Juan Gomez-Jurado - The Traitor's emblem

Shit.

Not knowing quite what to do, Alys realized she couldn’t just stand there in the middle of the kitchen. Someone would realize that she wasn’t one of the staff and throw her out. She left the glasses in the enormous metal sink and picked up a dirty rag she found nearby. She ran it under the tap, soaked it, wrung it out, and pretended to be cleaning while she tried to come up with a plan. Looking around cautiously, an idea occurred to her.

She sidled over to one of the trash cans next to the sink. It was full almost to bursting with leftovers. She placed her jacket in it, put the lid on, and picked up the can. Then she began to walk brazenly toward the door.

“You can’t go past, Fraulein,” said one of the storm troopers.

“I’ve got to take out the garbage.”

“Leave it here.”

“But the cans are full. You can’t have full garbage cans inside a kitchen: it’s against the law.”

Don’t worry about that, Fraulein, we’re the law now. Put the can back where it was.”

Alys, deciding to gamble everything on a single hand, put the can down on the floor and folded her arms.

“If you want to move it, move it yourself.”

“I’m telling you to get that thing away from here.”

The young man didn’t take his eyes off Alys. The kitchen staff had noticed the scene and were looking at him angrily. As Alys had her back to them, they couldn’t tell she wasn’t one of them.

“Come on, man, let her past,” the other storm trooper intervened. “It’s bad enough having to be stuck here in the kitchen. We’re going to have to wear these clothes all night and the smell’s going to stick to my shirt.”

The one who’d spoken first shrugged and moved aside.

“You go, then. Accompany her to the bin outside and then get back here as quickly as possible.”

Silently cursing, Alys led the way. A narrow door gave onto an even narrower alley. The only light came from a single bulb at the opposite end, closer to the street. The bin was there, surrounded by scrawny cats.

“So… have you been working here long, Fraulein?” said the storm trooper, in a slightly embarrassed tone.

I don’t believe it: we’re walking down an alley, I’m carrying a garbage can, he’s carrying a machine gun, and this idiot is making a pass at me.

“You might say I’m new,” replied Alys, pretending to be friendly. “And what about you: Have you been carrying out coups d’etat for long?”

“No, this is my first,” the man replied seriously, failing to catch her irony.

They reached the bin.

“Right, well, you can go back now. I’ll stay and empty the can.”

“Oh, no, Fraulein. You empty the can, then I’ve got to accompany you back.”

“I wouldn’t want you to have to wait for me.”

“I’d wait for you anytime you like. You’re lovely…”

He went to kiss her. Alys tried to step back but she was trapped between the bin and the storm trooper.

“No, please,” said Alys.

“Come on, Fraulein…”

“Please, no.”

The storm trooper hesitated, remorseful.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I just thought…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just that I’m already engaged.”

“I’m sorry. He’s a lucky man.”

“Don’t worry about it,” repeated Alys, shaken.

“Let me help you with the garbage can.”

“No!”

Alys tried to pull away the hand of the brownshirt, who, in his confusion, let go of the can. It tumbled over and rolled along the ground.

Some of the leftovers scattered in a semicircle, revealing Alys’s jacket and its precious cargo.

“What the hell is that?”

The parcel had opened slightly and the lens of the camera was clearly visible. The soldier looked at Alys, who wore a guilty expression. She didn’t need to confess.

“Damn slut! You’re a Communist spy!” said the storm trooper, feeling for his cudgel.

Before he could grab it, Alys picked up the metal lid of the garbage can and tried to hit the storm trooper on the head. Seeing the attack coming, he raised his right arm. The lid struck his wrist with a deafening noise.

“Aaargh!”

He snatched the lid with his left hand, throwing it far away. Alys tried to dodge him and run off, but the alley was too narrow. The Nazi grabbed her by the blouse and pulled hard. Alys’s body turned, and her shirt tore down one side, exposing her bra. The Nazi, who’d raised an arm to strike her, froze for a moment, torn between excitement and fury. That look filled her heart with fear.

“Alys!”

She looked toward the entrance to the alley.

Paul was there, in a dreadful state, but he was there all the same. In spite of the cold, he was wearing only a sweater. His breathing was ragged and he had a cramp from having run across the city. Half an hour earlier he’d planned to enter the Burgerbraukeller by the back door, but he hadn’t even been able to cross the Ludwigsbrucke, as the Nazis had set up a roadblock.

So he had taken the long way around. He looked for policemen, soldiers, anyone who could answer his questions about what was going on in the beer hall, but all he found were citizens applauding those who had taken part in the coup, or booing them-from a wise distance.

Having crossed to the opposite bank via the Maximiliansbrucke, he started asking the people he met on the street. Finally someone mentioned the alley that led to the kitchen and Paul ran toward it, praying that he’d arrive before it was too late.

He was so surprised to see Alys outside, struggling with the storm trooper, that instead of launching a surprise attack he announced his arrival like an idiot. When the other man drew his gun, Paul had no choice but to hurl himself forward. His shoulder bashed the Nazi’s stomach, knocking him over.

The two of them rolled on the ground, struggling for the weapon. The other man was stronger than Paul, who was also utterly drained by the events of the previous hours. The struggle lasted less than five seconds, at the end of which the other man pushed Paul aside, got to his knees, and pointed the gun.

Alys, who had now retrieved the metal garbage can lid, stepped in, pounding the soldier furiously with it. The impacts rang out through the alley like the crash of cymbals. The Nazi’s eyes went blank, but he didn’t fall. Alys struck him again, and at last he toppled forward and fell flat on his face.

Paul got up and ran to embrace her, but she pushed him away and crouched down on the ground.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you all right?”

Alys stood up, furious. In her hands she held the remains of the camera, which was completely destroyed. During Paul’s fight with the Nazi, it had been crushed.

“Look.”

“It’s broken. Don’t worry, we’ll buy a better one.”

“You don’t understand! There were photos in there!”

“Alys, there’s no time for that now. We have to go before his friends come looking for him.”

He tried to take her by the hand, but she pulled away and ran ahead of him.

They didn’t look back until they were far from the Burgerbraukeller. At last they stopped beside the Church of St. Johann Nepomuk, whose impressive spire pointed at the night sky like an accusing finger. Paul led Alys to the archway over the main entrance to take shelter from the cold.

“God, Alys, you have no idea how scared I was,” he said, kissing her on the mouth. She returned the kiss without much conviction.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me,” said Paul, annoyed.

“I said it’s nothing.”

Paul decided not to pursue the matter. When Alys was in this mood, trying to get her out of it was like trying to escape from quicksand: the more you struggled, the deeper you sank.