You can leave.
Russell walked outside to the car. The prisoners were still lined up in the distance, the icy wind still blowing. He reversed the car, drove back to the gates, and waited for them to be opened. As he motored out past the gatehouse he saw the crumpled ball of Eva Wiesners letter lying where the wind had blown it, up against the concrete wall. A kilometer or so down the access road he pulled to a stop, slumped forward with his head against the wheel, and let the waves of rage wash over him.
A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR later he was pulling up outside the Wiesners apartment block in Friedrichshain. He sat in the car for a while, reluctant to go up, as if bringing the bad news would make it real. Many of the people walking by looked Jewish, and most of them looked as if theyd seen better times. Did the faces look haunted, or was he just thinking that they should? Could they see the fists coming? The coshes, the belts, the whips?
Russell wearily climbed the stairs and knocked on the familiar door. It opened immediately, as if Frau Wiesner had been waiting behind it. Hes all right, Russell said, the lie sour on his tongue.
The girls faces filled with hope, but Frau Wiesner searched his face, and saw a different truth. They are not treating him badly? she asked, almost incredulously.
Not too badly, Russell said, glancing pointedly at the girls.
Her face sank with the knowledge that he needed to talk to her alone, but she managed a smile as she shooed the girls back into the other room. Tell me how bad it is, she asked, once the door had closed behind them.
Hes been beaten. But not too badly, Russell lied. He has cuts and bruises. What youd expect from those animals.
God save us, she said, her legs buckling.
Russell helped her into a seat, and steeled himself to pass on her husbands words. He gave me a message for you, he began. You must leave the country if you can, you and the children. He hopes he will be released eventually, but for the momentfor the moment, he emphasizedhe says you must act as if he were dead.
He expected tears, but she gave him a look full of defiance. The children, yes, she said. But I will not go.
The children will need you, Russell said. And your husband will not be coming back, he thought.
They will be all right, she said firmly, as if trying to convince herself. In a decent country, they will be all right. Albert is old enough to look after the girls.
Where is Albert?
Out somewhere. But I will make sure that he looks after the girls.
Your husband sent him a message too, Russell said. He says he understands now what Albert must have been through in the camp. He wants Albert to know hes sorry for doubting him.
Oh, God, she said, burying her face in her hands.
Russell pulled her to him, feeling her silent, racking sobs against his shoulder. One other thing, he said when she was finally still. I am going to England tomorrow. For a few days, taking Effis sister to see an English doctor. Your husband asked if I could get his stamps out of Germany, and this seems like an ideal opportunity. If you agree, I can put them in a safety deposit box in London, and leave the key with my agent. Hes trustworthy.
You are sure?
That hes trustworthy? Yes. That I can get them past customs? Not completely, but Im traveling with the wife of a Nazi and two children. It seems like the best chance were likely to get.
She got up and disappeared into the other room, returning a few moments later with a large, soft-covered book called
The pictures are only stuck around the edges, she explained. Theres a stamp behind each one.
EFFI SEEMED HAPPY ENOUGH to see him, but was, to most intents and purposes, still on the film-set. Russell could have shocked her out of her absorption with an account of his visit to Sachsenhausen, but there didn't seem any point. He gave her a sanitized version of the visit, more sanitized indeed than the one hed given Frau Wiesner. They made love that night in a friendly, somewhat desultory fashion, rather in the way, Russell imagined, that Mother made love to her over-sensitive SA husband.
The dawn was only breaking over the mist-shrouded Havelsee location when he dropped her off, and he arrived outside the British Embassy almost an hour before it opened. The line of Jews seeking visas was already stretching around the corner into Pariserplatz.
Coffee and hot rolls in the Cafe Kranzler restored his body, but the mornings
The line of people eager to escape Hitlers paradise was receding around another corner when Russell got back to the Embassy. Martin Unsworth was in a meeting, and had nothing good to tell him when he eventually came out of it. Someone had stuck a to be refused note on Frau Wiesners file, but he didn't know when or why. He was still working on it but, as Russell could see, they were pretty busy. Russells graphic account of his visit to Sachsenhausen elicited sympathy but little else. He had telegraphed the Washington Embassy with a message for Conway, Unsworth said, but had not had a reply. For all he knew, Conway was taking a few days holiday in New York. And in any case, he didn't see what Conway or anyone else could do about one Jew in a concentration camp, no matter how innocent he was, or how badly he was being treated.
More resigned than raging, Russell left without hitting the banister and drove home to Neuenburgerstrasse. Frau Heideggers door was open, his Sudeten neighbor sitting helplessly in the chair she reserved for the sacrificial coffee-drinker. Russell flashed him a sympathetic smile and ran upstairs to pack the larger of his two worn-out suitcases with three changes of clothes, a toothbrush, and several books. The latter included
The aerodrome at Tempelhof Field was on the other side of the Kreuzberg, about three kilometers away. As they lived fairly close together, Jens had agreed to pick up Paul for a noon arrival at the aerodrome, and Russell arrived with some twenty minutes to spare. The parking lot was small, but the quality of carshis Hanomag exceptedmade up for the lack of quantity. Flying was not for the poor.
The others arrived five minutes later, Paul with a
It went well yesterday? he asked.
Russell nodded.
And you understand that you must not talk or write about your visit?
Russell nodded again.
For everyones sake, Jens added pointedly.
Look! Paul called out from a window. Its our aeroplane.
Russell joined him.
Its a Ju 52/3m, Paul said knowledgeably, pointing at the plane being fueled out on the tarmac. It has a cruising ceiling of 6,000 meters. It can go 264 kilometers an hour.
Russell looked up. The sky was clearer than it had been. We should see a lot, he said.
Well be over the Reich for two hours, Paul said, as if nothing else was worth seeing.
Zarah had returned. Time to go through customs, Russell told his son, feeling a flutter of nerves run down his spine.
