Two Brothers

Fischer had bitten his lip with anger at the outrageous twisting of the truth, screwed the paper up and thrown it on the floor of the car. Nothing, however, could dampen Dagmar’s rising spirits. In fact in a way the vicious article (which had named her specifically as a disgusting and spoiled Jewish princess) served only to strengthen her resolve and steel her soul to emigration.

‘They will have to lie about someone else now, Papa!’ she said, squeezing her father’s hand. ‘We are sailing away from all this! Thank you, Papa. Thank you so much for making sure that we would be safe after all.’

At the station the Fischers dismissed their car and hired a porter. The Mercedes was to be sold along with everything else the Fischers owned in Germany, Herr Fischer having left it in the hands of his bank to liquefy his assets. He was aware of course that the state would claim a large part of his fortune but at this early stage of the Nazi administration he was confident of getting something out. Besides, he had substantial assets overseas, and the main thing was they would be free from further persecution.

Herr Fischer bought a button-hole carnation at the station flower stall, a lilac corsage for his wife and a posy of primroses for Dagmar. Dagmar herself bought a bag of sugar-coated pretzels.

‘If they don’t have these in New York, Papa,’ she said, ‘we should set up a bakery and sell them.’

‘Darling,’ Frau Fischer remarked, ‘they have everything in New York.’

‘They will have once they’ve got me!’ Dagmar replied and she even skipped for a few steps until she recalled that she was a grown-up now. She was after all wearing actual proper stockings instead of her usual ankle socks. And young ladies in stockings did not skip.

They made an elegant-looking threesome on their way to the boat-train platform, dressed in their fashionable travel clothes, the ladies in splendid hats and with their beautiful matching luggage trundling behind them on a cart.

They were certainly not difficult for the Stengel twins to spot as they emerged from the U- Bahn entrance.

‘Dagmar! Dagmar!’ came the shout as Paulus and Otto rushed across the station to intercept them just as the Fischers arrived at the ticket barrier.

‘Boys!’ Herr Fischer said with stern surprise. ‘Why aren’t you at school?’

‘Oh, it’s one of their festival days, sir, no lessons,’ Paulus explained.

‘We bunked off, sir!’ Otto said at exactly the same time.

Dagmar laughed as Paulus punched Otto. Same old twins.

Herr Fischer pretended to frown. ‘One useful lesson in life, boys,’ he said, ‘is to always get your stories straight,’ at which Paulus cast a further angry glance at Otto. ‘Anyway, it’s very nice to see you.’

‘We wanted to say goodbye to Dagmar,’ Paulus said.

‘Well,’ Frau Fischer said, ‘that’s very sweet. Dagmar, it is time to say goodbye again.’

‘And I’m afraid we must hurry along a bit,’ Herr Fischer added. ‘We depart in twenty minutes and I like to be settled before the train begins to move.’

Dagmar looked from one twin to another.

‘I’m so glad you came, boys,’ she said. Then she gave them each a kiss and a hug.

‘We’re glad too!’ Paulus said.

‘Yeah!’ added Otto.

Dagmar pushed her bag of sugar-coated pretzels into Otto’s hands.

‘To share,’ she said, and turned away.

‘We’ll be waiting right here at the ticket barrier till you’re gone!’ Paulus shouted after her.

‘In fact, we may just stay here till one day you come back!’ Otto called out.

‘Be sure to lean out of the window,’ Paulus added.

They watched wistfully as Dagmar’s elegant figure made its way along the platform, hoping she would turn once more and wave, which of course she did, every few steps. They saw Herr Fischer consulting with a guard and being shown towards the carriage with their reserved seats.

They watched as Dagmar boarded the train.

In later years Dagmar often thought back to that cosy carriage. She was only in it for a minute at most but she felt she could remember every detail of its deep plush upholstery. The little lamps on the tables. The face of the smiling attendant who showed her to her seat. The feeling of security and comfort as she contemplated the happy journey to Bremerhaven. The coffee. The magazines. Lunch in the first-class dining car.

She had not quite sat down when she heard her father’s voice raised in anger.

‘What is the meaning of this!’ Herr Fischer was demanding of someone on the platform. ‘I have committed no crime.’

But he had. He had defamed the German state. He had libelled the SA. He had invented the most dreadful lies about the Berlin police force, saying that they were indifferent to the law.

He had told the truth to the New York Times but neglected to ensure that it was only published after he had left Germany. In fact, quite the opposite, he’d intended the story as a parting shot.

They had so nearly made it too.

It had been nine a.m. in Berlin when the telegraphed transcripts of the first edition of the New York Times had landed on various desks in the offices on the Wilhelmstrasse.

Nine a.m. in Berlin. Three a.m. on the east coast of the US.

Somebody had been up either very early or very late at the German embassy. And bad news always travels fast.

If the German attache had slept later, or if the Fischers had been on an earlier train, they would have been out of Berlin by the time the Minister of Propaganda caught sight of what Herr Fischer had done. But then they would probably just have been stopped at the docks or even intercepted at sea. They were after all travelling on a German ship.

But then at least Dagmar would have got her coffee and her lunch. An hour or two of extra happiness before the darkness closed in.

Josef Goebbels liked to boast that he read all of the foreign press but that morning he must have stopped short at the New York Times. With its front page article about the famous Jewish store owner beaten up at the entrance to his own shop. His wife and young daughter terrorized and abused. About how one of Germany’s foremost families was being forced to leave what had become a ‘gangster’ nation for safety in the USA.

Such a slur could not go unanswered. This after all was exactly what the Leader had accused the Jews of doing. Slandering the Fatherland abroad.

In no way did the fact that the minister and his staff knew perfectly well that the article was true diminish their genuine righteous indignation. Theirs was a world in which it was always possible to have things both ways. To be both bully and victim.

And so the Gestapo were despatched and an arrest staged.

Later, Isaac Fischer was to ask himself the bitter question whether his catastrophic lapse of judgement had been a genuine mistake or suicidal vanity.

Was it pride that had led him to speak out before he had reached safety? He had known in his heart that it was a risk. Why had he taken it?

Lying on the bare floor of his cell, his legs and arms broken, blood seeping from his face, he tried to take comfort in his anguish from the thought that his intemperate interview had simply given them a convenient excuse.

That they would have stopped him anyway.

But in the darkness that engulfed him Fischer knew that it wasn’t true. That had he not insisted on speaking out on what he had believed was to be his last day in Germany, he would almost certainly have got away.

Other rich and prominent Jews had got out. Plenty of them. But they had had the sense to leave quietly.

He had condemned himself. He had condemned his family. He had deliberately provoked them. Like a fool he had wanted the last word. How could he have ignored what the world knew? That the Nazis were nothing if not vengeful. That spite and wicked pride motivated their every action. That they never forgave.

Watching from the ticket barrier, Paulus and Otto saw it all.

They watched in horror as the men in black coats and Homburg hats appeared as if from nowhere and laid a