‘Ottsy!’ Dagmar called. ‘Please, stay with us.’
‘Can’t,’ Ottsy croaked, turning away. ‘Gotta go.’
He ran back up the sand dune, clearly aware that were he to stay a moment longer he would bawl like a baby, and Otto was not the type of boy to want to be seen crying. Not by his brother, and not by the girl who had broken his heart.
After he had scurried away, a long silence ensued.
Paulus looked up and then looked down and then at the sky and the lake. Then he seemed about to say something, but could think of nothing to say.
Instead he kissed her. Just as she had kissed him. Long, passionately, putting his hand behind her head and pressing her face to his.
They kissed for a long time before either of them spoke again. Once more it was Dagmar who seemed to be clearer in her thoughts.
‘I’m sorry I told you, Pauly,’ she said. ‘I had always planned not to. But then I changed my mind. I thought maybe it would help you… sort of sustain you. You’ve got a long road ahead.’
‘Dagmar,’ Paulus replied, finally breaking his silence. ‘You loving me is the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.’
Then they heard steps. For a moment they thought it was Otto returning.
But it wasn’t Otto. Instead a different young man appeared. One who looked about sixteen.
In the uniform of the Hitler Youth.
‘Hey, lads!’ the boy shouted out, beckoning to beyond the dunes. ‘Come here.’
Paulus swallowed hard. He should have been more careful, more aware. Everybody knew that out in the countryside the Hitler Youth and the League of German Maidens were everywhere, camping, marching, singing.
Spying.
Having Otto with them had allowed him to relax. But now Otto was gone.
With a rattle of boots and leather suddenly there were ten more of them, black shorts, brown shirts, swastika armbands. The two troop leaders had daggers at their belts.
‘Heil Hitler, lads,’ said Paulus with a cheerful grin, getting to his feet and delivering the German salute. ‘Cold weather for a dip, eh?’
‘Heil Hitler,’ the lead boy replied. ‘Please may I see your identification papers.’
Paulus had guessed it was coming. One of the principal duties of the Hitler Youth was to act as an observation auxiliary to the police. They were charged with the task of spying on the whole community, including their own families. Jews everywhere had learnt to beware these brown-shirted gangs of self-important young zealots, for if they found you where you shouldn’t be, there was no possibility of getting away.
‘Sorry, pals, can’t do it,’ Paulus said. ‘Left them up with our stuff. Miles away. Didn’t want them getting wet or lost in the sand.’
He knew it was a pathetic effort, but what effort would not have been? They were trapped. Ten eager little Nazis wanted to see their papers, desperate to catch an army deserter or a malingerer from state labour, or best of all a Jew where a Jew was banned. They would no doubt get an armful of extra badges for such a coup.
‘You will take us to where you have left your papers, please,’ the troop leader said. Paulus began to protest but the boy cut him short. ‘Or you will come with us! And I warn you, if you waste our time it will be the worse for you.’
‘Hey, lads,’ Paulus said, trying hard to maintain his pretence at comradely familiarity, ‘this skirt, she’s not mine, she’s another guy’s. If we go back together he’ll—’
‘If you cannot produce identification papers, you will come with us this instant,’ the leader barked.
‘Yeah! And her, she can come with us too,’ another lad, who held a dagger, said, smirking. ‘If she’ll go with this guy, she’ll go with anyone.’
Paulus glanced at Dagmar. Her face white with fear.
The gang of youths now surrounded them. Dagmar got to her feet, taking up a wet towel to fold around herself, looking utterly vulnerable in her baggy bathing suit.
‘Look, guys,’ Paulus began, struggling to keep his voice steady.
‘Silence!’ the first lad shouted. ‘I will give you one more chance and one alone to produce your papers.’
Paulus could only stand and stare, his brain working furiously. He could feel Dagmar shaking beside him.
The other troop leader spoke up. He was clearly the one to worry about. His face was nasty and sly. The first boy was trying to be correct but the other one just wanted to have some fun. If they were to be beaten where they stood, or worse, it would be him who would instigate it.
‘Are you Jews?’ the sixteen-year-old said cruelly, still smirking.
‘Yes, I think perhaps you are.’
He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing quite close to Dagmar. He breathed in deeply.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think I smell Jews.’
He was looking hard at Dagmar.
All the boys were looking at Dagmar.
‘We must take them to the police,’ the first leader said. ‘That is our duty as per our instructions.’
‘You think I’m a Jew, you little bastard!’ Paulus blurted. ‘How about you take a look at my dick, huh?’
Would the old trick work again? It was a horrible prospect but preferable to capture.
‘Don’t be disgusting!’ the first leader barked. ‘You insult the badge I wear. The only thing I wish to see of yours is your papers.’
‘
‘No!’ the first said angrily, ‘none of that, Alex! We must take them to the police.’
Paulus weighed up the difference between the two senior figures in the gang, his mind searching desperately for a way to use it to his advantage.
‘Yes,’ Paulus said, ‘let’s go to the police at once and when I’ve made a call or two you’ll see what a mistake you’re making.’
‘I said silence!’ the first of the two shouted.
‘You have no right to shout at me, kid!’ Paulus shouted back. ‘I am a grown man! Soon I’ll be a soldier. I have my call-up papers already. Now, if you really insist on ruining my day, then let’s get on with it. Come on. We’ll go to the police now. But let me tell you, son, when we next meet there won’t be ten of you, there’ll be just you and me, and I’ll make you wish you’d never met me.’
It had an effect. The first youth’s face fell a little. Perhaps he was even considering dropping the whole thing.
But the other boy was clever. Clever and sly.
‘What outfit are you joining? Come on! Come on! Which regiment are these papers you have for?’
Paulus tried not to look at a loss but he knew he’d blown it. He was one of the best educated young men in Berlin but he knew absolutely nothing about the Wehrmacht.
‘I don’t have to—’
‘What outfit!’ the boy shouted. ‘Tell me now!’
‘Rifles…’ Paul blurted. ‘The infantry.’
‘There are more than a hundred infantry divisions in the Wehrmacht! Each containing a number of regiments! What is on your papers? Come on! Come on! No soldier who has had the honour to be summoned by the Fuhrer would forget such a thing.’
Paulus was on the ropes and he knew it.
‘I won’t be shouted at by a boy!’ he said. ‘If you insist on keeping up with this bullshit then I demand that you take us to a police station.’
It was a horrifying indication of the level of danger they were now in that being taken to the police seemed to Paulus to be their best option. He did not like the way they were staring at Dagmar. If these boys decided to convince themselves that she and he were Jews, there was no telling what they would do, all alone on a deserted beach, hidden by sand dunes.
‘So,’ the meaner of the two leaders said triumphantly, ‘are you Jews? I think you are Jews.’
