away or some bomb will blow us all to pieces.”
His arms were around her now, and her face rose to his.
“Tell me that if they ever come for me you will do everything you can to save me,” she said. “Promise me.”
“Of course I will. I promise.”
“And that should be true for your family as well. Your sister. Your mother and father. We must all do everything in our power to save each other from the madmen. No matter what happens, no matter what the risk.”
Her eyes pleaded, on the verge of tears. Her emotions had reached a peak, and they were alone. No parents. No Hannelore. Just the two of them pressed together on the soft leather couch in the dim glow of a single lamp. He kissed her, and she responded with urgency. And when, a few moments later, he slipped his hands beneath her sweater she didn’t resist as she had in the past. Instead, she pulled his shirttail from his trousers and slid her own hands up his back, pressing closer.
Kurt was not particularly experienced in these matters. The closest he had come before to sexual conquest had been in the backseat of Erich’s car with a girl from their school who was said to be available to all comers, although she had only let Kurt briefly slide his hands to the tops of her thighs.
But at that moment with Liesl experience was no longer necessary, because matters took on a momentum of their own. They moved as if racing against time, one step leading to the next until his pants were off, and then her undergarments. Then he was climbing atop her, groping for position. Her hand guided him into place as she stared up at him, the vow they had made still evident in her eyes. Life or death, and this was their choice.
His movements were a little awkward at first. And just when it was seeming perfectly natural and comfortable, it ended all too quickly. But that, too, was okay, because she smiled and ran a finger down his chest, then softly kissed his lips, his nose, his eyelids. It was almost holy, a consecration of their promise.
“I am glad,” she whispered. “Glad that we did this.”
The radio had moved on to a marching song, with a drumbeat like the tramping of a thousand boots. They lay still, as if to let this army pass by their hiding place, and when the song was over she said again, “I am glad we did this.”
“I am, too.”
Outside, the sound of laughter. Cheerful voices were approaching up the sidewalk.
“My parents!” she cried.
She grabbed her clothes and ran for the bathroom. Kurt buttoned his shirt and pulled up his trousers. Whoever it was had stopped, even though the chatter continued. Of course. They had gone out with neighbors and were now saying good-bye. It gave him just enough time to cram his shirttail in and buckle his belt. His socks were still on, and he jammed his shoes on just as the door opened. Liesl’s father gave him a puzzled look.
“Where is Liesl?”
“She’s, uh, in the back. She should be right out.”
Liesl’s mother smiled and said hello, although her father still seemed wary. He had clearly been brought up short by the idea that Kurt and Liesl had been here alone. Thank goodness everyone stank these days, enough to cover all the telltale smells. And thank goodness the lights were low, so that they couldn’t see the flush of his face.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” Liesl appeared, smiling, hair combed. “How was your evening?”
“Ah, too much wine,” her mother said, “but that’s a nice problem for a change.”
She was obviously too jolly to notice anything untoward, although Liesl’s father was now looking everywhere, eyes darting, as if studying the evidence.
“Kurt and I just got back,” Liesl said. “But he can only stay long enough for a bite of chocolate. We both took a little nibble right when we came in.”
“That’s what it’s here for, so please do. Just don’t ask me how much I paid for it while your father is in the room.”
This finally coaxed a smile from the man, and Kurt breathed easier. Two close calls in one night. But the earlier episode made this one feel like a lark.
Liesl walked him outside, and rose on her toes to kiss him goodbye. Such a momentous day, and now the perfect ending-an embrace beneath the sheltering pines. He searched her face in the glow from the window. Was there a touch of regret? Perhaps. But there was also an unmistakable freshness, the excitement of new territory, a look that said there would be more time together just like this and no one could stop them.
The thought kept him content all the way home, even as he pedaled into a wintry headwind. There was a nervous moment when a pair of cops stopped him on Kantstrasse. But they were only checking identity papers, and by the time he reached Charlottenburg he was even toying with the idea of another raid on the office paper supply.
It was well past eleven o’clock, and Kurt expected he would have some explaining to do. Instead, he threw open the door to find everyone in the parlor, gathered in a tight circle that had the air of an emergency. His sister, Traudl, was sobbing, his father ashen. His mother’s head was bowed, and her hands were folded in her lap.
“What’s wrong?”
Reinhard shook his head.
“Everything,” he said. “The SS people were here. From the Racial Office.”
His father handed him a sheet of paper. It was some sort of genealogical chart with the words “Bauer Family” printed beneath a swastika.
“Your great-great-grandmother,” his father explained. “On your mother’s side.”
Reinhard didn’t say it disapprovingly, but Kurt’s mother looked away in shame and wiped a tear from her eye, as if she had forfeited the right to let them fall.
“Tainted,” she whispered. “My blood is tainted.”
Kurt found it halfway across the page:
“Anna Goldfarb, Jew.”
Born in Breslau, East Prussia, in 1826. She had married Karl Becker-his mother’s maiden name was Becker- whose lineage otherwise contained nothing but Aryan heritage, all the way back to 1800. But none of that mattered now.
“What does this mean?” Kurt asked.
“What do you think?” Traudl shrieked. “The wedding is off! My life is ruined!”
She ran from the room and up the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed.
“What does this mean?” he asked again.
“I don’t know yet,” his father said. “But it’s serious. We could lose everything.”
“They can’t. We’re too vital to the war effort. Speer won’t let them.”
“Everything,” his father repeated. “The worst part is, I saw it coming. Once they didn’t answer after three months I knew they must have found something, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. I think that’s one reason I started checking possibilities in Bern.”
“Bern?” Kurt’s mother asked. “In Switzerland?”
Kurt and his father exchanged glances.
“It’s complicated,” Reinhard said. “And meaningless. Now I’ll never get another pass to travel.”
Kurt was sorry to hear that. He had grudgingly warmed to the idea of contacting the Americans. And to his surprise his father had been making progress. Only a week ago Reinhard had returned from Bern to confide pridefully that he had been granted a personal audience with the much-heralded Mr. Dulles. The American had even assigned his father a code name, Magneto. Useless now, of course, if the family lost its factories.
And what of Liesl? Surely she wouldn’t object to this Jewish connection, but her parents might. Even if they didn’t, Kurt might now be sent away, or imprisoned. Would they sew a Star of David onto his clothes just for this? Worse still, what if the authorities now decided to dig further into their activities? Surely they would discover not only his connections to Bonhoeffer but also everything about the local cell of the White Rose. His father was right. This meant disaster.
Kurt was too agitated to sit and watch his parents stare blankly at the floor, so he went upstairs. Perhaps something could be done to stave off events, given all their connections. He stepped into the bathroom and splashed his face. Then he looked in the mirror, studying his features, searching for some sign of his Jewish blood.
