“Stay away from him,” the commander said mildly to Dieter’s mother, who had stepped forward in concern. Then, to his men: “Take him out to the truck.”
Hannelore turned abruptly and spat at one of the soldiers, who shoved her hard against the wall. She cried out in pain and anger. Kurt caught her eye, and for a second he was certain she could read his every thought, so he blushed and looked away.
An officer emerged from the hallway, shouldering roughly past Dieter’s father and holding aloft a small stack of White Rose pamphlets.
“These were beneath the boy’s mattress.”
Had Dieter really been so stupid? Hannelore shook her head and cursed under her breath. Shortly afterward the officers led them outside, where a military truck had pulled to the curb with its tailgate down and its canvas flaps open in the back.
“Climb aboard, one at a time,” the commander said. “Slowly and orderly, while keeping your hands above your head.”
Neighbors had gathered on the sidewalk. There was concern in their faces, but also shame. Guilt by proximity. You could almost sense them calculating what this might mean for their own prospects in the future.
Two soldiers with rifles climbed into the truck and closed the tailgate and the canvas flaps, plunging everyone into darkness. The truck pulled away. Kurt peered through the slit between the flaps and saw a passing tram. The only light visible was from the blue sparks in the overhead wires.
They were seated three to a side in the bed of the truck, with Christoph curled in the middle like a sack of flour.
“Where are we going?” someone asked.
No one answered.
The ride continued for twenty minutes. When they finally stopped, bright lights were switched on and someone shouted an order. It sounded as if a gate was being opened. The truck bumped forward. Kurt saw a brick wall topped by barbed wire.
“I know where we are,” Hannelore whispered. “Plotzensee Prison.”
Kurt had known this was their destination, but somehow it didn’t make the arrival any easier to bear. Liesl took his hand in the dark, and for the first time in days he was able to muster some courage. He even allowed himself to begin thinking about their future. Maybe this would be the low point, he told himself. In four months, perhaps five, the worst would be over. Make it through this ordeal and he would still have Liesl, trusting him, touching him. And surely they would still be together years later as well. If so, then it would all be worth it.
The truck stopped again. A guard threw down the tailgate and pulled back the flaps. They were staring at an open door leading into a brick cellblock.
His life in prison had begun.
THE FIRST LETTER from Liesl arrived a week later, five handwritten pages smuggled between their cells by a guard bribed with ration coupons from her family. It was Kurt’s first moment of joy and color in a drab world that had shrunk to the dimensions of his five-by-nine cell.
Kurt had entered a sort of hibernation. It hadn’t even occurred to him to try to communicate with the others-not that he would have been inclined to do so except in Liesl’s case. The less they knew of his guilty thoughts, the better.
So he passed the time reading books sent by his parents. He was mildly amused when his sister forwarded her worn copy of The Sorrows of Young Werther, which he was able to read with a certain detachment, taking comfort in the knowledge that he, unlike Werther, might still win his true love in the end.
At other times he stared longingly out his small, high window for hours on end. The view across the prison’s outer wall was of the Hohenzollern Canal, the waterway leading to the loading docks of the biggest Bauer factory. Sometimes he smelled the smoke from the factory as it drifted on the afternoon breeze. At least that meant it was still functioning-no sure thing judging from the frequency of the bombing raids. Almost every night now the sky filled with the beams of searchlights. Whenever the pounding of the explosions and the flak bursts finally stopped, there was always plenty of chatter from the other cells. Some of it was in foreign tongues, usually French or Polish. Kurt never tried answering, even when the words were in German.
Liesl, on the other hand, had obviously been working diligently to establish connections to all their friends. This was clear from the surprising wealth of information in her letter. Some of the news was hard to take.
Dearest Kurt,
I suppose by now that you, too, have suffered the awful and degrading experience of interrogation at the hands of our captors. Yesterday I was made to stand for five hours in the middle of a room while a guard watched through the door. I pissed into my clothes and nearly fainted. The only break they allowed was for a glass of water, but even then I was not permitted to sit down, and of course this only caused me to piss again. Afterward they did not let me wash or change clothes, so as you can imagine I am quite impossible to be around. Even the guard seems to grimace as he passes my door.
Unfortunately, I am told that they wish to speak with me again this afternoon, so who knows what the hours ahead will bring. I am told they have been similarly harsh and determined in their efforts with all of us, but suffice it to say that so fiar I have been steadfast in my refusal to speak at all about any activities other than my own, for which I have willingly assumed full responsibility as a matter of conscience. In my lowest moments I try to remember the words of Dr. Bonhoeffer. Truly, no easy grace remains for us now, so we must summon all of our faith and fortitude. I am confident that you are doing the same, and I wish you strength even as I send my love.
I am afraid that some of the others are of the opinion that Dieter must be to blame for our fate. They cite his carelessness in having kept the pamphlets at his house. Some of them have also remarked on the ease with which the officers entered his house, and the strange way that his father behaved that evening, as if he was ashamed to have anything to do with us. I suppose they see that as evidence he was already aware of what was to come. Perhaps they are right, but I have tried to keep an open mind. I have always found Dieter to be a sweet boy even though he is impulsive and has never been a careful planner. It is difficult to accept that he would have been a party to this without having revealed it through some false word or gesture. We shall see, I suppose.
Have you heard yet from your family, and your poor sister? One of my first thoughts after the terrible night of the raid was that this event would only make things worse for them, at a time when they can least afford it. Please send them my love, and, if possible, reassure me that they, too, have not been dragged into this awful abyss.
With all the idle hours now at my disposal, I confess to experiencing many moments of weakness when I try to imagine what will become of us. I do take some hope from the days that have already passed. The students who were arrested in Munich were tried and executed in only a day or two, and I believe that many of them were several years older than us. Perhaps the thinking here is that they will offer us a second chance. Or maybe I am being terribly naive in my wishful thinking, and their only intention is to drag out the process as long as possible. One of the others seems to think that we will be here for weeks, or even months, based on things that he has heard from his parents. It is the uncertainty which is hardest to take. My lowest moments seem to come when I dare to dream that we might still have a future.
All right, I must finish. The guard has promised to pick up this letter in the next hour just before the shift changes. Please stay strong, my darling.
All my love,
Liesl
As the days passed, Liesl’s notes continued, and Kurt always answered. He, of course, had not been interrogated since their imprisonment. But to cover for himself he wove elaborate descriptions of tough treatment and steadfast resistance, tales that were so deeply imagined that at times he almost believed them.
Word trickled in from the others. By the end of the second week he had received letters from everyone except Hannelore, although the only one he bothered to answer was Christoph, whom he had always admired.
Even poor Dieter sent him a message. It was obvious from his aggrieved and defensive tone that he had picked up on the suspicions of the others, and his shrillness only served to make him seem guilty. Kurt thought it best to say nothing at all on the subject, figuring that the whisper campaign and Dieter himself would do the job for him.
The third week brought devastating news from the outside. Dietrich Bonhoeffer had been arrested. Details