“Yes, Herr—” She didn’t know who the man in front of her was, talking so eloquently.
He fixed a thin strand of hair away from his forehead and lowered his eyes as though pleased she called him “Herr—Sir.”
“Deputy Burgomaster.”
Ulya inclined her head as a sign of respect. One of the things she’d learned from Herr Wagner in his good manners course.
“You can do a great deal for our oppressed people working for the German Reich as a translator, and we have trust in you. But—” An expressive pause ensued. “We have had people claiming their perfect knowledge of the German language. Would it offend you if our Commandant’s personal translator, Herr Schmiedecker, chats a bit with you?” Without waiting for her reaction, the deputy burgomaster motioned to somebody behind Ulya’s back with almost a comical theatrical gesture.
Ulya turned her head and a sheer black fright swept through her. She knew it was the end of her.
Herr Schmiedecker offered his hand for a shake. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Fräulein Kriegshammer,” he said in Russian, his emotionless voice chilling her to the bone but even more an NSDAP pin in the middle of his right breast pocket. “As Herr Deputy Burgomaster had rightly said, and I could not say it better, we, the German Army, are here to lift the Bolshevik yoke off the Russians and other oppressed folks of the Soviet Union. And as Herr Deputy Burgomaster noted, you could help in this righteous struggle. Herr Deputy Burgomaster needs your support in communicating with the German authorities and, of course, the German authority needs your assistance with the purpose, and that’s the only purpose, to help make the life of the new Reich’s citizens dignified. Herr Deputy Burgomaster?” He turned his head to look at him. “Allow me to switch into German.”
“Yes, yes, Herr Schmiedecker. I’ll be thankful if you would allow me to leave you alone with Fräulein Kriegshammer. I’ve got enough on my plate.” After Herr Schmiedecker nodded slightly, enough to politely acknowledge his comment, Herr Deputy Burgomaster threw his arm up in the Hitler salute and stepped out in haste.
The man in front of Ulya, whom in the Special School she knew as Comrade Wagner, made a gesture around his ear indicating they might be listened to. It didn’t mean she could relax, still she signaled understanding with her eyes. Schmiedecker or whoever he was, continued in German. “Fräulein Kriegshammer, from your conversation with Herr Deputy Burgomaster I understand your Russian is perfect. Your report says your father’s language was German.”
“Yes. At home we spoke only German.”
“Oh, I can instantly say, your pronunciation reminds me of the Bavarian dialect. I’m personally from Berlin.”
“You speak different from what I’m used to.”
“And I know from your report you stay at the house of your friend with whom you studied at the Saratov University.”
“Her husband’s house.”
“Where is it? In your questionnaire, Nikolskaya Street.”
“It’s on the outskirts of the city, the last house on the street that borders the wooded area.”
“Ah. I’ve heard, one can hunt game there.”
“My friend stated it too.”
“Living so close to danger, aren’t you afraid? Too many wolves in the local woods.” He looked straight into her face.
“We can get them all quickly eliminated.” She uttered a relieved little laugh. “You only have to teach me how to shoot.”
“You are not deprived of a sense of humor,” he said and mouthed, “Hunter.” Then, loud and authoritative, he went on. “Well, in good conscience I can report to my superiors that your German is perfect. Can you start working today?”
“Yes. What are my responsibilities?”
“That we’ll discuss in the presence of Herr Deputy Burgomaster.” He opened the door, and the man entered the room. His eyes darted to Schmiedecker. The latter inclined his head. “Fräulein Kriegshammer will be a perfect liaison between you and the German authority. As we conferred earlier, she’ll translate into Russian and type all kinds of addresses and public warnings and appeals, orders and recommendations from the German administration as well as the information and documents required from the local authorities under your and Herr Burgomaster’s wise leadership.”
He turned to Ulya. “Fräulein Kriegshammer, you can count on my help at any time. But now, I have to take my leave.” After shaking hands with Ulya, he saluted to the deputy burgomaster. The latter’s “Heil Hitler!” sounded too loud, and the arm flew up with sincere enthusiasm.
The instant the door closed after Herr Schmiedecker, the deputy burgomaster was like a new person. “Now return to room six. Herr Klimko is my right-hand man. He’ll advise you on your duties.” He picked up the telephone but let the receiver stop in the air far from his ear. “That’s all.”
She headed through the already familiar corridor to Klimko, who provided her with a ration card and her new Ausweis—identification card with a description of her instead of a photo. He pushed a ledger to her to sign that she’d received them. Even before the ink dried, he shoved a typed leaf of paper across the table. “Read and sign.”
Instruction
The most important responsibilities in the line of
duty are:
Obedience
Non-disclosure of professional secrecy
Ban on outside occupations
Prohibition to receive gifts and favors.
She signed.
In the next moment, he took some paper from the stack and a carbon from a different, thinner pile then picked up a ledger similar to what she’d seen on his table the day before. “Follow me, bitte—please.”
Without uttering one more word, he brought her to another part of the building and, after unlocking a door at the end of the corridor, motioned her to step in.
A tiny room, more like a chamber with a small window, accommodated a shelf and a table with what looked like typewriters on it. She
