Eva took a seat furthest from the door and ordered a coffee and pastry from a gaunt-looking waiter. Lighting a cigarette, she exhaled slowly as she glanced around the room. Satisfied no-one was paying attention to her, she began to relax.
A group of Americans commandeered the table beside her, their banter and relaxed manner adding to the ambience. They all appeared well-groomed and well-dressed, unlike their British counterparts in the foyer outside. Two smiled over at her, inviting her to join them. She demurred with a smile.
‘Can’t wait to hear what these guys have to say,’ said the one with leading man looks. He lit up a pipe, drawing on it in measured puffs.
‘We’re after all talking about a bunch of book burners and their appeasers,’ agreed his companion. His eyes kept drifting over to Eva as he spoke. Like his friend, he was handsome and appeared erudite.
‘Editorial’s gonna have a field day. I wonder if they still burn books over here.' The conversation stopped once their orders arrived accompanied by a large pot of coffee.
The waitress who had taken Eva’s coat came into the restaurant looking for her. When she spotted her, she came over and offered her a newspaper to read. Eva thanked her with a smile and, after skimming the pages, found the crossword. Reaching into her bag she withdrew a pen and began to fill in the clues with coded messages. She folded the paper into her bag and prepared to hand it back to the waitress when her coat was ready.
All around her was laughter, the clatter of cutlery and the German waitresses flirting with the Americans. It almost seemed the human species was staring into annihilation and keen to breed as compensation.
The coffee arrived and Eva noted how bad the waiter’s skin was. She summoned a smile to thank him, hoping it wouldn’t encourage him to hover.
The coffee was fresh and strong. Her hangover was abating and the pastry was warm from the kitchen. Now all she had to do for the next two hours was stay alive, her thoughts drifting with the cigarette smoke.
Chapter 2
May 10th 1933 — Berlin
The ceremonial pyre raged on the Opernplatz, sending sparks and ashes into the cooling twilight, captured on film by the Ministry or Propaganda. Encircling it, a cordon of Ernst Rohm's SA stood holding flambeaus in rigid attention. Curious onlookers watched as the books were hurled into the flames, fluttering upwards like broken doves before falling into the inferno. Nationalistic songs were shouted with gusto by the SA and Hitler Youth, followed by fire-oath chants with straight-arm salutes as the fire was fed.
Across Weimar Germany this scene was repeating itself, the nation’s intelligentsia being singled out for ‘enlightenment’ in National Socialism by Adolf Hitler and Joseph Goebbels. Manuscripts, paintings and etchings marked as ‘un-German’ were being incinerated in an orgy of destruction. Student leaders wearing swastika armbands directed more groups of SA to rooms and lecture halls that had been under surveillance for months. The libraries were stripped of their contents and precious tomes were earmarked for destruction in a clinical manner, impelled by the day long radio broadcasts and posters plastered up all over the city.
Across from the platz where the inferno raged, in the basement theatre space of Humboldt University, Eva Molenaar put her dog-eared script down. She could hear the roar of the crowd drifting into the room. In the small rehearsal space she stood with her fiance and fellow actor, Jonas Zamoyski, and the director, Herr Gruber.
‘I hear they’re burning books by Jack London and H.G. Wells,’ she said uneasily.
‘And Thomas Mann,’ added Jonas, glancing toward the door. Another roar from the platz drifted in and the chants seemed to come in waves.
Instinctively she moved closer to Jonas. Gruber leaned toward them. 'It seems wolves and Martians have unsettled Doctor Goebbels. Now pay attention you two. Ignore those pyromaniacs and their goons over at the platz.'
Eva noted the script was shaking slightly in the director’s hands. The noise outside swelled momentarily. Gruber glanced up toward the door, then turned to the couple, clearing his throat quietly. 'They are in love, yes, your characters?'
Eva and Jonas exchanged a glance. Jonas' eyes twinkled and Eva dimpled back. They nodded. With a gesture, Gruber had Eva sitting on the edge of the bed and moved Jonas upstage, then stepped back. Satisfied with their positioning, he continued, 'Now think, what would they be doing? It's the morning. This scene, Jonas, is like Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 3. The lovers are about to part after their first night together; the sowing of the first doubts, of love and loss. He's leaving her chamber as they talk. What action could he be doing?' Gruber was inspired, moving around in his out-sized suit. He looks wonderfully crumpled, thought Eva.
'Getting dressed,' grinned Jonas, tipping a wink to her.
'Excellent. Yes! Getting dressed.'
Eva blushed deeply. Gruber noted it swept down to her collar bone. Gruber clapped his hands. 'Now again!'
They were preparing a short two-hander that Jonas had written and performed with Eva at Warsaw’s summer theatre. As a result they both had been invited to Berlin to perform for the student body studying Polish drama, notably the works of Leon Schiller. Herr Gruber, a disciple of Brecht, wanted to add a more nihilistic slant to the work. They were discussing the piece further when the door to the rehearsal room was kicked in.
Two SA troopers in their late-teens stood red-faced, sweating drunk, with batons in their hands.
Gruber strode forward, demanding the reason for the intrusion. He was beaten repeatedly then stamped on. He fell to the ground. Eva screamed. Jonas placed himself in front of her as the two SA troopers strutted in. They ignored Jonas’ shouts of protest as they were drawn to the beautiful young girl. No more than seventeen, her auburn hair sat shoulder-length, framing a heart-shaped face and grey Nordic eyes.
‘Well, well, well what do we have here?’ the taller of the two troopers said, ogling Eva. The smaller one with porcine eyes snatched away her script.
‘A play is it?’ he slurred, looking back at Gruber’s body. Gruber lay still with blood now pooling around him. The trooper tried to read the print. When he couldn’t, he proceeded to tear the script slowly and deliberately.
‘Looks like degenerate Jewish literature,’ he sneered.
‘Wir sind nicht judisch,’ countered Jonas slowly.
‘Any nudity?’ rasped the other one, his eyes never leaving Eva.
Eva drew closer to Jonas. Her mind was frozen in terror. The two Brownshirts moved in and out of the minimal overhead lighting. The smell of smoke, sweat and Scotch whisky assailed her. One of them unsheathed a knife from his jack boot and sidled toward her, grinning.
‘Yep, nudity alright.’
Jonas lunged at him. ‘Run!’ he shouted at Eva.
She bolted for the door as the three men struggled. The smaller one grabbed her by her hair, pulling a clump of it out. Leaping over Gruber's prone body, her forward momentum drove her into the corridor. Her neck was wet and she was bleeding. Pressing the palm of her hand against the wound, she sprinted for the courtyard.
Jonas floored the first attacker with a punch to the jaw. The smaller one ducked under the follow through and slashed him across the arm with his knife. The blade cut deep into the muscles of Jonas’ forearm. With his free hand he smacked the man down onto the floor, the knife clattering away from them. Bleeding heavily, Jonas bolted for the door.
He paused deliberately to lure the men away from Eva, hoping their bloodlust was sated and they would ignore her. Their stumbling footfalls and whooping cat-calls told him they were behind him. Pausing for another beat, he watched Eva running for the courtyard. He spied a stairwell to the upper corridors and bounded up the steps two at a time, his wound leaving a spotted trail.
Eva sprinted toward the university’s square. In it stood two furniture removal vans with their engines idling, the back doors open. A line of SA and Nazi sympathisers were loading hundreds of books onto them. They were surrounded by angry students and lecturers pushing, shoving and throwing punches. The SA in turn retaliated with batons and kicks. More SA arrived in trucks. The campus was fast becoming a battlefield.
