and signing her name in neat script. “If God lived on earth, people would break His windows.”
Ernst gave a bitter laugh.
“At least you’re still safe,” she told him. “With that shiksa wife of yours.”
Ernst pulled out another letter from his breast pocket. When she saw his name typed in the same black letters and the return address, Frau Mandelbaum’s eyes widened.
Ernst nodded. “Apparently not.”
“Will I see you at the synagogue?”
“Perhaps, Frau Mandelbaum. Perhaps.”
Chapter Nine
David and Freddie lay together in David’s bed, their heads on thick, goose-down-stuffed pillows, staring up at the ceiling, passing one cigarette back and forth, a crystal ashtray between them.
“You know that what you did was wrong,” Freddie began.
“On the contrary—you seemed to like it quite a bit!”
“No, no, I mean asking Rosamund Moser to dinner—that was wrong.”
“I know,” David sighed. “But she didn’t have to be so waspish about it.”
“Well, it’s understandable, no? But, in all seriousness, marrying some poor innocent young girl—that’s wrong. Rosamund—any girl—deserves a man who will love her. Really love her.”
“I know, I know.” David covered his eyes with his hands. “But I was desperate. What else can I do?”
Freddie turned over to face him. “Be honest. Everything aboveboard. Marry someone who knows.”
“Who knows?” David laughed, a short, bitter laugh. “Then no one would marry me.”
“What about Daphne Brooks?”
“Daphne? She’s a lesbian!”
Freddie smiled. “Exactly. And I can’t help but think her parents must want her married.”
“Oh,” said David. Freddie watched him, waiting for all the cogs to click into place. Finally, they did. “Oh! Right! And then we could each go about our business—”
“With no one interfering.”
“Well, she’s not Jewish—”
“Surely she can convert.”
“And I’m not sure she’d want to have children.”
Freddie took David’s hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ll set up a dinner party, with her and her girlfriend. We’ll all have a little wine …”
“Wizard!” David exclaimed. “You’re brilliant, my love.”
Freddie smiled. “Well, I can think of a number of ways for you to reward me …”
It was Frieda’s day off.
Since she was married to a Jew, there wasn’t much she could do. She wasn’t permitted to stroll in the Tiergarten. She wasn’t allowed to go to the movies. And she wasn’t even allowed to queue up for food until four o’clock—by which time all the shops would be sold out of rations.
So, Frieda tied an apron around her waist and began to clean the apartment. She swept, washed the floors, scrubbed the windows. And she dusted. Which was why she moved the papers on Ernst’s desk.